Pauli

“You barely even looked at him. Come on, he seems athletic. Tall. Nice hair, too.” She turns slightly toward you, fixing you with a pointed look. “Do you know how rare a nice hairline is these days?” You chuckle, but she barrels on. “No, no, don’t laugh. Don’t you want someone with hair you can actually play with?”

A flash of salt-and-pepper hair is the first thing that comes to mind.

“No, but like,” she continues, undeterred, “it’s getting rare. I’m a freshman in college, and half the guys in my class are already balding. I’m telling you, it’s becoming a scarcity.” She pauses, then adds quickly, “Obviously, no hate to guys without hair. It’s not like they can help it, and some of them pull it off. Some even look better bald. But I like a nice haircut. I want to run my hands through it, you know?”

The sound he made when you tugged at his hair. The way he reacted when your nails scraped gently against his scalp.

“Yeah,” you say, after a beat too long. “I agree.”

“So you should run after him and ask for his number while his hair is still hanging on. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

You shake your head, laughing softly at her persistence. “I am not doing that.”

“Whyyy?”

“Because,” you say patiently, “I’m not asking a guy out just because he has nice hair, no matter how nice it is. He probably lives around here, and I’m leaving tomorrow. And I am definitely not running after a man.” You wish you could say you would never run after any man, but you know that isn’t true. “Also, he looks younger than me. Not my style.”

She watches the runner for another second, as if reassessing his age. “True, true…” Then her attention snaps back to you. You wish she weren’t wearing her sunglasses because you’d like to know exactly what that look means. “So… are you planning on seeing the guy from the gym again?”

“Michael?” You pause, as if genuinely considering it. “No. I don’t think I will.”

“Aww. Come on. I was hoping for more gossip.”

Oh, Sarah. If only you knew.

You both keep watching as the runner’s silhouette grows smaller, fading farther and farther down the shore.

“Damn,” Sarah hums appreciatively. “Nice ass, too. Your loss.”

You laugh with her, and the two of you keep watching the people around you. It’s approaching late morning now, but the weather is perfect, the kind that makes everyone want to squeeze every last drop out of the weekend. You try to quiet your mind; too many thoughts have been crawling around since last night. You focus on the rhythm of the waves instead, but a familiar pang of guilt slips in as you glance at Sarah beside you.

“You know I love you, right?”

“Where the fuck is that coming from?” she snorts, turning to look at you.

“What? We said the exact same thing last night,” you point out.

“I was drunk,” she shoots back. “What’s your excuse? This is so out of the blue.” She grumbles, but you both know the irritation is just embarrassment in disguise.

“I just need you to know,” you say softly. “And I wanted to say it back when you’re not drunk as fuck.” You nudge her shoulder, and she shoves you right back. “Also,” you add, “how are you not hungover right now? It honestly baffles me.”

“I’m a college student now,” she says proudly. “It takes more than that to defeat me.”

“You were dead the second you hit the mattress last night.”

And you were glad she was. Because she was still fast asleep when you finally made it back to the room after—

“I’m hungry,” Sarah announces suddenly. “Should we head back?”

“Sure,” you say, standing up and gathering your things, a flush of anxiety creeping in before you can stop it.

Because going back to the house means seeing Joel. It means facing what happened last night. You’d been lucky this morning, Sarah dragging you out of bed and straight to the beach, determined to enjoy it at least once before heading back to college. And who were you to argue? Joel hadn’t seemed to be up when you left.

Either way, you weren’t sure you were ready to face him. To face whatever emotion might be waiting in his eyes. What if the night had sobered him up in the worst way, clarity hitting hard, turning everything into a mistake? What if it had only been a spur-of-the-moment thing for him? What if he didn’t want to talk about it at all? And what if he did?

Last night, when you’d finally caught your breath again and realised you couldn’t stay in the car forever, it hadn’t been awkward exactly, but something adjacent to it. The two of you fumbling quietly with your clothes, neither quite looking at the other.

When you stepped out of the car, you’d been surprised to feel Joel’s hand searching for yours, threading his fingers through it like it was the most natural thing in the world. He held on as you walked back toward the house quietly, as if you were wrapped in some fragile bubble. Words would have burst it, and neither of you wanted to be the first to do that.

Inside, the two of you stopped at the foot of the staircase. You hesitated, then finally looked up at him, half-expecting him to say something. He didn’t. He just looked at you for a beat, an expression so soft on his face it almost undid you. He squeezed your hand gently before letting go, then nodded toward the stairs. You missed the warmth of his hand immediately.

As you walked up, you glanced over your shoulder. He was still watching you, his eyes soft in a way you couldn’t quite explain. After a quick trip to the bathroom, you slipped back into Sarah’s bedroom. You were relieved to see her still asleep, sprawled across the bed, blissfully unaware of you coming and going. You slid back under the covers and closed your eyes, trying to will yourself into sleep. But your thoughts wouldn’t slow, spiralling back to Joel, much like they were now.

You try to focus on what Sarah is saying as the two of you walk back to the house, but with every step, your heart seems to beat louder, heavier. Your breath hitches when Sarah opens the door and steps inside.

Joel is in the kitchen, his back to you.

God, he’s beautiful—your first, unhelpful thought. The same one you always have, only sharpened now, intensified by last night. You let yourself take him in for just a second: the broad line of his shoulders, the familiar fall of his hair, all the places your hands were lucky enough to touch hours ago.

“Morning, Dad,” Sarah calls as you walk in.

Joel turns around, coffee mug in hand, and something tightens painfully in your chest. Butterflies, mixed with apprehension and the lingering heat of memory.

His eyes find you. And then—

He looks away.

Oh.

Your stomach drops instantly. You’d dreaded this, rehearsed it in your head all morning, but facing it hurts more than you thought it would. Your fear transforms into something sharp and ugly. He regrets it. He can’t even look at you.

You want to disappear. To crawl out of the room. But you can’t, Sarah’s right there, oblivious, so you pull your cover-up tighter around yourself and grab a mug, turning toward the coffee machine as if you belong there. 

You force yourself to breathe. It’s okay, you tell yourself. You knew this was a possibility. You spent half the night preparing for it. You’ll be fine. It’s not the first man to break your heart. But it’s Joel, and your heart has never followed the usual rules when it comes to him.

You hear Joel and Sarah talking behind you while you silently beg the machine to hurry up. They move easily through logistics for Sarah’s flight tonight, and what time they’ll need to leave for the airport As if your chest wasn’t tight enough already, the reminder lands heavy that Sarah is already leaving.

Your coffee is only halfway done when Sarah announces she’s taking the first shower. She disappears down the hall, her footsteps fading toward the stairs, leaving you alone in the kitchen with Joel.

The silence is deafening.

You keep your back to him, watching the last drops of coffee fill the pot, willing your face to stay neutral. You focus on the sound of Sarah’s footsteps overhead, clinging to it like an anchor while your emotions bubble dangerously close to the surface. You refuse to be that girl, the one who cries because she misread something, because she didn’t understand what it was. What was it, anyway? You’re still not sure.

You take a steadying breath. Then you turn around.

Joel is right there in front of you.

You don’t have time to say anything before his hands cup your face, eager and yet impossibly gentle, and his lips press to yours.

You barely manage to set your mug down on the counter before your hand slides into his shirt, gripping the fabric to pull him closer. If last night’s kisses had been rushed, all heat and want, this one is different. He kisses you like he has nowhere else to be. His lips linger, tasting, his tongue brushing your lower lip without pushing further, as if he’s giving you time to breathe, to set the pace if you wanted to.

Then he pulls back, just slightly and steals one last, brief kiss before letting you go. His hands come to rest on the counter on either side of you, caging you in without touching, and he smiles.

“Hi.”

He’s looking at you like this is normal. Like this, being close to you, kissing you, is the most natural thing in the world.

“Hi,” you breathe back. Your mouth opens to say more, to ask something, to say anything, but the words don’t come.

Joel notices immediately. “You okay?”

You can’t stop the small hitch of breath that escapes you. Instead of answering, you let your forehead fall against his chest, hiding your face where he can’t see the tears threatening to spill.

“Hey—hey,” he murmurs, one hand coming up to soothe your back in slow, grounding strokes. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his shirt, too embarrassed to look up. “I—I thought you were going to say it was a mistake.”

“What?” His hand stills slightly. “Why would you think that?”

“You looked away when I came in,” you admit quietly. “And I thought it was because you were… I don’t know. About to let me down.”

He says your name softly, the sound of it alone enough to steady you. His fingers slide under your chin, gently coaxing you to look up at him. When you do, your breath catches. His eyes are fixed on you, intent and warm, like he can’t help but take you in.

“Baby,” he says, and the nickname makes you melt instantly. “I looked away because I was tryin’ to be a gentleman and not show you exactly what the sight of you in that bikini is doin’ to me.” A small, self-aware smile tugs at his mouth as his cheeks redden slightly. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? How hard it’s been not to look at you these past few days? I feel like a damn teenager all over again.”

Heat rushes to your face at his words.

“Oh,” you breathe. “So… you don’t regret it?”

“I—” He pauses, just long enough for your heart to tighten. He must see it, because his thumb immediately begins to stroke your jaw, slow and reassuring. “I’m not going to pretend what happened is… ideal.” He waits until you’re really looking at him. “But no,” he says firmly. “I don’t regret it.”

He presses a quick kiss to your lips, as if to prove his point. It’s over too fast, and you instinctively lean after him, chasing the warmth. He smiles at that, keeping his mouth just out of reach for a second before finally giving in and kissing you again.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly. “Do you need me to—” He hesitates, clearly unsure, a hint of embarrassment creeping in. “I mean… do you need me to run to the pharmacy or somethin’?”

It takes you a second to understand what he means. He is asking if you need the morning-after pill. Because he came inside you. Because you asked him to. Heat coils low in your stomach at the memory.

You shake your head. “I’m on the pill.”

“Okay,” he nods quickly. “Okay.” Then, more seriously, “Still, I shouldn’t have— It was irresponsible to—”

“I asked you to,” you interrupt gently, a bit flushed.

He exhales slowly. “I know. Still, we should have talked about it—not that I didn’t like it. I did.” His eyes dip down your body for just a second, darkening before he pulls in a steadying breath, visibly forcing himself back onto firmer ground. When he looks at you again, his expression is serious. “Like I said last night—before we… we need to have a real conversation. About this. About us.” He hesitates, then adds more quietly, “I’m not goin’ to pretend it didn’t happen. I don’t want to.” He gestures loosely between the two of you. “But I think we both know this isn’t simple.”

You let your hand rest on his chest, feeling his heartbeat; quick, but steady beneath your palm. His words are calming, grounding, and you’d be lying if you said that was what you expected. After the past few days, you hadn’t known what version of Joel you’d get. 

You tell him as much, a smile tugging at your lips. “Joel Miller, communicating?” you tease. “What’s happening? Who are you?”

“Shut up,” he mutters, pinching you lightly and making you laugh. His hand settles at your waist, thumb tracing slow circles against your skin, and the shiver it pulls from you doesn’t go unnoticed. “I’m trying to do things right, okay?” He says quietly. “For you.” 

He looks at you with soft eyes, and the warmth that blooms in your chest should surprise you, but it doesn’t. Your body has always known how to react to Joel Miller.

You rise onto your toes and kiss him, less gentle than before, nipping at his lower lip until he gives in. You press him closer, welcoming the weight of him, the counter cool against your back. It feels good. It feels right.

“We should—” Joel murmurs between kisses. “Stop.” Another kiss, lingering. “Anyone could come downstairs.” 

You feel his restraint as much as you feel the hard line of him against your hips, and you’re grateful when he finally forces himself to step back, because the way he feels against you is dangerously intoxicating. You know, that if he’d asked, you would’ve let him bend you over the counter without hesitation. His thoughts can’t be far from yours; his eyes trail slowly over your body, and you find yourself developing a renewed appreciation for this green bikini. 

“Sweetheart…” He scrubs a hand down his face and exhales. “Go take a shower before we do somethin’ stupid.”

“All by myself?” you can’t help but ask, wiggling your eyebrows.

He scoffs, but you catch the faint blush creeping up his neck, and the sight of it sends a thrill straight through you. You did that. “Go,” he says, giving your ass a light slap, and you have to fight the instinctive moan that rises at the sensation. Joel definitely notices; you see it in the way his eyes darken before he reins himself back in.

You leave the kitchen with a smile, your skin buzzing, alive with the weight of his words and everything left unsaid. When you reach the staircase, you can’t resist one last look over your shoulder. You half expect to catch him staring at your ass—you know how good it looks in that bikini—but instead you find his eyes already on yours, like he knew you’d turn back. He lifts his chin slightly, mouths go, and you disappear up the stairs, your heart swelling in your chest.

Twenty minutes and a shower later, you and Sarah are sprawled in her room, half-dressed and still finishing getting ready, her laptop balanced between the two of you. Some let’s-play of a horror game is playing from one of her favourite creators. You’re not really watching, only reacting when the girl cracks a good joke or shrieks at a perfectly timed jump scare. Your mind keeps circling back to Joel; to his voice, his hands, the way he looked at you in the kitchen. You catch yourself smiling at nothing. Eventually, Sarah flops backwards onto the bed with a dramatic groan.

“I don’t wanna go back,” she whines. “It’s not fair. I don’t even get a full weekend with you guys.” She punches the mattress beside her, then throws an arm over her eyes, fully committing to the tantrum. “I hate college.”

“No, you don’t,” you say fondly, shifting to sit on the bed next to her.

“I do,” she insists. “I don’t wanna go back to that fuckass roommate. I wanna stay here forever.” She drops her arm and looks at you with sudden seriousness. “You should enrol in college again and become my new roommate.”

You snort. “As sweet as that sounds, I don’t think I’d survive dorm life a second time. I’m way too old for shared rooms and communal bathrooms.” The thought that you might also be getting too old to still live with your dad lingers.

Sarah groans into her pillow, muffling her frustration. You reach out and gently rub her back. “Your flight’s at nine, right?”

“Yeah,” she says, lifting her head just enough to look at you. “Dad said we’ll leave after an early dinner. God, I’m gonna get back to campus so late.”

“What time’s your first class tomorrow?” you ask. “Are you even going to get enough sleep?”

She grins, already guilty. “There is no way in hell I’m going to class tomorrow. I’ll be too tired. Too sad. Tomorrow is a date between me and my bed.” Then she fixes you with a pointed look. “Don’t tell my dad.”

You lift your hands in surrender, laughing. “Hey, I’m not snitching.” Even if you know Joel would absolutely want her rested more than anything.

“Still, we’ve got time before tonight,” you remind her. “What do you wanna do?”

There’s a brief pause, then she suddenly jumps to her feet and bolts for the door.

“Sarah?” you call, hurrying after her as she flies down the stairs.

She’s already in the living room by the time you catch up. Joel and your dad are mid-conversation, both of them lifting their heads when she bursts in. You catch the briefest flicker of Joel’s gaze on you before he shifts his attention back to his daughter.

“Can we go out for lunch?” she asks him immediately. “Like, outside outside. The sandwich place near the beach, the one we used to go to?”

“Oh, I love that place,” Tommy pipes up from the kitchen doorway—you hadn’t even noticed him there. “Hey, girls.” He gives Sarah’s arm a quick squeeze, then does the same to you before flopping onto the couch with his coffee like he owns the place.

“We have leftovers,” Joel says firmly, shooting his brother a look. “That was the plan for lunch.”

“Oh, come on, Dad,” Sarah protests immediately. “Have you seen the sun outside? We need to get out.”

“It is beautiful weather,” Tommy agrees easily.

“And it’s my last day,” Sarah adds, piling it on. “You wouldn’t deny your only child joy in her final hours of freedom, would you? You know I love that place.”

“They make Italian paninis that are to die for,” Tommy tells you and your dad, ignoring his brother.

“Dad,” Sarah presses. “Don’t you want a nice panini? You loved them.”

“I don’t even know if that place is still open,” Joel counters.

“It is,” Tommy says without hesitation. “I passed it on the way to the bakery yesterday.”

Joel turns to your dad, clearly searching for backup.

Your dad shrugs. “I mean… I could absolutely go for a panini.”

Joel sighs, long and dramatic, and then his eyes find yours again. Those soft brown eyes you like far too much.

“Please, Joel?” you add, smiling sweetly.

He doesn’t even try to fight it. Just exhales, shaking his head like a man accepting his fate. “I’m surrounded by traitors.”

Sarah lets out a victorious cheer. “And we should get ice cream after!”

Sarah is nothing if not persuasive. After a delicious lunch, the five of you somehow end up at an ice cream shop near the beach, standing in line with sand in your shoes and the sun warm on your backs. Sarah is beaming by the time she gets her cone, cookies and cream piled dangerously high, already starting to melt down her fingers. She doesn’t even care.

When it’s Joel’s turn, he takes his time. Studies the board. Reads the flavours once. Then again, like he’s making a life-altering decision. Everyone already knows his choice.

“Coffee please,” he finally tells the vendor.

There’s a collective chuckle around him.

He frowns, looking between all of you. “What? It’s a great flavour.”

“No, it’s boring, Dad,” Sarah says, licking her ice cream pointedly.

“You only say that because you won’t be able to steal any of mine,” he shoots back.

“Me?” she gasps, clutching her cone like she’s been gravely insulted. “I would never.” She takes another exaggerated lick. “Coffee is just boring. And disgusting.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” you interject. “You just have the taste buds of a five-year-old.”

“Says the girl who hates mushrooms,” Joel shoots back immediately, unable to resist teasing you like he always did.

“I’m trying to be on your side, old man,” you say, laughing as you make a half-hearted attempt to shove him.

He catches your wrist before you can, fingers closing around it easily. The contact sends a small, traitorous shiver up your spine. His thumb shifts, sliding just slightly along the inside of your arm. The touch lingers a fraction too long, before you remember—not alone. You step back just as Joel clears his throat and turns to the counter, accepting his cone, thanking the vendor, and paying as if nothing happened. Thankfully, no one seems to notice.

“It’s not my fault, I don’t like it,” Sarah continues, utterly unfazed. “It’s just how I am, okay? I was born this way.”

“Don’t bring Lady Gaga into this,” Tommy says, a little too seriously, his mint chocolate chip cone already halfway gone. “You just have poor taste, my dear niece.” He pauses, studying Sarah like he’s had a sudden, terrible realisation. “Wait.” His eyes narrow. “You’re a grown-up now. And a Miller. You’re supposed to like coffee.” He turns slowly to his brother. “Are you sure she’s yours?”

Sarah spins toward her father, utterly affronted, clearly waiting for him to defend her honour.

Joel straightens, putting on his most solemn expression. “Sarah… It’s time I tell you somethin’.”

“Shut up,” she snaps instantly, elbowing him before he can finish. She’s always been quicker than him. Joel laughs as he tries and fails to grab her and steal her ice cream, and the rest of you break into laughter along with them.

As if Sarah could be anyone else. It’s funny, really, how much she looks like her dad. The same dimples when she smiles. The same expressive brown eyes that can say so much without a word. The same mouth, too. Watching them together, it’s impossible to miss it.

Sarah turns to your dad, who’s been far too busy eating his ice cream to get involved. “I think you should become my new dad,” she declares solemnly. “Mine is being mean. You up for it?”

Your dad doesn’t hesitate for a second and swings an arm around Sarah’s shoulders like it’s a done deal. “Sure,” he says easily. “But I don’t think it’s fair that I get two amazing daughters while the poor guy gets none.” He points at you, then at Joel. “Wanna trade?” he asks.

Joel freezes mid-bite—because of course he bites his ice cream. You try very hard not to let your thoughts wander to all the other things he could bite. He looks from your dad… to you. His mouth opens like he’s about to say something, then he hesitates. If you weren’t so focused on him, you might notice Tommy’s barely contained smirk, or the look he shares with Sarah behind your back.

“I’d rather not,” Joel finally says, turning back to your dad. “I think I’m okay with Sarah.”

Your dad gasps dramatically. “Are you saying my baby isn’t great?”

“Oh, she’s great,” Joel replies without missing a beat. “I just don’t want her as a daughter.”

Your dad laughs, then ruffles your hair affectionately. “Sorry, kiddo. Joel doesn’t want you.”

You put on an exaggerated pout, and everyone laughs. You join in until your eyes meet Joel’s. The look he gives you says the exact opposite. He does want you. Just not in a way he can say out loud.

You lift your ice cream and take a slow lick, mostly just to cool off, but you notice immediately the way Joel’s eyes follow the movement of your tongue. His jaw tightens ever so slightly before he looks away and starts walking down the beach, Sarah trailing beside him, still ranting passionately about how coffee shouldn’t disqualify her as a Miller. Tommy falls into step next to her, attempting to steal a bite of her ice cream when she’s distracted. She shoves him away with a loud protest, and he laughs, entirely unapologetic.

You and your dad follow a few steps behind them. The sun is high now, the beach far busier than the quiet stretch near the house, but it feels good; warm sand under your feet, salt in the air, laughter all around. Your gaze drifts to Joel’s back, and a smile pulls at your lips before you even realise it’s there.

Your dad notices.

“What’s got you smiling?” he asks lightly.

You quickly turn your head toward him, hoping he didn’t catch exactly where—or rather who—your attention had been lingering on.

“Just had a really great weekend,” you say lightly. “That’s all.”

He smiles, biting into his cone, which somehow already looks like it’s lost an entire scoop. He eats ice cream like it’s on borrowed time. “You’re right,” he says around the bite. “It’s been great.” He breathes in deeply, eyes drifting toward the water. “God, I love the sea breeze.” A contented sigh escapes him. “I could actually see myself getting old here.”

You smile at that. “I could see it too. You always seem more at peace near the ocean.”

“Retired by the sea…” he nods thoughtfully. “Yeah. I see it. I really do.”

There’s a small pause, the sound of waves filling the space between you.

“I have been thinking,” you start, and his eyebrow lifts immediately.

“Uh-oh,” he says. “Dangerous territory.”

You snort. “Ha. Very funny.” Then you slow, turning serious as you look at him. “You know I love living with you, right?”

“Yes?” he says, cautious now, sensing the shift.

“I really do. I love spending time with you, but…” You hesitate, choosing your words. “I think it might be time for the next step. Would you be okay if I moved out? Like—got my own place?”

He says your name softly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You swallow. “I just… I know you felt lonely when I left for college. And I don’t want you to feel like that again.”

He stops walking and turns fully toward you, expression warm and impossibly gentle. “Oh, my baby,” he says, cutting you off. “You are so sweet.” He reaches out, squeezing your shoulder. “Of course, I’ll feel lonely if you leave. That’s normal. How could I not, when I have such an amazing daughter?” He smiles, eyes shining just a little. “If you wanted to stay home with me for years and years, I’d be delighted. Truly.” Then his tone shifts, still loving, but steady. “But we both know that’s not how life works. I love living with you. It’s a gift getting to see your beautiful face every day. But you shouldn’t stay just for my sake.” He meets your eyes. “If you feel like it’s time, then it’s time. That’s how you feel, isn’t it?”

“Right,” you say, your voice catching despite yourself.

“And I won’t pretend I won’t miss you,” he continues, pulling you into a hug that’s warm and familiar, the kind that instantly steadies you. “I’ll miss your cooking. I’ll miss having to kill spiders for you.” He chuckles softly, then sighs. “I’ll miss you like crazy. But it’s not like you’re moving hours away.”  He leans back just enough to look down at you, suddenly serious again. “You’re not, right? We’re talking Austin?” You nod, and the relief on his face is immediate. “Good,” he says. “See? Same city. And you’ll still come see your old man—I know you.” A smile tugs at his mouth. “We can make it a thing. Dinner once a week, maybe. Standing date.”

“That sounds perfect, Dad,” you say, meaning every word.

He squeezes you once more before letting go. “So. Have you started looking at listings yet?”

“Not yet,” you admit. “I just… realised it might be time, and I wanted to talk to you first.”

“Well,” he says easily, “I’d be more than happy to help you find somewhere nice.”

Your face lights up at that, excitement blooming in your chest. With a steady job and a couple of years of saving thanks to living at home, you could actually afford a cute little place. Maybe closer to work. Something cosy, where you could finally adopt the cat your dad never wanted because of his allergies. The thought makes you smile even wider. Apartment hunting with him will be fun.

“And we’ll have Joel if we need help,” your dad adds, already thinking ten steps ahead, about leaky faucets, busted locks, furniture that refuses to cooperate.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you say quickly, waving it off, even if the idea of Joel in your own place sends an entirely different kind of warmth through you. Because Joel wants to talk. Because he doesn’t want to pretend. And that has to mean something, a future maybe? Still, this isn’t about him. This is a step you’re taking for yourself. If he’s there too… well. That’s just a bonus. A very good one.

“A bother? To Joel?” your dad laughs. “Honey, Joel likes to pretend he is a grump, but we both know he’s got a soft spot for you.” Heat creeps up your neck, and you hope the sun is bright enough to blame. “Sometimes I think the man hangs out with me just to see you.”

You stop short. “What? No. Dad. He’s your friend.”

“I’m joking,” he says gently. “Mostly. Joel’s a great friend—I’ve never doubted that. I’m just saying I know he enjoys spending time with you. And that matters to me.” He glances at you, softer now. “A man who cares about my daughter only earns more respect in my book.”

“I care about him too,” you admit, watching his face carefully.

His smile widens, unsurprised. “I know.” He gestures ahead, where Joel, Tommy, and Sarah are walking, laughter carrying on the breeze. “That’s what makes moments like this so good, don’t you think? All this love, crossing back and forth. That’s all I ever wanted—for you to know there are people who’ll be there for you, even when I can’t.”

He pulls you into a hug, ice cream be damned, holding you close like he always has. You sniff, laughing softly. “You’ll still come over if there’s a spider at my place, right?”

He kisses your forehead without hesitation. “I will kill spiders for you forever.”

The clock seems to tick louder as Sarah’s departure creeps closer, the end of the weekend hovering over all of you like a shared, unspoken thought. Maybe that’s why no one wants to be alone. You end up piled into the living room for the rest of the afternoon, just like years ago, when Sarah digs through the cabinet under the TV and triumphantly pulls out board games and a battered deck of cards. She talks everyone into playing with such ease that you briefly consider telling her that with that power of persuasion she should look into law school.

After several evenly matched rounds, your dad declares himself retired from active duty and takes up the far more important role of observer and provider, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with coffee and snacks—tea for Sarah, obviously. 

That leaves you and Sarah teaming up against the older Millers, a decision made less out of strategy and more out of instinct. Together, you’re ruthless. You beat Tommy and Joel again and again, and with every loss, Tommy’s swearing grows more creative, while Joel just groans deeper into the couch. Each sound makes you shift in your seat despite yourself, your thoughts traitorously flashing back to similar sounds he made against you last night. You keep your eyes carefully on the cards, determined not to stare, but every time you glance up, Joel is already looking at you. There’s always that faint, knowing smile on his lips, like he can read you too easily. You look away first every time, heart thudding, forcing your attention back to the game.

That’s when you catch Tommy trying to sneak a card up his sleeve. You call him out immediately, and Sarah piles on with dramatic accusations, demanding a full confession. Joel, meanwhile, only shrugs, all innocent, like he has no idea what’s going on. You narrow your eyes at him, suddenly wondering if a few of his cards didn’t mysteriously vanish under his leg earlier—he has been winning more than before. He meets your stare without flinching, grin turning downright smug, daring you to say something. And for one dangerous second, all you want is to lean across the table and wipe that look right off his face with a kiss.

It’s dangerous, knowing that if you were alone, Joel would let you kiss him and would kiss you right back without hesitation. Just the certainty of it makes your heart pick up speed. It’s been harder than you expected, spending the entire afternoon not touching him, barely even speaking to him, stealing moments instead of taking them. There hasn’t been space yet for the conversation you both know needs to happen, not when you’re both trying to soak up every remaining second with Sarah. You tell yourself it’s okay. There will be time in Austin, just the two of you. The thought of having him to yourself sends a quiet thrill through you. You push down the small, insecure voice that wonders if this only exists because you’re away, wrapped up in the softness of a vacation that feels different from real life. Instead, you cling to Joel’s words, to the steadiness of them, reminding yourself that spiralling won’t help. 

A little later, when the living room has slowly filled with the warm, comforting smell of the early dinner your father is cooking in the kitchen, another game comes to an end, with Tommy losing again. He grumbles under his breath and reaches for his phone, scrolling absently, until his expression shifts, the joking ease fading into something more focused.

“Everything okay?” Sarah asks, immediately catching the change.

He looks up and smiles, quick and reassuring. “Yeah. Just work.” He leans toward Joel, turning the screen so he can see. “Castillo finally accepted the latest terms.”

Joel squints at the phone, reading carefully. “Really? He ain't askin’ for any more changes?”

“Looks like it. I’ve been waiting on this contract for weeks.”

“It’s a big one,” Joel says, his tone turning serious.

“Yeah.” Tommy leans back in his chair, running a hand over his face. “I’ll start on it right away. Bring the guys in Tuesday morning, figure out what kind of timeline we’re dealin’ with.” He sighs, sinking deeper into the cushion.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“It is,” Tommy admits. “Great money. But also back-breaking. I was kind of hopin’ for a few more quiet days before I had to work myself into the ground again.” You offer him a sympathetic smile just as he tilts his head toward you. “What about you? When are you headin’ back to work?”

“Wednesday,” you reply. “I took the whole week off, actually.”

“Sweet,” Sarah says immediately. “So how are you gonna spend your last few days?”

You grin. “I’m gonna sleep. Binge-watch my shows. Eat every single thing in the cupboard.”

“I heard that,” your dad calls from the kitchen, and you snicker. A moment later, he appears in the doorway, wiping his hands on a towel. “Dinner’ll be ready soon. Set the table, please.”

You stand, Sarah popping up right beside you without hesitation. As you head out of the living room, you feel it again. You glance back just in time to catch Joel watching you, his expression different from earlier. It makes your stomach flip, but you force yourself to look away and focus on plates and cutlery instead of whatever that look meant.

A few minutes later, everyone’s seated, eating with enthusiasm. 

“This is so fuckin’ good,” Tommy says around a full mouth. “How are you such a good cook?”

Your dad shrugs. “Had a kid to feed something other than frozen meals. Comes with the job.”

Tommy smirks. “Then how come Joel doesn’t know how to cook anythin’ except barbecue?”

It earns him a quick smack to the back of the head for that one. “Hey—shut up. I can cook.” Joel looks to his daughter for backup. “Right?”

Sarah hesitates, tilting her head. “I mean… you make a great breakfast?”

Joel huffs. “That’s the most important meal of the day anyway.”

You laugh, hiding it behind your hand. Joel shoots you a look, mock-offended, and you answer with your most innocent smile. He’s sitting next to you this time—close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that every small movement makes you painfully aware of how badly you want to touch him.

Then he glances at his watch, his expression shifting, and turns to his daughter. “We’ll have to leave in about thirty minutes. Your bag ready?”

“Yep.” She turns to her uncle. “You coming with us to the airport?”

Tommy sighs. “Wish I could, kiddo. Gotta get to bed early—leavin’ even earlier tomorrow.”

“That’s okay.” She nods, understanding, then looks at you. “What about you?”

“Uh—yeah, I’d love to,” you say, then add, a little softer, “if Joel doesn’t mind.”

She scoffs. “Of course he won’t.”

You look at Joel. He just smiles, easy and warm, and it hits you all at once that the ride back will just be the two of you. The thought alone makes your pulse jump. You clear your throat and turn to your dad. “And us? When are we leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he says. “Not as early as Tommy, but maybe eight or nine?” He catches your face. “I know. But I need to be back in the afternoon. Office stuff.”

“That's fine—”

“You could stay one more day.”

Everyone turns to Joel. He keeps his expression casual, unbothered, taking another bite of his food. 

“I’m heading back to Austin Tuesday mornin’,” he adds easily. “I could drive you back then.”

When he finally looks at you, his hand slides under the table, brushing lightly against your thigh. It’s brief, nothing anyone could notice, but intentional. It’s an invitation. 

“Oh. Yeah. That would actually be great,” you say, hoping your tone sounds steadier than your pulse feels. You turn to your dad. “Would that be okay?”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “You sure, Joel? She can be a handful. Don’t you want one calm day to yourself?”

Joel huffs a quiet laugh. “I’m sure. House feels better when there are people in it anyway.”

“Well,” your dad says with a grin, “guess I’ll try not to be too jealous while I’m stuck at the office, knowing my daughter’s still enjoying the beach.”

“Sorry,” you say, though you’re not sorry at all. You can’t stop the smile spreading across your face, your mind already racing ahead. One more day. Just you and Joel. You don’t notice the knowing look Tommy shoots you from across the table, the corner of his mouth tugging up. 

Once dinner’s done, Sarah disappears upstairs to grab her bag while you start stacking plates. Your dad waves you off, insisting he and Tommy will handle the cleanup. You grab a jacket and meet everyone by the front door. Tommy has Sarah pulled into his chest, one arm wrapped around her as he tells her that he will come to her campus and drive them back for Thanksgiving, make it a road trip, just the two of us. From the way Sarah’s face lights up, it’s clearly the best idea she’s heard all day. After a loud kiss to the top of her head, he finally lets her go. Sarah turns to your dad, hugging him tight, thanking him for the food, the drinks, everything.

Tommy shifts to stand beside you. “So,” he says casually, “guess this is goodbye for us too.”

You blink. “Wait, why?”

“I’m heading out early tomorrow,” he explains with a shrug. “Figured I’d say it now. Wouldn’t want to wake your sleepy head and all.” 

You shove him lightly. “Idiot. I’ll be up before you leave.”

He lifts his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Just sayin’—it’s okay if you’re not.”

“Of course I will,” you say, softer now. “See you tomorrow, Tommy.”

He nods, satisfied, then grabs Sarah’s bag. The group drifts toward Joel’s car, the night air cool and calm. Tommy tosses the bag into the trunk, Sarah hops into the passenger seat, and you slide into the back.

Joel turns the ignition, then glances at you in the rearview mirror, offering a quick, easy smile before pulling away. Sarah waves wildly out the window at Tommy and your dad, and soon the beach house grows smaller, then blurrier, until it’s just a shape in the distance. You catch Sarah watching it in the side mirror for as long as she can, her smile slowly fading. She sighs when it finally disappears from view.

“We’ll come back in the summer,” Joel says gently.

“Please, yes,” she brightens immediately, then twists in her seat to look at him. “You think I could invite some friends?”

Joel chuckles. “Sure. As long as you still let your old man be here.”

She laughs. “Obviously.” Then she turns fully toward you. “And you’ll come too. That’s not a question. Right, Dad?”

“Obviously,” he echoes, catching your eyes in the mirror again. You grin back at him, something warm settling again in your chest.

Sarah turns back around, already launching into an enthusiastic pitch about spring break plans and why those friends would be perfect, her voice filling the car as the road stretches ahead.

The drive to the airport flies by, the three of you talking over one another, laughing, filling the car with noise. Joel mostly listens, chiming in now and then, but you catch him smiling at you in the rearview mirror more times than you can count. Each one makes your stomach flip, that light, giddy feeling settling in your chest. You hadn’t realised how much you’d missed this, being the three of you, until you were right back in it. In a way, when the airport finally comes into view, it feels unfair. Like the drive was far too short.

Joel parks, and for a brief moment, the car goes quiet. Then Sarah opens her door, plastering on a smile that’s just a little too bright. You follow her out as Joel grabs her bag from the trunk. She doesn’t hesitate before wrapping her arms around you.

“It was so nice to hang out with you,” she says into your shoulder.

“Same,” you reply, hugging her back. “Good luck with college. And please—keep me updated about the TA.”

“Who?” Joel asks immediately.

You and Sarah ignore him completely.

“And if you need to murder that roommate,” you add solemnly, “you know I’m only a phone call away.”

“Did I hear murder?”

“Dad, shush,” Sarah says, tightening her grip on you. Then, softer, “Thank you. And…Take care of him, please.”

You don’t need to ask who she means. You just nod, pressing a quick kiss into her hair before letting her go.

Joel hands you his car keys. “I’ll walk her in,” he says gently.

You slide into the passenger seat, tucking your feet underneath you, watching through the windshield as they head toward the terminal together. Just before disappearing inside, Sarah turns around and cups her hands around her mouth.

“I love you!” she yells, grinning like a kid.

You laugh, waving until she’s gone.

Alone in the car, you pull out your phone to pass the time. You answer a few messages, brainstorm gift ideas for Dina, then open an apartment listing app. You scroll, imagining each place as your own: the light, the space, where you’d put a couch… until you see the rent and immediately swipe to the next one.

Almost twenty minutes later, you lift your head when you spot Joel walking back toward the car. You’re not surprised it took that long. You can picture it easily: him soaking up every last minute with Sarah, talking with her, holding her close until there was no choice but to let go. Watching her disappear through security, lingering even after she was gone, like she might turn around and come back if he waited long enough.

When he catches you looking at him, he gives you a small, tired smile.

“Should have locked the car,” Joel says gently as he opens the driver’s door. “Could’ve been anyone.”

“But you’re not.”

He hums noncommittally and settles into his seat. His hands rest on the steering wheel, but he doesn’t start the car. Instead, he stares ahead at the terminal for a long moment. You let him have it.

“She’s gonna be okay,” you say softly.

He finally looks away, meeting your eyes with a smile that’s warm but edged with ache. “I know. Doesn’t mean I won’t miss her.”

It feels natural to reach for his hand, to draw it into the space between you. He watches the movement, eyes following your fingers, only looking back up when you squeeze gently. The silence that settles isn’t awkward; it’s a pause, a quiet pocket where everything else fades away. His thumb starts tracing slow patterns across the back of your hand, absent and tender, and you wonder if the contact steadies him the way it does you.

Eventually, he lets go and clears his throat. “Alright,” he says, turning the key in the ignition. “Let’s head back.”

You nod, and as he pulls back onto the road, you reach for the radio, flicking through stations until something fits the mood. Joel lets you, watching you with that same amused, fond look he always gets when you take over his dashboard like it’s second nature. Soon enough, music fills the truck, and the silence between you turns easy instead of heavy.

You watch the glow of the airport fade in the side mirror, the lights thinning the farther you get. You don’t want to be the one to break the quiet, aware that Joel’s thoughts are probably still with Sarah. Thankfully, you don’t have to. His hand drifts over, grazing your arm just enough to pull your attention back to him.

“I saw a milkshake place on the way earlier,” he says. “You wanna stop?”

There’s something tentative in his smile, something almost shy, and it’s disarming. It’s easier to read him like this, when he’s not trying so hard to keep everything tucked away. You recognise the offer for what it is: a pause, a soft landing before heading back.

“Yeah,” you say, smiling. “That sounds great.”

A few minutes later, you’re at the drive-through, placing your order. You expect him to pull into the lot afterwards, but instead, Joel keeps driving, a few extra miles slipping by until he turns down a quieter road. The city lights are dimmer there, the sky opening up above you, stars brighter out here. He cuts the engine and climbs out of the truck.

You blink at him, milkshake still untouched in your hands.

“You comin’?” he asks, nodding toward the back of the truck as he grabs his own shake.

You follow him to the back of the truck and sit as soon as he drops the tailgate. Joel stays standing beside you at first, leaning against it, head tipped back as he looks up at the night sky. The air is cooler here, quieter. You finally take the first sip of your milkshake, caramel and sugar and something indulgent that feels perfect. You hum without meaning to. That makes Joel smile.

“Good?” he asks.

“Perfect.” You watch him try his, the way he nods in approval. You can’t help it. “Joel Miller, ice cream and a milkshake in the same day?” you tease softly. “So much for not having a sweet tooth.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, well. You know, what happens on vacation—”

Your breath catches weirdly. You look away, fixing your eyes on nothing in particular.

He realises his words a second too late. You see it in the way his shoulders tense, the way he turns toward you fully. “No—hey. Not like that.”

“It’s okay,” you say quickly. Your chest aches.

“No, it’s not.” He sets his milkshake down beside him with a quiet thunk. “That’s not what I meant. Shit.” He steps closer, close enough that you can feel his warmth again. “Sweetheart,” he says gently, “look at me.”

You try to smile when you do, but it feels brittle, wrong. Joel sees it instantly, and his expression tightens, as if it hurts him to see you like this.

“Really, Joel,” you say, forcing the words out. “You don’t owe me anything. If this is just… a vacation thing, it’s—”

“It’s not a vacation fling for me.” The words come out fast, rough, like he couldn’t stop them if he tried. Like the idea itself bruised him. He searches your face, eyes dark and earnest. “Is that… is that what this is to you?”

You shake your head immediately. “No.”

His hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing gently along your jaw as he looks at you like he’s trying to make sure you understand just how serious he is.

“Okay then,” he whispers.

A relieved breath leaves both of you at the same time, and you’re not even sure who started it. A slow smile spreads across his face, soft and a little amazed, and you feel yourself mirror it without thinking. He leans in and presses a quick, tender kiss to your lips.

“That’s why I wanted us to talk,” Joel murmurs as he pulls back slightly, his hands sliding down to rest on your arms. “I don’t want you thinkin’ this is just… somethin’ casual to me. You’re not.” His voice firms. “You’re not somethin’ that happens and then fades when we leave this place.”

“It’s just… I could understand if you didn’t want it to be anything else. We kind of… acted on impulse last night.”

“We did,” he admits.

“And like you said this morning, it’s not simple. So if this was just something that happened here, I’d understand. It’s not what I want,” you confess, “but I would understand.”

He studies you for a moment. “And what is it that you want?”

You don’t look away. “You, Joel.”

The way he exhales your name is almost reverent. “You have me,” he says quietly.

A shiver runs through you, nothing to do with the cool night air. “Really?”

“Yes.” He leans closer, forehead nearly touching yours. “If you want me… You have me. Please.”

This time, you’re the one who pulls him back in for another kiss. Your lips meet easily, slipping into a rhythm that already feels so familiar, like something you’ve always known how to do. Neither of you tries to deepen it, to turn it into something more. It isn’t about that. It’s about the closeness, the reassurance, the certainty of being here, together.

When you finally pull away, his eyes stay closed a second longer than yours, as if he’s trying to hold on to the feeling. Your hand rests at his neck, thumb tracing softly along his jaw. When Joel opens his eyes, he’s smiling.

“I do,” you say quietly. “Joel, you have no idea how much.” You smile back at him, then hesitate. “But what about…?”

“Everythin’ else?” he finishes.

You nod. You almost don’t want to say it out loud, afraid that naming it will make it more real: the age difference, the complicated relationships, the ways this could affect everyone around you, all the ways it could go wrong.

He’s quiet for a moment. Then he steps back slightly, creating a little space between you, rubbing at his chin as he thinks.

“I think Sarah knows,” he says slowly.

“What?!”

“I’m not sure,” he admits quickly. “Not exactly. But she said somethin’ earlier. About how I seem to be… better. Like I’m doin’ okay. And that she’d been worried about me, about her leavin’ and me bein’ alone.” His voice carries a hint of frustration, mostly at himself. At the idea that his daughter has been carrying that worry. “She said this weekend made her feel better. I thought she just meant… in general. You and your dad being around. Us spendin’ time together.” He pauses. “But then she said somethin’ about me being allowed to be selfish.”

“Selfish?” you repeat softly.

“This kid…” He lets out a quiet breath, shaking his head. “She knows me better than I realise sometimes. Because I do. I mean—I wanna be selfish.” His eyes lift to yours, open and vulnerable. “Because I want you.”

“How… how is that selfish?” you ask.

Joel lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “Because wantin’ you is selfish.” He looks away from you, jaw tightening, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance as if saying it out loud has stirred up too much all at once. “Because I should know better. Because I was supposed to be content with what we had. With those moments we shared. With that being enough. That’s all I was supposed to want. All I was supposed to have.”

He pauses, jaw tightening. His shoulders rise with a slow breath, then fall again, like he’s trying to steady himself. 

“To want more… the rest of it was just—fantasy. Something I only let myself think about when I was being weak.” His voice drops. “And I was so weak around you. Then…then you kissed me. And you let me feel what it would be like if I stopped pretendin’ I didn’t want it. If I stopped doin’ what I’m ‘supposed’ to do. I’m selfish because I always want more with you,” he continues quietly. “It’s never enough. No matter how much time I get, I always want more. And that scares me.”

His gaze travels over you before he meets your eyes again. You swallow hard, chest tight, as he keeps going.

“Because if it was just attraction—if it was just me thinkin’ you’re beautiful—I could get over it. I could move past it. But it’s not. It’s me wantin’ to see you every single day. It’s me findin’ excuses to hang out with your dad when I know you’re home. It’s me waitin’ for movie night all week, especially now that Sarah’s gone.”

You barely realise you’ve stopped breathing. Your heart is pounding too loudly in your chest as you see the way his hands flex at his sides.

“It’s selfish because I want you to call me when you go out,” Joel admits. “I want to be the first person you think of. The first person you call. I want to be your first choice. And those nights you don’t ask me to come get you…” His voice roughens. “Do you know how much restraint it takes not to call you? Just to make sure you’re safe? I lose sleep wonderin’ if you made it home okay. Or…” His eyes flicker with something raw. “If you’re at someone else’s place. With someone who gets to be there when I can’t. I’m selfish because I get jealous when I’m not allowed to be. Because I’m not supposed to feel that way.” 

It’s overwhelming—the way everything crashes into you. The weight of his words. The raw honesty in his voice. The way his eyes reflect the sincerity of all those feelings. All this time, while you’ve been fighting the urge to cross that invisible line… Joel has been standing on the other side of it, doing the exact same thing. Struggling. Holding himself back. Wanting you just as badly. He takes back the step that had been separating you, closing the distance until he’s standing right in front of you. You have to tilt your head up to keep his gaze; neither of you willing to look away.

Joel exhales sharply before he continues. “Hell, sweetheart… you’re all I think about. I’m out there on my couch like some lovesick teenager, waiting for you to text me. Just so I know you’re safe. Just so I can hear your voice. Just so I can have that little moment where it’s just us—and you smile at me like that. But I don’t want just little moments. I want all of them. So yeah,” he finishes softly. “I’m selfish.”

You grab his collar before you can even think about it. It’s like your body, your heart, acts on its own, tugging him toward you as if being apart from him for another second is impossible. Maybe you should be answering him with words, but right now, you need to feel him against you.

Your lips meet his without hesitation, and Joel responds instantly. One hand cups the back of your neck, the other settles at your waist, pulling you closer. His mouth moves against yours with purpose, chasing every taste, every breath, nipping softly at your lower lip until you part for him without even realising it. This kiss isn’t gentle or tentative this time. It’s full of everything you’ve both been holding back, everything you don’t know how to say out loud. You kiss him for every moment you’ve wanted him, and he kisses you like he’s been waiting his whole life to finally be allowed to.

You shift closer, instinctively parting your legs for him, and he steps between them like it’s exactly where he belongs. His hands slide from your waist to your hips, and you hum softly, melting into his touch. You feel his smile against your lips when you press even closer. When his hand drifts lower, skimming the outside of your thigh, you inhale sharply and open yourself to him even more, a silent invitation to go further.

But he doesn’t.

“Joel…” you whimper, barely louder than a breath, opening your eyes when he still doesn’t move.

You need to understand why he’s holding himself back when everything in you is begging him not to. His gaze is dark when you meet it, heavy with want, with emotion, with something that almost looks like awe. He’s looking at you like you’re something unreal, like he can’t quite believe you’re here, in his arms, wanting him just as much as he wants you.

Joel just smiles, soft and utterly undone. Then he leans in and kisses his name from your lips. His hand remains on your thigh, warm and possessive, but unmoving.

You rock your hips against his without thinking, chasing friction, chasing relief. The reaction is immediate; you feel how hard he is, feel the proof of everything he’s been trying to control. The knowledge sends a rush straight through you, intoxicating, and you can’t help the quiet sound of satisfaction that slips from your throat. You revel in it.

A rough sound leaves his chest, a bit helpless, and his hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to betray him. For a moment, you think you’ve won. That he’s about to give in. So you try again, but before you can, he pulls back just enough to steal the contact away.

“Hey—” you protest, breathless.

Joel doesn’t let you finish and leans in, pressing slow, gentle kisses along your jaw, your cheek, your neck; anywhere he can reach without losing control completely.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice strained, “I’m not gonna fuck you here.”

“Why not?” you whine immediately, need spilling into your voice without shame. Any other time, you’d be mortified by how desperate you sound.

He exhales against your neck, a shaky, heated breath that makes your toes curl. When he speaks again, it’s even lower, rougher, soaked in restraint.

“Because you deserve better than that baby,” he says quietly. “Better than a damn truck again.” He nips gently at your skin, “Next time I have you, it’s gonna be in a bed.” He soothes the same spot with his tongue. “Where I can take my time.”

You’re pretty sure you’ve never been this turned on in your life. Does he know what he does to you? Does he know how powerful he is when he looks at you like this, touches you like this, speaks to you like this? You’re convinced you could fall apart right here just from listening to him talk like that. You want to test it.

So you try to move again, subtly, trying to bring his hips back against yours, trying to feel the way his cock strains his pants again. 

It’s not fucking if it’s dry humping, right?

“Uh-uh,” he murmurs, stepping back just enough to ruin it.

You groan softly in protest. When you look at him, he’s breathing just as hard as you are. His jaw is tight. His chest rises and falls too fast. A slow, smug smile curves his lips, devastating and far too pleased with how badly you want him.

“We should go back,” he says at last, not even trying to hide the amusement in his voice.

You let out a frustrated huff. Part of you wants to curse him out, to tease him mercilessly. To be dramatic and prove a point by touching yourself right there, just to show him what he’s missing.

But you don’t because you know that anything you could do to yourself would be nothing compared to what he can do to you. And now that you know exactly what he’s capable of… the memory alone is enough to make your stomach flutter. You watch him subtly shift in his place, trying to rearrange himself in his jeans, and your thoughts immediately drift to last night. To the way he filled you so perfectly. To the way he held you like he never wanted to let you go.

Yeah, the wait will be worth it.

He catches you staring, and a quiet chuckle escapes him, but you notice the faint blush spreading across his cheeks. He leans in and presses a quick, soft kiss to your lips. Too brief to satisfy you, but sweet enough to make your chest ache. Then he places something cold in your hand.

Your milkshake. You blink at it in surprise, having completely forgotten it existed. You are surprised it didn't tip over at some point. 

“Come on,” Joel says, already rounding the truck with his own drink in hand.

You follow him, letting out a dramatic sigh of frustration that makes him laugh under his breath. Once you’re back in the passenger seat and the engine starts, you immediately begin squirming. No position feels right. After a few minutes, Joel reaches over and rests his hand on your knee. Instantly, you still. When you look at him, he gives you a look that clearly says behave. But his hand doesn’t stay still. It slides just a little. Barely an inch, just enough to be maddening, not enough to do anything useful. Only enough to tease you. You bite back a smile.

Bastard.

It’s obvious he has no intention of taking things further, but you still part your legs slightly, just in case. With a soft groan, you turn your attention to your milkshake instead, grateful for the cold. It helps a little against the heat still trapped in your body.

You take a slow sip. Then another. Unaware, at first, of the way Joel keeps glancing at you from the corner of his eye. The way he watches your lips close around the straw. The way your tongue brushes over your bottom lip when you pull away. You notice his grip tighten slightly on the steering wheel. His breathing grows just a bit heavier. That’s when you realise. You’re not even trying to rile him up, but apparently, you’re doing a fantastic job anyway.

You smile to yourself. At least two can play this game.

A moment later, he removes his hand from your leg, as if physically restraining himself. He clears his throat and focuses stubbornly on the road ahead, but his smile never leaves his lips.

The drive settles into a comfortable quiet, filled with soft music from the radio. Joel hums along absentmindedly, completely unaware of how much you love hearing him like this. You turn your head toward him, resting it against the seat. Passing headlights and streetlamps paint his profile in shifting light and shadow. And you just… stare.

The way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. At his patchy beard, streaked with the same salt-and-pepper grey as his hair. At his mouth, at those beautiful lips you’ve spent far too long thinking about, fantasising about, dreaming about. Lips you now know well. The thought still feels unreal, like some kind of dream you haven’t quite woken up from.

“So…” you start, trying to distract yourself from the simmering need that refuses to fade, your voice sounding far too casual even to your own ears.  “We’ll have the whole day to ourselves tomorrow,”

Joel glances at you, his gaze lingering just a beat too long before he returns his eyes to the road. “Yes.”

“Cool… cool… anything you wanna do?”

“I’m sure I’ll think of a couple things…” he says, a teasing lilt in his voice. His gaze flicks across you again before drifting back to the road. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yes. Anythin’ particular in mind?”

You both know there’s only one answer, so instead you say, “I want to go to the beach.”

He frowns, amused. “You say that as if you haven’t gone already.”

“Not just with you.”

 “Oh,” he pauses. “Yeah… okay. We’ll go to the beach.”

Your grin spreads uncontrollably. “Perfect. I wanna make my father crawl with jealousy.” You wonder for a fraction of a second if mentioning your dad—or anyone else—will change the tension in the air, make Joel stiffen, but he just laughs.

“Oh, believe me, your old man is already seething. He needs to leave Austin more often.”

“You’re saying that? Mister ‘I never leave Austin’?”

“I leave Austin,” he counters, shooting you a look.

“Joel, the neighbouring town to work or go see Tommy doesn’t count.”

“It does!” He pauses, then add. “And what about when I took Sarah to college?”

“Doesn’t count either. When’s the last time you went somewhere… for yourself?”

“Well… I’m here,” he says, as if that alone proves the point.

“What about somewhere new?”

“Don’t need that,” he answers, and his eyes find yours. “Got everythin’ I need here.”

You tilt your head, teasing. “There’s nowhere you actually want to go?”

“Don’t know. Ain’t really thought about it much, honestly. What about you?” he asks suddenly. “Anywhere you’ve been dyin’ to see?”

“So many places,” you admit, smiling at the thought. “I’ve had this thing for Vermont for a while. I know, it’s like… an old rich people cliché, but I saw pictures of it during autumn, and it’s gorgeous. I actually applied to the university in Burlington.”

“Did you not get accepted?”

“Oh, I did,” you clarify quickly, “but they didn’t have the exact program I was interested in. Have you ever been?”

“Nope. Never travelled that far north.”

“Never wanted to?” you press gently.

“It’s not that,” he continues quietly. “I love Austin. I love Texas. You know, Tommy and I grew up here.” You nod, listening closely. “But I always wanted to see other places too,” he goes on. “Just… never really had the time. First, it was looking out for Tommy. Then it was Sarah.” There’s no bitterness in his voice. No regret. Like he’s stating facts he’s made peace with a long time ago.

“Well…” you hesitate, unsure if you should say it. Then you do anyway. “You kinda have more time now.”

“I do,” he admits after a second, like the thought is only just sinking in. He taps the steering wheel lightly, thoughtful. Then his expression shifts. “Did I ever tell you about that time Tommy and I did a cross-country ride for his birthday?”

You straighten in your seat immediately. “What? No! How have I never heard about that?”

Joel laughs at your outrage, the sound warm and easy, and starts telling you about it: about their two Harley-Davidson motorcycles, cheap motels they stayed in, and the time they almost ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. You listen to every word like it’s something precious, storing it away in that quiet place in your heart where all your favourite things about him already live.

You interrupt him with questions, and he answers every single one, smiling. You tease him, and he fires back without hesitation. The conversation flows so naturally, you barely notice how close you are to home.

By the time he pulls into the driveway next to your father’s car, you’re still laughing at something he’s just said. You expect the moment he parks to bring silence, maybe awkwardness, but it doesn’t. He keeps talking as he shuts off the engine, and you keep answering as you both step out of the truck.

For a second, it almost feels like before, before everything changed. Then he glances at the house. All the lights are off. Everyone’s asleep. Without a word, he takes your hand. You look down at where your fingers are laced together, then up at him. He’s smiling softly, like this is the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t even let go when he reaches into his pocket for his keys.

Inside, you both go quiet, listening. No voices. No movement. Just the faint hum of the house settling for the night. He slips your jacket off your shoulders and hangs it up beside his. The second he’s done, his hand finds yours again, like he doesn’t even think about it.

You climb the stairs together quietly. Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re half-convinced he must hear it.

When he stops, you expect it to be in front of his bedroom. Instead, it’s Sarah’s door, and you can’t stop the small, disappointed sound that escapes you. 

“Really?” you whisper.

“Really.” Joel opens the door for you with a fond, amused smile. “Go. Get some sleep.”

“I could sleep in your bed,” you try weakly.

He shakes his head, brushing his thumb once over your knuckles before letting go.

“Tomorrow,” he murmurs, like a promise.

Then he leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. When he pulls back, he stays close, his forehead almost touching yours. His eyes are full of too many emotions to name.

“Tomorrow,” he repeats quietly, “you’re all mine.”

𓇼 Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you thought! Leave a comment, a reblog, or even an ask! It would mean a lot :) 𓇼

Handle all of this. People did it all the time. Hold down a steady job. Raise a kid. There are plenty of single moms out there. Some had families.

You had Joel, especially.

Ever since you told him a week ago. He'd been there. You heard from him every mornin'. First thing he'd say: How are you? You feelin' any better, sweetheart?

It was around 5:30 a.m., like clockwork. You just assumed it was when he was getting ready for work. About to start his day. A reminder to check in.

When you got home yesterday, he was sitting on the porch. Waiting. Just to ask you if you needed anything.

But now, as you're sitting here. Rain still tapping lazy against the windows. That dull headache that keeps creeping back up. It's normal, you suppose. You've gone more than half the day without eating a proper meal.

Then your phone lights up.

Joel: Rained out. You need anything?

You never really thought of it much. How the rain could ruin an entire job site. Guess you always kinda figured construction kept going. Regardless of the weather. Not like storms were very common around here anyway. You pick up your phone. Unlocking it and replying back.

You: I'm fine. Just grading papers. You: Before I forget, my appointment is Thursday.

He answers quick. So quick you don't even have time to put the phone back down. Or reach for the pen next to you to keep going.

Joel: What time?

You: 3:30

Joel: Might run a little late…But I'll work something out.

You: Are you sure? I can try to reschedule. It's really not an issue. Joel: No. I'll be there.

There's a knock. When you look up, it's Miranda. You co-worker. Leaning against the door all your students decorated with different color hands. She's got that look on her face. The one she constantly had that makes you want to roll your eyes. Binders tucked under her arm. Keys around her neck.

"You're gonna be late," she says, like she's counting down the minutes. "Faculty meeting. Pretty sure they won't deal with you skipping out again like last time."

"I'll be there in a few," you tell her, forcing an awkward smile.

Faculty meetings wear you out. Actually, most of the job has been. Peter ate an eraser today. Julie? She cried because she broke a crayon in half. That is the day, helping kids. But lately, by the time you get home. You just want to sleep it off. Go to bed and wake up the next morning hoping you're more alive. You never are. Pregnancy does that. Joel: Do you want to get dinner with me? I'm by the school. You stand up from your desk. Grabbing all your stuff. Awkwardly unlocking your phone to reply back. You: Rain check. Meeting today.

Joel's life turned upside down the second you said those two words.

"I'm pregnant."

He ain't exactly proud of how he handled it at first. Avoiding the whole thing. But these past few weeks, it's all he's been thinking about.

You. Right across the street. Pregnant with his baby.

After more than twenty years on the job, being a foreman is easy. So god damn easy. Keep workers in line, make sure everything is running as it should.

It is good because lately, he spent most days spaced out.

Wondering how you were. If you were feeling sick. If you ate anything today. If you needed anything.

Hell, last night he spent half the damn night googling stuff about pregnancy. Thinking maybe...just maybe. He could be useful in some way.

Prenatal Vitamins. Ultrasounds. What the baby could look like at twelve weeks. More than he ever knew back when Sarah's mama was pregnant.

That was nineteen years ago.

An hour ago, he lied to Tommy about where he was headed. Said Sarah needed help with something in her dorm. Just so he could sneak off. Be here.

The doctors office is chilly. Smells like bleach and hand sanitizer. Joel always hated doctors offices. The blue padded chairs were awful. He shifted in his seat, leg over his knee. Foot bouncing.

"I'm sorry," you say, sitting next to him. "They're runnin' behind. The receptionist said it might be an hour or so."

You pause, leaning closer to him.

"I know it's kinda late," you continue. "Just...needed the later appointments with work and all."

"S'all right, sweetheart," Joel replies. "Left outta work early. Ain't no trouble to me."

You two sit in silence.

A random name gets called down the hall. Little bits of chatter from the front desk.

God, he's nervous.

He shouldn't be. You're goin' through worse than he is, really. Up all night. Barely able to keep any food down. Even your face is pale as you sip on water next to him.

Oughta say somethin'. Anythin'.

"I read somewhere that the sick feelin’ don't last forever," Joel says, leaning back. "And, uh... you're s'posed to take one of them vitamins every day. Helps the baby's brain." 

Christ. He ain't good at this. Talking. But he is trying. Trying to show up. Be part of it. Far as you'll let him, anyway.

"It's a little better," you reply. "Mostly hits at night. Been using a lot of home remedies. They're doin' more than anything else right now."

"That's good," Joel mutters, real quiet. "Been worried 'bout you."

"About me?"

He nods, hand resting on his leg.

Should he grab your hand? Try and help you settle? You've been tappin' your knee up and down since ya'll sat down.

"I also read the baby's 'bout the size of a lime," he says, trying to fill the void. "Didn't have none of this stuff with Sarah. Figured I'd look some of it up...be ready."

It is different.

Way different than this. He don't even remember stepping foot in a doctors office with Sarah's mom back then.

"Joel," you start, voice low. "I'm really freaked out about all this."

Truth is. He is too.

Been up half the damn night for weeks now. Thinking on how it all happened. He doesn’t even know how he’s supposed to act through any of this. Don’t really know you, not like he should.

Most people expecting a baby knew each other in some way. Spent time together. Talkin about nursery colors and names. 

All he knew is you were kind. Got a way with kids. And pretty. God, you’re so pretty. That is the first thing he noticed when you moved in all them years ago. 

"I know, darlin'," Joel says. "We're just kinda...figurin' all this out."

You sigh. He does something bold. Reaches over and grabs your hand. His fingers intertwining with yours.

You squeeze his hand a little. For the first time... he feels like he's helping. It could just be in his head.

"If it weren't for all the throwing up, feeling tired all the damn time," you start. "I wouldn't even know I was pregnant. And that...that's what scares me the most."

For the second time today, this ain’t the time for him to be bad with words. You need something. Something to help you feel better. To calm down.

“I know there’s a lot changin'’,” Joel admits. “Your life…our life. Your body’s goin’ through hell. I get it. It’s hard, I know it is.” 

Neither of you says a word.

But you’re starting to calm down. Your legs stopped moving. You’re still holding his hand, his thumb brushing slow across yours. 

“You thought about tellin’ anyone?” you ask. “Since we’re at the safest point now. Least that’s what the doctor says.” 

That is the last thing on Joel's mind.

Telling anyone. Sarah. Tommy.

How the hell would he even start that conversation? Sarah's off at college. Would she even care? Would she be happy? Or would she just tell him that he's crazy?

And Tommy...fuck. He ain't ready for that talk.

"No, no," Joel says, shaking his head. "Haven't thought 'bout it. Figure it's best to wait. Make sure everythin's alright."

"I should tell my mom," you say, real dry. "Bet that'll be a fun conversation, don't ya think?"

Before he can say a word, the nurse calls your name.

You grab your bag and stand. Looking down at him.

"C'mon," you say. "Are you ready to see your baby?"

Dinner was his idea.

The first time there was an emergency. Sarah needed his help. Something with her car.

A few nights later, you're finally able to.

And you're not about to say no. Not on your day off. Not when you finally been able to keep down more than three crackers and small sips of ginger ale.

Real food actually sounds kind of amazing.

You're at his place, standing in his living room.

Photos of Sarah on the wall. Her blue and yellow colors from high school graduation. A few with Tommy and Joel. Most of it is Joel's out dated furniture.

But he's single. Not much of a reason to fix the place up when it's just himself. Occasionally Sarah.

"Is Sarah doin' alright?" you call out from the living room, walking around.

Strange to think it. But one day, your baby's gonna be here. In this house. Joel's house. And Sarah...she'll be their sister.

"She wanted some shelves hung up," Joel calls out. "Ain't seen her in a whole month or two, maybe."

He's a good dad. That you could always tell.

Didn't have to see it to know. It's the way his face lights up when he talks about her. How excited he is to talk about all the things she's doing. The life she's living.

"How's college," you ask, stepping into the kitchen. "Her new roommate treatin' her better than the last one?"

Joel told you about it. That night at the bar. How the old roommate was a nightmare. Kept Sarah up half the night. Made it damn near fuckin' impossible for her to study.

He nods. "She's doin' better. Needed them shelves for space. Didn't complain' 'bout nothin' this time. Was good seein' her for a bit."

You smile as he sets two plates down on the table. He cooked for you. Joel Miller. Rugged neighbor who is kind of a workaholic. Cooked dinner for you. You can't imagine it's something he does often. It's something so simple, but you knew he isn't always like this.

But it's a way of trying. God, that counts for something.

You take a sip of the water he set down for you. Drinking anything else made you feel nauseous all over again.

He looks at you. He's nervous. You can see it. The way he's adjusting his button up shirt. Running his hand over his neck. And you…you're just as bad. Trying not to let any of it show.

Damn it. It is anyway.

You're learning each other. Slow as water going down the Guadalupe on a lazy river float. This isn't about sex. Hell, those were the easy parts of learning someone. This…this is different. This is sitting with him. Figuring who he is piece by piece. Because you're both about to raise a kid together. For the rest of your lives.

Gotta be on the same page. Cause the last thing you need is the kid running from house to house. Picking the two of you apart about everything.

You drag your fork through what's on the plate. Nerves are keeping you from eating. Joel let's out one of those long tired breaths. Fine. You'll do it. Take the first steps. Make conversation.

"How's work?" you ask, glancing at him. "Heard you been workin' on that project a few streets away from the school."

Joel clears his throat. "Project pays a bit more," he says. "Figured I best start gettin' my hands dirty again, get ready."

That's one of those things you like about him. Not like. You love. You've loved it since you first met him. He's the kind of man who works with his hands. Could fix anything without having to be asked twice.

"How's Tommy?" you question, tapping your fingers on your lap. "He was in a mood a few weeks back."

Joel huffs, shaking his head. "Hell, he's always like that. Man has a stick up his ass constantly, I swear."

You just laugh. "That what it's like, workin' with your brother?"

"Ain't always," he says, leaning back. "He's just been in one of his moods…keeps sniffin' round, tryin' to figure out what's goin' on with me."

Nobody is snooping around in your business. Just your mama, and she's off in a different state now. Your daddy…hell, he was never around much to begin with. Baby sister's a mess. Never checks in unless she desperately needs something.

There is this little part of you. That's jealous as fuck he's got a whole bunch of people in his life that care enough about him. To try to figure out what's going on.

It gives you a little bit of hope, if you're honest. That this kid…your kid. Might grow up with something you never really had.

The two of you stay quiet. Just taking small bites of food. Christ, if there is a prize for being awkward. You'd both have a damn award by now.

Both of you start talking at once.

"Listen…" "I know…"

You let out a little laugh. "We are both bad at this," you say. "Aren't we?"

He tilt his head. "Yeah…We are. Truth is, I barely know ya," he says. "An' you barely know me."

Joel pauses.

"I'd like to," he continues. "Figure out more about the mother of my child."

You sit across from him. Eyes on the food in front of you. Truth is, you only knew scraps of his life. Bits and pieces you'd heard since you moved in.

"Well…" you start slow. "I grew up in Austin. Went to a local college round here."

Joel nods. "I grew up round here too," he says. "Met Sarah's mama here."

You've always wanted to ask about her. But you never did. There isn't a single picture of her. Not in Sarah's graduation pictures. Not in the old ones from when she was little.

You let it go. You don't know him well enough to touch on that part of his life yet.

But…Texas. Texas is another thing you have in common. Another thing you can add to the list. List of things you know about the father of your child.

"You ever just wanna get outta here?" you ask. "I did. For years, actually. But once I got the teachin' job…I don't know. I just stayed."

He's quiet across from you for a minute. Before he finally speaks.

"I wanted to be a singer," Joel says, voice low. "Back before Sarah. Thought 'bout traveling the world."

You raise a brow. Surprised. You've never seen him with a guitar. Yeah, you know he loves music. It is one of the first things you talked about. But being a singer? You never would've guessed.

Suddenly, you can see it.

In a nursery. Pacing back and fourth. A baby on his chest as he's singing softly.

But you? You're not there. Cause that's not in the cards, you suppose.

"A singer?" You reply with a smile. "Didn't think that'd be your cup of tea."

"Teachin'," he says, changing the subject. "You enjoy it? Being round kids everyday."

You picked teaching cause you like kids. Never in a million years thought you'd have one of your own. Now here you are, getting ready to be a mother.

"Yeah," you nod. "More than I thought I would. Guess it's even practice for…ya'know."

You nod toward your bump. Fork already halfway in your mouth. Taking a bite while he lifts his cup. Takes a long drink.

"I can't quit thinkin' 'bout how we're gonna do all this," Joel replies.

You can't stop either.

Two houses? Makes the most sense. Realistic. One house but separate rooms? Could work for a while. Till the baby gets older.

No matter how much you spun that idea. Both of you were gonna want to be there. Always. Both raising the baby. Wanting to see first steps. Birthdays. And there isn't a clear direction for all of this. It isn't written in some book somewhere.

"I try not to think about it too much," you say. "I'm not even sure what we could do."

"I was thinkin' on it all damn day yesterday…" he pauses. "You could stay here the first few weeks after the baby comes. Let me help you out proper."

It's strange, sure. But this isn't one of those times you can just huff and puff. Say you'll handle it all on your own.

"Probably the best idea," you mutter, voice low. "Cause lord knows I got no damn clue how to handle a newborn." "Been a long while since I had a newborn," He says, taking another drink. "But I gotta feelin' you're gonna be just fine. A natural."

You? A natural. God.

Sure, you were great with older kids. But the last time you held a baby was your cousin Judy's at a baby shower. And you panicked the moment she spit up all over you. Handed her back to her mother so fast.

You sigh. Pushing your chair back. That loud scrape against the linoleum flooring.

"Be right back," you murmur, fixing your baggy shirt. As you head for the bathroom, you heard him call your name. When you turn back, he's sitting there. Looking at you. "Ya look real beautiful tonight, darlin'," Joel says, certain. "Got that whole pregnancy glow."

You can't help but smile. Feel that burning starting in your cheeks. He's called you pretty before. That night that started all this. But this? You could feel something. Something you didn't before.

"Thank you," you reply, voice low.

You know he sees it. Sees the way your cheeks are red. His chair pushes back and he stands. "Gonna give Sarah a call back," he says, excusing himself. And just like that, you know…this is only the beginning. The start of Joel Miller being stitched into every part of your life from here on out.

3:41 a.m.

If pregnancy has taught you anything these past few weeks. It's expect the unexpected. Especially these last few days.

Nightmares.

Some real enough that you can feel them. Some so fucking strange they made zero sense. But they're usually what wakes you.

Tonight, you are pulled out of your sleep so fast. You shoot up fast, losing your breath. Your hearts racing. Fast.

You're soaked in sweat. And the damn blanket is making it worse. So you kick it off. Let it hit the floor.

God, you can't even remember what the dream was about now. That's how quick they disappear from your mind. Now all that's left is the panic.

First thing that comes to mind is calling Joel.

You don't even know why. Not really. You just didn't want to be alone right now. Your thumbs already hitting his name in your contacts.

Phone ringing. When suddenly, you realize.

It's the middle of the damn night. He's gotta be up early for work.

Just as your thumb is hitting that red end button. You hear his voice.

"Somethin' wrong?" Joel asks, half-asleep.

No. You just thought calling the father of your child at three in the god-damn morning was a good idea.

"I didn't realize how late it was," You say. "Didn't mean to wake you. I can hang up."

You hear him move. The rustle of the phone. Maybe he is sitting up. Maybe he is trying to get more comfortable to talk.

"Want me to come by?" He asks, accent a little extra thick as he's waking up.

You should say no. Oughta say no. Because there needs to be a line. A boundary.

God, you don't stop yourself though. You don't say no.

"I don't wanna..."

"S'yes or a no, darlin'," he cuts in.

You hesitate. Just for a second.

"Yeah," you breath. "Only if you wan.."

Click. He hangs up, just like that. You stare at your phone in your hand. Does that mean he's coming over or?

You sit up fully. Feet hitting the floor. Slip on those old slippers. The ones with holes in the bottom, but you keep them anyway.

Make your way downstairs. It hasn't been long. Maybe ten minutes, if that. But when you reach the bottom step. He's already there.

Standing there. Hand raised to knock. You open the door before he gets the chance.

It's that quiet tension as Joel walks in and you close the door.

"Y'alright?" he asks, eyes on you.

You just nod. Tugging on your shirt.

Sigh.

One more thing.

Pregnancy is starting to change your body. Fourteen weeks in, there's no hiding it. A small bump, but it's really there.

Eyes right on it. Then he snaps right back, like he didn't mean to stare. It just happened.

He swallows hard.

This is the first time he's seen you since... that night. Even with clothes on the bump makes it different.

"Ain't notice that the other night," Joel says, rubbing the back of his neck. "At dinner, I mean."

"Wore a baggy shirt," you reply. "Not really keen on telling anyone at work just yet."

Kids were always the first to point something out. Don't usually miss a damn thing. It is only a matter of time before they figured it out.

Joel looks toward the couch. "Ya want me to take the couch?"

You shake your head. Not the smartest plan. It's downright reckless, to be honest.

But you turn anyway. Head for the stairs. Not saying nothing, just start walking. And he follows. Quiet footsteps behind you. Just walks all the way with you to your room.

Boundaries. There should be some. But you're breaking them.

You take one side of your bed. Your favorite one by the window. He takes the other. Both of you on the bed. Covers shoved down to the foot on the bed.

"It always this damn hot in here?" he complains.

"Air conditionin' is super shit," you mutter. "Been needing to get it fixed."

It's just sleeping in the same bed. Just the feeling of him next to you to stop the nightmares. If that actually works. Nothin' more. That's what you keep telling yourself over and over. "I can fix it, y'know," he says. "Ain't the first busted air condition' I've had to fix."

You don't really need this help. Never really needed anyone's. You've always been good at taking care of yourself. But now he's here. In your life. Offering help like he's so use to it.

Maybe you oughta just say yes. But you're a hard head. Always have been.

"It's fine," you mumble, staring at the ceiling fan. "I'll get 'round to it."

Joel tries to say something, but stops. Like he is sitting on words, ready to argue with you. But…he choose not to. So, you just lay there. Letting whatever comfortable silence this is settle between you two.

After a while, it's probably his breathing next to you that makes you fall asleep. But it doesn't last.

You wake up maybe an hour later. Heart racing. Takes you a few seconds to take a breather. You feel a weight on your belly. You look down and there it is. His hand, fingers spread right over the bump. Right over your baby.

Fuck, boundaries. Things are suppose to be clean. Keep things about the baby.

"Joel…" you say.

Maybe he's been awake this whole time. Or maybe you're just hearing things. Catching how his breathing has changed. Different from when he was asleep.

"Did I wake you?" you whisper.

"Figured somethin' was wrong," he rumbles, voice scratchy from sleep.

You give a small shake of your head. Not like he can see it in the dark. The only light was from the window. You roll on your side to face him.

Joel's already looking at you. Palm still over your bump.

What's running through your head doesn't make a lick of sense. Could be the hormones. Could be the fact ya'll have shared a bed before. Your hand moves without thinking. Fingers brushing over the facial hair on his cheek. He turns more on his side to you. Words might not exactly be your strong suit. Not in this situation with him. But you could feel every bit of this.

At least, that's what you tell yourself.

You lean in. Press your lips to his. Softly, like you're testing the waters. But Joel…Joel isn't soft. He meets you halfway. Kisses you like he needs it. Craves it. His hand slides from your belly down to your hip.

Fuck, you've thought about this enough times, you quit thinking it would ever happen again.

It's rough. His mouth on yours. How his teeth catch your bottom lip just enough to make you gasp.

But the damn alarm on his phone stops everything. And he lets out a loud groan. Pulls back from you to reach over and turn it off. "Gotta get ready, sweetheart," he mutters. You know he doesn't want to. You don't want him to. But work calls.

You let out a loud sigh.

God damn it.

It's too late for that now. Too late to pretend you don't feel it. Cause it's there. Feelings. Feeling you've had all this time that will not go away after this.

Not now.

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But there’s an ache that’s settled low in your stomach, a warmth spreading since you realized what day it was. Your phone dings in your hand, you know it’s the notification from your email, a reminder sent to yourself about who’s back on the soundboards tonight.

The number is already saved in your phone, has been for about a year, and thankfully you’ve avoided calling it for about a month…after all he’d said he’d be off. 

A quick poke of your finger, and the screen shifts as the phone dials. It rings for a few moments too long, and you worry that…maybe you misheard, misdialed? 

“You’ve reached the Lonely Cowboy, how can I help you tonight?” 

To hear that raspy southern drawl tickle your ear has your toes curling into the softness of the comforter. Breath hitching, a familiar throb settles between your thighs, and it takes every ounce of your self restraint to keep your hand from wandering. 

“Hey Cowboy,” you mummer, bottom lip trapped between your teeth, as he chuckles a fondness filling his voice as he recognizes you. 

“Is that my sweet Cherry Pie?” The way he hums your nickname has you squirming, it’d been too long. You can’t resist any longer, hand wandering down your side finger tips pulling up your skirt. 

“Yes, missed you–” Christ, you’re already breathless, and needy. “Been counting down the days till I could call you again.” Your fingers slip between your thighs, finding the wet spot on your panties. A quick press of your middle finger, pressing the cotton against your clit, you whine.

“Were you a good girl while I was gone?” 

You freeze, blood rushing from your cunt to your head, as you recall your last conversation, last month, right before he told you he’d be out of commission for a month to move. He’d made you swear, before he’d let you cum, you’d be a good girl. That’d you’d wait a whole month without indulging in masturbating without him. You’d been so close to following his instructions…but you’re needy, and had caved about mid way through the month. 

But after that one misstep you’d abstained, now though, the guilt clawing at your innards as you considered lying, but he’d know…he always knew. Maybe it was the inflection of your words, or that little tremor you’d get in your throat. 

“Cherry,” there’s a dangerous lilt to his tone, you imagine him, spread legged in his chair. A fist curled on his thigh, his face shrouded in shadow as you never gave much thought to how he looked, “Were you a good girl while I was gone?” 

“No…” a hushed confession spoken to your phone, your finger halting its feather-soft torture. Yet the ache grows, a heat enveloping your skin. From the top of your head to the tips of your curled toes. Silence stretches between the two of you, and for a panicked moment you think he’s going to hang up. 

But you hear it, his soft sigh through his nose, the clink of a belt buckle, the hush of a zipper. You squirm, waiting for his order, his command. 

“Oh Cherry Pie,” he hums, and you strain to hear it, the telltale noise of his hand stroking his cock. You know he probably does this with his other clients…fists himself into a frenzy, whispering sweet platitudes, and sinful words to whoever is on the other line. But you can’t resist the greedy thought that you’re the only one who’s heard his groan of release. “And here I was…thinking you’d be good.” 

“I–it was one time–” you whimper, head falling back, his voice sends your heartbeat thumping, body writhing as the pulse in your cunt grows. 

“You promised me, no touching yourself till I came back.” His words are low, there’s a growl to his tone, one that sends a spark of pleasure through your clit. Your finger twitches, to rub the little bud, but he hasn’t said you could. 

“Is your hand between your legs?”

“Yes,” you respond in a breathless whine.

“Oh no sweet Cherry,” he rasps, and you whine, “hand by your side.” 

You comply, hand leaving its place between your thighs to rest beside your hip, fingers grip the soft comforter. You’re silent as you listen to the lazy strokes of his fist on his cock. 

“Now, what did you do,” he hums, your stomach swoops as you hear him grunt…wondering if he squeezes the base of his cock to keep himself from cumming too soon. 

“I can’t–”

“Oh you can, or this call is just going to be you listening to me get off how does that sound Cherry?” 

You know he means it, and you know you’ll comply, he’s got you wrapped around his finger and it’s a cosmic joke that you're whipped for a man you’ve never actually seen, much less met. 

“Now, what did you do sugar?” 

Teeth bite your lip, and your legs shift with impatience. Before finally speaking.

“It was a few weeks ago…” you mumble eyes staring up at the popcorn ceiling of your room, the fan humming as it turns, and turns. 

“I had one of our calls saved–” 

“Which one?” 

It surprises you, the sigh of his voice, the way he sounds almost as needy as you, sends a little thrill through you. That maybe he missed you as much as you missed him, though you know it’s not true, but you’ll think about that later…right now you just want a release. 

“The one where you came…and I squirted,” the heat that rises to your cheeks at the admission. Another throb courses through your cunt, a noticeable gush of wetness leaks between your thighs. 

“Fuck,” he rumbles and you whine,you can hear his breathes, shorter, quicker. You almost can’t hear the wet sound of his fist fucking his cock. “What were you thinkin’ about?” 

“You,” a breathless admission, “I was thinking about being on my knees between your thighs, making you cum like that with my mouth.” 

Your thighs tense rubbing together to give yourself some relief. To bring down the ache of your clit, but it’s a losing battle. Your cowboy groans into the receiver, another whispered ‘fuck’. 

“I thought about how badly I needed to feel your cock in me, in my mouth, in my cunt—”

“You can touch yourself,” you almost cry out at that. Your hand is quick, pulling your panties down, your thumb moving on your phone screen and you switch it to speaker. Your fingers eager against your clit, pressing on the nub with a panicked ferocity.

“Did you use a toy?” 

He asks with a moan, and you keen in reply. 

“Yes, I can’t get off with just my fingers–” 

“Wanna use one now?” he grunts, his fist working faster, sweat coats your skin in the late summer night, it has been unseasonably hot this year, and your fingers leave your cunt to strip off the uniform. Removing the outfit is freeing, and after the dress comes your bra, nipples pebbling in the exposed air. 

“Can I?” You ask into the phone, he answers with a strained ‘uh-uh’. You take the chance and scramble to your nightstand, opening the bottom drawer and finding your collection of toys you grab your bullet vibrator. You just need relief, and that’s what this will provide. 

“Got it?” 

You settle back down beside your phone, “Yeah, can I use it?” Another grunt is your affirmation, pressing the button the toy buzzes to life between your fingers. Your other hand goes to your breasts, pinching and toying with your nipples, the touch sending sparks of pleasure coursing down your spine to settle in your stomach.

“What else were you thinking about?” He snarls, you wonder how close he is, how desperate he is, because your thighs are wet with slick, and you know you’ll need to wash your comforter–but that’s not the priority, not right now as you press the bullet to the hood of your clit you almost scream at the pleasure sparks through your body. Back bowing and hips jolting away from the sudden onslaught.

“Fuck!” 

He chuckles, “sensitive Cherry?” 

“It’s been a few weeks, of fucking course I am you ass,” there’s no venom to your words, only a breathless relief as pleasure coils in your belly. He huffs into the receiver, and you can’t help yourself, “how close are you old man?” 

He laughs at the nickname, and you hear his fist slow again, as he pants into the phone. 

“I may be old Cherry, but I could have you screaming all night, now, what else were you thinkin' about?”

You rub the vibrator in slow circles around your clit, whimpering as the vibrations send jolts of sweet pleasure through you, almost too much as your hips jerk away from the sensation. 

“Was thinking about how I’d clean up your cock after you came, how I’d get you hard again and ride you, till you filled me up.” 

You feel it, the cresting pleasure, the overwhelming sensation, your cunt fluttering around nothing, and it makes you want to cry. Cowboy groans his fist going faster, he’s close you hear it in the growl of his voice. 

“Would love to see that, my sweet Cherry Pie riding my cock,” you gasp as the vibrator rubs against your clit just right. “Watch those pretty tits bounce, see your neck all marked up by me.” 

“Fuck, please--please,” your eyes clench shut as you struggle to keep your legs open and your other hand abandons your breasts to toy at your entrance, before slipping two fingers into your soaked cunt. 

“What do you want baby?” he hums into the phone, though you hear the breathlessness of his voice, knowing he’s close. 

“Pleasepleasepleasepleaseletmecum,” a babbled plea as your fingers fuck into your cunt, the wet noises filling the room, and the vibrator edges you closer and closer to breaking. “Please, baby, please.” 

“How could I say no to such a sweet plea?” He groans, and you hear him gasp, you wonder how he looks when he cums. If his mouth drops open, eyes rolling back into his head…if he cums on himself…

“Cum,” you obey without a second thought, vibrator pressed against your clit, and your fingers knuckle deep into your cunt, stroking that spot the tips of your fingers just barely reach. You shriek when it hits you, your back arches off the bed a gush of slick drenches your fingers. Your thighs snap closed, as your hips twitch. 

You pull the vibrator away when it becomes too much, your breasts heave as you come down from your high. You hear Cowboy’s pants as well, both of you stay like that for a moment, listening to each other breathe. You switch off the vibrator, letting it fall to somewhere amongst your blankets. 

“Fuck, I missed you…” 

The words are out before you can stop them, your lips loosened by post coital bliss. You wince as Cowboy chuckles into the phone. His voice whiskey rough, “Missed you too Cherry.”

While his words soothe the sting of embarrassment a bit, the haze of your orgasm is wearing off, and sense is returning full force. You glance at your phone, wincing at the time, you’ve been on the phone for almost forty-five minutes. You don’t have much time left, and no real way of ending the conversation.

“Move went well, I take it?” You change the subject as you sit up, looking around blindly for something to cover yourself with. An oversized t-shirt on the ground catches your eye and you slip it on. 

“Besides a long ass drive across the country, I’ve survived, though moving into another house was something I never want to do again.” He grouses, and now you snicker. 

“You say you’re not an old man yet you complain like one.”  

“I think you like that about me Cherry,” he responds and you smirk. “Besides, I knew I had to be ready for my favorite girl to call.” 

You chuckle, and stretch as you lay beside the phone again. Body loose and boneless now that you’ve finally gotten to hear him again…this is probably some sort of addiction issue but you again push the thought away, glancing at the time on your phone you wince, already getting too close to your max spend you sigh. 

“Gotta go?” 

He asks softly into the phone, you hope that disappointment is real, but you know better. 

“Yeah, but…hey we have next week right?” 

“We do, I always need my weekly slice of Cherry Pie.” 

You know you shouldn’t love the way the nickname slips off his tongue like sweet syrup.

“And I need to get off to my dirty old man,” he chuckles and you sigh. 

“Well, goodnight Cowboy.” 

“Goodnight Cherry.” 

And like that, you're ending the call. You knew you’d be spending a ton on this, a notification from your bank letting you know the payment’s been withdrawn. You lay in the dark quiet of your room, just thinking. 

You’d been calling the Lonely Cowboy for a year now, it’d happened after your most recent breakup. You weren’t a one night stand kind of person,or someone who had a list of people she could rely on for a quickie. 

You were too busy with work, with your degree program…it’d been one of the many reasons your last relationship had gone up in flames. Dude thought he was more important than your future. 

So drunkenly you’d looked up porn…then found the link to the sex phone line…and the rest was history. He was the relief you craved, without all the complications of an actual relationship, and the weirdness of a physical only relationship. 

You sighed, kicking the comforter off your bed, it’s too hot to sleep with one anyways. 

The Pie Hole is located close to the heart of the small university town, one of the last small town restaurants where a lot of the students and families come throughout the week to enjoy greasy, fried food. And a slice of the owner Ned’s homemade pies. It was probably a lot nicer in its heyday. Now it’s a bit rundown, though Ned and his wife, Chuck, have poured a ton of renovations and love and care into the place 

It’s like every diner, clinging to the past 1950’s aesthetic, the black and white checkerboard tiled floors, with matching wallpaper, decorated with black and white photos of old celebrities. The usual faces like Elvis, Frank Sinatra, and other groups you’ve not bothered to pay much attention to. TV’s dot the corners playing old cartoons, or black and white shows, though it’s the same tape, replayed over and over again. Shockingly enough no one’s noticed since you started working here four years ago. 

The glittering red vinyl seats in the booths and the high-tops at the bar. Bright neon signs shine in the windows, baring the diner’s name and advertising the homemade pies, and milkshakes. Finally the pride and joy for Ned is the restored jukebox, with its neon lights, that takes a quarter and it changes whatever is playing over the diner’s speakers. Unless someone decides to pull a prank, like replaying the same song several times…That was a dark day, then it’s cut, and an Ipod is prepped in the back with an oldie's playlist ready to go. 

The Pie Hole has turned into the local hangout, where a lot of students filter in throughout the week, between classes, parties, and everything else college life holds. 

And on a Saturday afternoon, it’s busy, much to your chagrin. You’ve been welcoming regulars, and newbies alike. After all it’s the beginning of the semester and that means families coming with their newly graduated freshman looking to spread their wings and hack it at college life. 

Your arms are sore from carrying trays, and clearing tables. You’ve just managed to take a quick drink break in the kitchen when Kristin rushes in with her notepad and a look of annoyance on her perfectly made-up face. She’s a biomedical law student, and she’s a genius. 

Sometimes you wonder why the hell she came to this university. She easily could have gone to an Ivy league, but you know she preferred to stay closer to home. Her hair is left out and it forms a perfect Afro about her face. She’s wearing the same uniform, bright red with white polka dots, though she’s styled hers with charms and other sparkly additions.

“Jerry, where the hell is my app for table twelve?” 

Jerry, the resident fry cook, has the decency to look sheepish. He’d been buried in his phone, and you raise a brow, watching the exchange. 

“Shit, sorry Kris–” 

“Don’t fuckin’ apologize just get me my app before this fucking old man bites my head off.” Jerry nods quickly and Kristin sighs slumping beside you, taking a swing of your water. Much to your annoyance. 

“You know, you have your own glass somewhere right?” She smirks, leaving a deep red lipstick stain on the rim of your glass. 

“Yeah, but yours is here, and you love swapping spit with me.” She winks and you roll your eyes. 

“Besides your break is over, some of your regulars are here,” her gaze flicks up, and you take a look outside the kitchen window. 

She’s correct, your regulars Sarah and Ellie have settled in their usual booth beside the window looking out at the busy main street road. With a sigh you stand, she gives you a good natured hip bump with a laugh as you grab your notepad and head out to greet them. 

Walking through the busy throng of tables, you pause in your sections, asking the usual questions. Noting who looks ready to head out, and who needs a refill, or who might be interested in a piece of pie. 

Before finally reaching the girls, who both smile as you approach. 

“Hey Sarah, hey Ellie!” 

“Hey Y/n!” Both answer in unison, and it makes you smile. Both girls are sweet, and came to the university when you were in your senior year. They’d been coming to the Pie Hole weekly without fail since, and you’d enjoyed seeing them. 

“You guys excited for your final year?” 

Ellie bounces with excitement nodding her head, “Yes! Then I can get an actual job and my girlfriend Dina and I can get a house–” 

“Have you told Dina this?” Sarah questions with a laugh, and you chuckle as well, Ellie’s cheeks flush as she glares at her sister. From what you’d gathered, they’re not biological, but apparently Ellie had been adopted by Sarah’s father after her mother passed suddenly. 

“I’ll ask her at graduation…” Ellie huffs, and you chuckle, but stop noticing their strange arrangement. Both girls share one side of the table, which you find odd. You gesture to them with a quirked brow. 

“Oh, didn’t we tell you?” Sarah asks, and you tilt your head, again confusion filling you. Trying to recall the last few times they’d been by to eat, they hadn’t mentioned anything that stuck out to you. You notice Ellie’s eyes alight, and Sarah starts to get up, their attention behind you. 

“ 'Scuse me darling,” the voice sends a bolt of heat through you, a familiar tingle begins in your innards. Your knees feel weak for a moment as you turn with a yelp.

Behind you stands the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, clearly older, his deep mahogany eyes take you in. Salt and pepper hair is neatly styled out of his face, a chiseled jaw, covered by a greying scruff of beard. Hands shoved in his jean pockets, you blink finally realizing that you’ve been blocking the booth behind you, gaping like a fish at the poor man before you. 

“Oh, gosh sorry!” You shuffle to the side, and the man offers you a nod, those eyes going to the two girls behind you. Finally a smile lights up his face, as both girls shout an excited, ‘Dad’! 

Okay now you need to know the details of this. As the man settles and offers the girls another smile, they turn to you expectantly. Which brings you back to the present. 

“Y/n, this is our dad Joel,” Sarah introduces, Ellie looks about ready to bounce out of the booth. You smile at her excitement and turn your attention to Joel, who is smiling at his daughters fondly. 

“Oh! Right, this is the mysterious Joel I’ve been hearing about!” Sarah and Ellie had been beside themselves the last few times they’d been to the Pie Hole, excitedly telling you that their father was moving closer to them. 

“Hopefully all good things?” Joel offers with a smile at his girls, which Ellie chuckles at and Sarah rolls her eyes but smiles. 

“No Dad, we told her all the terrible things,” Sarah answers, giving you a mischievous smile that makes you laugh. “Like how you thought NSYNC and the Backstreet Boys were the same.” 

You and Ellie snicker, and Joel winces, “What can I say, the music sounded the same–” 

“Oh, that’s a strike right there,” you joke, and Joel smirks at you. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you take a quick breath to calm yourself. “But since you’re new, I’ll overlook it this time.” 

He chuckles and the way your cunt throbs at the sound has you mortified. The poor man is here to eat with his daughters, who you’ve known for years, and are only a few years younger than you. Calm down! 

“But I swear sir, they’ve been going on and on about their dad moving closer, excited to meet you. Hopefully you’ll be able to handle college town living.” 

“We’ll see, thankfully not living too close to town, but got some land a few miles south.” 

“Ah, smart,” you acknowledge and Joel nods. Feeling the conversation lulling, you take the opportunity to return to your job duties.

“Okay, well now that your Dad is here, your usual milkshakes?” Both girls nod and Joel looks at you once more, his eyes make your heart stutter. It’s embarrassing, you’ve just met the guy, calm the fuck down. 

“And for the gentleman?”

You give him a sweet smile, one you know wins over all the customers that enter the diner, trying very hard to ignore the way those eyes take you in. Lingering a bit too long on the way your uniform tightens at your chest, the cut of the collar opened enough to reveal a modest amount of chest, but nothing scandalous. His smile has softened, and he considers you for a moment.

“Uh, you have any recommendations?”

You notice his voice carries a delicious southern drawl to it, that has your brain short-circuiting, as you fail to recall any of the drink options you’ve known since the first month you started working at the Pie Hole. And something about it feels familiar, a melody from a song you swear you’ve heard before, but the name escapes you.

“Uh–Well,” You huff softly, and remind yourself that right now you are at work and you need to get a grip, because your other tables need to be addressed as well. Finally, your mind restarts and you recall the drink menu. 

“Well if you have a sweet tooth, we have some great milkshakes. My favorite’s the chocolate, but if you’re not in the mood for something that sweet we home make sodas to order, with different syrups.” 

“Really?” His brow quirks, and he gives you a smirk.

You give him another sugar-coated smile and nod. “Any syrup you can think of, we’ve probably got it.” 

He pauses for a moment, glancing over at his daughters before meeting your gaze again, and your knees do that horrid shake that you’re grateful your skirt hides. 

“How about a Shirley Temple?” You give him a nod and glance at your table. 

“The usual milkshakes and a Shirley Temple coming right up. I’ll come back for your order in a sec, girls I can trust you to give him the menu rundown right?” 

Ellie and Sarah nod, and with that you turn and head back to the drink bar to get their order, and the refills done. 

The rest of your shift passes by in a blur, the girls came in close to the end of your shift but as the day slows, and you get their order in, Ellie orders a burger and Sarah gets the chicken tenders, with Joel ordering the chicken and waffles. You get them a plate of fries to share. 

You return as you notice they’ve all settled back in the booth, and the plates before them are mostly clean. Picking up the plates, you catch a bit of the conversation.

“Oh, you have to come with Dina and me to the national park, has some great trails,” Ellie says excitedly as Joel nods. She quiets though as you finish picking up the plates. 

“Well, has anyone saved any room for dessert?” 

Both the girls shake their heads, though Joel is quiet for a moment as he considers the dessert menu to the side. 

“How’s the pie?”

It’s such a simple question, yet the way he says it, the soft hum of his voice. You’re left breathless as those brown eyes meet yours. Tongue tied for a moment you stumble to answer, something about his tone, about the gruff, roughness to his words. As he mutters just beneath his breath, you’re struggling to put a finger on it. But you try to find your voice again.

“Oh–well,” with a huff you straighten, attempting to get some dignity back, “we’re known for our pies. The owner used to be a pastry chef in New York, and his pies are legendary.” 

Joel’s eyes never leave you, and you feel warmth spreading along your cheeks, your neck, heart kicking into overdrive as those warm brown eyes linger on your lips, you notice the slight purse of his own, the tip of his tongue sneaking between them to wet his bottom lip.  Your mind returns to the present as you remember you’re supposed to be recommending a pie, “b–but I have to say my favorites are either the pumpkin, or the apple.” 

Joel smiles, and considers the menu for another moment as you turn to the girls and mouth ‘check’ which they nod. Finally Joel returns his gaze to you. 

“I think I’ll try a slice of cherry pie.” 

It’s like all the air gets sucked from your lungs in a second. As the words leave Joel’s lips, your cunt throbs, and your brain launches you back into last night. On your bed, legs spread with a bullet vibrator pressed to your clit. Eyes rolled back into your skull, and your orgasm teetering dangerously close.

That same voice whispering dirty praises and sinful promises of what he’d do if he could actually touch you. 

You’re brought back by the sound of ceramic shattering on tile and Ellie and Sarah shouting something, Joel surprised and reaching out a hand to you, and the busy diner quieting at the sudden chaos of noises. 

You stand there, frozen, looking between the shocked trio and the broken plates scattered on the floor. 

“Oh my god—” it’s all that comes out of your mouth, you're saved by a frazzled Ned, who came in at some point during the afternoon rush. 

He gives your table an apologetic smile and ushers you to the back kitchen as one of the bus boys scurries over to clean up the shattered plates. He leaves to go deal with your section as you hide in the kitchen.

Mind a whirling mess, all you can think is, Oh my fucking god, he’s Lonely Cowboy and he lives in my town. 

Moving is a bitch, Joel knows this too well, after packing up his house in Austin and stuffing a rusted U-haul with all his worldly possessions and attaching it to his old pick up. The drive had been the easiest part, but the actual process of moving, the paperwork, the sleepless nights trying to find a decent moving company only to come to the conclusion that he needed to just move himself and a few pieces of furniture. It was overwhelming. 

Resettling in a new town, new people, but he’d do it all over again if only to see the way the girls' eyes lit up when he told them he’d bought some land and a house about thirty minutes from their college. Sarah and Ellie had shrieked so loud he was worried he might lose what little hearing he still had in his right ear. 

He’d made it though, and…with the additional funds from his–side hustle, he’d been able to afford a nice home. One where he hoped his girls would visit and maybe live after they finished school, maybe give him a few grand kids that could come stay with him. 

But that was thoughts for the future, right now Joel was just trying to find a new normal. Which he’s struggling to find, now yes, he’s gotten a job with a local construction company. The work is hard but he’s used to it, and it keeps his mind busy. 

Also the hours work…for his other job. Which has become his money maker. 

He’d never thought he’d get into this line of work, being a phone sex operator. But when he’d taken on Ellie, expenses doubled that he wasn’t completely prepared for, and while yes being a contractor paid well enough, he wasn’t able to put as much away for Sarah and Ellie’s futures. 

Especially college, and when both girls showed him their college choices, he’d probably aged a few decades when factoring in the cost. But he didn’t let it show, one night when the girls had been at a sleepover, he’d been doing research on possible extra jobs he could do. 

It’d popped up on Craigslist of all places…and in his desperation he figured it’s not like he’s touching anyone…or them touching him. 

So he applied, got a probationary period and he took off. Maybe it was his charm, the southern drawl, the fact that he didn’t have to look someone in the eye and lie to them about how much he wanted them when he’d rather be doing anything else. But Joel thrived as a phone sex operator. 

And his clients grew, as did the amount he could charge. It was a job, that’s all it was, a way to put more money to the side for Sarah and Ellie’s college fund, and have an emergency stash, because having two teenagers meant you needed to be prepared. Lord knew Ellie was a walking caution sign, and Sarah with her sports injuries…The job helped alleviate the stresses of being a single dad with only one brother to look to for help, and he had his own worries with his own family up in Jackson.

But he grew to enjoy it, getting on the phone with his regulars was one of his favorite parts of the job, but…the night Cherry called a year ago something shifted. With other clients it was easy to whisper sweet nothings, and carnal desires into their ears. Listen to them get off to the sound of his voice. But Cherry, the softness of her voice unsure of herself and what she was doing, the way she all but swooned for him, it changed something in him. 

With Sarah and Ellie being his priority in life, dating just never…worked. He was busy, and he was fine with a woman not being involved in his life, and his hand worked. But then when Cherry became a regular suddenly he’s so hard during the shift he knows she’ll call. That when he hears her voice it’s agony to not cum then and there. 

But then, he moves, and that final call only a month ago…Since then it’s been crickets.He knows he shouldn’t get too in his head about it, clients come and go in this industry. Also from what she’d admitted to him on the phone, he knew she was busy with life, and her outside responsibilities. 

But that last call he’d thought…maybe hoped something would change. The admission that she missed him…how quick he’d been to admit he missed her too. Joel didn’t think he could form an attachment to someone he’d never seen. But every time she called, exactly on the dot, his weariness left him. All he wanted to hear was her voice, asking about her day, her life, whatever she’d tell him. 

He thought about trying to call her back, but both his number and hers were protected, blocked when she called the line. No way to track her, even the email contact was through the agency. So by the second week when her voice hadn’t graced his ear, and he had exhausted all ideas on how to reach her. He’d tried going through the agency, though they only helped in offering for him to lower his price…he’d tired. Cherry’s syrup sweet voice was never on the other line. 

He’d played the call over, and over again. Trying to find when he’d messed up, overstepped that boundary she’d set, maybe it was that he was too domineering? No, her cries of release were anything but fake. Maybe…maybe she was just tired of him, and though he’d never admit it out loud, it hurt. Even her calling to tell him she was done would have been better. But the silence, leaving him hanging on to a rope that’s fraying with every week she doesn’t call. It’s a hell he didn’t think this job would put him through. 

He listens to their calls, the company saving their entire year of communication, studies it, pours over every second of audio, wondering where he fucked up. Hoping he’d hear something, a clue as to what happened. Though he also just listened to her sweet voice, cooing her need, begging him to let her cum. The wet sounds of her fingers in her cunt. Fuck, he missed her, and he had no way of fixing…what ever the hell he broke. 

He sits back at his desk, finishing another call, play by play they ask him what he’s doing/wearing, he gets them off they hang up. He gets paid. It was quick, and dirty, all so that he could sit there and wait. He glanced at the clock, the next hour blocked as always, the last hour of his shift, when she’d call. 

Like clockwork his phone would glow with the call, and he’d answer a bit too breathless, and then he’d hear her sweet voice…but he’s left disappointed when his phone remains quiet. The minutes tick by, and that same dull ache fills him. As the ever-passing hour reveals that she’s not calling, again. 

He sighs, and shuts off his other phone, staring at his computer screen for a few moments. Before with a grunt he stands, and collects his things to go out. 

Visiting the Pie Hole has become one habit that Joel’s managed to keep to, maybe it’s the food…but no, the main reason he keeps coming back is to see you. 

After your first meeting Joel couldn’t lie, you'd made an impression, now…dropping the plates had surprised him, and he’d been a bit worried for you. Though you’d been an apologizing mess, stumbling over your words, a strange nervousness to your voice that he hadn’t noticed before. Sarah and Ellie had both later told him you weren’t jumpy like that. Until they mentioned you were in your final year of your Master’s and had a huge thesis presentation; that might have been the issue. 

So with that in mind he’d come back, and even though you apologized several times again, Joel waved it off and gave you his most charming smile. He noticed at first you seemed–off. Maybe a little wary, but he wanted to show he’s more than happy to forget your first meeting. 

And, he’d never admit it, but Joel was lonely and he enjoyed the attention you paid to him. He’d figured out your schedule, with the help of the other waitress Kristin. Which she’d been a bit too eager to give to him, Joel started showing up to the Pie Hole weekly, and if his schedule allowed it, more. 

He liked watching you leave the table, taking in the way that outfit clung to your hips, your chest, noting which shade of red you painted your lips. The man had developed a crush, and since the client  who’d helped alleviate his sexual frustration had stopped calling Joel was struggling to find a new outlet. 

When he’d arrived at the diner, as usual it’s dead this time of night, save for a few bleary-eyed students, a trucker or two, and the staff. One of which is you, you're stationed at the bar, busily scribbling in what he assumes is your study book. 

You’re leaned over the counter, with just the right angle that Joel can see the tempting swell of cleavage that has him flushing. He feels like a fucking teenager again, the way just seeing a peek of your tits had his cock throbbing. He rushes to his usual booth in your section, it takes a moment before you notice him. 

He gives you an awkward wave, as you flash him one of those wide-mouthed smiles. It makes him smile back, before you head over you’re stopping at the soda bar. Making his now favorite drink, a root beer float. 

He watches your every move the way your fingers flick easily over the spout, the rush of carbonated water filling the soda glass. Filling it just right, then adding the syrup and a small scoop of ice cream, before adding a straw and a maraschino cherry. 

He pretends to read the menu as you approach, he can’t have you seeing the way his eyes track your every movement. The sway of your hips, swishing the skirt, the way your fingers clutch the soda glass. 

He blows out a soft breath between his lips as he considers the menu, even though he already knows what he’s going to get. 

“All by yourself tonight Joel?” 

Your voice sends something through him, a familiar tingle of need that has him dizzy with confusion. Another jolt of his cock, and he shifts in his seat, trying to ignore the growing tightness of his jeans. 

“Yep, Ellie and Dina are out at some party, and Sarah’s with the softball team out of state.” He offers with a smile, he hopes you don’t hear the rasp in his voice. Notice the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. 

No, you just flash him that same smile, setting the glass down and taking out your notepad. 

“So what can I get you?” You ask as you ready your pen, poised over the worn yellow lined pages. Joel resists the urge to watch your hands, the way your fingers curl around the pen, the tip of your thumb pressing the clicker with practiced ease. He can’t stop his mind imagining how they’d look around his cock. He forgets how to breathe for a moment as he meets your eyes. 

A curious quirk to your brow that makes him wonder if you see right through him, the old man that’s coming to the same diner almost daily if only to see you. Oh god, it’s sad, even worse he’s using whatever it feels for you to replace the emptiness Cherry is leaving in her wake. He coughs as the silence stretches on a bit too long. 

“Uh, the pot roast stew please,” you give him a smile with a soft laugh. 

“Jeez, have you tried anything else on the menu?” 

It’s a well meaning jab, though Joel feels heat along his neck, and his cock jolts at the sound of your breathless jest, again that twinge of something familiar like he’s heard it before. But can’t place it.

“Heh, can’t say I have, but what can I say: I’m a man of habit.” 

You smile, jotting his order down you give him a wink, before turning and heading back to the kitchen. Your uniform’s poodle skirt swishes just high enough that the bottom swell of your ass peeks just beneath the hem, he thinks for a moment he catches sight of a pair of panties, but it couldn’t be. 

“Jesus,” Joel husks under his breath, trying subtly to adjust, the brush of his palm against his cock sends a sweet tickle of pleasure along his spine. His toes flex in his timberland's as he shifts in his glittery red vinyl booth. Grateful that the few other patrons are so engrossed in their own meals or phones they barely notice his distress. 

He takes out his phone to distract himself, swiping through different apps, trying and failing to forget the sway of your hips, imagining the softness of them against his palms as he fucks into you. The noises you’d make as he pounded you into the table before him, the way your cunt would flutter around his cock as you cum, again, and again.

Fuck. 

He needs to figure out an outlet, that’s not the pretty waitress at the diner he’s frequenting. He’s pulled out of his imaginings when you approach, his food in your hand. Giving him another sweet smile, his cock jumps, he thinks to himself how pretty that red lipstick would look smudged on his shaft, and around your lips. 

“Alrighty, one pot roast stew–” he should have seen it coming, normally he moves his drink away from where you place it on the table, but he’s been so entrapped in his fantasies he neglected to move it. The edge of the plate clinks against the glass, and it’s tumbling into his lap, the chill of the soda against his bulge is startling, he jolts with a swear. 

But you react with a quickness that dumbfounds him, a whispered curse followed by a whimpered chorus of apologies. The towel hanging at your hip is in your fingers, and before he can stop you, your hand is pressing between his legs. 

It’s an innocent caress, you’re trying to clean him of the bubbling soda and melting ice cream. But all his mind–his dick can focus on is the soft press of your fingers against his bulge through his jeans. 

A strangled grunt leaves him, like he’s been wounded as his cock all but pulses beneath your touch. 

“Fuck–Joel I’m so sorry–” your eyes are focused on the wet spot on his crotch, he’s mortified, knowing you’ll feel the outline of his cock straining against the denim of his jeans. Throbbing against every swipe of the towel, the accidental brush of your fingertips against it. 

“S–Stop–Stop, I got it!”

He doesn’t mean for it to sound as venomous as it does, but he can’t…won’t let you feel the way his cock reacts to your touch. You step back, a clear wounded look in your eyes. A flush creeps up his neck, into his cheeks, the other patrons are looking. He needs to leave before you feel it, call him out on it.. He stands without a look he leaves a couple of bucks on the table…more than the spilled drink is worth and stomps out of the diner. 

You call after him, but he ignores it, heading to his truck, the pain between his thighs growing as every part of him begs to turn around. Go back into the diner, press a scalding kiss to your pretty red lips and fuck you atop the table. 

No, he can’t do that–fuck, he won’t do that. You’re a young woman in her prime with plenty of admirers. He sees them in the afternoons, the way other boys watch you too, their lust barely contained…He’s no better then them, salivating after you like a dog in heat. Maybe he’s worse though, after all there’s another girl out there he’d happily drop to his knees and worship. You seem like a nice girl, sweet, maybe a bit naive…But you’re not Cherry, and a part of him winces at that.

The ride home passes too slow, and yet too fast, how he makes it home when all his mind can think about is you, the softness of your hand against his crotch. He can’t recall any of the drive, if he stopped at the lights, or just sped through them.

 Joel stomps into the house, into his bedroom. Undoing his jeans his cock still achingly hard as he spits into his palm he starts at a quick uncoordinated pace. Standing before his unmade bed, he fucks into his hand bottom lip trapped between his lips.

This is just about relief, and all he can think about is you, naked on your knees, lips around his cock. On his bed ass up and spread as he pounds into you, the sweet pretty noises you’d make, the way his name sounds on your lips as you beg him for more. And he’d give it to you, oh fuck, he’d give you anything and everything you asked for.

The sweet flutter of your eyes as he pounds into you, fuck you’d feel so good. He knows you would, knows you would whimper the sweetest things to him, he gasps as he cums with a sudden jolt. 

He pants staring at the splatter of cum painting his comforter and the top of his fingers. His cock softening in his palm, pulses again as he thinks you would clean him, would watch him through your lashes as the sweet little tongue swirled around his fingers sucking him clean. 

“God…dammit.”

He comes back to the diner a week later, again late at night. Cherry still hasn’t called, the guilt he feels has started to overwhelm him. He knows he needs to make things right. Entering the 50’s diner, as usual it’s barren, his heart jolts seeing you’re not there. He sees your friend Kristin, who’s busying herself with some glasses.

The second she sees him though, her eyes widen, and then darken–for a moment he worries that he’s burned this bridge so bad he’ll never see the other side again, and he can’t do that again. Not when the sting of Cherry disappearing is too fresh. But then you appear from the kitchen when you see him, your eyes widen and he holds up his hands in surrender. 

“J–joel–” 

“Can we talk?” 

He finally manages, and you pale, he winces guilt gnawing at his innards as he figures out what to say, how to explain himself. I left so suddenly because I couldn’t stand the thought of you feeling my boner, doesn’t seem like the best way to start an apology. You give a worried look to Kristin, who for all the poison in her gaze gives an encouraging nod in his direction. 

He resists the urge to blow out a breath of relief when you step forward then and go to Ellie, and Sarah’s booth. You sit, the poodle skirt flaring out around your thighs, and his cock jolts, he forces his eyes to lock onto your face. 

Sitting across from you, he clears his throat, considering what he should say, you start. 

“I’m so sorry about last week, I–I have no idea what’s come over me–” 

“Y/n,” saying your name, you stop your fingers fidget on the black table top. Watching him silently as he considers what to say next, “I–I’m so sorry about last week, I shouldn’t have…stormed out the way I did.” 

He scrambles through his mind to find the next words of his apology, as your teeth pull your bottom lip between them. His cock throbs again, as all he can think is how soft it would feel between his teeth. The noises you’d make–focus. 

“I had a bad day at work,” he admits, not his contracting job, no he’s getting tired of the phone job, now that Cherry is well and truly gone. The excitement he had is waning, the money is still fine, but…both his girls are almost done with school. And he’s got enough of a nest egg growing he could leave it, and not have to worry about funds again. “I–I shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that, I’m so sorry.” 

You blink at this hesitating before answering, he jolts when your hand reaches over the table top, your nails are painted with a chipping soft pink nail polish. 

“Let’s start over, hi, I’m Y/N and I work at this diner when I’m not being driven insane by my Master’s program.” You give him a sweet smile, and Joel’s heart stutters, flipping in his chest with glee. He returns the smile and takes your hand in his, noticing how soft–stop it. 

“I’m Joel Miller, cantankerous, I don’t know the difference between NSYNC and Backstreet Boys, and my girls are my world.” 

You giggle at his words, and nod, he doesn’t want to let go of your hand. But you release it, and he lets his return to the table top. Your fingers brush a stray lock of hair from your face. 

“So, can I get you a root beer float, and not spill it on you?” 

“By all means.”  

You stand with a sweet smile, “Okay, be right back, let me just check on my regular and then I’ll get your order?” 

He nods, and turns to look at the menu, though he knows what he’s getting. He feels a relief sweep through him, hopeful that now he can get on the straight and narrow with you. This was a good sign. 

“How’s everything?” 

He listens as you work the only other table in your section. An elderly man sits there, plate half finished, “as always delicious.” 

“Good to hear, you’ll be taking the rest to go?” 

“You know me too well y/n, and of course you’ll be included to come home right?” 

You laugh at the old man’s joke, clearly he’s tried before, but there’s no malice or degradation to the old man’s tone. 

“Mr. Gordon, you know I’m not available for house calls anymore,” he chuckles as you clean away the plates. 

“I know, but you treat me so sweetly, someone has to sweep you up, why not me?” 

Joel doesn’t know why he doesn’t tune out the conversation, maybe it’s the flare of jealousy that courses through him, at you so easily flirting with someone else–an elderly man at that, but your next words have his world collapsing. 

“Oh, hush you dirty old man–” he hears nothing else, he knows those words, he knows your voice. Maybe it’s pitched a bit higher then he remembers or maybe because it’s not garbled by the phone reception. But it’s her–you–fuck–you’re Cherry. 

Joel doesn’t know what to do, all he hears is a ringing in his ears and feels his heart pounding in his chest. Thinks he might pass out if he’s honest for a moment, the world tilting.

But how? When? 

His mouth opens and closes, trying to understand what the hell landed him into this situation.

“Joel?” 

He jumps, startled that you’ve appeared to his side, having finished your exchange with your elderly regular. He hears it then, though he doesn’t want to admit it–fuck he’s been here for  a month, and never—never put two and two together. But he hears it now, the soft lilt to your question, the way Cherry’s words would do the same thing when she–you were unsure. 

And that brought him here—sweaty in some trendy yoga studio in downtown Austin. Slipping and sliding all over a borrowed mat for the last hour and wondering how the hell anybody found their zen in a place like this. He was pretty sure this spot used to be a family owned dry cleaner, but now, some transplant opened up a $40 a class boutique gym. It definitely wouldn’t have been his choice to meet his future sister-in-law, but Tommy was certain one of these days he would run into the perfect woman.

But to be honest, Joel was tired of Tommy’s bullshit. Tired of him needing Joel as his wingman and definitely tired of these absolutely ridiculous workouts he was paying an arm and a leg for. He still hadn’t met anyone, and Joel swore he was just about to tell him he was over this shit when he called over your shoulder.

“Joel! Look who I just ran into.”

It felt like time was moving in slow motion when you turned to look at him. You were beautiful, somehow looking incredible despite the amount of sweat the class practically required from participants, and he felt the wind get knocked out of him when you made eye contact. And then, it hit him. He knew you. He remembered you and his little girl running around the house, all those times he woke up on the weekend to the two of you giggling downstairs and how happy he was that Sarah had found such a good friend in you. And then he immediately felt guilty for the instant attraction he felt toward you. 

Clearly he was right to feel that way with the abrupt way you ended the conversation, grabbed your friend and ran away from him. 

“Well, she grew up,” Tommy said.

Yeah, you sure did.

Tommy couldn’t stop talking about Maria the entire way home. 

“Got her number,” Tommy said.

“Yeah, you told me.”

He ignored Joel and his less than happy tone, running on a high after finally meeting a woman that was beautiful and funny and kind.

“You know all that from talking to her for five minutes, huh?”

Tommy grinned from ear to ear, still unbothered. “S’just different, Joel. Can’t explain it.”

Joel just nodded his head, offering a noncommittal yeah whenever the conversation called for it. But then, Tommy mentioned you.

“Small world, huh? What are the odds that they’d be friends? And be there?”

This time, the silence that filled his truck turned a bit heavier, more weighted. If Tommy was anyone else, he would have noticed the unpleasant way Joel ticked his jaw or the death grip he had on the steering wheel at the mention of your name. But he wouldn’t be his baby brother if things like that were ever on the top of his mind.

“Remind me, is she the same age as Sarah? She looks good.”

Joel’s really making an effort not to think about just how good you looked in those tiny biker shorts and soaked through tank top he just saw you in. It was weird, right? Ogling his daughter’s friend like that. He felt like such a pervert and Tommy wasn’t making it any better.

“Stop it, Tommy. She’s a kid.”

He scoffed at that. “Ain’t a kid if she’s Sarah’s age. Gotta be 28 at least.” Tommy leans back in the passenger seat and smiles at his phone as it vibrates again. “Besides, I saw the way you were lookin’ at her.”

By Monday morning, Joel was feeling a little fucked up over you. He had dropped Tommy off at his place and spent the rest of Sunday in meager solitude doing household chores he always tried to put off. He had been alone now for a few years, now that Sarah had moved in with her fiance. It typically didn’t bother him. He genuinely enjoyed the quiet that came with an empty house, but some days, he couldn’t help but fantasize about having someone here with him, filling in the quiet gaps with a little love.

So, he looked you up on Facebook. He was certain he had added you years ago, probably when you were still his kids best friend. He vaguely recalled a life update here and there: a college graduation, tagged photos from a beach trip to Cancun. He smiles when your profile pops up. You clearly hadn’t updated in a while, but he scrolled through your tagged photos anyway. More photos from law school graduation, a few from your mom wishing you a happy birthday, and he kept scrolling, further and further back until he landed on one of you and Sarah, crappy digital camera quality from the early 2010s, back when he was a father to a teenager, and you were a teen yourself.

He felt revolted. What the hell was he doing, perving on some 28 year old? He thought back to how quickly you grabbed yours and Maria’s things and ran away from him. Of course you probably thought he was a creep, he figured. Joel was pretty much thinking the same thing about himself right now. So, he did the only thing he could think of to clear the air, and assure you that he was in fact, not, a creep: he sent you a message.

-it was good seeing you. hope me and tom didn’t weird ya out too much. not sure if your parents are still living around here, but let me know if you ever need anything.

It was short, to the point and above all, kind. He left his number at the bottom for good measure.

But now at the worksite, Tommy was buzzing, a little ball of happy energy and it was grating on Joel’s nerves. Maybe it was the fact that he was genuinely feeling a bit lonely yesterday, or perhaps it was the self flagellation he gave himself before sending you the olive branch of a message on Facebook, or maybe it was the fact that he checked again this morning and you still hadn’t responded to him. Stop bein’ so fuckin’ weird, Joel.

He couldn’t help himself. When he wasn’t signing off on contracts and overseeing the construction crew, his thoughts drifted back to you. He wondered how your morning was going, if you made your coffee at home or stopped somewhere to pick it up. Did you have a lot of meetings and contracts to go over? He hoped you weren’t working too hard. Lost in thought, he found himself smiling at the memory of you yesterday in your workout clothes and inadvertently drifted to the idea of you in a tight pencil skirt and black leather heels—

“What’re you smilin’ about?”

Tommy’s voice was jarring, snapping him out of his blissful state. It didn’t help that he was wearing a shit eating grin at catching his brother lost in a day dream.

“Nothin’.”

Tommy let out a disbelieving scoff and settled into the chair across from Joel’s desk. “Yeah, right. Thinking about her, huh?” He leaned back in his seat, far too comfortable for Joel’s liking. “Maybe if things don’t work out with Maria, I can give her a call—”

Joel shot his brother a look that would’ve made anyone else’s blood run cold. “Shut the hell up! Can’t you focus on one woman at a time for once?”

Tommy lets out a laugh, it’s low and short and Joel knows he doesn’t find it funny. “So I can’t be interested in her too?”

“Nope. You’ve got Maria. Yesterday you were goin’ on and on about how special she is. You gonna try to date her friend? That won’t go over well.” Joel quiets as he looks out the window, taking an appraising look over his crew. “Plus, she’s too young for you. For both of us,” he tacks on quietly at the end.

“Ah, I see,” Tommy says, shaking his head. “But what if, hypothetically,” he let’s himself trail off, much to Joel’s disdain.

“Tommy,” he snaps his fingers at him. “The point?”

“Well, what if she was interested in you? Wasn’t worried about the age at all?”

Joel just scoffs at that. Hypothetically, if you were interested, well Joel would be desperate to take someone like you out for dinner. You were beautiful, of course, but what really struck him was how you were already so accomplished and not even 30 yet. During his deep dive on your Facebook profile last night, he saw that you were also a good person, frequently volunteering at women’s shelters and taking on as many pro-bono cases as you could. Somewhere in between that, you took time to travel, have a social life, and apparently do hot yoga on Sunday mornings. If he were a few years younger, yeah, he’d be all over you. But he’s not, so he can’t. He tells Tommy just as much.

He gives him a frown. “Don’t take yourself out of the game so soon, brother.” It was so typical of Joel to not put himself out there and to not be selfish in going for what he wanted. “There’s plenty of older men who date younger women. Hell, I’m 10 years older than Maria.”

It was hard from him to not be aggravated by Tommy acting as if he was a relationship guru a mere 24 hours after he met your friend. His mind went back to how quickly you ran off from him yesterday. “It’s a little more than 10 years, Tom.”

Not one to be deterred, he just leans back in chair and lets out a low whistle. “Like I said, don’t take yourself out of the game just yet, big brother. Maria and I are gettin’ drinks tonight and we want you and her to meet us.”

Joel was up and out of his chair instantly at that, but Tommy, the little weasel he was, slipped out of the office door before he could wring his neck.

What was his obsession with Joel and you anyway? Why would Maria want you both to tag along on her first date with Tommy? Joel tried to focus on his work and the project they were nearly completed with as the rest of his day inched by, and if his workers were feeling suffocated by Joel monitoring their every move, well they had Tommy to thank for that.

“You know,” Tommy started talking over the roar of the Texas highway on his way to the bar, “you really don’t have to be on property anymore, Joel.”

It was true. After decades of grinding and barely making ends meet, Miller Brothers Contracting had turned out to be extremely successful in the last few years. So successful that Joel was able to take a massive step back from the day to day hustle of the job and essentially, sit on his ass and collect a paycheck. He had bought a nice house on Lake Travis with his very own slip two years ago, fully planning on spending his early retirement a bit more relaxed than he had been afforded to be in years prior. But he wasn’t one for being idle and quickly decided that going to work every day was a nonnegotiable.

He glanced back at Tommy. “We’ve talked about this, I wasn’t quite ready to be fully hands off.”

He shrugged, keeping his focus fully on the road ahead. “Well, maybe if you get a pretty, young girlfriend to take up some of your time…”

What else was there to say? Joel was tired of arguing to Tommy about how uninterested in him you would have to be. Repeating for the fiftieth time today about how old he was or how creeped out you must be was doing wonders for his already low self esteem. He had come to terms with the fact that you would probably look at him with disgust and leave after one round of drinks. He figured it was well deserved.

And he was certain, when he felt your eyes on him after he got out of Tommy’s truck that you were going to turn and walk away, but you didn’t. You gave him a shy smile and made your way to him, tucking yourself into his side body like you had always belonged there. He tried to be delicate and not grip your skin as tight as he wanted to, savoring the feel of your bare arms and the incredible softness that only comes with a lifetime of diligent moisturizing. He breathed in your scent, something sensual and sweet, wafting up to his nostrils in waves of ambery cotton candy, and then you pulled away and looked at him, really looked at him, and gave him a genuine smile.

“We’re not gonna be friends.”

You weren’t sure what possessed you to channel your best Margot Robbie and look Mr. Miller Joel Miller in his eyes so seductively and tell him that yes, you would go to lunch with him, but not as his friend, but something did, and now… Well now you were going.

So what, were you going on a date? You tried not to let yourself spiral on your way home. Your stomach fluttered at all the possibilities. He asked you to lunch, which is perfect if things turn awkward, as you could always cut it early and blame it on an emergency case filing. If it was bad, you would just have to tell Maria to never mention his name again, which would probably be challenging for her, but doable. It’s not like you would have a good chance of running into him; hot yoga was a fluke. But if it was good… could you date Joel Miller?

You had determined you had a 21 year age gap. You were nearing 30 and completely independent, so dating a much older man wasn’t that scandalous, was it? You knew a girl in law school who had a 60 year old sugar daddy when she was in her early 20s. Comparatively, this was hardly anything to bat an eye over. He was 49, and he looked good for his age. At the bar, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at him, admiring the golden hue of his skin, the way his muscles were trapped tightly under his t-shirt. His veins protruded on his forearms in the way you’d only seen with men who worked with their hands and the image made heat rise in your body. And his hands were massive; thick fingers that you wouldn’t mind being wrapped around you.

By the time you got home, you were exhausted. Not only did you never go out for drinks during the week, which was already making you want to go straight for your bed and skip your shower, but mentally, your lawyer mind had run all possible scenarios for a lunch with Joel. You hadn’t even gotten his number, you realized. Your only way to reach out to him was either through Maria or Facebook. Despite being a mere 20 feet away from Maria and the other Miller when Joel had asked you out, you decided quickly to keep that detail to yourself, at least for the time being. So, to Facebook you go.

Joel’s message was harmless. You internally scolded yourself for getting so worked up about it for the last 24 hours. You had gotten cozy in bed, legs curled up under your comforter and an old stretched out college t-shirt draped over your body. The alcohol you had earlier in the evening had worn off a bit, making you feel less than buzzed but still just a bit warm. Even warmer now that you were scrolling through Joel’s posted photos.

God, he was so cute. Fluffy brown hair in every photo, strong arms on display in most, and those gorgeous whiskey brown eyes you knew you could get lost in. He smiled in one, one of those wide grins that you rarely saw on his face back when you knew him before, which immediately made the warmth you were feeling trail down toward your abdomen. The sun was bright on his face, making his eyes squint and soft crows feet make an appearance. He was at the beach and the sinful display of his toned torso glistening with sweat made your mouth go dry. What you wouldn’t do to see that image in person…

You felt bad for ogling him the way you were. How gross did you feel, objectifying a 49 year old man on a photo from Facebook, for goodness sake. While your mind was scolding yourself, your body was in its own world. Your nipples hardened and a chill shot through you despite that subtle warmth that had trailed even lower. You let your fingers trail just below your panties and gasped at the wetness there. All from a photo.

It had been far too long since you had sex last, so you needed to do this. You could feel guilty after an orgasm. You let your fingers dip lower, gliding easily through your slick, moaning at the wetness. You propped your knees up and moved two fingers, up and down, teasing your clit and then moving back inside you. You looked back at that photo, Joel loosely holding a beer bottle, thick fingers dwarfing the neck. How much better would it feel with him? you thought. The earlier anxiety you were feeling was quickly transforming into a carnal need you felt to have Joel’s fingers, hands, and lips on you.

The last boyfriend you had was exactly that, a boy. Barely knew what to do with your body and definitely lacked the manhood you had craved. Would Joel be different? He had to be. You were sure he had several partners in the past, a grown man with lots of experience. Would he be soft and patient, pulling pleasure from you like he knew exactly what to do? Or would he be hard and fast, fucking you with an intensity that made your mind go quiet and limbs boneless?

You were lost in your fantasy now, eyes shut tight and imagining it was Joel’s fingers pistoning in and out of you. Soft moans left your mouth at every prod of that soft spot no man seemed to be able to find, your other hand rubbing frantic circles over your clit.

Would Joel find that spot? Would he go down on you, letting his greying beard rub against your inner thighs, leaving soft marks that would remind you that he was there for days? Would he look into your eyes when he made your orgasm?

You let out a soft sigh of his name when you finished.

Fuck. Joel just gave you the best orgasm you’ve had in a while and he wasn’t even here.

You get yourself cleaned up and crawl back under your comforter. You're sated and warm, smiling at the absurdity of the fact that you just jilled off to a photo. You could genuinely say that a photo of anyone had gotten you that hot and bothered before.

You wake up your computer and find your message thread again, adding Joel’s number to your contacts.

And then, you compose a text:

How about lunch on Wednesday? You’re buying.

Your mother should be crowned queen of awkward, bad ideas. And this one surely takes the cake.

"I’m going alone, Mom, it’s not the nineteen-thirties."

"It’s a wedding, darling, who will you dance with?"

You scoff – if you know one thing, it’s that you certainly will not be dancing in front of people, not without the sufficient amount of alcohol.

"Are you gonna ask aunt Ruth the same thing just cause she divorced uncle–."

"You don’t have to be such a smart-ass," she interrupted,  "Joel would be going alone otherwise, and this way you both get to have someone there with you! I think he’s been lonely ever since Sarah moved out."

And what’s that got to do with me?, you want to ask, but your mother is right. Your next door neighbor has been sulking all summer, drinking beer on the porch and staring at the driveway as if that will make his daughter magically reappear. Sometimes when you get home in the evening you chat with him for a few minutes. You like Joel – he has the same aversion to smalltalk as you do, so the conversation isn’t superficial. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s pushing his late 50s.

"It wouldn’t be a real date, honey, I’d never set you up with him," you mother starts again, and you sigh. "I just think it’d cheer him up to spend time with someone who isn’t your father."

You almost ask your mother to go with him if it’s so important to her, but of all the guests there he’s probably the easiest to talk to. Not one to make a fuss, Joel Miller. You could just sit quietly next to each other, and if he’s your partner you doubt there’ll be much dancing. Maybe you could convince him to tell any other man who asks you to dance to fuck off. It would make your evening much more enjoyable than pressing your sweating body against the friend of a distant cousin and awkwardly swaying to some romantic pop song from 2009 with your parents watching. It’s a mystery to you why Joel is going at all – it’s not like it’s someone in his family who’s getting married. Your mother mentioned something about the groom and Joel having worked together on a job, but you weren’t paying attention much, as it was before she was trying to pimp you out to a guy basically triple your age.

"I’ll talk to him about it," you concede, and she smiles, clearly taking your answer as success already. You’re not as sure Joel will be thrilled about this idea, can almost hear his grumpy response: you even old enough to stay up past 9 pm? Still, maybe it will get your mother off your back if you at least try to convince him.

***

So you knock on Joel’s door, a tray of cookies your mother made for him in your slightly sweaty hands. You know he’ll find the idea absurd, and you’re not looking forward to being teased for proposing it.

"Hey, kid," Joel drawls when he opens the door, an easy smile tugging on his lips.

"Hi," you answer, pushing the tray towards him, "Mom made these and wanted you to have some."

"Geez, she thinks I don’t eat now that Sarah’s in Boston."

You get the inkling your mother isn’t entirely wrong about that, you haven’t seen Joel do his usual run for groceries in weeks. He probably eats steak every day, no vegetables. The thought almost makes you grin. Joel takes the tray from you and raises an eyebrow.

"You wanna come in?"

"Yeah, I’m definitely eating those," you say, nodding towards his cookies. He scoffs good-naturedly and kicks the door open further with his foot.

"No way, I’m not givin’ these away. Your mother’s bakin’ is sublime."

"Think of it as payment."

He snorts.

"What for?"

"Bringing them over."

Joel shoots you a look that clearly says stop whinin’, you live across the street, but doesn’t answer, just leads you to his kitchen and gets out milk and two glasses. He pushes one over to you, and you dunk one of your mother’s chocolate chip cookies in the milk, watching Joel do the same thing. You eat quietly for a moment, just enjoying the sugar melting into your tongues.

"Mom wants you to take me to my cousin’s wedding," you say once you’ve swallowed your first bite. Joel looks like he has dough stuck in his throat, and when he starts coughing you briefly wonder if you’d be able to perform the Heimlich maneuver on a man of Joel’s size, but he recovers quickly, and gulps down some milk.

"Why?" he asks, voice hoarse. You could lie, but Joel would know – you’ve never been able to hide stuff from him. He knew you were smoking behind his garage when you were seventeen, recognized the boys you snuck in and out of your bedroom window. He never told on you, though.

"She thinks we’re both loners."

Joel scoffs, and takes another bite of his cookie. You shrug.

"I told her it’s a bad idea. She said we needed a dance partner."

You’re grinning, the idea of Joel in a suit and dancing more than absurd. The most you’ve seen him do is tap his foot while listening to his classic rock radio station in his garage.

"I don’t dance," he answers, his brows furrowing.

"Neither do I."

He looks at you inquiringly, and you raise your eyebrows.

"What?"

"You’re what, twenty-one and you don’t dance? Aren’t you supposed to be spendin’ your weekends in clubs, makin’ all sorts of bad choices?"

"Okay, then, let me rephrase that: I don’t dance without at least four shots of tequila in my bloodstream and I doubt my parents would approve of me getting wasted at a family wedding."

Joel hums, as if to say fair point, and looks thoughtful for a second.

"You wanna go with someone else?"

The question is unexpected, you can’t help but answer it honestly.

"No."

Joel holds your eye contact, and you sigh.

"I’m not seeing anyone at the moment and my family is fucking insane, so I’m definitely not taking any of my friends."

That makes Joel chuckle, and for a brief moment you wonder what he thinks of your family.

"So let me take you, then. Wouldn’t have to waltz or nothin’."

No comment about your age, no teasing remarks about the boys Joel knows you see without your parents being aware of it.

"Why?"

Even to your own ears, your voice sounds suspicious. You lean on Joel’s kitchen island and stare up at him inquiringly. He doesn’t look away, not intimidated in the slightest.

"Your Dad’s been tryin’ to get me to ask out Loretta Henderson."

"What, and you’re not interested?"

You know Loretta, a nosy woman who knows all the gossip in the neighborhood. The thought of Joel going out with her makes you frown, he’s so much nicer than her.

"No," Joel just answers, but doesn’t offer much more. You sigh, and he cocks an eyebrow. "What, are you Loretta Henderson’s personal cupid now?"

"It’s not that," you say a little grumbly.

"What, then?"

His voice is uncharacteristically gentle, and you find yourself giving into his question before you can change your mind.

"I don’t wanna go to that stupid fucking wedding at all."

There, it’s out in the open, all your childish and petulant disdain for family events. Now he’ll demand explanations, say you’re silly, to grow up and make your parents happy.

"So don’t go."

You stare at him. He stares back, and after a couple of seconds the corners of his mouth lift in a brief, tentative smile.

"You don’t gotta go, kid, with me or with anyone. You’re an adult."

Sure, but it’s your cousin’s wedding. Who bails on something like that? Joel Miller, maybe. He’s not exactly known to be the life of every party, although you know he can stomach quite a few beers. The thought of him building a tolerance on his own makes your frown reappear.

"It’s not that simple," you answer, staring at the crumbs of cookie in what’s left of your milk. "My parents would kill me. Like, genuinely, they’d put an axe to my neck."

Joel chuckles and the sound feels warm in your ears.

"I highly doubt that. You wanna talk about why you’re skippin’ a free three course meal and unlimited drinks?"

"I’m not skipping anything," you argue, then sigh, and look at your hands. "I’m the second oldest after my cousin, and she’s got this great guy, and a degree, and probably twin babies who won’t ever cry on the way, and I…I just don’t think I can handle every single one of my aunts asking me why I’m still single."

Joel is watching you, and hums as if to say he understands, and before you change your mind, you keep rambling.

"I always gotta justify every decision I make to them, you know? Like when I started my first degree, and when I quit it, and when I cut my hair, and got a tattoo. It’s exhausting. I’m awful at decision-making on the best of days, but my whole extended family scrutinizing me makes it hell."

You know you’re being dramatic, that there’s people with worse problems than a distant family member’s snide comments about a tattoo. But still. Still, you don’t want to spend your precious free day defending the choices you struggled with making in the first place, choices you question yourself, day after day.

Joel looks thoughtful, and he contemplates your words for so long, you think he might not answer at all, but then he pushes the cookies over to you, as if to say you need these more than me.

"I was so young when I had Sarah," Joel says to your surprise, "and everybody had somethin’ to say about it. Kept askin’ me if I was sure about havin’ a kid at that age, while I was holdin’ her in my arms, as if I could’ve just gotten her receipt and returned her like a pair of jeans."

You’re not entirely certain, but you think this might not be the kind of thing Joel tells people easily. He sighs.

"Look, I know it’s exhaustin’ to always have to stand your ground, ’specially when it’s shaky even without people voicing their unwarranted opinions. If peace of mind is what ya want, I’d say definitely avoid them. But if you wanna stand up for yourself and tell them to mind their business, I’ll drive your getaway car."

It’s so very much like Joel to offer something like that – taking you to a wedding just so that you can leave it. You can’t help it, you smile. He smiles back, and it makes the crinkles around his eyes more prominent. It’s a good look on him.

"Alright," you say after a second, thinking that if all else fails, you’ll be able to explain all the family gossip to Joel – maybe the day doesn’t have to be all bad.

"Alright," Joel agrees, "what color dress are you wearin’? So I can match my tie."

You groan – partly because the image of Joel Miller in a suit and tie is, for some reason, devastating, and partly because the idea of picking a dress makes you want to scream.

"Fuck, Joel, they’re gonna hate whatever I wear anyway," you mutter, aware you’re making something big out of something small, that any girl would be happy to get to pick out a pretty dress for a wedding – you can see the judgmental looks already, though: too overdressed, too underdressed, too colorful, too conservative, too this and that.

When you look up, Joel is watching you, brows furrowed while he’s thinking. You kind of wish he’d just tell you to suck it up and stop whining.

"Want me to pick it?"

You stare at him. It’s an odd proposition, and the absurdity of the situation is catching up to you – Joel Miller asking to pick your dress for the wedding he’s taking you to, so that the decision won’t fall onto your shoulders. Flannel-wearing, denim-loving Joel, picking a dress he thinks is best suited for you and for the occasion, perhaps even one he would like to see you in. It makes your head spin. It’s strange, absurd, weird, but the idea is oddly soothing. Would you feel self-conscious under your family’s stares if you knew Joel liked the dress? If the choice wasn’t yours in the first place, would you still find a way to feel guilty about it?

"I do," you answer quietly. You know you’re treading in dangerous waters now. Something feels blurry about this conversation, and although you trust Joel not to have ulterior motives, you’re also aware you both know there’s something happening here beyond a choice of dress.

"Alright," Joel says again, just like that.

"Alright," you say. Just like that.

***

Joel takes you shopping, because in his own words he’s never had to buy a fancy dress for Sarah, so you hop onto the passenger seat of his Bronco and try to find a radio station with songs that aren’t several decades older than you, but Joel doesn’t seem to enjoy anything past the 80s, so you opt for a 60s station – Dusty Springfield coos into your ear as you watch Joel turn on the engine.

"My parents somehow don’t think this is strange," you say, and Joel shoots you a glance – you’re clearly implying they should.

"Do you?"

You hum, then shrug.

"I’ve never met a straight man who went shopping for dresses voluntarily. Is there a specific reason you’re not interested in Mrs. Henderson?"

Joel looks over at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Sarah says it’s not politically correct to joke about bein’ gay," he answers seriously, and you grin.

"Yeah, but it’s funny in this case. Poor Loretta, she’s so blissfully unaware of just how small her shot at going out with you is."

Joel shakes his head, but you can see his mouth twitching under his beard.

"Your teasin’ don’t affect me, sweetheart."

"Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, Miller."

"I have."

You gape at him, and an involuntary giggle leaves your mouth.

"You’re kidding."

Joel laughs, and runs a broad palm over his beard.

"I’m not. Had a friend called Bill who kissed me once. Hell, I must’ve been your age."

"What happened?" you ask impatiently, a broad smile on your face. Joel shrugs.

"Nothin’. Was a good kiss, but the beard sorta bothered me, so I told him I wasn’t interested like that and that he should ask out Frank. He was another friend of ours, ’n I knew he liked Bill. They’re married now, as far as I know."

It’s oddly sweet instead of funny, and you watch the scenery pass with a smile on your face.

"So why are you spending your Saturday at the mall with me instead of…I don’t know, tinkering with your car? Missing Sarah already?"

Joel looks over and smiles, and in that brief second something in your stomach flutters.

"I’m practically forcin’ you to go to that wedding, the least I can do is spare you the stress and get you your dress myself."

"Technically, you’re not sparing me much if you make me come with you because you don’t know shit about dresses."

Joel scowls and you grin.

"Technically, I could turn this car around right now and make you go in a jeans and t-shirt."

"Can’t make me do anything, Miller."

He doesn’t answer.

***

Turns out Joel’s idea of shopping is getting every single dress in the shop in your size, and making you try them all on. Although his intention was to relieve you of the decision, he’s sort of unhelpful – he tells you it looks real pretty every time you come out of the changing room, and when you can’t stifle a laugh after the fifth time, he clumsily tries to explain why – he likes the purply sort of color.

After around ten dresses, each a different color and style, you feel exhausted – you do like a few, but some have more cleavage than you usually wear, others might be too casual for a wedding, and you sit down on the little bench in the changing room while Joel puts the last dress back on the hanger.

"I changed my mind, Miller, I’m not going to the wedding," you groan. Joel leans against the wall of the changing room, the red dress you tried on last still in his hands.

"I’m no good at this," he says apologetically, "told you I’d help ya pick one and it’s still stressful, sweetheart, I’m sorry."

The nickname makes that flutter in your stomach reappear.

"No, it’s not your fault," you answer and play with the hem of the dark blue dress you’re currently wearing, "I just…I don’t wanna buy a dress cause they’ll like it."

Joel considers you for a couple of seconds.

"Which one would you get if your family wasn’t there?"

You sigh.

"But they are there, Joel–"

"Which one?"

His tone doesn’t allow any arguing, so you look at the dresses, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You liked a baby blue one, a black one, and a light pink one. You lift them up to show Joel, and he smiles.

"So get one of these," he says, as if it’s that easy.

"The blue one has too much cleavage–"

"You’re twenty-one, sweetheart, and you ain’t a nun."

It makes you chuckle, despite yourself.

"I think the baby pink one might be too close to white, you’re not supposed to wear white to somebody else’s wedding."

Joel snorts.

"’S your cousin colorblind?"

You groan, looking between the three dresses.

"Which one would you most like to wear in your own apartment, when you get dressed up just for yourself?"

You stare at Joel, heat rising in your cheeks, as if he caught you doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing.

"I’m a girl-Dad," he reminds you softly, and you have a sudden image of Sarah playing dress-up in front of Joel’s bedroom mirror in your mind. Again, that flutter in your stomach.

"This one," you say quietly, and lift the hanger of the light blue dress. Joel nods, takes the dresses from your hands, drapes the blue one over his forearm, and clutches the curtain of the changing room in his massive fist.

"I’m returnin’ these, you’re changin’ into your jeans again and then we’re gettin’ the blue one."

It’s more expensive than the black one, you want to say, but Joel closes the curtain without giving you the time to argue, and you hear his heavy footsteps as he makes his way out of the changing rooms. All of a sudden you have to smile – relief washes over you now that a decision is made.

When you walk out of the changing rooms in your jeans and t-shirt again, the dress you changed out of long forgotten on its hanger, you can see Joel at the checkout, handing the cashier something, and you practically run over to him.

"Absolutely not, Joel, you’re not payi–"

"Thank you," Joel says to the cashier, putting his card back into his worn leather wallet and looking at you, "It’s done. Quit whinin’ and take your new dress."

He hands you the bag with a smile, and although you feel guilty, there’s also a strange sort of comfort in knowing Joel payed for it. Sure, it’s yours, but in a way you’re giving the weight of your family’s reactions, good or bad, over to him.

"Thank you," you say softly, "you didn’t have to do that."

"I know," Joel just answers, "you got matchin’ shoes?"

***

The wedding is still a week away, when you get a message from Joel.

Are you driving to the wedding with your family, or with your date?

You smile, and consider his question for a second. You’re all spending the weekend in a hotel, arriving a day early, and knowing your parents, the packing and driving won’t be exactly peaceful. You don’t know what they will think if you tell them you’re going with Joel, but then you remember your mom asked you to spend time with him so he isn’t lonely. It’s the perfect excuse, and the idea of spending the hours with Joel in his Bronco rather than in the backseat of your parents’ car, trying hard to keep the peace between them while they’re stressed, makes you feel almost giddy.

With my date, you don’t know him tho ;)

You can practically hear Joel’s huff.

Smartass. I’ll pick you up at nine on Friday, don’t oversleep.

From then on you text Joel from time to time. You’re not sure why, but you like the way he responds to you. It never takes him long, even when he surely must be working, and the idea of him checking his phone at a construction site makes that flutter in your stomach reappear. You know it’s stupid, and although it’s not technically flirting, it’s also not innocent, but you tell yourself you’re only going to the wedding because your mother asked you to, so you might as well have a little fun while doing it. And anyway, Joel sure doesn’t seem to mind.

Picked a suit yet? Or r u going in a flannel?

Funny. Picked one that goes well with your dress.

Pic pls??

I’m working. Sorry, sweetheart.

The nickname feels somehow more solid in text than it does in conversation. It’s not a slip of the tongue, he took his time to type it out on his phone, probably with his forefinger, using his other hand to hold the phone.

When the wedding is a week away, your mother starts stress-baking, and asks you to bring Joel one half of the carrot cake she made. You think about asking her how one person is supposed to eat half a cake, but consider your chances of Joel sharing it with you higher if you keep your mouth shut.

When you knock on his door once again, it takes him a second to open the door. He’s drenched in sweat, his old shirt damp and his curls unruly.

"Oh, hey kid," he says with a surprised smile, his eyes flickering towards the cake. "What’s it this time, an uncle’s funeral?"

You snort, and he opens the door wider.

"Are you working out?"

"No," Joel say in a tone that suggests the idea is absurd, "I’m gardenin’."

You watch him lead the way to his kitchen, his broad back and thick arms making you feel a little squirmy. His answer suggests he doesn’t work out, and you wonder if he got so fit just from his job. You always figured contractors just managed the construction sites, but maybe Joel does the construction himself. You think you enjoy entertaining that thought a little too much.

"Can I see your suit?"

Joel glances at you, and you place the cake on his kitchen isle as he gets out two plates.

"No," he answers, a little gruff.

"It’s a common misconception, but it’s actually just the bride who shouldn’t show her outfit to her date," you tease, "the guests are allowed."

Joel scowls, and shakes his head.

"I don’t know anybody who talks back as much as you do."

"You might not know many smart people. I’m quick."

Despite himself, the corners of Joel’s mouth twitch into an amused smile, and he hands you a piece of cake.

"Come on, Joel, you got to see my dress, too," you try again, almost begging now.

"You’ll see it on Saturday."

"Why?"

Joel clears his throat, but you don’t let him off the hook, just chew your piece of cake in silence while you wait for him to answer.

"Cause it’s…it’s ridiculous. I’m not a suit guy."

He’s shy, you realize, maybe even insecure about it. You wonder if he fished out the last suit he wore from the back of his closet, probably still with 80s shoulder pads.

"Now I’ve got to see it," you decide, and when Joel sighs, you know you’ve won. He glares at you for multiple seconds, not breaking the eye contact. Then he shakes his head again, and leaves to get it.

When he returns, he hasn’t put the suit on like you hoped, but you’re relieved to find a classic black suit jacket and pants draped over his arm. You take it from him, holding the jacket up and nodding appreciatively.

"This is nice," you tell him honestly, "no flared pants or fringes."

Joel laughs, the sound traveling up your spine and settling in your chest.

"I’m not that old."

You grin, and hand him the suit back.

"You’ll look really handsome in it," you say softly, because you can tell the idea of wearing it makes him uncomfortable, and because it’s true. You like the way he looks even in his sweaty old t-shirt, but in a suit he’ll surely turn heads. He looks slightly embarrassed at your comment, and smoothes over a wrinkle in the fabric.

He mutters something under his breath and gently drapes the suit over the back of a dining chair. "Wish I could go in a pair of jeans."

It’s endearing, and you wonder if Joel is unaware of how attractive he is. He’s certainly not one to make a fuss about his looks.

"Well, you’d just embarrass me, cause some crazy guy picked and bought a real fancy dress for me. We have to match, sorry."

Your words have the desired effect, and Joel chuckles.

"It’s not too late to bail, though," you offer, "if you’re just coming cause of me."

Joel’s eyes don’t leave yours.

"Gettin’ cold feet?"

You shrug.

"Mine were never really warm. Yours?"

"Toasty," he says softly, eyes still on yours. All of a sudden is a little harder to swallow you mother’s carrot cake.

"You’re still nervous about goin’," Joel says, and it’s more an assessment than a question. You shrug again.

"Why?" he asks, " ’S not about the dress, I saw how happy you were when I made the decision for you."

Something about that sentences makes your stomach flutter again. Make them all for me, you want to say, and instead shove more cake into your mouth. You chew slowly to give yourself more time to sort out the words in your head.

"I just find these sorts of things exhausting," you explain, "I hate figuring out what’s socially appropriate, you know, how much to drink, what jokes to make, when to laugh, what to say and not say."

"I hope ya don’t take this the wrong way, sweetheart, but your family sounds like a piece of work."

You laugh, and watch Joel’s eyes get all crinkly with amusement at your reaction.

"They’re alright," you say honestly, "they’re normal. I’m just sensitive."

"They put that idea in your head?"

That shuts you up. It’s just a quick remark from Joel, but it hits home, and the smile freezes on your face.

"Sorry," Joel says quietly, "I’m sorry, that wasn’t my place–"

"No, don’t worry," you say quickly, "you’re right. They’re still normal, though. Usual amount of uptight and judgmental, I guess."

Joel watches you, and it seems like he’s thinking about something. When he speaks, his words are almost tentative.

"You can stick to me, if you want to. You can…ask me if you want a second opinion on what’s socially appropriate."

Your stomach swirls. You swallow and nod.

"I think that might be a relief," you say honestly, and try hard to ignore the pull of want in your stomach.

"Alright," Joel says, and as if it’s an inside joke by now, you answer.

"Alright."

***

He does pick you up at nine on Friday. You parents seemed slightly surprised Joel is taking you to the hotel in his car, but when you asked your mother what the point of going with him was if he still spent most of his time alone, she seemed convinced. You aren’t sure why you felt the need to convince her of anything in the first place, but you try not to think about it, when your doorbell rings. You spent the night at your parents’ place for convenience instead of in your apartment, so that Joel doesn’t have to drive the extra couple of miles. Your father opens the door before you can, and pats Joel’s shoulder.

"So, you’re taking my little girl to the wedding," he says, holding up one finger in a mock-scolding. Joel laughs, but you wonder if it sounds slightly strained. He meets your eye and nods in greeting. You nod back.

"Do you have your suitcase?" your father asks.

"Yeah, it’s right here."

You go to grab it, but Joel is quicker.

"I got it," he mutters, and you try hard not to stare at his arms bulging under the weight, not in front of your father.

"Careful, Miller, don’t be too much of a gentleman, or none of her collage boys will stand a chance," your Dad jokes.

"Oh, I won’t be," Joel drawls. You turn towards the door to hide your blush – you’re sure Joel didn’t mean anything by that comment, but that flutter in your stomach is stronger than ever, and you almost clench your thighs together. Joel doesn’t seem to notice anything, just carries your suitcase to the door.

"See you there, Dad," you say, "where’s Mom?"

"Rearranging the snack box," your Dad answers, "I’ll tell her you said bye. See you there kid, don’t let Joel drive like a lunatic."

Joel is about to quip something back, but you practically shove him out the door, your fingers digging into his biceps. He can barely tell your father goodbye before you close the door behind the two of you.

"Rearranging the snack box," you groan, "they’re so…so…so not chill."

Joel chuckles.

"I ain’t got a snack box, I thought we could make a stop at Burger King or somethin’."

"Finally," you answer, and open the trunk of his car so he can put your suitcase inside, "a man with sense."

***

"So, what do I gotta know about your family? Anyone I should avoid?"

You grin and turn up the radio a little.

"Don’t bring up vaccines with aunt Ingrid, in fact, just don’t bring them up at all. Steer clear of politics, unless you’re pro-life and think gay people shouldn’t get too close to kids, but if that is the case, steer clear of me."

Joel laughs.

"Got nothin’ to worry about, sweetheart. No politics or human rights, got it."

"Don’t ask uncle Jules if he has children. He does, but it’s…complicated."

"Who’s uncle Jules again?"

"My Dad’s brother. Bald guy with a beard. Don’t call him uncle, though."

"No callin’ people uncle, no questions about family, or politics. Geez, I’ll have to think of some conversation starter."

You chuckle and suddenly feel ridiculous for making such a fuss about attending a family wedding, when Joel is going to have to navigate dozens of people he’s never met before.

"I think showing up there with me as your date might be the starter for most conversations you’ll have," you say, not quite managing to keep the amusement out of your voice.

Joel clears his throat.

"Right, well, I’m sorta hopin’ they won’t dwell on that too much so as to not make things awkward."

"Oh, they’ll make things awkward," you answer, amusement evident in your voice, "but honestly, I think that’ll be the fun part. I wonder if aunt Susie will hit on you, she hits on everybody’s spouses."

Joel shoots you a glance.

"You were worried enough about a dress to consider not goin’ at all, but showin’ up with your Dad’s friend is the fun part?"

You admit, when he puts it like that, it sounds illogical.

"Those are two different things, though. They’ll judge my dress regardless of what I wear, I guarantee you someone will make a comment about it. If you hadn’t helped me, I’dve spent the night wondering if I should’ve gone with a different one."

"You don’t don’t think you should have gone with a different…date?"

You glance over at him.

"No," you say earnestly, "it was never a question of who to go with. I wasn’t gonna go with anyone else, had you said no."

"Right," Joel says, and changes lanes.

You’re quiet for a while, watching the scenery outside your window, but Joel seems to keep thinking about what you said.

"Why does it bother you so much? Whether they like your dress or not?"

You sigh, and he looks over at you briefly.

"You don’t gotta tell me, sweetheart, I was just wonderin’."

You pick at your fingernail.

"No, it’s alright. I guess I just…dislike not living up to expectations. I can deal with it if things are out of my hands, you know, but if my family is questioning my choices, I start to question them myself. It’s the difference between…being late because my flight was cancelled, and being late because I overslept. If it’s out of my control, it’s fine."

Joel hums, and it’s quiet again in his car. The radio is playing Mother’s Little Helper softly in the background.

"I think you’ve made solid choices," Joel says after a moment, "You don’t gotta…doubt yourself so much. I always got the feelin’ you knew what’s right for you, except for those boys I watched climb up and down your drainpipe at night."

You blush at the mention of your teenage hookups, but Joel chuckles. His words mean something to you, though you’re not sure how to tell him.

"Yeah, well, I’m good at overthinking," you say quietly, and Joel hums.

"Cause you’re smart. Dumb people don’t question themselves."

You smile.

"Thanks, Miller."

Joel switches lanes again, and nods.

"I mean it, kid, you’re doin’ just fine. ’N if you need help at the wedding, you come to me and ask for it."

"Alright," you say softly.

***

When you arrive, there is a blur of hugs and kisses and half-shouted greetings between aunts and nephews, cousins and grandmothers, fathers and sisters. Your family isn’t necessarily big, but they’re loud and restless, so you feel relieved when your parents pull you and Joel to the side right after you step out of the car.

"What took you so long?", you Dad asks, but keeps talking before you can tell him about the Burger King break due to a lack of a snack boxes in Joel’s car. "Anyway, we’ve got a problem. They didn’t know you guys aren’t really dating, so they gave you a double room instead of two single ones. We shouldn’t have put your names down together on the attendance list for the wedding, but I was thinking Joel and I can take one room, and you and your mom the other one!"

He’s clearly pleased with how he solved this dilemma, and it takes everything in you not to grit your teeth. You love your mother very much, but living in a single room with her is sure to drive you completely mad.

"Oh no," Joel says, "I don’t wanna cause any trouble. There’s a motel down the street, I’ll just get a room–"

"No way," you answer immediately, momentarily forgetting your parents, "you’re my support at this thing. You’re like my therapy dog. If anyone sleeps at that crappy motel, it’s me."

Joel actually snorts.

"Right, like I’d let ya. Place looked way too sleazy. You’re sleeping in the hotel your cousin booked, end of discussion."

"Fine," you answer, narrowing your eyes, "but so are you. You’re a guest, and I’m a good fucking host."

You hold his gaze, even when he shakes his head in something close to annoyance.

"You’re not the host, you’re a guest yourself. And anyway, it isn’t socially appropriate to decline someone who’s offerin’."

He’s telling you to give in, let him make the decision for you. In any other situation, that thought would get you all tingly.

"Well, I’m offering to share with you, so don’t decline," you say, crossing your arms in front of your body. It feels a little childish.

"Alright," Joel grumbles, sounding defeated, and looks at your father. "Your kid’s a piece of work."

Your parents watched your discussion quietly, and you can see mild distaste on their faces at how you talked to their friend, but for some reason it makes you want to grin. Usually it stresses you out when your parents aren’t satisfied with your behavior, but in this case it fills you with a strangely giddy feeling – if only they knew the sort of things you tell Joel about your family. It would turn those frowns into shouts.

"I’m sure we’ll find a solu–"

Joel’s quicker than your father, and waves him off with an easy hand.

"Ah it’s alright. Piece of work, but good company."

There’s an amused glint in his eyes and you frown at him, half contemplating kicking his shin.

"I’m a piece of work? You’re the one who–"

Your mother’s eyebrows furrow and you fall quiet. For some reason you don’t want to let on just how close you and Joel are these days. You don’t want your parents to see Joel doesn’t mind your bickering, that he does it, too, that it’s not harshness, but barely disguised tenderness underneath the irony. Joel’s eyes are on your face, but you don’t look at him.

"It’s only two nights anyway," you grumble, and Joel nods.

"That’s settled, then. I’ll get the suitcases."

***

You’re rooming with Joel Miller. For some reason you didn’t fully consider what that entailed while you were arguing about it with him – you’ll share a bathroom, possibly a bed. A blanket. You understand your mother’s frown now, it’s certainly strange for you and Joel to be so fine with this situation. You make a mental note to mention only doing this so Joel isn’t lonely to your mother.

"You sure you don’t mind?" Joel asks you when you step into the elevator – your room is on the third floor.

"Depends. Do you snore?"

Joel doesn’t answer, but after a second he shakes his head, though more to himself than as an answer to your question.

"If you’re uncomfortable with this, I really don’t mind staying at that motel," he continues, and you watch him play with the little button on the handle of his suitcase.

"I’m not uncomfortable," you answer, "are you?"

"No."

You don’t know what else to say, so you fall quiet again. Joel seems oddly conflicted, but you don’t blame him, he surely noticed your mother’s expression when you decided to share the room.

When you get there, Joel opens the door, lets you step in first, and you hoist your suitcase inside. It’s a light room, airy curtains, a big double bed that looks cozy. You’re relieved to see it’s big enough for things not to get awkward between Joel and you, and thankfully, there’s two blankets and pillows.

"Which side do you want?"

Joel’s voice is kind, like he really wants you to pick, and you smile.

"Window," you say, the decision coming easily for once. You didn’t consider which side Joel would prefer and picked the other one, you just chose the one you wanted because you were able to hear in Joel’s voice it’s what he wanted you to do.

"I’m gonna change and then I’ll have to say hi to my family," you say, and don’t manage to keep the annoyed tone out of your voice completely. Joel plops down on his side of the bed with a quiet grunt, and watches you.

"You’re not looking forward to the smalltalk," he says in that way of his that is less question and more statement. It spares you from having to answer, but you still sigh.

"No, not really. They’ll ask a million questions about my degree, it’s like nothing else interests them."

Joel’s eyes are still on you, as you open your suitcase and pull out different shirts and pairs of jeans, suddenly realizing you brought too many options.

"Wear that one," Joel says when you hold up and consider a shortsleeved blouse with a flowery pattern, "looks real pretty."

You take the blouse and grab your favorite jeans to change into, glad to finally change out of your sweatpants after the long drive.

"I’ll deflect the conversation when they start talking about your degree," Joel says, crossing his arms, "I’ll mention my age or somethin’."

It makes you laugh, because the idea is so absurd – that talking about your fifty-something year old date would be more comfortable than talking about university.

"Thanks," you say genuinely, "you’ll be the topic of conversation, by the way. Hope you don’t mind gossip."

Joel smiles an easy smile and shrugs.

"Ah, you heard your mother, I’m a loner. Gossip don’t affect me."

You know he’s not being honest – with his connection to the groom, any gossip about his controversially young date is sure to reach his colleagues’ ears, but you’re grateful for his support in this. He’s risking his own reputation just to make this event less dreadful for you. You smile at him, and slip into the bathroom to change.

***

You can see your family from a distance, sitting on some sort of terrace, and you can tell some of them are looking over at you, assessing yours and Joel’s form already. You groan, and tuck your blouse into your waistband.

"Don’t worry," Joel says quietly, "you look great. ’N I picked the blouse anyway, so it’s on me."

You nod, and Joel nudges your shoulder with his softly.

"Cheer up, kid. Won’t be awkward, I got you."

You believe him. You trust Joel to handle the smalltalk with your own family, which should make you feel pathetic and childish and weak, but it’s so easy to let him take the reins. He leads you over to them with a gentle hand on the small of your back and a polite smile on his lips.

"Hey guys," you say, waving awkwardly when you’ve reached the terrace, "this is Joel."

You’ve got to hand it to your family, they’re being polite. You can see their eyes move over Joel’s crowsfeet, his hand on your waist, his flannel shirt, and for a second you feel nervous, but Joel seems so at ease, the judgement pearling off of him like drops of water. 

You hug people, Joel shakes hands, says hello in that gruffly charming manner of his, there’s names being exchanged, and during all of it he doesn’t leave your side. He keeps his left hand on your back, lets you know he’s there for you. It feels like a secret somehow, even though it’s not – but you’re tricking your family, and they have no idea what your relationship to Joel is really rooted in. They look at the two of you and see something intimate, sure, but they’ve got it all wrong. It’s intimate in a different way.

"So what do you do, Joel?" one of your aunts asks him, when you’ve sat down – Joel pulling out your chair for you.

"I’m a contractor," he says, and throws his arm around your shoulders. You want to grin when you watch a dozen pairs of eyes follow the movement. Under the table, you nudge Joel’s foot with your own and you swear the corner of his mouth twitches.

They ask him more questions, the sort of superficial things most people think will conjure up an accurate image of the person they’re asking, and you’re more than amused by how Joel deflects them easily with that southern charm, but without backing down. The entire time, his thumb draws circles on your shoulder. You welcome the touch – you know it’s partly to keep up the show of dating you, but nevertheless it’s soothing, real or not. You wonder what Joel gets out of this charade – you get to fool the people who regularly make you feel inferior, you get to have some sort of entertainment at an otherwise boring event, but Joel doesn’t. He seems at ease, though, talking to your uncle about his business, fingers toying with the collar of your blouse at the nape of your neck.

"And how did you two meet?"

Your aunt’s question is sickly sweet, her judgment barely disguised. Her outrage makes you want to laugh and yell at the same time, because it’s not your well-being she’s concerned with, it’s etiquette.

"Oh, I’m friends with her parents," Joel says easily, "known each other ages."

It takes everything in you not to snort at the way your aunts eyes widen, and you’re sure Joel’s cough is really a well disguised laugh.

"Yeah," you say once you’re sure you’ll be able to control your voice, "he taught me how to drive when I was sixteen."

After that, someone hastily changes the topic, and when no one is looking, you throw Joel a grin. He winks at you, and doesn’t take his arm off your shoulder when you lean a little closer to him.

***

"You guys going to the beach, or the city?"

Your father smiles at you, squinting against the sun, backpack already slung over his shoulder – your parents are clearly doing the latter. There’s still time before dinner, and your family decided to split into two groups – you’re not sure which one to join. You look up at Joel, and your eyes meet. He holds your gaze for two seconds, and you don’t need to say anything.

"The beach," Joel decides, looking at your father again. "Could both use a bit of nature after that drive."

You say goodbye to your parents and are grateful for the few moments alone with Joel before joining the others for a walk down the beach. It’s what you would have picked, if you had to, but Joel didn’t need you to pick. Just like with your blouse and dress, he made the decision for you, and even though they’re completely mundane choices, it seems to lift a weight off your shoulders. You can just exist around Joel.

"That okay with you?" he asks you now, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Yeah," you answer, "anything you pick’s okay with me."

It’s more honest than you necessarily wanted it to be, but you find it hard to care when Joel seems so tuned into you. He watches you, and nods.

"Do you think that’s strange?" you ask, all of a sudden worried he finds your need for a lack of autonomy revolting, or pitiful. Joel’s eyes are glued to yours, when you look up at him.

"No," he says softly, "I think you’ve been made to question yourself way too much. Creates stress and pressure I’ll gladly take away if I can."

There’s no judgement in his voice, just acknowledgement. You look at your shoes, then back at him again. You aren’t sure what to answer – you know it’s a strange conversation to be having with your parents’ friend. Before you can answer, Joel does it for you.

"Look, don’t overthink it. This weekend you don’t gotta worry about anythin’, alright? I’m takin’ the reins."

You probably shouldn’t find it as easy to accept this as you do, but then again you probably shouldn’t have brought a man more than twice your age to a family wedding, so you might as well go all in. Joel’s taking the strain. You can just nod and go along with it. For the first time in a long time, you feel oddly silent. Steady.

***

The beach is beautiful and you and Joel take off your shoes and socks to walk barefoot along the water. The steady sound of the waves and the salt in the air makes you feel calm. Your family is close by, walking in little groups, chatting and laughing. You’re enjoying just walking quietly with Joel, but after your conversation with him, you really wouldn’t mind talking to your family either – Joel understood what you were trying to tell him, and offered to take your worries and doubts away from you. There’s no responsibility weighing heavily on your shoulders, and suddenly it seems easy to show your religious aunts your tattoos, and even defend the degree you chose. Joel’s got your back. He’s got your choices, your decisions.

"You’re quiet," Joel tells you over the sound of the wind. You watch it mess up his hair.

"I feel quiet," you say, "in a good way."

Joel hums, and you’re reminded he’s a man of few words, too.

"What you said," you start, voice uncertain, "about them making me question myself. It’s not…they don’t mean any harm."

You watch your toes dig into the wet sand as you walk, soft, cold waves rolling over them in a steady rhythm.

"Yeah, no-one ever does."

You glance at Joel and back at your feet again.

"It’s just…I know I’ve been talking shit about them a lot, but I don’t want you to think they’re bad people or something."

Joel’s eyes are trained on a seagull landing on the sand close by when he answers.

"I don’t think that, I don’t even know ’em. Your parents are good people, and from what I’ve seen, they’re good parents, too."

You nod.

"Still, even if something is well-intentioned, doesn’t mean it can’t have negative repercussions."

You frown, thinking about his words, and Joel sighs.

"I don’t wanna criticize your folks, God knows I’ve made mistakes with Sarah. But I see you constantly tryin’, you know, always workin’ to please them. Even if it comes from a place of wantin’ the best for their kid, I don’t think it should be like that. Parents should be workin’ to make their kids proud, not the other way around."

His words punch the air from your lungs – his assessment of your relationship to your parents so perplexingly correct, you don’t know what to say. And then his immediate acknowledgment of what you feel in your heart, and don’t have the nerve or guts to voice. You feel your eyes begin to prick, and it’s not the sand or the salt. You swallow hard, feel Joel’s eyes on you.

"Hey now," he mutters, noticing your tears, "I didn’t mean to make that happen, darlin’."

The pet name seems to rip something open inside of you, and your tears start to spill silently, your face unmoving. Joel reaches out for your tentatively – the lines between what’s acceptable have blurred. It’s okay for him to put his arm around you to make fools of your family, but this feels different. You decide you don’t care anymore – you want to feel his warm body against your side, you want him to wipe the tears from your cheeks with his huge palms, you want to hear his voice whisper in your ear. Something about Joel Miller soothes an ache inside of you you didn’t even realize needed soothing at all, but now that you’re aware of it, you can’t help but give in completely. 

His gentle palm on your arm is all you need, a clumsy but warm gesture of comfort, and you lean against him, your face against his collarbone. You know your family can see you, they’re close by, walking ahead or behind the two of you. You find you don’t mind – if anything, this will fuel the hoax of the two of you being together even more.

Joel is hesitant at first, but your tears seep into his pullover, and when you inhale shakily, he starts to stroke your back. You hear the sea, Joel’s heartbeat, someone laughing and screaming, possibly your cousins.

"I’m sorry kid," Joel says and rests his chin on the top of your head, "it’s alright. You’re alright."

"S-sorry," you mutter, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

"Don’t gotta apologize. Did I hit a nerve?"

"Yeah," you answer quietly, not stepping back from Joel, just resting your face against his chest. You’ll take what he’s willing to give you, for as long as he is.

"I like it when you choose for me," you whisper after a minute. Although you’ve talked about it before, it feels different to admit this pressed against Joel’s big, warm body. "I really like it."

You feel Joel inhale and sigh, his hand still patting your back softly.

"I know, darlin’. I know."

"It’s weird."

"It’s unusual."

"You’re not, like…grossed out by me?"

Joel holds you a little more tightly.

"No, of course I’m not. Jesus, no. Why would you think that?"

You shrug, and Joel brushes the back of your head with his hand.

"You want me to make your decisions for you this weekend?"

He has been hinting towards that, inching closer to the realization, but he hadn’t put it quite that way before, and you feel something in your belly stir at the directness of his words.

"Yes," you whisper, "please."

You feel him nod, but he doesn’t say anything for a couple of seconds.

"I gotta know what that entails, kid. We gotta…have a conversation about this."

You don’t want to do that – you haven’t had to explain yourself to Joel this plainly before, he always seemed to just get it, even the things you don’t say.

"Tell me what that means to you," Joel asks you gently. It’s not phrased as a question – already he’s doing it so perfectly, not giving you the choice to decline answering, but deciding you will. It’s easy, this way. You inhale again, and close your eyes for your confession.

"I…I just…I want someone to tell me what to wear every morning. I want someone to tell me what to eat, what to like, what to hate, what to rage about. What to listen to, what band to like. What to buy tickets for. What to joke about, what to not joke about. I want someone to tell me what to believe in. Who to vote for and…and who to love and how to tell them. I think I just want someone to tell me how to live my life, Joel, because so far…I think I've been getting it wrong."

He’s quiet, and you think you’ve said too much, made it too weird, and for a split second you feel like running, but then Joel looks down at you, and brushes one stray tear away with his thumb.

"I want you to put on your socks and shoes, again," he says softly, and you feel relief wash over you in synch with the waves. "Can you do that for me?"

You nod, and bend down to get your socks, all the while feeling Joel’s eyes on you.

"Good," he says when you’re done, and gives you a small smile. Your head feels blissfully empty.

***

You catch up with your parents and the rest of your family before dinner, where they hover awkwardly just outside of the doors to the dining room in an old, renovated stable.

Joel keeps his steady hand on your waist, a sign of belonging to your distant family, inconspicuous to your parents, and a clear gesture of comfort to you. He looks handsome in his dark jeans and dark green knit pullover. You’re used to him wearing flip-flops and a grease-stained black tee, gardenhose in hand, but he cleans up nice. You feel your family’s eyes on the two of you as you approach and lean into Joel’s touch a little more.

"Heya," your Dad says with a smile, and immediately shows Joel a book he got in the city, something about cars you can’t be bothered to look at for longer than two seconds. Joel seems interested, though, and when you move to talk to one of your aunts, the hand on your waist tightens. You could easily go anyway, but his touch makes it clear he doesn’t want you to, so you stay, letting the car-talk wash over you, oddly at peace with everything. Joel throws you one look and his thumb starts tracing circles on your waist. It feels like a reward for doing as he said, and the thought makes you feel light-headed.

Eventually you all make your way to the dinner table, and Joel pulls out your chair for you, not sitting down until you’re seated. It makes your stomach flutter, and you can see your aunt watching him, apparently having noticed his good manners, too.

You flip open a menu, trying to decide on a drink – you’re not sure if it might not be too risky to start drinking alcohol this early in the evening, your tongue might become a little too lose, especially among this group. You look over at Joel, and when he notices, he subtly points to Cherry Coke on his own menu, tapping the word once, and you think he must remember you drinking the sticky-sweet stuff all summer as a teen. You give a small nod, to show him you understand, and flip the pages of your menu to look at the food.

"The salmon is supposed to be delicious," your mother is telling your father. She turns to Joel and you, and smiles.

"What are you two having?"

Before you can open your mouth, Joel closes his menu.

"The lamb chops," he answers simply, and when your eyes meet, it punches the air from your lungs. He looks proud, satisfied, like nothing pleases him more than to see you do as he says.

"Yeah," you say quietly, "lamb chops."

***

Dinner is perfectly nice, the lamb chops and your cherry coke are delicious, though you switch to wine after Joel asks you if you prefer red or white and then orders a glass for each of you. From time to time, he brushes your back with his hand when your parents aren’t looking, and even though you don’t get a minute to talk just between the two of you, you can tell he’s making an effort to be present and attentive.

Your younger cousins leave the table to play outside after a while, and you wish you had a few your own age to raid the bar with, as Joel seems to be stuck in a conversation about contracting with your uncle. You drain the last of your wine, your foot tapping rhythmically against the table leg, and you suddenly feel a hand just above your knee, effectively stopping your movement. Joel’s palm is huge as it burns a warm imprint into your skin, squeezing your leg slightly. It’s like a quiet acknowledgment of your restlessness, and enough for you to feel an odd calm wash over you. Joel seems to have realized you want to go to bed, or at least to leave the table and these boring, useless conversations. He also holds the power to decide whether you will or not, so you don’t have to worry about being rude at all. The ball is entirely in his court. You sigh in strange contentment and Joel’s thumb starts moving as a response, his eyes glued to your uncle’s face, nodding and answering whenever it’s appropriate.

After around a quarter of an hour, their conversation seems to fizzle out, and Joel glances down the table. Half the people have left, either to put the kids to bed, or to rest themselves after a long day of traveling. Joel’s eyes meet yours, warm and piercing, and he gets up from his chair, hand slipping from your thigh. Your uncle is talking to your parents now, and Joel waits a beat so as not to interrupt them.

"We’re goin’ to bed," he says when there’s a pause in their conversation, and you nod, getting up, too.

"Already?"

Your Dad sounds surprised.

"It’s eleven," you say, stifling a yawn, "and God knows Joel could use a bit of beauty sleep."

He scoffs and you grin, which makes your father chuckle and shake his head.

"Don’t let her give you hell, Miller. We can still switch rooms if this little union has turned sour."

It’s clearly a joke, but the idea of sleeping in a different room than Joel is distinctly unpleasant all of a sudden, so you chuckle.

"Don’t worry, Dad, still sickly sweet."

You hug your parents goodnight, and Joel promises your uncle to continue their talk the day after, and then, finally, he’s leading you back outside and towards the actual hotel building. His hand is a ghost on the small of your back, not quite touching, but guiding. You breathe in the cool evening air as you step outside and sigh. The change in temperature is more than welcome after the noise and buzz in your head.

"Alright?" Joel asks, voice quiet.

"Yes," you say, and suddenly feel shy about the decisions he made for you throughout the evening. "Sorry about…you don’t have to…I mean, I can just pick my own drinks and food tomorrow."

Joel is quiet for a second, but his hand doesn’t leave your back.

"Was it too much?"

You don’t answer, don’t know how to tell him it was perfect and not enough at the same time, that his hand seems to be burning a whole into the fabric of your blouse, that you want him to decide to take it off of you.

"Jesus," Joel says, interpreting your silence as confirmation, "I’m sorry, kid, I thought it’s what you asked me to do back at the beach, but if I got that wrong, I’m rea-"

"You didn’t," you say quietly, voice cracking on the last word a little. "Don’t apologize, please. Don’t make this into something…weird or, I don’t know, something to feel guilty about."

Joel falls quiet.

"I hate feeling guilty," you add after a stretch of silence. You can feel Joel looking at you.

"You don’t gotta," he says, shaking his head when you shrug, "no, sweetheart, I mean it. I’m tellin’ ya not to feel guilty."

You shudder, you can’t help it – Joel’s tone has an air of finality you can’t resist. As if Joel pressed a button, you feel the emotion seep out of you. He’s still watching you, and you feel your cheeks burn up. You know it’s a little sick, a little depraved and twisted to want Joel to act like this.

"You know," Joel says suddenly, "when Sarah was ten, you two begged your Dad and me to take you to buy you these headbands you wouldn’t shut up about. They had them in purple and green. Sarah chose the green one, but you just couldn’t decide, you stood in front of that damn shelf for half an hour, until your Dad said he wouldn’t get either if you didn’t pick one."

You don’t remember the shop, but you do remember crying on the way home, Sarah petting your arm and lending you her headband the next day.

"Your Dad didn’t mean bad," Joel continues, "probably thought it was a valuable lesson, but you just needed someone to tell you purple suits you, or green goes with your shoes, or whatever."

You’re still quiet, walking beside Joel in the dark, not quite believing he noticed and cared enough to remember such an innocent incident years later. After a while, you swallow.

"I don’t remember buying that headband," you say softly, "or…not buying it, I guess."

"Why was it so hard for you?" Joel asks, voice sincere "to pick one, I mean."

"I…I’m not sure," you answer, not looking at him, but at your feet moving over the cobblestones. "I think I…I think I learned pretty early on a wrong decision could make people angry or disappointed. By not making one at all I just…disappointed myself, you know? Turning the reaction inward, or something."

Joel hums, and contemplates your words for a while.

"Your Dad, does he…did he…if you’d picked the wrong color, would he have gotten angry?"

You glance up at him, see a slight frown on his face, his muscles pulled tight, and you understand what he’s asking.

"No," you say softly, "no, it’s not like that."

Joel visibly relaxes and nods.

"Sorry," he says with an exhale, "didn’t think it was, but geez, that’d you’d be worried about his reaction to the goddamn color of a headband…"

You sigh.

"I don’t know why I’m like this," you say so quietly, you’re not sure Joel hears, but his hand on your back squeezes slightly, an unconscious gesture of comfort. "I wanna please everyone all of the fucking time. It’s pathetic."

"It’s not pathetic, it’s empathetic," Joel argues, and you frown.

"I got no backbone," you say softly, saying out loud the worst you think about yourself to another person for the first time. "I’m a pushover and a narcissist who can’t handle anyone not liking them, as if I’m the centre of the fucking universe."

Joel stops walking, you sigh almost petulantly, and before you can keep walking, Joel’s hand catches your arm.

"Stop," he says, and without thinking about it, you do. He’s frowning, dark eyebrows pulled tight and casting a harsh shadow over his face.

"I don’t want ya sayin’ shit like that," he tells you, "don’t want ya thinkin’ it either, for that matter."

You don’t know what to answer, except that you do, so you just stare at him.

"Were you a pushover when you argued with me until your parents were pissed, just so I wouldn’t sleep in that shithole motel down the road?"

You look at your hands, and pick at your cuticle.

"Answer me, sweetheart," Joel says, and you can hear the order in his voice.

"That was different, it didn’t have anything to do with me," you say, and Joel shakes his head, as if in exasperation.

"Course it didn’t, it was completely selfless. Just like you don’t want to upset your grandma when she sees that little tattoo of yours, or your parents when you pick a career they don’t like. You’re too goddamn nice for your own good. Too empathetic."

 You can feel his gaze glued to your face, but you keep staring at your thumbnail, until Joel sighs again.

"You think a narcissist would have worried about your dress stealin’ your cousin’s show?"

You shrug, aware what Joel wants you to say, but unable to do it.

"You think a narcissist would have sprinted across that shop to stop me buyin’ it for ya?"

"I’m still mad at you because of that," you say softly, and despite himself, Joel’s mouth softens into a smile.

"A narcissist," he repeats, voice dripping with irony, "and I’m the fuckin’ tooth fairy."

"Even if you’re right," you say finally, "I don’t think you can separate concepts like that, you know, egoism and altruism. It’s like, if you donate money, do you ever truly do it to help, or do you do it because you like thinking of yourself as someone who helps?"

"You’re overthinkin’ this, sweetheart. It ain’t philosophy. You had an occasion to buy a pretty dress, and considered your cousins’s feelings – that’s kind. You’re…you’re good."

For some reason that makes you swallow, your throat thick. Good. You don’t think of yourself as a bad person per se, but sometimes being kind does feel like making amends. Joel thinks you’re good. He called you empathetic, nice, got angry when you disagreed. Your chest feels a little warm.

"You can’t see inside my head, Miller," you say, finally meeting his eyes, as he’s towering over you. "You don’t know my intentions."

"You’re not as mysterious as you think, kid," Joel answers gruffly, "why are you so adamant about makin’ yourself into some kind of super villain?"

"I’m not," you answer, cheeks flushing, "I just…"

"Just what?"

You shrug, don’t know yourself what you were going to say, and Joel raises his eyebrows.

"You’re a good girl, a really good person, you always were. So kind to Sarah when you were kids, and now that she’s in Boston, you’re kind to me, just so I’m not lonely."

"Ah," you answer, face heating up, "that. Well, to tell you the truth, Joel, this is one of those times where altruism and egotism are…congruent."

Joel stares at you, and your stomach flutters.

"That so?" he asks quietly, unmoving and still staring at your face. Your neck grows hot, and images of him telling your father what you said rush through your head, of him being uncomfortable, of him seeing you as a substitute daughter and being freaked out by your attachment to him. You swallow, don’t answer, look at your hand again. Suddenly there’s a finger on your chin, and Joel’s lifting your face back up to meet his eyes.

"I’m not makin’ that decision for you, sweetheart," he says, face serious, but a with hint of something in his voice that wasn’t there before. "You ask for it yourself, or you don’t."

His warm hand lingers on your chin for just a second longer, and then he crosses his arms in front of his body. You two continue walking, as if you’re not headed to sleep in the same bed, as if Joel didn’t put his skin to yours in a way that felt new.

***

You’re slightly embarrassed when you’ve changed into your pajamas, which consist of an old pair of pink shorts, and a Micky mouse shirt much too big for you. When you leave the bathroom, Joel is lying on his side of the bed, arms crossed behind his head, a grin spreading across his face when he sees your outfit.

"Nice," he says, and you feel your cheeks heat up.

"Well, I didn’t know I’d be sharing my bed, did I?"

Your voice is close to irritated, but for some reason it makes Joel’s smile widen, and you scoff.

"Unless you’ve got silk pajamas packed, your humor is misplaced."

You walk over to your suitcase and get out your face cream. Joel keeps watching you and seems to have no intention of brushing his teeth any time soon.

"I like it," he says after a beat, and your eyes shoot up to meet his, your knees still pressed into the carpet next to your suitcase. "Suits ya. That blouse is real pretty, but you were tuggin’ on it all evening."

"Yeah, well," you mutter, rubbing the cream into your skin, "I got it for occasions like this one, cause it’s modest."

"Your Micky Mouse shirt is pretty modest," Joel answers, mouth still twitching, "should wear that tomorrow in case you have second thoughts about your dress."

You snort and look down. Micky’s face is all wrinkled, the print faded from how often you’ve washed it.

"I want you to wear something you like tomorrow," Joel says quietly, and you look up. He’s still watching you, voice steady. "Before the ceremony, I mean. Wear somethin’ that feels like you."

It’s a decision he’s making for you, and you swallow.

"Okay," you answer, voice cracking on the last letter. Joel nods.

"Good."

Joel gets up to brush his teeth and change, and you get comfortable with your book while you’re waiting. You know it should feel awkward, being with him like this, but even though your stomach gives a pleasant leap whenever you think about the man in the bathroom, you’re not nervous. Yes, you’re sleeping in the same bed as Joel, but the conversions you’ve had ever since you asked him to take you to this wedding feel much more intimate than this physical closeness.

When he slides under the covers next to you, smelling of three-in-one shower gel and toothpaste, you turn around to face him, one cheek smushed against your pillow, something in your stomach tugging.

 Joel turns his head to look at you, and smiles.

"Comfy?"

"Yeah."

"This ain’t too weird for ya?"

"No," you say, "not too weird."

Joel nods, and takes a gulp from the glass of water on his nightstand. You watch him slide his reading glasses away from the edge, so that they won’t fall to the ground during the night, and think of how he got you the dress you wanted, how each nudge and decision he made for you was always in your favor, always meant to give you pleasure or make things easier for you.

"Joel?"

"Hm?"

"Why do you enjoy…I mean why aren’t you you freaked out by…making my decisions for me and, you know, picking my clothes and food and all that?"

Joel is quiet for a moment, and you wonder if you shouldn’t have asked him that, but then he sighs, and looks at you again.

"When I took you dress shoppin’, you looked at those dresses the way you looked at the headbands when you were a kid," he begins to explain, "I don’t care about the dress, sweetheart. But I could tell you’dve gone with one you thought everyone else was gonna like, and it wouldn’t have been the one you wanted. So I helped you pick it, just like I should’ve helped you pick a headband."

Joel’s eyes are warm and understanding when you swallow, and for a second, he lifts his arm as if to reach out to you, but then he drops it onto the covers. You want him to pull you towards him the way he did at the beach, but you know it would mean something else here, alone in a bed.

"I don’t tell people what I told you," you say quietly, "about my family, and my indecisiveness."

Joel watches you with an unreadable expression.

"Whatever you wanna tell me," he says gently, "is safe with me."

You take Joel Miller by his word, when you lean towards him, shuffling close to him, until you can feel the heat of his body through both your blankets, and you can see the hesitation in his warm eyes. You trust he’s telling the truth about keeping your secrets, when you arch your back so your lips reach his, and you brush your mouth against his, his beard tickling your skin. It’s soft, and a little clumsy, until your lips part, the fire in your stomach catching, and Joel lets out a groan right into your mouth. 

Finally, he kisses you back, warm lips coaxing yours, his big hands coming to rest on your upper arms, and tugging your body towards his. It’s exhilarating to feel how strong he is, to hear his gruff voice not in words but in little sounds of desire for you. Before you can press your hips to his in a reckless moment of need, Joel breaks the kiss, and your eyes open. His pupils are dilated, his mouth is red and shiny with a mixture of both your saliva.

"Jesus," he says quietly, hands still on your arms, "Jesus, kiddo."

You feel nervous, but as so often, the decision lies with Joel, and that makes everything easier. You were honest with him, stripped yourself bare, right down to the skeleton of your want for him and all of the depraved thoughts you have, and now Joel can do with that what he wants – you’ve offered him all you have to offer and feel your limbs relax at that thought. Joel’s thumb starts drawing its familiar circles, his eyes glued to your face.

"I think we should sleep on this," he says after what feels like a long time, "but, God, I wish I didn’t."

The corners of your lips pull up into a smile.

"It’s your choice," you say, and watch Joel swallow – you think this might be affecting him just as much as you.

"You shouldn’t give me that much power, sweetheart," he breathes, and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. "Gonna make me go mad with it."

You lean into his palm, which is now cupping your face, and Joel sighs.

"Go to sleep now," he mutters, and the disappointment is dulled by the pleasure of doing as he says. Instead of moving over to your own side of the bed, you rest your head on Joel’s chest, and after a sharp inhale, he drapes his arms over you, pulling you against him and holding you securely.

"Good," he whispers into your ear, making you shudder, and you're almost certain you hear Joel chuckle softly above you.

***

You wake at night, Joel’s arms still wrapped around you, though limp with sleep now. He’s breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling under you as if you weigh nothing, as if you haven’t been lying on top of him for hours. You feel a little bad for crushing him like this, and move away slightly to lay down right next to him, but his arms tighten around you as soon as you pull away, and he keeps you locked in his iron grip, still unconscious, his eyes closed. You can smell his aftershave with your face resting high on his chest, can hear his heartbeat and the air rushing in and out of his lungs. His arms are like a cage around your body, and instead of waking him up, you give in, closing your eyes again, one of your legs sliding between Joel’s. You feel something in your stomach ache pleasantly, but you’re too tired to examine the feeling, just let Joel’s steady breathing and scent lull you into darkness again.

***

The sun pours into the room like honey when you open your eyes again, this time alone in the big bed. You can hear water running in the bathroom, then a quiet cough. Joel Miller is getting ready after holding you all night, even through his deep sleep. It’s a little hard to wrap your head around, so you just press your face into the pillow and inhale, smell his sweat and shower gel, his laundry detergent.

"Mornin’," Joel says quietly, and you turn around to face him. His hair is wet, and he’s wearing a simple black t-shirt and a pair of clean, black jeans. He looks excruciatingly attractive, all solid and masculine and warm.

"Morning."

"Sleep well?"

You nod, unsure of how to address the shift in dynamic between the two of you in the daylight.

"Did…you?"

Joel hums, still leaning against the bathroom door and watching you. Your eyes flicker towards his chest, and you think of the way it felt pressed against your face at night, how his arms wrapped around you so securely. You swallow, and Joel’s eyes track the movement.

"Do you…want to go have breakfast?" you ask timidly, your voice cracking.

Joel shakes his head, and you start picking at your thumb again. You’re not generally awkward around him, but nobody told you how to deal with a situation like this, with you father’s best friend after you kissed him.

"No, I wanna talk about last night," Joel says, and you can’t stop a little groan escaping your mouth.

"Joel, look, I don’t…I didn’t mean to…I was caught up because you understand me so well, and you smell so good, and I just…I acted on instinct, I didn’t think, and if I made you uncomfortable, I’m really really sorry."

Joel is so quiet, you’re afraid he’s going to yell at you, or walk out of the room and tell your father, but the feeling of his arms tightening around you keeps reappearing in your mind, so you push your worries aside. Joel didn’t have to hold you the way he did.

"Instinct, huh?"

You flush, and look at your hand.

"I…yeah."

"’S a hell of an instinct, sweetheart."

You sigh, and nod.

"I know."

"Your father’s goin’ to behead me with a dull axe if he finds out about this."

Despite yourself, a chuckle escapes you, and your stomach flips pleasantly. Joel runs a hand over his beard and walks over towards you, his hair still wet from his shower.

"He’s never been the dull axe type," you argue, "he’ll try to outsmart you with words, though."

Joel snorts, and for a second you feel bad about making fun of your father when Joel so clearly would have the upper hand in a fight, but then Joel cups your face in his massive palm and you stop thinking all together.

He hums thoughtfully, as if contemplating his options, his eyes drifting over your face, and you don’t dare say anything, scared of spooking him when he’s so close to finally giving into this weird tension.

"I’m not doin’ anything while we’re here," he finally says, and you sigh. The disappointment must show on your face, because Joel’s mouth twitches under his beard.

"Not while I’m a guest," he adds, "wouldn’t be right."

"You’re not a guest, you’re my date," you argue, Joel’s hand still cradling your face.

"Yes, the date your mother picked to distract me from the fact that my daughter moved across the country. Who is your age, by the way."

You know he’s saying it to stress the absurdity of the situation, the reason why he can’t kiss you again, but his words make your stomach flutter instead of deterring you.

"I’m not a kid," you mutter, realizing it’s the most childish thing you could have said.

"Jesus," Joel answers quietly, shaking his head. "We’re goin’ to have breakfast now, before I…"

And he lets go of you, steps back, runs his hand over his beard again in that nervous habit of his, and even though it feels like you somehow turned liquid in his hands, you manage to get up.

"You know, we could just skip breakfast," you suggest, "order room service. Nobody would miss us if we –"

"Get dressed," Joel interrupts, watching you with his jaw clenched tight.

***

It feels different, walking with Joel to meet your family for breakfast. He still puts that calming hand on the small of your back, you still tease him the same way you did before, but there is a new tension between you now, as if you’re each holding on to one end of a rubber band. You wonder if it’s going to snap.

"Mornin’," Joel says, smiling at your parents, and you try hard not to let it show on your face that you kissed their 50-something neighbor just last night. When your mother smiles at you, you’re sure it must be visible in your eyes, that any second now she will start yelling. But she just asks you how you slept, tells you how comfortable she finds the beds and that the water pressure of the showers is just perfect. You agree, indulge her in her good mood.

After a couple of minutes, you look towards your father, and find that Joel is staring at you, face carefully neutral in a way nobody else would notice. You give him a tentative smile, and his jaw clenches again, but his expression softens.

During breakfast, he doesn’t put his hand on your thigh like he did the night before, no matter how much you pathetically bounce it just to get his attention. He keeps talking to your uncle again, and you would feel hurt by how clearly he’s trying to maintain distance between the two of you, if you didn’t catch him looking at you whenever there’s a break in the conversation. You wish you were able to read his thoughts, then wonder if he thinks you’re pitiful, and are glad you can’t.

When you’re almost done with your coffee, a waiter comes over and asks everyone to pick something for dinner – meat, fish or a vegetarian option. Your parents start telling a story of the best fresh fish they ate last time they went on a holiday, as you open the little folded menu and read the options.

You can feel Joel’s eyes practically burning a hole in the side of your head, even thought his hands are carefully kept to himself. Then he lifts up his hand just slightly and points to the fish on his own menu, clearing his throat. Your stomach flips again – whatever it is you’re doing, he’s still willing to do it after you kissed him. You close the menu, and smile.

***

The day passes in a blur of playing with your little cousins, talking to various family members, helping with your cousin’s bridal makeup (mostly, you just hold the mirror, which you’re grateful for – too much pressure to actually apply anything on her big day). Joel keeps his distance, charms your family with that twinkle in his eyes, and keeps looking at you wherever you are.

When you’re pushing your little cousin on a set of swings, there he is, sitting on a hotel garden chair with one of your aunts and looking at pictures she’s showing him on her phone. He nods and smiles, seems to answer when appropriate, but you just know it’s boring him to death. Whenever your aunt looks down, his eyes find you, and you grin at him, giving him a thumbs up. He shakes his head just slightly to himself, but you can see his smile even from this distance. It makes you feel warm inside.

In the afternoon, everyone retreats to their rooms to get changed for the ceremony, and you feel your stomach jolt at the thought of finally seeing Joel in the suit he refused to put on for you before. You meet him at the front of the hotel, where he and several of the younger children are kicking a ball back and forth. They laugh when he cleverly dodges their little feet, and then kicks it through their legs. He laughs, too, ruffles their hair, lets them beat their little fists against his legs when he tricks them again.

"You like him."

It’s your aunt, and she caught you watching Joel, a subconscious smile on your face. You glance at her and look at your feet, then shrug.

"I thought it was some rebellious streak to drive your parents up the wall," she admits, and you snort at that, "but I guess you’ve never been the type to do that."

"No," you say softly.

"They don’t mind?"

You don’t want to lie to her directly – a conversation like this, one on one, feels way different than some vague excuses and stories when fifteen people ask where you met.

"I don’t think they know…how close we are."

Your aunt smiles and nods.

"Well, looks like they’ll have to get used to it. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you."

Her last words make your stomach flutter, but it’s the beginning of her sentence that makes you think. Your parents, having to arrange themselves with a choice you made for yourself, one they deem foolish or wrong or even immoral. The idea is almost preposterous – and thrilling. All these years, you were the clay holding your family together, molding yourself until you fit into all the little cracks and rotten cavities. Now it might be their time to soften and adjust, regardless of whether it’s because of Joel or not. You’re tired of being so shapeless.

When Joel spots you, he lets the kids score one more goal, one he could have easily saved, high fives them, and makes his way over to you with a smile on his face.

"Hello, coach," you say, as your aunt makes her way over to the children. "You’d better take a shower before you put on that suit."

He scoffs at you, but there’s that irresistible twinkle in his eyes again.

"You know, my aunt recons my parents could get used to…this."

"Jesus," Joel says and frowns. "I think they’d sooner tell you to join a biker gang."

"Maybe I should," you say, and Joel chuckles. "I’ll save that idea for the next family event. Funeral, maybe. Would be a talking point, wouldn’t it?"

"That what I am? A talking point?"

His voice is teasing, but you immediately regret your words – because he’s not. He got you the dress and he lets you talk about your family, and he doesn’t look at you any different for it.

"No," you say softly, looking up at him, "you’re not."

He doesn’t answer, but you think there is something like relief or satisfaction on his face, though he hides it well.

***

Getting ready with Joel feels weirdly domestic, but comfortable, as if you always share a space like that. He showers, puts on his slacks and a white shirt to wear under his dress shirt, then runs his hand through his hair and leaves it be. You’re glad, you like him best like this anyway.

While you apply your makeup, Joel watches you from the bed, the door to the bathroom wide open to let out the steam. For a moment you let yourself imagine a life in which you always share a bedroom, in which Joel Miller watches you get ready in the mornings, but you ban the thought from your mind, because it’s stupid and reckless and you can’t afford to fall for him.

"Y’look real pretty," he says after you come out of the bathroom in your light blue dress, your hair soft and tamed for once. Your stomach flips, both at the compliment and at how handsome Joel looks in his simple white shirt and black pants. He’s not wearing a tie, but he added light blue cufflinks to his sleeves – a detail that undeniably binds you to him, if only for one evening. He watches your eyes flicker over his form, and crosses his arms in front of his chest, and you remember how self conscious he was about the suit.

"You look…hot", you say honestly, before you can change your mind, and watch Joel’s cheeks flush a bright red.

"Don’t say shit like that," he says, hiding behind his frown, but he uncrosses his arms, and shakes his head. "Hot…"

The first button of his shirt is undone, and you have to force yourself to tear your eyes away from  the skin that peeks out, can’t look at his hands either or you’ll see his silver watch on his wrist, and definitely won’t let yourself look at those dress pants, held up by a simple black leather belt.

"Let’s go," Joel mumbles, when you’re done trying and failing not to ogle him, and you grab your purse, slip into your shoes, and find Joel staring at you, when you turn around. He’s waiting by the door, but doesn’t open it when you walk over to him. Instead, he lifts his hand up, strokes the back of his hand once over your cheek, eyes trained on your face, and your skin burns.

"We picked a good dress, sweetheart," he says, you’re pleased that he’s pleased, but more than that, you like how he said we. Not a choice he made for you, but one you made together.

***

The ceremony is beautiful, and although you complained about your family to Joel a lot, you cry as soon as you see your cousin in her dress. Joel puts his arm around your shoulder, stroking your arm in a subconscious, comforting way. You lean into him, let yourself revel in the closeness without wondering what anyone will think – every eye in the room is glued to the bride and groom.

"You want a drink?" Joel asks you when people start to get up, talking in little groups. You hope your makeup isn’t all runny from your tears, but before you get a mirror from your purse, Joel cradles your face and wipes his thumb under your eye gently, just once.

"There," he mutters. The movement was quick and caught you off guard, your stomach fluttering uncontrollably. You’re usually better at keeping the butterflies in check.

"Yeah," you say, a second too late, "I gotta get drunk."

Joel chuckles and together you leave the venue, his hand on your waist, holding you tighter than he did during the day. There are tables set up outside in the sun, decorated with flowers and white tablecloths. People are catching up and laughing, basking in the joy of your cousin and her new husband. Joel leads you to the bar, and before you can look at the different drinks, he orders two Gin Tonics.

"There ya go," he says, handing you a cold glass, and you clink them together, before taking a sip. It’s refreshing, the sun burning your skin just slightly, and you enjoy the bitterness of the drink. It tastes like Joel ordered it, it tastes like him.

"There you are," a voice behind you calls, and Joel steps half a step back from you. "Weren’t those the most beautiful vows you’ve ever heard? I still remember when she was just a baby, and now she’s married."

You mother smiles at you and Joel, then at your father.

"Found the booze already, did you, Miller? Bad influence on my little girl," he just says, laughing and looking younger in the sun. Joel clears his throat, and smiles, but it’s forced.

"Well, anyway, we’d better find grandma," your mother tells you, and off they go. Joel exhales and looks at you. You know the comment about being a bad influence on you threw him off, but you smile at him.

"Get me drunk, then," you say softly, and despite it all, Joel smiles back.

***

In the heat, it doesn’t take long for you to become tipsy at the very least, you really shouldn’t drink gin to get rid of your thirst, but it tastes so good, and Joel watches you so intently. You’re sitting at one of the tables, listening to the music blaring from the speakers, your foot conveniently brushing Joel’s leg every time you move it to the beat of the song.

"We’re gonna dance," Joel says when you’re done with your first drink, and you snort.

"Right," you answer, "we’re gonna dance."

Joel doesn’t break the eye contact, just raises one eyebrow.

"Wasn’t the whole point of going to this thing together not having to dance?"

"It was before you enjoyed the music so much," Joel answers, and you stop moving your foot.

"I don’t dance," you say, frowning now, "and neither do you."

Joel takes a long sip from his own drink, emptying the glass. You watch his throat as he swallows, then sighs and looks at you thoughtfully for a few moments.

"I want you to dance," he says quietly, his gravely voice soft all of a sudden, "with me."

Something in your stomach comes alive – it’s one thing, sitting next to him when he points to a dish on his menu, but his eyes on yours as he practically orders you to dance make you feel all fluttery and hot.

"Okay."

"Good," Joel says softly, and you swallow, try hard not to let it show on your face how much your stomach jolts at his words.

The song is some romantic ballad you remember listening to as a teenager, and you can’t imagine Joel dancing at all, least of all to a song like this, but he gets up and holds out one hand. There are more people on the dance floor, swaying to the music, laughing, some kissing. The idea that Joel and you would join them is so absurd, you almost giggle, but Joel wants you to dance – so you’ll dance. You’re dimly aware he isn’t doing this for himself, but because he noticed your foot, but you pretend not to have made that connection.

His hands find your waist and you wrap yours around his neck a little awkwardly, and he sways you to the music. You’re surprised to find he moves with a certain grace you never would have thought possible, but you give a little sigh of relief when the song changes into something faster and upbeat. Joel notices, and chuckles.

"Havin’ fun?"

You suddenly are, and you didn’t expect that at all. There’s more people joining you now, as you sway your hips and grin up at Joel.

"Yeah," you say over the music and laughter, "think you should get me drunk more often, Miller."

Joel laughs, and gently guides you to your right to let a couple you have never seen before pass. You move easily under Joel’s hands, the insecurity about being seen dancing wiped from your mind by the fact that Joel told you to.

Joel’s forehead is slightly damp by the time the fourth song ends and your feet are starting to hurt in the shoes you’re wearing, so you wrap your arms around his neck again, and pull him towards you.

"I want another drink," you tell him, your mouth close to his ear, and he flinches slightly.

"No need to yell, sweetheart," he says, but turns towards the bar anyway. He takes your hand to pull you through the crowd, and your stomach does a sort of somersault. Joel Miller, holding your hand. Before you can think better of it, before you can worry about your parents seeing you, or Joel becoming angry or distant, you intertwine your fingers with his, and hold on tight. Joel turns his head to look back at you, but he doesn’t let go of your hand. He doesn’t say anything either, not while there’s so many people so close, but he squeezes, just once. Your knees become slightly weak, and your cheeks start to heat up, but the gin was strong enough for you to stop caring about your nervousness.

When you’re at the bar, you grin at the barkeeper, hand still in Joel’s, slightly dizzy from the drink and the heat and all the spinning and swaying.

"One sex on the beach, please," you say, then look directly at Joel with a mischievous smile.

"Jesus," he mutters, then turns to the barkeeper. "She’ll have a beer. Bud. One for me too, please."

"No, she’ll have sex on the beach."

You giggle at your obvious innuendo, and the barkeeper smiles. Joel shakes his head.

"Look, I don’t want her throwin’ up all over her dress, she’ll murder me in the mornin’ if I let that happen."

"Beer it is, then," the bar keeper says with a good natured wink at you. You frown at him.

"I’m an adult and I ordered a–"

Joel squeezes your hand again, and you look at him with a slight pout – his eyes are slightly amused, but there’s a stern expression on his face.

"Okay," you say, "okay okay okay, Miller. Whatever you want."

His eyes stay on yours a second too long, then he lets go of your hand and hands you one of the sweating, ice-cold bottles. You take it, put it to your lips and take a swig, all while looking directly into Joel’s eyes. The way you press your lips against the rim of the bottle is a little too calculated, a little too sensual, and Joel watches your movement with a tense expression on his face.

"Christ, kid, I’m gettin’ you water next," he mumbles, watches you swallow, then smile up sweetly at him.

"Whatever you want," you say again. Joel doesn’t answer.

***

The two of you drink your beers at the end of row of tables, and you’re glad for the moment of quiet – the music isn’t as loud here, and the beer is so cold, you get goosebumps. Neither of you is talking much, but it’s a comfortable sort of silence – as always when you’re with Joel, you’re at ease.

"– why they let her bring him, I really don’t."

Two of your great aunts are sitting at a table close by, completely oblivious to your presence.

"Yes, he’s old enough to be her Daddy."

"And so gruff looking!"

Joel looks away, but you’re sure he must have heard – there is nobody else at this wedding they could be talking about. His expression is unreadable, but his knuckles are white around his beer bottle, and you’re half afraid he’s going to shatter it.

"I don’t understand why she’s interested in him," you aunt continues, "but I was just waiting for her to do something like this, you know. She always was so sensitive, no wonder she has to compensate somehow."

You swallow, your cheeks heating up with embarrassment.

"Come on," Joel suddenly says, a deep frown on his face, and he gets up. You follow him, you don’t want to hear the rest of what your family has to say about you behind your back.

"Excuse me," Joel asks politely, when you pass the two elderly ladies. They scooch, so you can squeeze past them, neither of them saying anything. You don’t look at them, but take Joel’s hand in yours again.

"I’m sorry," you say, when you’re at a safe distance from them, no risk of being overheard, "I’m sorry for what they said about you, Joel–"

"No," he shakes his head. "They ain’t wrong about me. Are about you, though."

His face looks so kind, so sorry for you, you feel like crying. You won’t though, not when you’re on what is practically a date with Joel Miller. You won’t let them ruin this night.

"I wanna dance," you say instead, and finish the last of your beer, before putting it on a table close by. "I wanna dance with you, Joel Miller."

He doesn’t argue, lets you drag him onto the dance floor again, and this time you stand close to him, closer than you should, this time you bury your fingers at the back of his neck in his hair. Joel looks hesitant, his hands on your waist tentative.

"Sweetheart," he starts in an apologetic tone, and you know what’s coming – they were right, your parents are here, you’re drunk, this is reckless. You squeeze closer, until you’re all pressed up against him, your heart hammering right against Joel’s chest. You really are tipsy now, but you don’t care. You lean up, trying to reach Joel’s mouth with yours, but he holds you steady at your waist.

"No," he says softly, "you’re doin’ it to piss of your family."

He’s not entirely wrong, so you let up, but you stay close to him, and after a couple of minutes, his thumb starts drawing circles on your skin, the way he did all throughout the weekend to soothe you, even before you kissed him and turned this into…whatever it is now.

"Let’s do shots after this," you say with a smile, "lets vomit all over their ugly fucking clothes. They want me to fuck up this party so bad, I’ll fuck it up. Gotta compensate somehow."

"I think you’ve had enough, kid," Joel says, his voice just slightly concerned. "You’ll have a headache tomorrow."

"Oh, you’ll pace me," you answer, "given that you’re old enough to be my Daddy."

Joel’s thumb stops moving on your hip, and you smile up at him, which only makes his frown deepen. There’s something else there, too, something you recognize from when you kissed him, from when he saw you in your dress, from when you told him about your family for the first time. 

"I wanna kiss you," you admit, "again."

The word tastes delicious in your mouth, your reminder that you have before, that Joel didn’t stop you, that he kissed you back.

"You won’t," Joel answers sternly, and you don’t even think about arguing with him, not when he’s using that tone. The same tone he used to tell you which dress to get.

"Okay," you say softly.

***

Joel does pace you – he doesn’t let you do shots, instead he gets you water, tells you to drink it all, and once again you chug it while looking directly at him, then smile sweetly and watch him shake his head in a mix of exasperation and amusement. After a while you tell Joel you need the bathroom, and when he leads you there you wonder briefly if he thinks you’re too drunk to find it on your own, or if he hates the idea of being alone at this party as much as you do. You’ve sobered up throughout the night, all that water Joel practically poured down your throat seems to have worked.

There is a line in front of the bathroom, and you wait with your grandmother and Joel – an awkward constellation, the silence is thick enough to cut.

"Your dress is awfully low cut, honey," she says after a while, and your eyes meet Joel’s just briefly – told you so. "You’re such a pretty girl, but that just gives the wrong impression."

"And what impression would that be?" you ask, but you don’t want to fight. Their age allows your family to say whatever they want to say, even if it’s not candor, but unprovoked opinions you tell yourself don’t matter anymore.

"I picked that dress," Joel says after a moment, and your grandmother nods.

"Of course men would like it," she says wisely, "but as a woman you have to be above that sort of thing."

You sigh, and Joel puts a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"I like this dress, grandma. It’s not 1850, Joel won’t fall into fits of lust if he sees my ankle."

"He can see a bit more than that, honey."

You make a gesture between a shrug and throwing up your hands, as if to say, well, I tried.

"He’s gonna have to take it off, then, if it’s that awful," you mumble so quietly your grandmother can’t hear, but Joel does. He looks at you with an unreadable expression on his face, and your cheeks go slightly red – you didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did, didn’t mean for it to sound so straightforward.

"Stop harassing her, Mom, this is how kids dress these days," a voice behind you says, and suddenly your mother is right next to you, your father not far behind. Although her words are intended to help you, they sting – that’s all your choices are to them, a product of your youth and the times you live in. God forbid you, an adult, wear a dress because you think you look pretty, it must be because it’s what everyone your age would wear.

Joel’s hand leaves your shoulder, and for a second you’re afraid your parents heard what you said about Joel taking off your dress, but they proceed to talk about the wedding, laughing and joking. You clench your fists, digging the sharp edges of your nails into your palms as hard as you can. It feels like being 12 all over again, their comments that aren’t necessarily ill-intended or mean, so you can’t really be mad about them, the way they don’t even notice they upset you.

You feel a very soft touch on your arm, barely there, just a brush of a finger from just above your elbow, down to your fist. Then it’s gone again, and although you don’t dare look at Joel after he touched your bare skin in front of your parents, you will your muscles to relax, knowing it’s what Joel meant to tell you with his touch. Your fingers unclench, and you feel distantly relieved at the absence of pain in your palms.

You know how reckless it is to be so into Joel, you know nothing good can come of it, but you don’t remember the last time you spent this much time with your whole family and felt so seen by someone at the event. For a second you envision kissing him here, on the dance floor, in front of your parents, and you know for once it would be a choice you wouldn’t question or be made to feel ashamed of.

You tried to, just hours before, and Joel stopped you, because you did it to piss of your family. He was right, in that moment you wanted to give them something worth criticizing, if they must criticize all of the time. But this time it’s different – you want to kiss Joel because he doesn’t think you’re a narcissist, because he sees your anger disguised by politeness and doesn’t think it’s ugly.

You turn to him, steadfast in your decision.

"I’m really tired," you say quietly, "we could just go upstairs, I can use the bathroom there."

Joel studies your face for a second, then nods.

"Alright," he agrees, and you turn around to your parents with a newfound confidence.

"I’m gonna use our bathroom upstairs," you tell them, "we’re going to bed anyways."

"Of course, honey, you go to bed," your mother answers and gives you a quick hug, "but Joel, why don’t you stay? You’re not her chaperone."

It’s a joke, you know it is, but it almost makes your blood boil. After your mother asked you to spend some time with Joel as a favor, after you’ve had to deal with judgmental stares and comments all night, after both you and Joel were insulted by your own family behind your backs, they still have the nerve to talk over you, disregard what you said, pretend you’re a child in need of supervision. You open your mouth, surprised by how ready you are to give them a piece of your mind, but Joel’s fingers brush your waist, squeezing gently, and he smiles at your mother.

"I ain’t the kinda man to stay at a party if my date’s leavin’," he says, and although it’s not particularly rude, there is an edge to his voice, a certain tone that suggests he’s sticking to you out of a kind of loyalty they weren’t aware of, and that he is unhappy with what your mother said. You watch your parents, see your father’s eyes flicker down to Joel’s hand on your waist, and although his expression is unreadable, and he doesn’t say anything, you feel triumphant. There you go, you want to say, someone here is willing to take me seriously.

"Good night, Dad," you say, give him a hug, too, and suppress a smile, when Joel’s hand returns to your side as soon as you step over to him. He smiles down at you, and shrugs out of his suit jacket.

"’S probably cold out, put this on."

You do, all too aware of your parents looking at you, all too aware that for some reason Joel doesn’t seem afraid of them noticing your closeness anymore. You thank him, and he says good night to your parents, ever friendly, but decidedly choosing you. His scent envelops you when you walk away together, the warmth of his body still stored in the fabric of his jacket now warming you.

***

You inhale deeply, push the air from your lungs into your mouth to puff up your cheeks, and sit down on the bed. Your feet hurt from spending all night in your fancy shoes, and your mind won’t stop running circles around the comments your family made. You wiggle your toes, watch them move under the fabric of your tights, then look up at Joel again.

"You look worried," he comments, reaching up to his throat to pop open the first two buttons of his shirt. You can’t help but stare at the skin that it reveals, slightly shiny with sweat.

"That was…a lot."

Joel hums, and slips out of his shoes, too.

"I think you did well."

A glowing feeling builds in your chest, and you can’t help but smile, looking at your fingernails.

"Didn’t throw any drinks into anyone’s faces, so I guess it’s a successful night."

Joel chuckles, the sound a deep rumble in his chest. He sits down on the foot of the bed, still watching you, looking excruciatingly handsome in his button down and slacks.

"That, too, but more so…you didn’t let them talk down to you. Didn’t just agree with your granny, you know? Stood your ground. ’M real prouda you."

There it is again, the pull in your stomach whenever Joel seems to really see you, and before you can think about it, you move over to Joel, until you’re sitting right in front of him, his broad body turned towards you, you kneeling on the white sheets. Joel’s eyes move over your face, down to your dress, your legs in those itchy tights you can’t wait to get out of.

"Did it help?" His voice is soft. "Me tellin’ you what to do?"

You nod, unsure of where this is going, nervous and so content at the same time. This is Joel, the same Joel who held you at the beach and ordered for you, who picked out your dress. He’ll know what to do, he’ll know what’s best.

"I don’t want you to stop," you admit, eyes wide and staring into Joel’s, "when we get back home. I wish we could just…"

You don’t know how to finish that sentence, aware that what you truly wish for isn’t in the cards for you and him, not while he’s your parents’ friend first. Joel sighs, but doesn’t answer. No me too, no we can’t, not even a nod or head shake. A man of few words, Joel Miller.

"You got my number," he says after a few beats, "can…ask for my help, y’know, when you’re pickin’ out headbands."

Without you being aware of it, your face splits into a smile, and you feel tears prick at your eyes. The kindness Joel offers even the sickest parts of you is unmatched, and you’re unsure what to do with it.

"Hey now," he says and puts a soothing hand on your shoulder, "don’t cry, sweetheart. Don’t cry."

You stop, because Joel told you to, your body by now accustomed to answering his command. With a shaky inhale, you calm yourself, and swallow.

"Sorry," you mutter, but Joel shakes his head.

"What’s got you hurtin’?"

The question is so blunt, so heartfelt.

"Nobody else…gets this," you explain, "it’s lonely."

Joel hums, and his fingers start moving on your shoulder, stroking your skin gently, soothingly.

"Don’t have to be anymore, kid. My door’s always open."

He’s close to you, and when you meet his eyes, there is static in the air between you. Something changed, between telling him about your family and him lending you his jacket, something shifted. It’s palpable, real electricity.

"Tell me what you need," Joel says quietly into the silence, because he can feel those unspoken things, because he knows there is something you need in the first place. It’s easy to tell him this time, without embarrassment or shame.

"I need you to tell me what to do," you whisper, scooching closer to him, his hand still lingering on your shoulder. You watch him swallow, aware that with any other man seeing how your words affect him would gross you out, but with Joel it just makes that pull in your stomach stronger. Joel doesn’t answer for a long while as he’s staring into your open, waiting eyes.

"Lie back," he orders quietly, voice gravelly and low. You feel a pang of want in your stomach so intense it’s almost painful, and your mouth goes dry. Joel watches you move, shuffle out of his suit jacket until you’re just in your dress and stockings, then lie back on the pillow, eyes still on him. You’re quiet, waiting for his next instruction, your mind blissfully empty.

"Good," Joel praises you, and your eyes flutter just briefly, giving away how much this is affecting you. Joel chuckles, and gets up from the bed, turning to face you fully, looking broad and handsome and very safe.

"You enjoy that, huh?"

There’s no condescension in his voice, just acknowledgement and warmth. You nod, and Joel smiles.

"Take off your tights."

You do, letting them drop onto the floor next to the bed, Joel still standing in front of you with his hands on his hips. He looks casual, relaxed, not at all like he’s watching his friend’s daughter undress herself because he asked her to. He moves over to you, and puts one broad palm on your bare leg, his fingers slipping under the hem just slightly.

"This will have consequences," he tells you seriously, "you aware of that?"

It’s the adult, responsible thing to have a conversation about what’s happening between you too, but you wish he would just get on with it.

"I am," you answer a little breathlessly, as Joel’s thumb is drawing circles on your skin and driving you crazy.

"You ready to face them?"

The question is laden with all you shared with him before: are you ready to do the thing your family would disapprove of the most, head high and without giving into their judgement? Two months ago, you wouldn’t have been. The idea of their disappointment would have swallowed you, the look on your father’s face as he noticed Joel’s hand on your waist paralyzed you. But it’s almost like a flip switched inside of you through Joel’s consistent understanding, and suddenly your grandmother’s outrage seems almost funny to you. You want this. And you’re ready to stand in for what you want, without shame.

"Yes," you breathe, "I really am, Joel."

You can see on his face he believes you, the way his crowfeet grow more pronounced with something like pride, and pleasure flushes your whole body, seeing how much your answer pleases Joel.

"Come a long way, sweetheart," he says, his hand moving upwards just slightly, pushing the hem of your dress up. You keep yourself from trembling under his touch, hanging onto the last bit of dignity and restraint you have left.

"’M real prouda you," he says again, the muscles in your stomach flexing at his words. "Now why don’t you tell me what you want me to do to ya?"

You’re no good at that. What you want is to take whatever Joel gives you, to follow his every command and let your mind go quiet in the process. But he’s commanding you to think about what you want yourself, so you dig your front teeth into your bottom lip and furrow your eyebrows just slightly.

"I…um…"

Joel waits, his hand patient and gentle on your leg.

"Remember I told you not to feel guilty?"

It’s not guilt, per se, but something distinctly feminine, something taught and learned over years. Just lie back and take it, the first time always hurts, women don’t finish as often as men do. You haven’t thought of sex as something meant to firstly fulfill your desire, as irrational as it sounds. It was a means to satisfying a partner, your own pleasure a nice side effect. Joel is telling you to leave that in the past, to really think about what you want and tell him without shame.

"I want you inside," you whisper, eyes wide and heart hammering against your ribcage with anticipation and the thrill of giving into your need. "And I…I like it when you talk to me."

At those words, Joel’s eyes seem to grow dark, you watch his pupils dilate in real time, and his fingers dig into the meat of your calf.

"Attagirl," he mumbles, and the heat in your stomach peaks. Joel stares at you for a moment. "Turn onto your belly, sweetheart."

You do so without hesitation, without wondering what he’s going to do, and let your cheek sink into the pillow that smells so much like Joel, your calf still enveloped by his massive palm. Joel hums, and then his touch is gone, only to reappear on your back, his hands teasing the satiny, light blue fabric he picked for you to wear. He runs his fingers from the small of your back up to the nape of your neck, and you can’t help but shudder when he grazes your bare skin.

"Let’s get this pretty dress off of ya, hm?"

He pops open the two tiny buttons at the very top, smoothes down the zipper to reveal your bare back. You’re about to be naked in front of a very much dressed Joel Miller, and the thought is exhilarating more than frightening.

"Looked so goddamn beautiful all night," Joel mutters, "wearin’ the clothes I picked. Jesus, you’ve no idea what that does to a man."

You can’t help the whine that escapes your mouth, when Joel’s hands dig into your muscles, kneading them softly and turning your body into liquid.

"So tense, baby, gotta relax f’me."

 "I’m trying," you answer softly, and Joel chuckles.

"Know you are, know you are. Doin’ so good."

You close your eyes and let Joel touch you how he pleases, your brain quieter than you can remember it being with a man before him. There’s no fear of what he’ll do if your attention slips, no worry about putting on the right act for him either. Just Joel, his warm hands on your back, and your sore and needy body.

Joel helps you turn around and out of the dress since it doesn’t unzip entirely, moves your arms and legs how he wants so it’s off within a few moments, and you’re lying there on your back in front of him, wearing nothing but your nicest pair of panties and a soft bra to match them.

"Fuckin’ hell," Joel mutters more to himself than to you, eyes raking over your body. You remember the instinct to feel ashamed at his scrutiny, vaguely register you should cover yourself up, but the pride and pleasure triumph. He sees you, and he likes what he sees, in more ways than one. So you shimmy your hips into a sexier position, trail your fingers up your stomach and watch Joel’s eyes follow them. You squirm with need when you notice a very visible tent in Joel’s slacks.

"Alright?" he asks, voice kind and patient, like it would be okay if you weren’t.

You nod, slightly overwhelmed and Joel’s brows furrow just slightly.

"Use your words," he says softly, making your stomach flip.

"I’m alright," you answer softly, your eyes on his. Joel drags his fingertips over your stomach, following your own hand and building the tension and anticipation. You try hard not to visibly clench your thighs together.

"You gonna do as I say?"

He knows the answer. You know he does.

"Yes," you breathe, the feeling of his fingertips trailing over your ribcage bordering on overwhelming. He hums.

"I want you to tell me if it’s too much," he says, voice thoughtful, "will you do that for me?"

"Yes," you say again, your own hand absentmindedly coming up to wrap around his tan forearm, eyes glued to his rolled up sleeve, that silver watch Sarah gave him catching the light with every movement. Joel’s eyes follow yours, and you wonder if he registers how big his palm looks on your skin. If he wanted to, he could touch your bra with his thumb and your panties with his pinkie. The thought makes you squirm.

"I want you to touch yourself," Joel says softly, fingers dipping only just under the waistband of your panties, and you will your hips to stay put, even though you’re one command away from humping his hand like a dog in heat. You flush at his words, the idea of it so lewd and obscene, so intimate. It’s one thing to let him fuck you, to offer him some sort of utility, but to have him watch you get off yourself – it’s everything sex isn’t, not with the people you were with before.

"I…I don’t…"

Your voice trails off, and Joel watches you for a few moments, your pink cheeks, heavy eyelids, the goosebumps on your skin.

"You don’t gotta do anythin’ you don’t want to," he says, voice soft, "but if you do want to, and it’s just your pretty little head tellin’ you not to, I want you to think twice about sayin’ no."

You listen to him, and think about the feeling in your gut. You’re nervous about letting him see something so private, but not because you don’t want him to see, but because he does. He wants to see your pleasure, and so far it’s something you pushed down for other people, not just during sex. It’s easy to give into him when you realize this, and you feel something crack open inside of you, something primal and unashamed.

"Okay," you answer, voice still a little timid, but with a newfound conviction. "Anything you want."

Joel smiles at your words, but you’re aware he’s telling you to do this for your sake more than his. He wants you to feel good about feeling good.

Before you can move your hand to obey, Joel moves closer, leans down and presses his hand right next to your face, his face close to yours. You can feel the heat of his breath on your lips and shudder.

"Good girl," he says softly and presses his lips to yours. You kiss back willingly, eagerly, but he breaks the kiss all too soon, and finally sits down on the bed next to you, facing your half naked body.

"Go ahead, pretty girl," he mutters, "show me what you do when I ain’t around."

You flush, but do as he says, dragging your fingers down to your panties and slipping them in.

"You leave those on when you touch yourself?" Joel asks with a nod towards your underwear, and you shrug and shake your head at the same time. He chuckles.

"Take ’em off, then."

You swallow, and slowly drag them down. A string of your wetness connects the fabric and your pulsing core, and you flush a deeper red, the sight obscene.

"Christ," Joel mumbles, "all that from some pettin’ and a kiss."

"It’s from what you...from hearing you talk," you admit timidly, sitting up slightly to slip off your panties completely. You look at Joel and his dark eyes are glued to your wetness, but when he notices how nervous you are, he strokes your cheek with his knuckle just once.

"Look so pretty," he tells you, "just how I imagined."

That makes your brain short circuit and your eyes flutter closed at the image of Joel imagining you naked, of him wanting you as badly as you want him.

"Keep those eyes on me, sweetheart," Joel orders, and you open them again, the tension somehow doubling as soon as your eyes meet.

"I’ve never done this in front of someone," you admit, your hand awkwardly hovering over your stomach.

"Tell you what, you touch yourself for just three minutes, and then I’ll take over."

It’s absurd. It should not be sexy to have him time you touching yourself as if you’re running a race, but something about it makes you squirm and clench around nothing. When Joel looks at his watch, you almost moan, and tentatively press your middle finger against your aching clit.

"There we go," Joel mumbles, watching your hand move, "doin’ good, sweetheart."

You want to close your eyes, but Joel told you to look at him, so you watch him watch you touch yourself, his gaze flickering to his watch every once in a while. You don’t slip any fingers inside, just tease your clit, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind, and after exactly three minutes, he leans down to reward you with a kiss.

"All done, baby."

You’re lightheaded with want, the embarrassment not quite gone, but distant. When Joel props himself up onto one elbow, his other hand finding your stomach again, you sigh. He’s looking right into your eyes, when he drags his hand lower and lower, until his fingers find the place you just touched yourself, so much bigger than yours. He presses down lightly, teasingly, watching you bite your bottom lip and arch into his touch.

"Hips stay on the bed," he says softly, just to watch you obey, pressing a kiss to your temple. He starts rubbing slow circles, unhurried and practiced, and already you feel the pleasure building and building inside of you. You whine softly, craning your neck for a kiss, and he obliges, his beard scratching your skin and mouth swallowing your sounds. You try hard not to twitch under his touch, which is both so intense and torturously slow.

When the muscles in your stomach start clenching with your impending release, you can’t help yourself and press into his hand, chasing the pleasure, but Joel presses your hips into the mattress with the heel of his palm, never stopping the movement of his fingers. You’re close, so close you feel your jaw slacken against Joel, sigh into his mouth – and suddenly his touch is gone. Instead, his hand starts rubbing your side soothingly, your promise of release fading again.

"Joel," you whine, "what the fuck."

"Language," Joel scolds with a chuckle and kisses the corner of your mouth. "Patience is a virtue."

You nip at his lower lip, not harsh enough to hurt him, just so he registers your discontent, and Joel laughs a quiet laugh right into your mouth. Despite his amusement, his fingers return to your core, gathering wetness and rubbing once again. A whimper escapes your mouth when he finally prods your entrance teasingly, without real pressure, just to make you want it.

"You gonna lie still?"

"Y-yes," you sigh, "yes, I promise."

Joel hums, and pushes in just slightly, just so that his fingernail is barely inside of you.

"Gonna bite me again?"

"No," you answer, "no, Joel."

He pushes his finger inside of you, curling it upwards instantly, and you mewl.

"That’s alright, sweetheart," he mumbles, "I can handle your bitin’. Know it’s frustratin’."

But he makes no attempt to stop his teasing, sliding his finger in and out of you slowly, and curling it just enough to make the pressure inside of you keep building without intending to let it snap. Absentmindedly you move with him, and Joel stills his fingers. You whine, but stop moving, and he presses down on that spot inside of you again.

"Attagirl," he mutters, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

You’re close again embarrassingly soon, and even though you try not to let it show to trick Joel into letting you finish, he notices the way you flutter around him, and stills his hand once again, letting your orgasm drift away.

"Fuck," you whine, frustrated and so turned on you think you might get there if he so much as blew on your swollen clit.

"Shhh," Joel soothes you, adding another finger, the stretch delicious. He gazes into your open eyes, watches you as he makes you feel so good you could cry.

"Easy," he says, when he feels your stomach tense up with effort – whether to come or not to come, you aren’t sure anymore. "Easy, baby. Relax for me."

You close your eyes and this time Joel doesn’t object, as your whole body goes limp and accepts Joel’s power over it.

"Good," Joel mutters, "that’s real good. You come when I tell you to."

And suddenly you don’t fight it anymore, don’t try to race him there, just lie there with Joel’s thick fingers pumping in and out of you almost lazily, pleasure coming and going as Joel chooses, making your brain go all fuzzy.

"Sweet girl," Joel mutters, "just had to give in, huh?"

You don’t bother to answer, just open your mouth for him when he kisses you.

"Think you’re ready for my cock?"

You almost, almost come. He slips his fingers out of you completely when he notices, and your hips chase his hand, but the feeling is gone again, although it was close enough to taste. Joel chuckles, and it’s just a tiny bit mean, but it makes you even wetter.

"Think you are, huh?"

"Yes," you say, and run your hand up his massive arm, "please."

"So polite," Joel mumbles with a smile, but he finally moves to unbutton his shirt and you watch him through heavy eyes. He smiles down at you, no trace of embarrassment as he’s revealing more and more of his skin dusted in age spots and brown hair. He’s strong, soft in all the right places, and you want to worship his belly with your mouth.

"You look…so sexy."

Joel laughs, and shakes his head, deflecting the compliment but looking a little smug, a little proud, as he lets his shirt drop onto the floor and moves to open his pants. You sit up, and reach for his hands, looking up at him questioningly.

"Go right ahead, sweetheart," Joel says, and you pop open the button and slide down the zipper, eyes glued to his bulge. He gets up to slip out of his slacks, the outline of his cock even more pronounced in his boxer shorts. He looks big. You swallow.

"Don’t you worry," Joel mumbles when he notices, and slides down his boxers, too. "We’ll make it fit."

His cock is hard and an angry red, long and thick and slightly curved, and he hasn’t shaved. With anyone else, you would have preferred it if he had, but the graying hair at the base of his cock makes you lightheaded with lust. He looks so manly, in the primal, safe sense of the word.

His fist wraps around himself as he’s climbing on top of you, pumping once, twice, a little groan of pleasure escaping his lips and you reach down to bat his hand away, to return some of the pleasure he has been giving you. He lets you, even though your hand covers much less of his length, and pushes into your hand as you drag it over him.

"Hips stay on the mattress," you tease softly, and Joel laughs, his eyes all crinkly and warm.

"One more comment like that ’n I’ll force you to the edge five more times, sweetheart," he threatens, but the amusement is evident in his voice. Still, it makes you clench and flutter to know he could, to know you’d let him. Joel takes your wrist in his hand gently, and pulls your hand away from his cock, then aligns it with your entrance.

"Breathe in," he says softly, looking right into your eyes, and you do, staring at him unblinkingly and holding the air in your lungs.

"And breathe out."

As the air rushes out of you and you relax, he starts pushing into you. The stretch is painful in the very beginning, but you sigh in relief when the head of his cock is inside and Joel gives you a moment to breathe.

"Look at you," he mutters, nudging your nose with his, "takin’ it like a champ."

You wiggle your hips and Joel keeps pushing into you, the stretch making your eyes fall closed again. It feels like your body is making room for him in a way you didn’t think possible, like your insides are parting for Joel Miller’s cock. He groans, and with a snap of his hips he’s inside of you entirely, his wiry hairs pressing into your mound. The head of his cock is nudging that spot inside of you, pressing against it insistently even though Joel isn’t moving. You mouth at his neck, tongue darting out to taste his sweat and suck on his skin in an almost soothing manner, as your body adjusts and relaxes.

Joel starts moving in and out of you after a few moments, changing angles with every thrust, until a whine escapes your throat. He keeps fucking into you like that, pressing against your spot with every thrust, eyes staring down into yours.

"That it?"

You mewl, when he gives a particularly sharp thrust and Joel chuckles.

"Yeah, that’s it," he coos.

His hands start moving over your skin as you claw at his back and biceps, teasing your sides and ghosting over your nipples still covered by the fabric of your bra. He forces his hands under your body and unclasps it with ease, then pulls it away from your body and drops it. His eyes flicker down and he puts a large palm over your tits, groping and squeezing, then pinching the nipple just short of painful. 

"Perfect fuckin’ tits," he mumbles, rolling the pebbled nub between his thumb and forefinger, making you arch your chest and moan freely. Again, the pleasure starts building, and you think Joel might be distracted by his own this time. More than anything you want to please him, though, so instead of chasing your release, you clench around him and focus on not letting go yet.

"Close," you groan, your body rocking with Joel’s deep thrusts, and he stills inside of you, letting you breathe into his mouth.

"Good girl," he mumbles and kisses your lower lip, "so good for me."

Just those few words would be worth not coming at all, you think, though Joel starts moving again when he’s sure it won’t make you come. His hand moves from your tit up to your throat, wrapping around it loosely. You feel so small under his massive palm, your windpipe and major arteries and spine all fitting into his hand like you’re a blade of grass. He squeezes softly, just enough to cut off the blood flow for a second or two, then relaxes his hand again. Your eyes roll upwards, and you bite your lip.

"Yeah?" he asks, waiting for your permission, and you nod.

"Yeah," you sigh, and your eyes widen when he squeezes again, all the while thrusting in and out of you. This time he squeezes for a couple of seconds more, and although it takes a little more effort, air still rushes into your lungs. When he releases your throat and the blood floods your brain, you moan, and feel Joel’s thrusts go slightly more erratic in response.

"Look at you," he mumbles, pressing his hips into yours, his whole weight on top of you. You whine and feel his hand close around your throat once more. This time his grip is unrelenting and stronger, and there is no oxygen rushing into your lungs, just stillness and quiet. You feel yourself go slightly dizzy, watch Joel’s warm eyes glued to your face, and feel your mind go entirely quiet.

"That’s it," Joel praises, "you breathe when I say you breathe."

You’ve never been closer than now, hearing those words, and when Joel releases you to let you suck in air desperately, you almost, almost come. But once again, he stops moving, lets you teeter on the edge and pull back, your brain fuzzy and overwhelmed with the sudden rush of blood and oxygen.

"What do we say?"

You groan into his mouth.

"Thank you."

"Good girl."

Joel’s thrusts start getting sharper, even deeper, and you know it can’t be long now. He keeps squeezing and releasing your throat, keeping you deprived of oxygen and letting it flood your brain again with the smallest movement of his hand.

"Need me to decide that, too?" he asks breathily, his voice rough and slightly broken, "need me to pick out that dress ’n tell you what to eat? Even when to breathe?"

You nod under his hand because he’s once again tightening his grip around you, rendering you incapable of speaking, and you clench around him. He feels it, thrusts harder.

"Yeah," he mutters, "don’t gotta worry about anythin’. I got you, babygirl. I’ll decide."

Your stomach cramps up with the effort of holding off your orgasm until Joel gives you permission, and when he finally lets you breathe again, he brushes the shell of your ear with his lips.

"Come for me, sweetheart."

It feels like your earth shatters, your vision going white, or maybe your brain just can’t register what it’s seeing, as you pulse around Joel, and shake under his broad body, your stomach exploding with pleasure. He fucks you through it, his thrusts so unwaveringly deep he presses into your clit every time. You shudder and whine, suck in air, come completely apart in Joel’s capable hands, and vaguely register him forcing his cock as deep as it will go, and then pumping you full of his hot spend, holding it there as he fills you up.

His thrusts slow after a while, then he slips out of you, and kisses you gently, softly, his fingers stroking your neck soothingly. You’re pliant and fucked out, entirely boneless.

"My sweet girl," Joel mumbles against your lips, "that what you needed?"

You nod, your eyes and limbs heavy as he brushes your cheeks and nose with his lips. He lies down next to you, muscles completely relaxed, and pulls you close against him. You can feel the mess you both made between you legs and distantly think you should clean yourself up, but you’re too tired, too satisfied, too blissfully happy. Your limbs are heavy, and your mind still when you kiss Joel’s chest, his hair tickling your face softly. He hums contentedly, a deep rumble in his chest.

"’M gonna fall asleep," you mumble against Joel, and he strokes your back in response, his arm draped over your side.

"That’s okay, sweetheart," he mutters, and you feel him kiss the top of your head. "Okay if I clean you up?"

You hum in agreement, yawn, and try to scooch even closer to his sweaty body, press yourself against him as if you will fuse with him if you just try hard enough. Joel’s arms around you tighten and you give into your blissful exhaustion.

You found thermos inside the cabinets at home, you cleaned it a bit and filled it with the dark brew liquid. The scent made your mouth water, but you were aware you couldn’t drink coffee now. Then, you tugged your coat tighter around you as you crossed through Jackson, boots crunching in the snow. The wind bit at your cheeks, turning them pink, but with your fingers wrapped around the thermos, warmth spread through your veins.

You found Joel at the house he’d been working on, hammering at a frame with the help of Tommy, a few others scattered around the site. The place was barely a house yet, wood stacked and windows not even set, but Joel was there, sleeves rolled up over his flannel.

You lingered for a second, just taking a look of him. Focusing on the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the little grunt he made when something didn’t line up right. You were so in love with him it made your chest hurt sometimes.

He was too focused he didn’t even notice you right away. Not until you called out.

“Hey, Miller.”

He looked up at the sound, and his face softened the moment he saw you. That small, personal smile he got just for you.

“What are you doing out here, sweetheart? You’ll freeze your ass off.”

You held up the thermos with a grin, “Oh, I just brought you a little gift for you.”

Joel’s brow arched in amusement as he set the hammer down and walked over to you. You uncapped the lid, letting the steam curl up between you, and his eyes went wide when the scent hit him.

“Did you bring me—"

“Real coffee, yes.” You replied, not getting a chance to hide a grin. “I traded something for it this morning. I know how much you missed a good cup of coffee.”

For a second, he stood there without saying anything. Just stared at you like he still couldn’t believe you were his girl. The woman he had devoted his life to for the last years.

Without a warning, his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss that tasted like snow, cold and the taste of coffee because when he pulled away, his forehead rested on your neck, planting a kiss over your it.

“You’re a miracle.”

You laughed softly. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. This shit’s expensive.”

He chuckled, taking a sip from the thermos, groaning in pleasure like it was the first good thing he’d tasted in his life.

“Goddamn it.”

You smiled, watching him like it was the only thing keeping your body warm.

“I thought you need it. Winter is only getting worse and colder.”

His eyes softened, a thumb brushing over your cold cheek. “As long as I got you, baby, I can get through any winter.”

You leaned on his palm, kissing the back of his hand, sealing a promise you both had made to each other.

I’m always going to be there,

I’m always going to have your back,

until the day death tears us apart.

Jackson, present day

You barely remembered the walk home. Your legs had stumbled more than three times and your tears didn’t stop falling.

The cold bit at your skin, the world blurring past you like it wasn’t really there. The ache in your chest wasn’t sadness settled there anymore but rage. A vicious, clawing thing that crawled up your throat and made your hands shake as you slammed the door behind you.

You made it to the bedroom before it burst out of you.

A lamp went first, shattering against the floor with a satisfying crack just as the sound of your heart. Then the chair by the window, the one Joel used to sit in when he couldn’t sleep. You grabbed the small wooden carving Joel had been working on the week before the attack, and it hit the wall so hard the pieces splintered across the floor like scattered bones.

Your hand bled where a sharp edge caught your palm, but you didn’t feel it.

You reached for the framed picture by the bed, the one taken in Jackson months ago. You standing beside him, his arm around your waist, both of you caught in a rare, unguarded moment of laughter.

The glass shattered beneath your grip. The frame clattered to the floor.

For a second, just a second, your hand hovered, and something in your chest begged you to stop.

But it was drowned out by the storm roaring in your blood.

And when it was done, when there was nothing left to throw or break, you slid down against the wall, knees pulled to your chest, hands trembling.

The pain on your chest increased with each breath. It felt like a bruising mark had settled there in the middle of your sternum, it even felt like some pair of hands tightening around your heart until every fiber of it was hurting your body, taking your life out, your breath and you will of living.

Some pairs of hands you never thought they would even hurt you.

Joel’s hands, Joel’s words, Joel’s second chance of living.

Everything you had done. Everything you had lost…Grieving the death of somebody who wasn’t dead. Someone who was alive but felt like breathing reeking air.

You could come to touch him but not to caress him anymore?

How big was the damage you had done to him to make him hate you this much to push you away as if your closeness had burnt his skin, his broken bones.

The tears couldn’t stop falling. You stood up, walking towards the closet where you kept the test and onesie hidden beneath your clothes.

You had never wanted to become a mother. In fact, you had never thought about it. This world was too cruel to bring little babies to it. To have their innocence stolen or tainted by creeps committing horrors.

Joel had also gotten older. Being a father again at his age wasn’t part of his plans and you knew it, but nature didn’t stop because the world has it. But for him, being a father again wouldn’t be a source of happiness when the girl he had taken as a daughter and committed more than thousand of mistakes to keep her alive, didn’t want to be close to him.

That had scared you that much you couldn’t utter the truth for weeks.

But the moment you had found the truth, the idea of holding a baby, your own baby, started to consume your thoughts. You had started dreaming of it, of the life growing inside you. About how that baby would look like.

And that was the exact moment you had become a mother. ´

You could remember one day patrolling with Joel, and as usual, he didn’t allow you to be paired with another person who wasn’t him. Not that you complained. In the way, the both of you found a store you decided to scavenged, expecting to find something that would serve to community.

Joel was busy roaming some old stuff that would help him to fix something at home, while your gaze had lingered over a little onesie hidden under some worn out papers.

The same one you were holding now, yellow with a duck in the middle of it.

You had become a mother and you hadn’t had the chance to taste it and you couldn’t help but ask yourself a constant why.

Why you?

Why him?

Why the baby?

What have you done to lose them both?

You came back to the room but it felt too quiet now, too strange. It was too cold for you now. You sat on the ground by the bed and you started crying, but not the silent one. The kind of crying that came with tears no one couldn’t hide.

 It was a sob that tore out of you in ragged, broken sobs, your chest heaving like it was being split open.

The tears weren’t just for Joel but for everything you had gain and lost in a flicker of time. For what you’d lost. For what you still had. And for the awful truth that loving Joel Miller would never be easy.

The last remnants of twilight slipped through the window, broken glass catching the last of the light like dying stars.

Perhaps they weren’t the only losing the spark.

After going to hell and clawing your way back. After sleepless nights at his side, after forcing breath inside his book, with blood-stained hands. After watching him fight for every inch of life he didn’t want, while you begged the universe not to take him from you.

And in the middle of all that, you lost that tiny baby.

A tiny life that you hadn’t even let yourself imagine until it was gone. And no one knew. No one but Tommy and Maria. And you’d buried it so deep, let the grief fester beneath your skin, because there was no room for grief when Joel was dying.

But now, sitting there on the floor of your now ruined bedroom, surrounded by the wreckage of the quiet life you had built with him, the weight of it hit you like heavy force.

There was gnawing fear that maybe Joel Miller wasn’t coming back.

At least, not to you.

The house was dark, save for the weak, flickering light glowing from the window.

Ellie hesitated at the front door, her stomach twisting in that way it did when something wasn’t right. She wasn’t even sure what had brought her here, maybe the quiet stillness, maybe the aching pull in her gut that told her to check. She hadn’t been here much since she moved into the garage behind. Since everything had changed.

The door creaked open under her hand.

“Hello?” she called out your name, softly, but no one answered.

The stairs groaned beneath her weight as she climbed, the flicker of light guiding her like a warning. And then she reached the bedroom.

Glass crunched under her boots. The room was wrecked, drawers pulled out, shattered picture frames. And in the middle of it all, you sat on the floor, your back against the bed, face buried in your hands, shoulders trembling with the kind of grief Ellie hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Shit,” Ellie whispered, rushing forward and dropping to her knees beside you.

“Hey—hey, it’s me,” she said, voice rough as she reached for your wrists, trying to pry your hands away so she could see your face. “Talk to me. Please. Hey, please.”

But you just shook your head, a sob left your throat, while tears streaked your cheeks.

“I can’t…” you choked out.

And for the first time since she had met you, Ellie felt something crack open in her chest. She’d spent all these weeks worrying about Joel, she hadn’t seen how bad it had gotten for you too. How lost you seemed, how your eyes were nothing but a reflection of sadness.

Without another word, Ellie pulled you into her arms, holding you like Joel used to hold her when the world outside was throwing pebbles at her.

“I got you,” she whispered against your hair as if her words could soothe you into a lullaby, in a way a daughter must console her mother the first time you saw her breaking in front of you the realization that her isn’t an indestructible hero.

You didn’t even hear or flinch when Tommy and Maria came inside the room. You didn’t say a word when they gently coaxed you to your feet. Ellie stood back by the door, arms crossed tight around herself, her face pale as she took in the mess you had made.

And you, there with your hands bloodied, a yellow onesie crumpled in your fist like a scrap of hope you didn’t know you were still holding onto.

Maria stood beside you, her face etched with concern, one hand reaching for your wrist. She sucked in a breath.

“You cut yourself pretty bad,” she murmured, brushing gently at the drying blood.

You just looked past her, no crying, no speaking. There was something eerie about it, about the dead quiet in your expression. Like the light behind your eyes had gone out, and no one knew how to bring it back.

Tommy exchanged a look with Maria, something heavy without words between them. Ellie saw it, felt it settle in the pit of her stomach like a stone.

“You’re coming home with us,” Tommy said softly, like he was telling a wounded animal it was okay to come out of hiding. “We’ll clean up the-”

“The mess I made,” you finished, voice flat, detached, and it made Ellie’s stomach twist.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but her eyes fell to the scrap of fabric clenched in your hand. The tiny onesie. It was old, worn soft from time, a faded duck stitched onto the chest.

Ellie’s throat tightened. She hadn’t known, but now she understood.

She stepped closer; her voice quiet, thick. “Hey… can I… can I hold that for you?”

But you didn’t even look at her. Just kept staring out the window as if something far beyond it was pulling you away.

Tommy gently pried the fabric from your fingers, and Ellie took it, holding it to her chest like it was the most fragile thing in the world. She felt her own eyes sting.

Maria helped you to your feet, one arm around your shoulders. “We’ll get you cleaned up,” she murmured.

And as they led you out of the ruined room, downstairs to the kitchen. Ellie stayed behind a moment longer, holding the onesie tight in her hands, the weight of what you’d lost settling over her like a second skin.

The warm sting of water hit your hands as Maria guided them under the tap. The blood had dried, leaving dark stains in the creases of your skin, around your fingernails. You didn’t flinch when the water touched the cuts.

You said nothing. Just stared at the wall behind her like it held some answer you couldn’t quite see.

Maria’s hands were soft, careful as she dabbed at the cut with a clean cloth.

“You should let me stich this one,” she murmured, like speaking any louder might shatter what little you had left.

Out in the hallway, Ellie stood with Tommy, the dim light from the kitchen bleeding across the floor between them. She clutched the tiny onesie in both hands, her fingers fisting in the soft fabric.

“Is she…?” Ellie’s voice cracked, and she didn’t finish the question.

Tommy let out a long, tired breath, leaning one shoulder against the wall. He scrubbed a hand down his face before shaking his head, his voice low and rough.

“She lost it that night.”

Ellie’s stomach twisted. “What night?”

Ellie’s throat closed up, her chest aching sharp and tight. “And nobody told me?”

Tommy’s eyes flickered toward the bathroom where Maria worked in silence. He swallowed hard.

“The night we brought Joel back. Yes, she was pregnant. None of us knew. She lost the baby when she got here.”

Tommy looked at her then, his gaze softening. “It wasn’t about you, kid. It was hers to carry.”

Ellie looked down at the onesie in her hands, stained by the blood of your hands, her eyes stinging at the thought of the storm you’d been drowning in. The hollow in your chest. The way you hadn’t been able to let Joel go, because you’d already lost too much.

That maybe the blood in it was the closest thing you have had to caress the baby that should be wearing that in a few more months.

Her thumb ran over the soft, faded stitching of the onesie clutched in her hands. She could still hear the distant sound of water, the quiet murmur of Maria’s voice, trying to coax you back from wherever you’d gone.

She swallowed hard. “Does Joel know?”

Tommy’s jaw worked, his eyes dark and lined with exhaustion. He shook his head, a weight behind the gesture. “No,” he said quietly. “And he won’t. Not yet.”

Ellie’s throat tightened. “But he should—”

“I said no.” Tommy’s voice was firmer now, though it wasn’t mad. He was just tired. “He is not in any place to carry that. Not with the way things are between then, and not while he’s looking for reasons to push her away.”

Ellie bit her lip, blinking fast. “Maybe this it’s the reason he shouldn’t.”

Tommy’s gaze softened a little. “Maybe. But people like us… sometimes we don’t get to heal things in the right order.”

Ellie glanced down at the onesie again, her grip tightening. The house felt too still, too quiet, a space heavy with things unsaid.

Boston QZ. 6 years ago

The apartment was too quiet when Joel got back. The thrum of soldiers passing by, talking’s, FEDRA looming over, it was all swallowed up by a stillness that made his skin crawl.

Tess was sitting by the door, with her arms crossed tight over her chest, and there was something in her eyes that snapped every nerve in Joel’s body to attention.

“Where is she?” he asked, already moving past her before the words even left his mouth.

Tess caught his arm. “I gave her something to sleep,” she said carefully, her voice softer than he was used to hearing it. “You don’t want to-”

But he was already inside the bedroom. And there you were, curled under blanket on that old bed, a faint swell of bruises marking your cheek, your lip split. The dim light made your face look paler than it should’ve been, but you were breathing. You were here, that was the most important thing for him.

Joel’s knees hit the floor by your side. He reached out with calloused fingers, brushing your hair back from your face, his touch so gentle it barely stirred the strands.

“Jesus, baby…” he rasped, swallowing hard. “Who did this to you?”

Your eyelids fluttered open at his voice, hazy and slow from whatever Tess had slipped you. And when your gaze found him, even though the busted lip, you smiled, faintly.

“Joel,” you whispered.

“Hi, baby.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m here. I got you.”

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the filth outside these walls, not the people who’d done this to you, not the bloody trail Joel would leave in his wake come morning. Only this. Only you.

“The thing went wrong” you murmured, emphasizing the “thing.” When it came to you, he was always protective. He didn’t like you were doing his business by yourself, not because he didn’t trust you or thought you weren’t good by yourself, but because he couldn’t prevent.  

“I can see.” he told you, brushing your cheek with his fingertips. “Rest, baby. I got you.” He kept caressing the skin there until your eyes closed again.

“I’m always going to be next to you, baby.”

Jackson, hospital, present time.

The transition between winter and spring was going slow, the grey of the days bleed through the blinds in thin, reluctant slants. Joel woke up to the sharp, familiar ache on his chest, the one that made his breath difficult to leave his lungs. His heart felt heavy.

His hand instinctively moved to his side, expecting the familiar warmth, the weight of your head resting there the way it had every morning since he came back from the death.

But there was nothing but just the cold stretch of empty mattress, and the quiet silence of your absence.

For the first time, you weren’t there.

His throat tightened as his gaze flicked to the chair beside the bed. The blanket you always used was draped neatly over the back of it. No cup of cold herbal tea on the nightstand, no faint scent of your shampoo clinging to the air. The room felt wrong without you in int. Heavy in a way he hadn’t noticed until it was stripped of him.

Joel rubbed a hand over his face, the weight in his chest something different now. Something he couldn’t blame on busted ribs or torn muscles.

He told himself it was what he wanted, what you needed. But the hollow in the room, in him, said otherwise.

The door creaked open and Mara stepped inside with her usual clipboard and soft expression. But the moment she saw the look on his face, her steps slowed.

“She’s not coming today,” she said quietly, as if testing the weight of the words before speaking to them.

Joel’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t ask.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Mara crossed to the other side of the room, busying herself with the medication tray, giving him the space to be what he was. But Joel didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He sat there in the quiet, and for the first time in weeks, the nightmare that haunted him wasn’t some bloodied memories, that fist beaten his face, or the disappointment on Ellie’s eyes.

It was your face, your tears falling down your cheeks.

It was the fear of you leaving him forever.

Mara lifted her gaze, looking at Joel’s brown eyes and there was hurt written all over them.  “I haven’t seen her, but if she isn’t here must be because she doesn’t want to.”

Joel’s voice was rough, catching on the words before he could fully get them out.

“Is she… is she okay?”

Joel’s gaze broke, but he tried hard to hide the pain.

“I’m coming back later to do the exercises, okay?” Mara said, changing the subject.

“Okay.”

Mara lingered a moment longer than she should’ve, her lips pressed into a tight line, as though she wanted to take the words back, but she didn’t. She just gave a small nod, then turned and left, the soft click of the door closing behind her sounding louder than it should have in the quiet room.

Joel let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his hand coming up to rub his face, the coarse scrape of his beard rough against his palm. The ache in his chest wasn’t from his injuries, it was deeper, old and new grief twisting together.

He looked over to the empty chair by the bed again.

You weren’t there and his stomach turned, the air too heavy in his lungs.

Some minutes had passed, heavily quiet, that thick, oppressive quiet that Joel had come to dread in the last few weeks. He sat in that bed, staring out the window as the light bled from the sky, the colors outside turning from grey to light blue in mere second. Every now and then, his fingers twitched, aching to hold something, to fix something. But there was nothing left in the room except the steady silence torturing him.

When the door creaked open again, Joel’s heart stuttered.

Tommy stepped inside, his posture tense, the lines of exhaustion deeper on his face. He looked like a man who was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Joel knew he was responsible for most of it.

Joel cleared his throat. “How is she?” It came out rougher than he meant, but the need in it was sharp.

Tommy didn’t answer right away. He just crossed the room, setting down a bundle of clean clothes on the dresser before finally turning to face Joel.

His silence stretched, thick and weighted.

Joel’s stomach twisted. “Tommy,” he rasped. “Just— tell me.”

Tommy let out a breath, running a hand over his face.

“Well, she’s finally sleeping,” he said quietly. “First time since…you know.”

Joel closed his eyes, the ache in his chest like a fist tightening around his ribs. “Is she… eating? Is she talking?”

Another hesitation.

“She’s quiet,” Tommy admitted. “She didn’t react very well to whatever thing you told her.”

Joel swallowed hard, his eyes burning. “Did she… ask about me?”

Tommy hesitated, and that alone was answer enough. “You don’t get to do that, brother.”

Joel’s throat worked around a knot of grief. “I deserve that,” he muttered.

Tommy didn’t argue. He just stepped closer, his voice lowering.

“Listen… whatever happened between you two, whatever you think you were doing by pushing her away…you’re killing her, Joel. How could you do that to her after she…?”

Joel’s gaze stayed on the floor; his jaw clenched tight.

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” Joel whispered. “I was trying to…” He trailed off, not even sure what excuse he was reaching for anymore.

“You wanted her to stop loving you,” Tommy finished for him, bitterness in his tone. “But it doesn’t work like that. You don’t get to decide when someone gives up on you.”

Joel flinched, the words cutting deep because he knew they were true.

Tommy stared at him for a long moment, then finally spoke, softer this time. “She already lost—” He stopped himself before he could spill your truth.

“What?” Joel pressed. But he was met by Tommy’s silence

“What did she lose?” Joel pressed further.

“You should rest, brother. Because one way or another you’re going to have to face her soon.” He said, changing the subject. As much as Tommy loved his brother, he also loved what you were, to him, to this community, to his family and he owned your loyalty and secrecy.

“I’ll come back later, okay?” He said before leaving Joel alone with his guilt and the quiet.

You woke to a dull, deep ache in your muscles, your head pounding like you’d been dragged through hell and back, and maybe you had. The dim light in the room felt too sharp against your eyes, and a low groan escaped your throat as you shifted, your body stiff and sore like you’d been fighting ghosts in your sleep.

It took a second before you realized you weren’t in your bedroom and another before you noticed the figure sitting quietly beside the bed.

Ellie was there.

She was perched on the edge of a worn armchair, legs pulled up to her chest, eyes shadowed but sharp as they fixed on you. There was a guarded kind of worry in her face, the kind she usually tried to bury under jokes and sarcasm.

You blinked at her, throat dry, words slow to form.

“Ellie,” you rasped.

You tried to sit up, but a fresh bolt of pain shot through your whole body and your hand, you winced, hissing out a curse.

Ellie let out a breath you hadn’t noticed she’d been holding, her shoulders sagging a little.

“You scared me last night,” she muttered, but there was no bite in it, just something soft, frayed at the edges.

Ellie moved fast, steadying you with gentle hands on your shoulders.

“Easy, easy. You’re got your hand pretty banged up,” she said quietly.

Your gaze drifted around the room, not yours, you realized now. Tommy and Maria’s guest room. A glass of water on the nightstand. A blanket draped across your legs you didn’t remember pulling up.

And then you noticed the little bundle in Ellie’s lap. The onesie.

Your breath caught. Ellie followed your gaze and swallowed hard.

“I, uh… I thought you might… I didn’t want to leave it there,” she said, voice small.

Your chest twisted, a sharp, awful thing. The grief pressed so tight against your ribs you felt like you might break open again.

“I’m sorry,” Ellie blurted, her words rushing out now. “I… I didn’t know. I— when I saw you like that, I thought… fuck, I don’t know what I thought. But I should’ve been there. Before. I should’ve noticed.”

You closed your eyes, a tear slipping free despite yourself.

“It’s not your fault, Ellie,” you murmured hoarsely.

“It’s not yours either,” Ellie shot back, voice firm, a little desperate.

A long, thick silence settled between you, broken only by the sound of the clock ticking somewhere in the room.

Finally, Ellie spoke again, quieter now. “Tommy told me not to tell Joel.”

You opened your eyes, looking at her. “Why?”

She shrugged, a bitter edge to her voice.

“Because you don’t need to see him right now. Not like this. Not when you’re barely holding it together.” She hesitated.

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest.

Ellie let out a sigh, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on between you two,” she said. “But whatever it is… it’s eating you alive.”

“He told me to leave and that he wasn’t sure if he even loved me.” You replied.

Ellie’s head snapped up at that, like you’d struck her with a thunder.

For a second, she just stared at you, her expression caught somewhere between shock and fury.

“He what?” she spat, her voice sharp.

Your throat tightened again, fresh tears burning at the edges of your vision, but you forced yourself to swallow them down. You were so tired of crying.

You let out a humorless, broken little laugh, wiping at your face with trembling fingers.

“Yeah,” you rasped. “He said he wouldn’t have done for me what I did for him, what he did for you in Salt Lake. Told me to go. Like I was a burden to him.”

Ellie was silent for a long, thick moment, her jaw clenched so tight you could see it ticking.

“That’s bullshit,” she finally ground out, voice low and shaking with anger. “That’s not true. I don’t care what the hell came out of his mouth — it’s not true.”

You didn’t answer. Because maybe part of you knew that. Knew Joel Miller didn’t have it in him to stop loving you, not after everything. But pain makes people cruel. And grief? It turns them into something else.

“He’s scared,” Ellie said, like she was trying to convince herself as much as you. “He’s scared and stupid and he’s pushing you away because he doesn’t know how to deal with any of this shit.” She gestured toward the onesie still clutched tight in her lap.

You closed your eyes, breathing through the ache.

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered.

Ellie’s face crumpled, her eyes stinging. Ellie’s throat worked as she swallowed hard, her voice rough when she finally spoke.

“How… how far were you?” she asked, so quietly it was almost a breath.

You opened your eyes but didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. The ceiling above you blurred, swimming in a fresh sheen of unshed tears.

Your voice cracked when you answered. “Six weeks.”

Just two words, but they felt like a scream.

Ellie let out a shaky breath, her hand tightening around the fabric of the onesie in her lap.

“Jesus…” Ellie murmured, like the air had been punched from her lungs. She didn’t know what to say. What the hell could she say?

You gave a dry, humorless laugh, shaking your head.

“It wasn’t planned. Wasn’t… anything. I didn’t even tell him.”

That made Ellie flinch. She wiped at her face, trying to keep herself steady for you, but her eyes were glassy.

“I wish you’d told me,” she said softly.

“I couldn’t,” you whispered. “I didn’t want to make it feel real.”

And for a while, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the clock on the wall ticking too loud in the quiet.

“I pictured her,” you cut the silence, voice raw, like it hurt to drag the words out. “I pictured her as baby girl, how she would look like, with dark hair, brown eyes just like Joel’s. Maybe his crooked smile. I used to—” your breath hitched, but you pushed on, eyes still fixed on the ceiling, “I used to imagine him holding her in the mornings, making him coffee while she slept on his chest.”

Ellie swallowed thickly, blinking fast as her heart splintered.

“I’d think about how he’d grumble about diapers at his age, or how he’d fall asleep on the couch with her on his chest.”

You let out a shaky breath, a ghost of a laugh, so heartbreakingly sad it barely sounded human.

“And now I keep wondering if it would’ve hurt less if I’d never let myself imagine any of it.” You sobbed, “If I wouldn’t have gone there I would have her growing inside me, but I would have lost Joel.”

“And now anything of that matters because he doesn’t even love me.” Ellie was crying now, though she tried like hell to pretend she wasn’t. She reached out, hesitating, then carefully slid her hand over yours.

It was cold. Your skin rough and cut, but she didn’t let go.

“You’re not alone, you know,” Ellie whispered. “Even if he’s too fucking broken to remember how to hold you right now. You’ve still got us.”

Your jaw trembled; your free hand still clutched tight around that onesie.

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“I know.” Ellie’s voice cracked. “But I’m not going anywhere from you.”

You stared at her for a moment before hearing the steps outside the bedroom, Tommy stepped inside, worry evident on his eyes.

Worried about you, about Joel.

He was the perfect image of a helplessness man watching two people he loved tearing themselves apart.

“Hey,” he greeted softly.

You didn’t answer right away. Ellie’s hand still gripped yours, her thumb brushing against your skin in small, grounding circles.

“How’re you feeling?” Tommy asked, voice rough.

You shrugged; the onesie still balled up in your fist. “I’ve been better.”

A sad huff of air left Tommy’s chest, and he rubbed a hand down his face before sitting on the edge of the bed. “Of course, you have.” Then, he cleared his throat “I… uh, I told Joel you weren’t feeling really well. That you were resting.”

Your stomach twisted at his name. “And him?” you asked, your voice barely there.

Tommy hesitated, then finally spoke.

“He asked about you. First thing when I saw him.” He glanced at you; his gaze gentle but heavy. “He didn’t say much. He just asked if you were okay.”

Your throat tightened.

“Is he mad?”

Tommy shook his head. “No. Not mad. He is scared and lost as hell without you, if you ask me. I know that face of him. I know him” He let out a breath, leaning forward on his knees. “I think he doesn’t know how to deal with all of this.”

A sharp ache flared in your chest. The silence stretched, thick with everything no one could fix.

“I don’t know if it matters anymore,” you whispered, voice catching.

“It does,” Tommy said firmly. “You matter to him. He is broken to say it right now. And I know it don’t make up for what you’ve been through. But you aren’t alone, alright? Me, Maria, Ellie, we all got you.”

Ellie squeezed your hand, her eyes shimmering again but her jaw set.

And though it didn’t fix the hollow in your chest, for a moment the thought of having a family warmed your heart.

The room went quiet again.

“I’ll check on him later,” Tommy said, rising to his feet. “You just rest, okay?”

You nodded, your grip loosening around the onesie at last.

As he stood up, you could hear his thoughts roaming inside his head, “I think you should keep seeing Gail.”

You let out a tired, humorless breath through your nose. “I don’t need a shrink, Tommy.”

Your voice wasn’t sharp, it was flat, worn down like something eroded by the tide over too long a time.

Tommy hesitated by the doorway, one hand on the frame. “Just keep talking to her.”

You looked away, your eyes tracing the ceiling. Ellie still held your hand like she was afraid to let go.

“I’m not good at talking about that.”

“No one is,” Tommy murmured. “That’s why it eats people up when they don’t.”

The quiet stretched again, thick with everything you didn’t have the strength to argue.

Finally, Tommy gave a small, weary nod. “Sleep more, you need it.”

“Okay, at the count of three?”

“Okay.”

Joel held Mara’s hand tightly. His breath coming ragged, muscles in his arms trembling as he forced himself upright.

Mara stood beside him, steadying his elbow with one hand, the other curling tight around his rough, calloused palm.

“Come on, Joel” she teased gently. “You’re not dying on my watch.”

Joel huffed out a dry, breathless laugh as he finally managed to stand, his weight swaying just a little before he found his balance.

“Fuck” he rasped, “I didn’t think I’d miss feeling my own legs.”

They both laughed then, the kind of laugh born from something new blossoming.

Mara smiled up at him, her hand still around his. For a second, it felt like the heaviness that clung to his chest loosened, just a fraction. Like maybe, in this one brief moment, he wasn’t carrying quite so much grief inside his heart.

He laughed so much he didn’t even notice Ellie standing on the door, watching all this interaction happening with her hand on the frame, watching them.

The way Mara’s head tipped back when she laughed. The way Joel smiled, really smiled, for the first time in what felt like weeks. And something sharp twisted in Ellie’s gut.

I felt almost like a betrayal because while you lay at home, alone in a bed, clutching that onesie to your chest, Joel was here with someone else. Smiling as if he hadn’t broken the love of his life heart.

Like he could learn how to laugh without you by his side.

“Am I interrupting?”

Joel’s head snapped up, that smile on his face faltering from his face as he saw her standing in the doorway. Mara’s hand dropped from his arm, her expression shuttering into something serious.

“Hey kid.” Joel rasped, like he hadn’t expected to see her there at all.

“I came here to check on you.” Ellie said, her tone carefully neutral but her eyes didn’t hide the bitterness. She flicked a glance at Mara, then back to Joel. “Didn’t realize you were getting so close with your doctor.”

Joel opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, to stop her maybe, but the look Ellie gave him made him hesitate.

Mara took a careful step back, brushing her hands together as though dusting them off.

“I was just helping him with his exercises,” she said quickly, trying to defuse whatever tension was thickening the air. “I will go.”

Mara gave a brief nod to them both and slipped out, the door clicking softly behind her.

The room felt heavier after she left.

Joel let out a slow breath, sitting back against the bed with a wince. “What’re you really here for, kid?” he asked quietly.

Joel’s gaze dropped to his hands, the scars those palms emotionally held, the way they trembled just a little.

Ellie’s arms crossed tightly over her chest, laughing bitterly at the tone on his voice.

“I told you I came to check on you” she muttered. “Perhaps, you could ask about her, you know?”

“I asked Tommy.” It sounded weak, even to him.

Ellie wanted to shout angrily at him, to tell him the truth you hide beneath your heart but even in her anger she understood better, she was aware it wasn’t her place to tell the truth.

“Yeah? Well, maybe you should’ve asked her, Joel,” Ellie shot back, voice breaking.

“Before you lost your fucking chance.”

“Did you really stop loving her?”

Joel’s gaze met Ellie’s, his eyes teary, shaking his head. His voice came out ragged, raw.

“No.” A beat. His voice cracked. “God, no.”

Ellie’s throat tightened, the ache in her chest spreading throughout her body. She looked away, trying to steady her breathing, to hold back the sting in her eyes.

“Then why did you say it?” she whispered.

Joel scrubbed a trembling hand over his face, like he could wipe away the memory of those words. Of the way your face had crumbled. “Because it hurts not being the man she needs now, I didn’t know what to do but push her away. I thought that if I was cruel enough, she’d stop loving me too.”

Ellie let out a shaky breath, her stomach twisting. “You’re so fucking selfish, Joel. You broke her.”

Joel’s face crumpled as the tears finally spilled, his head bowing under the weight of it. 

“I’ve always admired the type of love the both of you share. How you’d always been there, are there for each other. How well she knew you were in danger that day that she dragged me with her in middle of a fucking snowstorm just to save you…”

Joel’s chest heaved, his shoulders shaking with the force of the guilt he could barely contain. The image of you that day, blood on your hands, refusing to let him die, it gutted him. It had changed him as a person.

Ellie’s voice cracked, the memory of that day hitting harder than she expected. She swallowed hard, fighting the lump in her throat. “I’ve never seen anyone love someone like that, Joel.”

Her hands balled into fists trying to contain the anger she felt. “And you…you threw it away because you were too fucking scared to hurt.”

“Ellie…” he whispered, voice breaking.

“She held your hand the whole time. She didn’t sleep for weeks, sitting at your side, praying to God or whatever was out there for you to wake up. And when you started coming back, even just a little, she smiled again because the world made sense to her again.” Ellie’s throat wobbled a sob. “And then you broke her.”

Joel looked away, not being strong enough to face Ellie.

She took a step closer, her voice softer now. “She was waiting for you.”

Jackson, the day of the attack, dawn.

The snow had stop falling by the time you arrive to Jackson. Dawn was breaking into the horizon, and your body felt like it had been dragged back and fort through war. Your entire body hurt, your heart was breaking at the sight of Joel on that stretcher, as Jesse and some others were helping him.

You saw Tommy first and run, holding onto him, your hold body shaking now that the adrenaline had begun to fade. You could finally breath for a second, you had made it back to Jackson.

But then Tommy pulled back, looking at you, at his brother, and his brow furrowed as he looked down.

There was blood on your thighs, dark, smearing on the fabric of your jeans.

The air left his lungs in shock.

“Hey, what—?” Tommy started; his voice soft, terrified to ask what he already suspected.

But you shook your head, eyes lost beneath tears, throat too tight to utter words.

“It’s fine. It’s—” you croaked, your voice breaking as your arms clutched around yourself.

“We need to get you inside,” Tommy said, waving over Maria, his hand on your arm. “Come on—"

“No. Him first,” you rasped, pointing at Joel, who was unconscious now, as they began to wheel him toward the hospital “He is first priority.”

Tommy’s throat worked as he nodded, but he didn’t miss the way you swayed on your feet, or the blood trailing down your legs.

He caught you on time when your knees buckled, holding you up as you clung to him like you might disappear if you let go.

“We’ll take care of both of you, alright?” Tommy promised, his heart breaking as he realized what it meant.

+++++++

You stood beside Joel’s bed. The room was too quiet you could hear the thoughts running around your head. Tormenting you, torturing you. How much you had done to have Joel laying on this bed with a tiny chance of surviving.  His face was barely recognizable beneath all the swelling and bruises, blood still crusted along the edges of his hairline, lips split. The sedatives had him still, too still.

your hand wrapped around his, though you weren’t sure if you were holding him or holding onto yourself. The tears wouldn’t stop. They ran hot down your frozen cheeks, leaving tracks that burned.

Tommy stood in the doorway, watching you with a knot in his throat. He’d never seen you like this, so small, so crumpled. He had always known the strong version of you but amidst the storm this is what you were now.

“Hey,” Tommy murmured, approaching slowly, crouching beside you. “You should rest, you both need—”

“The baby is gone.” You spoke, your voice was barely a whisper, cracked and raw.

You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. Your gaze stayed fixed on Joel’s face, your thumb brushing along his knuckles, as if trying to memorize every ridge of bone and scar before it was ripped out of you too.

Jackson, present day

“How do you feel?”

You let a chuckle, as if that question was a joke. But Gail’s eyes kept looking at you with stern on her gaze, perhaps there was a bit

“I feel I lost the baby because I murdered those guys” you confessed, “And I thought it wouldn’t hurt because Joel was going to survive, which he did but you now see how it turned out.” You paused for a moment, gathering your thoughts. “And I don’t know if he despises me for bringing him to life or for what I did.”

You lifted your gaze to meet Gail’s.

“The day he finds out about the baby, I don’t know what is going to happen to me.”

“Do you feel betrayed by him?” she asked, trying to make you talk, to ease the pain. The truth was that Gail wasn’t very fond of you due to your relationship with Joel but she felt pain when looking at you now.

After all she knew you were a woman in love who would have burnt the whole world to bring to save Joel.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I do.” Your voice cracked at the truth, but you force yourself to keep going “I feel like I died out there, too. That day, I saved a man that is not Joel anymore. Not the man I—" You stopped yourself, but it was already out there between you.

Gail’s gaze softened. She wasn’t good at this, at being soft by someone else, but what she saw in front of her was just another woman bleed in a different way.

Both of you had lost the love of your lives in different ways.

“I know you love him,” Gail said quietly. “I never doubted that.”

You met her eyes again, not making the effort to mask the ache that had settled in your bones “I love him so much it scared me. you admitted, voice trembling. “And I still do. Even if he can’t look at me. Even if he resents me. I’d still do the same thing over and over again.”

A long silence stretched between you. Gail took a breath. “You didn’t lose the baby because of what you did.” She said it firm, leaving no room for doubt.

But you didn’t believe it. Not fully. Not yet.

“When he finds out,” you whispered, the dread sinking, “I don’t know if it’ll break him or if he’ll break me.”

“He has no right to ask anything from you right now.” She said, trying to make you understand.

“What do I do now?” you asked, changing the topic, “What do I do with all the love I was holding for that baby?”

Gail was left speechless. Ever since she met you, she had known the strong force of a woman you were, but what she got in front of her now, was a glimpse of her.

You were losing the spark, your willing to live and she didn’t know how to help you.

You wiped your tears, streaming down your face, feeling the exhaustion of the past weeks taking a tool on you, pression down on your heart with a force. Heavy. “And I don’t know how to live in a world where he hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Gail said quietly. “He hates himself. That’s a different kind of grief.”

Jackson, two week later

Joel had lost the count of how much time he had spent inside the four walls of this room at the hospital. Every time he opened his eyes it was the same view, blue walls, white covers, a small window, an empty chair where the only person he wanted truly see was you.

Joel was struggling more than anyone wanted to admit. His body was healing slowly, but his mind wasn’t at all and that was a different story.

Mara was trying so hard to get him through his physical therapy, guiding him through some stretch and light exercises to help him to recover the strength he had lost. His face pinched tight in pain and frustration.

Ellie was looking at him, sitting in the corner of the room, with arms crossed, jaw tight, with worry and simmering resentment she hadn’t managed to let go of yet.

Because she was glad, he had made it. She was glad they would have time to fix their bond, but she still couldn’t stop looking at him as the man who had stole her choice from him.

Tommy was also there, standing by the doorway, he felt helpless watching his brother falling apart. How easy it was for him to walk to steps and then not being able to truly improve anymore.

It felt like time stopped. Joel’s breath hitched; his hands started trembling violently as Mara tried to coax him through a simple movement. His chest heaved, eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal. The walls closed in on him all at once, the smell he was sick of, the blinding light from the window, the ache in his bones, the emptiness inside his chest.

His voice cracked, “I—I can’t—I… I need her. Where is she?”

Mara heart went heavy, she tried to calm him, assuring she was here by placing a hand on his shoulder, but he recoiled like the touch burned.

“Not you, my girl. I need her.”he choked out, panic lacing his voice, his breathing ragged and uneven. “Nothing works without her. I can’t—I can’t fucking breathe without her.”

Ellie’s stomach twisted. She stood abruptly, “I’ll get her.”

But until what point this was fair to you? 

“Please, Ellie,” Joel rasped, eyes glossy with tears, “tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I… tell her I didn’t stop loving her. I don’t know how to do this without her.”

Ellie found you by the stables, hands buried in the hay, eyes unfocused, staring at nothing. She called your name four times until you finally looked up, there was so much exhaustion in your face it made her chest ache the same way it ached for Joel.

“Joel is asking for you”she said, voice hoarse by looking for you everywhere.

You didn’t answer. Not at first. The weight of it sat between you both like something heavy and jagged. Finally, you shook your head, eyes stinging.

“No.”you whispered.

“What do you mean no?”

“I can’t face him.”

Ellie’s jaw clenched, the sharp burn of frustration rising in her throat. It wasn’t anger, but she was really grieving the love you and Joel share. She didn’t know how to carry the pain you both have.

“He had a panic attack today. He couldn’t breathe. He only asked for you.” She said, stepping closer.

You closed your eyes, a tremor running through you. Her words dug into your chest.  

“I can’t face him, Ellie.” Your voice cracked. “I can’t see him and not tell him. Not tell him what I lost. I don’t know if I can carry it in front of him because he will resent me even more.”

Ellie swallowed hard, her hands trembling at her sides. She wanted to grab you, to shake you, to hold you, she didn’t know what, “Then tell him. Or don’t. But he’s drowning without you, and you are too.”

You didn’t answer. The only sound was the quiet shuffle of the horses behind you, the sun faintly making the pain on your face glow.

Ellie’s voice softened. “I don’t want to lose you both, please.

Jackson Hospital, at night.

The hospital was silent at night, the kind of silence that felt almost sacred in the dead hours while everyone slept. Most of people in Jackson was asleep, including the nurses in the front room, curled in their chairs, a single lamp flickering.

You moved slowly through the hallways, the ache in your chest making every step feel more difficult than the last. It had been two weeks since the last time you had seen Joel and your heart somehow knew you were about to see his face again.

And when you reached his room, you lingered at the door.

Joel lay there, still, chest softly rising. His face had recovered color. It wasn’t pale and bruised. Now it was almost the same man you had loved for so long.

You stepped inside the room without doubt and sat down beside him, at the edge of the bed. For a long moment, you just watched him. You draw traces of his face inside your mind. Then, your hand reached for his, trembling a bit as you took it into both of yours. His skin felt you achingly familiar still it made your heart burst. You brought his knuckles to your lips and kissed them, the salt of your own tears catching in the corner of your mouth.

“Please, don’t hate me” you whispered against his skin. “I can’t live with that.”

Your voice cracked, the words breaking free from the cage you got them under.  I don’t know how to live in a world without you in it, Joel.” You squeezed his hand tighter. Your forehead dropped to the back of his hand, your tears hot against his skin.

And you felt the faintest, instinctive squeeze of his fingers around yours.

A soft shuffle at the door made you lift your head, eyes blurry with tears as you blinked toward the sound.

Mara stood there with her arms crossed, the faintest edge of tension in her jaw. Her hair was loose, eyes tired, expression unreadable.

“You can’t stay here,” she said quietly, stepping inside the room.

You stared at her, your hand still cradling Joel’s as if letting go might broke you.

“But he asked for me,” you whispered, voice rough.

Mara sighed, a flash of something like sympathy darting across her face before it hardened again.

“I know. But you’ll confuse him,” she said, softer this time, glancing toward the still form of Joel in the bed. “He doesn’t know what’s real right now, what day itis, where he is. You being here…”she hesitated, “I just… it isn’t good for his recovery.”

You felt like your heart was unraveling thread by thread. “You think I’m hurting him.” you said quietly, a bitter ache rising in your throat.

“I think you’re both hurting each other,” Mara admitted, not unkindly. “And I think right now, what he needs is stability. Familiar routine. No surprises.”

She approached, kneeling slightly so you were level. “I’m just staying tonight.”

You looked at Joel again, at his face again.

“No.” she said, this time sternly.

Your body ran cold, but you nodded, brushing Joel’s knuckles with your lips one last time before slowly setting his hand back down.

“If he asks for me again…” you started.

“He won’t” she said, looking at you as if you were poising threatening to hurt Joel.

Outside Jackson, the next day.

Spring was making it presence noticeable. Landscapes were greener and flowers were blossoming everywhere on the route. You and Nick were riding in silence, the breeze caressing your skin with a delicate ease.Nick gave you a wary glance as he rode his horse beside you. He was younger that you, a few years maybe, with a heart too big for this world. You’d always appreciated that about him. Sometimes he felt like the little brother you never had.

“Are you sure you are okay about this?” he asked, frowning.

You forced a tight smile. “Yeah. Better than sitting around.”

He didn’t press it, just gave a short nod, and the two of you keep riding in silence, looking around your surroundings.

The route was quiet for a while, too quiet. You barely spoke, and when you did, it was small things. Nick trying to make you laugh, you giving him some fake smiles.

You should’ve known it wouldn’t last. You should have known it wouldn't last. Three clicks came quickly, emerging from behind a fallen tree just as you turned onto a trail. Nick yelled, grabbing his rifle. You dismounted, but something inside you, you didn't move the way it should. You didn't reach for your weapon. You just stood there.

You could hear them, the horrible, wet smacking, their bodies jerking with hunger. And a sick, empty part of you felt calm for the first time in weeks.

You could let them take you.

You barely registered Nick's voice, distant and panicked.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” he screamed, shooting one clean in the head as it lunged.

The others came closer, too close to you and you still didn’t move. Still mounted on your horse watching as them came to take you.

Nick fired again, blood spraying the ground, then stabbed another with his knife as it crashed against him. The last one came for you and you didn’t even flinch.

Nick got it first, turning to face you with fury on his face.

“What the fuck was that?! Are you out of your fucking mind?

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

And then you felt dizzy, the world lurched, wobbled, before slipping beneath you. You fell off your horse, hitting your head on the ground. A sharp pain, and then nothing but darkness.

The last thing you heard was Nick’s voice breaking, desperate.

“Follow me, it’s clear,” Joel murmured, pulling you through a gap in the fence.

The both of you had ended up in the middle of the woods, laying in the grass staring up at a sky you rarely got to stop to see.

Joel stood up, disappearing into the brush for a moment. When he came back, he was holding a little white wildflower and he knelt beside you, grinning at you.

“I can’t get you a diamond, darling, but I can make you this.”

You laughed, sitting up to look up at him better, “Joel, what are you doing?”

“Marrying you,” he said like it was the most obvious act.

Your breath caught when he looped the flower turning into a ring, a small, crooked one, from the flower’s stem, around your ring finger. His hand lingered in yours, warm.

“There,” he murmured, a bit shy now.

I’m always going to be there, I’m always going to have your back,

Where you go, I go, always.

until the day death tears us apart.

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in-ho knew whatever facade you were putting up was for him and him only, it was obvious. you would frown at any boy who gave you looks, but when he did it, you gave him an innocent smile. it was as if you were so naive you didn’t know what you were doing to him.

fuck, you were driving him crazy.

the cute patterned clothes you wore, the small bows in your hair. you were like a lamb walking right into the slaughter house.

after weeks of keeping his dick in his pants, jerking off only when you were gone, he had enough. he wanted you, and he wanted you now.

in-ho had planned it out meticulously, getting you to stay behind after class when all your friends had left, leaving you alone with him as he licked his lips hungrily.

“did i do something wrong?” your sweet voice echoed in his ears, it was enough to make an old man like him collapse on the spot.

“no, darling. c’mere, yeah?” he beckoned, pushing his chair away from his desk, inviting you over.

you knew what he was doing and you loved it.

“if i didn’t do anything wrong, why did you ask me to stay behind?” you questioned, taking your place between in-ho and his desk, trapping yourself exactly where you wanted to be.

“you’re so sweet, darlin’.” he cooed, playing with the him of your dress as you giggled.

“you think so?”

“yeah… so, so sweet.” he sighed, looking into your eyes as you tilted your head confused. “sit here.”

you looked down to where he was patting, his lap. a cheeky grin crept onto your face as you complied.

“now, i have a problem.” he started, hands now twirling with your hair.

“what is it?”

“you’ve made a poor old man like me so on edge, hm?”

“you’re not that old.” you laughed, making him chuckle.

“take a guess.”

“forty?” he tutted.

“older.”

“forty seven?” you guessed, but he shook his head.

“getting close.”

“fifty three?”

“fifty four, sweetheart.” he corrected you as your breath hitched. “does it bother you?”

“not at all.” you whispered, leaning closer to him.

you could feel the heat coming off of him, he was so warm, so inviting. sure, this man could be your dad with the age he was at but damn did he look good.

“doesn’t bother you that your teacher is crazy for you?” he hummed. you could smell the cigarettes in his breath, overwhelming your mind, making you dizzy.

no, you shook your head.

“what a sweet girl, huh? do you know how down bad you’ve made me?”

no, you shook your head once more.

“of course you don’t, there’s nothing going on in that little head of yours.” he joked, tapping your forehead, making you laugh.

divorced dad ! in-ho who lets you know right away that he won’t take too much of your time, but politely agrees when you suggest to make him a cup of coffee. you quickly find out he’s intelligent, funny, well mannered man and divorced for over three years. he effortlessly makes you feel giddy through his charms meanwhile the way he’s not refraining from keeping his eyes on you has you fantasising… of being manhandled on top of the kitchen table, legs held up on his broad shoulders as his charmingly shaped lips work wonders at your clit. though his flourishing career and the fact his life is much fuller of interesting experiences than yours he swiftly brings back the attention on you with genuine appreciation and intrigue. “i want to hear more about you,” he says almost in a whisper as if he’s entranced by you. the way he can lead a discussion about literally anything while avoiding talking about himself for longer than necessary is refreshing as you’re used to obnoxious guys your age who use every chance they get to talk about themselves.

eventually, you decide not to ask questions about his ex wife, but it’s clear in-ho is enjoying attracting this type of attention again, especially from such a young girl. yes, he’s had experiences where much younger women have shamelessly flirted with him, but he was never interested enough in paying them attention; he’s never had a thing for such unabashed behaviour. with you it’s different; he likes the conversation, the spark in your gaze that keeps him engaged, that makes him want to stop time so he can study you more. the lust creeping up in your voice just enough to make his skin run hot. it’s all already enough to make him forget that you’re his daughter’s roommate… one of her friends…

divorced dad ! in-ho who succeeds at holding back from kissing you when you say goodbye at the door, but fails the next time he stops by to bring the last boxes with luggage. you’re too hard to resist and the devil on his shoulder won’t stop reminding him that if he doesn’t get his hands on you right there and then he’s going to regret it.

is it risky because you’re close friends with his daughter? yes. because of the big age gap between you that makes him seem like he could be your father? maybe. but those things turn the experience even more fun and intense. the secrecy as you lock the door, the rushed promises against your lips that his daughter mustn’t find out. and then… the best of all - his experienced touch electrifying your whole being as it combines with your high energy and sex drive; he knows exactly how to caress you, kiss you and how to make you scream for more. as if your body revealed all your secrets and needs to him the second he pulled you in his arms. his demeanour and the way he maintains full control of everything arouses you more than you thought it’s possible, however, you can see in his glossed over eyes that it’s been a while since he’s had sex - either at all, or just with someone who genuinely brings him immense pleasure. you can feel it in his rough wet kisses with little bites in between; in his thrusts, crashing against you greedily as if this is something he’s been dreaming of… last but not least, in the sincere way he pants thank you when you delightfully swallow his cum after he releases in your mouth, gripping the roots of your hair and tilting your head up as he does so; he wants to peer into your dazed hypnotising eyes in case he doesn’t see you again…

divorced dad ! in-ho who gets addicted to your sounds, to your sweet taste, to all the pretty expressions you make for him and how perfectly your tight pussy feels around him. it’s a dangerous, irresistible combination of emotions that keeps him coming back for more. you’re just as down bad - nobody has made you feel so craved before, so beautiful and sexy in your own skin, but also safe to the point where you almost feel like a completely new person in the bedroom. both of you unleash your filthy fantasies every time you meet and watch how effortlessly they blend together, reminding you how perfectly you match, like two pieces of the same puzzle.

divorced dad ! in-ho who buys a luxurious apartment for the two of you so you don’t feel anxious that his daughter can walk in on you out of nowhere, but also because he wants to. he feels good when he’s spoiling you because he wants to know you have everything you may need and that you have a reason to smile so every time you arrive you find different gifts in addition to beautiful bouquets of flowers with little notes he wrote before going to work.

divorced dad ! in-ho who does his best to spend quality time with you, by taking you out, but also by doing fun domestic activities at your new place because now it’s your favorite place to be. you have movie marathons, romantic dinners with meals that he cooks for you while jazzy tunes play in the background as you sit on the countertop and tell him about your day at uni; slow make out sessions on the balcony at night which sometimes end up with you riding him while wearing one of his many shirts. the warm summer breeze spreads his expensive cologne in the air as his hands rest on your hips not rushing your movements because he wants to enjoy every second of the moment… you also have sex on the couch, in the shower and in front of the mirror, because you cannot get enough of each other. to in-ho, sex has never been so thrilling, so… diverse and nasty. “my dirty minded babydoll,” he likes to call you every time you surprise him by asking to please him in a new exciting way.

the next day when you stepped into class, you gave him yet another wave, causing him to do the same.

if mr in-ho wasn’t so good-looking, you would say his lessons were mundane. but luckily for you, your interest had peaked miraculously ever since you started attending his class.

when the bell rang, you packed your bags, ready to leave. but just as you brushed past his table, you felt his hand grab onto yours.

“stay back.” he whispered, making you look back at your friends that had left.

“why? did i do something wrong?” you asked as he slowly but hesitantly released your hand.

“no, not at all… i just thought we could spend some time together.” he shrugged, seemingly with pure intentions.

but you saw right through.

bullshit.

“it is your lunch now right?” he asked.

he swiftly half sat on his desk, signalling for you to take his teacher’s seat instead.

“yea, it is. did you stalk my timetable?” you teased causing him to let out a chuckle.

“just happened to see it.”

“okay then. so, how are you liking this school?”

“oh, i’ve taught in this school before. i just haven’t been back into the teaching scheme in awhile.”

“oh, i didn’t know that.” you replied, hands rested on your hands as you stared at him, intrigued. “so i’m guessing you liked teaching him, or you would’ve found another school.”

“of course. there’s something in the air of this school, makes me keep wanting coming back.”

“maybe it’s the student… maybe a student.” you wiggled your eyebrows as you joked, testing waters.

“possibly.” he shook his head in disbelief.

“i’m assuming you don’t have a wife?” you questioned.

“well… i did, but she isn’t with us anymore.” he said, his tone changing, sounding much softer, much more vulnerable.

“oh…i’m sorry, i don’t mean to pry. i’m sure she must have been very beautiful… inside and out.” you offered him a smile as you placed your hand over him comfortingly.

in-house looked down to where your hands were meeting, breath suddenly caught in his throat.

“thank you.” he cleared his throat before gently pulling away. “so, are you doing anythung after school?”

“no, not really. alot of assignments are piling up, i should go home straight away.” you told him as he nodded sympathetically.

“so you’re a hard-working girl, huh?”

“of course, have you not seen me in your class?” you laughed.

“i have… alot.” the last word said almost in a whiser, barely able to hear if you weren’t fully paying attention to him.

you could feel a string of tension in the air, you breath quickened as he started to move away.

“i should go, should probably eat before my next class.” you made up an excuse, grabbing your stuff and dashing for the door.

before in-house could stop you, you were gone.

shit, did he take it too far?

for the rest of the periods, you couldn’t focus. it was so wrong. so, so wrong.

this was the moment you realised how bad you had it too. in-ho, the man you knew for barely a month had already had you in a chokehold.

when classes ended, you were going to head home. but then came a slight misfortune, it was pouring.

you stood at the gate with a huff as the rain grew heavier by the second. all your friends had took off, heading to a nearby diner together, leaving you behind.

fuck it, you thought. you walked in the pouring rain, feet dragging as you let out curses under your breath.

just then, there was a honk.

as you shielded your eyes from the rain you saw who it was, mr in-ho.

“what are you doing?!” he asked as he pulled up beside you, “get in before you get sick!”

with no other choice, you pulled open the car door, hopping into the passenger seat as you felt his eyes tearing into you.

“thank you.” you breathed out as you looked at yourself, you were soaked. “i’m sorry about the car seat, this looks like a really expensive car.”

“don’t worry about it… are you okay? is it still cold? i can turn off the air conditioning.” he replied, his eyes full of worry.

“no, i’m okay. thank you.”

“do you have an address where i can drop you off?”

in-ho gave you his phone, letting you put your address into his gps before he drove off.

at first, the car ride was silent. it wasn’t an awkward silence, it was a comfortable one. one where you could hear the humming of the engine and the water splashing onto the windshield.

“why did you take off just now?” in-ho suddenly asked, turning to you for a split second.

“i-i just… you- i don’t-”

“it’s okay, you don’t have to answer.”

“no. it’s just that i don’t want to misinterpret anything and end up regretting it for the rest of my life.” you vomitted out.

he stayed silent.

“and what would that be?” he asked after a bried moment of silence.

“that you were into me…” you said softly, “…like how i am to you.”

he only hummed in agreement.

shit, was this it? did you mess up?

before you could somehow salvage the situation, the car came to a stop.

“we’re here.”

“i’m sorry, i knew i shouldn’t have said that. i-i was just misinterpreting the whole thing a-an-”

but you were cut off with in-ho’s soft hands cupping your face, barely giving you any time before his lips met with yours.

you let out a muffled gasp before you melted into him.

at that moment, he was all you knew.

in-ho, in-ho, in-ho.

when he pulled away, you involuntarily let out a whine, causing him to smile.

“it’s our secret.” he said as you nodded frantically. “you know what? since you’re my favourite student, i’ll give you my number…”

he then took out a piece of paper, scribbling his number on it and placed it in the palm of your hand.

“don’t lose it.” he instructed as you were still caught up in what exactly just happened.

with that, you exited his car, giving him a small wave as per usual. he made sure that you got into your apartment before he took off, a stupid smile never leaving his face.

that night, you were on your bed, tossing in turning. you couldn’t sleep.

‘maybe this was the time to put his number to good use.’ you thought.

you crawled over to your nightstand, taking you phone as you typed in his number.

‘hey! i hope this is the right number.’ you texted.

within a minute, your phone had buzzed.

‘Y/n?’

‘yea. sorry i don’t mean to bother you.’

‘It’s alright, i was just grading papers. It’s late, why aren’t you asleep?’

‘couldn’t. but if you’re busy we can talk when you’re free. :) ’

‘Nonsense. Papers can wait. Did you catch a cold?’

‘no, i’m okay. thanks for the ride though!’

‘Anytime, Y/n. You have my number, call me if you ever need a ride home. :)’

you were kicking your feet like a pre-tesn texting their first crush.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow in class okay? Get some sleep, need you to be awake for my class.’

you giggled.

‘okay. goodnight mr in-ho!’

‘Goodnight, Sweetheart. Sweet dreams.’

it was the first day of school, students were pushing and shoving to get to class.

you entered the classroom with your friends, seeing a new, unfamiliar teacher at the front of the classroom, taking your seat at the back.

“good morning class, my name is mr in-ho, i’ll be your new math teacher this semester.” the teacher announced as he turned to face the students.

“hey, he’s pretty hot.” you turned to look at your friend with your mouth hung wide open, slapping her on the arm as you both laughed.

lesson went on as per normal that first day, mr in-ho spent the hour introducing himself and getting to know everyone.

as the bell rang, signalling the end of class, everyone packed their bags frantically.

“that’s all, i’ll see everyone tomorrow.” mr in-ho said.

as the students got up to leave, a loud thud was heard from the front of the classroom.

“get up, nerd.” you heard.

you sighed, walking towards the girl who had been tripped by another student, helping her up as you glared at her bully.

“fuck off, what do you want?” you asked, taking a protective stand in front of the poor girl.

the bully said nothing, simply turning on his heel and leaving.

by now, all the students had left, leaving you, the girl, and mr in-ho behind.

“t-thank you.” the girl said, bowing her head as you frowned.

“you don’t have to thank me. he shouldn’t be doing that… are you okay?” you asked.

she then nodded, giving you an awkward smile as you scurried off.

“hey, what’s your name?” you heard a voice call out from behind you.

“oh, i didn’t realise you were still here.” you replied, seeing the new teacher behind his desk, packing his bag. “i’m y/n. y/n l/n.”

“that’s pretty.” he commented, offering you a small smile.

“thank you.” you blushed.

“that was really kind, what you did there.”

“oh, yeah, he has been really mean to many students. poor girl just didn’t have anyone looking out for her.”

“you’re a good girl, y/n.”

oh.

“t-thank you?” you chuckled nervously.

“what’s your next class? maybe i could walk you there.” mr in-ho said as the two of you stepped outside into the hallway.

“english. but i think i’ll be the one leading you.” you joked, causing him to let out a laugh.

──── ୨୧ ────

that night, in-ho went home feeling better than he had been the past few months. he felt like he had really connected with his new students.

they were so kind, so gentle, so sweet…

no, you were.

you were so kind, so gentle, so sweet.

the interaction he had with you kept replaying in his mind, he couldn’t think about anything or anyone else.

you reminded him of someone he used to know, and that fueled him.

the next day, he went to class as per usual. however, he didn’t take your class until noon, which meant he had to wait patiently for your class.

by 11am, he got pretty bored he had to admit. in-ho felt like he was just going through the motions, teaching the different batches of students that came in one after another.

however, when the clock striked 12, oh he was excited.

what he was excited about? he didn’t know.

he then heard a familiar laugh echoing through the halls. he turned to the door, waiting expectantly for you to come through.

the door flew open, revealing not only you to his dismay, but your group of friends surrounding you. he couldn’t make out what you were laughing about but he was incredibly intrigued.

“good afternoon.” you said cheerfully as you gave him a small wave before you took your seat.

in-ho felt a wave of flush run through him, he cleared his throat and ruffled his hair. “good afternoon, y/n.”

“oo, someone already made a move before the rest of us.” your friend teased, nudging your elbow playfully as you rolled your eyes.

time passed quickly as in-ho taught his first lesson to your class. he had found himself stealing tiny glances of you as he walked around, trying his hardest to not make it obvious.

his heart was beating so quickly he thought he could pass out.

maybe he was being delusional, or maybe even hallucinating, but he swore at times when he stole glances, you were already staring. and that made him nearly choke on his words multiple times.

after class, he stayed behind again, hoping that you would somehow approach him, striking up a conversation.

but you didn’t.

someone did approach him, but it wasn’t you. it was your friend.

“so… where did you teach before this? do you like it here? how is it like teaching our class?” she bombarded him with questions.

you took it as a sign to leave.

as you walked out, you turned for one last look. but to your surprise, you were met with the eyes of mr in-ho, as soon as he had been caught, he looked away, pretending to be interested in the conversation.

“see you tomorrow, mr in-ho.” you called out. but before he had the chance to reply, you had left.

somehow, you felt jealous. jealous that he was talking to someone like you first did. but why did it matter? he was just your teacher afterall.

──── ୨୧ ────

that night as he got home, in-ho dropped all his things. he practically ripped open his shirt and unbuckled his pants as fast as he could.

god, he couldn’t get you out of his mind.

he thought of your soft voice and your innocent face as he started to stroke himself.

‘fuck.’ he cursed as he started to go faster, his mind racing with images of your face.

he could almost hear your voice calling his name again. he replayed your laughter over and over again like a broken record.

in-ho went to sleep that night with you and only you on his mind. he knew he was fucked.

──── ୨୧ ────

weeks went by and in-ho found himself getting bolder and bolder.

within a month, he moved on to not so subtle touches.

as he paced around the classroom teaching, he took your seat at the back of the classroom to his advantage. he tested waters initially, brushing against your arm as he walked by.

when you seemed okay with it, he tried to deepen the contact.

he would place a hand on your shoulder as he passed you. when you didn’t move away or seemed uncomfortable, he knew he hit the jackpot.

his touch started to linger for longer than it needed to. somehow he craved touching you more and more.

what made him more desperate was the fact that he could smell your perfume whenever he walked anywhere near you.

it messed with his head in the best way possible.

furthermore, he started to notice how his actions took a toll on you. whenever he gently touched your shoulder, you would draw your legs together. was he really turning you on?

if he had happened to see you in the hallways, he would call you by name, greeting you, even starting small conversations.

he loved how everytime he did so, you light blush would creep onto your cheeks and you would struggle to meet his gaze, looking anywhere but into his eyes.

if this continued, he didn’t know how much he could take. all the cock-teasing, the small interactions.

You knew from an early age that charisma could conquer the world, it was a relatively easy taught lesson back in your early karting days. Mum sat you down one day in karting, showing two other kids around. One sitting alone, quietly twinkling with his go-kart, you knew him, Jamie-something, one of the best kids in karting, and you always had fun battles with him, but he was a bit of an odd one out. The other kid mum pointed at was Nick, loud, funny and popular… not that good at karting but a really smart talker. And it showed as he was surrounded by adults and other kids, every bit of attention on him.

You were around 11 when your mum pointed out the difference between the two kids.

“What is different about them, darling?” Mum asked you.

“Jamie is alone… And Nick is surrounded by people.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know, Mama…” You said, scratching your brain to try and reply.

“Jamie is not very good with people, right? He’s a bit of an introvert…” Your mum said, quite somberly, “And Nick, he’s charismatic, see how he manages to grab everyone's attention?” As you nodded, your mum kept talking, “There are greater chances of Nick making far in motorsports, rather than Jamie.”

“But it’s not fair! Jamie is much better…”

“I know, darling… But you’ll see that motorsports is not fair at all. And unfortunately, if you really want to go far in this career, you’ll have to do everything they want and more. Being a good driver won’t be enough.”

“Why not, mama?” You asked, pouting.

“Because everybody loves pretty and everybody loves cool.”

-

Over the next few years of your teens, you learned to adapt, not only in karting, then single seaters, then Formula categories, not only as a driver, but as a person. You were fun, charming, and after a few years, it came to you easily. Laugh at his joke, that’s a sponsor. Smile at the journalists and they’ll write you as the future of motorsport. Be funny, but not too funny to the point they won’t take you seriously. Smile, but not too much so they don’t think you’re flirting. Be smart about your sport, but not too smart so they won’t feel emasculated. Take good care of your career and your every step, but don’t let them know so they won’t call you manipulative. Never be angry, never lash out, never be curt.

Nobody ever thought about you as a carefully crafted person, because even that was planned out. No one called you fake. They always thought you were that person: funny, smart and pretty like a 60’s queen.

You made it to Formula 1 at the age 23, a little late but you had accounted for that, being a woman and all. You were a damn good driver, but really it was your charm that put you there. You knew that your presence was good PR for the Federation. Look how inclusive we are!

After substituting a driver twice in the 2014 season, you were signed in 2015 for Toro Rosso, rookie you and rookie Max Verstappen, who was much younger than you. You and him got along well, but you couldn’t help but think how he got the chance to join Formula 1 much younger than you, having had almost the same career path in earlier categories. The only difference? You were a woman.

But you didn’t let that outshine your happiness of making it to Formula 1.

Soon you got in everyone’s good graces, charming your way through motorsports like you had been doing your whole career. Your first ever race as an official driver on the grid, there was this sense of relief, of making it to the ultimate dream. All that you had endured was worth it in that glorious moment.

You managed a little friendship with most drivers, getting to chat with them despite your rivalry on the track. You end up getting two podiums that season, brilliantly going down in history.

Well into your first official season, somehow the nickname “Principessa” caught on after an Italian newspaper wrote a praiseful cover article about how you managed to be classy and talented in your rookie year at Toro Rosso.

Life was a dream come true all the way to 2016, when you realized, Sebastian Vettel didn’t like you much. You thought it was just a distance thing, since you two weren’t used to talking that much. Until you overheard him talking about you with Nico, one of the drivers he was always talking to.

“I’m just not really interested…” Sebastian sounded reluctant.

“She’s really nice once you get to chat with her,” Nico said, as you hid behind a pile of tyres, “Vivian adores her, she even sent her a basket of goodies because of the pregnancy.”

“I understand. But me and her don’t click,” Sebastian mumbled, sounding annoyed.

“And why not?”

“She’s fake. A perfect PR doll, and I don’t like it.”

There was a long silence from Nico, probably shocked at the sudden harshness of Sebastian’s towards someone he had barely opened up to meet. You stood there frozen for a couple of seconds, not understanding his aversion to you.

Snapping out of it, you silently walked away without them noticing you were ever there. You couldn’t believe how, or why Sebastian could see right through you, how he could say that stuff when he had barely talked to you. But worst of all, you couldn’t understand his aversion to you, being against you.

“Having a quiet day?” Nico asked later that day, at the drivers parade as you stood a bit quieter than usual, still in your head about Sebastian’s words.

“Oh, no! Just a bit hungry!” You lied with a believable smile, “How’s Vivian?” You decided to change the subject.

Later that year, you had a great, almost competitive car, which had taken you to P3 in the championship standings, with a real, consistent chance of fighting for the championship.

Unfortunately for you, after the fourth to last race of the season, one race you had finished first place, you and part of your team were called in to talk with the representatives of the FIA because of an irregular part of your car. It was a minimal part of the livery that connected with the air vents, they said it was irregular, and despite the team showing proof that you had gained no advantage out of that, you were still punished with disqualification from that race.

It wasn’t just the problem of being DSQ, but not making points in that race meant you were out of the fight for the championship.

It felt like a punch in the face. Unjustifiable and an arbitrary decision.

After that disqualification, that came out right after the race had ended, Sebastian was the one to inherit that win, and a small part of him wanted to check on you, just because those kinds of disqualifications were a blow to the confidence of a driver.

Sebastian walked into your driver’s room and the first thing he noticed were the objects thrown around on the floor, a flipped table and chair. Chess pieces and boards on the floor, along with water bottles and towels, he looked around and you were sitting in a corner, on the floor, tears streaming down your face as you tried to wipe them with trembling hands, but the tears kept coming down.

It sent Sebastian into some sort of shock, he knew you for around three years now, and he had never seen you cry, or be angry, or even annoyed. You were always happy and bubbly… And now… It was like you were someone else, so painfully real, multifaceted for the first time.

“Hey… you-” He wasn’t even sure of what to say.

“They took my chances from me…” You said, voice trembling and a fresh stream of tears, “they did it on purpose. They did it to keep me where I am, to keep me on a leash, to not let me become a World Champion.”

“I’m so sorry…” He knelt down by your side, unsure of what to do or say.

“I did everything right. Played by their rules. I smiled, and I danced like a circus monkey, and I clapped even when I shouldn’t… I took it silently even when they threw spears at my chest. I swallowed my pride countless times to be here. I did everything right…” You knew you were rambling, to someone who probably didn’t even like you, but you couldn’t stop, the burning rage that brought tears to your eyes was stronger than anything you ever felt.

Sebastian didn’t know what to say, too shocked by the view of the real you that he could barely wrap his head around it. There was anger in your eyes, sadness, but somewhat a sprinkle of despair too. So he did the only thing his mind could think of, he hugged you. A little awkwardly, but a hug nonetheless. He felt your tears dampening his shirt, your hands fisting the material as if you were drowning and he was the only lifebuoy left. The sobs rocked your shaky frame and he held you for a long time, until someone from the team came to check on you. Then Sebastian hesitantly let go of you, despite your fingers still gripping his shirt, he pulled back, astonished.

As he left, stunned, he couldn’t even remember the reason he had gone there in the first place.

You only saw Sebastian again, the following race weekend, during media day. You were sitting on a box, drinking some water, your legs dangling in the air. You looked like you always did, bubbly, content, hair in place, light makeup…

Despite everything, and the memories being a little blurry, you didn’t forget what Sebastian had done for you. But even though the support was nice at the time, you couldn’t help but feel an immense amount of shame and embarrassment for what he had witnessed. Your mask had slipped, and you didn’t know how to proceed in this new, unknown territory.

In the end, you opted for deflection.

“Hey,” Sebastian approached you, looking slightly worried, “how…” he cleared his throat, “how have you been?” There was a silent question there, a silent approach to everything that had transpired the other day.

“Hi? Yeah, I’m alright, thanks!” You said with a bright smile, but now Sebastian could see it never reached your eyes. You hopped off the box you were sitting on, starting to walk away.

“Um- about the other day…?” Sebastian tried to breach the subject, unsure of how you would react.

“Oh, that? It was silly, just forget about it!” You kept smiling, your voice was cheerful, but your eyes betrayed that. You kept walking away, eating fruits and Sebastian ran up to you again, confused about you brushing under the rug something that was a pretty big deal.

“No, uh- how-” He wanted to think of something to say, but your smile dimmed a little bit as you looked at him.

“Let’s forget about that. And please don’t pity me.” You said with that same frozen smile and Sebastian frowned. He wasn’t pitying you, he was genuinely worried about that.

You walked away before he could say anything else. He was shocked at you dismissing so easily a full blown breakdown you had the week before. He had spent days thinking about you, not because he enjoyed any of it, he didn’t, but because he saw you for the first time. The real you. The ugly and painful parts, but it was so, so genuine, he knew that was the real you, with an honest reaction to something that hurt and upset you. He saw something he had never seen in you before, and he couldn’t get that version of you out of his head.

It was obvious you didn’t want to talk about that, or even address it. And Sebastian wasn’t going to press for answers, because in the end, he didn’t even like you particularly. He didn’t. And in the media pen, when a reporter asked you about the penalty that took you out of the championship competition, you smiled politely.

“Oh, I believe the FIA did the right thing, if I was accidentally irregular, that’s what should have been done. No complaints on my part or on behalf of my team,” You said into the mic, seeing in their faces that no one expected that response. Sebastian kept staring at you, in disbelief.

“Well, I for one,” Sebastian said after a few shocked seconds, “think that her disqualification was bullshit.”

The room burst out laughing, even you. A fake laugh, but since no one could tell, it was still a laugh. Saving your tears for some other time, alone and quiet, away from prying eyes.

Despite everything, you and Sebastian didn’t become closer, but in some way he just decided to open up to you a little bit more, as opposed to what he had been doing these past few years. He still wasn’t a friend or a close acquaintance, but he was less closed off and less short towards you. There was a silent acknowledgement of each other in public settings, a quiet nod or polite smile here and there.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later that he was about to leave the hotel to go to a dinner during the week of the Malaysian GP, when he got into the elevator and as he got to the first floor, you stumbled into the small space, reeking of alcohol and makeup a little smeared. He called your name, in such shock he forgot to hop out and the elevator started going up again.

“What,” You said, holding yourself steady against the elevator wall. Sebastian was shocked, that was another facet of you, raw and belling with the persona you usually sold the world.

“Are you okay?” He asked, the elevator stopping on your floor.

“I’m fine,” you said, stumbling out of the elevator in your high heels, Sebastian couldn’t help but also step out, grabbing your arm to steady you, “I said I’m fine!” You said, drunkenly stomping your foot.

“No, you’re not. Come on, give me your key.” Sebastian said, with a voice that left no space for arguing. 

You tried to be stubborn, but he just grabbed your purse and started fumbling with it until he grabbed your key-card. Holding your arm, he guided you to your hotel suite. Once inside, he placed you sitting on an armchair, and as he knelt in front of you to remove your shoes, you plopped back against the backrest.

“No, no,” he said, tossing your heels away and pulling your arms so you’d sit up straight, “No sleeping yet, come on. I didn’t pick you for a drinker.”

“And I didn’t pick you for a nosy asshole” You snapped back.

“Well, well, well, isn’t motorsports’ favorite doll hiding a foul mouth?” He said, holding you up, guiding you to the bathroom.

“Don’t call me that!”

“Well, isn’t that what you are? We both know the truth, Principessa.” There was some bitterness to the way he said the nickname. You were not particularly fond of the nickname either, but the way he said it, with disgust, it rubbed you the wrong way.

“Why are you here?” You asked slowly.

“Why are you hammered on a Tuesday night?” He held you up, putting you on your feet and calmly leading you to the bathroom.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Sebastian pressed his lips together at your deflection, deep down he knew. More than anyone he knew you were just pretending to be okay with being taken out of the fight for the championship. He knew you were hurting. He also wanted to tell you that wasn’t the way to go about it, but at the end of the day, you two weren’t really close.

“Get in the shower. Cold.” He said, walking out of the bathroom and closing the door behind himself.

He could hear the sound of the water running, so he went to the phone and ordered soup and tea from room service. He sat down on the armchair, somewhat worried about you. He had gone through that before, but he was also four times world champion, compared to you who was just in your second year, losing the opportunity to fight for the championship for a mistake that wasn’t yours and that was completely out of your hands.

You left the bathroom dressed in a fluffy robe, face clean off of remnants of makeup. But your eyes were puffy and red, and he wondered if you were crying in the shower. He didn’t ask.

“Since you look a little more sober, I’m going. Room service will bring you something to eat and something non-alcoholic to drink.”

You sat on the couch opposite to him, feeling a little better and a bit more sober. You watched as he got up, his blue eyes never leaving yours. You had many questions. But the most important one was why he was there. Why was he taking care of you? You knew he didn’t like you, he knew you knew it too. Before you could ask any of it, he walked towards the door.

“Thank you,” You mumbled. He only nodded, not bothering to look back at you. It was a quiet murmur, but some part of you hoped he knew that thank you wasn’t about just this instance, but also the time he consoled you when no one else did.

The rest of the season, you managed to get ahold of yourself since you knew, keeping wallowing in self pity would get you nowhere. So you focused on finishing the season better. Sebastian and you also didn’t grow particularly close in the following months, despite sometimes meeting his eyes across the room. There was always this underlying tension between you, like two people that knew a secret but swore to not talk about it.

During the Prize Giving Ceremony, you were mingling with some drivers, members of the team and from the FIA. You were known for being the life of the party, usually a social butterfly, always making connections and meeting new people.

But then, you made a small pause to grab a drink and some air, sitting down on a bench, when Sebastian made his way to you, a somewhat bright smile directed to you as he crossed the room. It was the first time he had ever directed that kind of smile to you. He looked like he had drunk a little bit.

“You look tipsy,” You pointed out as soon as he stopped before you. He grinned.

“High quality champagne,” Sebastian replied, sitting on the bench beside you, raising his flute for a toast. You replied by clicking your flute against his.

You two sat in silence for a couple of minutes, watching the party in full swing.

“You’re back to your old self,” Sebastian pointed out, suddenly. But it didn’t sound like a compliment nor a critique. So you didn’t reply, unsure of what he meant.

“Well, we all do what we gotta do,” You shrugged gently, with a small smile as you turned to face him and his bright blue eyes were already on your face.

“But, you know, it’s good to remember you’re very lucky to be here,” he said.

His words made you stop, your smile fading and that almost accomplice glinting in your eyes completely disappeared. And Sebastian frowned confused, seeing the way you put up your walls again, back to the frozen, fake smile you usually gave the media.

Lucky. You hated that word. You hated how everyone used to say you got lucky to be there. You got lucky to get into Formula 1. You got lucky to be a successful driver. Rarely did anyone mention the efforts you had to put into becoming that. The early mornings training, the absurd amount of time and distance away from your family. All the metaphorical slaps you had to endure with a straight face. Then you realized, Sebastian saw you just the way everyone else saw you. You were lucky, your spot was a gift not the consequence of your efforts.

And Sebastian noticed the shift in your expression in that very moment. He hadn’t meant to offend, and he wasn’t even sure why his words had ticked you off, but he could see. He was probably the only one in that whole room who could tell the real you from your persona, mostly due to the fact that he had seen the real you a couple of times.

“Princess, I-” He started again, but you cut him off.

“Don’t.”

He watched as you stood up, gave him a polite smile and a nod, before sauntering away.

The following year, your car was improved, and even better than the year before, you were up there in the stands, and after a third of the season, you and the team knew you were a contender for the championship. You did everything in your power to be the world champion that year. Your main competitor was Lewis Hamilton. Somehow, despite the fierce battles on track, you two managed to maintain a certain level of respect outside it. Probably because you two were different kinds of minority in that sport, or because he had learned a lesson with how everything had come down with Rosberg. Funnily enough, you two had managed a somewhat friendship that very year.

You and Sebastian, on the other hand, grew more distant than ever, and you barely spoke that year. You two kept this cold, polite façade in front of the media and other drivers.

Battle after battle, the media pressure only grew on your shoulders, you weren’t just a pretty face for the sponsors to plaster your face around, you showed a real driver existed behind that persona. And it pissed some people off, just because now you were a woman playing a big man’s sport. They nitpicked every mistake you made if you had made some, or they diminished your every win if you didn’t make a mistake. Because you were lucky. You were lucky that one time Vettel DNFed. You were lucky this one time Lewis Hamilton crashed out. You were lucky your tyres were better during some overtakes. You were lucky for that good pitstop.

When you became World Champion that year, during the Mexican GP, it had all been worth it to endure. The weight of the trophy in your hands, the way you hugged it to your chest in the top step of the podium, crying as the other drivers splashed you with champagne, that was the taste of the years of dedication paying off.

The celebrations were wild, the team, some of the other drivers, everyone congratulated you. You were at a nightclub, drink in hand when suddenly Sebastian Vettel appeared out of nowhere. You supposed all drivers were invited, but you didn’t expect him to actually show up.

He walked up at you, loose shirt, messy hair and flushed face. Biting his lip to hide a smile, that genuine smile he had given you only once since you met him. And Sebastian had never seen you so beautiful. He knew you were always pretty, like you were some sort of model, but in that moment, you looked genuinely happy, and the smile you could barely contain in your face made you even more stunning than you already were.

“Congratulations, Principessa,” He smiled, stopping beside you. At that moment, you didn’t even remember that you were ever upset with him, that you had barely spoken the whole season. He remembered very well that feeling of being champion, the relief and happiness.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry about what I said last year. I never meant to diminish you. And later on I understood why you felt upset by it.” Sebastian said, firmly. It made you feel validated, and it was nice that he had realized on his own.

“It’s okay. It’s water under the bridge.”

Sebastian nodded, understanding. You both went back to the party. And later that night you two were dancing on the dance floor with some other people. You were not physically close, more like jumping up and down and singing, facing each other, laughing. But there was that spark in each other’s eyes again, like there was a funny secret you two were keeping.

That’s how you two ended up going to his hotel, sitting silently in the back of a car, the windows a bit rolled down and the fresh air of the night hitting your faces. This silent tension that had always been brewing reached a boiling point. None of you moved or said anything, afraid of breaking the spell even on the way up to his floor. But the moment you crossed the threshold of his hotel room, you tiptoed to him, kissing him. He kicked the door shut, one arm around your waist as he pulled up to his height so he could properly kiss you. The other hand on the back of your head, pressing you further into him as if he wanted to merge with you, his lips and tongue coaxing yours open, his kiss all tongue and teeth as if he was starved for you. You two stumbled inside, but Sebastian managed to keep you upright by pressing you against a small side table, while you two laughed at his clumsiness.

When he put you down again, he reached for the back of your tube dress, tugging the zipper down, but it got stuck and he muttered a curse, which made you laugh again against his neck.

“Sorry about this,” he said, before forcefully tugging the dress, which made it rip off, and the dress fell down, pooled at your feet, leaving you naked in only your panties and shoes. He took a moment to take in your figure, humming appreciatively.

You took a step forward, removing his shirt without a second thought, followed by you also fumbling with his belt. You two were giggling when finally all clothes were out of the way and Sebastian pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply before pushing you into the bed. His lips around your nipples as his hands teased your body, touching, groping, feeling the smoothness of your skin.

When he climbed up, holding your head so you would look at him while his fingers fucked you open, there was this deep sense of intimacy in his eyes as he watched you. Then finally, he got on top of you, holding one of your thighs up against his waist and he sank down, in one deep stroke as you two moaned. His movements were slow and hard, enjoying every little thing about you. The soft sounds you made, your dilated pupils, the way your cunt fluttered around him when he hit a particularly perfect spot.

It didn’t take you long to come, your hands around his waist, nails sinking into his back. After you did, he knelt back, pulling your legs up, ankles by his shoulders as he then went even faster with each thrust, your moans growing louder as you went careening into a second orgasm, and soon he followed behind you, biting on your ankle to muffle his groans.

“Damn…” He sighed, breathless as he plopped on the bed right beside you.

“Damn is right…” You laughed.

After that, you two got in the shower, kissing and making out like teenagers, until he bent you over the glass wall, fucking you again until you two came again, your back to his chest and his hand down your front to tease you clit.

When you two fell on the bed again, you were out like a light.

The following morning you woke up painfully early, his arms around you as you situated yourself, when you checked your phone, you realized you were late to catch your flight. So you carefully removed yourself from his arms without waking him up, stole some clothes from his suitcase since your dress was ruined, and left in a cab.

You didn’t speak about through the final two races of the season and not at all during winter break. A small part of you had expected him to say something about what had happened. You were not sure what.

As the new season started the following year, the underlying tension between you now had a new kind of meaning behind it. Since you couldn’t look at each other and not think of that night. Of his hands tightening on your ass, of your nails scratching his back.

You decided to leave it all behind, focusing on the season and trying to strike that second consecutive championship. It was hard, it wasn’t that your car was bad, per se, but it was unreliable. Sometimes you were about to win a race when it suddenly had some sort of malfunction or some kind of shut down that had you DNF a race you should’ve won. Despite that, you made the best of it, achieving a couple of podiums and eventually, your first win of the season.

That night, you met with Sebastian again, the first real conversation ever since what had happened the year before. 

“Congratulations on the win,” He said with a smile.

“You too, congrats on the win last week.”

And just as the first time, soon you two were wrapped around each other in the elevator, lost in a desperate kiss. Kisses and giggles as you made your way stumbling to your hotel room. This time, he had you bent over the bed, hands on the mattress as he knelt down eating you out for the life of him until you had come fisting the sheets, then he got up and fucked you from behind.

You two laid on the bed, breathless and with a thin layer of sweat as he pulled you closer, a palm over your stomach, tracing all dips and curves lazily.

“Here we are again,” Sebastian whispered, and you looked at his eyes, shining blue and flushed face.

“Seems like we keep coming back for more…” You pointed out, with a laugh.

He was about to say something when his phone rang, and he found his jeans and picked up the call. You just watched as he started speaking on the phone, quickly grabbing his clothes and starting to dress up again.

“I’m sorry,” He said after finishing the call, buttoning up his pants, “We have a photoshoot to do, and I had completely forgotten about it.”

“It’s fine,” You said, sitting up on the bed.

He paused for a moment, looking at you all naked and debauched on the bed, looking especially delicious. Sebastian wished at that moment he could have taken a picture to keep with him forever while you looked like a goddess. He just pecked your lips, deep and fast, before scurrying off. A stupid smile in both of your faces that you couldn’t see.

Weirdly enough, you didn’t talk about that again. It was like you were two different people in other settings, but back in the motorsport world, you had no opening or desire to be that two people that stole kisses in hotel rooms. But the silent glances were still there, a knowing look exchanged. You didn’t grow any closer out of those brief moments in space and time.

As the season progressed, you got a somewhat grip on the car, even reaching second place in the standings for the WDC.

Your encounters with Sebastian also kept happening, at least once a month. You didn’t talk much about the nature of your relationship, about what it meant, or why it kept happening. It felt like you two were always focused on making the most of the little time you had. One of you would always leave in the middle of the night or early in the morning, without waking up the other, like a silent agreement.

Still, you had a growing feeling that Sebastian didn’t like you outside those fleeting moments. And you knew that those things could happen, you could have great bed chemistry and still not be friends or not particularly be fond of someone. Just sex. It was what you told yourself every time you had to see him be cold and distant during race weeks. You couldn’t help but remember those few years back when he called you a perfect PR doll in a conversation. The harshness in his voice when he talked about you that day still haunted you sometimes.

It all came to a head after you won consecutively the three races in the triple header, and the media was eating that up. But unfortunately, Sebastian had two DNFs and a qualifying so awful that he only managed to finish the last race P8. During the following media day, which had both of you in the same panel, you were asked some questions regarding your recent wins and the perspective of the championship. After replying, there was a small scoff that Sebastian’s mic caught.

“Anything to add to her reply, Sebastian?” The journalist asked.

“No, nothing much…” Sebastian scoffed, “I mean, with Red Bull’s rocketship, winning is what’s expected of it, no?”

The words hit you like a punch, and it took a herculean effort to keep a straight face and seem unaffected. But the wave of silence and tension that followed was enough to show that everyone had caught that jab. Lewis even muttered a disappointed “man…” to Sebastian, away from the mic.

You didn’t look at Sebastian again during that conference, but at that point he could tell your real smile from the fake one. He could see the discreet clench of your jaw and he knew deep down that he had fucked up massively.

That’s why that weekend after the race, one you had placed P3, he went to your motorhome before leaving the paddock, knocking on the door quickly. He waited for you to open the door, hoping and praying you had not left yet. When you finally did, dressed in casual clothes, probably about to leave, he could see the surprise on your face that you had not expected to see him there. You looked around to check if anyone was seeing that before pulling him inside.

“What do you want? Be quick.” You said, finishing packing your bag and barely looking at him.

“I’m sorry about what I said during media day. That was fucked up.” He said, carefully.

“Oh, fuck off, Sebastian…” You scoffed, “we both know you just said what has always been on your mind.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He frowned.

“Don’t play dumb now, Sebastian. Everyone knows. I know and so do you.”

“Know what?” He frowned, taking a step closer.

“That you hate me!” You exploded, turning to face him.

“Is that what you think?!” He asked, offended, “You think I’d have sex with someone I hate?”

“It never stopped anyone before…” You said, rolling your eyes, “Let’s be honest here. All the secrecy, all the never talking about it, never calling or texting before or after… I’m just the ‘Perfect Fake PR doll’  that you don’t like.”

As soon as the words came out of your mouth, Sebastian frowned, but after a few seconds he remembered that he had said those exact words about you, with such annoyance and disgust. That was farthest from the truth, and he couldn’t dare to repeat those words now that he had seen so many raw, genuine parts of you.

“Listen, I just…” He sighed, “I just hate all this fakeness you sell. All this acting and playing a part.”

“It is survival!”

“Survival?” He scoffed, not buying your words, “you pretend to be someone you’re not to appease the world.”

“You wouldn’t ever know what this is about, Sebastian. You’re Formula One’s dream man. You’re the straight white guy they want, the perfect image for motorsports. Be fucking real with me. Do you think if I had half the attitude you do, I’d be treated like you? No, I’d be ostracized,” You said, eyes shining in defensiveness, like he was the enemy you had to pretend to, “I will do what I can to stay here. I do what I can to still have a seat and a career here. Everything I do, is to be perfect, to appease the audience, the sponsors, the FIA, everything, and I still have to deal with misogyny. I still have to hear people saying I should go back to the kitchen. So no, I won’t change.” It was like a dam had broken and you had to put out everything you felt, every pain you had regarding that.

Sebastian sighed, scratching his head. He had fucked up even more, because it had never gone through his head any of that. He had never thought of the backlash you must face, being a woman, about the difficulties to fit, to be accepted in an environment heavily made of older white men that liked things to stay the way they were.

“You got to see the real me, I let myself be vulnerable and genuine with you. God knows the reason why you have seen me more than anyone else has. And you get out there with your full chest implying that I’m winning because of the car, when you know the car has been unreliable and I’m bending over backwards to make this shitbox win races…” Your voice was shaken but you refused to let him see you cry again. That had become ammo in his arsenal one time, you wouldn’t repeat the same mistake again.

“I…” He stuttered like he had just been hit with that knowledge, ashamed that he had never stopped to think about any of that.

“You can hate me all you want, Sebastian. You can tell me you’d rather me be genuine, but I need to wear armor. Out there? I’ll still be the PR Doll you like to call me if it means I get to stay.”

“Principessa, I’m just so-” He started but you cut him off again.

“Just get out, Sebastian. This,” you pointed between you two, “was a mistake to begin with. We both know where we stand with each other.”

“I don’t hate you.” He said, suddenly.

“Right. You need to go.” You rolled your eyes.

“I need you to believe me in this. I don’t hate you.” He repeated, slowly, blue eyes pleading.

“Leave, Sebastian.” You said, not leaving room for argument. He took two steps back, knowing he wasn’t going to get through to you at that moment.

“I don’t hate you,” He said one last time, before turning around and leaving.