Always keep fighting

Two months after settling in Jackson, he was still working on changing the way she was seeing him, but he didn't hold a grudge. He probably would have reacted the same way if he'd been in her shoes, considering what Joel and Tommy had  to do to survive, until his brother couldn’t deal with it anymore, left for Jackson and found a new way of living. 

A part of Joel started feeling guilty about it after Tommy told him he still had nightmares from that time. He admitted it during a heated argument when Joel and Ellie just came to Jackson. He really couldn't blame Maria, especially when those years wouldn’t let Tommy sleep peacefully at night.

At the same time, Joel was convinced he had done what he had to, and that it had helped them to survive for all those years.

“Is this a new guitar?” Tommy asked when he noticed the instrument, picked it up and brushed the strings above the engraved moth. “Yeah. I told Ellie I’d teach her how to play. I wanted her to have her own and I customized it.” Joel paused and scratched his beard with his thumb, then added “she asked me to sing somethin’. I've never been so intimidated my whole life.” “How can this small kid scare the shit out of us is a mystery to me,” Tommy smiled. He had liked Ellie immediately. She was a real whirlwind with a damn mouth on her, and at first he was amused to see her push Joel around. Then he noticed the way his brother was looking at her. It reminded him of the other version of Joel, the one from more than twenty years ago, which he thought he’d never see again. “What did she think of it?” “She said it didn’t suck.” “Best compliment ever from a 15 year old, in my opinion,” Tommy smiled. “It’s good that Ellie’s in your life, she’s good for you. Changed you.” “I reckon she did…” Tommy noticed a veil of sadness over his brother’s face, Sarah probably on his mind. He didn’t want Joel to feel sad. The man had been miserable for twenty years, carrying his grief on his shoulders the whole time, turning into a dark version of himself. The weight seemed lighter since Joel and Ellie joined Jackson for good two months ago, and Tommy wished for his brother to keep healing. 

“How's her arm?” he asked, wanting to change the subject. “It’s ok. We went to the clinic this morning. It still hurts a little, but she’s tough.” “She is,” Tommy agreed. Then he cleared his throat and said, “listen, there’s a party on Saturday night at the Tipsy Bison, with music, stuff like that. Wanna come?” “I heard of it, I’m not sure. I’ll think about it.” “It could help you meet people, y’know?” Joel threw him a glare before answering, “People? ‘m not interested.” “Come on, Joel, I’m not talking about dating, just… talking,” Tommy added, but was soon interrupted by Joel. “I said I’m not interested. I wanna take care of Ellie and keep Jackson safe. So I do my stuff, go on patrols, with people by the way.” “Sure. Ok,” he nodded and patted Joel’s back, before leaving.

Tommy closed the door behind him and walked home down Jackson's main street. He didn't bring the subject to upset Joel, he knew they handled things differently. He was glad to have found his brother again, maybe not fully but a huge part of him, the one to whom he was so attached when he was little, to whom he wrote letters from a camp, missing him terribly.

Tommy couldn’t imagine what Joel had gone through. He wasn’t the one whose daughter died in his arms, and he wasn’t the one that lost the love of his life the same night. He had no idea how he’d have reacted if it had happened to him. Tommy knew that you were still in Joel's mind. He kept going for so long thanks to the idea that you were alive, in the Boston QZ, until he checked the arrival records. Tommy was there that day, next to Joel as he turned all the pages, his face distorted by pain. Soon it morphed into anger and Tommy had to make him leave the office, fearing that Joel would hit a soldier as an outlet when he couldn’t find your name in it.

And now… Now Tommy didn't know if Joel was still holding on to the idea that you were alive somewhere, and he didn't dare talk to him about you. He wasn't afraid of being told to fuck off, he was used to it, but he didn't want to reopen the wound that Ellie had started to cicatrize. When Joel and Tess grew closer, Tommy thought his brother would soften, but it only turned him into a guard dog, obsessed with the idea of ​​protecting her, of succeeding where he had failed before. But once again, fate decided otherwise. He wanted to see his brother happy, really happy, and thought that meeting someone in the safety of Jackson would help, but he also knew how stubborn Joel was. He still hadn't gotten rid of his watch, or at least put it in a box at home. No, it was still on his damn wrist, where he could see it, feel it, all damn day, because he was convinced he had to suffer his whole life as a punishment.

Joel was working on a wood carving when he heard a loud knock on his front door. He put his glasses down on the workbench and wiped his hands on his jeans as he went downstairs. When he opened the door, he gave his brother a smile but it vanished as soon as he noticed the look on his face. “Joel, hey… can I talk to you?” Tommy asked, avoiding his brother’s gaze. “Is Ellie ok?” Joel questioned urgently, worry loud in his eyes and voice. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, Ellie’s fine.” “What is it, then?” "Can I?" Tommy nodded at the inside of the house and Joel stepped aside to let him in. His brother went to the living room, sat down on the sofa and pressed his hands against each other out of nervousness. 

"You huh… you should sit down, maybe,” Tommy said, looking straight at Joel for the first time since he opened the door to him. Joel was about to tell him to stop with that bullshit, to tell him right there, what was going on, but Tommy's look silenced him. The one of someone who didn't know how to say what he had to say. 

Like an augury tingling in his chest, your image appeared in Joel’s mind, but he brushed it aside. No. 

He couldn't hammer another nail into his heart, into that part of him that never lost hope despite all the spikes planted in it, years after years. He couldn't possibly think that Tommy was gonna tell him he'd heard from you, letting hope nestle into its tiny place, like a flame that had never gone out despite the darkness surrounding it in Joel's heart. 

Just to end up being heartbroken once again.

Even if Tommy's expression made it seem like he'd seen a ghost.

Time stopped, and Joel felt as if everything was moving in slow motion. He was afraid of what his brother was going to say, afraid that his stupid, endless hope would shatter into a hundred pieces, for the thousandth time, millionth time, like a glass after it fell to the ground. So Joel sat down on the couch, unable to look at Tommy anymore. 

“What is it?” he murmured finally, gaze fixed on the floor. His hands started to shake and he clenched his fists to stop their trembling, waiting for Tommy to speak. Joel thought he would wait all night if necessary, not rushing him, not forcing him to say what he needed to say, until he'd be able to tell him.  Because hope was already settling in, cozying itself in his heart’s deepest corner, and he was afraid that it’d vanish as soon as his brother talked.

Tommy cleared his throat then said something, his voice so low that Joel wasn't sure if he heard him correctly. A million thoughts swirling in his mind. 

Did he imagine it, or did he really hear your name?

Once again, he pushed the thought away, banished the hope he woke up with every morning, throughout all his years of wandering. Or maybe… Maybe a patrol found your body and brought it back to Jackson, brought it back to Tommy, like it would happen sometimes. The idea made him sick. 

Or maybe you joined Jackson on your own? 

His thoughts were racing, blood pulsating in his ears, and his heart no longer knew which rhythm to beat. Joel placed his hand on his chest, trying to calm it down.

"She’s here, Joel. She’s in Jackson,” Tommy said carefully, his concerned eyes fixed on his brother.

His words sent a shiver through Joel’s body and he was barely able to articulate a weak “what?” “She’s at the clinic right now, they're checking her,” Tommy added. “What… How… How is it possible?”

“There are new refugees all the time, Joel. They hear about Jackson, and they come,” he said softly. “You know it, we improve this place every day to offer them a decent home.”

“Yeah… Yeah, you’re right,” he answered, eyebrows furrowed, unable to really process what was happening. “Is she hurt?” He noticed the way Tommy's eyes flicked away for half a second, before he responded. 

"She’s alright. Weak and hungry, but she’s okay." "Don't fucking lie to me," Joel growled, his glare darker than ever. It reminded Tommy of the Joel he never wanted to see again. The one that had kept them alive, for sure, but who was barely human. Just a cold and angry man. Ruthless. "Shit. You're such a damn hound. She’s… she’s not in good shape. She was probably living outside for a long time. She’s dehydrated, weak, got some bruises-” He stopped talking when Joel stood up hastily, towering over Tommy before heading to the front door.

“NO! No, Joel. Calm down, stay right here and listen to me for fucks sake!" he said firmly, making Joel stop at the door and take a deep breath. "She's at the clinic, they're taking care of her, ok? Calm down." Joel felt his legs give way beneath him, and came back to the sofa to sit down, head in his hands. “Ok… ok. Did she see you? Did you talk?” “Yeah. I was there when they brought her and a man. I thought she was going to pass out when she saw me, you know… kind of like you right now, damn it!” Tommy got up to pour two glasses of whiskey and gave one to Joel, who downed it in one go. 

“Easy, Joel… I can't imagine the thoughts in your head right now.”

But his brother wasn't listening. Couldn't listen. “Did she ask about me?” “Of course. She knows you’re here, and it was quite a shock.” Tommy looked at his brother again, hesitating, then added in a low voice, “she asked about Sarah. I… I didn’t wanna tell her. Not then, and it’s not my place,” he said before his voice broke and tears started to blur his eyes. “But she understood. She looked at me, and she just knew. Her face… my God, her face, Joel, her pain… I barely had time to catch her before she fell to the ground.” “That’s enough,” Joel spat, his lips pressed in a thin line. It was all too much, and he couldn’t bear the idea that you were alone at the clinic. “Joel…” “I said enough! I gotta see her, I can’t leave her alone there. She must feel lost, she's probably afraid,” he added, his voice so cold and sharp that at first it stopped Tommy. But he couldn’t let Joel go there, not now, not when he was overwhelmed by his emotions. “No, Joel! You can't just show up like that, she's not in the right condition. Not physically, not mentally. So you’re gonna wait until tomorrow and then you'll ask the doctors if you can see her. And if they tell you you can't for whatever reason, you leave. Promise me, Joel. Otherwise, I swear I'll post two guards there and tell them to shoot you in the knee if they see your goddamn face. You can't show up like that, she needs to rest so if she sleeps for three fucking days or more, you wait! Now, you promise me!” Tommy’s words left Joel speechless for a few seconds, but soon he realized his brother was right, he had to do what was best for you. 

“I promise,” he sighed, but met Tommy’s stare. “I said I promise, Jesus Christ. I’ll see her in the morning if they allow me. God, I can't believe she's here.”

“I know… I know, Joel…” Tommy said, squeezing his shoulder, looking at Joel whose gaze was lost in another place or another time.

Once his brother left, Joel sat down at the dining room table and looked at his watch. He was terrified to face the past and learn what happened to you, and couldn't fully realize that you were here, in Jackson. That you were so close.

He did not sleep that night.

“She was almost in a state of shock when they brought her last night. We haven't been able to give her a full exam yet. She asked if you were really here in Jackson, and of course we confirmed it. The nurse said she mentioned another name, Sarah, and cried."

Joel was trying to cope with the information and with his heart suddenly racing way too fast when he heard his daughter's name from a doctor who didn't know her or what she meant neither to him nor to you.

"She woke up several times during the night, and asked for you. We told her you'd come today. We had to give her some tranquilizers because she needed to sleep but was too agitated.”

"Is she hurt?" Joel repeated the question he had asked his brother the day before, trying to put aside his emotions after hearing that you had inquired about him, that you needed him. Meanwhile anxiety was whispering to him in its sly voice that once you knew what kind of man he had become, you would no longer want anything to do with him.

"From what we could see, physically she has some bruises, some fresh and some not. We stitched her lip up and bandaged her wrist. It looks like just a sprain, but today we'll make sure it's not fractured, with other exams she has to undergo."

 He paused for a moment, looking at Joel carefully, then added, "mentally… It's hard to say until we know more about what happened to her. She's been living in the wild for a while, that's for sure. She was starved and dehydrated, very weak, so we put her on an IV drip. She's going to need time and support. You can go see her but don't wake her up, let the meds work. Tommy told me that you had known each other before the outbreak and that you hadn’t seen each other since?” “Yeah, that's right." "Okay, so it’s a shock for you as well. If you need help with it, come see us, okay?" Joel agreed, even if he'd probably deal with it in his own way. 

"There was a man with her, dehydrated and starving as well. I'm gonna check on him right now. Wait for her to wake up and then go easy.” "Of course," Joel replied, then walked down the corridor, his gaze fixed on the third door on the right. The room where the doctor said you were. He couldn't believe you were so close, more than twenty years after being apart, after he lost you. He didn't know how he would react, he was afraid that the smallest scratch on your body would shatter the sanity he had left since the night before.

Joel paused when he reached the half-open door, his trembling fingers frozen in midair before he grasped the handle and pushed it open. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, forcing himself to move slowly, gradually taking in the room and the sunbeams on the foot of your bed. His gaze followed the curve of the blanket from there, your feet and your legs, your arms along your body, the IV, as he was taking long and deep breaths, trying to calm his heartbeat. 

But when his eyes set on your head, he had to fight back the sobs that threatened to burst out of his throat at the sight of your gaunt face, your hollow features and your stitched lip. Your brows were furrowed and twitching in your sleep. He wondered what you had been through, what your life had been all these years and his throat tightened painfully. 

Flashes of you in Austin, happy and smiling, appeared in his mind.

He remembered when you used to go to the lake, his hand on your thigh while he was driving there.

He remembered you in his arms, in bed. The way he could feel your heartbeat fasten when he laid his hand on your chest, the way you used to bite your lip before kissing him. The way you looked at him. 

His memory went blurry as your soft expression faded in his mind, turning into a determined one, a will for survival plastered on it, then morphed into a scared one.

The visions made him clench his fists. He couldn't bear the thought of not having been there for you, there to protect you, as he should have been.

Scared to wake you up, Joel resisted the urge to take your hand that wasn’t wounded in his, and only  sat in the armchair beside your bed, watching your face and your worried features, your chest rising and falling. His eyes mentally photographed every scratch, every wound. 

He thought about the last time he had seen you at the airport. The smile you gave him when he told you it was just for a few days, that you'd be back soon, trying to cheer you up because he knew how disappointed you were to not be there for his birthday. The “I love you” you mouthed to him, before heading to your flight. He immediately started missing you. 

Joel pushed back the thought of what had happened after, instead he focused on your face, and his gaze softened, as he was slowly realizing you were truly here, bruised for sure but alive. He had never lost hope and for the first time in many years he felt grateful and relieved.

And then you said his name in your sleep. A soft “Joel” escaped your lips, and without a second thought he murmured “I'm here” back and took your hand in his. Your features softened instantly, and he stayed still, amazed, holding your hand in his, his warmth gradually enveloping you, your heartbeat resonating from your wrist to the tips of his fingers. Joel was watching you, not tearing his eyes off, until he drifted off without realizing it because he hadn't been able to get a second of sleep the night before, anxiously waiting for the morning to finally visit you. His free hand slid off the bed and hung by the side of the armchair.

You woke up to the sound of birds, confused, trying to remember why you were on a bed, a real bed, in what seemed to be a hospital bedroom. And why you were overtaken by a feeling so familiar and comforting and had been lost for such a long time, that you were unable to put a finger on it. 

Until you felt him, his presence, his hand on yours. 

Joel.

That feeling was stronger than everything else, a certainty filling your entire being, without laying your eyes on him. It was the warmest sensation you had felt in two decades, before your brain went blank, heart beating so fast that you were afraid it could explode. You stared at the ceiling, needing some time before turning your head to check if Joel was really there or if you imagined it like so many times before.

You heard him straighten up and felt his eyes on you, as if they were a magnet you couldn’t resist. You turned your head to his side, and your heart felt like it stopped when your eyes met. A weak “fuck” escaped your lips, your hand leaving his to clutch at your shirt, just above your heart. Quickly staring back at the ceiling again, everything became blurry and you were afraid your body or your soul would dive into the mattress, scared that you were going to pass out. “Christ, sweetheart,” he said as he got up, his voice, his drawl, unmistakable, even decades later. Joel. Joel was beside you and you were overwhelmed by a torrent of emotions that you were struggling to deal with.

You raised your hand, urging him to wait a second, catching your breath and processing what was happening.

Joel stopped mid-stride, slowly lowering his hands, desperately helpless as he watched you try to manage your emotions alone. 

For a moment, he forgot the decades that kept you apart, acting on instinct, thinking that if you needed comfort you’d naturally turn to him. 

As he instinctively, immediately, went into protective mode with you. 

Thinking you’d throw yourself in his arms, seek comfort in his embrace to let go of all your fears and cries and the years that passed apart from him.

But you didn’t.

Letting aside the anxiety already trying to drown him, Joel relied on his rational side as best as he could, acknowledging that you might have to handle things differently, and need time to process your emotions. 

He turned to the bedside table and poured some water in a glass for you but stopped when he heard your quiet “Joel?”, your eyes filled with tears fixed on him. The sight of the drip needle in your bluish hand broke his heart, then threatened to fill it with anger against the whole world, but he managed to stop his dark thoughts, realizing it wasn’t what you needed.

“Joel, are you really… is it real?” you sobbed, your shaking hands finally raised towards him, pleading for his touch. He sat hastily on the bed, and you finally wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his neck.

“It's real, I'm here,” he said, and you let your tears flow as he roamed your back softly, cuddling you, whispering “I got you.”

And you broke down. 

Your tears quickly turned into sobs, the ones you  couldn’t hold back when it was too much, as loud as the ones you had let out on your first night in the QZ. But this crying in the clinic’s room was different. Full of joy at finding his arms again, and of pain at everything that had been lost.

Twenty years later, Joel and you were finally reunited. 

Still crying, you let go of his shoulders and curled up against him, your fists pressed against his chest, indifferent to the drip that was pulling on your vein, as if you wanted to melt into him, into everything he was and that you had desperately missed all these years.

He was rocking you slowly, gently, his large hand resting on the back of your head, lulling you with soft and comforting words.

“You’re gonna be ok now”

“You’re safe”

“We’re gonna help you get better”

“No one will ever hurt you again”

“I got you”

I got you.

He repeated those three words several times, finally finding what he'd been chasing for so many years. What kept him going, making him more stubborn and persistent day after day, never losing hope as time went on. Now he could feel your body letting go, the tension slowly escaping second by second, and it was the best sensation he had felt for so long. His reward of not letting you go. Despite everything that had happened, all the losses and heartbreaks, this moment he’d dreamed of so many times before finally came.

As you felt Joel’s reassuring touch, you slipped your arms under his and wrapped them around his waist, snuggling close to him, as close as you could, letting him embrace you, surround you with his warmth. 

And you felt safe, hearing his low voice again, nestled against him. Safer than you'd been in those two decades, your shoulders relaxing, the tension in your body gradually dissipating.

Both of you lost track of time, your nose pressed against his plaid shirt, tears rolling down your face continuously, until they slowed down then stopped, once you had no more tears to cry.

“I’m sorry about your shirt, Joel,” you sniffled.

“I don’t care about my shirt, sweetheart,” he chuckled, his voice so soft you were afraid to start crying again, his hand still cradling the back of your neck, keeping you against his chest.

“I’m afraid if I pull away, you’ll disappear,” you murmured.

“I won’t, I promise. I’m right here.” 

You tightened your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his bicep. You weren’t sure what to say to him after all this time, words seemed meaningless in that moment. 

You looked outside, through the window. Everything was so quiet, but not the kind that used to make you wonder if something dangerous was hiding behind a tree, when you were outside. If someone or something was waiting to kill you. 

This time, it seemed to be just a real, peaceful life.

Until you suddenly thought of Tommy. You had arrived here the day before when the doors of Jackson opened. The shock it had been to see him. 

And it struck you, Sarah's face appeared in your mind, her radiant smile gradually blurred until it vanished as if it were made of smoke, and you gasped.

The effect of the medication probably made you forget what you had learnt the day before, the pain on his face when you had said his niece's name. Made you forget that she was gone. Tommy didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. 

So many times, you tried to imagine her face over the years. How she would look, at 16 years old, 20, 30. You didn't even know when she died. When you whispered "when? How?" Tommy shook his head, unable to answer.

You pulled away from Joel, your hands clasped tightly on his forearms.

“Tommy told me about Sarah. Well, not really, but…” you said, your voice breaking up. “ I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry. I wish I could…”

His face changed, its indecipherable expression left you confused. A mix of harshness, repressed sorrow, and guilt. Then his features softened.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Joel said, cupping your cheeks in his hands. “What’s important is that you’re here. Safe, okay?”

“But-”

“Please,” he begged. “I finally found you. We’ll talk about everything later, okay?”

“Okay,” you replied. 

“I found you,” he said, then smiled, his dimples popping on his cheeks. “Well, you found me.” You tried to smile, too, but you couldn’t stop thinking about Sarah, making your heart bleed.

He probably felt it and took you in his arms again. The time would come when you could talk about what had happened to both of you, but right now he couldn’t deal with it, talk to you about Sarah, and probably disappoint you. He couldn’t handle saying her name for now, couldn’t see you cry over the loss. 

A knock at the door interrupted you and the doctor came in, asking how you were going, nodding when you said you were ok.

“Your friend’s good, too, I checked on him this morning. A few bruises, and he’s suffering from dehydration, but nothing serious. Now we’re going to run some tests, okay?”

Your “friend.”

You hadn't thought about Eric once since you’d woken up, and you brushed aside the questions that would inevitably arise. But not now.

You looked at Joel, not ready to leave him. You were afraid to lose him again, to lose his reassuring presence, the way he was able to make you feel like everything was gonna be fine now. He exchanged a glance with the doctor, then agreed with him, “they need to check on you, okay? Take care of you. I’ll come back in the afternoon,” he said, nodding to you as a reassurance. He stood up and kissed your forehead.

“I’m so happy and relieved to have you back. That you’re here, in Jackson, safe”, he murmured. “Let the doctors get you back in shape,” he added, standing up, and smiled at you.

You nodded and smiled back, keeping your eyes on him until he left the room, doing your best to swallow the tears that were threatening to come again.

When you woke up in the afternoon after they had run their tests leaving you exhausted, Joel had kept his word and was in your room, sitting in the armchair turned towards your bed. He straightened up when you woke up, murmuring a soft “hey.”

“Hey,” you returned back, trying to straighten up as well, but the pain in your body made you wince.

“Woah woah, it’s ok, don’t push it. You must be tired and sore.”

“Yeah,” you answered weakly. You felt dizzy. You had so many questions to ask, but you wanted to respect Joel’s wish for a more appropriate time, so you talked about something more neutral, Jackson. You didn’t see a lot of it, but you were already amazed. The place had a clinic, it was highly protected. It felt surreal. 

“So.. this is really a community? A whole town?”

“Yeah. Being run by Maria- Tommy’s wife, and him. They’re doing a great job.”

“It’s… it’s really amazing. We heard about it, but to be honest, I didn't really think it was possible. And I certainly didn’t expect something that big!”

“Yeah, a lot of refugees hear about it and join us. We’re working hard to make the place better, day after day. Where did you hear about it?”

“At the QZ,” you answered, and saw him frown.

“Which QZ?”

“Boston. I stayed there for several years. Got sent there a few days after… it happened, and… what?” you asked, when you saw his eyes widening. 

“Boston?! I don’t understand,” Joel replied, eyebrows furrowed. “I went to the Boston QZ… I checked the arrival records, your name wasn’t there.”

It left you confused. Joel was there, at the QZ? Why didn’t you see him? Why didn’t you find each other?

“When were you there? I don’t understand either… All those years and I didn’t see you? I don’t understand,” you repeated, tears threatening to run down your cheeks again at the thought that you could have met sooner.

“I thought I could find you there, so Tommy and I left Austin right after the Outbreak day, but it took us so many years to reach it... And you weren’t there.”

“They checked me in… Put my name on the list, I don’t- Oh my god!”

“What?”

“I… I registered under your name… I said my name was Miller, I…” You couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. You’ve been so stupid to put a different name.

“You gave them my last name?” he said, his eyes so soft that you melted. He leaned towards you and wiped the tears from your face softly with his thumbs. 

“Yeah, I… you were my family. So was Sarah and Tommy, and… I don’t know, it just felt so natural and I wanted to keep that connection. I didn’t know if you were alive, what happened to you… It felt like the right thing to do, but it was so stupid.”

“Hey,” he said, leaving the armchair to sit on the bed, and took your hand in his. “It wasn’t stupid. And I guess you already left the QZ when I got there, so it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“But you could have known I was there!”

“No, stop torturing yourself,” he said softly, his big brown eyes fixed in yours. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t have known where to find you, right? And I would have been even more worried to know you were outside.”

“Yeah, but you would have known I was alive, or at least that I was at some point and joined the QZ…”

“Sweetheart, quit it,” he cooed, and the nickname made you sob. His worried yet soft eyes were as comforting as they were before. Calming you down. Joel was here, facing you. Maybe you made a mistake, but being by his side was all that mattered now.

“I can’t believe I found you,” you breathed, seizing his hands in yours. You dreamed about it so many times, and finally he was here, with you.

“You did,” he smiled, and hugged you. You cuddled against him, letting him rock you. He was your happy place, your comfort, twenty years ago, and the fact that he was still now, making you feel safe again, in this world, was overwhelming.

“Ok, I’m gonna let you rest now. I’ll come back tomorrow morning, ok?” Uncertainty seized him when he noticed the way you were looking at him, as if you weren’t ready to let him go, as if you wanted to tell him something.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Don’t leave me,” you breathed. “Please, stay with me.”

Joel masterlist

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I should’ve left the second I realized what Javier Peña does to me. That probably would’ve been the smart thing.

Instead, I kept coming back. Back to his apartment that smelled like cigarettes and whiskey and whatever cologne stayed on his skin after twelve-hour days. Back to the way he looked at me when we were alone, like he was trying very hard not to. Back to him.

The worst part is, I knew better. Everybody knows better with men like Javier. Men who live in chaos eventually drag you into it too.

Still didn’t stop me from ending up in his bed at two in the morning, my dress somewhere on the floor while he sat on the edge of the mattress smoking in silence.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” I told him once.

He glanced at me through the cigarette smoke. “Occupational hazard.”

“No,” I said, moving closer. “You just don’t know how to relax.”

That got a laugh out of him. Small. Tired. Real.

God, I loved that sound. That was the problem. It stopped being fun somewhere along the way. Stopped being late nights and sex and pretending neither of us cared.

Because suddenly I cared when he didn’t call. Cared when I saw lipstick on a glass beside him at the bar. Cared when he disappeared for days chasing a lead and came back looking exhausted and half-dead.

And Javier? Javier acted like caring was something dangerous. Like if he let himself feel too much, the whole thing would fall apart. Maybe he was right.

Tonight I’m standing by his apartment window in nothing but one of his shirts, staring out at the city while he sits behind me at the kitchen table, quiet for too long.

“You gonna say something?” I ask finally.

Silence. Then: “You should stay away from me.”

I close my eyes immediately because there it is. That line. That stupid fucking line men say right before they ruin your life completely. I turn around slowly. “You want me to leave?”

Javier looks at me for a long second. And somehow that hurts worse than if he’d answered right away. “No,” he says quietly.

Of course not. That would’ve made this easier.

💌 @idknananchimaybe @theeverodriguez @mothmanuwu @pascalispunkbr @reasonablyluminousquill @justmasblack @indiegirlunited @saralovesjoelmiller @picketniffler @canonisoptional @katyispunk @daltoncharm @kirsteng42 @borinquenasoy @cuteanimalmama @negramurguera @senoratess @misstokyo7love @suestormnotcheatingversion @lizette50 @grxnde-dwt @harriedandharassed @somedayheaven @ningaispunk @ladyofmidlo72 @bardot49 @scarlettval2

He doesn’t really fit in here. You can tell the second he steps into the studio. Too quiet. Too soft. Too clean. Everything smells like wood and dust and something floral, and Javier just… stands there for a moment like he walked into the wrong place.

“You sure I’m allowed in here?” he mutters.

You roll your eyes. “Relax, agent Peña. It’s not a crime scene.”

“Yet.”

That makes you laugh.

He stays by the wall while you get ready, jacket still on, hands in his pockets like he doesn’t know what to do with them. His eyes move around the room, taking everything in, but they keep coming back to you. Always you.

You sit down on the floor, tying your ribbons tighter around your ankles.

He notices. Of course he does. “That looks like it hurts.”

“It’s fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You glance up at him.

He’s already watching you, that same look he gets when something doesn’t sit right with him.

You shrug it off, pushing yourself up. “It’s supposed to,” you say. “It’s part of it.”

Javier exhales slowly through his nose. Doesn’t like that answer. Doesn’t argue either.

You step into position. The music starts. You don’t think about him at first. You just move. Count. Breathe. But halfway through, you feel it.

His eyes on you. Not confused anymore. Focused. Like he’s watching a suspect. Or a lead. Or something important.

You miss a step. Just slightly. Your foot hits wrong and there’s this quick flash of pain you try to ignore…

But he notices. Of course he notices.

The music cuts off. You didn’t even stop it.

Javier’s already pushing off the wall. “That’s it,” he says, low. “You’re done.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re limping.”

“I said I’m fine.”

He’s right in front of you now. Close. Too close to pretend you’re not shaking a little. His hand comes up, not touching yet, just hovering near your ankle like he’s waiting for permission he’s not gonna ask for twice. “Why do you do that to yourself?” he mutters.

You swallow. “Because it matters.”

He looks at you for a long second. Then quieter: “Yeah,” he says. “I get that.” And he doesn’t try to stop you again. But he doesn’t step away either.

Thank you so much for reading ♡ Likes, comments and reblogs always make me happy and help the story find more people ♡

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Frankie has been acting weird for weeks now. Averting his gaze too quickly when you look at him. Spending too much time on fixing things that work perfectly well. Going grocery shopping and coming back hours later, completely shaken and disheveled. You notice all of these small details.

At first you thought that he might be overwhelmed by the arrival of your little girl, but the idea was quickly thrown away when you saw pure love written on his face when he looked at her in his arms. Then you started doubting yourself. Maybe he stopped loving you, and he is only with you just because he doesn’t want to leave you on your own with your child.

And you hate every second of this rollercoaster that had been going down for weeks now, and that it doesn’t seem to have a clear destination.

You sleepily reach over the other side of the bed, and you frown when your hand falls against the sheets, the side where Frankie usually sleeps now completely empty and cold. You push yourself up with a soft groan, your eyes falling on the alarm clock on the nightstand.

2:34 AM

Then your ears perk up when you hear soft coos coming from the baby monitor placed beside it, the sounds of a child who is deep into the land of dreams. A soft smile spreads across your face for a second, but your mind is instantly plagued by the fact that Frankie is not asleep, that you can’t cuddle up to him.

You try to reassure yourself when you feel a sinking feeling deep down in your stomach. Maybe he just went to the bathroom. But then you would hear him move around. Maybe he went to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. But then you would hear the clinking of the glass. Maybe your daughter started to cry and somehow you slept through it, so he decided to go and be the one to feed her and rock her back to sleep. But then you would hear his low and calm voice through the speaker of the baby monitor.

Your mind tries to come up with more and more scenarios — some even completely impossible.

When you finally convince yourself to go back to sleep, your hear a soft thud coming from down the hall, and your blood runs cold.

Your legs move on instinct, swinging over the edge of the bed. Your bere feet hit the cold floor, and you quickly stand up. You spare a quick glance at the baby monitor before you move out of the room.

The door of the nursery room is slightly open, the moonlight swimming through the little crack, and you can see the crib — the one Frankie built with his own hands — with your little girl sleeping peacefully.

When you hear another thud, you immediately turn around, walking down the hall carefully, looking out for any danger.

When you reach the living room, you doesn’t notice anything unusual. The small throw blanket is still draped over the back of the couch, a small dent on the pillows where Frankie was sitting with your baby girl laying on his chest the night before.

The kitchen is the same too. Unwashed dishes sitting by the sink, an empty mug left on the dining table.

It is all quiet. Seems safe. But a bad feeling still runs through your whole body when you see the light coming through under the door of the garage. You don’t hesitate to pick out a knife from one of the drawer’s, and you walk to the door on your toes to not make too much noise.

With the knife held out in front of you, you open the door, and step inside. But what greets you is not an intruder.

It is worse.

Frankie sits on the floor, leaning against the wall. His skin looks too pale, too sick in the dim light, and you see sweat glistening on it. His head is thrown back, his usual Standard Oil cap discarded somewhere. But it’s not the state which he is in that makes your blood freeze in your veins.

It’s the small and empty plastic bag laying beside him on the floor.

Your fingers weaken around the knife, the sharp object falling to the floor with a loud clatter. You see Frankie’s whole body jump at the sound, and a loud gasp leaves your lips when he turns towards you, his eyes locking with yours.

Loving and caring pupils meeting the empty and dilated ones.

You see the exact moment when realization sets in for him, and you watch breathlessly how he struggles to stand up, stumbling to the floor a few times before he finds his balance and pushes himself to his feet.

“How long?” The question just stumbles out of you, but all you can think about right now is the little empty bag. That empty bag which was full moments ago, and now all of its content is gone.

Frankie stands in front of you, trying to find words.

When he doesn’t say anything, you repeat your question, stepping closer to him. “How long, Frankie?”

“Just tonight.” His voice is hoarse, eyes full of sadness and guilt as he looks at you.

And that answer breaks you completely. Just tonight. What migh have happened that made him throw away months of sobriety so easily? Why now? A loud sob finally tears out of you, and Frankie instinctively steps closer, but you quickly take a step back, shaking your head.

He bows his head, raising his hands in surrender, and you see how much they are actually shaking.

“Why didn’t you wake me? Why didn’t you tell me, Frankie?”

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

“Our daughter is sleeping down the hall,” you remind him, and the words hit Frankie like you just stabbed him with a dagger, moving it around to make him suffer more.

“I know,” he sighs, and you see the first tears roll down his face too. “Just… Can we please talk?”

“Not now, Frankie. We’ll talk when whatever you took goes out of your system,” you say, squatting down to pick up the knife from the floor. “And I’ll spend the night in our daughter’s room.”

“Alright.” His voice breaks, and he watches as you pull the garage door shut behind you. He remains quiet for a few minutes before he breaks down completely, sobs tearing out of him followed by a river of tears. He sinks down by the fall, his hands raising to pull at his messy curls while he feels like his life is just falling apart in front of his eyes because of his mistake.

And maybe it is.

Because right now Frankie feels like there’s a whole ocean between you with the continents as the obstacles. And no matter how skilled he is at closing distances easily with a helicopter, he is not sure anymore how to fly across this one.

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from it): @picketniffler, @speaktothehandpeasants, @harriedandharassed, @bergamote-catsandbooks, @misstokyo7love, @shadowqueen2024, @missadangel, @annwrites24, @baronessvonglitter, @cozymochaa, @eviispunk, @johnssherlock221, @goonersquad101, @my-tearsricochet, @laprofesoratinacita, @nutbutterjellie

He was lying face down, his cheek resting against your chest just beneath your collarbone. His arm draped heavily over your ribs and the rest of his body followed that same diagonal line as yours.

You shifted slightly, extending your legs and reaching both arms over your head, but you had no intention of moving further; you were far too cozy. Joel’s weight was a welcome pressure and his body heat radiated like a furnace. He was wearing nothing but his pajama pants, leaving nothing but bare skin against you, while you remained covered in his shirt.

After one last stretch, you lowered your left hand to his back, letting it rest there for a moment. You leaned into him, just a fraction, and finally allowed your fingers to climb toward the nape of his neck, disappearing into his hair. Joel didn't stir in the slightest; he was out like a light.

Without a second thought, you hugged him, letting your chin rest on the crown of his head. Even with your mind still foggy, you knew the feeling washing over you was overwhelming; he was in your arms, alive.

No. Don't think about that.

You pushed the thought aside and let your breathing sync with his, surrendering to a long while of drifting in and out of sleep as the sunlight through the window climbed higher and higher.

Sometime later.

At some point in the middle of your idyllic dream, Joel climbed out of bed. You noticed immediately because, obviously, his weight disappeared from on top of you and suddenly you felt far too exposed.

Half asleep, you heard him shuffle to the bathroom; the toilet flushing, water running from the sink, and then, a couple minutes later, he was back beside you. He slipped under the sheets and blankets and, with one rough tug, hauled you against him again. You stayed there for a while, tucked against his chest, but you could only hold out for so long.

You seriously, seriously had to pee.

You shifted a little, trying to pry yourself loose; Joel pulled you right back against him. A quiet laugh slipped out of you.

Again, you started wriggling away.

“What’re you doing? Where d’you think you’re goin’?” he mumbled. His voice was low and gravelly with sleep and his eyes still completely shut.

“Gotta use the bathroom,” you whispered through a laugh.

Without another word, he let go of your waist, and you pushed the blankets off yourself too.

Oh, it was cold. The air wasn’t nearly as warm as it had been a week ago, and the floor beneath your feet felt freezing. That, and the fact that you were barely dressed. Your legs were completely bare, every inch of your skin prickling from the temperature.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered as you shut the bathroom door behind you. Sleep was making the cold feel twice as bad.

You rushed through everything as fast as possible, washing your hands and splashing warm water on your face afterward.

Jesus, your hair was a disaster. You fixed it as best you could with your fingers while staring into Joel’s tiny mirror, and the second you were done, you hurried back out.

On your tiptoes, you rushed back to bed and practically launched yourself onto him.

“It’s so freaking cold,” you whispered as you crawled beneath the blankets again, pressing your chest against his, sprawled on top of him.

Joel wrapped both his arms and half the blanket around you. The warmth of his chest seeped into yours almost instantly.

A sudden rush of happiness climbed from your stomach to your chest and burst right beneath your collarbone; you slid your hands along the sides of his head and pressed your lips to his jaw. You scattered little kisses there, trailing them up his cheek, then just beside the corner of his mouth.

His lips pulled into a smile that you kissed too.

“Gettin’ warm?” he asked, tightening his arms around you as his hands slipped beneath your shirt. On the way there, he hooked a finger under the elastic of your underwear.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

You kissed him again, but this time it was slower and deeper. Gradually, your right hand cupped his jaw, your thumb pressing against his chin and tipping it down, coaxing his mouth open wider for you.

You slid your tongue slowly into his mouth, grazing his lower lip with a lingering stroke before deepening the kiss; the lower part of your belly tingled at the taste. The sound that left him was a low soft moan.

The shift in Joel was instantaneous. His breathing hitched and his grip tightened until there was no space left between you. One of his hands slid down from your waist and his palm squeezed your hip, then moved lower to cup your ass. And driven by pure instinct, you shifted too, parting your legs to hook them around his hips.

You pressed yourself firmly against the lower part of his stomach, seeking more friction, and the contact drew another ragged breath from his lungs. Every point where your bodies met felt like it was suddenly sparking to life. Every point, wich basically was… every part of your body.

Your tongue keep exploring the heat of his mouth, sweeping against his in a slow, languid dance. He met you with the same unhurried hunger, his tongue tangling with yours as he tasted you deeply, because there was no rush, no world outside the four walls of this room; no one waiting for you, no one needing you, no looming shadow of duty. In the quiet safety of this room, the only urgency that existed was the pull of your own skin.

The kiss remained sensual and low, a long drawn out luxury you were totally entitled to.

Then, you pulled back just enough to graze your teeth against the soft swell of his lower lip, nipping it once, softly. The small bite broke his composure.

Joel’s breath hitched, and he brought his other hand down, both palms now heavy and big and commanding as they anchored to your ass. He squeezed firmly, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp against his mouth. And with a possessive grunt, he hitched you higher, dragging your body down against his as he ground his hips upward. The movement was precise, so precise, pressing exactly where you needed it most.

As he pulled you flush against him, you felt it; the unmistakable, rock hard weight of his erection through the soft fabric of his pajamas, pressing big and hot right against your center. The friction was enough to turn your knees weak even as you clung to his shoulders and the mattress under him.

You began to shift against him, a slow and rhythmic glide up and down, grazing yourself against his hard cock through the thin cotton. But you didn't break the kiss; you were too desperate to drink in the sound of the ragged groans catching in his throat.

Your body felt like it was nearing a boiling point. Skin to skin and heart to heart, your pulse was thundering in your ears; frantic, heavy and delicious beat that matched the insistent aching throb between your legs.

Joel’s hands abandoned his grip on your hips then, reaching up to fist the hem of the oversized shirt. He began to bunch the fabric upward as you straightened, sitting up to give him access and raising your arms to help him pull it off. He tossed the shirt blindly to the side, leaving you bared to him, wearing nothing but your underwear.

Suddenly, the cool morning air hit your skin, sending a visible shiver through you as your nipples peaked and goosebumps blossomed across your chest. But the chill was short lived; Joel’s hands were immediately back on you, his warm palms searingly hot as they settled on your waist.

You remained seated over him, looking down as you resumed that torturous, slow movement.

From this vantage point, you felt a surge of pure unfiltered power. What a beautiful sight Joel was, a beautiful wreck beneath you; his salt and pepper hair disheveled against the pillow, his cheeks flushed a deep, rugged red, and his eyes... they were blown wide, dark and glittering like black diamonds in the night. And scattered across his cheeks, forehead, chin, and chest, the cuts and bruises remained vividly visible as a reminder of just how fragile he could be. But not right now, not under your hand.

It was a feeling nearly impossible to put into words. You had never known yourself to be capable of this kind of intensity, or this kind of hunger. With him, and only with him, you felt like a version of yourself you’d never met before. A reclamation of your own body. It wasn't just lust; it was a vivid, electric sense of being alive, a hunger for life that burned brighter than the morning sun creeping across the floor.

You kept moving your hips, and even through the layers of fabric, his cock felt massive; a hard and pulsing weight that throbbed in perfect sync with the wet heat between your legs.

You leaned in, pressing your palms against the broad expanse of his chest, being mindful to keep your fingers away from the dark bruises on his skin. He was burning up, his body like a furnace radiating a heat that seemed to melt you so easily.

As you angled your body over him, Joel let out a wrecked sound and one of his hands traveled upward, his calloused palm sliding over the curve of your ribcage until it found your breast. He traced the swell before settling his thumb over your peaking nipple, rolling it with agonizing pressure until your back arched.

A broken moan escaped you, but he didn't let it fade. His hand drifted higher, until his fingers wrapped around the column of your throat for a fleeting second, just enough to feel the vibration of your next gasp, before his thumb pressed into the center of your jaw, coaxing your mouth open.

He slid his thumb inside, past your teeth, and you took him in without hesitation. You swirled your tongue around the pad of his thumb, tasting the faint salt of his skin and the heat of his touch, all while your hips never stopped their desperate move against him.

Looking down at him through hooded eyes, you watched the way his expression fractured into desperate need as you sucked on him. And then, he slowly withdrew his thumb, replacing it with his index finger. You took it into your mouth without hesitation, swirling your tongue around it until he slid his middle finger too; you sucked on them greedily, letting the wet, slick sounds filling the space between your heavy breaths.

Just after a few moments of watching you, he pulled his glistening fingers from your lips. He didn't let the moisture go to waste; he dragged his damp fingers down the length of your throat, then over the swell of your breasts, the cool air hitting the wet trails he left behind. His hands eventually settled on your hips, digging in with a possessive strength that anchored you to him.

"You're so beautiful," he rasped. "Just perfect."

A deep blush crept up your neck as you smiled down at him, but the sweetness of the moment shifted into something more commanding as he began to nudge your hips upward, sliding you further up his body toward his chest.

"Grab the headboard," he ordered.

You obeyed instantly, eyes locked on his as you reached to grip the wood of the bedframe. Joel adjusted you, dragging your body exactly where he wanted you, before he shifted himself downward until you were positioned right above his face.

"Joel," you whispered, letting out a shy breathless nervous little laugh. "Whare are you doing?"

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he leaned in to press lingering, warm kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you down firmly, silently demanding that you sit heavier against him. Then, he reached for the edge of your underwear, hooking his fingers into the lace and sliding them to the side until you were completely bared to him.

Joel went still for a moment, his gaze intense as he took in the sight of you, wet and swollen just for him.

"Perfect," he murmured, his breath hitching as he stared. "Look at you... look how ready you are for me."

The sound of his voice sent a jolt straight to you. You could feel the warmth of his exhales puffing against your folds, making you ache.

You lowered one hand from the headboard and brushed the curls off his forehead.

“Just for you,” you whispered softly. “Only for you.”

Joel went still for a few seconds, his eyes locked on your face. Gently, he turned his head and pressed soft kisses to the inside of your thighs. Your hand sank a little deeper into his curls, feeling the anticipation build as his mouth moved closer and closer to where you needed him most.

And then, finally, Joel leaned forward and let his tongue touch you. It was a slow, agonizingly long stroke from the bottom to the very top. He started at a crawl, tasting you with a flat tongued pressure that made your hips buck instinctively. He followed the line of your body, swirling his tongue around your clit with a gentle teasing flick before burying his face against you to drink in the taste of you. Every lap was steady and unhurried, a masterpiece of patience that had you whimpering his name into the quiet morning air within seconds.

But he didn’t break the rhythm. If anything, your soft and broken whimpers only anchored him deeper between your thighs. His tongue continued its steady kiss, flattening against you to drag another slow soaking stroke from bottom to top.

You couldn't stay still. Your hips began to roll in a slow, desperate circle against his face, chasing the pressure of his mouth and trying to sink yourself fully onto him. And the moment you moved, Joel’s warm hands slid down from your hips, cupping the meat of your ass. His fingers dug into your flesh with a possessive soft grip, pinning you down and silently forcing you to take every bit of it.

It was dirty, the slick heavy sounds of his mouth eating you, but there was an overwhelming tenderness to the way he was doing it. His mouth was so hot, so incredibly wet; he swirled his tongue right over your swollen clit with a teasing flick that made your entire body shudder against his face.

"Joel—" your voice broke, a strained sound as your fingers white knuckled around the wooden headboard behind you.

He let out a low vibration of a growl against you and his thumbs pressed hard into your bottom, lifting your hips slightly just to angle you better for his tongue. He began to lap at you faster now, his patience clearly fracturing into something a little more desperate as he drank you in.

The heat inside you was coiling tight, pulling into a heavy ache right where his mouth was working. You were so close; the friction of his flat tongue and the hot puffs of his breath against your folds were pushing you straight over the edge. Instinctively, your spine snapped taut as you leaned back, your head falling back as your neck strained. One of your hands pressed against his stomach to steady yourself, your fingers splaying as the first waves of the climax began to tighten violently around your core, leaving you completely at the mercy of his mouth.

The moment you broke, you broke completely. You clamped down in violent, desperate pulses against his mouth, a sharp, choked cry tearing from your throat as you rode the peak. Your hand buried hard into his stomach, your fingers digging in as your hips bucked helplessly into his face, forcing him to take the thick, soaking heat of your climax. Joel didn't pull away; he held you there with that bruising grip on your ass, drinking you in, his tongue catching every heavy tremor until the ripples finally began to slow.

Your chest heaved, every breath a ragged, costly struggle that rattled in your throat. Slowly, the possessive tension in his hands softened. He let out a low, satisfied exhale against your wet skin, pressing one last, lingering kiss right over your swollen center to seal his work, before sliding his lips to your inner thigh. You shifted your hips back, letting out a weak whimper as the cool air hit the slick trail he left behind.

His large hands began a slow soothing path, stroking up and down the length of your trembling legs, before sliding over your hips to rest heavily at your waist. Joel tilted his head back against the mattress, wearing a breathless smirk on his lips as he looked up at you.

"You okay, honey?" he rasped, his voice rough and incredibly deep.

You managed a breathless smile, your hand leaving his stomach to wipe at your flushed cheek.

"Give me a second," you whispered, feeling your poor little heart hammering like a trapped bird against your ribs.

Joel let out a soft chuckle and you felt the sound against your thighs.

You bit your lip, tilting your head back for a moment as you tried to catch your breath, before carefully shifting your weight. You slid your knees backward, moving off his chest and unstraddling his face.

That’s when your eyes fell on his lap.

Even through the soft fabric of his pajama pants, his cock was tenting the material so fiercely it looked ridiculous. It was massive, a thick rigid ridge pointing straight up toward his torso.

A purring sound escaped you. Crawling back up his body, you leaned over him, pressing a slow kiss to his mouth, tasting yourself on his lips. Your hand drifted down the broad expanse of his chest, tracing a path down his flat stomach until your palm cupped the hard length of him right through the cloth.

"And are you okay, Mr. Miller?" you whispered against his wet lips, your fingers tightening around the thick shaft.

Joel's thighs parted instinctively at your touch and a low hiss escaped his teeth.

"Take everything off," you commanded.

Without wasting a single second, Joel pushed himself up onto his elbows. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pajamas and dragged them down his long legs, kicking them off the edge of the bed. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. He fell back against the pillows, completely bare, his chest rising and falling as you sat back on your heels and your gaze traced every inch of him.

Hooking your fingers into the lace of your underwear, you slid them down your thighs and tossed them carelessly to the floor before immediately moving over him again, knees framing his hips.

Looking down at him, you pooled a thick layer of saliva into your palm and shifted your hips slightly back to give yourself room, and wrapped your wet hand around the heavy head of his cock. You smeared the slick moisture over the crown before sliding your palm all the way down to the base.

Oh god.

He was stone hard, his shaft scorching hot and silky smooth under your wet grip. Along the side, a thick vein throbbed violently against your palm, pulsing with his heartbeat. You began to slowly stroke him, wearing a friction that coated his entire length in your spit, while you leaned slightly forward, teasingly rubbing him right against your soaking wet folds.

Joel’s eyes snapped shut and his head slammed back into the pillow; a deep groan ripped from the center of his chest, his jaw straining as your hand and your body drove him crazy.

Seeing him completely undone brought a wicked smile to your lips. You knew he was fighting with all his might not to grab you by the hips and sink into you right then and there. So while he stayed there, eyes closed and at your mercy, you guided his cock to your opening. You tilted your hips forward, aligning him perfectly, and began to sink down.

Slowly. Agonizingly slowly.

The sensation was so full of him, so intensely sweet, it made your vision blur. He stretched you completely wide, breaking you open millimeter by millimeter as you swallowed him inches at a time. Every internal muscle you had coiled up tight, wrapping around his thick pulsing width like a glove, gripping him impossibly close as you took him all the way in.

You froze, adjusting to the sheer size of him stretching you open from the inside, plugging you so completely that there wasn’t a single millimeter of empty space left between you. Joel let out a heavy, bottomless groan that seemed to echo from the pit of his stomach, his chest expanding as he took a ragged breath. And a long relieved sigh slipped past your lips; you leaned slightly forward, fixing your gaze on his face.

That was when his eyelids fluttered open and his dark eyes locked onto yours. Your expression instantly softened and your eyes filled with sugar and honey; unfiltered devotion as you took him in. His cheeks were flushed with heat, and his gaze was beautifully weighed down by the lingering remnants of the night; his eyelids were just a little heavy and swollen from sleep. His peppered hair was ruined, exploding in messy and wild peaks, little chaotic horns pointing in every direction where your fingers had gripped and tugged at the curls only minutes before.

And then, he smiled. His hands slid up from the mattress, tenderly stroking the curves of your hips and the smooth skin of your thighs. You smoothed your palms flat against his chest, caressing the warm skin as you began to lower your torso toward him, letting your hands slide up his chest until they wrapped around his shoulders. You leaned down and pressed your lips to his.

The moment your mouths met, Joel wrapped his arms around you, locking you against him with a squeeze at your waist. And then, he began to move.

He tilted his hips up, sliding out of you with agonizing slowness; he held himself there, teasing you for a suspended heartbeat, and then buried himself back inside you with one single, deep thrust.

You let out a muffled whimper straight into his mouth.

He pulled back again, dragging his cock nearly all the way out; paused for a agonizing second, and then rammed back in another sudden, deep thrust.

Another broken cry escaped you, but this time, the torturous pace was too much to bear.

Impatient and burning for a steady rhythm, you broke the kiss and pushed yourself up. Arching your spine, you planted your palms against Joel’s chest for leverage and took control.

You began to roll your hips in a slow tilt, rising up and sinking back down, feeling every ridge of him slide out and slide back in, filling you to the brim only to empty you again, over and over. But the slow torture was suffocating; the sheer hunger and raw need for more overtook you almost instantly.

Your pace quickened, your movements growing deeper, the friction escalating rapidly until the wet hard strike of your thighs crashing against his skin sounded loud and scandalous in the quiet room. Joel’s hands immediately clamped onto your ass, his fingers digging into the meat of your hips to help anchor your new found rhythm.

You looked down and completely melted into his gaze; his pupils had blown so wide his eyes looked entirely black, glittering with intense unvarnished lust, while a dark sudden flush crept rapidly up his neck and across his face.

Behind his head, the wooden headboard began to rattle, thudding against the wall with every frantic downstroke.

Overwhelmed by the sensation of him bottoming out inside you, you let your eyelids slide shut, throwing your head back into the morning air as you rode him.

Your hands stayed locked onto his chest, your fingers digging into his warm skin as you kept setting the pace, driving yourself down onto him with unyielding hunger. You were entirely in control, riding him with a desperate rhythm that had your head spinning from the delicious heat radiating from your core. Every single stroke was pure pleasure, a throbbing sensation that started deep between your thighs and rushed like wildfire all the way up your spine, leaving your skin tingling and your senses completely overwhelmed.

Joel was losing his mind beneath you too. His large hands clamped onto your hips, his thumbs digging into the bone to steady you, but he couldn't keep still. His hips began to roll upward, bucking his groin against yours with every stroke, using his own strength to shove his massive length as deep as it could go so you wouldn't have to work as hard for that agonizing depth.

"Ah... fuck," he whispered, a broken curse slipping past his lips. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscles in his face strained, his neck completely flushed as he looked up at you through those beautiful eyes.

You looked straight down at him from your height, your chest heaving, refusing to break eye contact even as a ragged whimper tore from your throat. Joel stared back, his teeth grinding together.

"Look at you," he rasped, his voice dropping into a whisper that was dripping with an overwhelming sweetness. "Taking every single inch... such a good girl. Ride it, baby, take whatever you want from me."

The adoring words sent a shiver through you, but before you could even gasp out his name, Joel’s right hand flew up from your hip.

Crack.

The sound of his palm striking the meat of your ass was loud and sharp in the quiet room.

A loud, shocked gasp ripped from your lungs, your hips freezing for a split second as the sudden, stinging heat of the slap bloomed across your skin. It didn't hurt; it was a delicious possessive claim that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight up your back, making your interior muscles squeeze around him in a tight desperate clench.

Joel’s eyes flared, a dark, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he felt you react. He immediately brought his hand down again, landing another stinging slap on the other cheek.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" he growled. He squeezed your hips tight, tilting you perfectly before his hips bucked upward once more, burying himself to the absolute root. "Keep going, don't stop, just…"

"Joel, oh my God—please."

You leaned down, your face just inches from his. The stinging heat on your ass and the thick stretch inside you made you completely shameless.

"Look at what you do to me," you whimpered, right against his lips as you ground your hips down. "You're fucking me so good, Joel, I’m so full of you."

The effect was instantaneous; a deep crimson rushed up his neck, staining his cheeks as a tight, guttural sound ripped from his chest. His hands clamped onto your hips with a bruising desperate strength, and driven by his reaction, you shifted your weight, changing the angle. Instead of just the steady up and down, you began to move your hips forward and backward, sliding your slick warmth right against his root. The friction was so intense, so devastatingly good, that your eyes rolled back under your hooded lids.

Your body was boiling, sweat slicked and heavy, and you could feel him hitting every sensitive, swollen internal muscle with a terrifying precision.

"Tell me how it feels," Joel rasped, his voice breaking as he bucked his hips upward to meet your grinding slide, shoving himself deeper. "Let me hear you, baby. Tell me how good you take it."

"It's too much," you cried out, your voice fracturing into a desperate sob as you quickened the pace. "It feels so good, Joel... you feel so good."

"Yeah? You gonna come for me?"

You nodded.

He squeezed your hip, releasing your skin for a fleeting second before another sharp slap landed against your ass. A devastating desolate moan tore from your throat.

"Use your words, c'mon," he rasped, weak. "Let me hear it from that pretty mouth."

The headboard began to crash with violent erratic thuds against the wall as your movements turned frantic. Joel’s thumbs pressed hard into your bottom, helping you rock against him, his teeth bared as his own breath rattled in his chest.

"Joel, I'm gonna come," you gasped out desperately, your eyes snapping shut as a single bead of sweat rolled down the valley of your breasts.

Your fingers balled into tight fists against his chest, your nails instinctively scratching deep into his warm skin as the tension coiled into an intolerable knot. A moan tore from the absolute depths of your throat as the climax finally broke over you; your entire body shuddered, your legs trembling so violently that your rhythm shattered completely, leaving you helplessly riding the explosive waves.

As your strength gave out, you fell forward onto his chest like dead weight, your chest heaving against his. But Joel didn't let you rest. His grip on your ass never loosened; he simply took the control you could no longer maintain.

Shoving his hips up with a raw, relentless hunger, he began to move your limp trembling body to his own liking; driving you up and down his thick cock while you buried your face into the crook of his neck, letting out helpless, broken whimpers and wet sobs against his heated skin.

He was moving you however he wanted, penetrating you hard and incredibly deep, his own breathing fracturing as his groans grew louder, sounding more and more desperate with every heavy thrust that bottomed out inside your soaking warmth.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned into your skin, as he felt your interior muscles pulsing around him in the aftershock. "You're squeezing me to death, baby... I'm right there."

Desperate for the taste of him, you forced your torso up just enough to find his mouth, capturing his lips in a messy kiss. Joel met you instantly, his hands sliding up your back, wrapping his heavy arms around you with crushing strength to lock you tight against his chest. He was fucking you like an animal now, his hips snapping upward in a fast, brutal way that had you gasping for air against his tongue.

You wanted it so badly—you wanted him to fill you completely to the brim, to release everything inside you and feel his thick cock pulsing against your interior walls as he came, wanting him to stay buried deep inside you long after it was over.

But the explosion caught Joel by surprise.

Just as he reached his peak, a rough almost pained groan ripped from his throat. He abruptly tore his mouth from yours, his eyes flying wide with a wild dark light, and before you could even realize what was happening, his hands flew down to your hips, his fingers dig in with an iron grip, and he lifted your body up and off him.

His thick cock snapped out of your tight cunt just as he broke.

"Fuck—!" Joel choked out.

Without the tight seal of your body, his release shot high and heavy thick white ropes splattering across the lower part of your thighs. He stayed frozen beneath you for a few seconds, his chest heaving violently, his hands still trembling where they held your hips.

Your eyes scanned his entire face; his closed eyelids, flushed cheeks, lips swollen from your kisses, and the thin sheen of sweat coating his skin.

You reached a hand to his cheek, holding him still just long enough to press a kiss against his jawline. Smiling softly as he blinked his eyes open and locked them onto yours, you spoke.

"You okay, honey?"

Joel huffed a laugh, his hand sliding up your back. His palm was sweaty, matching the curve of your spine and likely the rest of your bodies. It was a gorgeous disaster.

You rested your head in the notch of his neck.

The heat in your body lingered for about ten more minutes. While Joel got out of bed to grab something to clean you up, you lay face down in the open air, feeling the sun on your skin. It was warm and comfortable, lying there naked in the sunlight on top of his sheets, but the moment your body temperature began to drop back to normal, the chill returned.

Your body was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but at the same time, you felt sweaty and sticky. That was why, when Joel came back and climbed into bed with you, you resisted a little as he tried to pull you back under the covers.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Can I take a shower?"

He gave a lopsided smile, his eyelids heavy with sleep. He stretched his arms over his head and rested one hand against his forehead. "Sure. Right now?"

"I won't be long," you said, starting to get out of bed. You felt a sudden wave of shyness being completely exposed, so you yanked the top sheet off the bed and wrapped it around your body.

Joel laughed. "Hey, what're you doin'?"

Walking toward the bathroom, you looked back at him. "I'm naked!"

"Nothin' I haven't seen before, from every angle."

You pressed your palm against the door and started to push it open, but not before looking back at him one last time.

"Yeah, through the lens of lust!"

You rolled your eyes and stepped into the bathroom, feeling the cold floor beneath your bare feet. Unwrapping the sheet from your body, you carefully folded it in half and hung it on the hook behind the door. Then, you leaned half your body into the shower to turn on the water, adjusting it to the perfect temperature to take the chill out of your hands and feet.

Once you were fully inside with the hot water cascading over your head, you let your sore muscles relax. Your thighs and hips burned a little, and your abs felt pretty tender too. That was a hell of a workout you’d just had with Joel; you knew it was going to hurt a bit more in a few hours.

You washed up at your own pace, cleaning your neck, legs, thighs, back, arms, shoulders and everything. You ran your fingers through your hair and over your scalp, breathing in the scent of the shampoo you always smelled on him. You were just washing your face when the bathroom door opened.

You heard a few short steps approaching the shower, and a second later, the curtain was drawn back.

Joel’s face appeared through the steam. "Need a shower too."

You smiled. "Okay, come on in. I was just about to get out."

He slid the curtain open further and stepped carefully onto the wet floor. Moving forward, he walked right under the stream of water, trapping you against the wall. The cool metal handles pressed softly against the skin of your lower back.

Joel looked down and closed his eyes, water dripping from the wet strands of hair on his forehead straight onto your face. He shook his head, sending a spray of droplets over you.

Laughing, you lifted both hands and placed them over his brow. He smiled, and for a split second, you swore he looked completely different; a light transparent smile that brightened his entire face appeared on his lips. But a second later, your focus shifted to the bruises on his cheek, the cut on his forehead, and down toward his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. Joel had plenty of old scars there, but your eyes lingered on the fresh bruises, the scrapes along his ribs. It looked like it had to hurt.

Carefully, you reached out and grabbed the soap and the soft sponge next to it, working it between your hands until you had a good lather before you began to clean and massage his shoulders.

"You know," you started, running your palms over his collarbones, "if you wanted to shower with me, all you had to do was ask."

Joel closed his eyes. "Was fallin' asleep. But I got cold cause you stole my sheet."

"What about your comforter?"

"It's on the floor. But I was cold, and I heard the water, and I got tempted."

You moved your hands down his stomach.

"Mhm. Your skin is really soft."

Joel’s hands settled on your waist. "You think so?"

"Yeah. Which is funny," you said, gently touching just below his ribs, "because you wouldn't think so. Your hands are rough, but everywhere else is soft."

He opened his eyes. "They feel rough when I touch you?"

"Not really. They just feel… warm."

"Hmm."

Your hand settled over the bruise on his ribs. For a second, you remembered sinking your fingers into that exact spot just a few minutes ago.

"Does it hurt a lot? Did it hurt earlier?"

Joel shook his head. "Didn't feel it then. But it hurts now, that's for sure."

You crinkled your nose. "I'm sorry."

"No, ain't your fault. It's been hurtin' since before. Always hurts worse after the body relaxes."

"That's true," you said, sliding your hands back up to his shoulders. "You know what? I'm gonna go grab those oils I brought you. When you get out, I'll give you a massage."

Carefully, you nudged Joel aside a bit and squeezed past him. He turned toward you, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as he let the hot water wash down his back.

He sighed. "You're gonna turn me into a puddle."

Smiling and feeling a sudden wave of tenderness for how exhausted he looked, you stepped closer and wrapped your arms around him for just a moment, pressing a delicate fleeting kiss to his chest. His hand slid up to the nape of your neck, his thumb resting just under your jawline to tilt your face up. There, beneath the falling water, he gave you a brief kiss on the lips.

A minute later, you reluctantly stepped out of the hot shower. But it had to be done. You knew that if you stayed in there with Joel, you’d both end up leaving the bathroom at the same time, and by the time you finished getting dressed, he’d already be completely passed out on the mattress.

You found the t-shirt of his you’d slept in tossed to the side of the bed, along with your underwear, and changed while you listened to the shower still running. After drying your hair the best you could, you slipped back into the bathroom to run a comb through it. Joel was just stepping out of the shower as you headed downstairs.

The morning sun was pouring bright through the kitchen windows, and the early air carried that delicious fresh scent you loved. You took in the view through the glass for a quiet moment before grabbing the oils, then poured yourself a massive glass of water, drinking it down as if you’d spent days stranded in a desert. You poured a fresh glass for Joel and made your way back upstairs.

When you walked into the bedroom, he was already sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing his pajama pants. He’d gone ahead and changed the sheets for clean ones, and the comforter was no longer crumpled on the floor.

"Here," you said, holding the glass of water out to him.

He took it immediately, murmuring a soft "'Thank you" before draining the whole thing.

"You ready?"

He furrowed his brow. "For what?"

You smiled, climbing onto the mattress. "Lay down."

He eased himself down onto his back, and you settled in right beside him. Opening the small bottle of heartleaf arnica oil, you poured a tiny amount into the palm of your hand.

"Just a little bit of this, you'll see," you murmured, rubbing your palms together to warm it up. "You're gonna feel much better."

You gently began to work the oil into the bruised and battered parts of his chest and ribs, taking extra care around a few open scratches. You kept your touch light near those spots, massaging the skin around the scrapes to make sure you didn't press on anything that might sting. Joel let out a sharp breath just once, right as your hand passed near his breastbone. When you paused to ask if he was okay, he muttered:

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it."

You smoothed your flat palm over the spot, barely applying any pressure at all.

"Okay, roll over."

He complied right away, letting out a soft groan as he turned over. You repeated the whole routine, pouring a bit more oil into your palms and working your way across his entire back, focusing heavily on his lower lumbar area. You’d noticed that was the spot he reached for most often whenever he sat down or moved a certain way; a familiar ache you felt yourself from time to time. And as you worked out the tension, you knew you were doing something right; Joel was making soft relaxed sounds he probably didn't even realize he was letting slip.

Next, you focused on his shoulder blades and shoulders, applying a bit of steady pressure with your thumbs. That was right when you caught the first faint sound of him snoring. Your movements softened into a light soothing touch, until you finally decided he was out for the count and that you were getting pretty sleepy yourself.

You tucked the bottle of oil back into its small pouch and left it on the nightstand, where the little clock caught your eye: 8:23 AM.

So many more hours left to sleep. You had absolutely nothing to do all morning but rest, and Joel’s bed looked so incredibly comfortable and warm, like a field of clouds.

You snuggled in right beside him, pulling the covers up over both of your bodies. Stretching your arms up over your head, you let out a long yawn, and a minute later, you drifted peacefully back to sleep: utterly exhausted, perfectly comfortable, and completely relaxed.

Still morning, close to noon.

It was a place you didn't recognize. Cold, with tall dark canopied trees that blotted out the meager light in the pale grayish sky. Ruins surrounded you; broken walls eaten away by a pervasive dampness that claimed everything, with green moldy vines bleeding into the old cracks.

Your heart hammered violently as your legs moved with frantic speed, trying not to trip over the clutter covering the ground. Rubble, branches, old trinkets, and fragments of machinery that looked like computers or something similar; you couldn't fully tell. You didn't really know what to do, only that you had to run and run and run, because something terrible was happening.

You could feel that sensation in your chest, that painful hollow that nothing can fill once it's already too late. Your bare arms were freezing, just like your cold neck and cheeks. Your entire body felt numb, and no matter how hard you ran and ran, you couldn't seem to make headway fast enough.

No, just the opposite. Your body could barely move, and you wanted to scream with all your might. But you couldn't stop, because you could hear it the entire time: thuds, noises, voices laughing and suffering. Louder and louder and louder, your legs straining until every muscle synthetic ached, until your body plunged forward and your palms struck the splintered ground.

You scrambled up, getting back on your feet however you could, and plunged into the dark room where the sounds and noise were coming from. A hallway to the right; you ran more, and more, and more, and more into the pitch black, letting yourself be guided solely by the small rings of light filtering through the cracks in the ceiling, until at the very end of the hall, your aching bloody hands slammed open the door and—

"No!"

A gut-wrenching scream tore from your throat like dozens of thorns piercing you from the inside out.

Men —so many men, you couldn't tell how many, only that there were man— filled the room, their faces hidden behind black cloth, and right in the middle of them lay Joel, unconscious.

No, not unconscious. Dead. His face was covered in blood, his clothes soaked through with it, and a massive wound tore through the flesh of his neck. Beneath him, a pool of blood expanded outward, swallowing up more and more of the old wooden floor, quickly reaching all the way to your feet.

You fell backward, unable to stand, and the pooling blood reached your scraped palms, his blood mixing with yours inside your trembling fists.

"No, no, no, no… Joel …" your shaky voice repeated, trying to get a better look at him, trying to reach him, but your knees kept slipping, and so did your hands and elbows. You couldn't…

You couldn't.

"Hey, hey, wake up."

A hand nudged your shoulder, rolling you over at the exact moment your eyes flew open and locked onto the ceiling.

"Hey, you're okay. You're okay."

You snapped your head toward him. Joel was sitting up, leaning his body over yours, his hand resting gently against your cheek.

You were in his room.

"Joel."

"It's okay. Breathe."

A shaky breath hitched in your throat. Your cheeks were soaked, and your chest physically ached.

He lay back down beside you and pulled you close. You buried your face into the notch of his neck, clinging to his body like a frightened helpless creature while a few lingering tears continued to track silently down your cheeks.

His arms wrapped tightly around you, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"What happened?" he murmured, rubbing his hand up and down your back.

You closed your eyes, not wanting to talk about it.

Your hand drifted up his chest. "Nothing. Just a nightmare."

He squeezed you a little tighter against him. "You said my name. Scared me, thought it was somethin' else."

You opened your eyes and tilted your head back slightly, looking into his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't go apologizin'. It's okay."

You tucked your face back into the notch of his neck, feeling your heart still hammering away, erratic and loud against your ribs.

"What time is it?" you asked.

He shifted slightly to check the clock, then quickly settled right back into place.

"Ten to eleven."

"Mhm. We should get up."

"You hungry?"

You nodded. "Starving. You?"

"My stomach was growlin' a little bit ago."

You let out a soft laugh, noticing how the sunlight was no longer focused right on the bed, but had spread out to wash evenly over the entire room.

He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Five more minutes. How's that sound?"

You pursed your lips. "Sounds good to me."

Joel's kitchen. Noon & afternoon.

Concerned that you’d get cold wearing nothing but a t-shirt, Joel insisted you put on a pair of pajama pants from his closet. They were huge, but they had a drawstring at the waist that let you tie them tight enough to fit. Then, he handed you a fresh warm pair of cotton socks.

Today was noticeably colder than yesterday. You could feel a crisp breeze drifting through the open kitchen window while he made breakfast (or was it lunch?) and you sipped a hot cup of coffee, sketching out a list of prep work for school. Joel was frying up bacon and scrambling eggs, having just dropped some bread into the toaster less than a minute ago. The kitchen smelled incredible.

On the notepad resting on the kitchen island, you had a brief breakdown of the material for the first few weeks, along with your reading plan and curriculum for the kids.

Classic fables. The Jackson library and the homes of a few townspeople held a solid collection of all kinds of stories, mostly the foundational ones. You figured it was the perfect starting point for the first group, who were right around five to seven years old. They had been born entirely into a different world, and you believed literature could provide a safe haven for them; a good way to spark their imaginations and give them the words to express them.

The morals could be incredibly useful, too. Lessons on survival, cooperation, cleverness, and above all, fear. As a community, Jackson felt like a safe place, but these kids had fear woven right into their DNA. Many of them had witnessed terrible things before arriving here, and many others had never set foot outside the walls. Fear was deeply rooted in both perspectives.

"And what're you gonna do about the books? Ain't exactly a lot of copies lyin' around," Joel asked, looking over at you for a moment as he pulled the toast from the toaster.

"Well, some of them don't know how to read yet. I'll read aloud to them. It's great for building listening skills," you smiled, "and really fun too. And if the stories aren't too long, we can make handwritten copies. I already talked to a couple of people who volunteered to help transcribe."

"That's great," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah. What about you? Would you like to help?"

Joel looked up at the ceiling, his mouth dropping open slightly. "Uh… I—I mean, sure. My handwriting's awful, though."

"That's not true. You have nice handwriting, it's perfectly legible."

"You think so?"

"I do. Besides, the copies need to be written in block capital letters," you said, looking down at your notepad to jot something else down. "I was also thinking it would be a cute idea if every kid brought in an object, and we came up with a story for each one. What do you think? Think that'd be fun?"

"Somethin' like, if a kid brings in a teddy bear, you make up a story for it?"

You nodded.

"Yeah," he replied. "That'd be fun. Mostly 'cause I imagine they're gonna show up with all kinds of strange objects."

You laughed. "Yeah, just imagine the possibilities."

Joel began removing the bacon from the skillet, placing it on each plate alongside the eggs, before grabbing another dish for the toast.

"And what about the older kids?" he asked, setting one plate down in front of you and the other right beside it. You murmured a soft Thank you. "Fables for them, too?"

"Oh, no. I have much bigger plans for the older kids," you said, raising your eyebrows.

Joel gave a lopsided smile and went to grab the toast, placing it in the center of the island before turning toward the fridge. "Is that so? Like what?"

A spark of excitement flared in your chest. While you were looking forward to working with the little ones, you knew the pre-teens and teenagers in Jackson were going to make for a much more interesting group when it came to discussions and deeper perspectives.

"Well, we're gonna read books too, but I was thinking it'd be a great idea to introduce the concept of diaries and chronicles. There are three copies of The Diary of Anne Frank and a few about the Lewis and Clark Expedition. They also brought in The Giver and Frindle. I think it's a good way for kids to learn a little more about what the world used to be like. Have you ever read that one? Frindle?"

Joel smiled faintly, pulling a tub of butter from the fridge and shutting the door.

"Yeah. Sarah liked Frindle."

It took you a moment to find your voice after that.

"Oh."

He sat down next to you, letting out a quiet sigh as he settled in.

"Called pens Frindle for a whole year," he added, shifting his gaze over to you. "I think it's a good idea."

You smiled. "Thank you."

"What else?" He reached out and grabbed the butter knife, digging it into the tub to scoop out a generous amount.

"Maybe they could write their own chronicles? Or diaries, just as an exercise. And they wouldn't necessarily have to read them aloud or show anyone," you said, lifting your mug to take a sip of coffee. "But it might be a nice way for them to express themselves or blow off steam, as long as it's not hurting them, of course."

"Think they'll all want to do it?"

You smiled and shook your head. "I doubt it. I don't know."

Joel hummed, bringing his mug to his lips.

You popped a piece of bacon into your mouth, and it was so delicious your eyes nearly closed. You tried the eggs right after. Then, after a moment of savoring, swallowing, and giving yourself a little more time to think, you asked:

"You think they'll like me?"

Joel had his mouth full and raised his eyebrows at the question. While you waited for him to finish chewing, you took a bite of toast.

"They're gonna love ya," he said finally.

"And how are you so sure? Teenagers can be..." Your eyes drifted up the walls and across the ceiling before landing back on him. "They can be complicated. And these kids, these kids have been through things. Maybe I show up with diaries and chronicles, and they just think, 'Who does this nobody think she is and what the hell is she doing'?"

He huffed a laugh. "Don't go lettin' them walk all over you. Let them know you're the one in charge."

"Okay, and how do I do that without being bossy in the process?"

"You gotta be bossy, but that don't mean you can't still be nice to them. You can pull it off, I've seen it," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Saw you orderin' the guys around on some of the construction sites before. Even me."

You furrowed your brow. "I am not bossy."

"Yes," he said, looking right at you, "yes, you are."

You frowned. "I'm—"

"And when you're in a bad mood?" He brought his mug to his lips and rolled his eyes.

Your eyebrows shot up in pure disbelief, your lips twitched into a tight smile.

"Excuse me?" You tilted your head. "And you're the one telling me this, Mr. Uncle Grumpy?"

Joel smiled and shook his head.

"That's literally what Benji calls you, isn't it?"

"That don't change a thing," he grumbled, furrowing his brow. "You are what you are. Might as well make use of it."

"Oh," you nodded, "okaay. I will. But don't you go complaining later."

He poked his fork into the eggs and brought them to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Ain't complainin'," he said.

You ducked your head, hiding a smile.

Joel and you ate in comfortable silence for a while, occasionally making notes and chatting about your lesson plans.

The whole thing excited you for different reasons. The little ones had you looking forward to it because you just liked little kids in general; they were adorable and sweet, and their minds came up with a hundred interesting things. That was why you’d loved chatting with Sophie when she was that small; the conversations were always unpredictable and fun, and her imagination was endless. But of course, you’d always made a point to show her all kinds of books and stories, so she had a rich source of inspiration. You didn't know what some of the kids here would be like, or how much they’d interacted with the world, but you were eager to find out and, if possible, be useful to them.

The teenagers were a different story, since you hadn't had much contact with kids that age. But it was just as exciting, and you wouldn't hesitate to ask for help if you needed it. You had no intention of pushing past their personal boundaries and you kept a firm reminder in your mind to be careful with everything you wanted to teach them.

Overall, it was exciting.

After eating, you cleared the table and washed the dishes even though Joel insisted you shouldn't. And while you were doing that, he stepped out through the kitchen's back door, returning a few minutes later.

"Ellie's not out there," he said as he walked back in. "Don't know what she's up to these days."

The moody tone in his voice made you look up immediately. You were drying your hands with a dish towel as you turned around to face him.

"Have you asked her?"

He sighed. "She ain't exactly talkative lately."

"Well, I've seen her around with Dina," you said, resting both palms against the counter. "Just hanging out, nothing weird. They spend a lot of time together, maybe she's with her."

He nodded slowly, pursing his lips. "Keep an eye on her if you can, alright? She really likes you. Maybe... maybe she'd rather talk to you than me, about certain things, you know."

You nodded. "Of course, I will."

He ran a hand over the back of his neck and you watched him hesitate for a second before he moved toward the fridge and pulled it open. He took out a glass bottle about half filled with water and grabbed a clean glass from the drying rack.

You checked the clock on the wall, mounted right above the window next to the table. It was already a little past noon.

It was probably about time for you to head out, wasn't it? You didn't want to overstay your welcome, and you doubted Joel would ever be the type to tell you to leave. So, pushing yourself away from the counter, you walked to the other side of the room and stretched your arms behind your back.

"I think I should probably get going."

Joel turned toward you, the glass of water still at his lips. He swallowed and set it down carefully on the counter.

"Yeah? You got somewhere to be?"

You mentally scrolled through your imaginary schedule: no, you had absolutely nothing to do.

"Uh, not really."

He nodded and pursed his lips, shifting them to one side. "We could watch a movie if you want."

The offer caught you off guard, and it was briefly reflected in the few seconds it took you to answer.

"A movie?"

"Yeah," he said, stepping away from the counter and taking a few paces toward you. "Got a decent collection, if you wanna pick one out."

You smiled, lacing your fingers together behind your back. "I get to choose?"

"I'll give you some recommendations," he said, ducking his head slightly, "but yeah, you get to choose."

Joel's living room. A couple minutes later.

In Joel’s living room, tucked beneath the TV stand, were two players: one DVD and one VHS, both functioning and in perfect condition. Right below them were two small cabinet doors, and when you opened them, there was his collection.

His DVD collection was smaller than his stash of VHS tapes, but that didn't mean it was small by any means. Discs were harder to keep intact over time; most of the ones out there in the world were scratched or cracked, but Joel had stumbled upon a massive stash of DVDs in mint condition at an apartment complex near Jackson a while back. Good Will Hunting, Magnolia, Drop Dead Gorgeous, Seven, Wayne's World, Thelma & Louise, Fargo, Pretty Woman, The Green Mile… and more. There were so many options it was hard to choose. A lot of them you’d never even seen. Most of them, in fact. So, you asked him to give you a quick rundown of each one and which he thought was best for right now. He suggested The Truman Show and Pretty Woman.

"It's got romance and all that," he said, sitting on the couch as he held up the plastic case of his second suggestion, using the romance angle as his main selling point.

You inevitably remembered his harsh words about romantic comedies from many, many weeks ago.

"From the first damn second I saw you," he continued, "half-dead out there in the snow—I felt sorry for you. Everythin' I've done since then's been outta pity. That's all it was. I can't even look at you without thinkin' you're broken. And it makes me sick."

Your throat tightened, something forming behind your eyes. You blinked, hard, and swallowed down the heat rising in your chest.

"If that's what you think, then—"

"And that night? That was a mistake. A fuckin' embarrassment. I hate thinkin' about it. It won't happen again."

"Good. I hated it."

Joel looked at you, jaw clenched, eyes sharp.

"Yeah. Good for you. Cause this ain't one of those fuckin' pathetic romantic comedies you like so much. So give it up."

You took the movie from his hands and looked at the cover, running your thumb over Julia Roberts' face.

"We can watch something else if you want."

Joel’s eyes scanned your face. "No, it's fine. I think you're gonna like this one."

"You sure?" You gave a slow, lopsided smile. "Isn't it just another pathetic romantic comedy?"

His brow furrowed in a confused look, mixed with a faint smile. "What?"

A beat. You sighed.

"A while ago, after what happened at my place that first time, remember? You said this wasn't like one of those pathetic romantic comedies I like."

The expression on Joel’s face began to soften piece by piece, his furrowed brow relaxing as the memory clearly came back to him.

"Right," he said, ducking his head a little. He laced his fingers together for a moment, looking down at his hands for a second before looking back up at you. "I said that, huh?"

You nodded, pursing your lips slightly. "Yeah. You said a lot of things."

He looked at you in silence.

"Can I ask you a question?" you asked after a moment.

"I don't think romantic comedies are pathetic."

"Don't worry about it," you smiled.

"It was mean. I'm sorry. I know you and Sophie liked 'em."

Your eyes locked onto his in complete silence. He looked genuinely ashamed.

"It's okay. And I know we talked about this, but," you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, "did you really mean it? What you said that day? Be honest."

Joel leaned back a bit and looked toward the coffee table, where several DVDs were piled up.

Maybe, maybe he didn't even remember it.

"Did you feel sorry for me?" you prompted him. "You said that every time you looked at me, you just thought I was broken and—"

"No." He shook his head. "I don't feel sorry for you, and I didn't back then, either."

A tight pressure gripped your chest. He looked back up at you.

"I needed to push you away," he confessed.

A beat.

"I know that. But… why?"

His eyebrows twitched. His eyes dropped down to your lap for a brief moment before tracing back up to your face.

"Because I ain't like this. Snow, I," he shook his head, "I don't do this. Not in a long time, I… For me, this is, this is new. That night at your place, things got out of hand pretty quick. I lost control."

You sat up a little straighter, your mind parsing through everything that had happened between you over the last few months.

You knew he wanted to keep his distance; you knew he had a tendency to shut down. But you had never considered it was about physical intimacy. It hadn't even crossed your mind that that would be an issue for him. He certainly hadn't made it seem like one.

"There wasn't anyone else before?" you asked. "I mean, in these last few years."

He squeezed one hand with the other, his brow furrowing slightly.

Yeah. There had been. He didn't have to say it out loud; you could read it plain as day in his body language.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me."

Joel bit his lower lip, a rare hint of nerves, and watched you as you shifted further back into the couch until your spine met the cushions.

He hesitated for a moment, and you instantly resented yourself for throwing out such a blunt question without thinking it through.

"Tess," he said.

You froze. Tess. You turned the name over in your mind. Speaking felt risky right now.

"She was by my side for a long time, before I came to Jackson," he continued, keeping his eyes away from yours. "But it wasn't like this."

"How do you mean?"

He looked up at you. "Don't know. It was... We kept each other company for a lot of years, did a lot of things where we used to live. They weren't necessarily good things, but they were what was needed."

"Where did you live before?"

"Boston."

"Oh, right."

He rubbed his hands together, a nervous habit. "Yeah. Anyway."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you something like that."

Joel gave a gentle shake of his head. "It's alright. Don't worry about it."

You dropped your gaze to your hands. "Well, if it's worth anything, this is all pretty new and strange for me, too. I've never really done this with anyone before. Not like this."

"And what're you thinkin' so far?"

You smiled little by little, lifting your eyes to meet his. "It's been pretty nice."

Joel nodded, a soft smile spreading across his lips as he reached out and took the Pretty Woman DVD case from your lap. He held it up next to his face.

"We're watchin' this one."

Unable to help yourself, you grinned and slid over toward him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips against his. Joel seemed caught off guard for a fraction of a second, but his arms came around you immediately, pulling you flush against his chest.

You weren't going to tell him, but that tiny glimpse into his past meant everything to you. You knew he wasn't one for big words, and you knew how hard it was for him to open up about certain things, but he had done it in his own way, and that meant so much.

"Want somethin' hot to drink?" he murmured against your lips.

You hummed. "Yeah."

"Tea or coffee?"

You thought about it for a second. "Whatever you're having."

The sun poured warm and bright into Joel’s living room, even with the curtains drawn. At least with the fabric blocking the glare, the harsh rays weren't striking you directly.

It wasn't even two in the afternoon yet. Resting on the coffee table in the center of the room were your two empty coffee mugs and a plate scattered with crumbs from the blueberry pie you’d brought over yesterday, which you’d both finished off a little while ago.

With your stomach full and the quiet peace of the early afternoon settling in, your eyelids were growing heavier by the minute, even though you’d already slept for hours last night and earlier this morning. It didn't help that Joel was right there beside you; you were tucked into his side, wedged comfortably between the back of the couch and his outstretched body, your head resting on his chest while your eyes stayed glued to the TV screen.

You could tell he’d been drifting in and out of sleep because the second you asked a question or made a comment, he’d snap awake to answer before instantly passing out again.

"She is so gorgeous," you murmured at one point, watching Vivian appear on screen in that stunning red dress with the white gloves and her hair elegantly pinned up.

Joel’s eyes flew open. He stared blankly at the screen for a split second and muttered:

"Yeah."

A second later, his breathing went heavy again. He was already fast asleep.

By the time the movie neared its final act, you had formed a definitive opinion on it: you absolutely loved it. You deeply envied anyone who had gotten to live out their adulthood during that era. You would have loved to see a movie like this in a real theater, to let Vivian inspire you in a few ways; her hairstyles, maybe, or that radiant smile. Or maybe you'd have gone out to find your very own Richard Gere. Then again, right now you had a handsome older man of your own right beneath you. That had to count for something, didn't it?

Carefully, you slipped off the couch, trying not to disturb Joel, and walked over to the TV to take out the DVD. You tucked it back into its case and left it on the coffee table, where the other stacked discs caught your eye.

Inevitably, you ended up sliding another one into the player. The Bourne Identity. A man who can't remember who he is but possesses a lot of inexplicable skills. It caught your attention simply because it sounded interesting, and you remembered having a crush on Matt Damon back when you were little and your dad used to watch movies in the living room.

You took the disc out of its case, popped it into the player, and the moment the movie started, you hurried right back to your spot next to Joel, being careful not to press too hard against his chest or any of his sore spots.

As you rested your face against his chest, your eyes locked onto his neck, just inches from your face. He had that prominent mark running around his throat, purple and slightly greenish at the edges; the clear evidence of an act of violence you didn't even want to picture. It looked like exactly what it was: someone had bound him, choked him, or tried to do something worse.

Yesterday, the mark had been much more vivid, and while it still looked bad, it had softened just a fraction.

You let out a quiet sigh, your eyes continuing to trace his face and the marks left behind while Joel remained fast asleep. His breathing was steady, his chest rising and falling in total relaxation, while a hundred different thoughts and questions raced through your mind. Above all, you wondered: what on earth had happened to him in Ridgeway?

It wasn't like you were going to ask him, and it wasn't like he was going to tell you, but just thinking about it brought a dull ache to your chest.

Instinctively, you draped your arm across his chest, holding him gently as you closed your eyes.

The movie was barely ten minutes in when you drifted off to sleep.

A nap later

At some point in the afternoon, a few knocks at the door jolted you out of your comfortable nap.

Joel woke up instantly, and the sudden movement of his body jolted you awake too. You were still draped over him with your arm resting across his stomach, but you quickly pulled back as the knocking came a second time. The TV was still on, but the movie had already finished and the main menu had been looping for God knows how long.

Joel rubbed his face with one hand, giving your arm a gentle squeeze before he began to sit up.

"What time is it?" he asked, his eyes half-lidded and covered with sleep.

"I don't know."

He sat on the edge of the couch and looked back at you. His hair was a bit messy, his eyes glossy, and a faint smirk lingered on his lips as he stood up with a quiet groan.

"Be right back."

Lying back down, you watched him walk away and stretched your arms over your head. Then, you sat up on the cushions and grabbed the remote, muting the TV and leaning back to stretch your body one more time.

From where you sat, you heard Joel walk to the door and swing it open.

Were you even supposed to be here? Should you hide? Was he going to let whoever it was inside?

You didn't know. You weren't sure how careful you both needed to be with all of this; you’d never stayed over at his place for this long before. You’d already had that slightly awkward encounter with Ellie a while back, though of course, that was different. Joel trusted her, and you trusted her, too.

"Emily." Joel’s voice sounded flat and tinged with surprise as he said her name. You froze on the couch.

"Hey. Sorry, were you sleeping?"

"Uh—"

"I came by earlier this morning but I figured you were sleeping then, too. Just came to drop this off."

Footsteps, a few of them. Emily stepped inside the house. You pressed yourself harder against the back of the couch, though it was mostly pointless; it was positioned right in front of the archway separating the living room and the hallway.

"You didn't have to do that," Joel said. "Here, I'll take it."

Quick, get up and move to the other corner.

You shifted immediately and the hardwood gave a slight creak beneath your feet.

Emily laughed. "No, it's fine—Oh."

Her laugh stopped short.

You looked up toward the hallway, feeling a sudden wave of heat rush up your spine to the back of your neck and your cheeks, feeling completely exposed for a split second. She was looking at you.

And just like that, the cozy safe bubble you’d been sharing with Joel since last night had been abruptly shattered by the eyes of an outsider. Well, not an outsider. Emily. She stood there frozen, holding a glass baking dish with a white plastic lid. Inside, you assumed, was food. Obviously.

Standing entirely still, you became painfully aware that you probably looked like a creature caught red-handed; wearing Joel's t-shirt, Joel's pants, Joel's socks...

Not that she explicitly knew they belonged to him, but she could easily piece it together seeing how everything was completely oversized on you. And either way, everyone knew what pajamas looked like, or what someone looked like when they'd just rolled out of bed.

"Snow," she said, her smile turning tight. Her eyes scanned down and up your body, flicked over to the paused TV screen, and then landed right back on you.

Beside her, Joel stood just as still and caught red-handed as you were, wearing a white t-shirt and sweatpants with no underwear underneath.

But Emily didn't know that. You did.

"Hi," you said, smiling like an idiot. You crossed your arms over your chest to cover yourself up.

She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't seem to find any useful words.

Turning back to Joel, she held out the dish. "Anyway, this is for you. And Maria said you can take tomorrow off too, if you want."

Joel’s eyes were fixed on you. He took the dish from her. "No, it's fine. I'll be there."

"Alright," Emily said, nodding as she stepped past Joel toward the front door. "Well, see you tomorrow." She glanced back at you, lifting her hand in a brief wave. "Bye, Snow."

"Bye, Emily."

She gave a faint smile and, in less than three seconds, turned and walked out the door. She left Joel standing in the middle of the hallway clutching the baking dish, and you, standing in the middle of the living room with your arms tightly crossed and an expression you weren't even sure how to label.

You looked over at Joel as a nervous, slightly baffled smile began to tug at your lips.

He raised his eyebrows. "Didn't know she was comin' by."

"Yeah, no shit," you said, shaking your head. "She saw me like this."

Joel’s eyes drifted down your body before he shrugged a single shoulder, completely dismissing your worried tone.

"She ain't gonna say nothin'."

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and started walking toward the kitchen. Your mouth dropped open at the sight of him, and you followed right behind without a second thought.

"How do you know that?"

"Ain't none of her business."

You huffed a laugh. "And?"

"Eh, I don't think Emily's the type to go gossiping around."

Once inside the kitchen, he set the baking dish down on the counter.

You stopped right beside him. "Oh, because you know her so well."

Joel tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, as if to say of course I do.

You felt your cheeks flare up again. "And now she's bringing you food?"

Joel hummed.

You furrowed your brow. "Does she always just walk in like it's nothing? I could have been naked or something."

He snorted a laugh. "Naked, huh?"

"You know perfectly well that was a possibility."

"Yeah, well," he dipped his head, "good thing you weren't."

Without blinking, you stared him down and crossed your arms tightly over your chest.

"Yeah, lucky us," you said, pressing your lips together. "Next time, tell her it's rude to just barge into a house that isn't hers. Unless you don't mind it, of course."

"It's the first time she's ever come by here."

You raised your eyebrows in pure disbelief. "Worse then."

Joel laughed softly and leaned both palms against the counter. He shook his head gently, his eyes bright with amusement, and asked:

"You don't like her, then?"

You clenched your jaw slightly before forcing yourself to relax, letting out a sigh as your gaze drifted down toward the fridge and the magnets on it. Your eyes lingered on the photo of Joel.

Uh-uh. "No. No, I don't."

"No? Why not?"

You shrugged a shoulder and looked back at him. "I don't know. I know she isn't mean or anything, I just don't like the way she deals with people."

Joel furrowed his brow. "How's that?"

You searched your mind for the right words, but the only ones you could find were simple and honest.

"She can be a bit cold. Or dismissive," you said, raising your eyebrows. "Sometimes I've seen people go up to her to ask a question or request something, and I just don't like the way she treats them. She isn't mean," you lifted a hand, "but she's just a bit indifferent and detached."

He gave a slow nod.

"And I had that completely confirmed this past week," you continued. "Every single time I asked her if there was any news about Ridgeway, she wouldn't tell me anything, she wouldn't even look me in the eye. She just kept saying there was no news," you tilted your chin up a bit, "and then later I'd find out they'd gotten a radio call or something. Even Eliza didn't know about half of it because Emily just wouldn't tell her anything. And it's not like it was confidential information or anything like that. She needed to know, her husband was out in Ridgeway too."

Joel let out a slow breath through his nose. "Didn't know that."

"Yeah? Well, I'm not surprised. She seems plenty nice and attentive with you," you said, raising a single eyebrow. "Maybe she's just selective."

He narrowed his eyes slightly, and you bit the inside of your cheek when you caught the faint smirk on his lips.

"I just don't think it's right for someone in her position to look down on people or act like she can't be bothered," you continued. "Because I’ve been there too and I know people are constantly asking questions and looking for things they need. So, okay, it's her job," you crossed your arms again, "then she should do her job. I swear I cannot stand people who get the tiniest bit of authority and immediately turn their backs on everyone else. We're all in the same boat here in Jackson, anyway, even the ones making the calls."

Suddenly, he stopped blinking. He just stared at you, nodding slowly as he began to straighten up, leaning his hip against the counter. Mimicking your posture and never breaking eye contact, he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well, you're right," he said. "And I believe you, 'cause you're gettin' so fired up you're actually blushin'."

You clicked your tongue. "I am not fired up."

"Really?"

"Really," you said, opening your eyes wider. "Just… just tell her to do her job. I know you can do that because you used to do it to me all the time."

He frowned. "That ain't true."

"Joel," you smiled, "come on."

"I never—"

"Yeah."

"I never told you to do your job because you did your job," he said, pointing a finger at you. "What I did tell you was to stop botherin' me with everything else."

You snorted, knowing he had a point. "That is not true. You used to get annoyed even when I was just in silence."

He pressed his lips together. "You weren't exactly in silence, properly speakin'."

"Why? Because I was breathing?"

"And those little sighs you'd make every few pages while you were reading," Joel said, gesturing with his hand. "Always made me wonder what the hell was happening in that book to make you react like that."

"Oh Jesus," you rolled your eyes. "How many more times are you going to bring up the sighs? Get over it, man. You were annoying too."

Joel furrowed his brow, but a lopsided smile broke through. "Was I? Not anymore?"

"I'm not so sure about that."

"What was it you called me once?" He narrowed his eyes, trying to recall. "The most insensitive, proud, arrogant man you've ever met?"

Mmm. Something like that. If you remembered correctly, he was actually leaving out a few choice adjectives.

You're the most insensitive, thoughtless, proud, arrogant man I've ever met. And believe me, I've met a hell of a lot of assholes. It was something along those lines, if your memory wasn't failing you.

"Yeah, well," you shrugged, "you told me I was the most unbearable, incoherent, reckless, and delusional woman too. But who's counting, right?"

A low laugh broke from his chest.

What was so funny, huh?

Uncrossing your arms, you turned back toward him and said,

"Why don't you use some of that attitude on Emily, huh?" You tapped his arm. "Maybe that way she'll actually do her job right."

Without waiting for an answer, you spun on your heel and turned your back to him, your legs moving with determination toward the hallway as you planned to head back to the living room. But before you could even take five paces, Joel caught you by the elbow. He arrested your movement, pulling you gently backward and anchoring you flush against him with one large hand wrapped just above your belly button.

He brought his chest right against your back, his mouth dipping down close to your ear.

"Well, I got a better idea. Why don't I just tell Emily we need her help somewhere else and you put that pretty little ass of yours back at the desk across from mine?"

Your mouth dropped open, completely caught off guard by the words. "Joel."

"What?"

You clicked your tongue. "I can't, and you know it."

"I know. And I get the school thing, but Erin’s got plenty of help from Fabrizio and everyone else, and you could still keep doin' your work at the greenhouse either way."

"I do patrols now, too."

He hummed. "Only two days a week."

The way he was talking (like a little red devil perched right on your left shoulder) was pretty manipulative. But you knew exactly where his insistence was coming from.

You were having a good time, and you were getting along well too. You’d be lying if you said you didn't want to spend more time with him. But that was exactly where a clear sharp line needed to be drawn. Because what kind of relationship would you even have if you saw each other almost every single day, and during the nights, too? Didn't he think about that?

Since this whole arrangement had started, you really did enjoy being with him. To be fair, you’d always enjoyed his company, even back when you got along terribly, and you’d actually told him that. You didn't know why, just that you felt comfortable around him. But now, there was a much deeper layer to it, because you were genuinely getting along.

You’d told him just last night: how long could a good streak like this really last if you saw each other every single day, and how long would it take before you or he completely got sick of each other again?

"We already talked about this last night," you said.

"I know, and I get it, alright?"

"Do you?" You turned your head a bit to get a better look at him.

He pressed his lips together, puffing out the top one the way he always did.

"It's just a suggestion. Think about it."

You bit your lower lip slightly, your eyes scanning his face as Joel leaned forward; you could feel him hanging heavy against your lower back.

Averting your eyes from his face, you leaned back, pressing harder against him until you could feel his outline perfectly defined against your backside. You felt him let out a soft huff against your ear.

"Talk to Emily," you said, placing your hand over his on your stomach before brushing it away and stepping away from him.

Joel chuckled low behind you, letting out a rough sigh.

Without looking back, you made your way to the living room.

The clock above the fireplace read half past four in the afternoon, and the light filtering through the curtain and the window was still bright, though just a fraction paler than before.

You sank into the couch and folded your hands in your lap, wondering if this was the right time to leave. You weren't entirely sure. Joel wasn't giving anything away, but then again, you couldn't really rely on his cues. Maybe he wanted you to go, or needed some time to himself and didn't know how to say it. But then again, had he ever actually held anything back?

"What're you doin'?" he asked, appearing through the archway a second later and dropping down beside you. Shifting his hips forward slightly, he took your outstretched legs and rested them across his lap.

A soft laugh escaped you.

Jesus, he truly could act like a needy man.

"Nothing."

"Watch Bourne Identity?"

"Only a few minutes. I fell asleep right away."

He nodded, looking at the screen where the menu was still looping on mute.

"Want to watch somethin' else?" he asked, looking over at you.

You stretched your legs out further across his lap, and he gave your knee a squeeze.

"Do you?"

He pursed his lips. "Sure. Choose somethin'."

You smiled faintly and straightened up a bit, resting your hands between your knees.

He clearly noticed your hesitation; his eyes locked onto your face, waiting for you to speak.

You gave a slightly uncertain smile, feeling your heart flutter with a touch of nervousness.

"You know, I was wondering just a minute ago," you swallowed, dropping your gaze down his chest, "is it really okay for me to stay here this long?"

"What's that mean?"

You looked at him in silence for a second, wondering if he genuinely wasn't understanding the question.

"Well, I mean, is it okay? Or, you know, maybe it's too much?" You frowned, frustrated with how you were phrasing your thoughts.

He lowered his gaze to his hand on your knee.

"You wanna leave?"

"No," you rushed to say, and his eyes snapped back up to your face. "It's not that. I just thought that maybe, I don't know, maybe you wanted some time to yourself? Or something."

Joel let out a soft, lopsided smile, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

Gradually, he turned his head toward you, taking you in completely.

What could he tell you? He certainly couldn't tell you that he didn't want to be alone. Though that was a bit limiting; Joel didn't want you to stay just because he didn't want to be alone. He wanted you to stay because he wanted to be with you.

Was that wrong? Was it too much?

Every time he asked himself that (and it had been several times between yesterday and today), he answered himself in silence with the memory of the last seven days. Those five days of the journey to and within Ridgeway had nearly drained the life out of him completely. His body had been beaten and cut; his eyes had seen more violence in a span of days than during his last year in Jackson.

He really thought that was it. The first few times they pressed a gun to his temple, he was sure they would pull the trigger, and that time they wrapped a rope around his neck and pulled and pulled until he thought his bones would snap, he swore that was it.

But it wasn't, somehow. And he thought of Ellie, of the last hug she’d given him before he left the house; he thought of Tommy, of Benji perched on Maria’s lap. But he thought of you too, and how he’d only left a simple letter. Because he’d thought it wasn't necessary to wake you—what for? He figured he’d be right back. Two days at most. But the time dragged on, and so did the suffering.

Upon his return, his body began to ache. It was as if every muscle and nerve had stayed rigid and numb right up until he crossed the gates into Jackson. He didn't even know how he’d managed to make it all the way back without collapsing. But the moment he arrived, and after settling everything with the guys (even after Hale checked him over and patched him up) his body remained tense.

He didn't feel anything, just a strange ache that ran through him like a massive bruise, one so constant it had already gone unnoticed.

But when he saw you outside Hale’s place, he knew he must be broken. Because on your face, he found the pain he was feeling. You looked at him like he was a ghost; your glassy eyes pierced right through his chest, and he felt the urge to touch you. But before he could do much of anything, you left.

You left, and he didn't see you again until that afternoon, when you made him understand in a rather direct way that you wanted him to leave you alone.

And he wasn't gonna tell you, but he saw right through you. It didn't hurt that you pushed him away. Well, maybe a little; it was hard for him to admit he'd been excited to see you. But he knew your attitude under that weeping willow was a normal reaction. You were angry. And you’d probably been scared, too. So, in situations like these, he just had to give you space; that was a lesson he’d learned many, many decades ago.

The next day, when he ran into Zach at the dining hall and Zach told him you were heading over to his place, he wasn't surprised. He’d been waiting for it, though he felt a wave of relief knowing the wait had been short.

The night before, he hadn't been able to sleep much, but with you here, he’d slept so deeply his eyes were still a little puffy. You tangled yourself around him like ivy; arms, legs, fingers, every part of you intertwined with his, keeping him warm after so many cold and cruel nights.

And it might be selfish, this need to want you here. Surely you had other things you wanted to do, other people to see. Or maybe you didn't, but you had to leave anyway. Joel didn't care; selfishly, he wanted you all to himself, just for today.

So yeah, he wanted you to stay. Just a bit longer. Because he needed and wanted the tenderness of your presence. And the wasn't anything he could do against it.

"Don't need no time to myself," he assured you then. He swallowed. "Stay here tonight."

Your eyes widened just a fraction. Joel knew what he said had caught you by surprise.

"You sure?" you asked softly.

He nodded. "Yeah. And tomorrow mornin' we both go back to our own things, how's that sound?"

You smiled. "Sounds good to me. Though I don't have any clothes," you raised your eyebrows slightly. "I should go grab something to wear tomorrow."

"Alright."

You nodded. "Okay."

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure we'll find somethin' to keep us busy later."

That surprised a chuckle out of you.

You placed your hand over his on your knee. "You really are a dirty old man."

Joel rolled his eyes, feigning exasperation, and shook his head.

"I meant watchin' movies or cookin'. You're the one with the dirty mind."

You hummed, not buying it. "Yeah. Well, you're probably already tired anyway."

He clicked his tongue. "Don't be so sure about that. That nap was pretty revivin'."

Hours later

"See you in a bit." Stretching up on your toes, you gave Joel a quick peck on the lips.

A second later, he opened the front door and you stepped across the threshold, wearing the dress you’d arrived in, your boots, and one of his jackets. Today was much cooler than yesterday, and if you walked back to your place with nothing but what you'd brought, you were going to freeze.

Joel watched you walk away for a moment, closing the door only when you disappeared from his line of sight. Immediately, the house felt quiet again.

For a while, he distracted himself by tidying up and cleaning. He went up to his bedroom and made the bed, straightening things here and there, and left the pajamas he’d lent you neatly folded on the mattress. He dusted the dresser in front of the window, arranging the picture frames on top, and swept every corner of the room as best he could.

Downstairs, he wiped down the already clean kitchen counter. He cleaned the cabinets, then the windowpanes and the backyard door, and just as he was drying the glass, he noticed Ellie arriving at the garage.

She opened the door and slipped inside right away, and Joel didn't hesitate for a single second to seize the opportunity.

He stepped out into the yard, feeling the cool air raise the hairs on his arms, and hesitated for a second before knocking on the garage door.

From the other side, he heard a few muffled noises, and a moment later, the door swung open.

"Hey. What's up?" she said. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was a bit a mess.

"Out early today," Joel said, stepping inside. The girl moved aside to let him pass. "Where'd you go?"

"Had plans with Jesse."

"Ah, Jesse," he rested his lower back against the desk and crossed his arms, smiling. "What kind of plans?"

Ellie frowned and shook her head. "Don't start. It's not like that. What're you doin' here anyway? Don't you got company?" She raised her eyebrows.

In a split second, the smile vanished from Joel's face, and he went completely still.

Ellie tilted her head and waited a beat. "Look, I know Snow's here. I saw you guys earlier."

Joel frowned but didn't say a word.

"I was hungry," she tossed her head back, "so I went into the kitchen to grab some food and heard the TV. You were wiped out."

He stepped away from the desk. "Ellie, look—"

"Please, just don't say anything," she said, holding up both hands and shaking her head. A faint smirk tugged at her lips. "I already knew. I mean, I knew there was something, I just didn't think it was so... you know—"

"We're just friends."

"Yeah, right," she rolled her eyes. "Great friends."

Joel hesitated as he tried to speak again, suddenly feeling really nervous. He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a sigh.

"Snow and I... we're gettin' along, and—"

"Joel, chill, you're not my dad," she cut him off, waving a hand. "You don't gotta give me some speech like you're tryin' to convince me to like my new mommy or whatever—"

"Ellie."

She stopped talking, and her eyes softened, but Joel still had his brow furrowed, his thoughts tangled up in his head.

"I like Snow," she said. "And I like that you guys are... friends."

Joel pursed his lips and watched her for a brief moment; the look on her face and the softness in Ellie's eyes held no lie or forced reassurance.

He knew she liked you. He knew the two of you had formed a bond while he was away. And suddenly, he wondered if his relationship with you would affect yours with her. Lately, Ellie hadn't been very expressive with him, but he’d seen how she was around you. He hoped that wouldn't change.

"I'm fixin' to make a good dinner tonight. Snow's stayin' over too," he rested a hand on his hip. "How's about you come on over and join us?"

Ellie smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Sounds great. But… maybe another time? I'm pretty wiped, and I still gotta go see Dina."

"Yeah? What for?"

"She found a few parts we were missin' to finish some traps," she leaned back, dropping onto the couch. "We're headin' out early tomorrow to test them."

Joel nodded. "Rabbits?"

"Hopefully."

"Right. Well, I'll leave a plate out for you anyway, alright? We'll have dinner around eight, just in case you change your mind," he nodded. "I know Snow'd like to see you."

Ellie nodded. "Okay. Did you give her the portrait?"

Joel nodded. "And how're you comin' along with the herbs and all that?"

"Almost done with a few of them," she smiled. "I'm headin' to the greenhouse tomorrow to show Snow what I got."

"You could show her now, you know. She'll be back in a bit."

"Nah, I'm good. Don't wanna interrupt whatever's about to go down in there," she said, holding up a hand.

Joel clicked his tongue.

"What?" She raised her eyebrows. "I didn't know you were the type to cuddle up on the couch like that. Ugh," she shuddered, faking a chill.

Joel let out a chuckle, Ellie echoed it.

"Alright. Take care of yourself then," he lifted his chin. "And tomorrow, let's get some dinner, just you and me. How's that sound? Whatever you want."

She pursed her lips. "Can you make that meatloaf you do?"

"Course. An extra large one."

"Alright," she nodded.

Joel smiled and took a few steps toward her. Reaching out, he gave the crown of Ellie’s head a quick affectionate rub. She ducked her head, immediately clicking her tongue.

"Watch yourself out there, alright? And don't be gettin' back late," Joel said, moving toward the open door. "Don't go doin' anything reckless."

Ellie snorted. "You neither, Casanova."

Joel hid a chuckle as he turned around to head back inside the house.

Your house. Ten minutes later.

You got home around half past five in the afternoon. Stepping inside, you caught the scent of the flowers on your coffee table and the entryway stand, mixed with the soap you used for your laundry.

You didn't linger. You went straight to your bedroom, tossed your dress onto the small couch in the corner and kicked your boots to the side, wrapping your arms around your bare body.

The closet doors stood open, and your naked reflection stared back at you as you stepped closer to find something to wear.

Your cheeks were flushed from the walk, and your hair was a bit a mess. But there was a particular shine in your eyes that made you pause and just look at yourself for a moment. It was as if your skin were glowing, as if the expression on your face had suddenly softened.

On your neck, there were two small marks, faint and nearly invisible, that Joel had left either last night or this morning, you weren't entirely sure. But your fingers brushed up to touch them, and it was as if you could feel his mouth there all over again.

You smiled like a fool, your eyes drifting down your body; they passed over the scar on your jawline, the scars on your collarbone, just beneath your ribs, and further down on your right thigh, where several small but distinct marks barely revealed themselves.

You tilted your head, observing yourself and suddenly seeing a difference. As you did, a lock of hair fell across your face.

You caught it between your fingers and breathed it in, then gathered a handful more. Burying your nose in the strands, you closed your eyes.

You smelled like him. From the strands of hair between your fingers to your very skin; his soap, his shampoo—him. The same clean scent of his fresh sheets, the exact same scent that was woven into his skin. You carried it now, and the feeling brought a flutter to your stomach that made every hair on your body stand up.

Well, that, and the fact that you were naked and your house was freezing.

Jesus, stop being so corny, what's the point?

The more time you spent staring at yourself in the mirror, the longer it would take to get back to Joel. So you finally turned away, moved along, and headed into the bathroom.

You took a quick shower without getting your hair wet, since you'd washed it just that morning, and went through your usual routine. With your skin soft and clean and your body much warmer than before, you stepped out of the shower wrapped in a towel. Your feet weren't cold anymore, and neither were your fingers.

Back in the bedroom, you misted yourself with rosewater and put on a little bit of everything you owned, smelling like a dessert all over again and feeling like one, too. You ran your fingers through your hair, brushed it out a little, and reached for the small wooden box inside your nightstand. From it, you took your necklace and fastened it around your neck.

Opting for comfort and practicality, you pulled on a pair of straight-leg jeans that hugged you perfectly up top, thanks to some alterations Isa had done, along with a cropped white tee and a slightly loose black sweater. You were right on the verge of putting on sneakers, but you chose your boots again. There wasn't much use fighting against something both cozy and cute.

Okay, what did you need to bring for tonight?

You grabbed a tote bag and tossed in clean underwear, your hairbrush, and a few other small things. Carefully, you folded the jacket Joel had lent you earlier and slid it inside as well.

You didn't waste any more time. You bundled up in his other jacket (which, technically, was already yours) and went into the kitchen to grab the blueberry pie you’d left in the fridge yesterday. You’d only tried a tiny slice to make sure it tasted right. You packed it into a plastic container and carefully settled it into your bag, strategically arranging everything underneath and around it so it wouldn't shift in any way.

Giving yourself one last look in the mirror and knowing that at Joel’s place, nothing but a tiny little hand mirror awaited you, you stepped out of your house just as the sun in the sky began to turn that sea of blue into a field of orange and pink.

Joel's house. Late afternoon.

The second Joel opened the front door, a delicious aroma hit your nose.

"Mmm," you breathed in, stepping into the entryway. "What am I smelling?"

Joel took the bag from your hand and closed the door behind you. With a smile, he lifted his chin and nodded toward the kitchen.

He’d changed his clothes and wasn't in his sleepwear anymore, but in jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt.

He look so good.

"Go on and look," he said.

Smiling, you walked over as the scent grew even richer. Your eyes instantly locked onto the pot on the stove. You stepped closer while he carefully took the container with the blueberry pie out of the bag and set it on the counter.

Inside the pot, vegetables were simmering away, releasing a thick sweet steam, covered and surrounded by a dark glossy sauce.

"Is there wine in this?"

He nodded, and your mouth watered instantly.

"Started a good while ago," he came up beside you. "Seared the venison, took it out, cooked down the veggies with the wine, and threw the meat back in. It's been stewin' for a while now. You real hungry?"

Smiling, you looked at him out of the corner of your eye. "I didn't know you knew your way around a kitchen like this."

"I don't know that much," he shook his head. "Just a few things I'm fixin' to stick with forever."

You laughed. "Is this one of your specialties?"

"Yeah. This, and the meatloaf I'm makin' for Ellie tomorrow."

"Oh, did you see her? Is she here?"

"No, she left a while ago. But we talked for a bit," he nodded. "Said she was headin' to the greenhouse tomorrow to see you. Wants to show you what she’s done with the herbs."

You were genuinely excited to see what Ellie had been working on. You thought it was incredibly sweet of her to want to help you out with all of this, and you were sure you’d find a way to thank her properly. Favors are favors, and they ought to be repaid right.

"I can't wait to see what she's done."

Joel smiled. "You're gonna like it."

It was only fair that you set the table. While Joel cooked, you arranged the plates, silverware, and everything else, though you still felt like you had too much time on your hands. But you distracted yourself by picking something to listen to; Joel had a box full of cassettes and handed over the authority for you to choose the music. You picked a Fleetwood Mac compilation and spent the rest of the time keeping yourself occupied with the glass of wine he had left on the table for you.

You had rarely ever had wine. Looked like almost never before arriving in Jackson. But here, they had a decent amount of alcohol, both produced by the community and brought in from the outside. Cider was pretty common, as was whiskey, but wine was a much trickier thing to come by for some reason. Joel, being who he was and knowing the people he knew, had a few bottles tucked away in a small cabinet in his kitchen.

He wouldn't let you help with the cooking, insisting he had it under control. That left you with only one job: sitting at the kitchen island with a glass of wine, just watching him. It wasn't like he had a whole lot to do after a while anyway, since the meat pretty much cooked itself, only needing a quick check every now and then. During that stretch of time, he pulled up a stool next to you with his own glass of wine, and the two of you talked about everything and nothing, mostly just casual drift.

"Pet Sematary," he said, bringing the glass to his lips.

"Never read that one."

He raised his eyebrows. "You ain't ever read Pet Sematary?"

You shook your head. "No. I only read Carrie, and honestly it didn't really make me feel any better."

"You gotta read Pet Sematary. Reckon it’s one of the few books I actually finished cover to cover when I was a kid."

"Weren't you big on reading?"

"Preferred doin' other things," he said, tilting his head. "But I got that book for Christmas one year, and then I caught the flu and spent a week in bed. Read the whole damn thing. Let me tell you, havin' a fever dream after readin' somethin' like that wasn't nice."

You laughed. "Is it really that terrifying?"

"Well, I was eleven. Doubt it’d scare me none now."

"I remember my parents watching the movie once, but I didn't pay much attention. I wasn't really into horror. Either that, or it scared me and I just didn't want to look." You suddenly sat up straighter. "You know what book I know you’d love?"

He frowned just a fraction.

"Lonesome Dove, by Larry McMurtry," you said. "You ever read it?"

"Not that I recall."

"It's about two old Texas Rangers who decide to drive a huge herd of cattle all the way from the Mexican border up to Montana. But they run into just about everything along the trail. It’s a Western, so you can picture it. Storms, bandits, different towns. I loved it when I read it, it's incredibly entertaining and," you raised a finger, "deep. It’s not just about the adventure, you know? It’s about the fact that the whole world around them is changing. It's the end of the Old West."

He nodded. "Modernity."

"Exactly. And they’re old men from a generation that spent their entire lives chasing outlaws and living in places where the government had no control. But everything’s becoming obsolete, you know? Their whole way of life."

"Yeah," he smiled, "it happens."

"I've got it on my bookshelf if you'd like to read it," you raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I'd like that. I gotta give you my notes or somethin' afterward?"

You laughed. "Only if you want to."

Dinner turned out to be an absolute triumph. You sat with him at the table by the window, savoring every single bite. The venison was incredible; the meat was so tender it practically melted in your mouth, to the point where you didn't even need a knife; you could cut it with just your fork. The vegetables were delicious and just as tender, their rich flavors almost making you want to roll your eyes in pure bliss.

Joel, of course, got a little cocky about it. There was a smug smirk playing on his face that he was clearly trying to hide. Still, you secretly suspected the man hadn't even realized it was going to turn out this damn good.

Between the waiting in the kitchen and the dinner itself, the two of you finished the first bottle of wine without even noticing. Midway through the meal, Joel cracked open the second one, which turned out to be just as delicious. You were really starting to get a taste for it; the flavor paired so well with the food that you couldn't bring yourself to turn down another glass, and then another, and maybe another.

And you weren't sure if it was the alcohol or something else, but you’d gotten so hot you shed your sweater before your third glass.

By the time you finished your second helping, you knew the alcohol was starting to do its thing. You felt it first in your feet, in that pleasant buzzing warmth around your skin, and then in the floating lightweight feeling warming up your chest. But most of all, you knew it because your eyes started losing their modesty.

You caught yourself tracking the movement of his lips every time he spoke or took a sip from his glass, your gaze lingering without a shred of hurry. You got completely pulled in, watching his profile under the soft light; the sharp line of his jaw, the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled. Your eyes drifted down to his hands, tracing the veins standing out against his rolled up sleeves, and you couldn't stop a clumsy wine addled thought from taking over your mind: oh wow… his fingers are really, really thick.

But there wasn’t a thing you could do about it; the wine had already hijacked your filters, and your eyes stayed exactly where they wanted to be. You knew you were being obvious, taking way too many seconds to meet his gaze whenever he spoke, like a woman suddenly turned shy.

And Joel, of course, wasn’t any fool. He noticed.

You caught the shift almost instantly. He stopped talking so animatedly, and his rhythm eased into a lazy drawn out cadence as his voice dropped a register, turning deeper and huskier.

His posture in the chair relaxed, leaning just a little closer to your side of the table, cutting down the distance between you. His eyes, which had been fixed on yours, began making their own unhurried sweep across your face. They lingered on your wine flushed cheeks, dipped for a split second to your mouth when you bit your lip, and drifted back up. He held your gaze for a long stretch of time, sending a tingle straight down the back of your neck.

When he picked up his glass, his fingers traced the curve of the crystal. A tiny, barely there tug pulled at the corner of his mouth; he knew exactly where your attention was anchored.

Oh, Jesus... you wanted to tear him apart.

But not here.

Dinner having ended quite a while ago, you got up from your chair and gathered your plate and his. Joel was up right after you; he cleared the glasses and the rest of the table, tucking the used napkins between his fingers while balancing the wine glasses and the empty bottle in his other hand.

Weaving your way into the kitchen, you placed the dishes into the sink with extra care, trying to let the clatter of the stoneware drown out just how hard your heart was thumping, and turned on the faucet. The rush of running water filled the room for barely a second before you felt his heat right behind you.

Joel stepped up right against your back. You felt the solid pressure of his chest nearly brushing your shoulder blades a moment before his arm shot past your side, planting his palm firmly against the edge of the counter, trapping you completely against it. His other free hand reached up without a hint of rush, gripping the handle and shutting off the faucet, cutting the water dead.

"Later," he said.

You felt his breath hit your neck, and your head tilted back on instinct. Understanding the invitation, Joel pressed his entire weight against your back. The solid unyielding feel of him felt so damn good you squeezed your eyes shut and smiled shamelessly.

His hand shifted from the edge of the counter, sliding down to your lower stomach. He flattened his palm there, pressing gently into the soft heat of your belly, before his hand began a steady inching crawl upward. At the same time, his lips found your exposed throat; he kissed you right there while his hand kept drifting up, caressing your chest. And as his palm brushed over your chest, his thumb grazed your nipple through the fabric of your shirt, catching a quiet sigh in your throat.

Your eyelids felt too heavy to keep open. Joel’s mouth kept tasting your neck with short nipping kisses and soft suctions, his hand traveling higher until his long fingers and broad palm wrapped around your throat, squeezing firmly from the sides.

A muffled groan tried to break free, but his grip trapped the sound against your skin, making the vibration rattle right in your vocal cords.

With a tug, Joel pulled your head back, forcing your spine to arch as he locked his hips tight against yours.

His other hand traced down your side, mapping the curve of your waist and hip, squeezing your flesh with a hunger that was driving you out of your mind. The wine and the friction of your bodies sparked a desperate ache between your thighs, and you didn't know how much longer you could go without tearing his pants off.

Sensing your restlessness, Joel nudged one of his legs between yours. With a firm shift of his thigh, he forced your legs apart and hitched his knee right into your center. You let your weight drop, desperate for the pressure, grinding down against him, but the thick denim of your jeans blocked the full sensation and the partial friction only fueled your frustration.

Joel caught onto your desperation and surged even harder against you, and you could feel him fully hard, a rigid ridge pressing into your backside through the layers of clothes. Unable to hold back, you reached a hand blindly behind you until you found the front of his pants, and wrapped your fingers around his crotch, squeezing firmly through the fabric.

The sudden boldness caught him off guard; Joel let out a low groan right against the skin of your neck as his grip on your throat tightened just a little more.

With a sudden jerk, he hauled you away from the counter. His hands dropped to your hips instantly, digging firmly into your flesh as he started steering you out of the kitchen.

A breathless nervous laugh slipped from your lips, cutting through the silence of the house as the two of you moved toward the hallway. And before you could even plant a foot on the bottom step of the stairs, you slapped his hands away, spun around, and bolted up the flight.

Halfway up, curiosity got the better of you, forcing you to glance back over your shoulder. Joel was already tracking you; his posture was stiffer, his eyes so dark and locked on yours. You let out a soft amused gasp and scrambled up the rest of the way.

As you cleared the final steps, your fingers hooked the hem of your shirt, yanking it cleanly over your head and dropping it behind you like a breadcrumb on the trail. Right before hitting the doorway of his bedroom, your hands flew to your back, unhooking your bra and letting it fall, too.

Joel trailed you without missing a beat. You heard him pause for a split second below to scoop your shirt off the floor, and then he kept coming, completely unhurried, stopping to grab the bra next. He was giving you a head start. He was granting you the exact window you needed to slip into the bedroom, kick off your boots, and shed your pants.

Hearing his heavy tread approach the threshold, you padded silently on bare feet into the bathroom. From inside, you caught the low huff that rumbled from his chest when he stepped into the room and found the bed empty.

The cool night air drifting through the bathroom window instantly prickled your skin, making your nipples harden and the hair on your arms stand up, but you didn't give a damn about the chill. You planted both hands flat and firm against the edge of the marble sink, arching your spine completely and tilting your ass toward the doorway; right at the perfect angle for where he was bound to appear in less than a heartbeat.

And yeah, just a heartbeat later, Joel filled the bathroom doorway. He stopped dead in his tracks, going completely still, frozen under the frame.

A thrill shot through you just from watching his reaction. Joel held your clothes in one hand, his eyes locked onto your bare skin, tracking the curve of your hips and your exposed ass. His jaw was clenched so hard the muscle bunched, and that sudden paralysis of sheer awe and desire on his face let you know you had him exactly where you wanted him.

Joel tossed your clothes onto the bathroom counter without a shred of care, while you stayed completely still, watching him. He tightened his jaw and brought his hands down to his waist.

Slowly, he unbuckled the metal latch of his belt; the leather creaked and the metal clinked in this quiet bathroom as he whipped it through the loops in one clean yank. Your pussy throbbed just looking at him; so mean, so serious, so intensely focused as he popped the button of his jeans and dragged the metal zipper down with a harsh rasp, never taking his eyes off you for a single second.

As he began to close the final few inches between you, an intense flutter turned your stomach over. Joel settled right behind you, planting one of his big heavy hands flat against your hip, digging into your skin to anchor you in place, while his other hand went straight for your center, hooking the fabric of your panties to the side.

Your breathing was already ragged and heavy, and your throat felt so dry you could barely swallow. Trying to hold onto that thread of control from the game, you tried to look back at him.

"You should get yourself a mirror," you murmured.

Joel huffed a laugh.

His thick warm fingers parted your wet folds. "Yeah," he said.

You shut your eyes instantly, letting out a low moan as you finally melted into his touch. His fingers were soaked in you immediately, sliding top to bottom. He brought the pad of his index finger up until he found your clit, pressing and rubbing in firm circles that made you flinch and arch your spine even deeper against him.

The wet obscene sound of his fingers moving inside you filled the bathroom instantly. But Joel took his time to torment you, sliding his middle finger along your slit and stretching your wetness before pushing a single knuckle inside your pussy. He went in easy, stretching you open, and a choked moan escaped your lips. A second later, he slipped a second finger in, opening you up from the inside, and began to thrust into your depths, curling his fingers upward to hook the exact spot that made you lose your mind.

"Shit, baby... you're fuckin' soaked," Joel growled in your ear, and the sound of his dirty voice only deepened the spasms already starting to ripple through your walls.

Your hands gripped the edge of the sink so hard your knuckles turned white.

The wet sounds of friction between his hand and your pussy were loud, giving away just how ready you were; every time he buried his fingers to the hilt, your eyelids grew heavier.

You started to lose all sense of rhythm, rolling your hips back on pure instinct, begging for more and more and more. But Joel didn't give in; he kept his hand steady, pumping inside you, catching your dirtiest, most shameless whimpers right out of the air.

"Joel, please," you stammered, letting your head drop forward. "Fuck me already, don't make me wait."

He cut his movements instantly. With a dragging touch, he slid his fingers out of your wetness. You lifted your head and licked your dry lips, desperately trying to catch your breath.

"You gettin' bossy on me now?" he asked.

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you glanced back over your shoulder. Joel already had his cock in his hand, stroking it up and down, using the same hand that was coated in your own slick. The sight of his size and the heavy veins tracing his shaft made you swallow hard.

"Over the sink, now. Put your hands further out and lean down," he ordered.

You obeyed instantly. You stretched your arms across the surface, planting your palms firmly against the cold marble that clashed sharply against the heat of your body. You slid further forward, arching your spine to the absolute limit and pushing your backside out, offering yourself to him completely.

Joel stepped forward, erasing the space between you. You felt the burning tip of his cock hunt for your entrance, pressing right where the ache of your need was loudest. Easy, he broke into you in one controlled heavy push, burying himself deep, inching further and further until he filled you to the brim.

He stretched you so wide you choked back a cry against the marble. He went dead still, granting you a few agonizing seconds for you to adjust to his thickness and squeeze tight around him. Feeling his pulse throbbing inside you was pure heaven.

Then, he started to move. At first, they were short testing thrusts, but as the rhythm leveled out, a whimper of pure relief slipped from your lips.

Joel took you at your word; he fucked you with relentless consistency, driving deep into you with every single stroke, making the wet echo of his hips slamming against your cheeks ring out through the bathroom. The moans spilled uncontrolled from your mouth, impossible to hold back.

Bit by bit, any trace of patience melted from his movements, turning harder. Joel reached a broad hand up to your shoulder and, with a firm yank, forced your upper body back, arching your spine flush against his chest. And without giving you a second to catch your breath, he shifted that same hand straight to your throat, squeezing with just enough pressure to pin you tight against him while he kept hammering into you from behind.

The shift in the angle made him sink even deeper, ripping cries and sobs of pure pleasure that vibrated right against the flat of his palm.

And just when you thought you couldn't open up any wider, Joel used his boot to nudge your foot, forcing your legs further apart. With a quick heavy grip, he hooked his free hand under your thigh and hoisted your leg up over the edge of the sink, splitting you completely wide open.

Locked in that vulnerable position, he started fucking you hard and fast, a pacing that completely stole your balance. Desperate, your hands scrambled to find a handhold on the wall or the counter, but you couldn't reach a damn thing; the sheer speed of his thrusts was rattling your entire body.

Joel had you pinned so tight against him that the only thing you could do was cling to his arms, burying your nails into his skin. You held onto him, feeling your one steady foot on the floor nearly lift with every strike, suspended in the air by the force of his hips.

To say you didn't recognize the sound of your own voice was an understatement; you didn't think you’d ever made noises as broken as the ones Joel was ripping out of you with every single thrust. It was a completely new sensation, being entirely undone, unable to do a damn thing but cling to him so you wouldn't shatter completely.

Slowly, his movements began to lose their speed, turning heavier. You felt his chest heave hard against your back as he dialed back the pace, locking you tight in his arms. He let your dangling foot finally find the floor, easing the strain on your muscles, and softened his grip on your body, though he stayed buried deep inside you.

Driven by the lingering slip of pleasure, you reached an arm back over your shoulder, searching for the touch of his skin. Your fingers found the nape of his neck and sank right into his curls, tangling in that soft hair you loved so much.

You tilted your head back, offering your lips in a silent plea, and Joel caught your jaw gently and planted a deep dragging kiss on your mouth.

While kissing you, his free hand carefully guided your leg down from the sink, helping you find your footing. He steered you away from the marble counter, backing you up toward the bathroom door.

Only when you hit the threshold did Joel pull out of you all at once, leaving a choked whine on your lips at the sudden cold absence. Before you could even protest, he brought his palm down in a stinging smack against your flushed ass.

"Bed," he ordered.

You moved toward the mattress immediately, your legs shaking and a delicious ache pooling between your thighs. You collapsed flat on your back against the mattress, sinking into the sheets, and hooked your fingers around the waistband of your wet panties, yanking them off and tossing them onto the floor. All while you watched him shadow over you from the dim light.

Your eyes, completely blown out, tracked Joel’s body as he stripped down under the faint light. He yanked his shirt off in one motion, revealing that broad torso, then kicked off his boots, and finally shed his pants, letting them pool on the floor.

God, he was so big. Huge everywhere; the width of his shoulders, the thickness of his ribcage, his massive arms, and that tremendous length pointing right back at you, glistening and heavy with thick veins.

You spread your legs wide on the mattress, begging him back, utterly unable to look away.

Joel climbed onto the bed, making the springs groan as he settled immediately between your open thighs. He gripped your knees, pushing them back toward your chest to split you open even wider, and lined his cock up with your pussy.

He slid in inch by inch, savoring the fit, stretching your already sensitive walls, but the second he was buried completely inside you, he gave you no quarter. He picked his rhythm right back up.

You held onto him with everything you had, wrapping your arms tight around his neck and digging your nails into his broad back while he fucked you hard, deep thrusts making you bounce right against the mattress.

The wet friction of your bodies took over the room again, mixing with Joel’s pants directly in your ear and your own shameless moans.

"Joel, please," you cried out, squeezing him tighter. "Put all your weight on me."

He lifted his head, locking his eyes onto yours.

"Put all your weight on me," you repeated.

"I'm gonna crush you."

"No, you won't," the heavy impacts chopping up your voice. "Please."

Joel let out a rough pant and buried his face right next to yours as he slowly let his body drop over you. You felt his weight gradually press you down into the mattress; his chest flat against yours, his stomach against yours, blanketing you in sheer heavy man.

"Yes, yes, yes," you started to babble, letting your eyelids flutter shut as your arms wrapped around him and your fingers buried deep into the hair at the nape of his neck.

You were right on the edge, suspended in that eternal second where the pleasure gets so sharp it almost hurts. Your legs were wrapped tight around his waist and your nails were dug into his shoulders, feeling the coiled tension in every single muscle.

Then you felt it. You caught that subtle unmistakable shift in the vibration of his body; the way his cock went even harder, pulsing and throbbing inside you, expanding to its absolute limit. Joel let out a guttural grunt, a purely animalistic drawl of a sound that drowned in the crook of your neck as he completely lost his rhythm and his grip on control.

Knowing you had him right there, that he was about to fall apart for you, was the final push that shattered your gravity. Your own orgasm hit you all at once, a hot burst that clamped your internal walls in violent desperate spasms around his length.

Joel roared against your skin the second he felt you clamp down on him, completely trapped by your climax. He delivered a few brutal frenzied thrusts, driving so deep you felt like you were splitting in two, before cursing loudly and dragging himself back with desperation.

You unlocked your legs from his hips to let him clear, and he grabbed his cock, letting go right over your belly. He was so flushed, his face so raw and undone, that your eyes could do nothing but watch him, panting and silent, while your own muscles kept riding out the tail end of your release.

He leaned forward, planting one forearm beside your head, and brought his face down to yours.

You cupped his face; your fingers pressed gently against his jaw as you pulled his mouth down to meet yours.

Joel's room. Half an hour later. Night.

You flicked off the bathroom light and shut the door behind you.

The effects of the wine were still floating through your system, but now it was pure exhaustion weighing you down. You knew you were gonna sleep like a baby tonight, so before climbing back into bed next to Joel, you went straight for the alarm clock on his nightstand.

"Six thirty sound good to you?" you asked, turning the clock around to set the dial.

"What time is it now?" he wanted to know. He was lying back with his hair still a little damp from the shower, wearing a dark blue cotton t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Quarter to ten."

"Ain't as late as I thought."

You smiled. "Right. I figured it was at least eleven."

"Six thirty's fine."

You set the alarm and slipped the clock back into its spot.

Carefully crawling over Joel’s legs, you slid under the covers as he pulled the sheet and the comforter up over you. You dug your toes into the mattress, stretching out on pure instinct just from the happiness of being comfortable, warm, and knowing you were in for a perfect night of sleep.

You draped your arm over Joel’s chest, and he leaned into you, shifting onto his side to blanket you with his body heat.

"Oh," he murmured, pulling back for just a second to click off the lamp on his nightstand before wrapping his arms right back around you.

The bedroom fell into darkness, but the moonlight streamed through the window; pale, soft, and soothing. It was a full moon tonight.

"Goodnight, Joel."

He let out a low sigh. "Goodnight, Snow."

divider by: omi-resources

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Florida is different in all the right ways.

The city teems with possibility as its glittering beaches and tropical nights offer a welcomed fresh start.

You found your way here without much surprise. Dancers always seem to drift toward Miami eventually. 

A quick message to a promoter you’d met during a wild weekend in South Beach was all it took to get you here. 

Now you’re at Velvet Tide, one of the city’s more snazzy, modern clubs with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the water and a strict no-touch policy that actually gets enforced. 

For the first time in years, you just dance.

The money is good. Not Vegas good, but enough to keep you comfortable without having to sleep around.

You pass through the beaded curtain into the dressing room, dropping into the first open chair in front of a mirror, thighs sticking to the cracked vinyl.

With a little hum, you start fishing crumpled bills from your thong and bra, the paper slightly damp from body oil and sweat. A green apple lollipop rolls around the inside of your cheek, the sugar sinking into the numbness at your gums.

You’re halfway through counting your stack when a deep voice breaks your attention.

“Last time I saw hands move that quick, someone was trying to steal my tips.”

You glance up in the mirror and meet Frankie Morales’ reflection. 

He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, the black Velvet Tide staff shirt stretched nicely across his broad shoulders. 

Curls peek out from under his cap and his scruffy facial hair makes him look like he just rolled off a fishing boat and right behind a high-end bar.

You arch a brow, not missing a beat as you keep counting, rolling the candy around in your mouth with your tongue. “If I was trying to steal your tips, Francisco, you’d never see me coming. I’m too slick.”

“Don’t I know it.” He tilts his head, eyes on you through the mirror. “Explains why you’ve got more cash tucked in your tits than I’ve made all night. Good set?” His gaze drops momentarily to the three hundreds sticking out of your chest.

“I always have a good set,” you reply in typical conceited fashion, plucking the bills free and adding them to your hand.

“Shouldn’t you be behind the bar mixing overpriced drinks instead of loitering back here?”

Frankie shrugs, pushing off the frame to walk over, leaning against the counter you’re sitting at.

“Got tired of staring at some drunk Wall Street guy crying into his whiskey and thought to myself: why be out here when there’s a much better view back there?”

You roll your eyes playfully, but your lips twitch into a reluctant smile as you finish counting, setting the cash aside. “That was corny as hell.”

“Give a guy a break. How am I supposed to flirt with a woman who’s heard every line in the book?”

“Not like that.”

He feigns offense with a heavy sigh. This is how you two banter and you won’t lie and say you don’t find it fun. 

“Has the ‘ruggedly handsome bartender with excellent taste in beautiful women who keep rejecting him’ thing lost its charm? Not into underdogs?”

“I should start keeping a tally of your rejections on the mirror. We’re getting dangerously close to double digits.”

“What if I’m into being humiliated? You’re too gorgeous to be playing with my feelings like this, sweetheart.”

You laugh despite yourself and lean back in the chair to eye him up and down, popping the lollipop out of your mouth, waving it at him like a magic wand.

“Still not getting that date, Francisco.”

“I know, I know,” he says, raising his hands with a soft laugh, watching you reach down to readjust your heels.

“You’re not looking for anything right now. Practicing abstinence is what you said. If I remember correctly.”

Frankie is sweet. The kind of guy who actually means it when he says he just wants to get to know you.

You’re attracted to him, there’s no denying that. He’s hot and competent. But that’s about it. It’d be a waste of both of your times and definitely not something you’re trying to get into.

It also doesn’t help that Javier’s face haunts you when you least expect it to. As if can’t move on from how he said he loved you like it physically hurt him.

The best lover you’ve had, doomed to be nothing but a bittersweet memory.

“I’m just here to dance and get my bag,” you say more seriously, but not mean. “That’s it.”

He nods, no bitterness in his expression, just understanding. “You workin’ tomorrow?”

“Yeah, but not here. At a party at one of those private beaches further south.”

“Do you need a ride there?”

“No, they’re sending a car to my place.” Moving off the seat and swiping your money off the counter, you walk over to your locker to change into your second outfit of the night.

He lets out a whistle. “Damn, must be a good gig if you’ve got a private escort.”

“Fingers crossed,” you mutter, spinning the combination on the lock. The metal door creaks open, revealing the mess inside.

Frankie watches as you scoop a bump onto the tip of your pinky nail, bring it straight to your nose, and snort hard.

The burn hits instantly and you sniff loudly, wiping the underside of your nose with the back of your hand aggressively, and let out a soft, satisfied moan as the frost spreads through your sinuses.

“How long have you been using?”

The question lands heavier than you expect it to.

You pause for a second, then shrug, licking at the lollipop and spritzing on some perfume, double checking your appearance in the small mirror hanging in the locker.

“Long enough.”

You haven’t been able to shake the vices. They followed you all the way to the coast like loyal, starving dogs.

The inner crises scream without the buffer, echoing between your ribs and around your skull.

Sobriety makes everything feel hollow. You can’t fucking stand it.

So you’ve convinced yourself that ‘managed use’ is fine. Like how it used to be.

You peel off your bikini top and slip into the mint colored poster girl dress. Frankie is still watching you, concern etched deeper into his face now as you lock up your things.

He is very familiar with the vicious cycle of addiction (having dealt with it himself) so his next words are offered with nothing but good intentions.

“If you ever want to talk—”

You cut him off by stepping closer, removing the candy from between your lips and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his.

It’s very much deliberate, enough to kill the conversation. You’re not trying to hear it.

His mouth is warm, surprised for half a second, before he kisses you back. You can’t help but moan softly at the feel of it. Not bad, Morales.

When you pull away, his eyes are a little darker

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you whisper against his mouth, offering a pretty smile. “Go keep an eye on your tips. I’ll see you around.”

The DEA has hit the Valentine empire like a wrecking ball.

They’ve been cutting The Ivory Saints off from suppliers and associates, weakening the entire organization.

All it took was multiple raids in one coordinated night. Workshops and warehouses out in the middle of nowhere.

They even took down notable players from the Mexican cartel in the process.

The press is calling it one of the biggest takedowns in Nevada history, yet Javier feels none of the satisfaction he once expected from such a pivotal accomplishment.

Not with Leon still hiding behind his affluent lawyers and staying out of the spotlight completely. They don’t know where the fuck he is.

Javi stands at the head of the conference room table, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, staring at the latest batch of arrest reports and seized assets like they might rearrange themselves into something that imitates victory. 

He should be filled with triumph over the fact that millions of dollars worth of drugs and weapons were confiscated—but he isn’t.

His eyes are bloodshot, and there’s a newfound tension pressing down on his shoulders that wasn’t there before you left.

You changed your number. Deleted every social media account. Cut off Soleil and anyone who knew you here without a single word.

Classic tactic—disappearing like smoke the second things got too real. 

Expected, yet it still fucking hurts.

Steve pushes open the door, looking wired in that particular Murphy way.

“You’re not gonna believe this shit.”

Javier doesn’t even look up from the file in his hand. “Try me.”

Steve snatches the folder from him and throws it on the table, getting his full attention. “I just spent three hours with Monica Valentine.”

Javier’s posture straightens. That’s your mother. “You what?”

“She showed up here with her kid. Said she had information on her husband.”

“Why the hell didn’t you call me?”

“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” Murphy rubs a hand over his chin, suddenly more serious. “She’s been sitting on some info for years, man. Leon really had Lionel killed.”

Javier’s jaw tightens out of annoyance. “We already knew that.”

Steve shakes his head. “Monica had an affair with Leon and got pregnant. She was terrified to tell her then-husband, so she lied and said it was his. Leon wanted nothing to do with the kid at first… until he saw how good his brother was with her. How much he genuinely loved her and wanted her to take over the family business. That jealousy turned into pure fuckin’ poison.”

Steve pauses, letting the revelation settle. Javier remains stoic, brows pinched together. 

“She’s Leon’s daughter,” Javi says quietly, almost to himself. His fingers twitch out of nervous habit.

“The truth comes out during a particularly nasty fight—and now one’s dead and the other’s fuckin’ hiding.”

He stares at Steve, the pieces clicking together with clarity.

The venom in every single one of Leon’s actions towards you. How his personal resentment burns so hot, the entire city can feel it.

Murphy continues, “What pushed Monica to come forward? She overheard him planning a setup to have the Valentine girl killed. Bastard really only has one play, huh?” 

Javi’s ears begin to ring, almost drowning him out.

“... didn’t get many details, was too scared of getting caught so she grabbed her son and fled. Came straight to us because she figured if her daughter trusted us enough to work with us… maybe she should too.”

Javier is quick on his feet, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair.

“Where is she now?”

“My office with the boy. She’s got nowhere to go.”

“Get Van Ness and Feistl,” Javier orders with purpose. “Take her to my place. Stay with her until I can arrange proper protection with people I trust. Leon’s got too much pull and I’m not risking something happening to either of them.”

Steve sizes him up for a long moment, then nods.

“What are we going to do about her?”

“We need to find her before Leon gets to her. Fuck!” He slams his fist down on the table, molars grinding together. He feels himself getting hot all over.

“Cool it before you do something stupid and irrational. We’ll find her.” Murphy reassures him sternly.

Peña doesn’t say anything… and he doesn’t need to. Steve knows how to decipher his silence. So he leaves the room and Javier uses the solitude to calm himself down.

He can’t let this end with you dead. He just can’t. 

The blacked-out Tesla pulls up to the sprawling property just after midnight. The ocean crashes against shore somewhere nearby, making you realize how secluded this place really is.

The driver doesn’t say a word as they pull away, leaving you standing alone in front of the mansion with its opulent silhouette and swaying palm trees.

Something feels off, but you shake it away, your senses heightened from the uppers you took on the ride over.

You walk up to the large doors, ringing the doorbell a few times, adjusting your tits in the dress, fidgeting with your hair.

It opens to reveal the last person you’d expect to see: Soleil. Her eyes are wide with a mix of surprise, relief, and anger.

Behind her, Amala, Bailee, and Nayeli are clustered in the foyer, all dressed for a high-end night, confusion written across their faces as a pop song filters through the open floor layout of the house. 

“What the fuck?” The words splutter out of you.

“What is she doing here?” Nayeli questions with a wary glare, taking another drag of the joint pinched between two fingers.

“This has to be the wrong address or some shit. I’m supposed to be working a party tonight.”

“So are we.”

Tension fizzles underneath your skin the longer you stand in front of your best friend. Or, well, ex-best friend?

“I thought you were dead.” Soleil wastes no time in vocalizing her gripes. “Last time I saw you, you had gone way off the deep end and then you just… disappeared. Now you’re here living a new fucking life—as if the shit we’ve been through together never happened.”

Her anger is warranted, you understand that, especially with how shitty you treated her at the tail end of your crashout.

“I needed to get out before it got me killed,” you answer, looking past her shoulder into the house.

No one else is here except the five of you.

“Do you know who’s hosting?” 

“Wait wait wait,” Nayeli intervenes with a puff of smoke, “Are we just supposed to let her join in like she didn’t crash out at Ace? Or how she talked to Itziri and basically told all of us to get fucked?” She crows out a laugh and you cringe at the sound of it. “Wow, are you really that desperate for attention?” 

You roll your eyes but keep your cool by ignoring her, smacking your lips and brushing past Soleil to get inside.

“Gerardo flew us out for the weekend!” Amala exclaims enthusiastically. “He’s paying us good money, too. So it’s probably his party. No need to freak.”

Bailee nods with a sweet grin, clinking her champagne flute against her friends. “Yeah, Miami is insane! No wonder you brought your pretty ass down here. Is the pay good? You still hookin’? I might have to relocate.”

Your stomach twists. There are too many coincidences happening, especially when you realize that these are the girls Javier’s team had approached before you decided to help.

You glance around with a shake of your head. You’re trusting your intuition and right now it’s telling you to get the fuck out of here.

“This isn’t right,” you reach into your purse to grab your phone. Fuck, it’s not on you. You must have left it in your other bag. “It feels like a setup.”

Nayeli rolls her eyes. “Of course you’d say that.”

You don’t have the time nor the desire to sit here and bicker with a bitch you do not like. You take Soleil’s wrist in your hand and walk her down the narrow corridor into a more private area, leaving the other girls up front.

“Those three lack common sense, but not us.” You tell her, but all she does is roll her eyes. “This shit is sketchy and you know it. I’m not sticking around to find out what it is.”

“So you’re leaving again?”

The hurt in Soleil’s voice makes you pause. You look at her—your only real friend in this mess—and feel your chest ache.

“It’s for the best, Sol. I need to distance myself from that place. You know how fucked up the situation is with my family.”

“Yeah—I do,” she snaps. “I was gutted that you didn’t come to me with what you were dealing with. I would have helped you.”

You shake your head. “I’m better off on my own. No one else needs to be dragged into this bullshit. Which is why I think we should leave.”

She opens her mouth to rebuttal when suddenly you hear loud crashes followed by screaming coming from the foyer.

You peek around the corner just in time to see two armed men storming in, their faces cold and professional. You recognize them instantly: grunts who work for the Ivory Saints.

“I fucking knew it,” you hiss, feeling the acidic burn of panic bubbling up your throat. “We have to leave. Now!”

Gunfire erupts suddenly. Amala and Bailee don’t even have time to react. Their bodies hit the marble floor with sickening thuds, blood spreading fast across the white stone.

You and Soleil sprint through the mansion in search of a clear exit (to no avail), heels abandoned behind you.

Nayeli is somewhere in this sprawling hellscape, scrambling in blind panic.

Your name is shouted, bouncing off the opulent walls, and a chill strikes up your back when you hear the loud noises of them rummaging through the house—looking for you.

You and Soleil crouch low behind the massive leather couch in the darkened library, hearts hammering so violently you can feel them in your teeth.

“What’s going on?!” She whispers. Her body shakes next to yours.

You don’t answer because you can’t. Any response feels like tightened barbed wire around your neck.

Then you hear Leon’s familiar, cruel voice from the hallway outside.

“I gave you a chance to walk away, but you had to keep messing around and now everything this family has built is crumbling.”

Footsteps are amplified, and in the state you’re in, you can’t tell if they’re getting farther or closer. 

His voice climbs higher. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out where you hid away?” He continues, tone laden with mock disappointment. “My own daughter running around like a common whore for the government then scurrying away like a rat.”

You bite down on your lip until it bleeds. You can’t even fully process what that means, not when you’re this scared and still feeling the effects of the drugs.

Soleil’s hand finds yours, squeezing hard, sensing the trepidation she too is currently experiencing.

Leon’s laugh is condescending. “Come out now and I’ll take it easy on you girls. It’ll be cleaner that way.”

What are we going to do? Soleil mouths.

You scan the room desperately, eyes darting through the shadows. Then you see it—a heavy antique candlestick on the console table nearby.

Silently, you crawl across the floor to grab it and return to her side. Your hands are shaking so badly you almost drop it.

“I’ll get him in here,” you whisper, lips right against her ear. “You hide with this.”

You press the heavy object into her hands. Soleil clutches it tightly, tears cutting fresh tracks through her makeup.

“Wait for my signal,” you breathe, “then hit that fucker in the back of the head with everything you’ve got.”

She grits her teeth and nods. You wipe away her tears, knowing things can go to shit in a matter of seconds.

With a tight lipped smile, she slips away into the deeper shadows between the tall bookshelves.

You take a shaky breath, sniff hard to clear the coke drip in the back of your throat, and force yourself to stand. You creep to the archway that leads into the library, heart in the pit of your stomach.

Leon is standing at the far end of the long hallway, the low glow of the wall sconces make him look like a villain stepping out of your worst nightmare. 

“Okay,” you say, steadier than you feel. “I’m here. Just fucking kill me and get it over with. You don’t have to hurt the girls—”

His head snaps to the side at the sound of your voice, then he turns fully, eyes locking onto you.

“It’s too late for that.” He’s eerily calm as he starts closing the distance with slow, measured steps.

Your throat tightens painfully, but you fight to keep your face composed. You can’t let him see how fucking terrified you really are.

“They didn’t do anything—!”

“Collateral,” he responds flatly, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

You take a careful step backward into the library, luring him in. He follows, step for step, like a predator scenting blood.

“So now what? You kill your daughter and four prostitutes and what happens next? All your problems just go away?” you ask with venom in your voice, maintaining eye contact.

“Yes,” he answers with unnerving certainty, stepping fully into the room. “No one gives a shit about some hookers from Ace. But you…” He raises the gun, pointing it directly at your chest.

“Killing you will send a very clear message to everyone who’s been questioning me: I’ll do whatever it takes to keep the Valentine’s in power. That includes killing my own family.”

Your eyes sting with fresh tears. “Why are you doing this?” The question slips out with terrifying sincerity. You need to know.

Leon doesn’t answer right away. Instead he studies you, his fondness twisted with cruelty.

“I watched Lionel parade you around like you were his while I had to stand there pretending I didn’t hate every minute of it.”

His voice drops lower.

“Your mother was too ashamed to tell him the truth. So she lied. And I let it happen… until the resentment ate me alive. Until I couldn’t stand it anymore. So I got rid of him. Then I got rid of the lie. You.”

He takes one final step closer, gun steady.

“Now I have the wife and son I always deserved. And you… you were never supposed to be alive this long.”

Your chest heaves and you gasp sharply—that’s your signal.

Soleil slinks from behind him with a feral cry and swings the heavy candlestick roughly. It connects with a crack against the back of Leon’s head.

He drops like a sack of bricks, gun clattering loudly to the floor.

You lunge forward and snatch the weapon, fingers wrapping around metal. For one wild second, you consider emptying the entire clip into his body.

But rapid, heavy footsteps thunder up the main staircase: more of Leon’s men, shouting orders you don’t comprehend.

Soleil grabs your arm, yanking hard. “We have to leave!”

“N-No I need to d-do this.” Your vision blurs and you can’t get a good grip on the damn weapon from how unstable you are.

Blood pools slowly from the gash in Leon’s head, dark and glistening on the hardwood.

You should feel relief. Closure. Something.

Instead, you just feel hollow, furious, and so fucking lost.

“We don’t have the time,” she says your name sternly.

Soleil’s right: there’s no time to get tragically melancholic right now.

You let her pull you toward the back staircase that leads down to the zero-edge pool glowing turquoise under the crescent moonlight.

You’re about to bolt for the beach when a dark, wet trail catches your eye—blood smeared across the stone patio. It leads from the shattered backdoor.

In the far corner, half-hidden by shadows and tall hedges, Nayeli is dragging herself across the ground like a broken doll. One leg is twisted at a grotesque angle, bone jutting through torn skin. Blood soaks her pink dress, pooling beneath her with every labored pull forward.

You and Soleil spot her at the same time.

“Is that…” 

“Yeah.”

You both rush over silently. Nayeli’s face is pale and slick with sweat, her breathing wet and ragged. She’s covered in cuts and deep bruises, one eye already swelling shut.

When she sees you, her lips part, but all that comes out is a wet, gurgling cough. 

You drop to your knees beside her, the cold stone biting into your skin. The metallic stench of blood is overwhelming, making your own stomach turn.

“There’s no fucking way she’s getting out of here,” Soleil whispers in panic as she helps you move Nayeli behind a tall hedge for cover. “Not like this.”

Nayeli whimpers a broken sound and you press a hand over her mouth gently, trying to muffle it so that you’re not caught.

The men are still inside, but it’s only a matter of time before they come looking for the three of you.

“Then what the fuck do we do?”

“One of us has to go for help,” Soleil reasons. “The other stays with her.”

“Split up? Fuck no, that’s the dumbest thing we could do—”

“Then what do you suggest?” she snaps. “We couldn’t carry her between us if we tried. Our phones are inside so we can’t call anyone. The nearest house god knows where…”

Nayeli lets out another wet cough, blood flecking her lips. Her hand weakly grabs yours, nails digging in with what little strength she has left.

You swallow hard. The weight of the decision presses down on your chest.

“Okay… okay, fuck,” you concede in a whisper. “I’ll go. I’ll find help. I swear I’ll come back.”

Tears burn your eyes as you pull Soleil into a tight, desperate hug over Nayeli’s body. Her arms wrap around you just as fiercely. She presses a quick, salty kiss to your tear-streaked cheek before you pull away.

“We’ll be here.”

You look down at Leon’s gun still clutched in your hand. You press it into Soleil’s palm.

“Aim and shoot,” you tell her, staring hard into her eyes. “Don’t fucking hesitate. No matter what.”

She nods, gripping the weapon tightly like she had before.

You squeeze Nayeli’s hand, bringing it to your lips for a quick kiss. Her skin is clammy and cold.

“Hang in there, Nayeli. We’re going to make it out of this.”

You force yourself to peel away and look back at them one final time; two terrified girls huddled behind the hedge, blood on the ground, the mansion looming behind them like a slaughterhouse.

Then you turn and run.

You take the steps down to the shore two at a time, bare feet against cold stone before sinking into the soft, uneven sand.

It shifts and gives way beneath you, making every stride feel like you’re running in place. The ocean roars to your left, spraying cool saltwater against your heated skin as waves crash against the shore.

You look around frantically, trying to get a sense of direction. Everything looks the same, just an endless stretch of the dark coast. It’s like purgatory.

“Fuck… fuck…” you gasp, body filled with panic.

You pick a direction, west, and run.

Warm sand punishes you with every step, slipping between your toes, cutting into the soft soles of your feet. 

The Florida night air is oppressive, wrapping around your throat like a wet cloth, choking you as you push forward.

Sweat pours down your face, mixing with your tears. Your dress is suddenly restrictive, the fabric rubbing raw against your thighs.

You run until your mind starts to fracture.

The world narrows to the stinging in your lungs and sharp pain at your feet.

Time loses meaning. The drugs and adrenaline clash together, making your vision tunnel and your thoughts scatter like confetti.

Leon’s voice keeps echoing in your head, twisting the knife deeper with every ragged breath.

Your stomach revolts without warning.

You stumble to a stop, doubling over as violent heaves rip through you. 

Nothing but bitter bile and the remnants of whatever pills and powder you took earlier come up, burning your throat and splattering onto the sand.

You cough and gag, strings of spit and vomit dangling from your lips, knees sinking into the sand as your body tries to purge the substances and terror all at once.

The sky slowly lightens from black to bruised purple to a hazy dawn gray by the time you finally stagger onto a boardwalk.

Your feet are blistered and bleeding, caked with sand. You’re completely out of it.

The boardwalk leads to a busy block just waking up. Early morning joggers and delivery trucks move around you. You must look crazed with your disheveled appearance and bloodied dress.

You spot a payphone up the street and rush to it, hands shaking so badly that you can barely dial the number.

Please deposit one dollar for the first three minutes

Of course. You have no fucking money.

“God fucking damnit!” you scream, smashing the plastic handset against the metal box again and again and again. The sharp crack of plastic echoes down the street. “Fuck you! Fuck all of this!”

The 24-hour laundromat in the same parking lot is nearly empty. The attendant behind the counter, an older man with tired eyes, looks up and freezes at the sight of you coming in.

You limp to the counter. “Do you have a phone I can borrow? Or some change for the one outside? It’s an emergency.”

He stares at you for a long second then silently slides a few quarters across the counter.

“Get out.”

You snatch the change without another word, push back through the doors, and practically sprint to the payphone again, avoiding some broken glass that litters the banged up parking lot.

Your hands continue to tremble. It takes three tries to get the coins in.

You dial the only number you still remember by heart.

The line rings once…twice…

On the third ring, he picks up.

“Peña.” His greeting is rough, like he hasn’t slept in days.

The sound of his voice widens the gash on your heart. You choke on a sob, gripping the receiver so hard your knuckles ache.

“Javi… I—I need help.”

A beat of silence as your voice registers.

“Where are you?” he demands, you can hear the heavy emotion in his tone. “Talk to me. Are you hurt?”

“I’m in Miami,” you whisper, eyes squeezing shut as the neverending tears continue to spill down your cheeks.

“Leon found me. He killed them, Javi. Amala and Bailee are dead. Soleil’s still there with Nayeli—she’s hurt bad. I barely got out. He told me everything and then tried to kill me too.”

Your voice breaks completely on the last word. You slide down the side of the payphone booth until you’re sitting on the filthy ground, knees drawn up, the handset pressed to your ear.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Stay where you are,” he says, “I’ll arrange for you to get picked up and taken somewhere safe until I get there—but you have to tell me exactly where you are.”

You give him the information, curling tighter into yourself as people walk by and stare at the bloody, barefoot girl sobbing into a payphone.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I was so scared of—”

“Don’t,” Javier cuts in. “Don’t do that. Not now. You’re going to be okay. I’m coming to get you. Just hold on.”

You close your eyes, inhaling a shaky breath. “I’m so tired of this, Javi,” you whisper.

“I know, baby. I’m on my way.”

You stay on the line with him until the operator cuts in for more money. You don’t have any left. The call drops.

The flight from Vegas to Miami is the longest five hours of Javier’s life.

He arranged what he could before departing, getting in contact with a former partner from his early DEA days down south who agreed to take you in. He runs a quiet motel at the edge of the city, and it’s the safest place Javi could think of on short notice.

Carrillo has been nothing but helpful, keeping him updated on how you’re doing.

You’re unresponsive and refusing to let him tend to the wounds on your feet. You’ve locked yourself up in the room he placed you in since the moment you arrived, also refusing to eat.

By the time Javier gets to the motel, the sun is already setting, painting the sky in oranges and pinks. A duffel bag containing clothes and basic toiletries is gripped tightly in his hand.

He stands outside the door of your room and knocks softly, being met with silence. 

“It’s me,” he announces, “I’m coming in.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, instead using the keycard Carrillo gave him and letting himself in.

The room is freezing. The AC is blasting on high, raising goosebumps on his arms even through his jean jacket. The curtains are drawn tight, blocking out the dimming sunlight.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, still in the same ruined dress from the night before.

Nayeli’s dried blood is flaked across your arms and chest like rust. Sand and dirt cake your bare calves and shredded feet, leaving dark smears on the cheap carpet where blood from burst blisters has soaked through. 

Your arms are wrapped tightly around your trembling body, nails digging viciously into your own skin, leaving fresh scratches.

You’re staring blankly at the floral wallpaper across from you, leg bouncing rapidly, barely registering that he’s there.

Javier’s chest caves in at the sight.

He closes the door behind him and drops the bag. Slowly, carefully, he crouches in front of you.

“Hey,” he says your name gently, reaching out to carefully unfurl your arms. “I’m here.”

His hands are warm as he takes yours, stopping you from clawing yourself any deeper. 

Javi says your name again and your eyes finally shift to his; wide, dilated, swimming in shock.

“Where are they?”

He swallows thickly, thumbs stroking the backs of your hands. “You should shower first so I can clean up your—”

“Where. Are. They.” Your grip tightens painfully on his hands, nails sinking in as you lean forward until your faces are inches apart, erratic breath gusting from your nostrils against his face. “Sol and Nayeli. Tell me.”

Javier holds your gaze, conflicted. He knows you won’t let it go.

“They’re recovering at the hospital,” he answers quietly.

A small, trembling smile quivers at the corner of your chapped lips. You let out a deep, shaky exhale as some of the crushing weight lifts from your shoulders.

But the relief is fragile. It shatters almost immediately.

Your face crumples. A pained cry tears out of you as you collapse forward into his arms. Javier catches you instantly, pulling you tight against his chest as he lowers both of you to the floor, arms banding tight around you as he rocks you gently.

He lets you cry until the heaving slowly fractures into sniffles, not saying anything for a long time. He just breathes with you, holds you.

Eventually, his voice rumbles low against your temple.

“There’s a jet waiting to take us back to Vegas.”

You pull away just enough to look up at him. Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot, makeup and glitter smeared in dark streaks down your cheeks. Snot drips from your nose.

You feel disgusting.

“I-I want to stay here. With Sol and Nayeli. I can’t just leave them.”

Javier’s mustache twitches and his jaw ticks hard, the muscle jumping beneath the skin.

You can see the conflict tearing through him—the need to protect you battling against the knowledge of how much this will hurt.

“You can’t,” he tells you carefully. “Not right now.”

Your brows pull together, fresh, angry tears spilling over. “Why not?”

“After what happened, your safety is at serious risk,” he explains slowly, thumbs brushing away tears from your cheeks. You can feel the tension vibrating through his touch.

“Leon is still out there. And he’s more dangerous now than ever. I can’t let him get to you again.”

Your head spins.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you whisper, glaring at him incredulously. “We killed him. Soleil hit him in the back of the head with the candlestick. There was blood everywhere—”

Javier’s frown deepens, concern flickering across his face.

“The property was searched top to bottom. There was no sign of Leon. He’s gone.”

You close your eyes tight, trying to block out the impact of the news, but it hits you anyway.

A fresh wave of panic surges up, choking you. You curl into yourself, folding forward as cries start spilling out again.

Javier pulls you back into his chest without hesitation. He presses his lips to your hair, murmuring low, steady words you can barely hear through the roaring in your ears.

You stay tangled on the ruined carpet for what feels like hours, his heartbeat steady against your ear while yours races wildly.

Eventually the sobs ease again, leaving you even more drained and empty.

Javier pulls back just enough to look at you, stroking his thumb against your jaw.

“I’m gonna get the shower started for you, okay?” 

You nod weakly, too exhausted to argue. He helps you sit up against the bed, then moves quickly around the small room—turning on the shower and laying out fresh clothes and toiletries Connie packed for you on the counter.

When he comes back, he crouches in front of you again and carefully helps you stand. Your feet scream in pain as weight hits the injured soles, but you lean into him, limping the few steps into the bathroom.

“I got it from here,” you tell him when you reach the doorway.

Javier hesitates, eyes searching your face. “You sure? I don’t mind helping—”

“I know you don’t… but I need this. Just… for me.”

He studies you for another long second, then nods reluctantly.

“Okay. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

You close the door between you and Javier leans back against the wall, letting out a long, exhausted breath, rubbing both hands over his face.

Things are about to get a lot more complicated.

Heavy steam rolls out of the bathroom as you step into the room once you finish, wrapped in a bathrobe. 

You feel more grounded than you have in hours. Still raw and aching, but somewhat present in your own body again.

It doesn’t help that you’ve also been coming down roughly. Your body is craving an oxy to put you straight to sleep.

Javier is leaning against the small desk in the corner of the room, phone still in hand after ending his call with the team.

Everything has been finalized. All they need is the two of you on that jet and back in the city.

He looks up the moment you appear, brown eyes softening.

“Hey… how are you feeling?”

You manage a weak, tired smile as you limp over and lower yourself into the unoccupied chair, wincing when your feet graze the carpet.

“As good as I can,” you murmur.

Javier doesn’t push further. He simply moves efficiently—grabbing the first aid kit from the duffel, kneeling in front of you on the carpet.

His large hands are gentle as he lifts your foot into his lap, examining the torn, blistered soles with a furrowed brow.

The antiseptic stings sharply as he cleans the wounds, but his touch stays reverent. He works in silence, wrapping each foot in soft gauze carefully, thumbs brushing lightly over your ankles like an apology for the pain.

You watch him the entire time, the sight of this hardened man on his knees for you stirring complicated feelings in your chest.

When he finishes and starts to stand, you stop him—pressing your bandaged foot gently against his chest.

He looks up, those beautiful brown eyes locking onto yours, enchanting you wholly.

“Do you really love me, Javier?”

His tongue rolls across his teeth.

“Of course I do.”

“And you’d do anything for me?”

“Anything,” he says without hesitation.

You lean forward slightly, eyes never leaving his.

“Then kiss me.”

The request hangs between you for half a second.

Javier surges up, one hand cupping the back of your neck as he captures your mouth in a desperate kiss.

You moan into him, fingers twisting into the curls at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. 

You’re not thinking straight and you don’t want to. The only thing you crave right now is him and all the ways in which he can deliver exactly what you need.

Javier braces his hands on the arms of the chair, still on his knees between your legs, letting you control the kiss.

His breathing grows ragged as you rut your hips against the edge of the seat, seeking friction.

He pulls back just enough to speak, lips brushing yours.

“We can’t… not after everything you’ve been through tonight—”

You shut him up by grabbing his wrist and guiding his hand between your thighs.

His fingers meet the slick, swollen heat of your pussy, already dripping for him. You press his palm firmly against your slit, gasping at the contact.

Javier groans when he feels how wet you are. His fingers slide through your folds instinctively, rubbing slow circles over your aching clit.

“Fuck,” he exhales against your mouth, totally wrecked.

You whimper, hips rolling shamelessly against his hand, chasing the pleasure only he seems able to give you.

He lifts you into his arms effortlessly, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as your hands cling to his shoulders while he carries you the few steps to the edge of the bed, laying you down on the mattress.

You prop yourself up on your forearms, robe slipping open, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as he drops between your spread legs. 

His mouth trails down your body in a wet, open-mouthed path, licking the valley between your breasts, biting the soft skin just below your navel. 

Every touch sends sparks shooting through your overstimulated nerves.

He throws your legs over his broad shoulders, the coarse scratch of his mustache dragging across your sensitive skin.

A broken sigh escapes your lips once his tongue parts your slick folds, licking a slow stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit.

You taste right in all the wrong ways. He could drown in this. He wants to.

His tongue is relentless, flat and broad one moment, pointed and teasing the next. He groans into your cunt like he’s tasting lotus right from its source.

Your head falls back, eyes rolling shut as pleasure crashes through you in waves. Tears slip from the corners of your eyes, not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of how passionate he’s being.

The euphoria clouds everything ugly.

He fucks you with his tongue, deep and messy, nose grinding against your clit while he drinks down every drop of your arousal.

His hands are desperately gripping onto you, afraid you’ll disappear again if he eases up.

Javi pulls back for a second, breathing hard, lips and mustache shiny with your release.

He looks up at you already looking down at him, teary-eyed with your pretty lips parted, and possessiveness bleeds out of every single pore on his body.

“I can’t lose you,” he rasps, nuzzling his head against your inner thigh.

You don’t say anything, instead guiding him back to your pussy.

He dives back in, sucking your clit while two thick fingers slide into you, curling instantly against that spot that makes your thighs shake around his head as you orgasm embarrassingly fast. 

This kind of need is destructive. He’s losing himself in you more than you’re losing yourself in him. 

Javier keeps licking you through it, selfishly prolonging your pleasure because he can’t bear to pull away from the taste of you.

“More,” you chant deliriously, pawing at his shoulders. 

He rises quickly, shedding his clothes with impatient movements. You shrug off the robe and toss it aside, sitting up on your knees at the edge of the mattress as he stands in front of you, cock hard and leaking. 

You pull him close by the nape of his neck.

“When we first met,” you whisper against his lips, “you told me you don’t do gentle.”

You cup his jaw, thumb brushing his mustache. “I’m hoping that’s still true.”

Javier’s hands slide to your hips, kneading the soft flesh the way he knows drives you crazy, getting lost in the way you’re looking at him.

“I don’t want to think about anything except your cock inside me, Javi,” you purr, nipping at his bottom lip.

With the grip on your waist, he spins you around and bends you over the edge of the bed, pulling you back until your ass is perfectly arched for him.

You brace yourself on shaky arms, turning your head just enough to look at him over your shoulder with that signature look—defiant even now.

He strokes his cock a few times then lines himself up and sinks into you.

You yelp at the stretch, fingers clawing into the sheets as he bottoms out.

The fullness is overwhelming, no matter how many times he’s split you open so perfectly.

He sets a dizzying pace immediately, hips snapping forward hard enough to make the bed creak and your breasts bounce with every thrust.

It feels like he’s trying to imprint himself inside you. The wet, filthy sound of sex fills the room, mixed with your desperate cries and his deep grunts.

Your arms give out and you fall face-first into the pillows, adjusting the angle so that he’s somehow deeper.

You clench around him greedily, sucking him deeper, smearing your mixed arousal where your bodies connect.

He leans over you, one hand keeping you pinned by the back of the neck, the other gripping your hip. His chest presses against your back, his breath labored against your ear.

“This what you wanted?” he growls, biting down on your shoulder.

“Yesyesyes—” you pant deliriously, pushing back against him desperately. “Harder. Oh my god—make me forget everything.”

He gives you exactly what you ask for.

The sex is toxic for a lot of reasons.

It feeds the worst parts of each other. You both know it.

But neither of you has ever been good at quitting.

Javier reaches around, fingers finding your throbbing clit, rubbing tight circles as he pounds into you. 

You come again with a high pitched whine, leaking around his cock. Javier follows right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you in hot pulses as he grinds against your ass.

For a long moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the hum of the AC.

His forehead is pressed to your shoulder, lips brushing the damp skin there with every heavy exhale. You can feel his heartbeat thundering against your back, matching the frantic rhythm of your own.

The words slip out before you can stop them, muffled against the crumpled sheets.

“I don’t know if I can be alone again…” you slur, sounding so defeated. “Tell me I won’t be.”

Javier’s eyes squeeze shut tighter. He can’t look at you right now. If he does, he’ll see the vulnerability in your knowing stare and it will destroy him more than it already has.

So instead of doing the right thing, he tightens his arms around you, pressing his lips to the back of your neck.

“You won’t be.”

The lie tastes bitter on his tongue, but he says it anyway, and you choose to believe it.

You sleep curled against Javier’s side the entire flight back to Vegas. Your body is heavy with exhaustion and the strong painkillers he gave you during your only meal before boarding. 

Every mile closer to the city tightens the knot in his stomach, knowing what waits for you.

He should have been honest back in the motel room, but you were already barely holding on.

Javier couldn’t bring himself to break what little was left of you.

Selfish. He’s so fucking selfish.

When you arrive, he wakes you gently, hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing across your bottom lip.

“Hey… we’re here.”

You grumble, eyes fluttering open, heavy and unfocused.

The painkillers have dulled the screaming agony in your feet to a throbbing ache, but your body still feels like lead.

You sit up slowly, wincing as the movement spreads throughout your sore body.

Murphy, Van Ness, and Feistl are waiting on the tarmac when you descend the stairs.

Steve leans against the hood of his truck, arms crossed.

You trail a few steps behind Javier, hood pulled up over your head, hands shoved deep in the pockets of the hoodie.

The dry desert wind whips around you and you keep your eyes on the ground, avoiding everyone’s gaze.

Steve steps forward and hands Javier a thick manila envelope without a word. Their eyes meet in a long, loaded look, sharing a silent conversation only years of partnership can create.

Javier opens it, flipping through the contents with a grim expression.

“Thanks,” he mutters.

Steve nods once, leaning back against the truck. 

Javier turns to you, holding out the envelope.

You take it with numb fingers, rubbing the sleep from your swollen eyes before opening it.

Inside: a thick wad of cash, a shiny new credit card, a passport with a name that isn’t yours, and a stack of legal documents.

Your brows pull together in confusion. “What’s this?”

“You’re going into witness protection until we find Leon.”

A nervous laugh bubbles out of you. You slap a hand over your mouth, but it keeps spilling out, edged with hysteria.

Van Ness and Feistl share an uneasy glance.

“Here in Vegas?” 

His throat bobs. “No.”

“Then where?”

“I don’t know,” Javier admits. “That’s the point. No one is supposed to know where you go or who you are. Not even me.”

You stare at him, the envelope trembling in your hands. Then you shove it back against his chest, hard.

“No. I’m not letting you ship me off to the middle of nowhere for who knows how long.”

He sighs deeply and starts to say your name, but then Steve cuts in.

“Are you serious right now? You’re refusing protection because what—you won’t be able to party anymore? Shove your nose full of coke?”

Anger flares hot and ugly through your veins, mixing with the lingering shock still in your system. It makes your skin crawl.

“Who the fuck asked for your input, you little blonde bitch?” you spit, stepping closer, eyes wild despite the lack of rest that weighs down on the bags under your eyes.

Javier moves between you instantly.

“I don’t know why he keeps putting his ass on the line for you, meanwhile you couldn’t give a shit about anything that isn’t yourself.”

“Murphy—enough.” Javier raises his voice, turning around to look at his partner, shoving an exasperated finger into his chest. “Back off.”

Steve holds his hands up in mock surrender, but his eyes stay hard on you. “Fine. It’s voluntary anyway,” he says over Javier’s shoulder. “You don’t gotta do it. Might end up like your friends, though.”

Javier curls his fists into Murphy’s shirt and shakes him roughly. “What the fuck did I just say?” He spits out but Steve couldn’t look intimidated even if he tried.

“Wait…” The throbbing in your head intensifies. “Soleil and Nayeli… are they being offered this too? Leon’s after them because he thinks they helped you.”

Javier doesn’t answer right away. His hands remain tense against Steve.

Murphy meets his gaze, then looks back at you with a pitiful expression.

“Holy shit. You didn’t tell her.”

“Tell me what?” You step closer to Javier, voice rising. “Javier. Tell me what?”

He finally lets go of Steve and turns to face you fully.

The look in his eyes is something you’ve come to know from everyone else except him. 

He’s been lying to you.

“If I had told you in Miami, you wouldn’t have come back.”

You blink rapidly, tears welling up as the pieces come into place.

“Just fucking say it.”

Javier’s jaw works, the words clearly choking him, but he forces them out anyway.

“Soleil and Nayeli… they were killed at the mansion.”

Your world flips violently.

With an almost audible crack, your heart shatters. The air leaves your lungs in a painful whoosh.

They’re dead. You failed them and he lied to you.

“You lying bastard!”

You lunge at him without thinking, fist cracking hard across his jaw. The impact splits his lip instantly, blood blooming bright against his mouth.

Van Ness and Feistl move to pull you off, but Murphy stops them with a raised hand.

“Not yet. Let it happen.”

You hit him again, knuckles cracking against his sternum repeatedly. He doesn’t block nor fight back. He just stands there and takes it, which only pisses you off even more.

“I’m sorry—” he starts to apologize like a fucking idiot.

“You’re sorry?” You laugh manically, ribbons of tears streaming down your face as you kick his shin hard enough to make him hiss.

“I’m the one getting fucked over and you’re sorry?!”

When he doubles over, you drive your knee into his shoulder as hard as you can.

“You lied to me!” you scream splinters into cries. “You looked me in my eye and told me they were recovering—that they were alive—and then you had the audacity to fuck me knowing what you did!”

Your vision blurs completely. Grief and betrayal make you blackout, your aggressions towards him fueled by pure anguish.

You claw at his shirt, nails scraping across his neck and drawing thin lines of blood.

“I hate you,” the sentiment tumbles out between gasping breaths. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you—cheating, deceiving motherfucker—just like the rest of them! You’re the biggest piece of shit I’ve ever met in my entire fucking life!”

Your legs start to quiver as the adrenaline drains out of you all at once. Feistl and Van Ness move in, grabbing your arms gently but firmly, pulling you back.

Javi’s jaw is already bruising, his lip bleeding freely, a thin cut above his eyebrow stinging where your nails caught him.

The physical pain is nothing compared to the shame carving deep into his chest.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, bending down to grab the folder he dropped. 

“I thought you were different…” you go limp in the agents’ hold, all the fight draining out of you like blood from an open wound. “I thought you were different, Javi…”

There’s nothing left in you. No anger. No strength. Just an empty, aching void.

“Take me away,” you whisper, “please. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Feistl helps you stand, guiding you toward their car. Van Ness takes the manila envelope from Javier without a word.

“The sooner she gets out, the better,” is all Javier says.

Van Ness nods, completely sidestepping the ass-beating his boss just got. “We’ll let you know when we’re on the way back.”

Javier watches the car pull off with bleary eyes. You disappear down the private road toward the highway, red taillights fading into the dark.

Steve stands beside him, arms crossed, shaking his head slowly.

“You fucked this one up big time, Peña.”

Javier doesn’t answer.

He just stares at the empty road with a tense jaw, blood still slowly from his split lip and the scratches on his neck.

He deserves every bit of this pain. He just doesn’t know how he’ll live with it.

A/N: guys... prepare yourselves for an unhappy ending.... If you are involved in sex work and need support, confidential help is available:

National Human Trafficking Hotline (U.S.): 1-888-373-7888 or text 233733 (BEFREE)

988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (U.S.): call or text 988 for emotional support, 24/7

SWOP (Sex Workers Outreach Project): local chapters offer advocacy and resources

RAINN (for sexual violence support): 1-800-656-HOPE (4673)

Want to be part of the taglist? Feel free to fill out this form, DM me or reply to this post to be added ✨

„And?” Harry looks at you as you leave the bathroom.

„It’s negative.” You say quietly, approaching him. You hand him yet another negative pregnancy test. At this point, you’re trying for almost a year and still nothing. Every test is negative and with every that you take your hopes fade.

Your husband stares at the tiny stick in his hands, at the Not Pregnant showing on it. He tries to be strong for your sake, but it gets harder with every time. Both of you feel helpless and wonder if there’s something wrong. It shouldn’t take this long, right?

„Come here.” He says and gently pulls you into his arms. He sees how it starts to take its toll on you and he hates it. You were supposed to be already pregnant, to get ready for the birth. Instead? He holds your crying form against his chest and tries not to cry himself.

„I don’t understand.” The crack in your voice makes him want to throw this goddamn pregnancy test over your balcony railing. He strokes your hair, trying to soothe you, but he knows it’s no help. „We do everything right. We eat healthy, we’re non-smokers. I track my ovulation…” you huff sadly. „I even practice this stupid fertility yoga.”

That’s right. Lately, you’ve been trying everything you could, or what internet suggested you. Both you and Harry are active, you even convinced him to try meditation with you. All your attempts go to hell anyway with every time you get your period. It’s like this cruel fate does everything so you don’t get pregnant.

Harry’s quiet, he holds you until you calm down. At moments like this words feel harder for him than ever. He wishes he could do anything, but nothing he does would replace a baby you both crave so much.

„Darling…” he rests his hands on your shoulders, making you look at him. „I think it’s time we schedule an appointment at a fertility clinic.” He says softly, trying to be as gentle as possible, giving this is a sensitive topic for you.

You stare at him for a moment, because it’s painful to hear. Why can’t you be normal? Why, after everything you went through, you have to even think about all that? Why can’t you just conceive?

But he looks at you with that sad determination… You know he is right. You know all he tries to do is help. He’s the rock when you’re falling apart and through that year he proved it over and over. He’s the voice of reason when your mind starts wandering to dangerous places. Just like now.

„Okay.” You whisper with a nod. „Yeah… that sounds…” a shaky breath escapes your mouth. You attempt to collect yourself, but it still feels so fucking unfair. You can’t wrap your head around the fact that you’d need help like this. „I’m scared, Harry.”

His eyes soften as his palms come to your cheeks. „Me too.” He whispers. „But we’re not giving up. I bet everything is fine with us… But let’s just check. To be certain.”

That night both of you can’t seem to fall asleep. Your husband holds you close, your back pressed to his chest. The scent of your vanilla shampoo soothes his nerves, but still… There’s so much on his mind. He’d suspected it before, but chose to ignore the gut-wrenching feeling he has.

What if it’s his fault?

He’s older. Forty eight. What if because of his age you have a problem to get pregnant? It could be the reason…

What if it’s some punishment for the way he treated you before?

Those thoughts are circling in his head and he can’t get rid of them.

Right next to him you go through a similar fight.

What if you waited too long? Well… you’re in the age which is considered fertile, but… maybe in your case Mother Nature decided to play a joke on you?

What if you’re sick? What if Harry’s sick?

What if you’ll never become a mom?

Your husband feels the way your body starts to tremble. You do that whenever you’re really anxious. He tightens his hold on you. Presses a loving kiss to your shoulder.

He’s here. He’s right here.

„Everything is going to be alright.” He says into the dark. It sounds in the quiet bedroom, lingering like a warm cover. Hopeful. Too hopeful.

***************************

Few days later you have a book signing event in one of the biggest book stores in New York. The novel you wrote about your marriage when it was in crisis became a worldwide sensation. Your fans fell in love with the story and the characters. Now, you’re busy with doing a tour around different book stores, meeting the readers and talking to them.

These crowded, lifeful events are what keeps your mind in line. You really find solace in them, for few hours you can smile and act like you’re completely fine.

Today, also Harry is at your side. You have your first doctor appointment after the book signing. He took a day off especially because of that. He wanted to be with you all day, because he felt you might need support. Or just a quiet presence that would provide some comfort. Also, he isn’t in the good state of mind to take care of business today.

„Here you are.” You smile widely at some girl as you sign and hand her the book. Harry remains behind you, standing next to your assistant. He’s dressed more casual today, just a dark sweater and jeans. He’s absolutely not in the mood to be around so many people, but he does it for you. He watches as you interact with your fans. He sees how warm and open you are with them, despite the inner windstorm of doubts and fears you must feel right now. It’s admirable.

It’s scary.

„The story seemed so authentic, I really love how they managed through their crisis.” The girl beams, excited about meeting you.

„Thank you, it’s really kind.”

„Where did you get the inspiration from? It felt so real, it must have had a deeper meaning!”

Her question makes you pause. That’s the thing about publishing this book. People are curious, they always ask how did the author come up with the plot. Respecting yours and Harry’s privacy you always say little of it. You’re grateful that he supports your work and didn’t stop you from publishing, so you want to be fair.

„It’s just… stories of many people I met combined together. I felt like this topic isn’t spoken enough of.” You say, the smile glued to your face. Your assistant approaches saying it’s turn for another reader, the girl says goodbye and soon you greet another fan. She gives you a handmade bookmark.

„Oh, thank you! This is gorgeous.”

It’s so sweet how those people adore your work that they decide to make something for you. You have a separate table for all the gifts, which are waiting until you take them home. There are mugs, bookmarks, paintings, even some crocheted goods. All make you realize how lucky you are to have a fanbase like this.

„Harry? Will you put it with the rest, please?” You turn to your husband, reaching out your hand with the bookmark. „Sure, baby.” He approaches without any sign of displeasure. Today you are working and he’s just a very devoted fan himself. Both you and the woman before you watch him carefully set the bookmark next to other things. Your gaze softens admiring him and the way he meticulously completes his task.

„A husband like this is a real treasure.” Your reader notices, but your eyes are still on Harry.

„Yeah… Yeah, he is.”

Later, after the event, you stand by the car as Harry sets carton with gifts in your trunk. Your fidget with your wedding ring as you watch him. Both of you were silent through these few days, the situation weighing on you like a curse. He’s trapped in his head and you’re trapped in yours.

„All ready.” He straightens up with a soft grunt and closes the trunk. Only then he looks at you, something shifts in his gaze… He has relaxed, realizing now it’s only you and him. No loud fans, no one begging for a picture or an autograph. „You had fun?” He asks softly.

„Yeah… These people were great, just… Now it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

„Baby…” he approaches and gently pulls you closer by the waist. „It’s going to be fine.”

„You don’t know it.” You whisper and he sighs, because you’re right. But he doesn’t know what else to say when you’re like that. He has tried everything to keep your thoughts positive. „Fair enough. But that doesn’t change the fact that it most likely will be alright. I did some research about it at work… Usually couples who struggle eventually conceive.”

„You did research?” You unconsciously lean in closer, seeking his warmth. You see the way he tries his best for you to stay positive. Usually he’s the grumpy sceptic in your relationship. But this topic… it’s too hard for you. And you feel bad Harry has to watch you lose your spark over it. So for once, you let some hope into your heart. Let it settle and make itself at home.

„I did. And us going there isn’t some death sentence, or a failure. It’s more common than you think.” He kisses your forehead. „Besides, I found us the best clinic in the state.”

„Thank you… For being so present and taking care of all that.” You whisper.

„Always, darling. And now let’s go. Don’t want us to be late.”

With a final peck on your lips he guides you to the passenger seat. After you both get in the car and Harry joins the traffic, you turn on the radio. You can’t bear silence now. The drive to the clinic is comfortable, Harry’s hand doesn’t leave your thigh in a silent support. It seems you both need some closeness now, the unknown is too scary to face it alone.

It takes you about twenty minutes to get to the clinic. The first moment you look at it, a wave of dread and anticipation washes over you. But a gentle squeeze on your thigh brings you back to reality. You take a calming breath in as your husband pulls over to the parking lot.

You leave the car in silence and head inside holding hands.

Harry’s nervous, too. But he hides it better, learnt to deal with stress after many boardroom meetings and stock crashes. But despite it, this feels absolutely worse. It’s your future they’re talking about. It’s your baby. Remaining calm is almost impossible. But it takes for him one look at you to try. You need him and that’s the priority.

„Good Afternoon.” A receptionist smiles warmly at you.

„Afternoon. Ugh… We’re the Castillo’s. To Dr. Kelce.” Harry says after you greet.

You’re guided through a long hallway and a staircase. Through that journey you notice many people, couples and doctors. The decorative bamboos are supposed to soothe the nerves, as well as the informative posters on the walls. You try to hold on to the hopeful words Harry spoke to you before the drive here. Unconsciously, you drift closer to him as you walk, holding his arm with both of your hands.

Finally, you take seats in the waiting area and you are told to wait for the doctor to come out.

„I love you, Harry.” You say and his eyes immediately soften. Without a thought he grasps your hand and brings it to his lips. „I love you, too. So goddamn much, darling.”

***************************

The next weeks are… difficult. To say the least.

You are going through many tests. Blood, hormones, semen and other medical stuff you don’t fully understand.

And it all turns out fine.

You have ovulation, your tubes are open and your hormones panel appears normal. Harry’s tests also look acceptable. Maybe just his motility is slightly below ideal, because of his age. But still… Your doctors can’t surely tell what’s wrong.

Actually, there is just nothing wrong.

And that’s what kills you both.

Because you should be able to conceive and it isn’t happening. With every day, you lose your mind just a bit more. Dr. Kelce prescribed you medication to induce your ovulation, hoping that this and the timed intercourse will conclude with a baby.

All this uncertainty slowly creates a tension between you and your husband. Harry hates watching you struggling — most of the fertility treatment is on you. He feels hopeless when you experience all the mood swings, nausea or other symptoms caused by the medications. He sees your light dimming with every period you get, or every time you see a pregnant woman passing you on the sidewalk.

The situation takes a huge toll on him, too. Besides watching you suffer, he feels a pang in the chest whenever he sees a dad with his kid at the park. Your husband always lingers, seeing the joy in the kid’s eyes, the loving expression on father’s face as he teaches them how to play soccer, or whatever they’re doing. It feels unfair. Harry knows he would be a good dad. And you… you’d be even better mom. An excellent mom, he’s sure of it.

He also misses the normal intimacy. The soft touches whenever you pass each other. A simple kiss on the lips that doesn’t lead to another forced intercourse. Or just cuddling on a couch, watching Star Wars.

Facing infertility means all this fades into the background.

You love each other, but it’s harder when you deal with such delicate, heartbreaking topic.

One day he comes home earlier, finding you lying on a couch. You seem so… tired. Miserable.

„Hey.” You say, not even getting up to greet him. He watches you for a longer moment and takes off his jacket. He feels like he has to do something. Try to get you out of this hollow you’re stuck in.

After a few seconds of hesitation, he moves. Pats your leg so you would scoot a bit on a couch. Confused, you observe him lying down with a quiet, tired grunt, right next to you on the limited space of the couch. His big frame hiding you from the world as he watches your face with his soft eyes. He’s so close, your noses almost brush. „Hey, baby.” He finally whispers, pulling a strand of your hair behind your ear.

„What are you doing?” The vulnerability in your voice kills him.

„Resting with my wife.”

Then, he wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer. A shaky breath that leaves your mouth doesn’t escape his attention. He would give anything to see your smile right now, but he knows it’s not that easy. It hasn’t been in a while.

„How was your day?” He asks, gently stroking your back. You look at him and you realize how much you actually missed him today. The moment he stepped into the room, his presence soothed your nerves, even if just a bit.

„Fine, I guess…” you bite your lip, hesitating. „My breasts feel tender… and I’m so bloated… I think we should buy a test.” You say and with every word, that hopeful glint in your eye brightens. Harry can’t count how many times you said something like that. How much you spent for pregnancy tests and they all turned out negative, just because you had a feeling that was actually just a side effect of your medication.

„Honey…” he sighs. „I mean it this time.” Your voice sharpens, because you don’t like the way he looks at you like you’re crazy. You sit up, not wanting to be touched anymore. He watches you and really tries not to get frustrated.

„Okay, but… you had the same feeling just three weeks ago, baby.” At your huff, he continues. „What I mean is… Let’s just give it more time. Don’t get so worked up whenever you feel some change…” he sits up.

„Worked up? I’m so sorry I want us to have a baby, that — I remind you — we both want. It seems so easy for you to say to give it more time.”

„It’s not fucking easy for me, you know it.” Harry clenches his jaw. „I’m hurting just like you are, but we don’t have a real influence on the nature. I just hoped for one evening with you, without worrying about tests and pregnancy…”

You stare at him, seeing the bags under his eyes and the pleading expression he faces you with. It hurts to hear him say all those things. But you also know you shouldn’t have implied that he doesn’t care. You see he does. Every day he shows up and is there for you. It was unfair to say otherwise.

„I feel like I’m losing you.” He whispers.

That one hits hard.

A tear slips from his eye as he reaches out his hand for yours. After a second of hesitation you grasp it. He rarely shows vulnerability like this… Even after the therapy. Seeing him like this… you realize he might not be holding up as well as you thought.

Without thinking you crawl onto his lap, straddling it. You pull him into a hug, desperate to bridge the gap that formed between you. „I’m… I’m here.”

„I just want to take care of you. I want us to actually be together.” He says.

You’re aware you pulled away lately. So focused on getting pregnant and tracking your ovulation. Chasing the dream and Mother Nature. You forgot there’s still some present life you have to be a part of.

„I want it, too.” You look at him, cupping his cheek. „I’m sorry I acted like this… I just…”

„I know. I know how much is weighing on you.” He presses a tender kiss to your lips. „I see you. That’s why I need you to relax.”

With that, he stands up holding you in his arms. He puts you down only when you’re in the middle of the living room. You give him a moment to grab his phone and soon you hear I’ll Be There For You by Bon Jovi playing from the sound system in your penthouse. You chuckle faintly, trying to flow with the song.

Well, Harry makes it easier when he makes his way to you, feeling the groove, rolling his shoulders slowly. His lips curve into a soft, a bit cheeky smile. That makes you finally laugh at the absurdity of his behaviour.

He seems so relieved when he hears it. It’s not a big laugh. But at least you’re finally something else than depression.

He grasps your hands and you both sway to the rhythm. As the song progresses he twirls you around, cherishing every joyful squeal or laugh. There she is.

You end up again in his arms, looking at him with the same love that held you through your worst times. It’ll survive this nightmare too.

His gaze softens as well, catching the unmistakable adoration on your face. He looks like he’s debating on something in his head and then speaks.

„I’ll buy you a test tomorrow, okay? First thing in the morning.”

His words make you pause. Despite what he said before, he doesn’t want you to live in the uncertainty. He knows it’s important to you. And if you want another pregnancy test… he’ll shut up and buy you one.

„Thank you.” Once again you stand on your toes and wrap your arms around his neck. The hug is warm and filled with relief. On both sides.

The relief doesn’t last long, though.

Because later, when you’re both getting ready for bed… you receive an email from your assistant.

Harry walks out the bathroom, sees you in your silk pajamas by the window. But instead on the view, your gaze is focused on your phone. He makes his way towards you, pulling you into a loving embrace from behind. He peppers your neck with kisses, but you’re suddenly so tensed and silent. „What got you so occupied?” Your husband peeks over your shoulder and notices you’re reading some article. „Darling?”

You finally turn in his arms and a crease between his brows deepens when he notices your wide, broken gaze. Without a word he whips your phone off your hands and starts reading the article.

Harry Castillo (48) lately was seen with his wife, leaving a fertility clinic in New York. It only increased the speculations about their problem in this field. Everyone knows how important for Castillo Holdings is to have a heir that would take over after the CEO retires. Mr. Castillo is married for almost four years and there are no signs of a baby coming. Our source reports that the latest book by Harry’s wife may provide some new insight into the situation.

„Goddamn vultures.” Your husband growls as he squeezes the phone in his hand almost like he’s about to break it. He can’t read the article further because he thinks he’d commit a crime if he does. He carelessly throws the phone onto the bed and looks at you.

His anger only fuels when he notices how shaken you seem. You’re not used to tabloids tracking your every move, because Harry was very specific about protecting you from it. But of course, these press motherfuckers found a way to dig into your private life and turn your struggles into some juicy gossip for Manhattan’s society.

„You saw? They even had photos! They stalked us…” you breathe devastated, the tears already forming in your eyes.

„Hey, hey, it’s okay…” he instantly collects you into his arms as a first sob leaves your mouth.

It was already impossible for you without the tabloids dilating about your fertility issues. This is a blow below the belt. A complete violation of your privacy. You feel awful. Like they scraped you from the last shed of decency you tried to hold on to.

„Why are they doing this?” You cry into his shirt, Harry holds your shaking form as you breakdown. „Why are they so cruel…?

„I don’t know, baby… But I swear, these fuckers who wrote this won’t have their jobs by eight in the morning.” He grumbles lowly, unconsciously pulling you closer. He will protect you from this no matter what it’ll take. He won’t tolerate such invasions on your privacy. „I got you. It’s just some nonsense. They know shit about us.”

***************************

The miracle happens few weeks later.

You didn’t have any bigger symptoms or anything. It was just a routine pregnancy test you took, you didn’t expect anything. And yet…

Two lines.

Two faint pink lines.

Pregnant.

The moment you saw it, you bursted into tears. Happy, relieved and so damn scared.

Harry wasn’t home, but on some quick work trip to Philadelphia. He’s supposed to come back in few hours. You made it your mission to prepare a surprise for him. God, he’s gonna be so excited.

So few hours later, there’s you, dressed casually in your cardigan and jeans. Waiting in the kitchen very stiffly, trying to restrain your joy for now. You hear the moment he enters the penthouse and you’re almost jumping around with anticipation.

„Hey, baby.” He smiles relieved when he sees you at the counter. He doesn’t notice anything different yet, just leans in for a kiss. „Hey. How was the trip?”

„Good. Think we’re gonna sign that deal with Grey. It’s mostly just final touches, I’m relieved.” He pecks your lips once again. He missed you, even if he was gone for just two days. He hates leaving you these days, thinking you both need the proximity more than ever. At least he sees some improvement in your mood, thanks to the therapy sessions you renewed. „And how was your day? Missed me?” He asks, resting his hands on your hips.

„So much.” You grin. „The day was good… And I have something for you.”

„You do?” He raises an eyebrow.

With a nod you reach for a small box on the counter. Small, white box with a yellow ribbon. Harry looks at you and the way you’re shifting excitedly in a place. He’s confused, but he takes the box from you and opens it.

At first he’s not sure what he’s looking at.

And then it dawns on him.

„Oh God…” He gasps quietly and picks a small piece of clothing up. A teeny-tiny onesie that says I Love My Daddy. He can’t draw his gaze away from it. It fits into his one palm… He reads the writing over and over in absolute awe. „You’re…”

„I’m pregnant, Harry.” You laugh tearfully and the moment he looks at you, you see tears in his eyes as well.

Still gripping the onesie, he rushes to embrace you. „I can’t believe it.” A half-laugh, half-sob leaves his throat. He picks you up ecstatically, twirling you around until you can’t help but squeal. Holding onto him tightly, you feel his heart hammering in his chest. The same way yours does.

„We’re having a baby…” he says, tasting these words on his tongue. They’re so sweet, it’s beyond belief. He sets you down on your feet, cupping your cheek with his hand. „God, I’m so happy. You did it, love. You’re amazing…” he kisses you deeply, it’s like neither you or him can breathe without each other right now. You keep grinning during that kiss, feeling like the happiest woman on Earth.

„I’m pregnant.” You whisper against his mouth again.

You still can’t quite comprehend that it’’s true. You’ve waited for so long, it feels surreal to finally carry your baby in your belly. It’s there, it’s growing… Suddenly all the medication you took, all the tests and breakdowns you went through… It’s all worth it. Worth this exact moment.

„You are.” He nods, brushing away your tears as you brush away his. „I love you so much. So much, honey.”

„I love you, too…” you beam, feeling like nothing can stop you now. „We’re going to be parents.”

„We are… Thank you. Thank you, baby.” He rests his forehead against yours.

***************************

The next days after the big news, everything feels perfect. You and Harry haven’t been happier since a long time. Since the moment he found out about pregnancy, he’s not able to be far from you. You and your baby.

He called in sick just to be with you at home. Every morning you are greeted with a breakfast in bed and a loving kiss on the lips. Every night, your husband makes sure you’re comfortable and spends a lot of time just talking to your belly. It makes you laugh at him, but he doesn’t give a damn. He wants the baby to know his voice and believes it already does.

The tests and ultrasound confirmed your pregnancy and that for now everything seems just fine. It’s still very early, but it doesn’t stop you from already planning your future.

The nursery, the birth plan, the names… All of it.

You already love this baby so much. You know you’re gonna make it feel seen and adored in every way possible. You’re going to cherish every day with them. Make sure you’ll be a better mom than your own was to you. There is no other way.

One day, you’re coming back from a date. You forced Harry to go to the movies and then for these fancy waffles with ice-cream, cotton-candy and other unhealthy toppings. Well, you didn’t actually have to force him. Since you got pregnant, he makes your every wish his command and even more.

That’s why right now you’re gasping in excitement when he gives you a big orange box. You’re in a car, about to head home, but he said he has a gift for you.

He watches carefully with that glint in his eyes as you unpack the contents of the box. „No way!” You grin as you gently hold a brand new Birkin bag in your hands. You can’t help the soft, delighted sighs that leave your mouth once in a while as you admire it.

Harry has a flair for giving extravagant gifts.

But he always loved spoiling you. And now that you’re carrying his baby… He just couldn’t stop himself. He wants you to feel happy and taken care of all the time. And he wanted to give you a Birkin.

„Thank you! It’s gorgeous!” You beam at him and throw yourself into his arms. „You’re welcome, love. You deserve only the best.”

Later, at home, you leave to bedroom to rest a bit. This date got you tired. Meanwhile Harry cleans around the house a bit. Kitchen and the dishes in the sink. Folds some clothes you left on the couch, because you were having a hard time picking what to wear. He doesn’t want to interrupt your sleep, even if everything inside of him screams to be at your side.

He feels good with a thought he’s going to be a dad in few months. He actually can’t wait. He prepares a very detailed plan in his head. He wants everything to be perfect for you and the baby. He’s sure he’ll be a better father than he was a husband. Despite it… he’s still anxious. Afraid he’ll screw up the way he did with you in the past. But you keep him grounded, keep saying he’s gonna be great. So he believes it.

He’s in the middle of doing the laundry when he hears your voice.

„Harry?” You call from the bedroom. He immediately drops what he was doing and heads to you.

But the bedroom is empty. He sees the sheets twisted on the bed where you were sleeping. The light gets through ajar bathroom door, so that’s where he guesses you are. „Baby?” He enters cautiously.

You stand frozen in the middle of the bathroom. Your hand pressed to your lower belly. His eyes narrow.

„S-something is wrong…” your voice trembles and he’s instantly at your side.

„What? What do you mean?”

„I’m bleeding.” You whisper, trying really hard not to panic. Your husband’s gaze lowers to your stomach for a moment. The weight of what you said slowly getting to him. He gently grips your arms, forcing you to focus your eyes at him. „It’s okay, darling. You’re okay… I’m gonna drive you to the hospital. I’m sure… I’m sure it’s nothing.” He internally curses himself for letting his tone waver.

***************************

That night you had a miscarriage.

Since then you’re a shadow of a person.

You don’t eat. You don’t sleep. You don’t talk.

That baby was your little miracle. After so much time of trying, you were finally blessed with it. You were so happy when you saw two pink lines on the test… Now, you think you were too happy.

You became too sure, too excited about growing a family with Harry. It didn’t even occur to you that something so cruel could happen.

That’s why the fate punished you.

Your baby was taken away from you.

And now every breath feels like a fight. A draining fight you wish you could stop.

You spend most of the every day in bed, curled up under the covers, staring off into the space. Your heart physically hurts when you think about the life that you lost. It’s like this huge guilt is weighing on you, pressing you into the mattress, keeping you there. Away from the world.

You failed it. A vicious voice in your head keeps talking. It’s your fault.

And Harry? He’s also grieving in silence. But he tries to be strong for you. He tries to hold on, to be the support you need right now. He feels this huge hole in his heart whenever he holds the tiny onesie you gave him. He tucked it away in his study, he didn’t want you to see it anymore. The evidence of the life you lost, causing even more pain. But he, like a masochist, sits every night in the chair and just stares at the I Love My Daddy.

It laughs into his face.

It points at him, tells him he failed you and the baby.

Then he goes back to the bedroom, hoping to talk to you, to help you somehow. But there are moments you won’t even look at him.

Just like now.

„Sweetheart…” he says gently as he sits on the edge of the bed. „Are you hungry? I could make something.”

You only shake your head against the pillow. You can’t bear giving him even a glance. Not when you are sure, your baby would inherit his beautiful dark eyes. It hurts too much.

And then there’s this massive guilt.

You not only failed your child, you failed your husband, too.

„Love, please… Look at me.” He whispers in pain, it tears your soul apart.

With great effort you force yourself to do so. You see the way he breathes out in relief. You feel Harry’s hand hesitantly reaching to brush your arm.

„You need to eat. I’ll even feed you, but you need nutrition.” He says, a bit more firmly now, he really wants to get to you through that haze of pain. He sighs when all you give him is a weak shrug.

„I know eating feels like a lot now…” He loses his words, unsure how to talk to you. He inhales trying to focus his thoughts, but it does nothing. He only has one sentence on the tip of his tongue. „I love you.” Your husband whispers. „Just… remember that. I’m right here.”

The next day, Harry decided to do one last thing he could think of to help you.

„Hi, mom.” He greets Lynette as she steps into your penthouse. „Oh, honey… Hi.” She pulls him into a hug and for a moment he lets his guard off. He takes in her soothing scent and the warmth of the embrace.

„How are you holding up?” She asks.

„Not… Not well.” He looks down as they pull away. „I mean, I try to be brave for her, but…” Harry falls silent. His mom just nods sympathetically. He invited her so she could talk to you, he thought maybe you would use a conversation with another mother. With someone who could understand.

„It’s okay… I’m here now, son.”

„Could you stay with her? I feel like I’m suffocating her with my presence… I think we both would use some time separate…” he sighs. „But she can’t be left alone. You can’t leave her, mom…” Harry shakes his head.

„I won’t leave her, I promise. You can go, they haven’t seen you in the office for quite a while.”

„The office… yeah… I’ll go there. But she… She had these thoughts before… and now after the…” he trails off. God, speaking about it is so hard for him, but he knows Lynette listens. „I’m afraid she might try something… hurt herself. She’s so broken, I don’t know how to act around her…”

„Harry, don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on her.” His mom assures, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. When she first heard you had a miscarriage she was devastated. She knows how much you wanted to become a mom. And now that she has a chance to help you and her son… She’ll do anything.

So after Harry leaves you and Lynette alone, the woman just sits in the armchair near your bed. She prepared breakfast for you, it rests on a tray on your nightstand. Waiting until you wake up.

The moment you stir, rubbing your eyes, she straightens up in her seat. It takes you a few seconds until you realize you’re not alone. First, there’s breakfast. Fresh scrambled eggs, toasts and steaming coffee. Then, after you sit up, you see Lynette. You didn’t expect her to be here, you’re confused. „What are you doing here?” You ask, looking around for… „Where’s Harry?”

„He thought you might need some space… He left to the office for two hours.”

„Then why are you… Oh.” You slowly realize why he asked his mom to replace him. She’s your nanny now. „Yeah. Oh.” Lynette nods and there’s not even a hint of judgment in her eyes. You look away, suddenly the weight on your heart even heavier. He must be so worried and you’re so closed off…

„Nuh uh, don’t blame yourself.” She stands up to set the tray before you on the mattress. „Yes, he worries about you. It’s a normal thing for husbands… But you’re doing the best you can right now. And no one is expecting more.”

You don’t say anything as you let her words settle. Some part of you knows she’s right. But it doesn’t make it any easier.

Staring at the breakfast before you, your stomach twists with hunger. And at the same time the thought of eating makes you nauseous. You’re thinking that just a week ago you were eating for two. You were very careful with meals, eating four every day to provide the baby everything it might need to grow. Now… Now eating feels like a punishment.

„No rush, honey.” Lynette says softly as she sits on the edge of the bed. You glance at her and take a deep breath. No rush…

The first bite on the toast you take is small and hesitant. It’s a first meal since Harry forced a bagel into you yesterday afternoon.

Lynette lets you be silent, which you’re thankful for. You don’t feel like talking. Actually, all you want now is go back to sleep. But she doesn’t let you.

After you somehow ate a half of the scrambled eggs and a toast, she set the tray aside, but didn’t let you lay down. Instead, she sat next to you without any word and handed you your coffee.

„Lynette…” you whisper hoping she’ll leave you alone.

„No, honey. You can’t run away forever.” Her voice is stern, but still so loving and patient. You have no idea how she manages that. And you don’t know how are you supposed to stay here and talk about…

„But it’s…” you exhale shakily, your grip on the mug tightens. „Harry asked me to talk to you. And that’s what I’m going to do, you know me.” Your mother-in-law says. „He believes maybe a talk with another mom could help you.”

„Another mom? I am not a… mom.” You shake your head like saying this word physically hurts.

„You are, honey. Of course, you are.” She rests her hand on your knee. She’s determined to talk some sense into you, at the same time aware how fragile and hurt you feel right now. „You had a child. Right there in your tummy. It felt safe there, you were its home… You’re a mom who lost a baby. But it was there. It was real. Real enough that now you’re in so much pain… Understandable pain.”

Every word makes your walls crumble. You want to shout at her to stop saying all this, you want to run away, you want to scream… But you can’t move. You just stare at her completely frozen, with tears welling up in your eyes.

„Please…”

„What happened was unfair. It was cruel. Especially that you and Harry love each other so much and wanted this baby so much… And I see you, sweetheart.” Lynette really looks at you like she could read your soul, your misery. For the first time since the miscarriage you feel… understood.

„I just… I don’t get it… What did I do wrong? Why we can’t…” your voice cracks. „You did nothing wrong. Nothing wrong, you hear me?” She squeezes your knee to emphasize her certainty. „Miscarriages are more common than you think. And they can happen without any particular reason. Just like yours.”

„Everyone around us have families. Everyone. And we’re stuck for two fucking years. Two years, where they couldn’t even give us a reason! And when I finally got pregnant… I lost it. It’s my fault. It’s my body that fails over and over again… I can’t even look into Harry’s eyes… It hurts too much… knowing that I failed him… I don’t want to see his sorrow. I can’t bear it…” you sob. Finally. Finally you let it all out. Lynette notices your hands start to shake so she takes the mug from you, setting it on the nightstand. After that… she pulls you into a tight embrace, letting you feel all the emotions. Letting you survive in the only way you know. Even if she doesn’t agree with your thinking, even if she knows it’s your pain talking… She lets you.

It takes you a while to calm down, but when you stop trembling in her arms and the only thing that’s left are the soothing rubs on your back… She looks at you.

„There’s one thing I am sure of. My son doesn’t blame you.”

„How can you…”

„I know it, honey. I just do. He loves you and wishes he could support you more. I know it’s hard, but the only way to get through this is together. You pulled away, because the loss felt like too much. Then why not share that weight?” She brushes your hair away from your forehead. „He’s right there. He always was.”

You think about Harry. You think of how he has barely left your side since that awful night. Or how he pleaded you to eat at least a bite of dinner he prepared. Or how he held you in your sleep, thinking you’re not aware of it.

„Is he… I didn’t even ask him if he’s okay.” A quiet sob leaves your mouth. „It’s not too late for that.” She says.

The silence falls over you once again. You just sit next to each other, her hand still gently stroking your back. You really needed that conversation. You needed someone to open your eyes and you’re thankful Lynette cares enough to do so.

You would never have a similar conversation with your mother.

„What if… I won’t ever get pregnant again?” You whisper.

„You will. I’m sure you will.”

„But… I don’t want to forget about… about this baby. I don’t want it to feel forgotten…” you sniffle. „The fact that you’d get pregnant doesn’t mean that you have to forget about that one. It’ll always be in your heart. Your first baby.” Lynette soothes your nerves. „And we can always throw some kind of funeral or a memorial. I could take care of that.”

„You… would do that?” You look at her hopefully. „Of course, sweetheart. I believe it’ll help you and Harry. And the baby deserves it.”

You lean in for another hug. The thought of some formal farewell for your child feels soothing. Feels necessary. „Thank you.”

Tonight, it’s you who scoots closer in bed, seeking your husband’s warmth. His mom’s words still ring in your head. He loves you and wishes he could support you more.

It’s also the first night that you relatively fall asleep quite fast.

Harry is surprised, but he relaxes when you curl up against him. He sneaks an arm around your waist. It’s a fragile moment between two grieving people.

Why not share this weight?

That’s what love is supposed to be. A sanctuary. Holding each other through the storm. It’s the first time you believe you could actually make it to the surface.

You sleep so peacefully that at first you don’t sense Harry’s absence.

You only do when reaching your arm, you feel coldness on his side of the mattress. Lifting your head, you squint your eyes as the dimmed light gets through the bathroom door.

You stand up and shuffle there quietly. As you’re getting closer you hear… faint sniffles.

„Harry?” You push the door and see him sitting on the edge of the bath tub in his pajamas. He realizes too late that you’re here. He quickly brings his hands to his face, trying to brush away the evidence of his emotions.

„You’re… crying?” You approach him quickly, worried when you see how he tries to hide it.

„What? No.” He shakes his head, putting on a mask. „Why you’re up? You okay?”

„Yeah, but… Harry.” You gently grasp his hand. „I see the tears.” He sighs defeated at your words. Tries to smile, but it’s more like a sad grimace. His thumb brushes the back of your hand, thankful for the feeling of your skin. „Guess I got caught.” He says.

„Is it… Because of the baby?”

His lips press into a thin line. He nods, looking down, feeling the emotions again filling his heart. And his eyes.

„I didn’t want you to see me like this.” He whispers brokenly.

The way he says it… The way it lets you know that all this time he just wanted you to grieve without having to worry about him… It breaks your heart. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. He needs you and you need him, too. You were just too preoccupied with your own suffering.

„Come here.” You whisper and pull him into your arms. The hug is tight and somehow healing. You hear a quiet sob that leaves his throat. He’s going through it just like you are. But the warmth of your skin, the way your breathing matches… It really does heal a little. Even if the loss is enormous. Even if it’ll take a long time before you get over it.

You have each other.

***************************

It took you a while before you were ready to renew the infertility treatment.

You and Harry still attend therapy to deal with all the pressure and loss.

But you’re willing to continue. Your dream about a family hadn’t vanished.

So the next step is an IUI method.

You are nervous as well as your husband. The fight for a baby is draining, but you keep repeating it’s worth it.

You believe this time it’ll go better.

The insemination goes as planned and two weeks later the doctors confirm you are pregnant.

This time, though, you restrain your excitement. You are happy, deep in your soul you’re ecstatic. But it feels too scary to be hopeful so early.

Harry is by your side all the time. Looking after you, always making sure you’re comfortable and happy.

And slowly, with every day… you gain confidence. You watch small changes in your body.

Your breasts are fuller, you experience morning sickness…

The first pregnancy you didn’t even get a chance to feel the symptoms.

So now, it feels scary and also amazing. Harry catches you looking at your naked reflection in the bathroom mirror every evening before a shower. You’re admiring everything you see. Every change, every curve.

And nothing heralds that something might be wrong.

And yet.

When on the next ultrasound your doctor’s expression gets serious, you feel a shiver run down your spine. You grasp Harry’s hand tightly. Dr. Kelce is too quiet for your liking. Too damn still.

„I’m so sorry, but there is no heartbeat.” She says after a moment.

Your whole world collapses around you. You feel like you’re underwater. Doctor’s words are muffled, as well as your husband’s confused, angry questions. You just stare ahead.

No heartbeat.

No. Heartbeat.

This feels like some cruel joke. Like fate just decided that you’re not destined to be a mother. Like it’s something you won’t ever experience.

It makes you silent. You close off, cage yourself in the dangerous space of your head.

No heartbeat.

No motherhood.

No baby.

Again.

It feels like your own heart stopped beating.

You don’t feel it beat as Harry drives you home. You don’t feel it beat when you go to sleep.

You don’t feel it beat through all these days you try to get through another loss. With every day you gain your words, but you still can’t comprehend why all this is happening to you. You don’t understand how one person can hold so much pain, so much grief for someone they didn’t even meet.

And yet, here you are.

And it’s destroying you. It’s destroying your marriage. It took away your light.

You’re not sure you could get it back if you lost another one.

So when one day you’re on a couch with Harry, trying to have a conversation about what’s next… You finally say it.

„Maybe we should...”

„No.”

„No?” He frowns lightly and you finally look at him. He notices your lip trembling, like you’re about to say something very difficult.

„I can’t do this again… Please, don’t make me do this again.” You shake your head. „I can’t handle it. I don’t want it anymore… Every loss hurts more and more… I can’t take it. Please, I can’t…” a first tear leaves your eye and your husband moves closer to you. You brush it away before he can. „Darling…”

„Please, don’t make me do it again.” You sob.

„I… I won’t.” He looks at you, scared, but also understanding. „Hey…” he collects your shaking form into his arms, wanting to shield you from everything. He can’t say he’s surprised with your decision. It gets harder and harder for him, too. Losing your children, living in this uncertainty and watching you suffer… That’s the worst part. „It’s okay. You don’t want to try anymore? We don’t. The end of story. It can be just us. I love you just the same, baby... I love you so much.”

„I feel like I failed you…”

„You didn’t.” He leans back to say it more firmly. „Hey.” He tilts your chin towards him. „You didn’t. It’s not your fault.”

„But… Doesn’t it make me weak? Other couples keep trying despite miscarriage…” You hold onto him like a lifeline. „We are not other couples. We’re us. And if you don’t feel like trying again, if it feels like too much? Then I’m with you. It doesn’t make you weak. I’m perfectly content with having just you.” He pulls a strand of your hair behind your ear. „Baby or not. You are my wife.”

You nod rapidly and throw yourself into his arms once again. Baby or not. You are my wife.

And he really means it. He will love you for the rest of his days. No matter what decisions you make, he will support you.

These past two years were really difficult.

They gave both of you some experiences you never want to relive again.

They gave you also some good memories, even if now they feel bittersweet.

They made your love stronger.

And even if deep down you still dream of a family… For now you need to focus on yourselves. Let your broken hearts regenerate. Try to find yourselves again in the new reality. Heal.

And maybe then… you’ll think of a family again.

But for now? It’s you and Harry.

***************************

next chapter

Ending chapter notes: I know it was a hard one. I did a research on the infertility, but if I wrote something wrong, please let me know, I didn’t mean to offend anyone. And reader and Harry… it was tough two years for them, but I promise from now on it’ll only be better. Thank you for reading and for all your comments. See you next chapter🩷