20 Cigarettes pt. V (DBF!Joel Miller x reader) FINAL PART
part I, part II, part III, part IV
series tags/warning: +18, mdni. Joel is in his 40s, reader is in her 20s. age gap. f!reader. unprotected piv. creampie. SMUTT. angst. slow burn. drinking, swearing, phone sex (if I've missed anything let me know and I'll amend), physical violence (not against reader), no outbreak, non canon, mention of TLOU characters but nothing is in line with the show/game aside from the fact Joel is the dilf to end all dilfs
w/c: 10.4k
a/n: we are at an end of reader andJoel's journey in 20 Cigarettes!!! I may potentially write some one-shots down the line but for now, this is where their love story leaves us. Enjoy!
****
You watch Jesseâs back retreat down the stairs, a little wobbly on his feet but determined. Fueled by something other than just booze. Like heâs been waiting for this, waiting to catch you out on something that drags you down to his level, smears you with the same brush that branded him when his own cheating blew up.Â
Youâre not even sure when it happened, how the sweet, easygoing guy you knew in college hardened into someone unrecognisable. Someone who twists the knife just to watch you flinch. Someone who seems to think itâs fun.
A wave of nausea washes over you, and itâs got nothing to do with the champagne buzzing through your system.Â
âJesse!â you call after him, starting down the stairsâ
A hand closes around your wrist. Firm. Warm.
âDarlinâ, wait.â Joelâs voice is quiet, urgent, right at your back.
You whirl on him. âJoel, heâs gonnaââ
âWhat?â His gaze locks on yours. âTell everyone?â Thereâs a flicker of pain in his expression before it flattens into something softer. Resigned. âIs that such a bad thing?â
For a second you just stare, sure youâve misheard him. You must be drunker than you thought, because thereâs no way he just suggested that.Â
He scrubs a hand down his face, sighing. âI just mean⌠if this thing between us is realâand I think it is, I know it isâthen itâs gonna come out eventually. I didnât want it like this, not tonight, butââ
âJoel, this isnâtââ Your voice catches, frustration pushing up against the edges of your chest. You donât have time for this, to hash out the reality of your relationship with him right now, not with Jesse two seconds away from detonating in the middle of Dinaâs wedding. You yank your arm free and barrel down the steps, the sound of the party swelling the closer you get. Music, chatter, the familiar thrum of too many people in one space.
By the time you reach the living room, Jesseâs already drawing a crowd in the backyard. Heâs moving through it with purpose, calling your fatherâs name, scanning for him like itâs his lifeâs purpose.
âHey!â Dina yells once she catches sight of him. âI thought I told you to get the hell out of here, Jesse.â With the tulle of her dress scooped over one arm, Dina quickly finds you when she gets no response from the intruder, her dark eyes briefly catching on Joel over your shoulder.
âWhat the fuck is going on?â
âHe just caught me and Joel,â you bite out, voice strained.
Her eyes widen. âOh, shit.â
Oh, shit, indeed.
âYeah. And now heâs gonna tell my dad.â
Leaving your best friend by the patio door, you shoulder past a couple of people, Joel shadowing every step of your own, close enough behind you that you can feel the heat of him at your back.
Jesseâs still making a sceneânow in the middle of the dancefloorâhis pleas for everyone to come closer soundtracked to curious murmurs from the rest of the guests. You make your way to the front of the crow, foolishly hoping your body alone can block the worst of it from spilling further as you say, âJesse, stop. This isnât appropriate.â
The irony spreads bitterness over your tongue.
An incredulous laugh barks out of him, loud enough to draw the last of the eyes that managed to remain distracted up until this moment. Jesse turns in a half-circle, gesturing to nobody in particular, a twisted look on his face as if to say, are you guys hearing this?
His eyes pin you when you earn his attention back. âYou want to get on your moral high horse, huh? Wanna talk about whatâs appropriate?â âJesseââ
âWhat would your daddy say ifââ
Blood thuds in your ears. âJesse, please donâtââ
âNo. No, really.â His eyes flick over your shoulder to Joel. âWhat would your daddy say if he knew his little girl was such a slut, whoring herself out to his best friend?â
You flinch at the words, at how vileâhow simpleâit makes the situation out to be. You donât want to look, but your gaze betrays you, flicking to where your dad stands to the right. His brows are pinched as the weight of Jesseâs reveal cuts through the haze of alcohol. You shrink into yourself as you watch the confusion flickering behind his eyes turn to realisation, which turns them to black. His mouth parts andâ
A weight slams past you, shoving you sideways, and you turn just in time to see Joelâs fist connect with Jesseâs face. The crack of knuckles on bone cuts through the music thatâs still playing, followed by the collective gasp of onlookers. Jesseâs head snaps back, a spray of spit and blood catching the light before he stumbles onto the floor. You lunge forward, grabbing at Joelâs arm, planting yourself between him and Jesse as murmurs turn to shouts around you. His muscles are tight, steel under his shirt, breath coming hard through his nose, his eyes locked on Jesse like heâs ready to take another swing the second you let go.
Joel steps toward him anyway, looming, voice low but razor-edged. âYou ever talk about her like that again,â he says, freakishly calm, âIâll put you in the fucking ground.â
Jesse, still down, clutches his jaw, a bitter laugh dying in his throat.
âWhat the hell is he talking about?â Your dadâs voice cuts through the noise as he says your name, then, âJoel?â
He doesnât answer, and neither do you. You just stand close to him, almost without thinking. His arm is shot out in front of you, protective, his half brushing against the front of your hip like heâs not even aware heâs doing it.
The weight of it, of everyone watching, knowing, presses down until you can feel it in your teeth. Youâre not ashamed of Joel. Definitely not ashamed of how you feel for him. It was never about that. Youâre only ashamed itâs spilled out like this, so messy and uncontrolled, wrung out of you in the worst possible version of events.
No, youâre embarrassed you were so careless tonight. Embarrassed that these past couple of weeks of getting away with it, with late night and stolen moments, had tricked you into thinking youâd always get away with it.
Of course it was going to come out. Of course.
A shiver zips through you, and your pulse drums in your palm, thrumming where Joel still holds you back, the steady wall of him both a comfort and a cage holding you to this moment. To your consequences.
âI knew it.â Tessâs voice, sharp and almost triumphant, slices from somewhere in the crowd. âI knew something wasnât right when I saw you two at the diner andââ
âEnough.â Joel grits the word out, flickering her an icy look that keeps her from saying anything more. But your dadâs not letting it go. His gaze keeps dropping to where your fingers curl lightly at Jolâs side, to the way Joelâs stance shifts just enough to keep you shielded. His jaw works once, twiceâthen he steps in, face red, eyes blazing.
You stagger backwards, gasp still whole in your mouth where your hands hold it in as he swings. Unlike Jesse, Joel doesnât move to defend himself. Doesnât even lean away. He just takes itâyour dadâs knuckles slamming into the side of his chin with a sickening thud. His head turns with the impact, lip splitting under the force.
Still, he barely flinches.
âSheâs a fucking kid!â your dad roars, whole body vibrating with rage.
Joel wipes the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing slow, shaking his head. âSheâs your kid,â he says, voice rough but steady. âBut she ainât a kid. SheâsâŚâ He risks a glance at you, and the look there is so soft, so unguarded considering everything going on around you, it almost knocks the breath from your lungs.
It doesnât soften your dad, though. If anything, it makes him explode harderâranting about trust, about disrespect, about how Joel was supposed to be the one person he could rely on. His words spit and snarl, tangled with the betrayal of a man who thought he knew the values and ground he stood on.Â
âYou were meant to look out for her,â he fires at Joel. âNotââ He cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his thinning hair, then pointing at him like the gesture might land harder than anything he could say. âNot this. Not sneaking around like some goddamnââ
âWe didnât wantââ Joel starts quietly.
âDonât,â your dad bites. âI trusted you. I let you in my home. I told her you wereâhell, I told myself you were a good man.â Joelâs jaw tightens, but he doesnât fire back. âIâm tryinâ to explainââ
âExplain?â You wince at the unruly laugh that cracks from your father. âExplain what? How youâve been lying to my face for god knows how long? How youâve beenâŚâ His face contorts at whatever image of you and Joel heâs conjured in his mind. âSheâs young, Joel. And youâreââ He doesnât finish the sentence, but Joel feels the implication of it all the same.
Too old. Shouldâve known better. Shouldâve walked away before it got this far.
Heâs always tried to be a good man. A good father. A good friend. A good partner. But when those things pull him in opposite directionsâwhen being one means failing at the othersâwhatâs left?Â
Joel doesnât have an answer. Only has the throb in his jaw where itâs locked tight, the sting in his lip where his best friend hit him, and the ache in his ribs where your dadâs words have landed and stuck.
You watch as Joel takes it. JustâŚtakes it. His chest rises, falls. A muscle jumps in his cheek, but he doesnât try to argue. He nods once, slow, letting your dadâs verbal blows sink in before he speaks.
âI care about her,â he says eventually, the words deliberate, like heâs making sure they canât be mistaken. âThatâs the truth. You can hate me for it⌠but I care about her.â
âCare?â your dad repeats, quieter now, but thereâs no mistaking the edge in it. His gaze cuts to you and you go rigid, bracing yourself for whatâs to come.
âDo you have any idea how ridiculous this is? What it looks like? I didnât raise you to sneak around. To lie. To hide things from the people whoâd do anything for you. You think thisââ he gestures between you and Joel, a flick of his hand like the words themselves are distasteful ââis worth throwing that away?â
Around you, the party is still there, but it doesnât sound like it. You canât hear the music anymore. Canât hear the judgemental chatter. Just the three of you, suspended in this narrow, airless space.
âDad,â you try, fighting to keep your voice from breaking. From sounding weak. âItâs notââ
âItâs not what?â His voice is almost venomous now, and you struggle to think of a time youâve ever heard him so incensed. SoâŚbroken. âDonât stand there and tell me itâs different. Iâm disgusted. In you.â His eyes slice to Joel. âAnd in you.â
You open your mouth. God you want to tell him, to make him see what this really is, but before you can, another voice edges in.
âAlright, thatâs enough.â Dinaâs dad is there, planting himself between you and your dad, his tone the kind that leaves zero room for argument. âEveryone needs to cool off. Now.â He clamps a hand on your fatherâs shoulder, steering him toward the house, his own voice dropping low as he mutters something only your dad hears. Two of Dinaâs cousins have Jesse by the arms, hauling himself out the side gate.Â
And just like that, itâs as if someone hits play on the night again. The hum of the party swells back in againâmusic lower than it was but enough to break through the awkwardness, laughter itching at the edges of the yard. People are staring, whispering, shifting their weight like theyâre trying not to look but are failing. You can feel the judgement crawling along your skin, itching there, hot. Damp.
Youâre already turning to Joel. His cheek is swelling, and the split at the corner of his lop is dark and wet under the fairy lights. âAre you okay?â you breathe, hands already hovering near his jaw.
He studies you for a beat, brows knotted together. âAre you?â You frown up at him before he adds, âDarlinâ, youâre crying.â
Your hands fly up to your cheeks. Oh. Theyâre wet. You hadnât noticed. Joelâs mouth parts, arms shifting slightly like he might reach for you right there in front of everyone. But he stops himself. His eyes stay on you though, heavy and with intent, even as Dina saddles up beside you like a lifeline.
âYou okay?â she asks, close as she scans your face. âDo you need anything?â
You blink, surprise catching your breath. Youâd half-expected her to lose her shit at you for causing such a scene. âIâŚIâm sorry,â you manage. âI ruined your wedding.â
Your best friend waves it off with a quick shake of her head. âDonât be silly. You didnât ruin a thing.â She glances affectionately at where Ellie is dancing with Dinaâs nephew. âNothing can ruin a day like thisâbut youâre not the problem. Jesse is. He shouldnât have been here.â âI know but weââ
âDonât worry about it,â Dina says, voice sharp despite the calm sheâs trying to keep. She forces a tired smile, but you still see the warmth in it. âJoel, you think you can get her home?â He meets your eyes and nods. âWhenever youâre ready.â
You take another glance at your dad through the open patio doors. Heâs leaning against the counter, plastic water pressed to his lips. He shakes his head, one arm gesturing angrily as he talks to Dinaâs dadâabout you.Â
About Joel.Â
You canât imagine whatever heâs saying could be worse than what heâs already thrown at you in front of everyone. But the not knowing still stings. Still presses down on your chest, where your heart feels wedged in your throat, beating hard and uneven.
You turn back to Joel, eyes still a little glassy. âIâm ready. Take me home, please.â
***
The hum of the engine fills the cab. Thereâs no music, no laughter like there was while the two of you trekked around town. It still smells like Joel, leftover cigarette smoke and the copper tang of blood. Heâs got one hand on the wheel, the other pressing a handkerchief to his split lip, and you keep thinking heâs going to say it.
That this was too much trouble. That youâre not worth it.
Youâd thought, maybe naively, that once it was out there, once everyone knew, the weight on your shoulders would ease. That youâd feel lighter. Instead, itâs like youâve traded one burden for another. One from where youâre not sure your relationship with your dad can be salvaged. You picture Joel backing away. Deciding itâs too messy, too ugly, too costly. You brace for it, for the way youâll nod, make it easy for him, pretend you didnât want him to fight harder for you. But he doesnât speak. He keeps his eyes pinned to the road, jaw tight as he takes note of every shift you make in your seat, every little intake of breath. He holds the wheel like itâs the only thing keeping his hands steady. Wondering if you regret it. Wondering if this was supposed to feel like relief, and why it doesnât.
Itâs not long before Joelâs pulling up in the middle of your street, between your two houses. The engine ticks to silence. Neither of you moves. You fold in half in your seat, press your face into your palms as you let out a strangled scream. Joel reaches over, hand finding the back of your neck, thumb rubbing slow circles into the hair there. Itâs simple. Comfortâwithout words.
âI donât know what Iâm supposed to do,â you say finally, sitting up.
âWhat do you want to do?â
You shrug, even as you answer, âI need to talk to my dad. Without the crowd. Without the fucking theatrics.â
âYou want me to come inside and wait with you?â
You look at himâreally look at him for the first time since getting into the truck tonight. His mouth is still bloodied, jaw shadowed with the promise of a bruise, and thereâs a smear of red just beneath his chin he hasnât noticed. The collar of his shirt is crooked, hand now on the back of the bench seat, tracing the same patch of fabric like heâs keeping count of your breaths. Joelâs completely steadfast, even after the verbal lashing heâd taken at the wedding. Even after all of it.Â
Of course you want him to come in. But you need to do this yourself. Need to show your father youâre not some little girl being led astray and taken advantage of.
You shake your head, the decision firm even as uncertainty gnaws at you. âNo. I think I need to talk to him alone.â You force a small, wry smile. âPlus, Iâm scared of what he might do to you when thereâs not a crowd of witnesses around.â
Joel lets out a half-grunt, half-chuckle. Then his voice drops. âWhatever he does, I deserve it.â Thereâs no anger in his words, no bitterness. Heâs just resigned, like heâs already accepted the bed heâs made and knows heâs got to lie in it.
A few beats roll past as you hesitate, words caught somewhere between your chest and your lips. Eventually, you say the only thing you can for certain.
âI fly back to Charlotte on Monday. First thing in the morning.â
Joelâs jaw tightens, ticks, a flicker of something unreadableâregret? Longing? Maybe both. His dark eyes drop, searching for answers you donât have, canât give.
âHell,â he mutters roughly. âThat soon, huh?â
You nod, biting back the ache that blooms in your throat. âYeah.â
The silence swells between you, grows legs, slaps you about like itâs a living thing. Neither of you knows what comes next. Without another word, he pulls you closer, his lips crashing against yours. Itâs desperateârough, urgent, tasting of blood and stale beer. Itâs a kiss loaded with everything left unsaid, like neither of you knows whenâor ifâyouâll get this chance again.Â
When Joel finally pulls back, his breath ragged, he murmurs against your skin, âItâs gonna be alright, baby.â
Whether thatâs true or not remains to be seen, but in this moment, wrapped in his arms, it feels like it could be. Like maybe thereâs something steady beneath all this shit.
You pull back just enough to catch your breath. Joel reaches up, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering as he swipes gently over your cheek. His eyes catch the faint glow of the dashboard, amber glowing in the dimness. They hold you steadyâfierce, warmâand he gives you a short, reassuring nod.
âYou should head inside,â he tells you. âYou need anything, you know where to find me, alright?â
You want to say something more, something that could make this moment less fragile. LessâŚunfinished. Maybe thank him for being here, or tell him youâre scared, or just ask him to stay a little longer. But the words never eventuate, just stay tangled up with everything else youâre feeling. So instead, you just nod and force a shaky smile. Hope itâs enough for now.
ââNight, Joel.â
He swallows hard, offers a half-smile that doesnât quite reach his eyes. ââNight, darlinâ.â
You climb out of the truck, your breath hitching in the cool night air. Once inside, you barely manage to lock the door behind you before your knees give out and you slump against it, the floodgates finally opening. The tears come fast and hard, wracking sobs shaking your body as you finally let the night break you down.Â
Across the street, Joel pulls into his driveway, the quiet inside his truck stretching thick. His teeth crunch down on each other, the strain tweaking a headache in his temple. He slams his fist into the steering wheel, the horn yelping sharply in protest as raw frustration tears from his throat.
âFUCK!â
***
Itâs nearly two A.M. by the time you hear keys fumble at the front door.
Youâve been curled up in your dadâs armchair in the living room for the past hourâfreshly showered, pyjamas on and knees drawn to your chest while you mulled over what youâd say when he came home. The door swings open and closes, but not with the sharp slam youâd braced for, but a slow, measured push.
A good sign, you tell yourself. Maybe.
You get up when he comes into the room, all your muscles pulled taut while you watch as he drops his keys on the kitchen counter with a metallic clatter. His movements are sluggishâshoulders slumped, feet dragging like heâs being charged per step. His coat hangs off him half-buttoned. He doesnât look at you if he notices you standing there, gaze fixed somewhere ahead.
âDadââ you start, but he only shakes his head, still not meeting your eye. âDad, we need to talk about this.â
He holds up a hand, palm out, a blunt stop. Then he walks past you without a word, giving you nothing, heading straight for the stairs. The silence is worse than the shouting at the wedding, worse than the snap of his fist on Joelâs face and the red-faced rage. This is colder. Final.
Upstairs, the floorboards groan under your dadâs weight, and then itâs just the hum of the fridge and the sound of your own breathing, suddenly too loud in the stillness.
***
Joel barely sleeps. He lies in bed staring at the ceiling, phone up on the nightstand, half-expecting to see your name pop up, glowing in the otherwise dark room. His mind runs loops so tight he feels dizzy as he turns over the last couple of weeks. Picking apart every moment like theyâre old wounds. Where he couldâve handled things better. Couldâve kept his distance. Where he couldâve betrayed peopleâyour dadâless. Itâs no use though. Truth is, that lie was crossed the moment he saw you in The Rusty Antler, your laugh across the bar sparking something in him he had no business feeling. Not for you. That first trip of his heartâthat was the real betrayal. Everything that came after was just the echo of it.
By the time the first streaks of dawn are creeping through his blinds, heâs already in the kitchen with a mug of coffee he canât stomach, bitterness sliding down the back of his throat. Heâd been up for a cigarette firstâcouldnât help it, not after the night heâd hadâleaning against the pillar on the back deck with smoke curling in the half-light, trying to settle the restless thrum in his chest. Now the smokeâs gone but the acheâs still there. He doesnât know if he should wait to hear from you, or head over to your place himself. Try and hash it out with your dad in the sober light of day.
Turns out, he doesnât have to decide, because the knock comes just past seven. Hard and deliberate. Not a morning, neighbour knock.Â
Joel already knows who it is.
He opens the door to your dad, standing there in a T-shirt and jeans, jaw tight. Heâs not sheepish, but not lunging for a second punch either. His eyes rake over Joel like heâs studying a stranger. Thereâs no warmth in it, no easy familiarity. Just an eerily measured assessment, like heâs stripping Joel down to the bones to see whatâs changed.
He feels it too, that strange tilt in the air. Almost like heâs just been called into the principalâs office. Despite towering over your dad, he feels a hell of a lot smaller in this moment. Heâs braced for the kind of dressing-down you get from a father, not a best friend.
He steps back, holds the door open. âCoffeeâs cold, but itâs all I got.â
âNot thirsty.â Your dadâs voice is gruff, tired, as he steps inside, scanning the place like heâs looking for evidence, like the whole place is a crime scene.
âLook, I owe you an apology. For hittinâ you.â
Joel shakes his head. âDonât worry about it.â âI ainât worryinâ about it,â your dad makes clear, eyes narrowing again as he looks up at Joel. âBut I mean every word I said last night.â
Joel leans against the kitchen counter, mug in hand, waiting.
âHow long?â
âItâs notââ
The cut-off is sharp when your dad grits, âDonât you lie to me, Joel. I want the truth.â
Joel nods, silently cutting that deal.
âNot long. Just since sheâs been back,â he says quietly, adding: âItâs not like we planned it.â
Your dad exhales hard through his nose, pinches the bridge like it stings to hear it. âJesus. You know sheâs not that much older than Sarah, right? In the scheme of things?â
Fuck. Sarah. Joel knows, without a doubt, sheâll hear about last nightâabout you and himâsoon enough, what with the way gossip spreads like wildfire through this town. Heâs not sure he has the answers ready for the questions he knows sheâll ask, for the potential teenage judgement sheâll sling his way. Hell, he doesnât even have answers for the questions he has for himself.
Still, he doesnât bother arguing semantics with your dad. To him, the difference in age between you and Sarah doesnât matter. In his mind, youâre both just girls, daughters.Â
Your dad shakes his head again. âWhat the hell were you thinking?â
âI wasnât,â Joel tells him plainly. âThatâs the truth. I wasnât thinkinâ. It just happenedâ
âJust happened.â Your dad scoffs. âYou think that makes it better? Youâre my best friend, Joel. Youâve been sittinâ at my dinner table for years. And nowââ he waves a hand in the air, frustrated, ââthis? I donât get it. Donât get you.â
That last part cuts deep. Scrapes along Joelâs lungs.Â
You dad goes on: âI know things havenât exactly been busy for you in that department. I know things with Tessâhell, she was right there, and you didnâtââ He cuts himself off again, pushes a heavy breath out. âBut my daughter?â
Joel stares at the floor, at the small hole in his socks, fingers flexing around his mug.
âSheâs got a whole life in Charlotte that sheâs going back to. Friends. A job. Youâve got yours here,â your dad outlines before fixing Joel with a hard look. âOne that includes me, and the last thing I want is to spend the next twenty years lookinâ across the street and hatinâ what I see.â
The words stick in the air like barbed wire before Joelâs voice comes out quieter than your dadâs ever heard it.
âI wouldnât hurt her.â
âYeah, not on purpose, maybe,â he bites back. âBut itâll happen. And if you care about her at all, youâll let her go back, let her get on with her life without this hanging on her. Youâll give her space. Do the decent thing.â
Joel stays silent, watching as your dad makes for the door. His boots scrape against the threshold before he pauses, hand braced against the frame. He turns, eyes hard but tired in a way Joel hasnât seen before.
âDonât let her tie her future to yours,â he says, unflinching. âYouâll drown her.â
And then heâs gone, and the house seems to shrink around Joel, every wall an inch closer. He stares at the closed door for a long while, your dadâs voice on a loop.
Sheâs got a whole life⌠Do the decent thing⌠Youâll drown her.
He wants to stand up to your dad. Wants to march straight over to your place, say it doesnât matter what anyone thinksâthat his feelings havenât changed, wonât change. That he wants you just as much as he did yesterday. But your fatherâs words dig into the fears Joelâs been keeping quiet, pry them open, shine a hard light on truths heâs not naive enough to deny.
Last night, he told you everything would be alright. He meant it. But now heâs not sure what alright even looks like now.Â
Or if itâs something that still has him in it.
Youâre leaving tomorrow. Heading back to your life. And your dad⌠heâs Joelâs best friend. His neighbour. Years of history in that friendship, the kind you canât rebuild once itâs broken.Â
The kind heâd like to salvage, if your father will let him.
The coffee in his mug is cold. He tips it down the sink and doesnât make more.
When your text comes in just after elevenâcan I see you?âhe canât bring himself to type a lie, or the truth. Canât seem to figure out the difference.
So he flips the phone over and leaves it there, screen dark. Message unanswered.
***
You donât sleep. Tossed and turned until the sheets were twisted around your legs, the events of last night, of the past few weeks scratching at every edge of your brain.
Every sharp word, every flicker of Joelâs face in the dark, the way your dad had looked at you like youâd grown two heads.
Every sound felt louder in the dark. The distant hum of cars drifting over from the highway, a party from a couple streets away, the first chirps of morning birds. Your own heartbeat, thudding in your chest like itâs sole purpose was to keep you awake. When you finally give up on sleep, you swing your legs out of bed, push the blinds open just in time to see your dad striding back across the street from Joelâs place. His hands are shoved deep into his jean pockets, shoulders shoved to his ears.
Youâre halfway down the stairs before your brain catches up to your body, fuzzy socks thudding on each step. You skid on the hallway rug, catching your dad just as heâs stepping in the front door.
âPlease tell me you didnât hit him again,â you plead, the words tumbling out before you can temper them. He looks up, sighs, like the sight of you is already exhausting.
âI didnât hit him.â A beat. âAnd even if I did, thatâd be me being kind.â
A small pinch of relief nips at the edges of anxiety roiling in your chest. It doesnât last though. He shoulders past you toward the kitchen, muttering under his breath.
âWhat the hellâs going on with you?â he says a moment later, spinning on his heel to face you. âHave you lost your damn mind, girl?â
âNothing isâIâm fine.â
Your father shakes his head. Seems to be a reflex now when it comes to you. âYouâre not fine. If you were fine, you wouldnât be actinâ out, sneakinâ aroundââ
âIâm not acting out,â you snap. âIâm an adult, remember?â
âAn adult who thinks itâs wise to be sleeping with my best friend. Heâs old enough to be your father,â he seethes, disbelief bleeding into his voice. The corner of his eyes crinkle at the mention of you and Joel being intimate.
Your spine stiffens. âWho I am or am not sleeping with is none of your business.â
âThe hell it isnât.â His face twists. âIt is when itâs happening right under my nose. When itâs the two people I care about most.â
âYou think I set out to make a whole mess of it, ofââ
âI think you didnât think at all,â your dad grits. âItâs not just you and Joel in this. Other people get hurt. Did you even think about Sarah? Sheâs your friend. What do you think sheâs gonna say when she finds out? What do you think sheâs gonna think of you?â The mention of Sarah hits harder than you want it to. You picture her faceâthe easy smile, the late-night talks you used to haveâand it niggles at something in your gut.Â
âSarah will understand,â you lie. You donât believe it.
Neither does your dad, voice rising when he confirms, âNo, she wonât. And youâre too wrapped up in whatever this is to see it.â âItâs not some fling,â you fire back. âItâs notââ
âIt is,â he interrupts. âItâs some misguided rebound after Jesse, after what he did to you, and I get it, okay? Iâd get why youâd want some validation, especially from someone who isnât a young kid with no idea. But thisââ He gestures vaguely, frustrated.
âItâs not a fling,â you repeat, louder now as heat burns behind your eyes.
Something in your dadâs expression shiftsânot softer exactly, but almost weary, like heâs looking at a puppy thatâs been kicked one too many times. âSweetheart, come on.â His voice dips for the first time, gentler, almost pitying. âYou canât really think this is going anywhere. You and Joel donât have a future.â
âMaybe we donât,â you admit, voice trembling. âBut you donât get to decide that.â
He shrugs. âMaybe not, but I know Joel a hell of a lot better than you. Heâs not a man who chases after anyone. Once youâre gone, youâre gone. He wonât come after you. Better get that through your head now and save yourself the heartbreak.â
Your head jerks back, your dadâs words hitting as hard as a lashing. Tears prickle hot and insistent at the corners of your eyes, and you bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep them from spilling over.
The Joel your dad knows isnât the Joel you know. He doesnât know the man who smooths his palm over your hip until your breathing events out, who murmurs things heâs too proud to say in daylight. Who looks at you like youâre the only steady thing in a world that wonât stop shifting.
Your Joel wouldnât lie to you. He wouldnât fill you with promises he had no intention of keeping.
He asked if he could come visit you in Charlotte. You can still hear him saying it over the sound of the chatter and coffee machine in the diner, rough and almost shy, like he wasnât sure he had the right to ask. But your dadâs voice is there, rattling around in your head, and suddenly thereâs a small, ugly curl of doubt threading through your chest.
What if Joel was just saying it to make leaving easier?
What if the asking was the closest heâd ever come to actually doing it.
You force yourself to shove the thought away. Straighten your spine, lock your jaw.Â
No. He meant it. You know he did. Whatever your dad thinks he knows about Joel, he doesnât know thisâdoesnât know the Joel whoâs yours.
You glare at your dad, voice steady but sharp. âYou donât know what youâre talking about.â
Without waiting for a response, you turn and head for the front door. You step into whatever shoes youâve left lying there, then pull your coat from the rack and shuck it on over your pyjamas.Â
As you push the door open, your dadâs voice cuts through the otherwise quiet morning. âYouâre not going to Joelâs. Not today. Or any other day while youâre under this roof.â
You stop for a heartbeat, eyes flicking across the street to Joelâs house, feeling the pull of everything you want to run toward. But instead, you turn away and start down the sidewalk, each step deliberate as you try to ground yourself. You focus on the cold air filling your lungs, steadying the tremble in your chest.Â
One foot. Then the next.
You wander for God knows how long as the cool fall morning seeps through your coat. Passersby throw sidelong glances your way. Some are likely curious about your ad hoc outfit. Others you suspect have heard about last night, about the catastrophe at Dinaâs wedding. You wonder how fast the news spread. Maybe someone snapped a photo, fired off a text at the exact moment it all blew up. Or maybe they held off, waiting until morning to start making phone calls. You wouldnât be shocked to see an alert pinned in the neighbourhood watch Facebook group by now.
Despite the weight on your chest, walking helps. Your thoughts slow, and by the time you loop back toward your street, you feel steadier, even if itâs only slightly. Youâre still in a bit of a fog, however, so you donât notice that youâre nearing Tessâ house, where sheâs standing out front, reaching for her Sunday paper. But she clocks you immediatelyâeyes sharpening, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. Her lips press into a thin line before offering a tight smile that doesnât reach her eyes.Â
âMorninâ,â she says. Her voice is light, but you know better, already bracing yourself. âWalk of shame, huh?â
You hold her gaze, waiting for her to finish, knowing sheâs far from done.Â
âI always thought you were a sweet girl growing up. Even at dinner the other night. Polite, kind,â she sighs dramatically. âNever pegged you for someone who steals other peopleâs men.â
Thereâs hurt, jealously tangled up in her words.
âI didnât steal anyone,â you say. You try to sound strong, but your voice betrays you, coming out barely above a whisper.
She scoffs and crosses her arms, a hint of smugness tugging at the corner of her mouth. âMen these days can't resist young, easy things like you, can they?â
Sheâs trying to get a reaction out of you, to make you feel bad, as if the fallout from last night hasnât marred you already. âTess, I donât want any trouble.â
âItâs a bit late for that, though, isnât it?â she asks rhetorically. Then, she tilts her head, sluices her eyes over you. âEver since youâve been back, I keep catching him watching you, you know. Thought he was just keeping an eye out for his best buddyâs daughter. Didnât realise you were out here doing him favours when no one was looking.â You keep your gaze steady, refusing to give her the satisfaction of looking rattled as she goes on. âHonestly? Iâm surprised youâd go for your daddyâs best friend. Bold move. Guess you couldâve done worse⌠like some married guy, right?â
That triggers you, your voice coming out brittle when you say, âYou donât know a thing about me and Joel.â
Tess shrugs, smug edge still there. âSure, say I donât. But Joel? Heâs not built for anything serious. Iâve seen it myselfâhandsome, brooding, but blind when it comes to what matters.â You open your mouth to respond, but she interjects, cold when she says, âBut he sees you, I suppose.â
Itâs clear what sheâs getting at.
You donât matter.
You let the words hang between you, aware that across the street, Mr and Mrs Lynden are watching the pair of you from their porch swing. Great. How long until the rest of town hears about this, too? Angst boils in you, and you consider snapping back at Tess, something cutting, but the fight suddenly feels pointless. So instead, you give a small nod, resign from your post outside her fence as you say, âOkay, Tess.â
Your feet carry you down the sidewalk, the burn of Tessâ eyes at your back. The impulse to knock on Joelâs door grows with each step, but when you get there, his truck is gone. The weight in your chest tightens.
Back at home, the day passes by in a blur of routine. You pack your things without much thought, folding clothes and stuffing bags while your mind drifts elsewhere. Every item packed feels like a step closer to leaving this whole mess behind, but also a step away from Joel, at a time where thereâs already more distance than you can stand. He hasnât replied to your earlier messageâor the follow-up: Saw youâre not home. I can come meet you somewhere? Every now and then, you think you hear your phone buzz. Your heart jumps. But the screenâs always blank. You check your messages again, scroll back just to be sure, then keep staring, waiting for it to light up. It doesnât. You keep an eye on the window too, on his driveway, where his truck never pulls in. Maybe heâs at a job. Maybe with Tommy. Or maybe just avoiding you.
Youâre sitting cross-legged on the bed, organising the last of your clothes, when your phone finally buzzes for real. The sound is sharp in the quiet, jolting through you until youâre standing.
You snatch it up too fast, and your foot catches the edge of your bagâyou stumble, heart in your throat when you see Miller on the screen.
But itâs not Joel.
Itâs Sarah.
Your fingers hover a second before you swipe into the message.
My dad??!!!
Two words. Three exclamation marks. Enough to tell you she knows.
The message gives nothing awayâno hunt if sheâs furious, hurt, or just plain confused. You donât ask. Not yet, just set the phone facedown on the bed and let it buzz once more against the covers before falling silent. Downstairs, the smell of beer and the low drone of the football on the TV pull you into the living room. Your dad hasnât said a word to you since you got back from your walk this morning. Now heâs planted on the couch, bottle in hand, eyes on the screen but his jaw set like stone. The room feels emptier than it should. Joel isnât hereâno half-heard mutter of his voice from the kitchen, no extra beer sweating on the coffee table. Youâre not surprised, but the hollow space where he should be still makes your stomach dip. Part of you had hopedâstupidlyâthat for some reason, heâd be here.Â
You linger in the doorway a moment, then step in far enough to lean on the arm of the couch. âDad.â
He doesnât look at you. Just takes a sip of his drink, eyes still fixed on the game.
âCan weââ
A sharp shake of his head cuts you off before you can finish. Whatever conversation youâd been hoping for isnât happening tonight. Your stomach growls, a hollow pang serving as a reminder that you havenât eaten since⌠Well, all day. You think about grabbing something from the kitchen, but the air in here feels too tight, too sour. You canât stay.
You climb the stairs again, two at a time, snatching your phone up from where you left it on your bed. One name stands out in your messages, their texts still unanswered as you hit call.
Dina answers on the first ring.
âOh good, youâre alive. I was about two texts away from thinking your dad had you buried under the shed. That, or you and Daddy Miller were off to Pound Town in some kind of severe, spite-fuelled defiance.â
You huff out a laugh. âI know. Iâm sorry I havenât responded.â
âHow is everything?â âA fucking mess.â
âOh, babe.â Thereâs a few moments of compassionate silence before you continue.
â I know you and Ellie are in, like, newlywed bliss, butââ
âWhat do you need? Whatever it is, Iâm there.â
Fuck, Dinaâs a good friend.
âI could really go a margarita and two-dollar spicy wings.â
A couple of beats pass before Dinaâs grin is audible down the line. âCoincidentally, thatâs exactly what I was craving. Iâll pick you up in twenty.â
***
At The Rusty Antler, Joel sits hunched over his beer, elbows on the worn bar. The place is quieter than usualâjust a low hum of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter from the corner table and barely decipherable music from the jukebox. Nothing like the last time he was here, when the air was loud and close, you throwing flirty glances his way before the two of you made out of here together.
Now itâs all space. Space between him and the rest of the crowd. Space between then and now.
Tommyâs beside him, nursing his own drink, letting the silence between him and his brother breathe. He doesnât push. Not right away, at least. Just takes a slow slip, eyes scanning the half-empty room. Eventually he leans in slightly and says,â So, you wanna talk about whatever weâre drinkinâ about, or dâyou wanna keep sulkinâ in silence?â
âI ainât sulkin,â Joel tries, but one slice of Tommyâs eyes has him backtracking. âItâs complicated.â
Tommy nods, like that somehow explains everything. Takes another sip. Then, without changing his tone, âMore complicated than fuckinâ your best palâs daughter and everyone findinâ out about it?â
Joelâs head snaps toward him. He sets his beer down with a solid thunk.
âHow the fuck did you hear that?â Tommy doesnât flinch. âMariaâs sister is friends with Tess, remember?â
Joel huffs through his nose. âOf course she fuckinâ is.â
His brother turns on his stool to face him fully, hand still clasped around his bottle. âSo⌠itâs true, then?â
Joel takes his time answering, lifting the beer to his lips, swallowing slow. âDepends what youâve heard.â
âJust that. That you and her got somethinâ goinâ on.â
Joel exhales, scrubbing a hand over his face. âLook, it ainât likeââ He stops to search for the right words. âIt just happened.â
Heâs very aware that seems to be the go-to explanation for this, for you, but itâs the only one he can scrounge to give it meaning.
âUh-huh.â Tommy tips his beer, watching his brother over the rim. âWhat does just happened mean, exactly?â
Joel shakes his head, more at himself than at Tommy. âMeans I didnât plan it. Means she didnât either. We were just⌠there. Together.â
Tommy leans in, voice lower now. âYouâre not dumb, Joel. You knew what this would look like. What people would say when they found out.â
âI know.â Joelâs tone is clipped, but thereâs no real bite behind it. âI just never figured itâd get to a point where anyone had to find out. Thought it would be one and done, between us. I didnât expect it to carry on.â
âBut it did,â Tommy says flatly.
Joel stares at his beer. âBut it did. And⌠I donât know how Iâm supposed to let it go.â
âShit.â Tommy leans back, studying him as it clicks. âYou actually care about her.â
Joel sits up straighter on his stool. âYeah, I do,â he admits. âAnd her dadâs given me a hell of a dressinâ downââ
âAnd a hell of a shiner,â Tommy adds, gesturing to the stormy bruise on Joelâs chin.
âYeah, well⌠Heâs my best friend, Tommy. I fucked him over. Bad. He wants me to end it. I know I should end it. But sheâsâŚâ Smart. Quick as a whip. Laughs âtil it gets in your damn bones and stays there. âSheâs goinâ home tomorrow. And I donât know if itâs for better or worse.â
Tommy swirls the last of his beer, eyes still on Joel as he knocks it back in one swallow. âIâm not sayinâ what you did was right,â he says finally. âBut I ainât sayinâ itâs entirely wrong either. I get not beinâ in control of your feelings. Hell, I didnât expect to fall for Maria, but I didâand I had to fight like hell to keep her, to make her see I was in this. In it for her.â
Joel huffs, a humorless sound. âAnd now look where you are.â
âAnd look where we are,â Tommy agrees, shrugging. âIâm not tellinâ you what to do, Joelâyouâre a big boy. But if what youâre feelinâ for this girl is anything like what I feel for Maria, youâd be an idiot to let her go without at least tryinâ. Without tellinâ her, plain and simple, how you feel. I donât give a fuck whose daughter she is.â
Joel doesnât answer right away. He peels at the label of his beer, turning Tommyâs words over like a stone in his hand, feeling every jagged edge. The idea of telling youâreally telling youâmakes his chest tight. Not because he doubts the truth of it, but because he doubts what good itâd do now. Youâre leaving. Your dadâs pissed. And Joelâs already burned more than one bridge in this mess.
âI donât even know what Iâd say,â he mutters.
Tommy smirks. âTry startinâ with the truth. Works better than youâd think.â Joelâs about to reply when a sound cuts through the low hum of the barâa laugh he knows better than he wouldâve expected just a few short weeks ago. Warm, unguarded, and sharp at the edges, like itâs always half a dare. His head snaps toward the door before he can stop himself.
There. You. Are.
Backlit by the burnt-orange smear of sunset through the entryway, you stand with Dina, both of you grinning about something. Your hairâs a little wind-tangled, your cheeks flushed from the walk in. You look like youâve got no idea youâre walking into combative territoryâand yet, to Joel, you look like you belong here more than anyone. He goes still, every muscle braced, his eyes locked on you like heâs afraid youâll vanish if he blinks. Tommy follows his gaze, then lets out a low whistle.Â
âWell, Iâll be damned,â he says under his breath, somewhere between amusement and oh-shit realisation.
You and Dina are still laughing about the guy in the parking lot who tried to flirt with her while holding a bucket of live crabs (romance isnât dead, sheâd said), when you step inside. The barâs dim after the light outside, your eyes adjustinslowâuntil they snag on a shape at the counter.
Joel.
You stop like youâve hit a wall, the sound of your laugh catching in your throat. His face is half shadowed by the pendant light hanging above him, but you can see the set of his jaw, the way heâs looking at you.
Like youâre the last thing he expected and the only thing he was hoping for.
The air between you feels immediately thick, charged. Dina glances at you then to where youâre looking, and makes a quiet knowing ohhhh.
Your pulse jumps. Heâs here. Youâre here.
Dina tilts her head toward the far side of the room. âIâll get us a table,â she says, already moving.
You murmur back something resembling sure, though youâre already halfway somewhere elseâdrawn forward, unthinking, like your feet know where theyâre going before you do. Joelâs standing by the time you reach him, as if the same magnetic pullâs working on him too. Itâs only when youâre close enough to touch that you clock the man beside him.
Tommy. Heâs looking between the two of you with a spark of amusement, like heâs watching a particularly tense tennis match.
âHey, Tommy.â Your smile is soft, a little embarrassed, already guessing he knows what everybody else does.
Your name is warm as he says it. âLong time no see.â Thereâs an awkward beat before he pushes up from his stool, hiking a thumb over his shoulder. âIâm gonna head home. Joelâcall me later.â His eyes flick between you both one last time as he tacks on to his brother, âAnd remember what I said.â
Then heâs gone, leaving you in the static of Joelâs silence.
From the corner of your vision, you can see Dina settling in near the empty stage, her coat shrugged off and tossed across the back of a chair. Sheâs watching the two of you with a kind of lazy curiosity, like sheâs just been handed front-row seats to a slow-burn drama sheâs been tracking for weeks.
Joelâs the first to break the silence. His voice is low, careful. âThought youâd be busy. Packinâ or somethinâ.â âToo busy to notice you ignoring me?â
His mouth twitches, jerking the day-old wound of your dadâs punch, like maybe heâs about to argue, but all that comes out is, âDarlinâ, Iâm not ignoringââ
You pin him with a look thatâs sharp enough to cut through whatever excuse he was about to spit out.Â
âIâm not ignoring you,â he says again, this time quicker, like getting the words out faster will make them sound truer. His jaw flexes. He looks⌠uncomfortable. Unsteady in a way thatâs not like him. âItâs justââ
âHoly shit.â The words spill before you can stop them, and they taste acidic on your tongue. âHe got to you, didnât he? My dad actually scared you off.â
Joelâs eyes flickerâjust for a secondâbut itâs enough. âThatâs not entirelyââ
âWhat did he say?â Your voice is sharper now, pushing past the tightness in your chest. âSeriously, Joel. What could he have said thatââ You stop, because you can hear yourself, but itâs too late to reel it back in. âYou told me last night that everything was going to be alright. Was that just something to make me feel better at the time?â
Youâre borderline shrill now, voice carrying down the length of the bar. The bartender glances over, a little wary, and some guy nursing a beer at the opposite end tilts his head just enough to watch you. Joel looks down at youâsomething fond erring in his eyeâand it knocks the wind out of him. Hair scraped up in a messy bun thatâs pulled together with the remnants of your wedding updo. No makeup tonight. A green knit sweater and jeans, simple as anything. Thereâs a faint shadow under your eyes that matches the bags under his own. And fuck, if you arenât the most beautiful thing heâs ever seen.
You stare back up at him, eyes wide and a little panicked, and every second he doesnât speak sends another bolt of frustration snapping through you. âSo you ignore me over text, and now youâre just gonna ignore me to my face? Joel, what the fuââ
âHey.â His hands come up without thinking, cupping your face. Warm and steady, the breadth of them framing you like they could block out the rest of the room if he pressed close enough. He feels the tiny shift in you, the way some invisible tension eases just from his touch.
Itâs not like this with other people.
He knows it. You know it.
âHey,â he says again, softer now. âI didnât mean to ignore you. I donât ever want to ignore you.â
You blink, caught between anger and the instinct to lean into him. Joelâs gaze flicks toward Dina, still perched at her table, doing a terrible job of pretending sheâs not watching every second of this.
âWe need to talk,â Joel says finally, voice low enough that itâs meant for you and you alone. âBut I donât wanna do it here. Not with half the bar listeninâ.â Your frown lingers, but his hands are still on your face, stabilising you in a way you hate to admit works. âGo,â he murmurs, nodding toward Dina. âEnjoy your time with your friend. Come by my place when youâre done. Weâll talk then.â
Your mouth opens, ready to protest, but before you can he dips forward and presses a firm kiss to your forehead. Itâs brief, but enough to leave your skin buzzing. Then he lets you go, stepping back toward the door, the space between you suddenly colder.You watch him disappear through the door, the sounds of the bar closing back in around you.
By the time you make it to where Dinaâs set up camp, youâre still buzzingâequal parts irritated and restless. You drop into the seat across from her with a sigh you donât bother hiding. She eyes you for all of two seconds before flagging down the bartender with a lazy wave. âSeriously,â she says, deadpan: âIf you guys donât fuck and make up before you go home, itâs going to be such a waste.âÂ
You huff out a laugh despite yourself, rolling your eyes as you wave her off. âShut up. Letâs just get some food, okay?â
***
By the time you both have eaten your combined weight in two-dollar wings, and youâve had one margarita too many for courage, the sharp edges of your run-in with Joel have dulled into something you can almost laugh about on the drive home. When Dina pulls onto your street, you point out Tessâ place, and having already told her about your encounter with her this morning, Dina flips the bird in the direction of her house without hesitation. You snort a laugh, the lingering tequila in your system sending a surge of giddiness through your body. She eases to a stop in front of Joelâs place, headlights spilling over his front porch. She twists in her seat and pulls you in for a tight hug.
âYouâve got this,â she says firmly. âI love you. Text me later, tell me how it goes. And if you chicken out, Iâm coming back to drag you in myself.â
You laugh again, shaky but grateful, and promise her you wonât.
The Jeep rumbles off down the street, and youâre left standing in the cool night air, facing Joelâs porch. You barely make it to the top step before the front door swings open. For a second you think it's a coincidenceâuntil you see the look on his face, the way heâs already filling out the frame like heâd been standing there well before you turned up.
Which he had been.
Joel had spent the last hour pacing between the living room and the front window, eyes flicking from his driveway to your houseâs front door, ready to run interference if your dad decided to wander out at the same moment you showed up. His chest had been tight with a nervous, restless energy that reminded him of waiting for a first date. When Dinaâs Jeep finally rolled to a stop outside, Joelâs breath caught. Heâd been pacing, not because he was worried someone might see, but because he was itching to have you to himself again, uninterrupted.
He swung the door open as soon as you were on the other side of it.
âHey,â he says, trying to sound cool as heâs anxious. He scans your face, eyes bouncing over your features, like heâs making sure youâre really here.
âHi.â
âCome on in.â His hand finds the small of your back as you step inside, heat blooming again at his touch while the door clicks shut behind you. For a moment, he doesnât move away from the entrance, just watches you like heâs trying to figure out where to start. Then he huffs out a breath. âI was being a coward. And you were right, I was avoidinâ you. I didnât mean to, didnât want to, but yeah, your dad did get to me.âÂ
The way he says it knocks you off balance. Like heâs been carrying them around, worn smooth from turning them over again and again in his head. Your gut draws tight. Youâre not sure whether this is the start of him letting you in, or the start of him letting you down.
Joel continues: âHe said every fuckinâ thing I was worried about to start with. All the ways this could go wrong. And Iââ his mouth twists, ââI let it stick.â
âI told you,â you say, sharper than you mean but fuck, if it doesnât frustrate you, âthose things donât matter to me.â
He nods, just once. He believes you but hates himself for not being able to shake it. Your dadâs words wormed their way in, grapple hooks latching themselves to Joelâs conscience. âMaybe not to you. But I donât wanna be the thing that holds you back.â He pauses before adding, âThing is, I donât want to let you go either.â
You pick at the dry skin at the corner of your thumbnail. âMy dad⌠He said youâre not capable of chasing people. That once Iâm gone, back to Charlotte, thatâll be it. Thisâll be done.â Your eyes drop to the floor. âTess seemed to think the same.â
Something flickers across Joeâs face but itâs gone as quick as it comes and is soon replaced by a tight set of his jaw. âTess doesnât know a damn thing about this,â he tells you firmly. âAnd your dadâMaybe I didnât chase in the past. But thatâs because there wasnât anything worth chasinâ.â
The words land like a punch and a balm all at once, your chest tightening around them. He takes a slow step closer, his voice softening but not losing its edge.Â
âI didnât go lookinâ for any of this. Hell, I wasnât even thinkinâ about somethinâ like this anymore. But nowâŚâ He shakes his head, a faint, almost incredulous smile ghosting over his mouth. âNow I canât picture not havinâ it. Not havinâ you.â
You hadnât noticed him drifting closer, or maybe it was you, moving towards Joel in some inevitable gravity pull. And now, he closes the last of the gap between you, hand coming up to cup your jaw. His thumb brushes over the swell of your cheek as he studies you with dark eyes.
âI donât care if I have to fly, drive or fucking hitchhike to Charlotte every damn weekend to see you,â he tells you, all rough drawl. âIf all I get for now is phone calls or weekends, whatever scraps of time you can give meâŚâ His gaze flickers over your face like heâs taking note of every inch. âIâll take whatever I can get. If youâll have me.â
Your throat works, bobbing tightly under your skin, but the words donât eventuate. Not when heâs this close, not when his sincerity hits you like a tight hug after being away from home for a while.
âJoelâŚâ you whisper. Whether it's thanks, confession or a plea, youâll never know, because his mouth is brushing against yours, almost clumsy in its urgency. It deepens just as quicklyâhis lips parting, catching yours again and again until youâre gasping into the heat of his. One hand paws at the back of your neck, tilting your head just where he wants it, while the other fists gently at the knit at your hip, holding you flush against him. Itâs the kind of kiss that steals your balance but you donât mind because you get something better in return.
His breath mingling with yours. The faint scrape of stubble on your skin. The low, unhinged sound he makes when your fingers curl into his shirt.
When you finally break for air, your lips are swollen, pulse rapidly highâand Joelâs looking at you like youâve just answered him without saying a single word.
And you know then, with absolute certainty.
Of course, youâll have him.
You always will.
***
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