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Jake, still in a gray t-shirt and jeans dusty from the move, peeked around the corner with a smirk. “Didn’t you say that about the last two?”

She planted her little fists on her hips. “Yeah, but this one’s got the biggest window. And look—” she ran over to it and flung her arms wide, “I can see everything!”

From the kitchen, you laughed softly, adjusting the baby sling on your chest. Lex was snuggled close, soft and warm against your body, her tiny fist curled against your collarbone. She made a sleepy noise but didn’t wake, lulled by the rhythm of your movements and the muffled excitement around her.

“She’s going to change her mind five more times,” you called over your shoulder. “Minimum.”

Jake walked in and leaned against the doorframe, watching you unpack a box labeled Kitchen - Fragile in your handwriting. “That’s generous. I was guessing eight.”

He crossed the room to you, brushing a hand along your spine in that absent, instinctive way he always had—gentle, grounding. “You good?”

“I’m good,” you said, smiling up at him. “Lex is asleep, I haven’t dropped a mug yet, and Cami hasn’t tried to climb on the counters. I’m calling it a win.”

Jake glanced down at Lex, and his whole face softened. He reached out to cradle her head briefly with one palm, then kissed your cheek. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Flattery doesn’t get you out of assembling the crib again.”

“Worth a shot.”

From down the hall came the unmistakable crash of a box being tipped over, followed by Cami’s delighted giggle. “I’m helping!”

Jake’s eyes closed with a sigh, but he was smiling. “That’s my cue.”

He turned and jogged off in the direction of the chaos, and you watched him go, heart aching a little in that sweet, full way. Seeing him like this—barefoot, hair a little messy, completely wrapped around his daughters—it was everything you’d always wanted for him. For all of you.

“Looks like you’re stuck with us, San Diego,” you whispered to Lex, who sighed in reply.

You went back to unpacking, and in the next room, Jake’s voice rose in a playful protest: “No, honey, that’s not a hammer. That’s a whisk. Where did you even get that?”

Cami shrieked with laughter, and you swore your heart couldn't grow bigger.

The sun had started to dip low in the sky, casting soft gold across the living room floor where half-built furniture lay in various states of disarray. Instruction manuals fluttered open beside tiny screws, wooden pegs, and the mysterious metal contraptions that always seemed necessary but never quite explained themselves.

Jake sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, brow furrowed and tongue caught in the corner of his mouth as he studied the baby dresser. He had gotten the frame halfway done. Maybe. Depending on how generous you were feeling.

Cami, perched on her knees next to him, had a tiny screwdriver clutched in her small hand like it was a magic wand. She wore a tutu over her leggings and one of your old t-shirts, which hung off her shoulders like a dress. Her curls were a riot around her face, and her fingers were smudged with something suspiciously marker-colored.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely, Lex still tucked snug to your chest. She was asleep again, her little cheek pressed to your sternum, one leg dangling out of the wrap like she owned the place.

“Okay, Daddy,” Cami said with authority, poking the air like a tiny forewoman. “This piece goes on top of the other piece. Like a sandwich.”

Jake blinked at the board she was pointing to. “That’s the bottom panel, baby.”

“But it looks like the top.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s upside down.”

Cami frowned, then flipped the piece over with both hands. It clunked to the floor, just missing his foot.

“See?” Jake said, trying not to laugh. “Now it’s a bottom that looks like a bottom.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile.

From his spot on the floor, Jake glanced up and caught you watching. He grinned, wide and slow and just a little sheepish. “Hey, darlin’. How’s the supervisor?”

You adjusted Lex’s head gently and whispered, “She’s napping on the job.”

“Slacker,” he murmured with a wink, before turning back to the pieces in front of him.

Cami leaned in close beside him, pressing her head to his arm as she whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was made Jake laugh under his breath, then glance back at you with mock-seriousness.

“She says we should throw away the instructions and just use our feelings.”

“Oh God,” you said, laughing. “That explains so much about you.”

Jake chuckled and ruffled Cami’s curls. “You hear that? Mama’s roasting me again. Typical.”

Cami grinned like she’d won something, then leaned against her father’s shoulder, tucking her tiny feet under her.

For a moment, everything was still.

Golden light spread across the wood floors. The air smelled faintly of new furniture, baby lotion, and the faint salt of the ocean drifting in through the open window. The soft rustle of palm trees outside, the distant echo of a car door down the street, and the occasional creak of the settling house were the only sounds besides Jake humming tunelessly as he tightened a bolt.

Jake leaned back, resting his weight on one palm and looking up at you.

“I know we’re not done unpacking,” he said, voice low and a little rough with feeling, “but it already feels like home.”

You smiled, walking toward him slowly. “That’s because you brought your girls home.”

He reached up and touched your wrist, brushing a finger over the baby’s foot.

“We’re lucky you came with us,” you said.

Jake looked up at you, eyes soft. “No,” he murmured. “I’m lucky you waited for me.”

Cami blinked between the two of you, then laid her cheek against his shoulder again with a sigh. “Okay, but are we building this dresser or what?”

Jake snorted, grabbing a screwdriver. “Yes, boss.”

And with his firstborn on one side, and the rest of his world standing just steps away, Jake Seresin went back to building his life—one drawer at a time.

The California sun beat down on the tarmac, sharp and dry, but not even the heat could keep the familiar buzz of energy from crackling through the air.

Top Gun had changed. Sleeker buildings. A brand-new hangar. The same stretch of runway, but with fresh paint and a higher security presence. What hadn’t changed, though, was the group clustered just outside the ready room, voices overlapping as they swapped stories, insults, and half-serious bets on who’d forget their callsign first.

“—told you, man,” Fanboy was saying as Jake approached, sunglasses perched on his head and a wide grin on his face. “He puked in the rental van. Twice. And then tried to blame it on the dog.”

Coyote laughed, arms crossed. “Please tell me that was your neighbor and not your cousin again.”

“Nope. Cousin.” Mickey smacked a hand to his chest like he was proud. “And I had to deep-clean the whole backseat before I drove out here with Bowie.”

“Wait,” Phoenix cut in, squinting at him. “You brought your dog across the country?”

“Hell yeah, I did.” He pulled out his phone and showed a picture of a scruffy, golden mutt hanging its head out the passenger window, tongue flapping. “Look at that face. He’s the real MVP.”

Rooster whistled low. “You’re braver than me. I left my plants behind.”

“They were fake,” Bob said dryly, getting a chorus of laughs.

Jake slid into the circle with a nod, arms folded, boots scuffing a mark into the concrete. “What, no one’s moved with a houseplant, a dog, and a messy break-up? Come on, you’re telling me I’m the only one who had a peaceful move?”

That earned a few snorts.

Rooster elbowed him lightly. “You’re telling me you didn’t bring anything?”

Jake gave an easy shrug. “Couple duffel bags. My truck. That’s about it.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow. “No roommates? No girlfriend clinging to your bumper? No tragic love story in your rearview mirror?”

Jake let out a short laugh. “Nope.”

He didn’t look at Javy. Not directly.

The lie wasn’t heavy—not yet—but it was sharp. Quick. A reflex. The same one he’d used a hundred times over the years. It felt different now, though. Dirtier. Because this time, he wasn’t hiding a fling or dodging a label. He was leaving his family out of the picture.

Not forever. Just… not yet.

Coyote gave a low whistle beside him, too casual to be anything but a cover. “Guess some people travel light,” he said, and if the words held a second meaning, no one noticed but Jake.

“Hangman, a minimalist,” Phoenix said with a scoff. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Jake gave her a grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “New year, new me.”

Rooster snorted. “You said that last year.”

“And look how great I turned out.”

They all groaned, but the mood held, rolling easy like a wave that hadn’t quite crested yet.

“Alright,” Maverick’s voice cut across the courtyard from the ready room doors. “Let’s see if you all remember how to fly.”

The squad moved in a pack, still joking as they filtered inside.

Jake walked a beat behind the rest, sunglasses shielding his eyes, the weight of the secret pressing a little more firmly against his ribs. It was only a matter of time before they found out.

But for now?

For now, it was just him, his girls, and the silence between.

[..]

It had been a week since Rooster arrived in San Diego and he was already sick of takeout. His fridge held nothing but mustard, half a lime, and a six-pack of beer. It was time to act like an adult — or at least pretend to.

He pushed his cart through the grocery store with a lazy rhythm, sunglasses tucked into his collar, and a list on his phone that he was half-ignoring. Eggs, coffee, something green… cereal.

He turned into the cereal aisle, already reaching for the same red box he always bought, when a familiar figure ahead caught his eye.

Blond. Tall. Broad shoulders. Back turned.

Rooster paused mid-step.

Seresin?

It looked like Jake — same relaxed posture, same stupidly perfect haircut. But the guy was wearing jeans and a faded t-shirt, not his usual base uniform or something annoyingly designer. Casual. Normal.

Rooster took a step forward, ready to call out a sarcastic, "Didn’t peg you for a Cheerios guy," when the man turned slightly to the side.

And that’s when he saw her.

A baby.

Strapped to his chest in one of those soft, wraparound slings. A tiny baby — maybe six or seven months old, by the size of her — nestled against his chest, dozing peacefully with a pacifier bobbing in her mouth. One of her socks was missing, her little toes peeking out like she’d kicked it off mid-nap.

Rooster froze.

And then—

“Daddy, look! They have the cinnamon ones!”

A second voice. High-pitched, sweet, and excited.

A little girl — maybe five — stood up in the shopping cart seat and waved dramatically at the shelf of cereal boxes like she’d discovered treasure. Her curls bounced as she wiggled, and she wore a pink t-shirt with sparkles on it and denim overalls with a sticker stuck to one leg.

Jake turned to look at her fully, the side of his face now visible, and Rooster’s heart tripped over itself.

No way.

“Alright, alright, Cin-a-mon Swirls it is,” Jake said, stretching to grab the box while carefully balancing the sleeping baby on his chest. “But only if you promise not to sneak handfuls before breakfast again.”

The little girl giggled. “I don’t sneak. I sample.”

Jake laughed under his breath — that soft, genuine laugh Rooster had never heard from him on base — and dropped the box in the cart.

Rooster ducked quickly behind the display of oatmeal, heart hammering.

What the hell did I just walk into?

Those weren’t nieces. That baby was practically grafted to Jake’s chest, and the little girl had his eyes. The same green-gold color. The same crooked grin. The same exact nose.

Rooster peeked around the endcap.

Jake had one hand resting protectively on the baby’s back and the other guiding the cart while she chattered away, telling some elaborate story about a dragon and a breakfast castle. And Jake? He was listening. Actually listening, nodding at the right moments, smiling to himself like this was the best part of his day.

What the—

Rooster stepped back, the shock settling into something sharper. Confusion. Disbelief.

Hangman has kids?

Real kids. Not nieces. Not a girlfriend’s kids. His. There was no mistaking it. That little girl might as well have been a clone.

And he’d said nothing.

Rooster stood frozen, cart forgotten, eyes still locked on the aisle corner where Jake had just turned out of sight, baby and child in tow.

He didn’t approach. Didn’t say a word. He just stood there in the cereal aisle, trying to process the impossible.

Jake Seresin — Hangman — had a secret family.

And now, Rooster wasn’t sure who the hell he’d been working with all this time.

Rooster didn’t remember checking out.

He was pretty sure he paid — probably — because the cashier smiled and told him to have a good day. But everything from the cereal aisle to the parking lot felt like a blur. His brain was short-circuiting, looping through the same impossible images like a broken projector.

Jake. Baby. Little girl. Daddy.

He sat in his Bronco, staring blankly at the wheel. The cinnamon cereal he'd ended up grabbing by accident sat in the passenger seat like evidence.

“This is insane,” he muttered. “This is literally insane.”

He could not be the only one to know this. He didn’t want to be the only one. Someone had to validate this reality — and someone had to help him process what the hell was going on.

Which is how he ended up at the base gym, tossing his keys into a locker with a little too much force, pacing past the row of squat racks, and scanning the room like a man on a mission.

Phoenix.

There she was, finishing up reps on the bench press like a total machine, earbuds in, hair tied back, towel around her neck.

“Hey,” he called, voice slightly too loud.

She didn’t hear.

“Hey!”

Phoenix startled, pulling one earbud out with a scowl. “Jesus, Bradshaw. I almost dropped that on my face.”

“Yeah, okay, sorry,” he said, stepping closer. “I need to talk to you. Right now. Privately.”

She raised one eyebrow and sat up slowly. “What, did someone die?”

“No, but—close. I mean—no. It’s not a death death, it’s just—” He ran a hand through his hair. “Just—can we?”

Phoenix stood, towel in one hand, already skeptical. “Okay, drama queen. Come on.”

They ducked into the hallway outside the locker rooms, still sweaty and smelling faintly like antiseptic and rubber flooring. Phoenix crossed her arms.

“Alright. Spill.”

Rooster opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Shook his head.

“Rooster.”

“I saw Hangman with a baby,” he blurted, eyes wild. “And a kid. Like a five-year-old. And he was grocery shopping with them like it was normal. The baby was strapped to his chest like one of those little marsupial carriers and the kid called him Daddy.”

Phoenix stared.

He waited.

She didn’t blink.

Finally, she said, “What?”

“In the cereal aisle! I thought it was him, and I was about to say hi, but then I saw the baby, and the little girl looked just like him and then she said ‘Daddy’ and I—I panicked, okay? I hid behind the oatmeal.”

“You hid behind the oatmeal?”

“I was caught off guard!”

Phoenix let out a snort-laugh. “Oh my God.”

“I’m serious, Nat. They looked exactly like him. The girl had his eyes. His smile. And he was being all—dad-like. It was weirdly gentle. I didn’t know he had a tone like that.”

Phoenix was quiet for a long second, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “No mention of kids. No ring. No pictures. No weird schedule conflicts. If he has a family, he’s gone to serious lengths to hide it.”

Rooster nodded like a bobblehead. “That’s what I’m saying!”

“Are you sure they weren’t his sister’s kids or something?”

“The baby was drooling all over his shirt and the other one was bossing him around like she owned him. And he was listening. Patiently. Hangman doesn't listen patiently to anyone.”

Phoenix stared into the middle distance.

“...Holy shit,” she said under her breath.

Rooster folded his arms. “So what do we do?”

Phoenix blinked at him. “We?”

“You’re involved now!”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“But you know.”

Phoenix gave him a look. “So what—you want to confront him?”

“No,” Rooster said quickly. “God, no. What if it’s, like, a secret family on purpose? What if it’s some Witness Protection-level thing? Or he’s on the run from the PTA?”

Phoenix barked a laugh. “Okay, calm down, you're not in a TV show.”

“I just—I feel like I stepped into the Twilight Zone,” Rooster muttered.

“And I can’t un-see it. Like, every time he opens his mouth now, I’m going to hear that little girl’s voice saying ‘Daddy.’”

Phoenix scrubbed a hand down her face. “Alright. We sit on it. For now. He’ll crack eventually.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

She gave him a slow, sly smile. “Then we accidentally run into him again. Maybe outside work. Maybe at the grocery store.”

Rooster looked appalled. “You want to stake him out?”

Phoenix shrugged. “What? You already started the recon mission. Might as well finish it.”

Rooster groaned. “This is going to drive me crazy.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Bradshaw,” she said, patting his shoulder. “It already has.”

Jake had been minding his own business. Genuinely. For once.

He’d gotten through the morning flight briefing, his simulation review, and even a cup of coffee without roasting anyone. It was a personal record. But then—suddenly, for no reason at all—Bradley and Natasha started acting weird.

“Hey, Hangman,” Rooster said casually, sliding into the locker bench beside him, half-dressed in his flight gear. “What’d you do this weekend?”

Jake squinted at him, one boot half-laced. “What?”

“Just curious,” Rooster said, far too quickly. “Normal question. People ask each other that.”

Jake stared. “I did laundry. Took the truck in for an oil change. Nothing exciting.”

“Cool, cool,” Phoenix chimed in from across the aisle, leaning against the lockers like a detective interrogating a suspect. “Did you, I don’t know, go to the store?”

“The store?” Jake echoed slowly.

“You know,” Rooster added. “For… groceries.”

Jake blinked. “Yeah. Got some eggs. Why?”

“No reason,” they said in unison.

Jake looked between them, brow furrowing. “Did I miss a memo about getting really into meal prep?”

Phoenix gave a tight smile. “We’re just... interested in nutrition lately.”

Rooster nodded solemnly. “Very into breakfast.”

Jake opened his mouth, paused, then slowly tied his boot. “You guys are so weird today.”

Phoenix pushed off the locker. “So you live around here, then?”

Jake’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Obviously.”

Rooster jumped in. “Yeah, yeah, but like... where?”

Jake pulled his boot tighter. “You wanna come over for dinner, Bradshaw? Is that what this is? You finally caving to my charm?”

“No! I mean—unless you’re offering.” Rooster looked at Phoenix. “He could be offering.”

Jake stood, rolling his eyes. “What is wrong with you two?”

Phoenix played it cool. “Nothing. We’re just making conversation.”

“You’re never just making conversation.”

Rooster crossed his arms. “Maybe we’re trying to be your friends.”

Jake paused mid-zip on his jacket, one eyebrow climbing like it was headed for the stratosphere.

“My friends?” he repeated. “You think this is the first week of kindergarten and we’re picking lunch buddies?”

Phoenix shrugged, entirely unfazed. “Stranger things have happened.”

Jake gave her a long look. “Are you both dying?”

“No.”

“On drugs?”

Rooster smirked. “Only caffeine and a burning need for the truth.”

Jake stared for a beat longer, then shook his head and walked out of the locker room with a muttered, “Y’all are exhausting.”

Phoenix turned to Rooster once he was gone. “Okay, new plan. We’re terrible at this.”

Rooster groaned. “I thought the grocery question was subtle.”

“It wasn’t.”

“He’s too smug. He has secrets and he knows we want to know them.”

Phoenix sighed. “And he’s enjoying the hell out of this.”

Rooster tilted his head thoughtfully. “He might be just confused. That would track.”

They both stood in silence for a moment before Phoenix said, “We need to try again. Cooler. Smarter.”

Rooster gave her a long look. “You gonna say ‘do you have kids’ in Morse code or something?”

Phoenix’s eyes lit up. “...Maybe.”

Jake pushed open the front door with his shoulder, juggling his keys, a bottle of wine, and the pink glittery water bottle Cami had insisted on bringing to preschool. The house smelled faintly of laundry and lemon cleaner, and somewhere in the background, Taylor Swift’s voice floated out from the kitchen speaker.

You were at the counter, barefoot in leggings and one of his old Academy hoodies, hair piled on top of your head like a soft crown of chaos. Lex was in her bouncer on the floor nearby, babbling softly to her toes like they were telling her secrets.

Cami was on the couch with a coloring book and a stack of markers that had no hope of staying uncapped for long.

Jake dropped his keys in the bowl and stepped into the kitchen, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “I survived another day of being interrogated by two weirdos.”

You smiled without looking up from the dishwasher you were loading.

“Phoenix and Rooster.” He opened the fridge and tucked the wine onto the bottom shelf. “They’re acting weird. Like, weirder than usual.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘weird.’”

Jake pulled out a leftover container and leaned against the counter. “Asking where I live, what I did this weekend, if I’ve been to the grocery store. They were so subtle it was almost adorable.”

You bit back a smile. “Huh.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Maybe they already know.”

Jake froze, Tupperware in hand. “Know what?”

You turned and gently nudged the fridge closed with your hip. “About us. About me. About the girls.”

Jake blinked. “How?”

“I don’t know,” you said, scooping up a bib from the table. “Maybe they saw us out. Maybe someone mentioned something. Cami does talk to strangers like they’re long-lost cousins.”

Jake groaned. “Oh God. Did she tell the cashier I’m a Top Gun pilot again?”

“She told the woman at the post office that your call sign is Hangman because you ‘always hang upside down on the monkey bars.’”

He dropped his head to the counter with a muffled laugh. “She’s gonna get me court-martialed.”

You smiled as you stepped closer and gently carded your fingers through his hair. “You said you liked them. The squad.”

“I do,” he mumbled, voice slightly muffled. “Most days.”

“Maybe it’s time they knew the truth.”

Jake lifted his head, watching you carefully. “You think so?”

You tilted your head, soft and teasing. “What’s the worst that could happen? They start calling you Daddy-man?”

Jake winced. “I just threw up in my mouth a little.”

You laughed, warm and easy, and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Seriously. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. You have a great life. You have a family who loves you. And a baby with thighs so chunky they deserve their own zip code.”

Jake looked down at Lex, who had stopped babbling long enough to blow a spit bubble.

He sighed. “You’re right.”

You bumped your shoulder against his. “I know.”

Cami’s voice floated in from the living room. “Mom! Daddy! Where’s the sparkly purple marker? It’s an emergency!”

Jake shouted back, “Check under the couch! Or in your hair!”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head against his chest. “Well… when you’re ready, we’re ready too.”

He kissed the top of your head, arms sliding around you with a quiet, grateful squeeze.

The squad had claimed their usual table on the outdoor patio of the base commissary — sun shining, aviators on, trays full of fries and whatever passed for lunch that day. It was the kind of afternoon that made everything feel like summer break, even if they were technically on duty.

“Well, I hope you’re all happy,” Bob was saying dryly as he unwrapped a sandwich. “I checked my mailbox today and it was filled with glitter.”

Fanboy leaned back in his chair, beaming. “You’re welcome. That’s the kind of magic only Bowie and I can bring to a neighborhood.”

“You named the dog after David Bowie?” Phoenix asked, chewing on a carrot stick.

Mickey grinned. “Ziggy Stardog.”

Groans went around the table.

“Unreal,” Coyote muttered. “That’s terrible and I’m impressed.”

“I live to serve.”

Jake was halfway through a burger, content to let the chaos unfold, when Maverick appeared like a ghost with sunglasses, stepping out of nowhere and holding a coffee in one hand like it was sacred.

“Don’t mean to interrupt,” he said, voice easy, “but Penny wanted me to let you all know we’re doing a bonfire tonight. Out by the beach. Her place. Says it’s a welcome-back thing, so don’t bring beer, don’t bring drama, and for the love of God, don’t bring your motorcycles onto the sand again.”

Everyone snickered. Rooster threw his hands up defensively. “That was one time.”

“And it’ll stay that way,” Mav said with a pointed look.

Jake straightened slightly, setting down the last bite of his burger. He glanced around the table, pulse oddly steady. The decision had settled itself sometime that morning between spooning oatmeal into Lex’s mouth and Cami asking—again—when she could meet Daddy’s new friends.

“Mav,” he said, casual but clear. “Is it cool if I bring some people with me?”

The table went quiet.

Maverick blinked, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, sure. That’s fine.”

Jake gave a little smile and nodded. “Appreciate it.”

Everyone stared.

Fanboy was the first to break the silence. “Uh… what people?” He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t even like people.”

Payback looked mildly alarmed. “Are we being replaced?”

Jake just shrugged, reaching for his drink like this was the most normal conversation in the world.

But Phoenix was watching him like a hawk.

And Rooster was actively vibrating with contained energy, a fry halfway to his mouth, completely forgotten.

“You’re being weird again,” Jake said, pointing his straw at Rooster.

“You’re bringing people,” Rooster shot back, eyebrows in the stratosphere.

Phoenix leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, a slow smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “We talking plural as in roommates? Or plural as in… little people who call you Daddy?”

Jake’s eyes flicked to hers, the tiniest tilt of amusement in them. “I’m just saying,” he said evenly, “if I show up with the most beautiful girl at the party, don’t be surprised.”

Rooster choked on his fry.

Phoenix kicked him under the table.

Fanboy looked around, utterly lost. “What is happening?”

Bob squinted suspiciously. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Jake only smirked and stood, brushing the crumbs off his shirt.

“See y’all tonight,” he said, casual as anything. “Save me a seat by the fire.”

And with that, he walked off — calm, unbothered, and just smug enough to make Rooster groan into his hands.

Phoenix leaned back, arms crossed, a gleam in her eyes. “It’s happening.”

Rooster looked haunted. “I knew that baby wasn’t a hallucination.”

Payback stared between them. “What baby?!”

The house smelled like sunscreen, baby lotion, and a little bit of anxiety.

Cami was bouncing from room to room like a ping-pong ball, wearing a sparkly denim jacket over a pink sundress and clutching her favorite plush unicorn in a tiny fist. She kept popping into the bathroom to check her hair in the mirror, then running back to Jake.

“Do I look okay, Daddy?”

Jake crouched to her level, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “You look perfect, honey.”

She beamed for a second, then hesitated. “What if your friends don’t like me?”

Jake blinked. “What?”

Cami twisted the unicorn’s mane around her finger. “What if they think I talk too much? Or that I’m weird?”

Jake’s heart ached in that split-second way it always did when she got serious. He smoothed her curls gently and gave her that look — the one he reserved for bedtime promises and skinned knees.

“They’re gonna love you, bug,” he said softly. “Because you’re smart, and funny, and you make the best marshmallows on the planet.”

Her brow furrowed. “But we haven’t even made them yet—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jake whispered, grinning. “You still win.”

That got a giggle out of her, and she hugged his neck, throwing her little arms around him with enough force to knock him off balance onto the hallway rug.

“I love you, Daddy,” she said into his shoulder.

Jake’s voice caught. “I love you more.”

You stepped out of the nursery then, Lex already strapped to your chest in a soft carrier, cheeks pink and drool bib firmly in place. She was wide awake and blinking like the golden light in the living room was the most interesting thing in the world.

Cami ran to grab her tiny heart-shaped sunglasses from the coffee table. Jake stood and watched you for a second longer than necessary, just taking it all in.

“How’s Lex?” he asked, crossing the room to meet you.

“She’s been cooing at the ceiling fan for fifteen minutes straight,” you said. “I think it’s her soulmate.”

He smiled and reached out to gently fix the strap across your shoulder, his thumb brushing your collarbone.

“You okay?” you asked quietly, looking up at him.

Jake hesitated. “Yeah. I mean... yeah.”

You gave him that look — soft and knowing and full of the kind of patience he still didn’t fully understand how he’d earned.

“It’s not a bad kind of nervous,” he said after a second. “Just… new. I’ve never brought my family to anything like this. Not with coworkers. Javy doesn’t count.”

“He absolutely doesn’t count,” you agreed.

Jake chuckled under his breath, then exhaled, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “I just… this is the part where it’s not just mine anymore, you know? Where they get to know you. The girls. The best parts of me.”

You stepped in closer, pressing your hand to his chest. “We’ve always been yours, Jake.”

He looked down at you, green eyes a little glassy now. “Yeah,” he said. “But tonight... I guess it starts being real to everyone else, too.”

You smiled. “And that’s a good thing. Because it means more people get to see what I see. That you’re a good man. A good husband. A good dad. And the people who matter? They’ll never forget that.”

Jake swallowed hard and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then one to Lex’s. Then one to your mouth — soft, slow, like a thank-you.

“Alright,” he said, voice lighter. “Let’s go make an entrance.”

“Let’s go blow their minds,” you replied, already grabbing the baby bag.

Cami burst back into the room, sunglasses on upside down. “Do I look like a cool kid?”

Jake scooped her up with a dramatic gasp. “Coolest kid in the whole world.”

Cami giggled into his shoulder.

And just like that, the Seresins stepped out into the soft evening light, hand in hand, baby bouncing, hearts a little nervous, but completely full.

The sun was just beginning to dip behind the horizon when the Seresin family arrived.

The beach behind the Hard Deck glowed in warm amber and rose, the bonfire crackling at the center of it all, with the Daggers scattered around in folding chairs, drinks in hand, laughter rolling easy on the breeze. A cooler full of seltzers sat half-buried in the sand, and someone had already started a playlist that leaned heavy on Fleetwood Mac and bad decisions.

Jake stepped onto the sand first, Lex balanced easily on his hip in a floral romper and a soft pink headband that did absolutely nothing to keep her hair down. She let out a content little sigh and sucked on two fingers like she’d been born for the beach life.

You followed beside him, Cami’s small hand clasped tightly in yours. Her sparkly jacket caught the firelight as she walked, pink sunglasses pushed up into her curls, gripping her unicorn under one arm like backup.

To anyone watching, it was immediate.

They looked like Jake.

Same eyes. Same golden skin. Same confidence — even Cami, who clung to your side but stood tall, taking it all in.

The Daggers didn’t notice them at first.

Not until they got close enough that Bob glanced up and nearly choked on his drink.

Then Rooster turned — already half-expecting it — and froze with his cup halfway to his mouth.

Phoenix elbowed him like don’t say anything stupid but her own jaw had gone slack.

Fanboy actually gasped.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

Coyote just sat there grinning like he’d known all along — because, of course, he had.

Jake stopped just in front of the fire, let the conversations fizzle into stunned silence, and gave them that damn cocky smile — the one they all knew so well — only this time, it was softer. Warmer. The kind of smile that said this is everything to me.

“Evening,” he drawled. “Hope we’re not late.”

Nobody said a word.

Cami peeked around you, her voice small but clear. “Are these the pilot friends?”

Jake looked down at her and nodded. “Sure are, baby.”

You smiled gently at the group, then bent to whisper something in Cami’s ear. She stepped forward a little, still clutching the unicorn, but brave in that way only five-year-olds could be.

“I’m Camila Seresin,” she said proudly. “But you can call me Cami.”

Jake gave a slight nod, then shifted Lex on his hip. “And this little one is Alexandra. Lex, if she likes you.”

Lex burbled in response, blinking sleepily at the circle of stunned adults. Jake’s arm slipped around your waist, pulling you close.

“And this is my wife,” he said, voice soft but certain. “The love of my life. The reason I’m not a complete disaster.”

You gave a small, amused wave. “Hi.”

Phoenix finally blinked. “You’re married?”

“To her?” Payback added, looking between you and Jake like he was trying to process a physics equation with no numbers.

Fanboy leaned forward. “You’re married married. Like… full on?”

“With kids?” Bob choked.

Jake smirked. “Is it that hard to believe?”

“Yes!” they all said in unison.

Coyote just raised his beer and clinked it against Jake’s bottle. “About time, hermano.”

Phoenix gave you a look of genuine bafflement. “I mean, no offense, but you’re… like… stunning. And you married Hangman?”

“I know,” you said with a dramatic sigh. “We all make mistakes.”

Jake pressed a hand to his chest. “Wounded.”

Payback was still staring at Cami, then Lex, then Jake. “They look exactly like you.”

“They should,” Jake said. “Made ‘em myself.”

Phoenix groaned. “Okay, we’re leaving.”

Jake just laughed and tucked Lex’s head against his shoulder. “Cami, wanna roast some marshmallows?”

“Yes please!” she squeaked, already dragging you toward the snack table.

Jake looked around at the still-shocked faces of his squad — his friends now, he supposed — and gave them a rare, genuine smile.

“Welcome to my real life,” he said.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and the flames of the bonfire cast soft flickers across everyone’s faces. Music drifted low from someone’s speaker, mingling with the sound of the waves and the occasional snap of firewood.

It should’ve been a normal night.

But nothing felt normal now that Jake “Hangman” Seresin was casually sitting cross-legged on the sand, marshmallow stick in his hands, helping his five-year-old daughter make the perfect s’more.

“I said not too toasted,” Cami whispered urgently. “Just golden. Like the picture.”

Jake nodded seriously. “Golden. Got it. This is high-stakes work, sweetheart.”

Phoenix nudged Rooster with her foot. “Who is this man?”

Rooster, still visibly reeling, shook his head like it might clear the image in front of him. “I thought he ate protein powder straight out of the tub and slept on a bed of ego.”

“He’s using baby talk, Bradshaw.”

Rooster narrowed his eyes. “And I think the baby just giggled at him.”

“Not the baby,” Fanboy said from behind them. “Me. I’m giggling. This is surreal.”

Across the fire, Jake caught the tail end of the conversation and gave them a smug little look, tossing a marshmallow at Mickey that he expertly dodged.

You were nestled beside Jake on a blanket, Lex sleeping soundly against your chest now that she’d exhausted herself chewing on everyone’s fingers (with permission, of course). You leaned into Jake’s shoulder with a soft smile, watching Cami flit between the snack table and her latest obsession: Bradley Bradshaw.

“Hey, Mr. Rooster?” she called, holding her unicorn in one hand and a half-eaten graham cracker in the other.

Bradley blinked. “Uh, yeah?”

“Can I touch your mustache?”

Jake nearly dropped his beer.

Phoenix howled.

Rooster sat very still. “Um. Sure?”

Cami wandered over and patted it with her little marshmallow-sticky fingers, studying it like a curious scientist.

“It’s soft,” she declared. “Like a cat. You should name it.”

Jake groaned. “Cami.”

“What?” she asked innocently. “It’s just a suggestion.”

Jake shot Rooster a look over her head. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Rooster raised both hands. “Hey. I’m just standing here. With a face.”

You leaned over to whisper, “You’re really going to lose sleep over your daughter flirting with a mustache, aren’t you?”

“She has bad taste,” Jake said grimly.

Before anyone could tease him further, Coyote appeared at Cami’s side with a juice pouch and a twinkle in his eye. “Hey, kiddo. Want to help me find more sticks for the marshmallows?”

“Uncle Javy!” Cami cheered, grabbing the juice and launching herself at him like a tiny cannonball.

Phoenix blinked. “Uncle?”

Jake shrugged. “He’s the only one who knew. Got promoted early.”

“You told Javy?” Rooster cried, scandalized. “You told Javy and not me?”

Coyote slung Cami onto his shoulders with practiced ease. “I’m the trustworthy one.”

Jake smirked. “He didn’t try to follow me home or interrogate me about my grocery list.”

Rooster folded his arms. “That was one time.”

Phoenix grinned. “Still your worst stakeout.”

As the night deepened and the stars came out, the squad began to shift from disbelief into something sweeter: genuine admiration. Watching Jake tuck a blanket around Cami’s legs, kiss the top of her head. Seeing the way Lex instinctively settled in his arms, one tiny hand curled into his shirt. Hearing the way he said darlin’ to you like it meant something old and permanent.

This wasn’t a side of Jake Seresin anyone had expected to see.

But it fit him.

They always ate together. Spread out across one of the long tables in the hangar break room or under the shade of the awning if the weather allowed. Paper bags, energy drinks, and fast food wrappers littered the table like confetti most days. But not Jake’s spot. Not anymore.

His lunch was neat. Glass containers with perfectly portioned meals, color-coded and stacked. Shiny utensils instead of plastic. Napkins — actual cloth napkins. And he wiped his hands with them. His coffee came from the thermos now — not the break room sludge or the vending machine down the hall — and it smelled faintly of cinnamon and something warm and sweet none of them could place.

The rest of the Daggers tried to ignore it at first. They really did.

But when Jake pulled out a kale salad with pomegranate seeds and some suspiciously perfect grilled chicken on a Tuesday — after years of watching him inhale gas station taquitos and drink Red Bull like water — something snapped.

They began watching.

Not staring, per se — just... observing. Like scientists. Anthropologists. Phoenix was the first to spot the change in behavior: Jake no longer bought food on base. No quick donuts. No protein bars with expiration dates rubbed off. He came prepared. Bob noted the tiny container of homemade salad dressing and the lemon wedge tucked beside it. Fanboy spotted fresh herbs — fresh herbs — scattered over roasted vegetables one day. And Rooster, ever the skeptic, saw the glass container of couscous and nearly fell out of his chair.

Couscous.

That Thursday, they were all eating lunch together as usual. Burgers and fries, burrito bowls, leftover pizza — the usual chaos. Except for Jake, who opened his lunchbox to reveal grilled salmon, jasmine rice, and something that looked an awful lot like sautéed spinach with garlic.

Not a word was said at first. But the silence was loud.

Jake, as always, ate like it was nothing. Cool and composed. Not a hint of embarrassment. If anything, he looked proud of his meal. Maybe even smug.

The others exchanged glances over greasy paper bags and foil wrappers. Something was happening. Something had changed.

Jake wasn’t just eating better. He was glowing.

His hair looked shinier. His skin? Suspiciously clear. He wasn’t snapping at anyone. He wasn’t even being a smug jackass as often as he usually was. He still smirked — but it was softer. More amused than arrogant. And then there was the humming. Jake had been humming under his breath lately. Actual tunes.

The realization came slowly, then all at once:

Someone was making him lunch.

Not just anyone. Someone who cared.

The neat handwriting on the masking tape labels. The balanced meals. The lemon wedge. The cinnamon coffee. The fresh herbs. All from scratch.

That wasn’t meal prep. That was love.

And that’s when it hit them — they were dealing with a full-blown mystery girlfriend situation.

No one had seen her. No one had heard about her. But she existed. And she cooked. And she packed his lunch in a Stanley box like a 1950s housewife crossed with a nutritionist.

The Dagger Squad didn’t say anything that day. But they all knew one thing:

They were going to get to the bottom of it.

Even if it killed them.

The confrontation came on a Friday, and it was far from subtle.

They were all seated around the usual table outside the hangar — Phoenix, Rooster, Fanboy, Bob, Coyote, and Jake. The air smelled like jet fuel, sunblock, and desperation. Lunch had just begun, and once again, Jake pulled out his Stanley lunchbox with the same casual nonchalance of a man not being stalked by his coworkers.

Except he was.

Fanboy was the first to break.

“That’s it,” he said, slapping a napkin down like he was laying a court summons. “Who is she?”

Jake didn’t even glance up as he unscrewed his thermos. “Excuse me?”

Phoenix leaned in, pointing at his perfectly packed tupperware like it had personally offended her. “You used to eat vending machine peanuts for lunch, Seresin. Dry ones. With Coke Zero. Now you’re out here with your anti-inflammatory salmon and chia seed pudding.”

Coyote nodded solemnly. “You brought fruit yesterday, man. In a ceramic bowl. Who the hell owns ceramic bowls?”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “People who don’t eat like raccoons?”

Rooster squinted at the fork in Jake’s hand. “Is that... bamboo?”

“Reusable,” Jake said, chewing slowly. “It’s called being environmentally conscious.”

Bob looked genuinely impressed. “The presentation is really nice. There’s, like, a color theme every day.”

Jake shot him a warning glance. “Et tu, Floyd?”

Fanboy ignored him. “So? Who’s the domestic goddess making your lunches?”

Jake leaned back, slow and smug. “Y’all are acting like I can’t boil rice.”

Phoenix crossed her arms. “Jake, last year you set off the smoke alarm reheating soup.”

“One time,” he said. “One time.”

Rooster leaned forward, face dead serious. “Is your mom visiting or something? Be honest. She’s staying with you, right? That’s why you’ve been showing up with fucking lemon vinaigrette.”

Jake snorted. “My mother hasn’t flown in since Christmas, and if she were making my lunch, you’d all be dead from butter overload.”

Coyote grinned. “So it’s not your mom.”

Jake finally looked up, leveling them all with a cool glance. “Why are you people so obsessed with what I eat?”

“Because it’s suspicious!” Phoenix threw her hands up. “You have a thermos now. And that coffee smells like snickerdoodles. Your mood’s suspiciously stable. Your skin looks... hydrated.”

Rooster nodded. “I said that last week, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Bob added. “And his hair’s been extra fluffy.”

Jake rubbed his temple. “Jesus Christ.”

Fanboy leaned forward like he was about to interrogate a suspect. “You’ve got a girl, don’t you?”

Jake’s jaw ticked. “Not that it’s any of your business—”

“He has a girl!” Rooster exploded, pointing dramatically. “He’s so in love, it’s disgusting!”

Phoenix gasped, shoving Jake’s shoulder. “Oh my God, you’re domestic now. Who is she? Does she do your laundry? Does she iron your flight suits? Is she a ghost?”

“She’s not a ghost,” Jake muttered.

“Wait,” Coyote said, eyes narrowing. “Have we met her?”

Jake took another bite of his grilled chicken like he had all the time in the world. “No.”

“Why not?!” the table chorused in complete offense.

Jake shrugged. “Because she’s smarter than all of you, and I wanted her to like me before she met the clowns I work with.”

Rooster clutched his chest like he’d been shot. “He’s ashamed of us.”

Jake sighed dramatically. “You’re like toddlers. Nosy, loud toddlers.”

“I bet she bakes,” Phoenix said. “She definitely bakes.”

“She pickles,” Bob whispered in awe.

“You’re in love,” Coyote said, grinning. “Look at him. Look at that dumb smirk.”

Jake wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and raised his brow. “If you’re done analyzing my lunch like a bunch of food critics on meth, I’d like to eat in peace.”

But none of them were done. Not even close.

Because Jake Seresin — call sign Hangman, cockiest bastard alive — had a girlfriend.

And she packed him snack-size containers.

This was war.

When Jake walked through the front door, the scent of garlic and lemon greeted him first. Then came the faint hum of jazz from the kitchen speaker, and the soft shuffle of slippered feet across tile.

He closed the door behind him, shrugging off his flight jacket, and tossed his keys into the ceramic bowl by the entryway — the one you made yourself at that pottery class you dragged him to two months ago. The bowl was hideous, all warped and crooked and smudged with a thumbprint in the glaze.

He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Incoming,” he called, his voice echoing down the hallway.

“In here!” you answered gently, just barely loud enough to carry. It was a voice that never quite matched the chaos of the world he came from. Soft, warm, comforting — like fleece and firelight and freshly baked bread. Everything he didn’t know he needed until he had you.

Jake stepped into the kitchen, eyes landing on your small figure standing at the stove, stirring a pan of sautéed vegetables like it was the most important job in the universe. You wore an oversized sweatshirt that hung halfway to your knees and fuzzy socks with little peaches on them. Your hair was clipped up messily, a pencil tucked through it. Your cheeks were pink from the heat, your eyes bright as you turned to smile at him.

His day melted off his shoulders the second you looked at him like that.

“Hey, darlin’,” he said, walking up behind you and pressing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek. “Dinner smells amazing. What is it?”

“Grilled salmon,” you said, reaching for the oven mitts. “Roasted sweet potato, asparagus, and quinoa with lemon zest. And I tried that raspberry vinaigrette you mentioned.”

Jake made a low sound in his throat, like a man witnessing divinity. “God, I love you.”

You giggled quietly. “You say that every time I feed you.”

“Yeah, well, it’s always true.”

He leaned over and snagged a slice of sweet potato from the baking tray. You batted his hand lightly with the spatula.

“No snacking,” you said, then softer, “You’ll ruin your appetite.”

Jake grinned, clearly unbothered. He slid onto one of the counter stools, still in his flight suit. “You would not believe the interrogation I was subjected to today.”

You turned off the burner and looked over, blinking. “Interrogation?”

“Oh yeah.” He pulled out his thermos, waved it for emphasis. “This. Your lunches. Apparently I’ve been exhibiting ‘suspiciously stable mood patterns,’” he added with exaggerated air quotes. “Rooster almost staged an intervention. Fanboy asked if my mother was visiting.”

Your eyes widened in concern. “Oh no, did I—did I cause a scene?”

Jake smirked, all teeth. “Babe, the scene was already there. You’re just the reason it’s gourmet now.”

You ducked your head, cheeks coloring. “They were really talking about my food?”

“Nonstop,” he said, voice softer now. “Bob noticed the color coordination. And I may have accidentally confirmed that yes, I’m off the market and eating like a real adult because of a certain little nutritionist I’m in love with.”

Your eyes flicked up to his, shy but glowing.

“Oh.”

Jake’s smile softened. He reached over the counter to brush a crumb from your chin. “Yeah. Oh.”

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, nerves making your fingers twitch slightly. “Well... maybe they should just come over. For dinner. You know. If you want.”

Jake blinked. “Wait, you wanna meet them?”

You bit your lip, then nodded. “I mean... they’re important to you. And you’re important to me. I don’t want to be a secret.”

Jake stood, rounded the counter, and cupped your face with both hands, tilting your chin up gently. “You are not a secret. You’re my best-kept treasure. But if you want to meet the zoo I work with, I’ll happily unleash them on our home.”

You giggled nervously. “They’re not that bad, are they?”

Jake gave you a look. “One of them thought I was being poisoned because my skin started clearing up.”

You laughed out loud then, the sound like windchimes in spring. “Okay, maybe we’ll ease them in with dessert.”

“I’ll text them,” he said, already pulling out his phone. “Tomorrow night?”

You nodded, then hesitated. “Should I make the gluten-free pasta for Phoenix? I think you said she’s cutting back on wheat.”

Jake blinked. “You’re terrifying.”

“I’m thoughtful,” you corrected, nose wrinkling.

He kissed that exact wrinkle and pulled you close, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re perfect.”

And as he watched you pull out your little recipe notebook with color-coded tabs, already muttering about prep time and ingredients, Jake realized something:

His squad wasn’t ready for you.

But he was.

Jake had told them to arrive at 7:00 PM sharp.

Which, to be fair, was a bold assumption considering this group couldn’t even synchronize takeoff times most days — and yet, somehow, the entire Dagger Squad showed up early.

At 6:46 PM.

Jake opened the front door still wearing his "casual hosting" T-shirt — grey, a little snug on the arms — and a face full of horror as he looked past the group to his watch.

“You guys can’t read numbers?”

Phoenix blew past him like she owned the place, carrying a bottle of wine in one hand and a box of pastries in the other. “Relax, Hostess Seresin. We brought offerings.”

Javy followed right behind her, grinning. “We were hungry.”

“Some of us were excited to meet the mystery woman,” Bob added gently, clutching his own six-pack of sparkling water like it was a housewarming gift.

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t have just waited in the driveway like normal people?”

“Normal people don’t talk about you bringing Tupperware and homemade lemon water for two weeks straight,” Rooster said, stepping inside and looking around the open-plan living room and kitchen. “This is like… a holy pilgrimage.”

“Make yourselves at home,” Jake muttered dryly, closing the door as Payback and Fanboy filtered in, already bickering about who called shotgun on the ride over.

“Wow,” Phoenix said, setting her wine on the counter and surveying the kitchen. “This place is nice. Did you clean just for us?”

“No, he lives like this now,” Fanboy replied, eyeing the perfectly folded throw on the couch. “Ever since he started bringing soup in a thermos. It’s freaky.”

Jake opened his mouth to snap back, but was immediately distracted by the sound of a cabinet opening and the soft pad of your footsteps.

“Jake, can you—oh.” You stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, your eyes landing on the cluster of aviators now standing in the middle of your living room like excited kids on a school field trip.

You were wearing a soft blue sweater, an apron still tied around your waist, your hands lightly dusted in flour. Your hair was clipped back, your expression shy but warm, and for a second, nobody said anything.

Then:

“Oh my God, you’re real,” Rooster said, like he couldn’t help himself.

“You made the lemon lavender loaf?!” Bob added, awe in his voice.

You blinked, cheeks warming. “Um… yes?”

“Hi,” Jake said quickly, stepping forward to loop an arm around your waist. “Everyone—this is my girlfriend.”

The room erupted in a chorus of greetings.

You gave a tiny, polite wave and a nervous smile. “Hi. Welcome. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” Javy said, practically vibrating with joy.

You stepped aside, motioning toward the dining room. “Dinner’s almost ready. Please, sit, make yourselves comfortable. There are drinks on the sideboard, and appetizers if you’re hungry now.”

“Oh my God, there are appetizers,” Rooster whispered reverently.

The dining table was a vision: long and wooden with soft linen runners, candles, and mismatched vintage plates. On the sideboard sat homemade lemonade, cucumber water, fresh juice, and two pitchers of iced tea — one sweet, one unsweetened. Next to that, a tray of cheese-stuffed mini bell peppers, tiny crostinis with whipped feta and honey, and skewered watermelon cubes with mint and balsamic glaze.

You stood back, hands twisted in your apron, as the Daggers descended.

“This is witchcraft,” Phoenix murmured around a crostini.

“What’s in this?” Fanboy asked, mouth full.

“Ricotta, lemon zest, and love,” Jake said flatly, earning a soft elbow from you.

Bob carefully poured himself some cucumber water, looking like he was about to cry from joy.

“Okay,” Payback said after his second skewer, “so let’s talk about how you’re real. Jake Seresin told us nothing except that you packed his lunch and made ‘homemade marinara from scratch.’”

You flushed. “Well, I’m a nutritionist, so… food is kind of my thing.”

“Oh my God, he wasn’t lying,” Rooster said dramatically.

Jake smirked. “Told you.”

Dinner proper was a feast.

You brought everything out in waves, starting with fresh-baked dinner rolls still warm from the oven, followed by a creamy butternut squash soup served in delicate ceramic bowls you’d thrifted with Jake one weekend.

“This is…?” Natasha asked, spoon midair.

“Roasted butternut squash, a little coconut milk, ginger, and nutmeg.”

“I’m ascending,” Fanboy said seriously.

Jake leaned toward Bob, who had already finished half his bowl. “You should see brunch.”

Next came the main course: a honey-glazed salmon, lemon herb roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, roasted rainbow carrots, a spinach salad with strawberries and candied pecans, and a quinoa pilaf with grilled veggies.

“Oh my God, this is what Jake eats every day?” Fanboy asked, already scooping seconds. “We thought he joined a cult.”

“I made a peanut butter and jelly today,” Payback said. “A peanut butter and jelly.”

“Meanwhile, I’ve been eating gas station sushi,” Rooster mumbled.

Jake just leaned back in his chair, arm resting on the back of yours, smug as hell. “Yeah, well. You know. She likes me.”

Natasha snorted. “You’re just lucky she doesn’t realize she can do better.”

You gave a soft laugh, tucking your face into Jake’s shoulder. “I think I’m right where I want to be.”

Jake pressed a kiss to your temple.

Around the table, groans of fake gagging.

Then came dessert.

Which, of course, you also made from scratch.

Mini lava cakes. Fresh whipped cream. Vanilla bean custard. A tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries. And, because Jake had casually mentioned it in passing last week, a tiny banana cream pie — just for him.

There was silence as everyone took the first bite of lava cake.

Then, from Bob: “Do you… do you give cooking lessons?”

Jake snorted. “Bob, don’t fall in love with my girlfriend.”

“Too late.”

Eventually, the night wound down. Everyone was stuffed, glowing, and a little in awe. Jake sat back with his arm around you, and the rest of the Daggers sprawled like satisfied house cats in every available seat.

Phoenix raised her glass of lemonade. “To the chef. And to the woman who somehow managed to civilize Hangman.”

You smiled bashfully as everyone echoed the toast.

As they filtered out with hugs and leftovers and more compliments than you knew what to do with, Fanboy paused at the door and turned back to Jake.

“Hey man,” he said, nodding at you. “You’re punching so far above your weight.”

Jake just grinned, watching you finish wiping down the table, a dreamy look in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

The house was finally quiet.

The last of the dishes were drying in the rack, the dining room table wiped clean, and the candles had long since flickered out. Outside, the crickets hummed a steady rhythm beneath the open kitchen window, and inside, the only light came from the under-cabinet glow washing everything in soft, honeyed warmth.

You leaned against the counter, still in your apron, still a little flustered from all the compliments. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, and your voice was hoarse from answering so many questions, but Jake? Jake looked at you like he could stay in this moment forever.

“Did you have fun?” you asked, brushing your fingers along the edge of the countertop, not quite meeting his gaze.

Jake didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped in front of you, gently untied your apron and set it aside on the counter. Then he leaned in, cupping your jaw with one hand, thumb brushing softly beneath your eye where the day’s effort still lingered.

“You are… incredible,” he said quietly.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to melt. “They were just hungry.”

“They were obsessed with you,” he corrected. “And for the record, so am I.”

You laughed, just a little. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m lucky,” he said, kissing your cheek. “That’s what I am.”

You hummed, looping your arms around his waist as he tugged you closer. The tips of your noses brushed. Your smile curled slow and sleepy as his lips found yours — slow, soft, a kiss made of everything unspoken. Thank you. I love you. Please don’t ever leave.

Jake pulled away just far enough to whisper, “You know I’d marry you for those lava cakes alone, right?”

You smacked his chest. “Go to bed, Hangman.”

He grinned. “I’m serious. That pie sealed it.”

You leaned up to kiss him one more time, quick and warm. “Brush your teeth first.”

“Bossy,” he said, but he was already walking away, barefoot and happy.

The next morning, at Naval Base North Island, the squad was gathered around the usual lunch table — same routine, same noisy chatter — when Jake strolled up like he didn’t have a care in the world, coffee thermos in one hand, and a pastel-colored bakery box in the other.

“Morning, sunshine,” Rooster called. “You recover from that feast?”

Jake smirked and plopped the box on the table. “Barely. But she sent me with these.”

Natasha blinked. “Wait… what’s that?”

Jake popped the lid. Inside: delicate rows of homemade pastries. Mini scones with lemon glaze. Tiny berry tarts. Swirls of buttery palmiers and flaky raspberry pinwheels. Each one placed with the care of someone who loved to feed the people her person loved.

“She made these?” Bob asked, already leaning in like he was in a dream.

“Packed them herself,” Jake said, lifting out a tiny wax-paper note that read, “For the squad. Don’t let Jake eat them all. Love, Me.”

“Oh my God, she likes us,” Fanboy gasped.

“She likes me more,” Jake said smugly, popping a tart into his mouth.

Natasha was already holding a scone delicately between her fingers. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“You didn’t tell us she bakes,” Payback said through a mouthful.

Jake wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned back in his seat like he’d just conquered the world.

“She’s the sweetest,” Veronica leans in, bumping into his shoulder. Her eyes follow his line of sight and she smiles, a pleased private thing, only for Jake to see. They stand like this, shoulder to shoulder, watching the scene unfold in front of them. 

The kids play some sort of game only they know the rules of. They're in the middle of an excited outburst when Veronica's little boy, overwhelmed by the noise, new surroundings and too many friends all at once, starts to spin on the spot, screaming his lungs out.

And Jake’s little girl, bless her, joins him in immediately, matching his energy. She spins with her arms outstretched, dress twirling. Leaning her head back, she loses the cap, but she doesn’t care. Jake watches enamored, noticing that with her head thrown back like that, her hair almost reaches under her knees. It’s a miracle, she hasn’t yet pulled half of it out by stepping on it. 

The rest of the kids run to join them too, making it look like a flash mob, rather than a successfully dissolved tantrum. They soon switch to a weird version of tag, chasing each other while still spinning.

That’s when Jake turns back to Veronica, not really keen on seeing the next skinned knee the game will inevitably bring upon them.

“She’s always ready to include him, no matter what,” Veronica says gratefully. “Got a heart of gold, your little one,” she adds, squeezing his shoulder. Her words make Jake’s heart expand in his chest. 

Sometimes, the feeling gets so big. It’s like he’s ready to explode any moment, letting it consume him in a way only love can do. But then he holds it in for a while, cradles it in his aching arms. And lets it loose to the world. Everytime, his heart stays a little bigger than it was before, aching with the intensity in the best possible way.

“Well,” he aims for a joke, because there’s no way he can let her see what’s happening inside of him right now, “She’s got it from her dad,” he says with a smirk. 

Veronica laughs at that. “Sure, ‘cause you’re such a sweetheart yourself.” 

Jake winks at her, enjoying his own secret joke, while maintaining his persona. He was not talking about himself, but she doesn’t know that. Him. Not yet. 

“Yeah, well, I made the raspberry pop tarts she loves so much,” Veronica says, waving her hand at the table their little group is currently occupying. 

Jake nods his thanks while he turns around to take in the rest of the women currently setting up what looks like an entire aisle of snacks of the nearest supermarket spread onto the wooden picnic table. 

They might not look like it, but they're his people. Together, they form one very average mom group - perfectly curated, very typical, a bit bonkers. Just the way he likes it. They’re like pokemons and he has them all. 

There’s Alice, the I-can-and-I-am-doing-it-all single mother, who hit on him HARD the first time they met but backtracked immediately when he flashed her the ring on his left hand, becoming his bestie instead. They’re THE team when it comes to field trips and class meetings. Always ready to jump in and help each other when life and school pick ups get complicated.

Then there’s Tess, the overzealous extroverted stay at home mom, who will plan everyone’s week just so she doesn’t have to stay with her kids at home alone. Play dates and coffee dates organized for the rest of the school year, art supplies always ready.

Veronica, always complaining about anything and everything, but secretly the most tender and loving person, who makes the best and most beautiful cakes. She’ll also drive around half of the town just to come back for you when your car won’t start.

Also Emily, the chaotic mom, always running late, kids in mismatched outfits picked by themselves, her cheeks covered in sparkles from the last time her little boy wanted to try his hand at make up, fake Anna and Elsa tattoos covering her forearms. 

And then there’s Jake, the designated dad of the group. Always cracking jokes, always low-key flirting with all of them at once, basking in the attention naturally given when a group of mothers adopts a fellow parent who also happens to be a man. 

They've been his village for the last five and a half months, since his little girl started school and Bradley left for his latest deployment. 

They follow all the unwritten rules of any mom groups out there:

Do not ask too many questions. Any information must be given freely.

Talk about the kids. Safe territory.

Complain about your partner once in a while. The group’s foundation stone is solidarity. 

Engage in the WhatsApp group chat, for fuck’s sake. We need to hear your opinion. 

Be there for each other. Everyone needs an adult conversation once in a while.

“Oi, darling, careful,” they hear from afar, and that’s Emily. Arms full of backpacks and hats and snacks, finally arriving, only forty minutes late this time. She’s stumbling behind her three kids that are already running wild joining their other friends on the playground. 

Jake runs up to her, taking all the backpacks from her arms. 

“Hi Em, are you moving or something?” he asks jokingly, looking down at the amount of stuff she’s bringing. 

She just laughs. At herself mostly. She may always bring chaos with her, but she’s never in a bad mood. “The camo one is yours, actually,” she says, nodding with her chin to an old worn-out camo backpack that’s got a pink stuffed arm of Jake-doesn’t-know-what peeking out of it.

“Mine?” He asks, eyebrows raising. 

“Yeah, Bee said it was her dad’s?” she says, frowning. “She gave it to Timmy last time he was at yours. Apparently, he had collected too many rocks and needed something to put them in, so he could bring them home,” she clarifies while unloading another snack aisle on the already overflowing table.

At the same time, Jake spots the rooster keychain dangling from the zipper and understands. “Oh, right. Her dad’s,” he mumbles with a little smile.

The thing is, they haven’t met Bradley yet.

The thing is, they haven’t heard of him yet either. At least as far as he knows.

Though their little girl is always talking about her dad, they have no idea there’s two of them. 

He fights the urge to giggle. It’s a little stunt they pull anytime they get the chance. And they move a lot, so there are always new opportunities waiting. 

It doesn’t work out everytime, but when it does, it’s glorious. 

“Jake, did you manage to get that gluten-free cake thingy for Hallie?” Tess asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

“Of course,” he drawls, “but I’m never going back to that shop ever again. As much as I love Hallie,” he adds quickly. 

Tess frowns but Alice snorts, almost drowning in her Iced Blond Vanilla Latte. “You should have seen him,” she’s laughing now, coffee splashing around as she shakes with it. “He almost fell out the door, basically running to my car,” she heaves with laughter, taking the piss out of Jake, because she knows she can. “He jumped in, go, Alice, go!” She mimics Jake’s drawl, which earns her the group’s full attention and one very intense green-eyed stare.  

“And I’m like… all confused, what the fuck’s going on, is there a zombie going after you?” she’s acting out the whole scene now. “But before I can even start the car, there’s a lady bursting out of the shop, Sir, sir!” And Alice apparently missed her calling because she should have been an actress. Jake can already feel the embarrassed heat reaching his cheeks. “And she’s waving the paper bag with the cake up in the air like it’s a handkerchief and she’s flagging down fucking Titanic.”

She has too much fun with the story. That’s when Jake needs to intervene and try to save some of his own dignity. If that’s even still possible, that is. “Alice,” he cries out, “you saw her! She was insane. She literally wrote her number on the,” he lowers his voice, because there are kids running around and he’s a good parent, for fuck’s sake. “Fucking paper bag.” He says, eyes wide, emphasizing the words quietly. He rummages the table to find said gluten-free cake thingy, and from underneath pulls out a paper bag, which has, indeed, a phone number written on it in big black, desperately looking numbers. 

“And,” he continues pointedly and fishes out the receipt from the bag, “on the fucking receipt, too,” he says, pulling out the thin strap of paper, showing the unmistakable digits to everyone. He holds it high above his head, pinning Alice with his glare. She’s still laughing, nonetheless. “She would have written it on the fucking cake, if she could,” he mumbles, scrunching the receipt and paper bag in one ball and throwing it into the trash can resolutely. 

They’re all laughing now, mostly at his and Alice’s dramatics, rather than Jake’s despair, but he’ll have none of that. “I’m a married man, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath, arms crossed over his chest, lips pouting, willing the blush from his cheeks away. 

“Speaking of which,” Alice sidles up to him, “When’s your significant other coming?” she asks, eyebrows raised, all business like. 

And suddenly, there are four very intense pairs of eyes on him. They circle him like prey. “You promised.” 

Yeah, he did.

Jake thinks back to the day he made that promise and his heart thumps a little faster in his chest. It was the day Bradley finally came back home. After long, long six months of deployment in stupid, far away, across-fucking-too-many-time-zones Japan, he came back. And Jake was so happy, holding their girl and his husband in his arms, after so long. The three of them finally together again. 

He made that promise on a whim, out of pure happiness.

“Should be here any minute,” he says, smirking, confidence back where it belongs. 

“Oh, I can’t wait to finally meet her.” - “Is she even real?” - “She must be a real one, putting up with you.” - “Little Bee must be her mini-me, right? ‘Cause she sure didn’t get those curls from you, blondie.” - …

He doesn’t correct them. 

His eyes go back to his little girl. She’s sitting in the grass, laughing at something Timmy just said. The sun is painting her hair in gold, her skin too. She’s picking daisies the way all the kids do - the cap in her lap full of flower heads with no stems. Jake forgets how to breathe for a while. 

Until…

“God almighty!”

“Holly fucking shit!”

And of course, that gets Jake’s attention. “Come on, there are kids arou…” His scolding fades away as he catches the sight of his friends. They are staring, jaws half way on the ground, hands on chest. 

He follows their line of sight and oh… 

He forgot. He totally forgot. 

Bradley had an official meeting today. Which means he’s now striding towards them, all easy confidence, crossing the park like the whole world belongs to him, in his uniform. 

And Jake stares too. 

Because he’s allowed to. Because he couldn’t for so long. Because it’s Bradley. 

It’s that simple.

He’s … Gorgeous. He’s always been the most handsome man Jake has ever laid his eyes upon. And he still is, after all those years. Even with silver strands in his chestnut curls, even with his midsection getting fuller over the years. All of these things only add a layer of beauty to the man he once was. A layer of life. A shared one. A layer of love. 

The uniform leaves nothing to imagination, hugging him at all the right places, accentuating the broadness of his shoulders, his impossibly long legs, the swell of his strong arms. The sun finishes the picture by painting him in every shade of gold, from his curls, to his skin, to the deep brown of his eyes. The uniform cap is tucked under his arm. The wings, pinned on his chest proudly, glitter with light. 

Eyes and heads turn in his direction. Women stop in their conversations, ducking their heads, trying not to stare too obviously. And failing. Kids stop in their tracks, eyeing him suspiciously - in the intense way only kids are able to. 

But Bradley’s eyes are on his own target. He strides with intent, crossing the grass like it’s tarmac and he’s ready to embark on a mission. Only the mission is Jake. 

He doesn’t slow down until he’s right in front of their group. All eyes on him. He stops then and smiles, eyeing Jake’s friends with amused grin - Jake’s forever favourite expression of his. 

Jake’s always so excited about the big reveal. He can’t wait to see his friends finally connecting the dots. Laugh at their surprised faces. But he always misses it, too busy staring at his perfect husband. 

Alice is the first one to come to her senses. She clears her throat, breaking the moment of silence. 

"You looking for something, Sir?" she squeaks, cheeks pink, all her usual game gone with the wind.

Bradley smiles a bit more, steadfast and confident. “No,” he answers simply. And there’s a whole life hiding behind that one short word. “I’ve got everything I need,” he adds, locking his eyes with Jake. 

And Jake knows what flying feels like, he knows what being the best of the bests feels like, what being completely utterly totally free feels like. But nothing ever compares to this. 

He can’t hold his act any longer, he needs his husband’s arms around his waist, his lips against his lips, the affection currently consuming his whole body and soul out of his system before he explodes with it.

He takes a deep breath. How is it possible that after all those years, he still gets butterflies in his stomach just by looking at the man? He smiles at that thought and makes a move to finally step closer and erase the distance between their bodies, but someone beats him to it. And Jake can’t even be mad about it.

“Daddy!” a happy squeak breaks the silence and Bradley has just about the right amount of time to turn around so he can catch his little girl jumping into his arms. She hugs him with all of her body, koala-style, burying her face into his shoulder, uniform be damned.  

“Hi, sweetheart,” Bradley says with the soft voice he only keeps for his little girl. He hugs her back tightly, but she’s a kid at a park and has no time to waste, so it only takes a second before  she wiggles her way out of his embrace, running back to her friends again.

She makes room for Jake to finally step in. He leans in, planting a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“Hello, darling,” Bradley purrs, pulling him closer by the belt loops on his pants.

“Hi, husband,” Jake says, grinning into another kiss, chasing Bradley’s lips. 

This year… hadn’t been the greatest.

The meeting you’d thought was going to be the start of a new chapter in your career with that promotion you’d been hoping and working so hard for had ended with you clearing out your desk and turning in your ID badge, but not even the decent severance package they sent you out the door with could have cushioned that blow.

You’d been laid off from your tech job just in time for your industry to be hit with hiring freezes so glacial it felt like there must have been a breakthrough in global warming, as if the ice caps weren’t melting.

You spent days then weeks then months applying and interviewing on repeat like a groundhog’s day from hell, only to encounter more closed doors than open ones. Had enough ever-so-casual networking coffee chats that you were pretty sure you’d need to switch to decaf if you still wanted to have some functioning adrenal glands by the time you were fifty.

Coming close- so, so close- so many times. Having the final decision come between you and another candidate only for your fingertips to slip off the edge at the very last moment.

Still freefalling the same way you’d been since you’d first been let go.

With your savings dwindling and spirits low, you’d decided that what you needed most was to decompress and reassess. And where better than the place where some of your favorite memories had been made.

All it had taken was one call to your Aunt Penny for the little strands of silver lining to peek out from behind the gray clouds that had filled your skies lately.

By the end of the conversation not only did you have a place to land- the furnished loft above the garage with an ocean view from the tiny kitchen- but also a just-for-now job too, getting to work with her at the bar. Something to help get you back on your feet while the dust of your imploded life settled around you as you figured out your next move.

You weren’t known for staying in any place too long as it was, so it had been easy to pack up and leave the city you’d been living in for the Southern California sun, feeling lighter than you had in ages.

Your mom’s longtime best friend was quite possibly one of your favorite people on Earth. And still is.

There was nothing you looked forward to more than those summers you got to spend in San Diego, when you got to trade your textbooks for days out on the boat. Your family would rent at home near the Benjamin beach house and for almost two months it was carefree days of endless blue water and sand between your toes.

But without a doubt, the highlight of your summer was always Bradley Bradshaw.

A few years older than you, he’d been the cute boy who was the object of all your daydreams. You couldn’t remember who you first celebrity crush was, but you definitely remembered the boy with the curly brown hair who was responsible for giving you butterflies in your stomach for the very first time.

While your brother was more than fine trying to ditch you at every turn, Bradley had always made you feel like you were right where you were supposed to be. He always made you feel included. He had been the one to teach you how to wakeboard, gave you his free dole whip when he made a hole-in-one at Tiki Town, and sat next to you the first time you ever rode the Giant Dipper Roller Coaster.

Even though Penny and Mav’s relationship had been on and off for years, Bradley had remained a steady presence in your life every July and August.

Until the one summer when he didn’t show up.

You’d sat on the stairs with your arms wrapped around your knees that first night and listened on as your mom and Penny talked, piecing together the explanation for Bradley’s absence and why your aunt was dating the uninteresting man you’d met earlier that night at dinner.

The sun, the sand, and the sights were all the same. And yet everything had changed after that.

That had been your last San Diego summer.

You moved on, you went to college, you grew up. But you had never forgotten the boy who had made you feel like sunshine.

You’d always hoped he remembered you just as fondly.

When you heard that Penny and Mav were back together, you thought there might be a chance to see him again, you were always curious about how things had turned out for you. You just never expected for him to quite literally crash back into your life.

Or for all of those sun-warmed feelings came rushing back.

It was your third day of working at the Hard Deck.

You were still getting use to the lay of the land- and announcing corner whenever you made your way out of the stockroom- when you’d come out of the back with your arms full of refill napkins packs only to collide with a wall of muscles with a less than dignified oof.

“Oh, shit!” The hand that reached out to grasp your hip was probably the only reason you hadn’t landed on your ass, even as the napkins went everywhere. “Sorry, that was my- wait, Bee?”

The nickname from your younger years was exclusively reserved for close family and friends. Shortened over time from busy bee, a name your mom still wrote in your birthday and Christmas cards, because of the way you were always pursuing new activities with the kind of intense tenacity only found in the most precocious of kids.

Although, no one who’d known you squarely post-braces had ever called you that before. And definitely not anyone so solidly built with such a masculine, raspy voice.

But you knew those rich brown eyes and sun-streaked curls.

Just like you knew that under the soft looking linen blend shirt there’d be freckles dotted along his shoulder. Just like you knew that he was left-handed but preferred to throw a baseball with his right. Just like you knew he rode the Beach Blaster four times in a row that one time, not because he liked it, but because he was trying to get over his fear of heights.

“Bradley?” The right side of his mouth pulled up in a smile, seemingly pleased you recognized him. “Bradley Bradshaw?” you repeat, because even though he was standing less than three feet away from you, your brain was having a hard time processing the boy you’d known was now the man in front of you.

You hadn’t seen him since you were fifteen.

Although, you did try to look him up once in college when you and your roommates were tipsy off cheap sparkling wine and talking about first crushes. Giggling over poor choices and high-fiving over the ones who still Had It. Only when it was your turn, you’d found out pretty quick that he wasn’t on any socials- at least none that the four of you could sleuth out drunk on sheer determination and peach Andre. They’d let you have the rest of the bottle as a consolation prize when you’d all come up emptyhanded.

Bradley Bradshaw had remained a mystery to you, until that moment.

Gone was any trace of baby fat from his familiar face, replaced with a defined jaw and crinkles around the corners of his eyes. There were scars on his cheek and neck that hadn’t been there before, but the smile underneath that mustache was the same one from those summers all those years ago.

“It’s been a long time, huh?” Bradley said.

The only difference was the cute boy you’d known growing up was now quite possibly the most handsome man you’d ever seen.

“How’d you get even hotter?” you blurted. It only took a split second for your brain to catch up with your mouth, wincing at the words that hung in the air unable to take them back.

Bradley’s eyes widened in surprise just for a moment before he laughed. Loud and unguarded and amused.

Mortified and flustered you drop down to your knees to pick up the scattered brown craft paper wrapped bundles of napkins that littered the narrow hallway. His presence- and bulk- filling up the already small space.

He kneeled down next to you, helping to collect the packs. “I don’t know about ‘hotter’, but probably taller since that last time I saw you.” You couldn’t help but notice how big his hands were as he reached for the furthest one that was sent flying as victim of your two-person Big Bang.

And broader, you think.

“We’ve been doing a lot of push-ups lately,” Bradley chuckled, “I keep telling the squad to stop underestimating the old man, but they never learn. They’re still just as competitive as ever.”

“Jesus,” you muttered under your breath, needing a rock to crawl under. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt that ruffled around a man before. So caught off guard that all semblance of casually cool had left the building. You looked at him from the corner of your eye, and attempted to diffuse the situation with some self-deprecating humor, “Well, I wish second puberty had been as kind to me as it was for you.”

“From what I can see, it looks like it was pretty damn kind to you too.”

You’d pressed your lips together and fought back grin as you shook your head, reaching for another bundle. The last thing you’d needed was for him to be charming too.

You felt his gaze on the side of your face, like he was trying to catch your eye, and when you couldn’t avoid it any further without making it weird you met those warmer than cinnamon brown eyes.

“It’s good to see you again.” There was an earnest smile still in place on his face as he passed you the napkins he’d collected from his side of the hall.

He looked at you- probably the same way you’d been looking at him only a couple moments ago- trying to reconcile the carefree girl with the stunned woman in front of him, seeing what changes could be picked out on a face that hadn’t been seen in over a decade. You didn’t dare call it interest that was flickering in his eyes, but you could safely say there was at least some curiosity reflected in them.

You knew he wasn’t flirting, just trying to make you feel better less awkward about your earlier slip. Playing along the same way he did when he’d sabotage your brother at the water gun war game at Belmont Park so that you could stand a chance at winning a stuffed animal prize.

“It’s good to see you again, too,” you replied, meaning it as you gave him a smile of your own for the first time and watching as his own grew a little wider.

“Bee? Did you find them? The napkins should be-” Penny came rounding the corner, taking in the scene in front of her and who you’d been delayed by. Your whole body jolted like she’d caught you playing 7 Minutes in Heaven instead of crouching on the floor. “Oh, I see you’ve found Rooster. And the napkins.”

“It was my bad, Penny, I plowed right into her,” Bradley- Rooster?- said standing back up, wrapping a hand under your elbow to help guide you up to your feet.

“Sorry, I’ll be right there,” you told her, gesturing with your napkin filled arms. He was quick to reach out and catch one of the slipping packs from the top of the pile before it could fall to the ground again, helping you to get them better situated and less like a Jenga stack waiting to collapse.

“There’s no rush. I just wanted to make sure you were finding everything alright.” Her eyes drifted back and forth between the two of you, before landing on him and flicking down to the hand still on your elbow. “Hey, since you’re here, would you mind grabbing a fresh keg of the Stone Brewing lager for me?”

He nodded, letting go of you and hooking his thumbs into his front pockets. “Sure thing, can do.”

“Thank you, Bradley. And Bee,” she continued, turning back to you, “You can just bring those up when you’re ready.” You didn’t know what to make of the smile she gave you before she’d set off back to the bar.

The two of you stood there in silence for a few moments, although it hadn’t been the uncomfortable kind.

Bradley cleared his throat, his mouth quirking to one side. “I feel like there’s some kind of ‘the birds and the bees’ joke here. One I’m not qualified to make since you were always the funnier one of the two of us.”

That time it was your turn to laugh. You were more than a little pleased when his deeper one mixed with yours.

You warred with yourself- still holding those damn napkins- whether or not to wrap things up and go take them to Penny, but you wanted to know more.

“Rooster?” you’d asked, tilting your head at him in question.

“Believe it or not, I finally got past that fear of heights,” he explained, “I’m a pilot now.” You felt your smile grow on its own, it was something he’d always talked about. You were happy to learn he’d made it happen for himself. “Rooster is my callsign.”

It was a name you’d heard a few times since moving into the loft above the garage. The way Penny said it always made it seem like you should know who she was talking about, you just hadn’t taken a moment to ask, figuring that you’d meet this mysterious ‘Rooster’ eventually. You just never would have guessed you already knew him.

You told him as much, adding on, “Maybe she thought we’d kept in touch.”

“I would have liked that.” You ignored the fluttering low in your stomach. There was something in his voice that made your mouth go a little dry. “What’re you doing later? Are you here for long? I’d like to catch up, if you have time for an old friend.”

Friend.

The word shook you out of whatever Bradley Bradshaw induced haze you’d found yourself in.

You didn’t know how long you were going to be here, but one thing was for sure, all the two of you were ever going to be was platonic. It was a necessary reminder before any coconut sunscreen scented daydreams tempted you off course.

A smile stayed plastered to your face, one that felt more forced than it had been a few heartbeats ago, “I’m behind the bar until midnight, but I’ll be your friendly neighborhood bartender for the foreseeable future.”

Bradley grinned. “Guess, I’ll be seeing you around then, Bee.”

“I guess you will, Rooster.”

And you did.

You went from not seeing Bradley Bradshaw for over a decade to seeing him multiple times a week.

He kept you company at the bartop, swiveling on his stool, on slow nights as you found little projects to keep yourself occupied, like polishing and reorganizing the Hard Deck’s glassware collection. Filling each other in on the important things and people that had helped shaped the two of you into the adults that you’d grown into.

Rooster introduced you to his friends and teammates, making you feel not only included but liked you belonged in that same way he had when you were kids. Seamlessly bringing up common interests you shared with the people closest to him, giving you something to connect with them on your own outside of him. Always taking the initiative to extend invites your way to hang out at the beach or to check out the best spot for breakfast or to experience a Padres game complete with an unofficial culinary food tour of Petco Park.

He helped you paint the kitchenette in the loft a soft blue- with your aunt’s permission, of course. Meticulously taping off the countertop edges and cabinets, yet somehow ending up wearing more paint on an old, tightfitting UVA shirt that had seen better days than he got on the wall.  

And on Sunday nights he was seated across from you at the oak dining table with Amelia, Penny, and Pete for the weekly dinner the five of you all had together. They’d been back together for over a year now, and it seemed like it was for good this time based on the way they looked at each other. Your aunt was noticeably happier than she’d been even just a few years ago, that spark back that had been dimmed from an unhappy marriage.

You were happy for her and Mav.

He’d even taken you for a spin on his motorcycle. It was a one and done event, reaffirming what you already knew, that you were more of a four-wheel girl than a two-wheel one.

When you weren’t at the bar or working on the few remote side gigs you’d taken on to keep your skills feeling fresh, you were helping Amelia learn to code. It wasn’t your forte, but you were having fun spending time with her and teaching her what you did know. And in return, she’d help you to revamp your wardrobe a bit. You thought California cool looked good on you.

There had been a brief moment when you’d been packing up your old apartment when you’d worried about being lonely in San Diego not knowing anyone outside of your family, but you were the furthest thing from lonely and you had Bradley to thank for that.

It was nice to have friend.

However, you were finding that crush on him harder to get over than you anticipated.

You still get annoyed at yourself when he smiles at you a certain way making your cheeks heat up and your stomach flip. Although, you try not to be too hard on yourself because he’s genuinely kind and good looking and you’re only human. God knows you’ve seen enough people notice him too from your perch behind the bar.

But there were worse problems to have.

You had spent that morning getting the Hard Deck decorated for the big New Year’s Eve party.

As the first to arrive, you’d gotten the coffee going on the ancient coffee maker that you were trying your hardest to get Penny to replace when a big hand skimmed the side of your waist, reaching past you to steal the cup you’d just poured for yourself.

You turned to see a sleepy looking Bradley standing behind you, his curled looked more like they were fresh off his pillow than the way you usually saw them styled.

“It’s too early for this.” You watched as he took a big swig from the cup, wincing as he registered just how hot Jimmy’s machine had brewed the coffee, just a couple degrees below scalding.

You gave him an unimpressed look, “Says the man who routinely wakes up at 5am for a sunrise run.”

“It’s the weekend, Bee,” Bradley said like it explained everything.

“It’s a Wednesday.”

“Schematics.” He took another deep sip of your coffee, but not before you caught the mischievous way his mouth was curved upwards. “Everyone knows the days between Christmas and New Years Day are the Wild West of the calendar year, every day is a weekend day from the 26th to the 1st.”

You actually hadn’t seen Rooster since Christmas.

You’d decided to spend the holiday in San Diego since your parents had decided this was the year they were finally going to check out the Christmas markets in Europe like they’ve always wanted too. And you didn’t want to crash your brother’s first Christmas as a dad, instead you’d sent the most obnoxious baby toy you could find online in addition to a silky soft stuffed rabbit with your niece’s name embroidered on the ear.

When you opened the front door with the pretty stained glass sailing boat picture window, you’d been surprised to see Bradley standing there with a white faux fur trimmed Santa hat and holding a bag with unexpectedly well wrapped presents in one hand and a creamy, cranberry-colored pie in the other.

Your hand stayed glued to the doorknob as his eyes trailed over you. The house had been warm but a shiver still worked its way through your body as he took in your festive pajamas.

Before he could say anything Amelia ever-so-helpfully pointed out the mistletoe you’d conveniently forgotten about that had been hung above the wood door. Frankly, she sounded a bit too enthusiastic about it.

He mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like little punk, although his tone was so affectionate that you thought you must have misheard him. But you didn’t get to think on it for too long because then he was leaning in, in, in.

Your heart shot straight into your throat at the first prickle of his mustache and then the slightly dry lips as they brushed against your cheek for the briefest of moments.

And then he pulled away all too soon.

Friend. Friend. Friend. You tried to remind yourself, but your heart was too aflutter to get the message.

He looked you straight in the eyes as he stepped back, “Can you do me a favor, Bee?”

You must have made a sound that was close enough to an mhm, because then he passed you the bag of presents and the pie waiting only long enough to make sure you had a good hold on them both before darting around you to chase after Amelia.

Amelia squealed when Bradley caught her, ducking his head down to drop a playfully chaotic kiss on her cheek.

He ended up giving Penny and Mav the same treatment too. Although Pete shoved him away good-naturedly when he tried to plant a particularly sloppy one on him.

All while your feet stayed glued to the same spot they were when he kissed you.

But that was six days ago. Probably the longest stint without seeing him since you collided with him that afternoon a few months ago.

The smell of strong coffee and cinnamon had coaxed you back into the moment, and you’d shook your head a bit like that would help you clear your mind with Bradley standing so close to you again.

“I don’t think it’ll take us too long,” you declared, trying to get focused back on the task at hand- that being the unofficial head of the NYE decorating committee, “I even made us a schedule.”

“Of course you did. Is it color-coded?” he asked over the rim of the chipped mug.

“And if it is?” you countered, unashamed of your planning. And then there was that damn smile of his.

“Then I’m really going to need this coffee,” he winked, and poured you a cup of your own.

You’d been right though. With everyone pitching in things came together rather quickly.

The morning moving steadily as the Christmas decorations were replaced with classic the gold and white and black color scheme you’d went with for the party. The silver tinsel tree covered in beach themed shaped ornaments with a few planes hung about by the front door might have stood out at odds with everything else, but metallic was a neutral in your book so you’d opted to keep the cheerful tree up just a little bit longer and tucked a few party blowers into the branches to tie it in with the rest of the space.

It was easy for you to get in the zone, delegating and divvying up the tasks on your color-coded schedule, putting all your project tracking skills to use. There were dozens of strands of string lights that had to gone up on the ceiling and along the walls. All of the windows with the snowflake cut outs you and Amelia had made for Christmas were framed in a metallic fringe. There was a station with hats and headbands and glasses in case anyone was feeling particularly festive. The tables and booths had been stocked with noise makers and confetti poppers in addition to the mirrorball centerpieces and confetti scatter.

Everything sparkled and shined, the light bouncing off everything gave the bar a wonderfully hazy glow, it was the perfect ambiance for the most hopeful night of the year.

At one point, you’d been working on hanging up some dangling golden stars from one of the ceramic mug rounders only to find Bradley standing there at the base of the ladder behind you with a well-defined arm stretched out just in case you lost balance.

And then just like that, your focus went out the window. Because then he was everywhere. He made it impossible for you to not notice him, especially since so many of your jobs and his overlapped, something you’d come to regret more and more as the hours went by.

You’d been working on tying off balloons and lamenting the fact you didn’t order another pump with the tying tool, when you’d decided to take a break to massage your numb fingertips. You looked up to check the progress made with fresh eyes, to see Rooster on a ladder helping Mav to get the netting set up for the balloon drop.

The athletic shorts he’d been wearing were hanging low on his hips. And as he reached up to hand Pete another nail it caused his t-shirt to ride up giving you a glimpse of toned stomach and tantalizing v-lines. It was just as tempting as it was taunting.

You’d switched to ice water after that.

The image was seared into your mind for the rest of the afternoon. Not even the freezing cold shower you’d hopped into the second you made it back to your loft to freshen up before the party had helped. Neither had the rushed orgasm to take the edge off, because it wasn’t your own fingers that you wanted.

He’d found you before the party well and truly started.

You’d been double checking all the prep, making sure you had the bar stocked up as was possible without losing any valuable space, when you felt a hand on your back. Bradley was dressed up in a navy suit that fit him in all the right places, looking more handsome than you knew possible. All broad shoulders and thick thighs. The top button of his pristinely pressed white shirt undone, giving you a peek at the divot base of his throat.

You weren’t sure what made you more flustered, that hint of his neck or the skin under his bellybutton that you’d seen only a couple hours ago.

A soft smile coasted over his face as he took in your New Years’ Eve finest. “You look-”

“I know, rhinestones for New Years’ Eve, how groundbreaking,” you joked, cutting him off and giving your best Miranda Priestly impression.

You were wearing a black velvet jumpsuit for the party. You loved the way it fit the curves of your body and the way the halter top made your collarbones and shoulders look. There was just a hint of skin with the keyhole near the bust. But it was also practical- right down to your plain black no-show panties you had on- so you could move easily without worrying about giving anyone an eyeful. It wasn’t the flashiest of outfits, there’d be more than enough sequins later on, but the way Bradley was looking at you made it feel like your off the rack might as well be haute couture.

“I was going to say, you look good. Really good.” Bradley takes his time letting his eyes drag down your body, his cheek kicking up when he lands on your shoes. “I especially like the birks, they tie the whole look together.”

The clogs you were wearing were decidedly unsexy, not many people could pull of the potato shoe, but you weren’t there as a party guest, you still had work to do and your night was just getting started. “I don’t think stilettos and stouts would mix together very well,” you said by way of explanation.

Bradley chuckled and reached out taking an end of the little rhinestone bow that dangled from right beneath your neck where the straps met and twirled it between his fingers for a moment. “I think this might be my favorite part though,” he rasps lowly. There was an intensity in his eyes directed at you that you hadn’t seen before.

For a moment it looked like he was about to say more, and then a glass shattered.

The sound of it caused you to crash back into your body.

“And so it begins,” you announced, taking a half step backwards and out of his touch, that rhinestone cord falling back against your sternum with a gentle thud that you felt reverberate in your chest.

You heard him say your name, but you were already setting off for a broom.

So you’d kept your head down and your hands busy.

It felt like for every drink you made, two more were ordered. Barely noticing as the final minutes of this year flew by while you garnished drinks with bright cherries and slices of lemon with a flourish before handing them off.

Offering smiles and well wishes to those here to celebrate. True to your namesake as you swiped cards and counted bills and mixed and poured and served the drinks to the ever-rotating people in front of you.

You made eye contact with Rooster a couple times throughout the night, the same way you usually did when you were behind the bar and he was there. Eyes drawn to him like a magnet against your will.

He hadn’t come up to you at all since before the party started. You’d seen him with the Daggers when you went to refill the water tank, heard the keys of the upright piano when you grabbed more ice from the back room, saw him talking with the girl in the shiny dress and her interested eyes as you put the freshly washed glasses away.

Just like he’d been the best parts of your San Diego summers, he’d become the best part of your year.

You’d spent the last four months trying to convince yourself that it was a silly crush, that you could will it away or get over it. But now just a couple moments shy of a new year barreling towards you, it was time to face the fact that Bradley Bradshaw wasn’t someone you were ever going to get over.

Although if you were honest with yourself, you weren’t sure you wanted to get over him.

You’re giving the counter a quick wipe down, taking advantage of the brief lull when the music cuts off, startling you out of your thoughts.

Twelve!

The countdown had snuck up on you. Just like everything else had this year.

Eleven!

You’d had your fill of unexpected surprises, some for the worse and some for the better. While it felt like you’d had more downs than ups, you were ending the year feeling the most content you have since you were laid off. And that was more than good enough for you.

Ten!

At the beginning of this year, you never would have guessed that you’d end it in San Diego. This year had taken from you, but it had also given you a lot. New friends, new places to explore, new memories, new hopes.

Nine!

You were still figuring things out and that was ok. Even though you still weren’t sure what was next for you, you knew everything would work out. One way or another you’d find yourself on the other side of this and able to look back with pride for making it through all the challenges that had been thrown your way.

Eight!

And while things didn’t shape out the way you anticipated them to, with goals still yet to be achieved and a vision board of ideas that you’d carry into the new year, you had so much to be grateful for.

Seven!

You liked San Diego- and not in the just-for-now way. You liked the life you were building here. You liked the beach and the sand and the sun. You liked you Sunday dinners with Penny and Amelia and Pete. You liked the people you were surrounded by. You liked the stories you’ve collected from your side of the bar. You liked the diner down the road with their perfectly shaped coffee cups. You liked your new normal while you got your feet back under you. You liked the potential you felt was here.

Six!

And then there was Bradley.

Five!

You were avoiding looking in his direction, too worried about what you might see, not wanting to end this year with another disappointment. You’ve come to accept that he had a piece of you that you weren’t sure you were ever going to get back. But that was something for you to deal with next year.

Four!

For now, you are right where you are supposed to be.

Three!

Because what is meant for you will never pass you by. Not in life and not in love. And that was something you could count on, something you could hold onto.

Two!

You smile to yourself and close your eyes.

The crowd chants One!

You breathe out and let go.

And when the cheers of Happy New Year! ring out, you breathe in and open your heart up to all the possibilities.

Enjoying the moment for what it was- exactly as it was- as the party noise makers started going off all around you.

As New Years’ kisses were traded.

As people greeted a fresh, bright New Year with wide-open and welcoming arms.

Where anything could happen.

Where anything was possible because the year was waiting to written.

You tip your head back and open your eyes, watching as the balloons you’d spent the afternoon tying knots in started to fall, slowly at first and then more until your view was a cocoon of black and gold and white and clear blocking out the rest of the world from view.

Time seemed to slow a bit as the confetti poppers joined the mix adding to the echo of fireworks going off nearby. The glints of gold and little shiny dots of sparkles and streamers seemed to hang in the air. There was a cacophony of cheerful noises, from the poppers to the people to the familiar sound of Whitney Houston being piped over the static-y speakers.

A moment of magic for you and you alone, as you pocketed the hope and optimism you felt rippling around you.

Over the next couple of hours pass just as swiftly as before. As you got back into the groove of serving people, your brain snagged on the sound of Aud Land Syne being played on the upright piano at the other end of the bar, and the only person it could be playing it.

It wasn’t long before people steadily started to trickle out the front door.

You’d made sure to shoo Penny out to the dance floor with Pete as the lineup of people slowed down enough for her to have some New Years Eve fun.

No one had gone too crazy, but even so, you helped arranged people rides to get home safe between closing out tabs and announcing the last call for the few people who wanted to stick it out until the very end. Waving to your new friends as they all slowly but surely made their exits.

You’d lost track of Rooster along the way, it would have been nice to wish him a Happy New Year, but it was probably for the best. It was easier on your heart to not know whether he left with some of the Daggers or with the girl with the silver sequins.

You just locked the door after the last couple stragglers had left for the night. You’d sent Penny away a little over a half an hour ago- along with Mav- since there’d been only a handful of people to look after.

She’d made you promise not to stay behind after locking up, but you didn’t see the harm in tidying things up a bit more. You were collecting the empty glasses that had been scattered about and abandoned on window ledges and tables when you caught a figure out of the corner of your eye, nearly causing you to drop the bus tub you were holding on to.

“Bradley! Jesus.” You set the plastic tub down on a table with more force than necessary, the glasses rattling against each other, and press a hand to your chest where your heart is rapidly knocking about. “What are you still doing here?”

You figured he left already, so you’re more than a little surprised he’s still here. And not just because he startled you half to death.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, putting his hands up. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you, I was taking out some trash and then got held up talking to Jake for a few minutes. I didn’t realize everyone else had left.”

“I just locked the front doors,” you say, waving towards the now closed front door.

Bradley takes a cautious step closer. “So, it’s just us then?” He doesn’t even have the decency to look like he’s been partying for the better part of five hours, he looks just as handsome as he did at the start of the evening, whereas you’re sure you probably look as ruffled as you felt.

“We’re the last two standing,” you confirm, putting your hands on your lower back to stretch out the tightness that had settled along your spine over the course of the night, “But just barely, on my end.”

“You’ve been busy tonight.” You hum in agreement and reach for a foam-covered glass that was left between the coaster holder and napkin dispensers. His big hand closing around it first and he pins you with a look, leaning a hip against the table, “So tell me, why are you still cleaning when you and I both know for a fact Penny hired a crew to take care of this in the morning?”

You don’t have an answer for him, at least, not one you were willing to share. That even though the ball had dropped and the confetti had fallen you weren’t ready to have the night be over yet. Knowing that the moment you locked up for good and got in your car and headed home, that the bottle of champagne you’d bought for yourself and plans with Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal wouldn’t hit quite the way you’d hope it would.

Instead, you offer him a shrug.

Bradley’s eyes search yours for a moment before he gives you a gentle smile. “C’mon, busy bee, I think you’ve more than earned yourself a glass of champagne.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to argue, already making his way towards the bar, not that you put up much of a fight. The ‘Greatest Hits’ playlist that Penny had queued up for the night is still playing in the background, you recognize opening notes of The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” as you trail after him.

You lift an eyebrow as he pulls out a stool for you, but he just mirrors you by lifting one of his own and gestures to the seat. You think you feel his thumb sweep over your hip as he helps you into the stool before stepping into the front bar. A little sigh of relief slips out of you, finally off your feet for the first time all night.

You’re tired, but it’s a happy kind of tired. You’d had a nice time all things considering. Seeing the bright faces of everyone tonight had made all the work you’d put in feel worth it, all the planning and prep and decorating made it worth it if tonight ended up being a fond memory for someone.

Bradley grins at you from over his shoulder mischievously, “You know, Penny’s never let me behind the bar before.” He says it so conspiratorially, like he’s getting away with something and you’re an eyewitness to his delinquency, as if he wasn’t a decorated golden boy of the United States Navy.  

You laugh, endeared by the boyish smile on his face. “Probably because you’re never wearing the right shoes,” you tease, wiggling a clog towards him.

And he chuckles, warm and affectionate.

Rooster finds the freshly washed glasses easily- Pete had done a great job as the designated dishwasher of the evening, loading and unloading glasses as quickly as they came with speedy efficiency. You see as his hand hesitates for a moment eyeing the already open bottle of champagne on the counter warily, and you point a glossy cranberry coated fingernail to the fridge under the counter, where you knew a few uncorked ones were still stocked knowing that Penny won’t mind if you pilfer a celebratory bottle to share between yourselves.

With your help he finds the chilled bottle and shoots the cork across the room with a cheerful pop! You make a mental note to pick it up later marking the spot in your mind, which he must notice because he says, knowingly, “Don’t worry, I’ll grab it later. You’re officially off the clock.”

He pours you a glass and then one for himself with a flourish, clearly showing off as the bubbles fizz to the top of the rim without spilling over. You’ve spent all night catering to everyone else, it’s nice to have someone looking out for you now.

Rooster holds out a glass for you, “Cheers, Bee.”

You smile and clink yours against his.

The bubbles burst across your tongue, refreshing and crisp. The two of you sip on your glasses of champagne in companionable silence for a few moments, enjoying the calm after a busy day and busier night.

“Did you have a nice time tonight, Bradley?”

“It was nice enough, I guess,” he says, giving you a half smile, “I’m having a much better time now though.”

You take another little sip, attributing the fluttering in your chest to the bubbles.

“It feels weird to be sitting on this side of the bar,” you muse, changing the subject, “You know, I don’t think I made you a drink at all tonight.”

He takes the bottle and pours you a little more. “People kept hogging my favorite bartender.”

You grin into your glass.

“I would have made time for you,” you say.

He leans down and fold his arms in front of him, so that your faces are level. “You would have?”

The answer comes easily. “Of course.”

Bradley gives you a look you don’t know how to interpret, like reading your face isn’t enough that he wants to know what’s going on inside of your head. You always kind of thought your cards had been on the table the whole time, but maybe you’d been keeping them closer to your chest than you’d realized.

“It was nice of you to make sure Penny and Mav got out on the dancefloor earlier.”

“You saw that?” It hadn’t been an easy feat, but it had been worth it to see them looking at each other in a way you hoped you’d find someday.

His gaze is steady when he replies, “I did.”

Flustered now, you feel your cheeks heat up. “Amelia and I had a bet about if he was going to propose tonight, and I thought I’d do my part to try and help her win twenty dollars. I didn’t think he would, at least not here in front of a crowd of people, but I hope he’ll do it soon.”

He nods, taking a sip of his own, the tips of his ears getting red.

You lean forward on your elbows, “Tell me what you know, Bradshaw.”

“I’m a vault,” he says, shaking his head.

“Does he have a ring?” you ask, elatedly.

Bradley takes another deep sip of champagne, giving you nothing, at least not with his words. But you don’t need him to confirm, not with the way his lips are turned up, clearly happy for his uncle and your aunt.

Good, you smile to yourself, that’s good.

“I also happened to notice that you didn’t get to dance at all tonight.”

“No, I didn’t.” You could have. Penny had tried to get you to take a few minutes to enjoy yourself, but you kept finding excuses to stay planted where you were. “There’s always next year,” you add, circling your finger around the base of your champagne glass.

Bradley steps out from behind the bar and takes the half full glass from your hand, setting it on top of a coaster in a move that you find entirely too appealing.  And holds out a hand out for you, “We should fix that.”

His large fingers wrap around your hand- strong and sure- as he guides you towards the old jukebox, the two of you walking over the confetti covered floor and though the sea of balloons that bobbed in your wake.

He lets go when the two of you have reached the middle of the makeshift dancefloor that had been cleared of the tables that were normally there for the night. Your feet stay put as he makes his way to the sticker covered jukebox and starts flipping through the options.

“I keep trying to get Penny to get a new one that takes a card,” you say nervously, filling the quiet, the air now charged with something new between the two of you. “Or one with an app, where people could pay and pick things from their phone.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” he teases playfully, still scanning through the CDs, clearly on a mission to find a particular song.

“She keeps a couple spare quarters on the ledge behind it- but uhm- I’m not sure if they’re still there or not, or if people have already used them. I could grab some from the register-”

You take a half step back, but Rooster stops you.

“Don’t go flying away, Bee.” He pulls out his wallet from the inside of his suit jacket and fishes out a couple coins, holding them out on his flattened palm for you to see. “You see, I’ve been saving these ones for just the right girl.”

You didn’t know your heart could beat so fast.

Bradley slips them into the machine with a metallic plink, once and then twice. The corner of his mouth pulls up as his eyes drift over you. “Yeah, you’re definitely an N24 kind of girl.”

He punches in the code and walks purposefully back to you.

The gentle sound of an acoustic guitar crackles to life over the old speaker system of the Hard Deck, the song much slower than you were anticipating. The opening notes are familiar ones to you, but different than what you were used to hearing. This rendition was delicate and atmospheric. Intimate. Almost like the music was wearing its heart on its sleeve.

Bradley wraps an arm around you and pulls you in. His eyes are heavy on yours, you feel the weight of them everywhere. He coaxes your hand onto his broad shoulder and takes the other one in his, drawing it to his chest.

He holds you close as he leads you in a dance.

No one has ever looked at you the way he is looking at you.

“Ask me about my night again,” he murmurs, invitingly.

You swallow. “Did you have a nice time earlier tonight?”

“No.” Your breath stutters in your chest and you miss a step, but he easily guides you through it. “No,” he repeats, “I didn’t because I couldn’t spend it with the only person I want to.”

Your voice has escaped you, not that you’d trust it not to completely give you away.

“This is the part where you ask me how it’s going now.” He runs his thumb over the back of your hand, encouragingly.

“This doesn’t feel very friendly,” you whisper.

Bradley presses you even closer to him. Every part of you is touching him, and you’re warm everywhere. “That’s good,” he rasps, “Because I’m not really going for just ‘friendly’ here, honey.”

You see everything there plain as day, written all over his face.

All you can say is his name.

“Bradley.”

And he says yours in return, so gently like it’s precious to him.

“I kept hoping you’d look my way during the countdown. But then you looked so thoughtful and all I wanted was to see that moment through your eyes. I couldn’t look away, you’re so beautiful.”

Feeling brave, you slide your hands up his chest and around his neck, combing your fingers through the short hair at the base of his head. He hums, pleased and content.

“You didn’t get a New Years Eve kiss.” It’s a statement. Like he knows because he was paying attention.

Your stomach swoops, and it’s like you’re fifteen and riding the Giant Dipper again.

“Neither did you, it seems.” His eyes drop down to your mouth.

“No, I didn’t,” he confirms, raising a hand up and skimming his thumb along your lower lip. “But now I’ve got a whole year to practice.

Bradley brings both hands to cup your face. His eyes traveling from your eyes to your nose to your mouth, a soft smile on his face as he leans in to kiss you.

When his lips meet yours it’s like time stops. You can’t hear the music over the rushing in your ears or the beating of your heart. In that moment, all there is only Bradley.

There’s no hesitation in the way his mouth moves against yours. Or in the way his teeth grazes your lower lip, right before he follows it with his tongue. It’s as if he has played this moment in his head so many times before.

Like there was never a question in his mind about if it was ever going to happen, but when.

There’s a surety in his touch, in the way he cradles your face in his big hands, in the way he angles your head just right.

The way Bradley kisses you makes you feel like this is the moment he’s been waiting for the whole night.

That it’s the moment he’s been waiting the last four months for.

His kiss is sweet like cinnamon and you know you’ll never be the same now that you’ve had a taste of it.

Your first one of the year. And it belongs to Bradley Bradshaw. Just as you always hoped it would be.

He pulls away just enough to skim his lips teasingly against yours. “Happy New Year, Bee.”

“Happy New Year, Bradley.”

You grin and he dips back down to kiss you again.

Time ticks on, but this time there isn’t a countdown. Only his mouth against yours and your arms wrapped around his neck.

After a while, he pulls away again, looking entirely and thoroughly kissed. It’s a good look for him.

He smiles at you. “My mom used to believe in ‘beginning as you mean to go on’. Taking time on the first of a new year and doing something that you want to make a part of your year going forward,” he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb, “So if you’re up for it, honey, I’d like to take you out to breakfast at that 24-hour diner. Because I mean to go on with you this year and the next one after that if I’m lucky.”

“I’d like that,” you say, taking a snapshot of this moment and the way those warm, brown eyes are gazing at you. “Just as long as we leave some time for mine. I have an idea of how I’d like to ‘begin as I mean to go on’.”

“Yeah? What did you have in mind?”

You don’t answer, instead you just lean in close until you feel his smile pressed against your.

The two of you eventually lock up for the night, for good this time. But only after Bradley finally stops kissing you long enough to grab that cork he’d shot across the bar earlier, pretending not to see the way he tucked it into the pocket of his suit jacket.

He takes your hand in his warm one, his fingers slipping easily between yours like he’s done it hundreds of times before.

The sunrise is still a couple of hours away, but you can see the promise of dawn and all the possibilities it’ll bring.

Bradley turns his head back to look at you and grins, it’s wide enough that the corners of his eyes crinkle.

A new day, a new year.

And you can’t help but think that this really will be the best one yet.

Happy 2025, tgm friends! I hope this is your year! Thank you for reading!

And a big thank you to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse) for all the support and encouragement and general woogirling over Bradley Bradshaw!

If you want to know what song Bradley played for Bee 🥰

You can read my other stories here!

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Jake “Hangman” Seresin had a reputation for being bold and larger than life. To most, nothing more than a cocky, overconfident pilot, the kind of guy who never seemed to take life too seriously. But when the Daggers met you, they began to see a side of Jake they’d never expected—a side that made them realize there was far more to him than they ever realized.

And it happened in little moments, each one chipping away at the image of Hangman and revealing Jake.

***

Phoenix

Natasha had always been sharp. She could read people easily, and Jake was no exception. She’d noticed the changes in him before anyone else: how he wasn’t as quick to boast, how he lingered on his phone more often, smiling at something no one else could see.

Still, it wasn’t until that night at the Hard Deck that she put the pieces together.

Jake walked in with you by his side, and Natasha immediately noticed the way he looked at you. It wasn’t the casual charm he used on everyone else—it was softer, almost reverent.

“Guys, this is Y/N,” Jake said, his voice filled with a kind of pride that made Natasha blink in surprise.

You smiled and waved, introducing yourself as Jake’s girlfriend, though you didn’t need to. Natasha had already figured it out.

She watched as Jake stayed close to you all night, not in his usual attention-seeking way, but quietly, as if he couldn’t bear to let you out of his sight. When you laughed, he leaned in just a little closer. When you spoke, he listened like your words were the most important thing in the world.

Later, as Jake brushed a strand of hair out of your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek and a soft smile, Natasha smirked and leaned over to Bob. “He’s gone.”

Bob

Bob Floyd noticed it in the details, in the quiet moments that others might overlook.

When Jake and you invited the squad over for dinner, Bob didn’t know what to expect. He’d never pictured Jake as the hosting type, but as he stepped into your cozy home, he could tell this was different.

“Make yourself at home,” you said warmly, handing Bob a glass of sweet tea.

Jake was in the kitchen, wearing an apron—an apron, of all things—as he stirred something on the stove. Bob couldn’t hide his surprise.

“You’re domesticated, Seresin,” Rooster teased, leaning against the counter.

Jake smirked without looking up. “Happy wife, happy life,” he said easily, earning a laugh from you.

“Not your wife yet,” you teased.

“Yet,” Jake said, glancing at you with a grin and tossing you a wink that made Bob’s chest ache with secondhand fondness.

Bob noticed the way you moved around each other, wordlessly passing utensils and dishes, finishing each other’s sentences. There was a quiet rhythm to it, a kind of unspoken understanding that came from deep love and trust.

When dessert came out, Jake set the plate in front of you first, brushing a kiss to your temple. Bob caught the way you smiled, the way Jake’s hand lingered on yours for just a moment longer than necessary.

Bob glanced at Phoenix, who raised her eyebrows knowingly. “That’s love,” she whispered, and Bob couldn’t agree more.

Rooster

Bradley Bradshaw noticed it during a pool game at the Hard Deck.

Jake had always been competitive, but tonight, he wasn’t playing to win against the squad—he was playing to impress you.

Every shot he made, he’d glance over at you, his grin widening when you clapped or cheered. But it wasn’t just the showmanship that caught Bradley’s attention. It was the way Jake handed you the pool cue, guiding you through your shots with a patience Bradley hadn’t thought him capable of.

“Am I doing this right?” you asked, laughing as you tried to line up your shot.

“You’re perfect,” Jake said softly, his voice so low that only you and Bradley heard.

Bradley rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his lips. “You’re whipped, Seresin.”

“And happy about it,” Jake shot back, winking.

Bradley couldn’t argue with that.

Payback & Fanboy

Fanboy and Payback noticed it on the beach.

It was a rare day off, and the squad had decided to hit the sand for some football and relaxation. You’d tagged along, sitting under an umbrella with a book in hand while the others played.

Jake kept sneaking glances at you between plays, his grin growing every time you looked up and smiled.

When the game ended, Jake jogged over to you, dropping to his knees in the sand beside your chair. “Having fun?” he asked, brushing sand off his hands.

You smiled, closing your book. “Always, when I’m with you.”

Mickey nudged Reuben, jerking his chin toward the two of you. “Look at him. That’s not the Hangman we know.”

“Nope,” Reuben said with a grin. “That’s Jake. Big difference.”

Coyote

Javy had known from the beginning.

He’d been there when Jake first mentioned you, his voice tinged with something Javy hadn’t heard before: vulnerability. He’d watched as Jake navigated the early days of your relationship, unsure of himself in a way that was both endearing and rare.

At a barbecue one weekend, Javy pulled Jake aside, nodding toward you as you chatted with Phoenix and Bob.

“She’s good for you, man,” Javy said.

Jake nodded, his gaze fixed on you. “Yeah. She is.”

“You ever gonna tell her how whipped you are?” Javy teased.

Jake smirked. “She already knows, no need to say it.”

The Moment They All Realized

The squad’s collective realization came during another gathering at your house.

It was late, and the group was sprawled across the living room, laughing and swapping stories. You were in the kitchen, tidying up, when Jake disappeared without a word.

A few minutes later, he returned with a dish towel over his shoulder, carefully carrying a handful of freshly washed glasses.

“Need a hand, sweetheart?” he asked, walking straight to you.

The room went silent as the squad watched him press a kiss to your temple before helping you dry the dishes.

Phoenix broke the silence first. “Holy shit. He’s a househusband.”

The room erupted in laughter, and Jake looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “Jealous?”

“Absolutely,” Natasha said, grinning.

As the laughter died down, Javy raised his beer. “To Y/N,” he said.

You looked up, surprised. “To me?”

Javy nodded. “Yeah. You turned Hangman into Jake. And we love you for it.”

The squad cheered, and as Jake’s hand found yours, you squeezed it, your heart full.

As so often in the past few months, Jake was with you. In your bed, to be precise. His cock gently stroked your walls. He hit all the right spots and elicited a soft moan from you again and again with each thrust.

But something was different today.

You were clingier than usual, not letting go of him. Your gaze was softer, your body closer to his than usual. Your arms wrapped tighter around his torso, as if you never wanted to let go. Your kisses, which were often fiery and wild, had a different quality today. They were gentler, more tender, as if you were savoring every second of this moment. Your moans and sighs were more begging than usual. You pulled him closer, leaving no space between you.

Jake felt the change, and although he didn't understand it right away, there was something that made him feel warm and safe. He found it cute that you were seeking more closeness today. He rested his forehead against yours and kissed you back gently while still thrusting deep into you.

“Jake” you breathed out. He could feel that you were close, and it didn’t take long for both of you to reach your climax.

--------

It was a strange arrangement between you and Jake. For the past few months, you’d been spending time together whenever he was around and not on a mission halfway across the world. You didn’t know what exactly it was between Jake and you. The uncertainty scared you. You hadn’t brought it up, afraid that one wrong word might ruin everything.

And as usual, he didn’t stay the night. You had gotten used to it. But he never left right away. Jake always took his time. For aftercare, for a bit of cuddling. Yet eventually, when he thought you were asleep, he would slip away. Tonight was no different—or so he thought.

You were lying with your back pressed against his chest, his arm draped around you. One hand rested gently on your stomach. Careful not to wake you, he began to ease himself out of bed. But you were never truly asleep. And even though you knew it was coming, the moment he let go of you, the tears you’d been holding back spilled over.

A soft sob broke the silence as he was getting dressed. Jake froze. It was a sound he had never wanted to hear from you. It sent a chill down his spine. Jake “Hangman” Seresin was scared.

For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do. This had never happened to him before. Sure, he’d had women cry over him, even though he always made it clear from the start what kind of relationship it would be. Hearts and hopes broke sometimes; that was inevitable.

But with you, it was different. Hearing you like this, seeing you trembling in the moonlight, broke something inside him.

“Sweetheart?” he asked quietly, slowly approaching your side of the bed. “Why are you crying?” His voice was gentle, almost pleading. He sat down beside you, carefully placing a hand on your shoulder. “Did… did I hurt you somehow?”

You shook your head slightly, tears still streaming down your cheeks. Relief washed over him for a moment, but it wasn’t enough to ease his worry. So, he pressed on.

“Honey, what’s wrong? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

You hesitated, unsure if you should respond. His gaze didn’t leave you. Gently, he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. There was something in his eyes—something you had never seen in Jake’s eyes before. Fear, concern, and uncertainty.

And you thought, now or never, right? You didn’t want to pressure him, but there was no hiding it anymore.

“Can you stay? Just tonight?” you asked with a silent and shaky voice, afraid of what he would answer.

The tension left Jake’s body immediately. Without hesitation, he nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

He got up for a second and let his jeans, which he had already put on, fall back to the floor. Lifting the blanket, he climbed back into bed over you and pulled you into his arms with one swift motion, holding you close against him. Jake softly stroked your bare back and pressed little kisses onto your hair until the tension in your body began to ease.

“Better?” he asked softly.

You nodded silently, burying your face in his chest. The warmth of his embrace soon lulled you back to sleep.

Jake, however, couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. Was that the real reason? You just wanted him to stay? He hadn’t realized how much it hurt you when he left. Guilt gnawed at him. He would need to talk to you. Because he never wanted to see you like this again. Most of all, he never wanted to be the reason for it.

-------------

A few hours later, a dull ache in your lower abdomen woke you. It was a very familiar pain. Carefully, you slipped out of Jake’s arms and made your way to the bathroom. Quietly, you closed the door behind you. Your eyes were still swollen and sensitive as you turned on the light. Sitting on the toilet, you confirmed what you had already suspected—your period.

Quickly, you freshened up, slipped on underwear and leggings, and turned off the light before silently returning to the bedroom. Sliding back under the blanket, you curled back against Jakes chest. He woke immediately when you had left and was happy to wrap his arms around you again. Gently stroking on of your legs, he was surprised to feel you were now wearing clothes.

“Were you cold?” he asked softly.

You shook your head. “No, I… I just got my period. I feel a bit safer this way.”

Jake nodded in understanding. His arms wrapped around you even more tightly.  He couldn’t suppress a small smile on his lips. Even though it wasn’t funny it explained your clinginess and emotional state the night before.

The ache in your lower abdomen reminded you of last night—how vulnerable you’d been, how much you had needed him. He gave in. He had stayed. He had held you like you were something precious, something he couldn’t bear to let go of. But in the end, it hadn’t changed anything, had it?

He left at the first opportunity.

Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to sit up. Your body protested the movement, sore and heavy from both exhaustion and the dull cramps that pulsed low in your stomach. You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself as you looked toward the door, half-expecting—half hoping—to see him standing there.

But the room was empty. Your apartment was silent.

Biting your lip, you turned away, pressing your hands to your face. You wouldn’t cry. Not again. You had already given him enough of your tears.

Then, the sound of a key turning in the lock of your front door made you freeze.

Your head snapped up just as the door opened and he walked into the corridor of your apartment —Jake Seresin, standing in the hallway just in front of your bedroom door, arms full of bags, breathless like he had just run a marathon.

For a second, neither of you moved. You just stared at each other, your chest rising and falling with the force of emotions you weren’t sure you could control.

“Where—” Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat before trying again. “Where did you go?”

Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he set the bags down on the dresser. “I— Sweetheart, I just went to get you some things.”

He started pulling out the contents, placing them on the surface like evidence in an argument he didn’t even realize was happening. A bottle of painkillers. A heating pad. Your favorite sweets. A ridiculous amount of other snacks. And—God, your chest ached—pads and tampons.

“I didn’t wanna wake you,” he continued. “You looked peaceful, and I figured you’d need this stuff. I, uh—” He hesitated, still holding different packs in his hand. “I didn’t really know which ones you preferred, so I got all of them.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. The lump in your throat was too big, your emotions too tangled. He hadn’t left.

Jake’s expression shifted as he took a step closer, his eyes scanning your face. “Did you think I—” His breath caught. “Oh, sweetheart.”

You swallowed hard, looking away. “It’s stupid,” you muttered, but the way your voice wavered betrayed you.

“No, it’s not.” He was in front of you in two strides, sinking onto the bed, his hands framing your face so gently it nearly broke you. “It’s not stupid,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “I should’ve left a note or something. I didn’t think—” He exhaled sharply. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt, gripping him like he might disappear if you let go. “I just… I thought you were gone.”

His jaw tensed, his eyes darkening with something that looked a lot like guilt.

“Can we talk about that?” he asked gently, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

The tension from the night before was already back into the room, but now it got even heavier.

“Jake, I—”

“Wait,” he interrupted softly. “Let me start.”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for him to speak.

“I didn’t know,” he began, his green eyes earnest. “I didn’t realize how much it hurt you when I left. I thought… I thought I was giving you space, keeping things uncomplicated.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “But last night, seeing you like that… hearing you…”.

You nodded, your heart pounding even faster now as you searched his face for clues about what was coming.

“Please tell me what’s been holding you back from telling me the truth?” His fingers traced absent patterns on your arm, his eyes never leaving yours. You swallowed hard, unsure if you could find the words to explain the storm inside you. “I…”

Jake waited patiently, giving you space to answer.

“I guess I was scared,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Scared that if I told you how I felt, it would push you away. That I’d lose you.”

His brows knitted together, a flicker of guilt flashing across his face. “You thought I’d leave if you told me the truth?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “You’ve always made it clear you don’t do… attachments. I didn’t want to cross a line I couldn’t come back from.”

“Jake…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “I didn’t want to pressure you. I know your life is complicated, and I didn’t want to be another burden.”

“Hey,” he said firmly, his voice softening as he tilted your chin to meet his gaze. “You’re not a burden. Not even close.”

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the quiet rhythm of your breathing. Then he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

“I’ve been so damn scared of messing this up that I didn’t realize I already was. Every time I walked away, I told myself it was for the best. That it would hurt less if I kept my distance.”

“Hurt less? Who?” you asked silently.

He leaned closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. “Me. And I’m sorry for that. I’ve been running from this, from us, because … because at some point I’ll have to leave even if I don’t want to. What if I stayed… and I have too leave, and you’re not there when I come back?”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you tried to blink them away, but Jake caught them with a soft kiss on your cheek. “So, you think I’ll leave you? Don’t you trust me, Jake?”

“No, I mean yes. I trust you – with my life. I’m just an idiot, ok? Because I’ve never felt that way. I’ve never fell so hard for someone. And that scares the shit out of me. But seeing you like that last night…” His voice cracked slightly, and he took a deep breath before continuing. “It made me realize I’ve been messing it up by not giving us a real chance.”

“I want you, all of you,” he said firmly, his lips brushing against your skin. “No more running, no more pretending this isn’t real. Because it is. And it’s the best damn thing I’ve ever had.”

The kiss he gave you next was slow and deep, a quiet promise of all the things he couldn’t yet put into words. His hands slid over your body with a deliberate tenderness, his touch unhurried as if savoring every inch of you.

“Let me show you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough with emotion.

You nodded, your breath hitching as he began to explore you with a reverence that made your heart ache. Every kiss, every caress, was a silent affirmation of his feelings. Soft, lingering—like he was trying to erase every doubt, every fear, with the press of his lips.

“You’re stuck with me now,” he whispered. “Hope you’re ready for that.”

A small, shaky laugh escaped you. “Yeah?”

Jake smiled “Yeah.”

To your surprise, he briefly pulled away from you, fetched something from the dresser and came back to cuddle up to you in bed. He pulled you into his arms, tucking you tightly against his chest. His fingers traced gentle patterns along your back as his other hand pressed to your front, with a heating pad, placing it against your stomach with careful precision.

“You’re taking way too much pleasure in babying me,” you murmured, tilting your head to look up at him.

He smirked. “Nah. I just like an excuse to cuddle you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. As the warmth of the heating pad seeped into your skin and Jake’s steady heartbeat thumped beneath your ear, you let yourself believe him.

It had been your idea to bring Jake back to the place you were renting. He had been all over you before he found out you were Bradley's wife, and you wanted more. He had hesitated, waited for Bradley to give the okay. There was nothing Jake respected more than the sanctity of marriage, especially after the shit his daddy pulled back in Texas.

That had been a year ago. Just a couple of months ago, you and Bradley had asked Jake to move in. He fit perfectly into your lives. The two of you cuddling up to Bradley at night, you in Jakes lap, feet in Bradley's on the sofa. Jake had filled that hole. Filled it well.

The sex was next level. All Bradley had heard from Jake before the three of you got together, he had never expected Jake so willing to get onto his knees. He had never expected to see Jake a whimpering mess as he laid against you, your hand wrapped around his cock as you teased the poor man.

Those whimpers were a symphony Bradley would never get tired of. The way Jake so easily let them fly from his lips, the way he was so good, so willing for the two of you. The proud smile he wore whenever the two of you praised him.

He was perfect.

He was on his knees for you now. You were practically hanging off the sofa as he ate you out. He gripped your thighs, lips sucking at your clit in the way that had you seeing stars. But you wouldn't let it show how much it affected you, not while you and Bradley were picking out a new kitchen.

(Moving in together had ended up with the three of you moving house. Having kids wasn't a million miles away, and your old place didn't have the space for your broad, military men).

Your hands fell into Jakes hair as Bradley showed you options for the counter tops. "I-" you sucked in a breath, voice pitching up. Your second orgasm of the afternoon wasn't far off. "I like the marble," you managed to get out, your legs squeezing around Jakes head.

Bradley peered at him. He freed Jakes hair from your tight grip and smoothed it down. "Honey, do you think you should let the poor boy breathe?" He asked, noting just how red Jakes cheeks were.

His movements were so eager against you, as if he was desperate to pull that second orgasm from you. He used all the tricks you had taught him over the last year to pull you closer and closer. His own hips were rutting against nothing, you could just about see.

Your hands travelled to your own breasts, counter tops completely forgotten about. You squeezed and tugged, your legs shaking as you came.

Finally, you released him. Both of your breathing was laboured as Jake sat back, a wet patch noticeable in his shorts.

"Oh, baby boy," Bradley cooed. As soon as he did, Jake was crawling between his legs. He leaned up and kissed Bradley, sharing the taste of you between them. "You did so good," he whispered and fixed his hair. "I'm proud of you."

He blushed red under the praise and settled between Bradley's legs. He wanted something, you could tell by the look in his eye. "Words, baby," you said, holding his chin between your fingers.

Jake told you exactly what he wanted, and that was how he spent the next half an hour sucking Bradley's cock as you continued to plan out your new kitchen.

Bradley was desperate to speed up guys night so he could go back home. Not only only was his one year old son, Theo, there, but you were, too. And he wanted you. Bad. 

But you were his kid’s babysitter.

His kid’s hot, kind and sexy babysitter he had no business feeling so attracted to.

It was bad enough there was a large age gap of ten years, with you being twenty three and him being thirty three. But you were far too stunning to pass up. He was down bad for you, and he wasn’t sure how much more he could take. He could only hope you felt the same way about him, even though it was so wrong. Bradley knew it would feel so right. 

Jake and the others teased him about being so distracted all night, and Bradley finally decided he was going home and hoping he didn’t make an ass of himself in front of you. He drove home, his body on fire as he pictured you sitting in his living room, waiting for him to come home and relieve you of your duties. 

You were so good with Theo, and it only made Bradley even more attracted to you. He simply couldn’t help himself. 

He pulled into his driveway, his heart beating loudly in his ears as he pulled the keys out of the ignition. He still couldn’t believe what was happening to him. His attraction to you was so strong and intense, it kinda scared him a bit. It had been so long since he felt like this, especially since his ex-wife had left him with their newborn son for him to try and figure out how to be a parent on his own. 

Bradley hopped out of his Bronco and locked it behind him before heading towards the front door and entering his house. It was quiet, so you were probably up in Theo’s room with him. He threw his keys onto the counter before making his way upstairs and down the hall. 

When he reached his son’s room, he poked his head inside and sure enough, you were standing over Theo’s crib, watching him sleep. Bradley leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the sweet interaction of you leaning down to kiss Theo’s head. 

Seeing you be so gentle with Theo made Bradley’s cock twitch in his jeans, your sweetness sending waves of desire through his body. He had to bite down on his lip to stop the groan from coming out, because he refused to have you quit on him because you caught him watching you like a perv. 

Bradley cleared his throat, announcing his return to you. “Hey,” he greeted, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. You turned to face him quickly, and the surprised smile you gave him told him he’d caught you off guard. 

“Hi, Mr. Bradshaw,” you greeted back and he refrained from groaning again at that name. He loved when you called him that, but he craved to hear you call him by his first name, too. “You’re back.”

“Yeah, I just got back,” he replied, giving you a forced smile. “How was your night with Theo?”

Your smile grew as you looked down at his boy, “Oh, it was great. Theo is the sweetest baby ever,” 

Bradley hummed in agreement, knowing damn well your words were true. Theo was a sweet baby, and he had been since the second Bradley held him in that delivery room. “Um, have you eaten? I brought home pizza for dinner, and you’re more than welcome to join me,” he offered, hoping he wasn’t coming off as desperate, but also not caring if he did.

A blush took over your face as you looked over at him again. “Pizza sounds great. I haven’t eaten anything since I was planning on grabbing something on my way home,” you answered and Bradley grinned.

“Great,” he said and stepped aside, gesturing for you to lead the way. As he followed you into the kitchen, he was powerless to stop his eyes from taking in the curve of your hips and the way you walked. He had no idea why he found you so fucking intoxicating, but here he was. 

By the time he leaned against the counter next to the table, he was painfully hard and only a little ashamed of it. “So, um, how was guys night?” You asked as you hovered near the table, your eyes flickering towards the pizza box before looking back at him. 

Bradley ran his hand through his hair and cleared his throat. “Guys night was fine,” he responded. “But kind of boring. I gotta say, coming home to see you with my kid was probably the highlight of my night.”

Fuck, he really did not mean to say that out loud, but he did and now he can’t take it back. And now you’re blushing again and breaking eye contact with him. “Oh, um,” you trail off, dragging your finger along the edge of the pizza box. “That’s really nice. Thank you, Bradley- I mean, Mr. Bradshaw. I’m sorry.”

Well, fuck, he wants to hear you say his first name even more now. Bradley straightened up a bit and smiled at you. “Please, call me Bradley,”

When you looked back over at him, he knew something had changed. Something had shifted, he could tell by the way you bit your lip and looked at him with hooded, dark eyes he’d never seen before. 

Could you actually feel the same way about him? God, he hoped so, because he was about three seconds away from risking it all. 

He stepped towards you, hesitating for a brief second before he lifted his hand and placed it on your waist, and when you willingly turned to face him, he pulled you a bit closer. “I know this may sound inappropriate,” he started and reveled in the way your gaze flickered down to his lips. “But, God, Y/n…do you have any fucking idea what you do to me? Any idea about what I want to do to you?”

Your eyes widened a bit as you pressed your lips together and out of the corner of his eye, he could see the way your thighs pressed together, too. 

Bradley reached up with his free hand and gripped your jaw, his thumb pulling at your bottom lip. “Tell me it’s not just me feeling this,” he rasped. “Tell me you feel it, too.”

The sound of your breath hitching and the sight of your eyes closing a bit was all the confirmation he needed. Well, that and the way you leaned up towards him with hunger in your eyes. 

“Fuck it,” he grunted before closing the distance between you and capturing your lips in a deep, demanding kiss. His tongue pushed past your lips and delved into your mouth, his hand moving to cradle the back of your neck as he angled your head. His other hand tightly gripped your hip and pulled you forward until there was no space left between the two of you. 

He kissed you possessively, needily, and you returned it with nearly everything he gave, and it was everything he wanted. Maybe more. 

You gasped against his lips and he groaned when he felt your fingers tangle in his hair. He could feel goosebumps form on your skin when he slid his hand under your shirt and placed it firmly on your lower back. “I’ve wanted this for so fucking long,” he confessed against your mouth before going back in. He pulled you impossibly closer with both hands on your back, his cock throbbing painfully in his jeans as he allowed him to taste you in the way he thought he never could. 

A soft moan left your lips as you tugged on his hair and leaned back against the table, pulling him along with you. “I’ve wanted this, too,” you whispered before kissing him again. “Is this…this is…okay? I mean, I’m your son’s babysitter, I…”

Bradley pulled back, his chest heaving a bit as he kissed the side of your head. Really, was any of this actually wrong? It definitely didn’t feel like it, and you both clearly wanted it. So was it really wrong? “We’re two consenting adults, Y/n. There’s nothing wrong with this,” he finally allowed himself to admit. “Besides, you’re not just Theo’s babysitter. You’re smart, funny, gorgeous, and you make me feel things I haven’t felt in years.”

His hands slid down to the curve of your back, and his fingertips gently dug into the firm skin of your ass before he pressed his forehead against yours. 

“This isn’t just a fling for me,” he whispered as he brushed his lips against yours. “This means something more. Tell me you feel it, too.”

“I do,” you answer instantly. “Of course I do. I think you’re so attractive, but also kind and mature and everything I want.”

Bradley grinned, feeling his body heat up as he pushed himself closer to you. He was sure you could feel his boner by now, but there was no going back now. He was all in. “From now on, there’s no Mr. Bradshaw, okay? Just Bradley,” he whispered as he kissed along your jaw. 

“Okay,” you mumble with wide eyes and wet lips. “Bradley.”

He smirked, “Good girl,” then leaned back down to kiss you deeply again. His hand moved further down to squeeze your ass while his other moved up to grope your chest through the thin material of your tank top. You tasted so good, he was sure he would never get enough. 

“Oh, my God,” you whimpered, grabbing the sides of his neck as you leaned further back against the table, right next to the pizza you both had forgotten about. “You don’t know how hot you are when you call me that.”

Your body fit perfectly against his as he towered over you, his lips unrelenting as he kissed you. It felt like you belonged here, against him. “Good to know,” he grunted as he trailed kisses down your throat and pulled up your shirt until your lower stomach was exposed. “I want to hear every sound that leaves those pretty lips of yours. Every single one. Is that going to happen tonight, babygirl?”

You whimpered again when his fingers brushed against the underside of your bra. “What do you want to do to me?” You asked, breathless as you gripped his biceps. 

Bradley smiled down at you before pressing a much softer kiss to your lips. “That depends on you, sweetheart,” he began, pushing down one strap of your tank top. “First, I’m going to take these clothes off you and explore every inch of your sweet body with my mouth.”

Your quiet moans were probably the best thing he had ever heard in his life, and he continued, 

“I want to taste every part of you, and then I’m going to fuck you until you can’t even remember your own name,” he promised, pulling down your bra strap as well until you were nearly exposed. “How does that sound to you? Do you want that?”

“I want that,” you whined, nodding quickly. “God, I want that, Bradley. I’ve been wanting that for months now.”

“Months, huh?” He echoed. “Jesus Christ, why didn’t you say something sooner?”

You groaned and lifted your arms when he began to pull up your shirt, and you gave him a look once he let the fabric fall to the floor of his kitchen. “Why didn’t you?”

“Fair point,” he muttered, his hands gently pulling your bra off as well, leaving your top half completely bare. He bit his lip and ran his thumbs along the undersides of your breasts, leaning in to whisper next to your ear, “We can take our time then. No rushing this first time.”

You whimpered quietly, tugging on his hair. “First time?”

Bradley hummed against the skin of your shoulder. “Yeah, first time. One of many,” his hands came up to caress your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “I meant what I said, babygirl. This isn’t some fling for me. I want you, all of you, if you’ll have me.”

Your fingers grab hold of his jaw as you nod. “Yes. Yes, Bradley. I want that, all of that, too,”

At your words, Bradley lets out a sigh of relief. He knew he wasn’t alone in this. He knew, at least a small part of him knew, that you were into him, too. 

He grabbed your hips and bucked against you, a small jolt of relief taking over his body, but it wasn’t enough. “Then let’s make it official,” he mumbled, stepping away from you and pulling off his shirt. He unzips his jeans to feel a bit more relief, and when he looked back at you, your lips were parted and your eyes were wide. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” 

At your quick nod, he moves closer again and leans down to take one of your nipples into his mouth. He gave it a gentle tug before soothing the sting with his tongue as his hand trails down your body. “Oh, my God,” you whispered, tipping your head back as you moved your hands to his hair again. “Are we really doing this?”

“We are,” he confirmed, releasing your nipple and looking down at you before dropping to his knees. His hands pulled down your jeans, and his eyes darkened at the pretty lace that covered your core from his greedy eyes. “These are cute, but they need to go.”

His fingers rubbed you through the material before he tugged it down and helped you kick them off to the side. Then you were completely bare to him, and you looked even more stunning than he imagined. Than he dreamed of. 

“God, you’re hot,” you moaned, trailing your fingers through his hair.

Bradley laughed. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me, sweetheart,” he mumbled as he stood back up and gripped the backs of your thighs, lifting you up and setting you down on the table. He nudged your thighs apart and guided your feet to rest flat against the service, giving him the perfect view of your soaked pussy. “Goddamn, baby.”

His breathing was uneven as he sank back down to his knees and gripped your thighs. “Bradley,” you whimpered, making him glance up and meet your gaze. “What are you going to do to me?”

“I’m gonna worship this pretty little pussy in the way it deserves,” he answered, leaning in to lick a stripe up your slick folds and moaning the taste he’s been craving for so long. “All night long, if you let me.”

Then he was going back in for a deeper taste, his tongue separating your slit  as his hands spread your thighs wider. Your sweet moans spurred him on, and he sucked on your clit as two of his fingers dipped inside your tight heat. 

“So fucking tight and wet for me,” he groaned, licking up your folds again. “I could devour you for hours, babygirl.”

“Fuck,” you cried out, gripping the edges of the table as you tip your head back. “Bradley.”

Hearing you moan his name had him grunting, and he throbbed in his jeans. This was getting to be too much, but he wasn’t about to stop now. He didn’t think he could physically pull away from your pussy if he tried. 

Loud, lewd slurping sounds filled the kitchen as he stayed true to his words and devoured you in the way you deserved, and your whimpers and gasps mixed in perfectly with the sounds his own mouth was making. “You’re so fucking responsive,” he rasped, blowing a cool puff of hair across your clit and making your body shudder. “How good am I making you feel, baby?”

“Fuck, so good,” you answered, pulling harshly on his hair. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop, please please please.”

Bradley fucked his fingers faster inside you, making sure to curl them against your tight walls. “I’m not stopping,” he swore, pressing his mouth to your clit. “I want you to cum all over my face.”

A soft cry left your lips as you ground your body against his face until you were coming. “Fuck! Oh, my God! Bradley!”

His eyes were fixated on your face as you writhed against him, and he wanted to drag this out for as long as he possibly could. He curled his fingers with each thrust of his hand, stroking that sweet spot deep inside you as his thumb rubbed your clit with no mercy. “Come on, baby, give me one more,” he fake begged. “I know you have another one in you.”

He went back to sucking on your clit and pistoning his fingers inside you, and he felt the way you tightened around him even more. 

Then you were squirting on his face. 

“Fuck,” you practically sobbed as you soaked his face. Your thighs were shaking violently now, your pussy clamped around his dripping finger as he pulled back with wide, dark eyes. 

While he knew he could make you cum again, he was completely unprepared for the river that flooded his mouth and chin. He was fucking covered in you, and he literally almost came right then and there. “Fuck yeah,” he grunted breathlessly as he pulled his fingers out of you and stood up. He cleaned you from his fingers, then his palm, as he moved to position himself between your still trembling thighs, all while keeping eye contact with you. “Holy shit, baby.”

He kissed you deeply, moaning at the way your tongue licked all over his mouth and tasted yourself on his lips. When he pulled away, he looked down at your wet thighs, and the small puddle that had pooled under you on the table that was beginning to drip onto the tiled floor. “That was the hottest fucking thing I have ever seen,” he grunted. “You almost made me cum from that.”

Your laugh made him grin as you finally regained control over your breathing. “Fuck, I’ve never done that before,”

Bradley groaned loudly, licking his lips and closing his eyes at the taste of you that still lingered on them. He pushed his jeans and boxers down, his eyes ten shades darker as he looked at you. “I need to be inside you. Right now before I lose what’s left of my mind,” he murmured, giving his cock a few much-needed strokes. “Please, can I fuck you, baby?”

Your gaze was locked on his cock as you nodded. “Yes…yes, fuck me, Bradley,” you said quietly as you grabbed hold of the edge of the table. “Right here.”

He couldn’t ignore the way your mouth practically watered at the sight of him, and his ego grew even more. He knew he was big, but you made him feel like he had the biggest dick in the world. He was definitely the biggest you had ever seen, he could tell that from the look you were giving him now, and he felt a sense of pride wash over him. 

Bradley gripped his base and your thigh as he guided his tip to your sopping entrance, and then he pushed inside with one swift movement. You moaned loudly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he felt your walls encase him perfectly. 

He couldn’t wait anymore, not when he felt like he was two seconds away from coming. 

Bradley gripped your hips and set a brutal pace, fucking you hard and fast as you whimpered and clawed at the skin on his neck. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as he fucked into you ruthlessly, the table creaking under each thrust. “Yeah, baby, take it all,” he grunted, looking down to watch the way his cock came out wetter and wetter each time he buried it inside you. “This is what you needed, isn’t it, sweetheart? You needed this tight pussy to be stretched open and fucked by a real man, huh?”

You nodded, then let out a loud cry as he began rubbing your puffy clit, and then you were coming around him. “Oh, fuck. Fuck!” You moaned, your eyes squeezed shut as your body trembled in his arms. 

“That’s it, baby,” he cooed, his own body begging for release, but he held back as best as he could. His pelvis slammed against yours as he didn’t let up his pace, and your head tipped back as you let him continue to fuck you. “More, babygirl. I want to feel you cum for me again.”

You whine, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing your heels against his back. “Fuck, Bradley. Don’t stop fucking me. You feel too good to stop…keep going,”

Yeah, you were pretty much perfect. 

Bradley grunted as he watched your tits bounce with each thrust he gave, and he had to tighten his holds on your thighs as he felt his whole body tense up. He didn’t want to cum yet. You felt too good, too. He never wanted this to end. “You’re mine,” he muttered, his cock throbbing inside you as he leaned down to press a hard kiss to your mouth. “All mine, baby.”

He reached down and pulled your thigh higher on his hip, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper inside you. 

“You like that?”

“Fuck yes,” you moaned, your eyes rolling back as you clung to his biceps. “Your cock is fucking huge, Bradley. Feels so fucking good.” 

The filthy words pouring from your mouth only turned him on even more, because you were his son’s sweet babysitter. There was something incredibly arousing to hear such dirty words spill from your seemingly innocent lips, especially since less than half an hour ago, you were his quiet and shy babysitter. 

“Fucking hell. You’re so wet for me, baby, and you’ve got such a dirty fucking mouth,” he growled, feeling the way your pussy clenched around him. “Yeah, squeeze my dick just like that…just like that.”

When you came for a fourth time, he couldn’t hold back any more. Your hands were a bit frantic as you touched every part of him, trying to stable yourself as he fucked you through your high until he reached his own. With a loud groan, he buried himself deep inside you before coming hard. 

His cum filled you up, his thrusts slowing down to weak bucks of his hips as his head fell onto your shoulder. Both your bodies were covered in sweat, and you both were panting. “I think I might have broken you,” he teased softly, peppering kisses along your salty skin as he slowly pulled out of you. “But don’t worry, babygirl. I’m gonna take care of you now.” 

A soft whimper left your lips as you looked down to see his cum dripping out of you. “Bradley…that…that was…” 

You were still shaking and he didn’t blame you. If he came four fucking times in less than half an hour, he’d be on the floor right now. “It was amazing,” he finished for you, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your mouth. “I’ve never had sex like that before in my entire life.”

He gathered up your trembling body into his arms and carried you into his bathroom and set you down onto the bathroom counter as he got the shower ready. Once it was at a good temperature, he lifted you up again and stepped under the water with you. 

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered, waiting until he knew you could hold yourself up before he began washing your mixed cum away from the insides of your thighs. 

It was as if you couldn’t be away from him right now, as when he stood back up, you forced yourself into his arms again and clung to his chest. 

As the water poured down onto the both of you, Bradley kissed the top of your head and held you close. “That wasn’t just sex,” he murmured, running his fingers through your wet hair as he recalled his words from a few minutes ago. “It was something special. You’re more than just the girl who looks after my kid a couple times a week, babygirl. You’re someone very important to Theo and I.”

You blushed at his words and desperately kissed him back when he leaned down to press his lips to yours. “I am?”

Bradley caressed your face, his thumbs tugging on your kiss swollen lips. “You are,” he answered. “From the second I saw you, I knew there was something different about you. You brought light back into my life and you’re so perfect with Theo. And I intend to keep you right here with me, if you’ll let me.”

You pressed your lips together and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “That wasn’t just sex for me, either,” you say against his mouth. “That was one of the best experiences of my life. From the start…til right now.”

Bradley grinned down at you before kissing you again. “You’re mine,” he repeated his words he said back in the kitchen. 

“T–Tyler…”

He tightened his grasp on your waist and mumbled, “I got you, darlin’. Just don't let go.”

At that moment, he didn't know if he could protect you, but the alternative was an unbearable thought. Living without you was unimaginable, unacceptable, so if the winds planned to take you, they would have no choice but to take him, too. Then at least you'd be going together. 

He’d always felt something for you, and he understood that he probably always would, but he'd been unwilling to give it a name more intense than a teenage crush that just happened to last well past its expiration date. And while your perpetually growing beauty and intoxicating laugh made it hard for him to tame what he continued to feel, he’d managed. 

But that fear of imminent death—more potent than ever—tapped into the depths of those feelings he’d been swallowing for more than a decade. The abuse of pelting rain and flying debris paled in comparison to the overwhelming storm breaking free from the neglected portion of his heart. 

Once disaster moved along, you looked up at him with wide, weary eyes, and he couldn’t think clearly past the repetitive chanting in his head: ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins, overpowering every other sense of logic and reason. He pushed strands of damp hair from your face, cupped your cheeks, then leaned down and sealed his lips to yours in a deep kiss. The first kiss. A kiss that typically has a much better outcome than what followed.

He hasn't seen you since that day. A week has come and gone and not one glimpse of your face, and now he’s more desperate for the sight than he’s ever been before. Missing you when you’re not around is far from new, but having released his feelings, the all-consuming sensation is worse. It’s harder to tolerate.

You're avoiding him, he knows it, but he supposes that can happen when someone kisses their best friend with no prior discussion of deeper feelings. It's not what he would do were the situation reversed—he'd still be all over you, kissing you back, smiling, never letting you go—but you've chosen to handle things quite differently, and in doing so, has left him no choice but to respond accordingly.

—

“Mornin’,” you hear, nearly dropping the pail of milk you’d been collecting all morning. Eyes darting to your right, you find Tyler sitting in one of the living room's quilted armchairs. Your heartbeat stutters. 

When you turn your head to the left, your mother is leaning against the kitchen countertop, her fluffy robe tied around her body and a cup of steaming coffee in her hands that she brings to her lips as she reads the newspaper splayed out beside her. 

“Mom, what is Tyler doing here?”

She glances up, swallows, and swipes her tongue across her bottom lip to catch the remnants of caramel-colored liquid. “Oh gosh, dear, he must've snuck in,” she replies, feigning ignorance. “But I’m not one for kickin’ anyone—especially not a fine, young man—off my property, so I guess he’ll just have to stay.”

With a huff, you set the pail down on the breakfast table, knowing your mother will take care of it, and shoot her a glare before making your way to the living room. Tyler stares up at you. You cross your arms and nudge your head toward the storage barn just behind the house where the two of you used to hold your late-night meetings when you were children, and later, teenagers. Many nights you spent in that barn after Tyler had snuck out of his parent’s house and chucked a pebble at your window to wake you. 

Tyler nods and follows you out the back door to the large structure that protects your privacy from the prying ears of the woman inside the house. 

“We gotta get you a new phone, darlin’,” Tyler says to your back once you're enclosed in the barn. “The one you've got doesn't seem to be receiving my calls…or texts…or elaborate voicemails.”

“Tyler…” you sigh, twisting to face him.

“You know we gotta talk about it,” he says. And he’s right, despite how the complicated element introduced into your relationship is entirely his fault and so you shouldn’t have to owe him the time of day until you're ready to give it. “You didn’t have to run away from me.”

“I didn’t run.” Tyler’s eyes follow the movement of your arms wrapping tighter around yourself and he swallows hard. “I walked.”

“Speed-walked,” he counters. “Borderline jogged.”

You groan, your tense shoulders sagging. “Tyler listen, I just–”

“Do you really think disappearing on me was a fair thing to do?” he interrupts. “I’m your best friend.”

Your jaw drops at the audacity. Not surprising, really; Tyler’s always had a way of wording things that gets under people’s skin, but out of the two of you, he is the last person who should be doling out the criticism. 

“Fair?” you huff. “You’re the one who–”

“I mean, what was so wrong with it?” Long fingers slide through his blond hair. “Can you honestly say you’ve never thought about me in that way? It hasn’t crossed your mind once? No sex dreams? Nothin’? ‘Cause I’ve been wrestlin’ with it since fuckin’ high school, but ok, sure, fine.”

“Ty–”

“And I know it was unexpected but was it really that shocking? Don’t you think we’d be good together? I think we’d–”

“For fuck’s sake, Tyler, will you let me talk!” you snap, your voice carrying throughout the barn.

If you were trying to preserve your privacy, you’ve definitely failed now. Half of town probably heard you and they’re nothing short of a mile away, but at this point, Tyler has pushed you well past caring. Let them hear. Let them know what’s going on between you. They all saw him kiss you anyway.

“We nearly died,” you continue. “People around us did die.”

Tyler’s face breaks down and you instantly regret your words. You know he stuck around after you left. You know he helped everyone he could in the aftermath of disaster while you let your emotions override your system and ran home to cry to your mother over how he just rocked what was your very steady relationship.

“Look,” you sigh. “Even if I wasn’t thinking about death—and that is a massive ‘if’—I told myself a long time ago that you are my friend, just my friend.”

Tyler’s hands settle on his hips. His eyes fall to the floor and his back teeth clench. “Why?”

“Because I repeated it so many times in my head that it solidified,” you tell him, throwing your arms up. “You know why Bradley dumped me last year? And Pete a couple years before that? And Bobby back in high school?” you ask. “Because of you. They all sensed this weird…energy…from you. All of them. Do you know how many times I had to tell them they were crazy? Do you know how many times I had to tell myself that I was crazy whenever they brought it up to me and I actually considered the possibility of you feeling that way?” 

You know exactly how many. Bobby had mentioned it five times before he decided he was done; broke it off with you right before prom and scoffed when he saw that Tyler had stepped up as your date. Pete was shorter-lived; asked you about Tyler three times before he said he could see which way the wind was blowing and had no interest in getting in between anything. And Bradley held the record at seven, each time making the fight outdo the one prior before he was simply fed up with the friendship you refused to sacrifice. Three boyfriends have ditched you solely because of Tyler, and fifteen times you had to talk yourself down from the jolt of excitement you got from imagining him loving you.    

Taking a deep breath, you say, “You don’t just get to kiss me and not let me sort out my thoughts for five damn seconds.”

Tyler’s head snaps up, jaw ticking and eyes blazing. “Five seconds?” he spits. “I haven’t seen you in a week. That’s the longest we’ve gone since I graduated.”

“This isn’t just about you; how you feel; what you think; what you want.”

“Then what are you tellin’ me?” Tyler asks.

The light quiver in his voice unnerves you. Not because you aren’t used to him expressing himself to the fullest—and if he’s ever going to be vulnerable with anyone, it’s with you—but that quiver is typically the trigger for you comforting him, taking him into your arms and holding him, letting him wrap himself around you until he feels better and is ready to stop. For some reason, you never noticed how long he would stay tied to you when you gave him the chance. 

“Are you feelin’ like this is it?” he continues. “Are you wantin’ us to be done?”

And suddenly, you’re irritated again. You can’t stop the roll of your eyes. In no universe would you ever be done with Tyler Owens, and the fact that he would entertain otherwise is asinine. “Don't be dramatic.”

“Well, what do you expect!” he shouts. “You’re actin’ like I’m about to lose you!”

“I didn’t say anything like that!”

“But you're mad that I kissed you!”

“Damn it, Tyler! I am not!”       

Green eyes widen, his breaths heavy from his heaving chest. His mouth opens then closes then opens once more. “You’re—” He licks his lips as you watch him grasp for words. “Then why haven't you called me back?”

You shrug. “I don't know. We've never fought before, and I thought you'd be pissed that I walked off, which clearly you are, so…”

“That’s not true,” he says, moving to take a step closer to you before thinking better of it and staying put. “I haven’t been pissed, darlin’, just terrified. And missing you. And…wanting you.” Heat flares your cheeks, forcing you to tear your eyes away from the desperation in his. “But I’m sorry. I wasn’t tryin’ to…I mean, you left and I thought…”

You shake your head. Whatever he let himself think, he was wrong.

The silence that settles over you is thicker than you're used to in his presence. You're used to laughter and jokes, sweet comments and banter. Tension zings in the space between your bodies, but it's pleasant, electrifying, invigorating. You feel the full impact of everything that was tucked underneath the stress and anxiety of barrelling through such a hard conversation. 

Tyler feels it too. His face shows it. His eyes you can only describe as heatedly glittering as he stares at you staring at him. His brows are pinched from frustration of a different kind. It's his lips, though, that reveal his thoughts better than any other feature. They're softly parted, glistening from a swipe of his tongue like he's ready to lock them to yours at any second. Like he needs to be ready just in case you give him the go-ahead so he can kiss you before you dare rescind your permission. 

“What are you thinking?” you ask, words quieter than you meant for them to be, but Tyler hears you.  

His chuckle is short, half-formed, partially overtaken by the exhale of a breath. You detect a slight tease, as if you should already know the answer to that question. 

“That I wanna kiss you again,” he says. “So fuckin’ bad.”

The corners of your mouth struggle not to quirk upward. “Tyler.” He hums. “You know what it means if we do this, right?”

He nods. “We can’t go back,” he says. “But darlin’, I don’t wanna go back. I wanna keep on goin’...with you.”

“Everything will be different.”

“Not everything. We're still us, we'd just be kissin’ and touchin’ and, you know, doin’ other stuff,” he replies with a smile. “Hopefully.”

You picture Tyler standing before you as you have secretly wished you could have him for years—bare and muscled and grinning and telling you he loves you—and for the first time, you aren’t awash with guilt and shame. It feels right to think of him like this. Natural. There’s a soothing ocean of serenity flowing under the flames of desire, and it hits you that this was probably inevitable. All the pieces were there—friendship, trust, love—all there was left to do was act on it. 

“You won't change your mind?” you ask, stepping to him. 

At your question, distress takes over Tyler's face, but it melts into a grin once he notices your smirk. He closes the remaining distance between you and takes your hand, carefully interlocking your fingers. 

“No chance,” he tells you. 

“Ok,” you say, nodding. “Well, if you’re absolutely sure, then I guess it’s ok if you kiss me agai–”

Your chuckle is muffled against his lips. His fingers untangle from yours and he guides your hand to rest on the back of his neck so he can cup your cheek. His free arm coils around your waist, pulling you in closer, and your body melts into his. Your brain fuzzes. You lose all awareness of your surroundings. You think you might just stay like this forever.

----