he follows the unusual silence down the hallway before pausing in the living room, unable to fight the smile that immediately settles across his features.

the room is a complete disaster, every couch cushion has vanished.

blankets stretch from the sofa to the armchairs, clipped carefully into place with oversized pegs from the laundry basket.

fairy lights glow softly beneath the fabric, casting the living room in warm golden light. colouring books lie abandoned across the rug beside an open box of crayons, while a tiny pink teddy pokes out from beneath one of the blankets as though it had been tucked in for the night.

taped proudly to the front of the fort is a slightly crooked piece of paper, decorated with glitter stickers and uneven purple crayon.

lily's kingdom

beneath it, in much wobblier handwriting.

princesses only (no daddy)

garrett lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head in amused disbelief. of course this is what the two of you had spent the evening doing.

he crouches slightly, lifting the edge of one of the blankets, and there you are.

fast asleep.

you're sitting with your back against the sofa, your head tipped gently to one side, one arm wrapped loosely around the little girl tucked securely against your chest. lily is completely sprawled across you, one tiny hand fisted in the front of your hoodie, her cheek squashed against your shoulder.

the two of you are tucked beneath a mountain of blankets, surrounded by picture books and a half-finished bowl of popcorn that clearly hadn't survived story time.

garrett just stares.

he should wake you.

your neck can't possibly be comfortable propped awkwardly against the arm of the sofa, and if you stay there much longer you'll wake up sore.

but he can't bring himself to do it.

lily is sleeping the way children only do when they trust someone entirely. she is completely boneless against you, her breathing slow and even, not a hint of tension anywhere in her tiny body.

your hand still rests absentmindedly against her back, holding her close even in your sleep.

she looks safe, content, loved.

something in garrett's chest tightens, and before he can think too much about it, he's already reaching into his pocket for his phone.

he angles it carefully, making sure the fairy lights are in the frame.

click.

he glances down at the photo, unable to stop the smile that follows.

he'll show you later. he'll tease you about the crick you'll inevitably wake up with and the purple crayon smudged across your sleeve.

if he's being honest, he'll probably end up showing logan too.

maybe tucker, maybe even dean.

the guys will give him endless shit for carrying around photos of his daughter and her nanny asleep in a blanket fort, but he doesn't think he'll mind very much.

as though sensing someone watching, your eyes flutter open. you blink slowly, clearly disoriented, before your gaze finally lands on him.

"garrett?"

he smiles. "hey."

you look down at the little girl asleep against you before whispering, "you're home."

"i am."

you make a tiny face. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to fall asleep."

he shakes his head immediately. "don't apologise, y/n."

you force a smile, clearly tired. "we were reading."

he glances at the pile of books. "i can see that."

there's a beat of comfortable silence, then a sleepy little voice mumbles.

"daddy?"

garrett looks down just as lily blinks awake. it takes her about two seconds to realise he's actually there before her whole face lights up.

"daddy!"

she launches herself at him far too quickly, getting tangled in the blankets.

"whoa, easy." he laughs, reaching in to scoop her up. she wraps herself around his neck with a happy little sigh, burying her face against him.

"missed you," the words come out muffled against his shoulder.

"i missed you too, bug."

she pulls back just enough to cup both his cheeks in her tiny hands.

"you home now?"

"yeah."

"no more plane?"

"not for a little while."

she nods once, seemingly satisfied, before immediately laying her head on his shoulder. garrett presses a gentle kiss into her hair before rubbing slow circles across her back, looking over at you.

"thank you."

you smile softly. "for what?"

he glances down at lily. "for taking such good care of her."

your expression softens. "she makes it pretty easy."

his eyes stay on yours for a second longer than either of you intends, neither of you look away.

maybe it's the exhaustion, maybe it's the fairy lights glowing softly overhead.

maybe it's the little girl dozing peacefully against his shoulder, still half wrapped in the blankets she'd declared her kingdom only a few hours earlier.

for a moment, the room is quiet.

the blanket fort still stands proudly behind you, the slightly crooked sign reading princesses only (no daddy) swaying gently where it's been taped to the fabric.

garrett can't help but smile.

whatever it is, the house has never felt quite this warm before.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ taglist! @maryyyswift | @purplerainx1 | @of-converse-books-and-chocolate | @staticgladiatordesolation | @nands88

“You know, if you keep pouting that hard, your face is gonna get stuck like that.”

Garrett doesn’t take his eyes off the gauze wrapped around your calves.

“I’m not pouting.”

“You’re definitely pouting.” Dean chimes in. Garrett’s head snaps up with a glare and Dean holds his hands up quickly, having enough sense to have already started backing away. “Right. Sorry. Going.”

Garrett grumbles something under his breath and you flick him lightly on the forehead. “Don’t be mean.”

“There is more of your skin on the pool deck than on the back of your legs, I’ll be as mean as I want.” His jaw clenches, one of the muscles ticking in annoyance.

“Even to me?” You bat your lashes at him teasingly.

Garrett softens, cupping your cheek like you’re something fragile, his thumb stroking the delicate skin under your eye. 

“I’m still deciding.”

“Hey!” Your mouth drops open in shock. “You’re not allowed to be mean to me, I almost died today.”

At the reminder that your legs currently look like a 3rd grader’s paper mache project, Garrett’s eyes darken and the small smile he was wearing drops as his hand falls from your face.

Your face falters in confusion. “What?”

“Don’t say shit like that,” he chides you softly, his body hovering over yours awkwardly, like he’s unsure where to touch you without hurting you more. “It’s not funny.”

Truthfully, you thought it had been a little funny, but you wisely keep that to yourself.

It had all started with a simple challenge where you were all given a stack of cards that had various quotes said by different Islanders during your time in the Villa. Each Islander would read a quote out loud before guessing which person said it by pushing them into the pool. 

Unfortunately for you, during Paul’s turn, he picked you as the Islander who had said his quote—you hadn’t—and, before you even had a chance to process it, he was pushing you into the pool. The problem was that, as you had not been expecting to be pushed into the pool, you had not been standing remotely close enough to the edge.

While the top half of your body hit the water just fine, your calves hit the lip of the pool instead, scraping painfully against it as you fell in—essentially skinning the back of your calves in the process.

The challenge came to a swift halt after that as the on-site medic tended to your injuries. Luckily it was nothing more than a couple large scrapes and, since you’d already had your turn and most of your quotes had already been read, production decided to continue the challenge without you and allowed you to go back to the bedroom to rest.

The only person left out of this decision—and deeply offended by that fact—was Garrett, who production realized was pointless to argue against, and just let him leave with you after he refused to go back to the challenge.

While you’ve been keeping a pretty positive attitude about the whole thing, laughing about it with everyone when they came to check on you after the challenge was over, Garrett did not share the sentiment, growling like a guard dog at anyone he deemed too disruptive—(Paul had smartly made himself scarce.)

Your jovial demeanor drops at Garrett’s words and you frown slightly, sitting up before he can stop you and crawling into his lap.

“Wait—Baby—Please—,” Garrett panics, his hands gripping your body in a confusing battle of pushing you away and also pulling you closer as he tries to stop you from putting any weight on your calves.

You ignore him, settling in his lap and cupping his jaw with your hands apologetically. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

Garrett melts beneath you, turning his head to press a kiss into your palm. His lips brush against your skin, “Don’t be sorry, I know you’re trying to make me feel better. I just… I didn’t like watching you get hurt.”

“I mean, it would be kinda concerning if you did—,” You clamp your mouth shut when Garrett raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Sorry. No more jokes, promise.”

Garrett lets out a thin sigh that sounds suspiciously like he’s holding back a laugh. “Somehow, I seriously doubt that.”

You stick your tongue out. “I can’t help that I’m a natural born comedian, Garrett.”

“Mmm.” He lets out a teasing hum.

“I am!”

Garrett’s hand travels up to the back of your neck, massaging the muscles as a way to coax you into lying down against him. “Agree to disagree, baby.”

You bite down lightly on his bare shoulder in protest—which Garrett is far too used to at this point—but let the empty bedroom fall into silence as Garrett shifts to get comfortable against the headboard of your bed. His hand falls to your back, tracing up and down your spin in large circles. 

“Does it hurt?” He asks softly.

You freeze. “...No.”

“Baby.”

“A little.” You concede. 

“Where?”

“Everywhere,” you pout. “It’s not awful, it just… burns.”

“‘M sorry,” he coos, pressing gentle kisses along the skin of your neck that’s peeking out of the hoodie you’re wearing—which is definitely his. “Is there anything that’ll make you feel better?”

You let out a shy noise, craning your neck to give him more access. “I mean, this feels nice.”

“Yeah?” Garrett’s lips move to explore the new skin, his hands curling under the hem of your sweatshirt to continue caressing your bare back. “How ‘bout I keep doing this and you finish telling me about that game you were talking about this morning.”

You shiver when he sucks softly at the spot just under your ear. “You’ll distract me.”

“Mm, I think you can get through it,” Garrett says in that somewhat condescending tone that makes your thighs clench.

It takes the squeeze of his hands against your hips to spur you into speaking and you pick up where you had left off earlier in the day when you were explaining the convoluted lore of the Five Nights at Freddy’s franchise to Garrett. The feeling of his lips on your neck causes you to lose your train of thought a couple times, but Garrett prompts you back into it with a verbal reminder to keep talking or another squeeze of your hips. Eventually, he gets genuinely interested enough in what you’re saying that he gets distracted, pulling back in confusion to ask multiple questions as you keep explaining, the pain in your legs now the furthest thing from your mind.

You keep talking until the rest of the Islanders come into the bedroom, everyone saying their ‘goodnight’s as the lights turn off and Garrett pulls the blankets over you both.

“Oh,” you lift your head up suddenly. “I forgot to tell you about—,”

Garrett’s large hand covers your mouth, muffling the rest of your sentence. “Tomorrow. I need sleep to prepare myself for how whiny you’re going to be in the morning when I have to disinfect your cuts.”

You pull his hand away with a raised brow.

“I thought you said you like when I’m whiny.”

“...Go to bed.”

BONUS

“Ow, ow, ow—!”

“I’m not even pressing that hard—!”

“Yes, you are!” You whine, your fingers digging into the granite sink of the bathroom as Garrett presses a cotton ball drenched in rubbing alcohol against your wound. “Stop, Garrett, it stings!”

Garrett grits his teeth as you try to kick your leg away from him. “I’m almost done.”

“You said that 30 minutes ago!”

“Baby. It hasn’t even been two minutes since we started.” When he meets your pitiful eyes, Garrett sighs. “Just one more, okay? I promise.”

He stays still until you give a hesitant nod and then lifts the cotton ball back to your leg.

“Wait, wait, wait!” You cry before it touches your skin. “Dean, hold my hand.”

You turn pleadingly to the aforementioned blond, who had been pretending to brush his teeth while he and Allie watched the two of you in amusement.

The toothbrush falls out of his mouth and clinks against the sink. “What? Why do I have to—?”

“Please?”

“Dean, just do it!”

Both your and Allie’s words overlap as Dean continues to object.

“Hold her damn hand, Dean.” Garrett interrupts all of you with a finality that has Dean shuffling his feet over to you begrudgingly.

Unsurprisingly, the picture Allie takes of Garrett crouched down by your leg with a focused expression as you and Dean both wince in pain—you, because Garrett is disinfecting your last cut and Dean, because you’re squeezing his hand hard enough for his fingers to overlap—is posted to the Love Island USA Instagram account as soon as the episode airs.

half the team pretend not to listen. the other half don't even bother pretending.

"did you eat your lunch?" garrett asks.

a tiny voice chatters excitedly through the speaker, far too quiet for anyone else to make out.

garrett smiles, actually smiles.

the same man who had broken a stick over the crossbar three nights ago because they'd blown a two-goal lead.

"all of it?"

another stream of toddler logic sounds through the phone.

"well...yes, i suppose applesauce is technically a fruit."

someone snorts, garrett turns around without missing a beat. "anyone got something to say?"

around him, everyone suddenly seems fascinated by the ice beneath their skates. garrett shakes his head, fighting a smile before turning his attention back to his phone.

"i'll be home after practice, okay? be good for y/n."

another pause. his smile softens.

"i miss you too, bug. i love you."

he hangs up a minute later, eyes bright and smile wide.

"you've gone soft."

garrett looks up. "what?"

"you're talking about applesauce." one of the rookies gestures dramatically. "you used to threaten to fight people."

"i still threaten to fight people."

"yeah, but now you're discussing fruit pouches, graham."

"they're entirely different conversations."

logan laughs from across the rink. "how's the nanny going?"

garrett shrugs, grabbing another stick. "good."

"that's it?"

"what else is there to say?"

logan exchanges a knowing look with one of his teammates, luke.

"well..."

he leans back against the boards, eyebrows raising out of curiosity. "is she pretty?"

garrett doesn't even hesitate. "don't."

logan blinks. "don't...what?"

"don't."

"garrett."

"she works for me."

logan lifts both hands innocently, though the smirk on his face completely undermines the gesture. "i only asked a question, g."

"and i'm telling you not to ask another one."

luke bites back a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "you're being protective, graham."

"no. i'm being professional."

"same thing."

"not even close."

luke studies him for a second before shrugging, "okay then." he leans back against the boards.

"hypothetically..."

garrett sighs. "i'm already annoyed."

"if i asked y/n out."

a beat.

"you wouldn't have a problem with it?"

garrett doesn't answer immediately. he finishes wrapping the tape around his stick before finally looking up, his jaw clenched.

"what she chooses to do outside of work is none of my business."

luke nods. "right."

"but you're one of my players."

"and?"

"and she's responsible for my daughter five days a week."

his voice stays level. "i'm not interested in one of my guys fucking around with the person helping raise my kid."

luke lifts an eyebrow, clearly trying to coax a reaction out of his captain. "who said anything about fucking around?"

"i'm saying if someone's going to be around lily, they need to be someone i trust."

"y/n can decide who she trusts."

"she can."

garrett doesn't hesitate, "and i can decide who i want around my daughter."

the rink quietens.

"lily gets attached," garrett continues. "she's three. the people in her life matter. if y/n's seeing someone, there's a chance that person ends up around my kid too."

luke folds his arms, trying, and failing, not to smile. "so that's your concern?"

"yes."

"not the fact she's your nanny."

"that is the fact she's my nanny."

luke exchanges a look with logan, his grin only widening. "right."

the conversation dies there, mostly because luke knows when he's reached the limit of how much he can get away with.

a beat of silence passes before logan speaks. "bring lil to the barbecue on saturday."

garrett nods. "was already planning to."

"and y/n?"

garrett looks confused. "what about her?"

"well, if she's looking after your daughter, then she's invited too."

there's another silence.

logan slowly looks at luke, who looks back, the two of them sharing a knowing glance.

garrett genuinely has no idea why they're staring.

later that afternoon

your day has consisted of colouring books, building blanket forts, and convincing a three-year-old that socks are, in fact, a requirement before going outside.

you've almost succeeded, almost.

"i don't like socks."

you crouch in front of her. "i know."

"they're itchy."

"these ones have little strawberries on them though, lil. look!"

she considers that very seriously, her eyebrows furrowing in concentration. "still socks," she mumbles.

you sigh dramatically, gently tickling her sides. "you drive a hard bargain, miss graham."

she giggles in response, her cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson red.

a second later, the front door opens.

"daddy!"

lily takes off running before garrett has even stepped fully inside. he barely has time to drop his keys before she's launching herself into his arms.

"hey, bug."

he catches her effortlessly, smiling as he settles her against his hip. "did you listen to y/n today?"

"...mostly."

"mostly?"

"i wore the socks!"

garrett looks over her shoulder at you, one eyebrow lifting. you can only laugh in response. "it was a very long negotiation."

he lets out a quiet laugh. "i'm not surprised."

for a second, just a second, the two of you hold each other's gaze before your attention softens, drifting to the little girl tucked comfortably in his arms.

there's something about the sight of garrett holding lily, his expression so impossibly soft, so completely devoted, that sends warmth blooming low in your stomach before you can stop it.

when you look back up, he's still watching you, comfortable, easy, like this has quietly become routine.

because, somehow, it has.

neither of you notice the little girl glancing between you with a grin far too knowing for a three-year-old.

"can y/n stay for dinner?"

garrett answers before he even has time to think, "yeah, of course." then he catches himself, his eyes flicking back to yours.

His hair was still damp at the edges from his post-game shower, curling slightly where he’d shoved his hand through it too many times, and the dark blue Briar letterman jacket had stayed on for maybe twelve minutes before the house got too hot and he dumped it over the back of a chair.

He was, by every reasonable standard, doing great. His girlfriend was not. His girlfriend had arrived at the party with Allie and a plan that had included one drink, maybe two, and absolutely no consideration for the fact that girls pouring vodka cranberries in hockey houses tended to treat measurements as a loose concept. 

Garrett had been across the living room when she’d taken the first one. He’d been in the kitchen with Tucker when she’d finished the second. By the time he saw her again, she was standing near the bottom of the stairs with one hand wrapped around a red cup, smiling at something Allie said with the bright, floaty concentration of a girl whose whole body had started operating on a two-second delay.

He could notice a winger drifting out of formation from half a rink away with two guys trying to take his head off. He could absolutely notice his girlfriend blinking too slowly under the hallway light, her cheeks warm from alcohol and the heat of too many bodies packed into the house, her mouth glossy and parted slightly like she kept forgetting whether she was meant to be talking or laughing. 

She looked happy, which helped. Loose and giggly and pleased. But she also kept shifting her weight like the floor had become more wobbly than usual, and Garrett had not fought for his life against Harvard’s second line that afternoon just to let his girlfriend get taken out by hardwood.

So he left Logan mid-sentence. Logan didn’t even pretend to be offended. He just followed Garrett’s line of sight, saw her trying to drink from the cup and missing her mouth by half an inch, and winced. “Oh, buddy.”

Garrett pointed at him without looking back. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was gonna say she looks graceful.”

“Die.”

Garrett crossed the room with the easy confidence of someone everyone automatically moved for, red cup of water in hand because Tucker, thank God, had seen the situation unfolding and passed it over like a medic on a battlefield. 

She didn’t see Garrett coming. She was too busy nodding very seriously at Allie, who was holding both her hands and saying something that involved the words no, babe, I’m so serious and eyebrow blindness.

Garrett stepped into her space, close enough that his knee brushed hers. “Hey, baby.”

She turned toward him. For one beautiful second, her face went blank. Then her entire expression rearranged itself into scandalised horror.

“Excuse you,” she said, pulling herself up to her full height, which was less effective than usual because she swayed slightly at the top and had to catch Allie’s wrist. “I have a boyfriend.”

Garrett blinked.

Allie made a noise like she’d swallowed a firework. Garrett looked at his girlfriend. His girlfriend looked back at him with genuine, drunken offence, like he’d approached her in a bar wearing a leather bracelet and too much confidence.

“Uh huh,” he said slowly, because there were moments in life that required leadership and moments that required not laughing directly in the face of the girl you loved while she was doing her best. “That’s great.”

“It is great,” she said, lifting her chin. “He’s very tall.”

Garrett’s mouth twitched. “Good for him.”

“And he plays hockey.”

“No shit?”

“And he’s, like, really good at it.”

Allie had turned away now, one hand clamped over her mouth, shoulders shaking. Garrett refused to look at her because if he did, he was going to lose it, and that felt like the sort of thing his girlfriend would interpret as disrespect from a strange man at a party, which apparently he was now.

He held out the cup. “Can you drink some water for me?”

Her eyes narrowed. Suspicious. Wobbly. Deeply loyal to the absent boyfriend currently standing less than a foot in front of her. “Why?”

“Because you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Baby.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Don’t call me baby.”

“Right. Sorry.” He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, nodding with a level of solemnity he absolutely did not feel. “My bad.”

“My boyfriend calls me baby.”

“Does he?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds annoying.”

“He’s not annoying.” She frowned at him with such force that it seemed to briefly take all her balance with it. Garrett’s free hand shot out to her waist before she could tip sideways into Allie. She looked down at it, then back up at him, appalled. “Don’t touch my waist.”

Garrett removed his hand at once, palms lifting. “Alright.”

Allie, still dying, leaned in and said, “Babe, maybe just drink the water.”

She looked betrayed. “You’re taking his side?”

“I’m taking hydration’s side.”

Garrett offered the cup again. “Just a couple sips.”

She stared at him for another second, clearly weighing the moral implications of accepting water from a man who looked suspiciously like her boyfriend but who she had, for reasons unclear to everyone except the vodka, decided was not. 

Finally, she took the cup with great caution, like he might use the transfer to propose something criminal, and drank.

Garrett watched her swallow three obedient little sips, then nodded. “Good girl.”

The look she gave him could have killed a weaker man. “Nope.”

“Right. Yep. Forgot.”

“My boyfriend says that.”

“Bet he does,” Garrett muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She handed the cup back, pleased with herself and still indignant, and then immediately turned toward Allie like the conversation had been handled.

Garrett stood there for half a second, holding the water, staring at the side of her face.

Dean appeared beside him like he had been summoned by humiliation itself. “Hey, man.”

Garrett didn’t look over. “Do not.”

Dean’s grin was audible. “She knows you’re her boyfriend, right?”

“She’s drunk.”

“She just told you she has a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, Dean, I was here.”

Dean leaned around him to look at her, delighted. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Garrett finally turned his head and gave him a flat look. “That’s sad.”

“No, what’s sad is getting rejected by your own girlfriend.” Dean clapped him once on the shoulder and immediately stepped out of reach. “Tough shift, captain.”

Garrett pointed at him. “I will put you through a wall.”

“Wow.” Dean called over his shoulder, already retreating. “Her boyfriend would never.”

Garrett took a slow breath through his nose and looked back at her. She was laughing at something Allie said now, one hand pressed to her own chest, head tipping forward so her hair fell around her face. 

She looked ridiculous. Beautiful and unsteady and way too warm in the cheeks, standing under the hallway light like the world had gone pleasantly fuzzy and she trusted it not to hurt her because she hadn’t yet noticed Garrett had been replaced by some guy bothering her with cups.

His annoyance softened before it could become anything real. Fine. He could work with this.

For the next twenty minutes, Garrett kept orbiting. That was the only word for it. He didn’t hover, because hovering would get him accused of being controlling by Dean, and probably by her if she remembered how to form an argument. 

He orbited. Close enough to keep an eye on her, far enough that she didn’t look up and accuse him of trying to steal girlfriend privileges from Garrett Graham, who was both beloved and missing.

She danced with Allie in the living room, mostly from the waist up because her coordination had started giving its two weeks’ notice. 

She complimented Tucker’s shirt with extreme sincerity even though Tucker was wearing the same plain black t-shirt he wore to every party. 

She told Logan he looked so tall tonight, which made Logan look down at himself like height might have happened recently and without his permission.

Garrett found her again near the back door, rubbing both hands over her bare arms.

The house was hot, but the door kept swinging open whenever someone stepped out to smoke or yell into the yard, letting in cold spring air that slipped over her skin and made her shoulders inch up toward her ears. 

Garrett saw the little shiver move through her before she did. He grabbed his letterman jacket off the chair and came up behind her, careful this time, no hands first. Just the jacket, warm from the room and heavy with him, settled over her shoulders.

“There,” he said, low near her ear. “You’re cold.”

She froze.

Garrett closed his eyes for one second. “Please don’t.”

She shrugged the jacket off so fast it nearly hit the floor. Garrett caught it by the collar.

“Nope,” she said.

“Baby.”

Her head snapped around. “I said no.”

Garrett looked at the ceiling. The ceiling offered no help. “You’re shivering.”

“I only wear my boyfriend’s jacket.”

“This is your boyfriend’s jacket.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It literally has my name on it.”

She squinted at the embroidered Graham on the chest like letters were a personal challenge. “Lots of people are named Graham.”

“Not on this team.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, actually. I’m the captain.”

Her face twisted with immediate doubt, like that was exactly the sort of lie a jacket predator would tell at a party. “You’re the captain?”

Garrett stared at her. “Oh my God.”

From the couch, Logan made a strangled sound into his beer.

She pointed at Garrett’s chest, very serious now. “My boyfriend is the captain.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard great things.”

“He’s very hot.”

“Is he?”

“So hot,” she said, and then sighed, soft and dramatic and so genuinely fond that Garrett’s irritation had nowhere to land. “Like, stupid hot. It’s actually kind of annoying.”

Garrett’s face moved before he could stop it, warmth pulling at his mouth. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “And he has really nice hands.”

Logan choked.

Garrett didn’t look away from her. “Good hands are important.”

“They are,” she agreed solemnly. “And he’s not some random guy trying to give girls jackets.”

“Right.” He held up the jacket between them, helpless now. “Can I just–”

“No thank you.”

“You’re gonna freeze.”

“I’ll wait for Garrett.”

“You do that,” he said, because love was standing in a hockey house holding your own jacket while your drunk girlfriend faithfully rejected you on your own behalf. “Sounds like a plan.”

She smiled at him then, bright and polite. “Thank you for understanding.”

Garrett looked at her for a long moment, then at the jacket, then back at her. “Anytime.”

He walked away to the sound of Logan losing the fight against laughter so badly he had to bend over his own knees.

“You’re not helping,” Garrett said.

Logan wiped under one eye. “I’m sorry, man, but she’s loyal as hell.”

“She thinks I’m a stranger.”

“She thinks you’re a stranger with bad intentions. There’s a difference.”

“Great. That makes it better.”

Tucker came up beside them, looking far too amused for somebody usually committed to being the reasonable one. “You know, technically, this is a very good sign for your relationship.”

Garrett gave him a look. “Don’t start.”

“She’s hammered and still refusing men for you.”

“She refused me.”

“Exactly. Nobody is safe.”

Dean reappeared then, because joy, unfortunately, had a way of finding him. “I just heard she wouldn’t wear your jacket.”

Garrett’s jaw tightened. “You heard wrong.”

Dean grinned. “Did I?”

“I’m gonna kill you before playoffs.”

“No, you’re not. You’re too busy getting friend-zoned by your girlfriend.”

Garrett shoved him in the chest. Dean laughed all the way into the kitchen.

By the time Garrett found her again, she had somehow migrated to the old armchair near the stairs, sitting sideways with her knees tucked up and Dean perched on the arm like some kind of terrible emotional support animal. 

Her bare arms were folded tight over her chest now, because she was still cold and still deeply committed to jacket monogamy. Her face had changed too. Gone softer around the edges, bottom lip pushed out, all the earlier moral outrage curdled into something wounded and grumpy.

Garrett stopped a few feet away. Dean saw him first and his grin turned wicked. “Oh, thank God.”

She frowned up at Dean. “What?”

“Nothing.” Dean patted the top of the chair. “Your night’s about to improve.”

She slumped deeper into the cushion, still looking at Dean. “I haven’t seen Garrett all night.”

Garrett blinked.

Dean pressed his lips together so hard his whole face went strange.

She kept going, mournful now, eyes glossy from alcohol and the kind of drama that only really existed after midnight in a crowded house. “He’s, like, disappeared.”

Garrett slowly looked at Dean.

“He had a game,” she said, to no one in particular, or maybe to Dean’s knee. “And I wanted to tell him he played really good.”

“He knows,” Dean said, voice suspiciously tight.

“No, but I wanted to tell him.” She rubbed at one eye with the heel of her hand, then stopped halfway as if remembering makeup existed. “And there’s this guy who keeps talking to me.”

Garrett’s eyebrows went up.

Dean made direct eye contact with him and looked like he might actually pass away.

“He keeps calling me baby,” she muttered. “And trying to make me drink water.”

Garrett bit the inside of his cheek.

“Sounds awful,” Dean managed.

“So annoying,” she said. “Like, okay, hydration police. I have a boyfriend.”

Garrett stepped closer then, because there were only so many times a man could be called the hydration police by the love of his life before he had to intervene. “Hey, baby.”

Her head lifted. The transformation was immediate and almost violent. Her whole face opened, bright and relieved and suddenly so happy to see him that it genuinely knocked the joke sideways in his chest. “Garrett!”

He froze. “Hi?”

“Baby!” She reached both arms out toward him from the chair, nearly tipping herself forward in the process. Garrett crossed the last step fast and caught her by the hands before she could slide off the cushion. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said again, slower this time, looking down at her. “You recognise me now?”

She frowned like he’d said something deeply strange. “What are you talking about?”

Dean made a sound that might have been a cough if he had not immediately turned away with his shoulders shaking.

Garrett stared at her. “Nothing.”

She squeezed his face, delighted and fully unaware of the damage she’d caused him tonight. “I missed you.”

His mouth softened despite himself. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” She tugged at him, needy and uncoordinated, until he stepped properly between her legs where she’d moved to sit properly in the chair. Her knees bracketed his thighs, her fingers curling in the front of his shirt like now that she had found him, she intended to physically prevent further abandonment. “You were gone for so long.”

Garrett looked at her for one second, then over her head at Dean, who was wiping tears out of the corner of his eye. “I was around.”

She shook her head, very firm. “No.”

“No?”

“No. There was just this guy.”

Garrett nodded, face serious. “Right. The water guy.”

She gasped softly, looking up at him with genuine alarm. “You saw him?”

Dean slid off the arm of the chair. “I need to go tell Logan something immediately.”

Garrett didn’t even try to stop him. His hands had settled at her waist now, thumbs pressing lightly over the fabric of her top because she was still swaying in tiny increments even while sitting down. “Yeah, baby, I saw him.”

“You should talk to him.”

“Oh, I should?”

“Yes.” Her voice dropped into a whisper that wasn’t remotely quiet. “He was flirting with me.”

Garrett’s eyes flicked over her face. “Was he?”

“He kept calling me baby.”

“That’s crazy.”

“And he tried to give me his jacket.”

“What a dick.”

She nodded, relieved that he understood the severity. “I know.”

Garrett’s grin finally broke free, slow and helpless. He stepped closer until her forehead could tip against his stomach, and when it did, she sighed like the entire night had been restored to its proper axis by the smell of his shirt. 

He looked down at the crown of her head, at the way her hands had found the hem of his t-shirt and held on loosely, and brushed his fingers once over the back of her hair.

She had rejected him all night. She had accused him of being a stranger, declined his water on principle, refused his jacket with the ferocity of a woman defending a sacred oath, and still somehow the inside of him went soft at the way she leaned into him now, trusting and warm and gone enough to be ridiculous but not gone enough to forget where she wanted to end up.

“Baby,” he murmured.

“Mhm?”

“You wanna get outta here?”

Her head lifted at once. “Yes, please.”

“Yeah?” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, watching the way her eyes followed his face now with no suspicion at all. “You done?”

“So done.” She nodded, then winced faintly at the motion like her brain had moved one direction and her skull another. “Can we go home?”

“Yeah, we can go home.”

“And maybe get McDonald’s?”

Garrett laughed under his breath, and the sound made her smile like she’d won something. “Sure, baby.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. But you gotta stand up first.”

She looked down at her own legs with sudden doubt. “Okay.”

“Confident.”

“I can do it.”

“I know you can.” He took both her hands and backed up half a step, giving her room. “Come on. Up we go.”

She stood with the intense focus of someone attempting a field sobriety test on a ship. Garrett’s hands went to her waist at once, steadying her as her knees straightened and her body tipped forward into his. 

He didn’t make a show of it. Didn’t laugh when she grabbed his forearms and blinked hard at the room. He only held her until she found the floor again, fingers spread warm and firm at her sides.

“There we go,” he said softly. “You good?”

She nodded, then thought about it. “Mostly.”

“Mostly works.” He leaned around her just enough to grab his letterman jacket from the back of the chair “Can I put this on you now, or are we still being loyal to your boyfriend?”

She looked at the jacket. Then up at him. Then back at the jacket.

“That’s yours,” she said, like he was the one struggling to keep up.

Garrett pressed his lips together. “Yeah.”

She smiled, sweet and pleased. “Okay.”

He slid it over her shoulders. This time she pushed her arms into the sleeves with immediate enthusiasm, even though they swallowed her hands completely. 

Garrett zipped it halfway because she was too busy smelling the collar with a happy little hum that did absolutely nothing for his ability to remain normal.

“You smell good,” she told him.

“Thanks.”

“Like Garrett.”

“Crazy coincidence.”

She nodded, accepting that, and slipped her hand into his when he offered it. Her fingers were warm and clumsy between his, squeezing twice like she was checking he was real. He squeezed back once and started guiding her through the house.

The party kept moving around them. Someone called his name from the kitchen and Garrett lifted his free hand without stopping. Logan appeared near the doorway, took one look at them, and grinned.

“She found you,” he said.

Garrett pointed at him. “Not a word.”

She turned toward Logan, solemn and slightly off-balance. “There was a guy bothering me all night.”

Logan’s mouth opened. Closed. He looked at Garrett, then back at her. “No way.”

She nodded. “Way.”

Garrett kept walking. “Let’s go.”

Behind them, Logan said, “Hope your boyfriend handles that.”

She turned around while still moving, which forced Garrett to catch her by the waist and redirect her like a shopping cart with a bad wheel. “He will!”

“I’m sure he will,” Logan called, voice cracking around laughter.

Outside, the cold hit her properly. She shrank into the jacket at once, shoulders rising, Garrett’s hand still wrapped around hers while they moved down the front steps and along the path toward his car. 

The night was damp and dark around the edges, grass glittering faintly under the porch light, the music dulling behind the shut door until it became a pulse more than a song. She walked close to him, not quite straight, occasionally bumping into his side and then apologising to his arm.

“Baby,” she said halfway down the walk.

“Yeah?”

“That guy was so annoying.”

Garrett glanced down at her. “Still thinkin’ about him?”

“He was talking to me all night.”

“Sounds like a loser.”

“He was kind of hot, though.”

Garrett stopped walking.

She stopped too, delayed, then looked back at him with wide innocent eyes. “What?”

He stared at her. “Hot?”

She nodded, very serious. “But not as hot as you.”

“Uh huh.”

“And he had your jacket.”

“My jacket?”

“Yeah.” Her brows pulled together. “Actually, that was weird.”

Garrett looked up at the sky for patience. “So weird.”

“You should talk to him, baby. I’m serious.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Good.” She nodded once, satisfied, and started walking again. “Don’t fight him though. You had a game.”

His mouth twitched. “Right. Wouldn’t wanna overdo it.”

“And you already won.”

“I did.”

“You were really good,” she said, and the words came out softer now, slipping under the joke with no warning at all. Her fingers tightened around his. “I forgot to tell you.”

Garrett’s steps slowed by a fraction. He looked down at her, at her messy hair and flushed cheeks and his too-big jacket hanging off her shoulders, at the careful way she was watching the pavement. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. You did that thing.” She lifted their joined hands vaguely, as if the thing might be available in the air somewhere. “Where you went really fast and then the other guy was stupid.”

Garrett laughed, warm and surprised. “That was my favourite play.”

“It was good. I’m real proud of you.”

“Thanks, baby.”

She leaned into his arm, pleased. “You’re welcome.”

At the car, he opened the passenger door and turned her gently by the hips before she could attempt entry at a dangerous angle. “Alright. Watch your head.”

“I always watch my head.”

“You don’t.”

“I have one.”

“Having one and watching it are different.”

She ducked into the car with exaggerated care, one hand on the roof, one hand still gripping his. Garrett waited until she was seated, then crouched slightly and drew the seatbelt across her. 

She looked down at him while he clicked it into place, her expression suddenly soft and sleepy. “Baby.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m so glad I found you.”

His hand paused on the belt for half a second.

She sighed, sinking back into the seat, eyes half-lidded now that the car’s quiet had started wrapping around her. “I missed you tonight.”

Garrett looked at her in the blue dashboard glow, and something in his chest pulled tight and fond and a little ridiculous. “Missed you too.”

“There was this guy–”

“I heard.”

“–and he kept trying to give me water.”

“So rude.”

“Exactly.” Her head tipped against the seat, eyes closing for one beat before opening again. “Can you get me nuggets?”

Garrett smiled and brushed his thumb over her knee before standing. “Yeah, babe. I’ll get you nuggets.”

“And fries.”

“Obviously.”

“And a Sprite.”

“You need water.”

She made a face. “The guy said that too.”

Garrett leaned one arm on the open door and looked down at her, trying very hard not to smile too much because she would see it and accuse him of something. “The guy sounds smart.”

She frowned. “Don’t compliment him.”

“My bad.”

“You’re my boyfriend.”

“I am.”

“And I love you.”

The words came out simple and softened by vodka and sleepiness and the warm cocoon of his jacket around her, but real enough that Garrett felt them land under his ribs.

He bent and kissed her forehead. “I love you too.”

She smiled, eyes closed now. “Good.”

“Good,” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her face before shutting the door. 

He walked around the front of the car with a grin he couldn’t quite get rid of, hearing the muffled thump of the party behind him and the faint sound of her shifting around in the passenger seat like she was trying to get comfortable in sleeves three sizes too big. 

When he got in, she was already curled toward his side, cheek against the seat, looking at him with heavy eyes and total, trusting recognition.

Garrett started the car. She reached blindly for his hand. He gave it to her.

For a minute they sat there in the dim quiet before he pulled away from the curb, her fingers woven through his, his thumb moving once over her knuckles. Then she inhaled like she had remembered something important.

“Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna talk to that guy, right?”

Garrett smiled at the road, the house falling behind them, McDonald’s glowing somewhere ahead like a drunken little lighthouse.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll give him a stern talking-to.”

“Good,” she mumbled, already drifting. “Tell him I have a boyfriend.”

His grin widened.

“Trust me, baby,” Garrett said, squeezing her hand once as he turned out onto the street. “He knows.”

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

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Contents -

❀ One | The Escape | 2.3k words

❀ Two | Courting Season | 2.7k words

❀ Three | Compromising Positions | 2.7k words

❀ Four

❀ Five

❀ Six

❀ Seven

❀ Eight

ACOTAR Masterlist

A/n - This series will include content warnings at the start of each chapter, so please be sure to read them before continuing.

Another requested fic, and I was so excited to write it! Season 2 of Bridgerton is my favorite and Anthony's character totally gives Rhysand vibes x

This fic is packed with some of my absolute favourite tropes—enemies-to-lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity—and I had so much fun bringing it to life. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)