sweet tea voice, hard liquor heart

her trust should've been a release - something that took the edge off, steadied the ground under him. instead, it sinks in heavily, it's too clean, too certain, untouched by the parts of him that don't fit into it. she says it like there's nothing to question, like whatever he is, whatever he's done, lands inside something she's already decided is safe. her trust is built on what she knows, and what she knows isn't the whole truth. and that's what unsettles him. not what he might do next - it's what's already behind him, fixed and unchangeable, the kind of history that doesn't soften just because he wants to be someone else now

the criminal affiliation, the decisions, the lines he stepped over without looking back. they don't disappear in the face of something good; they just sit there, quiet and waiting. and savannah doesn't see it, not fully. not the way it lives under his skin, not the way it follows him into rooms, into moments like this, into something that was supposed to feel simple. this is different, this is internal, already set in motion, already tied to him in ways he can't undo

heath could tell her right away - lay it out plain, let it fracture whatever this is before it settles too deep. but he doesn’t. not now, the thought barely lingers before it's set aside. not out of guilt - he doesn't feel that, not the way people expect; but because he wants this moment untouched, wants to give her something clean before the rest of it inevitably bleeds through. he wants to keep her happy for as long as he can hold that line

he listens without interrupting, eyes on her, committing every word to memory - the way her mouth curves when she says pretty, the way she softens on us. he'd never really imagined a wedding for himself - never paused long enough to consider what it would look like, what it should feel like. it always belonged to other people, other lives. back then, he didn't have the time, and even if he had, he wouldn't have cared enough to spend it on something like that. the idea still feels faintly absurd to him, something he can build instead of speculate about "we've got time to make somethin' real nice. 'sides ya've got that dress to pick 'n all. reckon that's where most yer attention's should be"

savannah doesn’t miss the shift in him, not entirely, but she doesn’t press on it either. Instead, she leans in just a little closer, her smile softening into something warmer, more certain. “well, good thing i’m not most folks then,” she hums lightly, like it’s the simplest answer in the world. her fingers brush along his arm, absentminded, affectionate. “means i get to do it properly. make it about you this time.”

she tilts her head at him, studying his face for a second before the brightness slips back in, easy and unbothered. “an’ don’t think you’re gettin’ out of it either, i’ve already decided,” she adds, a quiet sort of excitement threading through her tone. “nothin’ big if you don’t want it, but… somethin’. just us, at least.” there’s no hesitation in it, no second-guessing, just that same steady certainty she always seems to have when it comes to him.

her expression shifts then, a hint of something playful creeping in as the thought forms. “actually…” she draws the word out, like she’s piecing it together in real time, even if it’s been sitting somewhere in the back of her mind already. “kinda feels like i should make it count, y’know? considerin’ i basically live here anyway.” a soft laugh slips out of her, but there’s something more intentional behind it now, something she doesn’t quite hide.

The doors were unlock and Hasan had sent Savy his location. This was a place he had bought and came here when he wanted to get away from the city. He had not had a chance to really use it until now. He did not want to run into either of the two men he was hiding from. Hasan was someone who did not do feelings, relationship. He was not person that caught feelings, he was a flirting guy and he knew that he was an asshole. He was feeling something real for the first time and things were very complicated. He hated that this place was dry and was waiting for his best friend. He had also ordered a few drinks too.

it took a lot for savannah to worry about hasan. she was learning more about him than she expected, a man who could joke about danger like it was a thrill, but when it came to anything real, anything that might mean something, he had a habit of running the other way. until now, it seemed.

when he sent his location, she didn’t hesitate. she stopped long enough to grab a bottle of vodka and whiskey before making her way over, letting herself in like she’d done a hundred times before.

she found her way to the kitchen first, moving with quiet familiarity as she poured two glasses of whiskey. by the time she stepped into the living room, she didn’t waste a second before settling down beside him, pressing one of the glasses into his hand.

it would be a lie to say it didn't get under his skin - the way the world would look at her and feel entitled, like her name was something they could pass around, reshape, stain with their own assumptions. he carried that weight for years, let it drag across him without flinching, built something calloused enough to take the hit and keep moving. but savannah isn't a headline, not a story to spin - she's real in a way that doesn't come with defenses, doesn't anticipate cruelty before it arrives. and the thought that his life, his orbit, his noise, has pulled her into that line of fire sits wrong in him, deep and jagged. there's a shift in him, something old and feral waking up slow

it isn't gentle, it isn't noble, it's instinct - sharp, territorial, absolute. the kind that doesn't negotiate, doesn't warn twice. a starving wolf doesn't question why it guards, it just knows what's his and what isn't meant to be touched. and heath feels it settle in his bones with a quiet kind of violence, this line, this boundary, this hers. he can already see the way the assumptions will come for her, dressed up as curiosity, as commentary, as something harmless until it isn’t. he'd meet it head on, tear through it if he had to, let it break against him before it ever gets close enough to bruise her. there's no version of this where he stands back and lets it happen, no restraint where she's concerned. just that same unshakable dark certainty, anything that comes for her answers to him first, and he's not built to let things walk away untouched

"i promise i'm always gonna be real with ya" his gaze softens, unguarded in a way he rarely lets anyone see "even when it ain't pretty" and unfortunately, there was a lot of ugliness in his life. he would tell her about all that "i just need ya to trust me" he adds, quieter, but firm in that way that doesn't leave room for doubt "trust the way i handle things, the decisions i make...ya can always talk to me, i'm always gonna put ya first. every damn time"

a hint of a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, softer than usual "he gave it easy, didn't he?" his gaze drops briefly, almost amused, then lifts back to her "he told me he wouldn't say a word" he confesses "day i met him, i sat right there and told him i was gonna marry ya - he laughed at me" a small shake of his head follows, half a breath of a laugh under it, like even he knows how that sounds, but he doesn't take it back "reckon he saw i meant 'very bit of it" his hand slides up to cradle her face, pulling her in just enough for his lips to meet hers nothing rushed, nothing uncertain. when he pulls back, it's barely an inch, his forehead hovering close to hers, breath warm against her skin

savannah listens to him, really listens, her eyes never leaving his. there’s something in the way he speaks, steady, certain, that settles her instead of scares her. where he’s all edge and instinct, she’s softer, but not fragile. she doesn’t need the world to be kind, she just needs to know who’s standing beside her when it isn’t.

her hand lifts, resting over his where it sits at her waist, grounding him just as much as he grounds her. “i do trust you,” she says quietly, her southern lilt soft but sure. “never once had a reason not to.” her thumb brushes slow over his knuckles. “and i ain’t scared of a little noise, heath. i chose this life same as you did. folks can talk all they want… long as we know what’s real, that’s enough for me.”

his confession about her daddy pulls a brighter smile from her, something fond and a little amused. “you did not,” she breathes, a soft laugh slipping out. “went and told him that right off the bat?” she shakes her head lightly, eyes warm. “no wonder he warmed up to you so quick… you didn’t give him much room not to.” there’s pride there, quiet but deep.

she leans into his touch when he kisses her, eyes closing for a second, savoring it before she opens them again, still close, still his. “as for the weddin’…” her lips curve, thoughtful now. “i want it real pretty,” she admits. “not just fancy for the sake of it, but somethin’ that feels like us. a little bit of where i’m from, a little bit of your world… good music, people we actually love, not just folks fillin’ seats.” her fingers trace lightly along his shirt. “i want to remember it, not feel like i’m performin’ it.”

he used to think stability was a slow death - something that crept in soft, wrapped itself around your ribs, and tightened until you couldn't tell where you ended and someone else began. a fiancée, a home, someone waiting, someone asking, someone expecting. it all sounded like erosion to him back then, like losing sharp edges he fought too hard to earn. he built himself to be uncontained, unowned, a man that didn't bend, didn't stay, didn't owe. her thumb brushes along his cheek, slow, absentminded. it shouldn't undo him the way it does, but it does - something in his chest pulling tight, not from panic, but from recognition

the ring catches the light when she moves, a small, gleaming weight that shouldn't matter as much as it does, except it does, more than anything ever has. the fear isn't gone, it's changed, sharpened, turned inward. not fear of losing himself, but of being the one who ruins this, who breaks something he never thought he'd want. and that realization settles deep, heavy, and unshakable, like a line he's already crossed and has no intention of ever walking back

he almost argues - feels it rise up instinctively, that sharp, practiced truth that nothing in their world is ever fully theirs, that every date, every move, every piece of their lives gets filtered through teams, sponsors, headlines before it ever belongs to them. it's the cost of it, the unspoken trade; control for visibility, privacy for power. he's lived by that without question, but standing there with her, with that quiet certainty in her eyes and her thumb still brushing slowly against his skin, he knows this isn't that. this isn't something they're handing over. this is the one thing they're digging their heels in for, claiming down to the last detail, even if the rest of the world thinks it has a say. two versions of the same promise, one stripped down and theirs, the other dressed up for everyone else. like they're bending the rules just enough to make them fit

savannah lets out the softest little laugh when he pulls her into his lap, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to settle there. her arms come around him without thinking, one hand resting at the back of his neck while the other stays in his, her fingers curling around his as his thumb brushes over the ring again. she still isn’t used to it, not really, but every time she looks at it, it feels a little more real. a little more like home.

“good,” she murmurs, her voice warm, sure. “’cause i ain’t doin’ this for anybody but us.” her eyes lift to his, soft but steady. “folks are gonna talk, they always do. say it’s too fast, too much, not thought through…” a small shrug follows, easy, unbothered. “but they ain’t livin’ this life. they don’t know what this feels like.”

her thumb brushes slow along his jaw, mirroring the way he touches her. “and my daddy…” she smiles then, something brighter, proud. “he gave his blessin’. didn’t even hesitate like i thought he might.” there’s a quiet relief in that, something that settles deep in her chest. “that’s all i ever really needed.”

location: heath’s place ( upper east side )

heath's sprawled back on the couch, phone low in his hand, thumb moving lazy as he types into the f1 drivers group chat - public service announcement: nobody in this chat is allowed to get married, engaged, or accidentally knock anyone up in may. i've booked the slot. he sends it, watching the typing bubbles explode immediately. savannah's across from him, barefoot, his shirt slipping off one shoulder, that ring flashing every time she tilts her hand like she's still getting used to the weight of it. or enjoying it a little too much

savannah had never needed much to be happy. all the money in the world didn’t mean near as much as peace, love, and a place that felt like home. she was curled into the arm of the couch, barefoot, toes tucked into the cushions, some mindless show playing’ in the background. her attention wasn’t really on it though, her fingers kept drifting’ to the ring, turning’ it slow like she was still getting’ used to it. truth be told, it didn’t feel heavy at all. it felt easy. like it had always belonged there.

heath morgan was everything she hadn’t even known to ask for.

his words pull her out of it, and a soft, knowing smile spreads across her lips. “mm… i think you might’ve just opened the gates to a whole lotta questions with that one,” she teases, voice warm with a southern lilt. she shifts, sliding off the arm to kneel beside him on the couch, her palm coming up to rest against his cheek, thumb brushing gentle. “you really think folks are gonna hear ‘weddin’’ and not go wild with it?”

Whether it was sheer luck or coincidence or something far more insidious that had them ending up side by side in this bathroom sink, that's anyone's guess—she'd say coincidences happen, while she's sure Heath would claim the later. Coincidences happen, but never with her.

Adelaide turns with something of an effortless grace, the stiff machinery of her body forcing its gears to turn, her long swan neck tilting as she eyed the other with the most doe-eyed look in the world, her eyes, so crystal blue, framed in the longest lashes that felt as though they'd been plucked straight from a dolls, cheeks ruddy, putting cherubs and saints on church morals to shame.

savannah had only stepped in for a moment, half for the bathroom, half for a little quiet away from the noise outside. she’d just finished washing her hands when she noticed the woman beside her, catching the way she’d been looking. instead of bristling, savannah simply offered a polite smile, drying her hands on a folded towel.

“oh, that’s alright,” she said warmly, a soft southern lilt rounding her words. “lord knows i’ve been caught starin’ at folks before too.” the compliment makes her laugh lightly, a little shy about it. “that’s real sweet of you to say, though. television’s got a way of bein’ kinder than real life sometimes.”

heath's gaze drifted downward until it settled on the quiet claim of savannah's fingers curled into his jacket. all he could see was the contrast of her skin against the dark fabric, the way her thumb pressed and released as if testing whether he was real. without thinking, he lifted his own hand, not quite touching, just hovering close enough to trace the outline of her fingers in the air, measuring them silently against his - imagining the weight of a ring there, the way her hand would look folded into his for the rest of their lives

his throat tightened at the thought. he'd faced engines screaming at two hundred miles an hour without flinching, but this, this fragile, ordinary intimacy, terrified him in a way nothing else could. he memorized the exact length of her fingers, the soft curve of her nail beds, committing it all to memory like a man preparing for something sacred, something irreversible, already knowing that soon he'd kneel

at the sound of sebastian's name, heath's jaw flexed, and he rolled his eyes with a slow, unfiltered honesty that he didn't even bother disguising. a thousand sharp responses pressed against his teeth, but he swallowed them down, settling instead for a restrained shake of his head, almost amused, almost tired. his fingers dragged through his hair before falling back to his side "ya know ya can tell him to fuck off, don't ya?" he said, brows furrowing as he looked at her, not angry - protective "any time he gets to botherin' ya" the words came out casual, but there was something raw beneath them, the bitterness of a man who didn't always have that luxury himself

savannah had always been someone who paid attention to the quiet moments. the ones most people missed. the brush of a hand, the way someone’s fingers lingered a second longer than necessary, the small things that said more than any grand speech ever could. with heath, those moments seemed to happen all the time. when his hand hovered near hers, tracing the shape of her fingers without quite touching, she noticed. she always noticed. it made something warm settle low in her chest, a quiet certainty that with him she felt… whole.

her thumb stilled against his jacket when she realized he’d been watching her hand, and slowly her fingers shifted until they slipped around his, fitting there like they belonged. she gave them a gentle squeeze, a silent answer to the thoughts he kept to himself.

at the mention of sebastian, a soft laugh slipped from her lips, warm and unbothered. “now honey,” she murmured, her southern drawl gentle but amused, “i reckon i can handle myself just fine.” her head tilted slightly as she looked up at him. “truth be told, he didn’t bother me none. little sharp around the edges, sure, but i’ve met worse.” her lips curved faintly. “but don’t you worry none… if that boy ever does step outta line, i won’t have no problem remindin’ him what happens when you cross a southern belle.”

her eyes softened again when he spoke about stealing her away, and for a moment she studied his face like she was picturing it. “well now,” she said lightly, amusement dancing in her voice, “funny thing is… that thought crossed my mind too.” her fingers slid lazily along the front of his shirt before settling back against his chest. “though if you’re gonna make a scene of it, sugar, you might as well commit. throw me over that shoulder like you’re threatenin’ to.”

location: the atlas room

savannah had gotten good at small talk. it came with the job, listening, smiling, knowing when to lean in and when to gently step back. she’d promised heath she’d ease up on the security, especially at smaller, more intimate events like this. she didn’t want a wall between her and everyone else. most conversations were harmless enough. some were even sweet. and the rest? well, she let good manners carry her through.

but the second her eyes found heath across the room, her smile shifted, real this time. softer. she excused herself with a polite touch to the man’s arm and made her way back to where she belonged. when his arm slid around her waist, she settled into it without hesitation, the familiar warmth easing something in her shoulders.

“i’ll be honest with you,” she murmured, glancing up at him. “i don’t even remember what we were talkin’ about.” a small huff of amusement left her. “bless his heart, he tried.” she leaned into him a little more, fingers brushing lightly at his jacket. “you know i’d rather be right here beside you.” the words were simple, but meant.

location: birmingham, alabama

heath had lost track of how long he'd been in that garage - just as he'd lost track of how many cars he'd restored over the years. working with john was easy, familiar, like those long nights he'd spent with his f1 mechanics, surrounded by the frantic flow of work. he still didn't know what john thought of him, and he hadn't tried too hard to read it anyway; he'd just been honest about his intentions

the sun had settled over by the time he made his way back to the house, slowing down as something on the porch caught his eye. savannah was there, standing near the railing, turned slightly toward the morning. the sunlight was low enough to be kind, spilling gold across the porch boards and straight into her hair. blonde, bright, almost unfairly so - loose down her back, catching light in soft strands that moved as the breeze toyed with it. it made her glow in that effortless ethereal way, like she was the only thing the day had bothered to wake up for

at first, savannah had worried how her daddy would take to heath. she’d mentioned there was someone important in her life, might’ve left out the who, but once it was out there on the internet, there wasn’t much use in dancing around it. not that she wanted to. heath made her feel beautiful in ways that weren’t just about looks. seen. understood. steady. it was hard not to fall for a man who made her feel safe without ever having to say it twice.

and safe mattered. those were the kind of qualities her daddy would look for, quiet strength, protectiveness without possession, honesty without performance. she figured if her daddy spent enough time with him, he’d see it too. he’d look past the numbers, past whatever folks liked to whisper about age, and see the way heath looked at her like she was something precious.

it took a little time, but she noticed it, the shift. the way her daddy didn’t watch quite so hard. the way conversations lasted longer. the way the two of them would disappear into the garage, voices low over the sound of tools and old engines. seeing them shoulder to shoulder, grease on their hands, did something warm and tender to her heart.

that morning, when she realized both of them were already gone, she smiled to herself. she knew exactly where they’d be. so she tied her hair back, slipped into the kitchen, and made breakfast the way she grew up on, eggs, biscuits, gravy, bacon crisp at the edges. country, simple, filling. she set everything out neat on the table before heading toward the porch to call for them.

she didn’t get the chance. heath was already coming up the steps. “yes,” she answered softly when he pointed out she was awake, a small smile tugging at her lips. “kinda hard to sleep with you not there beside me.” there was no teasing in it, just truth that had started settling in deeper than she expected.

heath isn't used to being the place someone softens into, isn't used to someone taking his word and letting it stand without questioning the cracks in it. that kind of faith felt like a responsibility and a privilege all at once. it demands him to be consistent, to be honest even when it would be easier not to be. that trust makes him want to be better than the worst parts of himself just to deserve the way she rests there now, unafraid

the invitation rattles him more than he wants to admit. nerves sit ugly and exposed in his gut, the kind that comes from knowing exactly what people whisper about him. that's the thing about reputations - they precedes you, and he can't help but wonder which version of him will be standing there first. the idea of being seen by the man who raised her, measured weight and consequence without any excuse, just man to man, eye to eye, unsettled him. as a girl dad himself, heath couldn't see any different scenario where savvy's father wouldn't hate his guts. he couldn't blame him for a second, if anything, he knows exactly where that anger would come from. and it was earned

still, she wants him there. being invited into her past, into the place that shaped her, isn't casual. it's the purest form of intimacy, and he doesn't take it lightly "well, reckon i gotta mind my manners then" he teased "ain't never been to birmingham. i'd like that" the man admitted, nodding once "seein' where ya're from. meetin' him" his eyes stay on hers, no deflection

She leans into him easy, like she’s been doin’ it all night without thinkin’ twice, head resting just enough under his chin to feel steady there. This part matters to her, and it shows, not heavy, just honest.

“Oh, you’ll mind ’em,” she says quietly, a small smile playin’ at her lips. “My daddy’s kind, but he don’t miss much. Yes sir, no sir, and don’t go layin’ the charm on too thick.” A soft huff of a laugh. “Long as you’re yourself, you’ll be alright. He respects that more than anythin’.”

Her thumb brushes lightly at his side, grounding, affectionate. “We’ll do it right, though. After your races wrap up, after the Grammys. No rush.” A small smile returns, warmer now. “Besides, I kinda like the idea of seein’ you on my turf.”

Then the moment softens. She smiles again, squeezes his hand, and gives it a gentle pull. “Alright, enough of that,” she says, voice warm. “They’re playin’ somethin’ worth movin’ to, and I didn’t come all this way to stand around.” She tugs him with her toward the floor. “C’mon, handsome, dance with me.”

rough run-ins

heath could feel his entire body lock up the moment she said it. rage coiled low in his gut, feral and raw, aimed at ghosts he couldn't name. he hated that her idea of safety had been bent by other hands, hated the empty space where he should've been when it mattered. hated even more the knowledge that there were chapters of her history he hadn't touched, wounds tucked away, fears she carried alone. inside him, everything narrowed to a single, brutal point. lev's memory surfaced without invitation, the way he had learned to live waiting for impact - the same bitter flavor filled heath's mouth now. the same helpless fury

"i'm real sorry, darlin'" the man said. his tone came out tender, nothing like the violence braced in his shoulders "ain't a thin' in this world i hate more'n knowin' somethin' bad happened to ya" he held her even closer, unapologetically protective. reminding himself she's there, she's okay now "ya're safe with me" heath admitted. it's not a vow thrown out lightly. not something meant to impress. just a fact, delivered the same way he'd state his own name "ain't nobody gettin' to ya. not while i'm here" his hand lifted to her face, thumb brushing slow along her cheekbone, knuckles grazing her jaw with care. possession wrapped in tenderness

savannah doesn’t pull away when she feels him tense, if anything, she leans into him more, like grounding him before the spiral can take hold. her hand slides up his chest, palm resting over his heart, steady and sure. “hey… you don’t gotta be sorry for me,” she says gently, soft drawl wrapping around the words. “what happened didn’t break me. if anythin’, it sharpened me up a bit. made me smarter. more careful.” her thumb moves in a slow, soothing circle. “i learned where my lines are. who I let close. that ain’t a bad thing.”

when he says she’s safe with him, it stills something deep in her. she exhales, shoulders easing, and tips her face up toward his. “i know,” she murmurs, and she truly means it. savannah leans up and steals a soft kiss, the kind that lingers just long enough to say thank you without putting it into words. when she settles back against him, her cheek rests beneath his jaw like it belongs there.

at the mention of rifles, her lips curve into something a little mischievous. “rifle,” she confirms. “and don’t get too confident now, i’d happily challenge you to a shoot-off at the range. loser buys dinner.” there’s a quiet confidence there, earned, not showy.

Ava looks back over her shoulder and offers the girl a smile, warm and harmless. "You're a life saver," she sighs contently, unwrapping it and popping it straight into her mouth. "... You look really familiar." Even if knowing people wasn't part of her job, she would still know her. "You're the girl who sings, right?"

“glad I could help,” she says easily, a hint of southern warmth rounding her words. at the recognition, she tilts her head just a little, smile turning shy rather than smug. “yeah… that’s me. i sing some.”

she smooths her clutch under her arm, eyes flicking to the mirror for half a second before returning to the stranger. “savannah,” she adds, offering her name like a peace offering instead of a brand. “nice meetin’ you.”