#joelmillerxreader

Purple Rain. You’ve spent the last hour under interrogation by your dad about your social life—or lack thereof back at school. His way of making small talk, you guess. You’ve been home less than a day and he’s managed to ask about you dating life atleast four times. “What about that guy from your brain class? Didn’t he take you out?” he asks. “Neuroscience, and yes he did. He was nice, but It didn’t go anywhere,” You force a laugh, he catches it. “Why’s that Bird, he too brainy for you, he got shit-for-brains?” He pokes your side as he says it, like hes proud of his awful dad ‘joke’. You want to say, “Dunno Dad, maybe It didnt work out because he wasn’t the 46 year old construction worker I was smiling and kicking my feet about for months… till he fucking left me on read permanently for no damn reason.” Instead, you settle on, “We just didn’t really have much in common outside of school.” You twist the moth pendant between your fingers, thinking about the gruff ‘Seek the light I think’ from that birthday replaying. He’d texted you after, ‘Moth girl, huh?’ flirty. Now? He’s a brick wall, and you’re clawing at it, desperate for that Joel again. Dad would kill him. Sarah’d hate you. Still, you want it. The slam of a car door outside breaks through the conversation, pulling your attention away. You glance toward the window just as Joel steps out of his truck, making his way toward the house, brooding, but sexy as hell.

Oh shit.

Even though you see him coming, the sudden knock at the door still makes you jump. You shoot your dad a questioning look, but he just shrugs.

“Forgot to tell you Joel’s coming over to watch the game. That okay, Birdie?”

You cringe at the nickname. Sure, maybe it was kind of cute, but it still feels juvenile. From what you remember, your mom was the one who started calling you Bird or Birdie—not because your name was Bernadette or Beatrice, but because you were always singing when you were little.

Guess some things never die.

You sigh dramatically, smirking as you push off the couch.

“Do I even have a say in it? Or am I supposed to just close the fuckin’ door in his face?”

Your dad chuckles, but you barely hear it, your heart too loud in your ears.

You take a quick, deep breath, and prepare to put on the unphased act. Then open the door.

Oh fuck.

How is it possible that Joel Miller only gets hotter every time you see him? Like some kind of benjamin button bullshit.

The evening sun is casting a golden glow around him, backlighting him like a damn angel. A tall, dark-haired, scruffy, middle-aged angel. He’s still in the same black shirt and green flannel from earlier, but now it’s unbuttoned, framing his broad chest. His dark jeans fit way too well, and his hair, pushed back slightly to the side—looks just messy enough to make you wonder if he ran his fingers through it before walking up.

And the smell.

Cologne? Aftershave? Whatever it is, it’s woody, warm, and laced with something soft, vetiver, lavender maybe. It’s familiar. Comforting. Intoxicating.

Joel smiles at you, rough edges turned all soft and easy, you hate it.

“Hey, kid. How you been?”

You roll your eyes.

“Not a kid anymore, Joel. I’m twenty-five, remember?”

He huffs a laugh, reaching out to pull you in for a hug, the case of beer in his hand swinging around your back. His arm’s solid around you, but it’s stiff, like he’s scared Dad’s watching. He pulls back too fast, eyes dropping. ‘Hey, kid,’ like you’re still Sarah’s shadow, not... Whatever you are. 

You hear something crinkle, and he’s pulling something out from behind his back.

A bouquet.

Sunflowers.

Your favorite.

Wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, a small piece of cardstock tucked inside reads ‘Welcome home’ in delicate gold script.

This feels like a joke.

The warmth rising in your chest spreads up to your ears, but somehow, your voice comes out smooth instead of shaky.

“Thanks, cowboy. You really shouldn’t have.”

Joel’s gaze tracks over you, something hiding behind his eyes, but before he can say anything, your dad chimes in from the couch.

“I think there’s still room in the fridge,” he says, nodding toward the beers. “Don’t let ‘em get warm.”

Joel chuckles. “Ten-four.” He salutes your dad before glancing back at you.

“You gonna let me in, Tweety? Or just stand there gawking?”

You wince.

Both at the nickname and the realization that you’re still standing in the doorway, gripping the flowers like an idiot. With a glare, you step aside, muttering, “Don’t call me that.”

Joel steps past you, smirking. Then, just loud enough for you to hear—

“Don’t call me cowboy.”

And with a wink, he’s gone, disappearing into the house like he didn’t just turn your insides to liquid. //

The afternoon stretches on while the three of you lounge in the living room, half-watching the game, half-draining beers. By golden hour, your dad and Joel are both half-cut, and you’re not too far behind them.

You haven’t been drinking much lately. It makes you too brave. And maybe a little too emotional.

A few weeks ago, your roommate convinced you to go to some country bar in the city. After two beers and way too many tequila shots, you ended up on the mechanical bull in the center of the place. Because, apparently, defending the great state of Texas’s honor was your problem.

Your dad would have been so disappointed. Not that you got on the bull to begin with, but because you lasted a grand total of five seconds before being violently launched onto the sticky floor below.

The rest of the night? A blur. All you remember is every single person calling you cowgirl in the worst Southern accents until you finally left.

You shake the memory off as the game drags on, Joel and your dad yelling at the TV like they’re personally coaching the team. You sigh, stretching out your legs.

“Do you want me to start on dinner while you guys have some alone time?”

Your dad barely glances over.

“Sure. I cooked some noodles earlier, threw ‘em in the fridge. If you wanna chop up some veggies, make a pasta salad, that’d be great.”

You nod and push yourself off the couch, heading into the kitchen. //

The sun is just beginning to set, streaking the sky in bold sweeps of orange and pink. Sunsets in Vancouver were breathtaking—like mixed-media paintings of industrial buildings and mountain ranges; beaches and city lights. Austin’s sunsets aren’t exactly unlike them, but the sky here feels bigger. Like it stretches forever.

You slip your headphones in and scroll through your iPod, settling on an oldies mix your dad helped you make when you first got it.

Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Pink Floyd, Queen— classics.

As you start chopping, you realize just how good it feels to be in a real kitchen again. Even having a proper sink is a luxury after years of making do with a microwave and a single hot plate. The music and comfort of cooking settle into your bones, and soon you’re half-dancing between washing and peeling vegetables, swaying in time with the rhythm.

When Purple Rain comes on, you close your eyes and start twirling, lost in the sound, convinced you probably look just as good as the dancers on Dancing with the Stars.

Until you slam into something solid.

“Hey— what the fuck?”

Your eyes snap open.

Joel.

His hands are on your waist, steadying you before you can completely wipe out over his feet. You silently gasp as you register how close he is, his face just inches from yours; warm brown eyes lock on you, and they flicker dark for a beat. His breath is hot on your neck. You see him hesitate, he lets go like you’re a livewire, and you’re sent stumbling back until your spine presses into the counter. Heart hammering.

Joel raises his hands, palms out in mock surrender.

“Sorry, kid. Just came in for another beer.”

You exhale, trying to steady yourself, and nod toward the fridge behind you.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you mutter, clutching your chest. “I was having a moment.”

Joel smirks.

“Dancin’ queen, huh? Who knew.”

His voice is low, teasing, but there’s something in his expression—something lingering just beneath the humor. He leans against the counter beside you, eyes still flicking over your face.

“What are you listening to, anyway?” he asks. “Justin Bieber?”

You scoff.

“So close. Actually, it was Prince. You’ve probably heard of him… because you’re old.”

Joel huffs a laugh.

“The hell you listenin’ to Prince for? Sounds like a bullshit lie to me.”

You pull your iPod from your pocket and hold it up, showing him the screen.

Purple Rain.

His eyebrows lift in surprise.

Before you can react, he reaches out and snatches one of your earbuds, popping it into his ear as he shifts even closer, leaning one arm on the counter beside you. You try to ignore the closeness and press the back button on the iPod, restarting the song.

The opening chords drift between you, both of you silently nodding along.

I never wanted to be your weekend lover

I only wanted to be some kind of friend, hey

Baby, I could never steal you from another It’s such a shame our friendship had to end…

Joel hums under his breath, eyes fixed somewhere on the counter.

When the song ends, he pulls the earbud out and hands it back to you with an approving nod.

“Man knew how to write,” he says simply.

You tuck your iPod back into your pocket, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Dad always played that album,” you say, glancing toward the living room. “I think the CD got stuck in the car or something. We listened to it every morning on the way to school for years.”

Joel chuckles.

“That checks out. Your dad’s got taste.”

You nod, smiling to yourself, and for a brief moment, the kitchen is quiet.

Just you.

And Joel.

And something unspoken between you.

A booming voice breaks the quiet moment.

“Don’t burn the place down, Birdie—I’m countin’ on that pasta salad!” His chuckle drifts from the living room, warm but frayed, the kind that used to bounce off Mom’s harmony before it all went quiet.

You glance back, catching him sprawled with a beer, grin fading as he stares at the TV, lost somewhere else.

“No promises, old man,” you mutter, shaking off the pang of those silenced rides, thinking about easier times. The sun’s dipping lower now, streaking the kitchen with hues of pink and orange, casting even more shadows in the house.

Joel’s voice pulls you back in.

“Bet you miss it, huh?”

You tilt your head. “Miss what?”

His gaze flicks toward the window, where the last streaks of sunset paint the sky.

“Mornings like that. Home.”

You exhale, leaning back against the counter.

“Yeah. I do.”

Austin always felt big to you, bigger than you knew what to do with. But back then, in those fifteen-minute car rides, your world was small. Just you, your dad, and the same Prince album playing on repeat.

You were grateful for that. For him. For now, though, you’re just grateful for this. Standing in the kitchen, a little buzzed, stomach full of butterflies for reasons you really shouldn’t be thinking about.

And for Joel.

Standing too close. Smelling too good.

Making home feel like something else entirely.

Joel grabs a bottle opener from the utensil drawer and pops the cap off his beer. Instead of heading back to the living room, he lingers more, settling into a stool at the kitchen island.

You keep your attention on the task at hand, but if you arch your back just a little extra when reaching into the crisper drawer for the dill, well—who could blame you?You can feel his gaze, heavy, tracking your movements as you move around the kitchen.

You focus on dicing vegetables, making small talk until Joel, much like your father earlier, decides it’s his turn to interrogate you.

“So,” he drawls, “you been seein’ any hosers over in Canada?”

You snort at the slang.

“Nope. No hosers for me, cowboy.”

“Good.”

Your knife pauses against the cutting board. You glance up.

Good?

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” you challenge, brows raised. “Good?”

Joel shrugs, like it’s nothing.

“Mind your language, kid.”

You roll your eyes at him.

“Again—grown woman. And you don’t get to chastise me for swearing in my own house, Mr. Miller.”

He exhales sharply, a half-laugh through his nose.

“Touché.” Then, with a teasing smirk, he adds, “You gotta learn French over there too, right?”

You shake your head, biting back a laugh.

Joel takes a slow sip of his beer, watching you.

“Still. Means you ain’t distracted, can keep focused on your psychology.”

You pause for a moment, pretending to consider.

“Mmm, maybe. But on the other hand—” You tap your temple with the tip of your knife, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Wouldn’t seeing people technically count as studying psych?”

Smooth, for real this time!!!.You convince yourself you can see the warmth creeping up his neck, flushing his skin.

“You got me there, little bird,” he murmurs, shaking his head.

Your lips twitch as you glance up at him through your lashes.

“Studying,” he echos, voice light with amusement, but there's something else there too.

Joel pushes back from the island, the stool squeaking against the tile as he stands. Before he heads back to the living room, he pauses—just long enough for you to catch the way his gaze lingers.

Then, casually, almost too casually—

“Glad you’re back home for a while.” He lifts his beer, a subtle toast. “Missed seein’ your pretty face.”

Your breath falters.

Am I hearing shit? Or did he really just say that? You must have some kinda look on your face because he steps back, muttering, “Shouldn’t’ve said that,” like he’s punishing himself.

You shake it off as best you can, grabbing a beer for yourself before heading back into the living room. You flop down beside your dad with a sigh.

“Dinner’s ready. Hurry up. They’re gonna lose whether you’re watching or not.” You jab him lightly with your elbow. “Steak ain’t gonna cook itself, big guy.”

Your dad gives you a flat stare before groaning as he hauls himself off the couch, his old man knees creaking audibly.

“You know, maybe I didn’t miss you that much. It’s barely been half a damn day and I’m already sick of your attitude, darlin’.”

“You love me,” you shoot back with a cheeky grin. //

Dinner is easy. Comfortable.

You sit outside as the sun hides below the horizon, warm hues fading into a deep navy. Your dad mans the grill, you’re chatting with Joel about school, asking him about work. You ask about Sarah even though you already know—probably better than he does. You call her every week, staying up to date on her life, but you still like hearing him talk about her.

And he does.

Joel trips over his words when he talks about how proud he is, and even in the silence between sentences, you can hear it. Feel it. He misses her. It’s sweet, seeing him like this; so unguarded. He worked tirelessly to give her a good life, and it shows. Sarah is a light, and so much of that glow was his doing.

By the time you’re all painfully full, the night settles deep and dark around you. You clear the table, bringing the dishes inside before grabbing yourself another beer. You slip your headphones back in, letting the music hum through you as you turn on the tap.

You don’t hear the back door swing open over the water, but you feel the presence behind you before you see him.

Joel moves into the kitchen, heading for the fridge to grab another drink himself, but instead of leaving, he steps up beside you. Without a word, he reaches past, plucks the dish towel off your shoulder, and starts drying the plates.

It’s nothing.

It’s everything.

Your chest tightens.

The easy silence between you is only cut by the quiet clink of dishes and the occasional rush of water. Until suddenly—

Bzz. Bzz.

Your whole body jumps at the sound. Your phone. No—it’s Joel’s.

The ringtone is sharp, jarring. You recognize it immediately.

Same as your damn alarm clock.

Joel exhales, long and slow, before tugging the phone from his pocket. He answers hesitantly, his voice tight.

“Yeah?”

You watch the change in real time.

The frustration. The slow shift into anger.

He nods, lets out a clipped, “Mhm.” Then a gritted, “Yup.”

Finally, he sighs. Pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll head out now. Thanks for callin’.” He pulls the phone away, muttering, “Not even fuckin’ Friday yet.”

“Tommy?” you ask, already knowing the answer. Tommy’s been a fuckup since he totaled Joel’s truck chasing some girl. Joel bailed him out, then stole her anyway. The grudge never died.

Joel nods, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

“Sheriff’s office this time.” He huffs a humorless laugh. “Asked me to pick him up from the bar before they do. How kind of ‘em—fuckin pigs”

You shrug, forcing a fake smile for him.

“On the bright side, at least you don’t have to pay his bail.”

Joel just shakes his head, already heading for the back door. You rinse off the last dish and follow after him. By the time you make it outside, he’s tossing his empties into a grocery bag, apologizing to your dad for cutting the night short.

“Next time, I swear I’m gonna let him figure it out the hard way,” Joel mutters. “I swear to god, Kev.”

Your dad laughs, unimpressed. “You and I both know that’s a fuckin’ lie. You’ll be cleanin’ up his messes ‘til the day you die.” Then, softer, “You’re a good brother, Joel.”

Joel huffs. “Yeah. Probably too good.” He shakes his head, and looks down at the ground. “Anyway—I’m sorry to run out on ya so soon.”

“It’s no big deal, man. Go get your shithead little brother before he causes a bigger problem for you.” Your dad gestures vaguely toward the gate, beer in hand.

You follow Joel to the fence, pushing it open for him. He steps through, then turns back to you —hesitating just for a second.

He pulls you in for a hug, reaching around your waist with a touch that feels impossibly soft for such a rough guy, it feels different than the welcome he gave you earlier. He gives a tight squeeze and kisses you on the head, your knees nearly buckle. “See you soon, Bird,”

CHAPTER TWO

Ever since you arrived in Jackson five months ago, music nights have been your favorite. Once a month, the town gathers in the meeting hall, the biggest building in town, to play music and drink and dance. It’s become the highlight of your time here, and if you’re being honest, maybe the highlight of your entire life since outbreak day. Which, it’s not like you remember much from that time prior. You were only four when it happened, but the memories of your family before are happy, albeit hazy and brief.

You smile as you walk in from the brisk cold of a March night, hanging your coat on the hooks lining the entrance, already full to the brim with jackets and scarves. The hall is lit as it usually is, with a spiderweb of hanging twinkly lights, making the room warm and golden. You hate to admit it but you search the room for him, quickly scanning the faces around you without trying to seem too obvious. But, to your extreme disappointment, you don’t see him. You kick yourself for the forming frown as you head towards the bar.

It’s ridiculous, you don’t even know him, but ever since your interaction with him a few days ago, your mind has been a non-stop storm of Joel. It’s laughable that you thought you used to think about him constantly because the last few days had bordered onto obsession. You woke up thinking about his eyes when he looked at you with that curiosity, that hunger. Walked to the stables with the image of his broad shoulders behind you, dwarfing your frame. Went to bed imagining his rough hands trailing over your soft skin, drawing lazy circles on your stomach, lower and lower, painting in your wetness, raising those dripping fingers to his open mouth… You stop yourself short when you almost slam into a woman standing before the bar, nearly making her spill her drink.

You apologize profusely and side step away.

Ok, let’s stop fantasizing and just have a nice time, shall we? It doesn’t matter if he’s not here, maybe you’ll never even see him again!

This thought makes the frown deepen on your face. You don’t want to admit just how much that possibility disappoints you.

While you wait for the bartender to pour you a glass you turn to survey the room. There aren’t many beautiful things in this world anymore, so whenever you see one, you make sure to note it. This hall is filled with amber light and laughter and touch and freedom. A band plays in the corner, guitars and fiddles and violins, cheery and upbeat. It’s truly dazzling. Your frown is slowly replaced by a genuine smile. And the longer you look at the people swaying and laughing, you can’t help it, you giggle. At the sight of the spirit of human resistance. That people will always make room for beauty even when survival isn’t guaranteed. You’re standing there, laughing like an idiot when your eyes sweep directly into Joel’s, who is already looking straight at you. You stop short, making an audible noise of surprise. He is sitting in the far-right corner partially obscured by a pillar, which is how you missed him on your first sweep, you realize. He sits with his brother Tommy, and Tommy’s wife Maria. The married couple talk animatedly while Joel sits to their left side, a beer in his hand, and his eyes on you.

His gaze is intense…so intense you aren’t sure if he’s mad at you. Which you truly can’t fathom why he would be. Is he mad that he gave you so many cards? Maybe he feels like he was forced into showing you kindness since you were on the brink of being thrown out and he took pity on you. And now he’s annoyed that he made less than he would have. Maybe he wants them back, you realize with horror. That would tricky; you already spent them on food and a new hat. His expression is stiff, a wild light dancing in his eyes as he just looks at you. Maybe he’s just uncomfortable that you are so obviously interested in him, and he wishes a girl like you would stop mooning over him in public. But you hadn’t even seen him in days! Maybe he was avoiding you, you think with despair.

All of this races through your mind while he spears you with his gaze. His face is still, but his stare is full of molten heat as he slowly takes his eyes off yours and rakes them over your body, down…up…and back to your frozen face.  You become extremely aware of the clothes on your skin, what is exposed and what isn’t. You think perhaps you are trembling and your heart thuds in your chest, the world starting to spin, and his eyes still continue their strange burning.

Finally, someone taps you on your shoulder and the curse is broken. You realize you haven’t been breathing and suck in a shaking breath as a young man comes into view, probably around your age, plain-faced and smiling. He points to your unattended beer at the bar.

“This is yours, ain’t it?”

You don’t know how long your drink was sitting there after it was called out, how long you stood there, consumed by Joel’s attention.

“Oh, yeah thanks. Forgot about that.” you mutter.

“I don’t think I could ever forget about a beer once I’ve laid eyes on it.” he says, looking to be expecting a laugh for that.

Fully ignoring him, you pick up your beer, realizing your hand is shaking as you bring it to your lips. You sneak a look back towards Joel and he is talking to Tommy, seeming perfectly calm, normal. There doesn’t seem to be any trace of the bizarre fervor from before, except for perhaps a lingering tightness to his jaw. You can’t be sure though and look away, down into your glass. Did you just make all of that up??? You feel like you’re slowly losing your mind.

“I’m Adam.” the boy says, sticking out a hand. You don’t look up.

“You don’t have a name?” he asks.

He’s fucking annoying, you think.

“Not interested.” you reply, dryly.

He barks a laugh and shrugs.

“Suit yourself, not interested. I don’t need to know your name, we don’t even have to talk. Just give me one dance.”

His hand is still extended and he pushes it closer, indicating he is wanting to pull you onto the floor. You don’t usually dance when you come to these things, you know some people in town, but not anyone you’d come to these nights with. Not anyone you’d dance with. There’s only one person you fantasized about pressing your body up against while swaying to music. But the thought of that is so ridiculous, stony Joel leading you on a dance floor, that you beat the image back every time it enters your head.

You’re ready to tell Adam you’d rather snort an ant pile then dance with him when your eyes flit back to Joel and you pause. His daughter Ellie and her friend that works at the daycare, you can’t remember her name, are standing by him now. The girls talk energetically and Joel looks up at them, smiling. He’s a different Joel now, his eyes are soft and warm, echoing the light in this room. Tommy chimes in now and Ellie responds by picking up a couple peanuts from the table and tossing them at him. Everyone at the table laughs, including Joel. It’s a laugh you can only see, not hear from where you stand, but it seems genuine and deep.

You’ve only ever seen Joel laugh like that, with abandon, one other time. It was when you originally arrived in Jackson and the first time you ever saw him. You were at the stables looking for work when he and Ellie arrived back from a patrol. They were putting their horses in their stalls, chatting, and they didn’t see you waiting by the back door. Ellie told him a joke, something you can’t remember now, and Joel threw his head back roaring with laughter, his whole frame shaking with it. She giggled, pleased with herself as he ruffled her hair and stared at her with the most love and adoration you had seen in years, maybe ever. The late afternoon sun pierced through the wooden barn roof like swords, and a shaft of light fell on Joel’s beaming face, his tan skin glowing, his eyes soft and shining. He was more than just handsome. He was wearing the proof of love and family and belonging all over his face. He was beautiful. You couldn’t help but stare. That’s when he looked up and noticed you.

You froze as his eyes, quick and perceptive and still warm from laughing, roved over you. They darted over your face before looking your entire body up and down. You don’t know what he beheld when he looked at you, only that his face held first surprise, then relief at not detecting a threat, and finally, a slow intensity that you had come to recognize from him. Something deepened in his regard and you didn’t move a muscle until Ellie noticed where Joel’s attention had gone. She turned towards you.

“Hey! You new? I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” she asked, smiling.

You turned to the girl before you, maybe in her late teens, a happy, pretty face.

“Y-yeah, got here just last week.”

The short conversation you had with his daughter had been the first time you socialized since arriving, and you were grateful for her kindness and openness. But for the entire quick introduction you got of them both, before she excused themselves to go home, Joel didn’t say a single word and his eyes didn’t leave your face. And you had no idea why.

You are brought back to the moment before you, to Joel and Ellie and their family. To the indisputable togetherness they exuded, and you suddenly feel so, sickeningly lonely. You are tired of being alone, of having no one to talk to, to laugh with, to touch. You want to belong and to feel someone want you. Hold you. You miss people.

All of this these thoughts pass through you in the span of only a couple seconds, and before you can think about it took long you are taking Adam’s hand and leading him to the middle of the floor. You don’t think about how he smells like sweat and beer, or how his hands go a little too low on your back, but mostly that someone is witnessing you right now. You are a part of someone else’s story in this moment. For the first time in a long time, you no longer feel like you are disappearing along with everything else in your life that has already evaporated. You spin in Adam’s arms for the rest of the song, the band’s music rising to a roaring crescendo. You don’t pay attention to anything besides how good the pressure of human hands feel on your body, even if they aren’t quite as big as the ones you’ve been fantasizing about. Around and around you twirl, the lights blurring, the other couples swinging near. You’re not focusing on anything until you spot Joel over Adam’s shoulder. He sits alone at the table now, and his face is completely unreadable. His eyes aren’t focused on yours, but rather Adam’s hands grabbing at your waist. You’re not sure what thoughts are behind that strange expression but you notice his hand is squeezing the arm of his chair so tightly that his knuckles are white. Before you can ponder this too long, Ellie and her friend dance past you, smiling at each other. They gaze at each other with shyness and excitement, and you wonder if perhaps they are more than only friends. The thought makes you smile. You are equally happy for their joy as you are jealous of it. You mean to turn back to Joel, to decipher his mood, when Adam suddenly yanks you towards the edge of the dance floor.

“Hey!” you half yell. You weren’t done having fun yet.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks you, smirking and stepping close. He slides a hand south on your side and squeezes at the flesh on your hip.

Fury flares as you are suddenly very uncomfortable with every place he put his hands on your body, feeling like they left a hot, oily mark on your skin.

“I am not your baby, Asshole.” you say, shoving away and trying to pull your hand back, but he has it grasped tightly.

“Come with me to my place, and we can keep the party going.”

“Get your grimy little hands off me, imbecile.” you respond and this time you yank your arm hard enough to free it.

Adams’ face shifts into something more sinister as he takes a step towards you. You are suddenly very aware of how few people you know in this dance hall, how no one might pay much attention if you were pulled out of here by this idiot. You start to retreat, the hairs on the back of your neck raising as Adam stalks another step. Tensing up, you suck in a breath, ready to yell or punch if need be. You don’t know how to fight but this guy seems drunk and isn’t that large, so you figure you have a pretty good shot of getting past him. But before you can do any of these things, Adam freezes his advance and his gaze slides up off your face onto something much taller, right behind you. You still as you feel the heat of a body standing very close, the lights above you slightly shadowed now.

“I’d suggest listening to a woman when she tells you no.” Joel says from behind you, his voice low and even. Something deadly is present behind his words.

Adam just raises his hands and puts on a sheepish, false grin, the serpent back behind the mask.

“Hey man, we were just having fun.”

“I’m gunna give you two seconds walk away before I bring you outside, Adam.” Joel says icily, somehow the quiet of it sounding so much more dangerous. He enunciates Adam’s name, a threat of knowing who he was.

Adam stiffens and doesn’t so much as throw you a glance as he whips around, disappearing into the crowd. Joel rounds your shoulder then, coming to face you. His eyes are hard, but there seems to be real concern there too.

You look up at the face of the man you’ve been thinking about nonstop, suddenly so close to you. Without warning, you feel a crack snap through the steady hold you’ve been keeping on your emotions for the past five months. It hits hard and deep and the sudden imbalance makes you start giggling; it bubbles forth without your consent. You feel delirious, the entire weight of everything falling on you at once. Your desperate loneliness. Your constant fear and hunger and stupid desires. The fact that you let loose for one moment and some clown tried to pull you out of here. Your anger masked the true, debilitating fear you felt about men. And your biggest nightmare almost just came true. And then your devastating obsession with someone you don’t even know. The fact that Joel, Joel, came to your rescue tonight. When a moment ago it seemed like he wanted to evaporate you with his gaze. Why did he help you just now? Why did he give you ration cards and then stare at you like he couldn’t stand you? And why did he share that stupid fucking orange with you just to take it all back!!??? It doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t make any sense. You’re laughing for real now, unable to stop the mania that had begun.

“What’s so funny?" he asks warily, his expression creased with far more worry now. You probably seem like you’ve lost your mind.

You can’t figure out how to explain the weight of everything you feel, so you take a second to let the laugh die down and take a calming breath. You decide to settle on a small truth.

“I wish I could scare men off as easily as you do.”

Joel considers this for a moment, searching your face, seeming to try and pick what path to go down. After a beat he slides his hands in his pockets and gives you a smile.

“Oh, trust me, there are plenty of men here that are terrified of you.”

You’re not too sure what he means by that. You’ve never felt like anyone in town even noticed you much, save for the plenty arguments you found yourself in, especially when you first got here. But you didn’t want to fight, you were pretty tired of it, actually. So, you mainly tried to keep to yourself now. Emphasis on the word try. Except for Tate. That guy can go fuck himself. “I don’t think I scare the men I argue with very much.” you respond.

Joel furrows his brow at that, seemingly genuinely dismayed at your interpretation of his words.

“You must notice how they all look at you.” he finally says.

You weren’t expecting him to say that at all. You don’t think you ever particularly noticed anyone looking at you for very long, except for him. Joel searches your eyes and finally nods subtly to the bar. Following his line of sight, you see a gaunt man standing with a mostly empty glass. He is looking at you, which you figured might be due to your proximity to Joel, but the man isn’t looking at him, just you. He notices your attention and smiles, timid. You focus on his expression, and it reminds you of how you must look when you stand in front of the bakery’s window, unable to afford the golden pastries. How you maybe look when you see Joel. He seems actually…interested. In you. He even seems intimidated. You stand there, shock coloring your face no doubt. Joel chuckles slightly and turns his head now to also face him. When the man meets his gaze he quickly ducks his heads and turns back to the bar.

“Is that really the first time you’ve noticed that?” he asks.

“But… I’ve never had anyone…say anything...” you trail off.

“Might be due to the fact that you seem to bite any man’s head off who gets near you.” he responds teasingly.

“All men want is trouble.” you respond.

“You’re not wrong about that.” he says to you, smirking, a double meaning seeming to swim under those words.

Instead of focusing on that though, you instead swivel around the room and sure enough, you meet about three, now four, different men eyeing you up and down. Each one seems perhaps timid, mostly curious, the desire clearer to you now. Joel follows your sweep, looking at the men a second behind you and one by one they drop their gazes, shy intimidation replaced by genuine anxiety when he locks eyes with them.

“You’re scaring off my admirers.” you say, awe tinging your voice.

“I can leave you to ‘em if you want.” he says watching you.

You realize, to them, you appear spoken for. The fear is clear. You’ve seen it when Joel walked through town, or claimed a seat somewhere, or reached for something. A quality you’ve always been envious of. People moving out of his way, careful not to touch what he had his eye on. Real terror. Of what would happen if they got in the way of his intent. It’s a prehistoric way of thinking, that you could be owned like a gun, that you could be something that Joel had. This thought would normally bother you, but the concept of you belonging to Joel sends a ragged thrill to your core, sharp and electric. The crack in your veneer lets a little of that thrill out and you can’t stop what you say next.

"I prefer being claimed by you, I think." you say, staring up at him.

His gaze on you transforms into something dark and starving, something predatory. And as opposed to Adam’s snake-ish look, this one kindles a heat inside you, pooling low in your belly and wrapping down around your knees, threatening to knock your legs out from underneath you. You’re breathless and your skin feels feverish as he advances towards you slowly. So slowly, like he wasn’t even conscious of doing so. He takes steps towards you, until there are only a few inches between your bodies and you’re having to crane your head upwards to look at him. His face is so close and fully in focus for the first time. You can see a scar sloping off the bridge of his nose and you wonder how he got it, wishing you could trail your finger over the short dash. You can also, finally, see his eyes clearly. They’re not brown but…hazel. A mix of jade and warm brown, like staring up at the trees on a summer’s day. They gleam with such illumination, you take his face in now, and in the glow of the gold light he looks…resplendent.

Dear God, you want to touch him so badly; you feel like your skin will light on fire from the desire. You want to hold his face between your hands and stare into those hazel eyes, you want to crush your mouth against his and swallow his every breath. You want to feel his hands explore your skin, greedy. You want him to slam your body to his, you want to feel yourself melt into him until it would be impossible to ever be alone again. You want him, you want him, you want him. With the high of your desire mixed with that new crack in your chest, you feel yourself unravel more and more and you make a decision that has now become unavoidable.

You hope your face reflects your endless craving, so he understands, and you blink up at him, slowly biting your lip.

You can’t be sure over the din of the hall, but you swear you hear a low groan escape his throat.

The sound erases everything else in the room and you can’t help yourself as you reach for his broad chest, your fingers just brushing the tan fabric of his jacket when, quicker than you’d expect, his hand grabs yours, stilling it. The disappointment of not reaching his body is replaced by the sharp low thrum you feel from having his hands around yours. It’s so much larger than yours, the skin warm and calloused and rough. You feel fucking feral. Joel says your name softly and you snap up to meet his eyes, equally crazed to how you feel in this moment. He indicates to the other side of the room though and, with much effort, you tear your gaze away to look. Ellie stands with Maria and Tommy, the latter looking right back, inspecting your hand clutched in his. Tommy raises a brow at Joel questioningly, playfully. Joel drops your hand at this and it falls limply at your side, the absence of his grip suddenly icy and painful. Like hopping out of hot water into icy snow. It feels permanent.

Right. Get a hold of yourself. His family is right there. What were you going to do anyway? Jump his bones in public? In front of his daughter? Does he even think of you in that way?

Doubt fills you, making you feel sick. The noise of the hall is suddenly too loud, the people dancing too hot and close. You’re not sure what your face has twisted into but Joel reaches a hand up to your cheek, stopping before he makes contact. He shoots another glance to the side and Tommy is whispering something to Maria, a smile dancing on both their lips. Next to them, Ellie notices their pointed attention and turns to you both. Joel drops his hand, lightning fast again.

“Can I walk you home?” he asks, sounding almost desperate.

18 years, you and Joel had been together, never married but you both decided early on; it was something that could wait until you were ready, you were convinced you really would last forever, regardless of marriage. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly where things went wrong, when Sarah died Joel didn’t shut you out, he leaned into you more, depended on you as if you were his lifeline. You felt the loss as hard as Joel did, you officially adopted Sarah the day she died, your heart felt so bitter to this day at the way she was taken from you, it would be your first loss as a mother, the first daughter you would lose. The loss had you both closer than you ever had been, a trio travelling across the country accompanied by Tommy, the three of you stuck together like superglue.

At the time, finding the Boston QZ felt like a blessing, paradise within the giant walls and safety of order and authority. It felt like things were almost normal, everyone worked and earned credits, currency used like money to buy everything you needed to survive. 

The closest instance you could pinpoint the beginning of Joel’s hostility was when you had worked 10 hours a day, teaching children basic education, because was still important, even at the end of the world. A sickness had been bothering you for days-okay, a week, you’d experienced nausea and stomach cramps, with no blood to indicate it was your period behind the symptoms. You used 4 credits on an out of date pregnancy strip that showed a positive result. Turns out even out of date pregnancy strips can detect pregnancy, you were hesitant to tell Joel, he was a fantastic dad to Sarah, but he wasn’t the same, he was a broken man and you didn’t know how he would react to you having a baby.

You decided impulsively to drop the bomb over dinner, a half warm-can of pasta, interrupting Joel in the process, “got some extra credits today for those pills-” “I’m pregnant.” Your brain was running a million miles a minute, eyes scanning Joels face for a reaction when he started to frown. oh no. The lines in his forehead deepening, probably causing more stress lines. “I’ll see if I can find some pills that will get rid of it next time me and Tess go out, it’ll be fine we just need to get rid of it. Darlin’?” Joels eyes are watching you as he leans forward in his seat, tears threatening to spill from your eyes, “Joel maybe we don’t need to get rid of the baby.” Joel scoffs and stands up, the chair squealing as it scoots across the floor, “this is no world for any goddamn baby to be raised in y/n. Don’t be stupid.” You bit your lip as you stood, stepping toward Joel your hands in defense, “this could be a good thing Joel, we could even name her Sar-” Joel snaps at you loudly, “don’t finish that sentence, you’re really pushing it.” His body stiffened at the thought of you naming that clump of cells after his deceased real daughter. 

“We’re not doing this, you’re getting rid of it and that final.” Joel tells you sternly, leaving the apartment, slamming the door on the way out. You slump back into the uncomfortable embrace of the steel chair, accepting that Joel wouldn’t accept this baby as his own, it was a hard thought to swallow. You lean forward to rest your head on the dining table, eyes fluttering as you fall asleep in a position that your back would complain about in the morning.

A clink noise woke you up in front of you, the sunshine filtering through the square window by the bed, you had slept through the night on the damn dining room table, your back aching and cracking as you sat up made you groan, eyes met with Joel, who had placed a half a glass of water in front of you and two small pills rolled onto the large side as he threw them in front of you, standing over you as you take them into your hands and rub your eyes. Your eyes can’t meet Joels as he watches you, you drink the water in the glass, relieving some dryness in your throat as you swallowed the pills. You slam the cup on the table standing to turn away from Joel, his hand grabbed your wrist, “open your mouth.” You turn to him with a frown, “are you fucking serious right now Joel?” He didn’t answer just starred at you blankly, you open your mouth and lift your tongue, “Happy asshole?” You spat and walked into the bathroom where you turned on the cold water and held your arms around yourself protectively, “sorry baby i’m so sorry. Mama wanted you so badly.” Joel stood on the other side of the door, forehead pressed against the chipping paint, his heart filled with regret, he just couldn’t do it again, he couldn’t lose Sarah all over again.

Months went by and Joel had never been so distant with you, you had taken a few weeks of grieving to yourself, then slowly started to come back to Joel, the hugs, kisses, but no sex. His rejection weighing deep on your heart and the insecurity eating you alive, he thought you were disgusting, why else wouldn’t he have sex with you? For weeks the question ate you alive. 

The question was answered a few nights later when Joel stumbled in, drunk at 3:30am, you kept your eyes closed as he fell onto the bed next to you, the smell of Lavender and whisky was a scent you would never forget, you started to put the pieces together.

The extra smuggle runs with Tess. Coming home late. Not being intimate with you. Joel wanting you to abort your baby, all because of Tess. Your heart broke, you sobbed silently next to Joel as you mourned 18 years of your love, the loss of your daughter, the man you were meant to spent forever with. You started to emotionally detach yourself, Joel didn’t notice how you pulled away, never noticed how you wouldn’t touch him, would scoot further away when he lie down in the bed, would skip meals with him.

Joel only noticed something was wrong with you when it was too late, weeks too late. Tommy was going on a run far North; he was determined to find humanity outside of the worsening violence that happened daily in the Boston QZ, he always spoke and hoped of a nicer place, somewhere more communal. You begged Tommy to tag along, you would make yourself useful, you wouldn’t be a liability; “please.” You beg Tommy, he sighs deeply, “what about Joel?” You shake your head, “he’s with Tess now.” All Tommy hears is a mumble from you, “oh sweetheart.” He pulled you in for a hug and checked your bag for supplies, making sure you have a suffienct amount of equiptment. 

“Hey! Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Joels booming voice watched you, stopping right in front of Tommy. “She wants to come Joel, that’s her choice.” Joel grabs your wrist, and you shake him off, “isn’t Tess expecting you?” Joels face drops and his eyes soften, “darlin’ no, no. Come inside we can talk about this, okay?” You shake your head, “sorry Joel, it was over the day you made me swallow those pills.” Tommy looks between the two of you, confused. “I regret it, everyday.” You offer him a small smile, not wanting your goodbye to be hostile, “me too Joel. Goodbye.” You leave Joel standing there, heartbroken and truly alone for the first time since Sarah had been born. The ache in his heart begged for you to mend it, for him to chase after you and beg, grovel if he needed to, but his legs were frozen in place and all he could do was watch you leave.

 “Mama, my arm.” You’re met with your daughter sobbing, tears stained her red chubby cheeks as saliva slobbered down her lips as she wailed, pointing to her arm. “Oh Elliarna, let mama kiss it better baby.” You soothed as you cuddled her, the small scrape was red and barely peeled back a layer of skin. “Which bandaid do you want baby, Princess or Horses?” The tears stop momentarily, “hmmm, horsies please mama, can we ride the horsies and go and see sissy Sar?” Tears gathered in your lashline as you applied the bandaid carefully, “sure baby, go and ask Tommy to help get your boots on.” Her footsteps thundered down the hall to meet Tommy, the sore on her arm completely forgotten about. 

She came back speed walking down the hall to you where you wait by the front door, pulling one of Tommy’s warmer jackets over your shoulders, covering the vunerable exposed bump of your pregnant stomach. “Tommy told me stop running in the house mama, so I did.” You smile at Tommy walking towards you, his shy smile making him look so handsome, “good listening Elliarna, let’s go and feed the horses.” She skipped ahead of you out the front door in joy, Tommy holding your hand in his, “she’s going to be a great sister.” You smile at Tommy in agreement, a protective hand over your bump, “I have no doubts Tommy, you’re going to be a great dad, you have been a great dad.” Redness spreads from Tommys cheeks to his ears, you had been together for three years, shortly before you gave birth you found yourselves romantically involved. Tommy was there when you found this community in Wyoming, when you had pregnancy complications and went into pre-mature labour at 36 weeks because you were having twins, Elliarna survived, the smaller baby didn’t. You never thought you would lose two daughters in a lifetime. You had suffered enough. Tommy shared the same anxiety as you carried his own child, 8 months into your pregnancy you were as far along as you were when you gave birth three years ago. Praying to whoever was listening this baby was born alive, healthy.

“Hey, it’ll be okay sweetheart.” Tommys fingers squeezed your own and offered a sweet smile. You bring his hand up to your lips and kiss lovingly, finding the same appraise in your eyes. “Mama, Tommy look, there is new people on the horsies.” 

You look up, a familiar face looking back at you and Tommy, a young girl clinging to him on the back of the horse they shared. Your mind had to be playing tricks on you, a delusion. Joel fucking Miller was jumping off the horse, you pickup Elliarna and rush to your house, tears gathering in your eyes, “what’s wrong mama are you hurt?” You sniffle and nod your head, “yeah baby mama’s hurt.” She rubs your pregnant stomach which makes you weep more, “is the baby ok?” You place your hand over her small one, “the baby is okay Elli.” Your daughter frowns, “then what’s wrong mama.” She reaches up to wipe your tears away and you chuckle, “let’s go outside and see sissy? Mama can explain it better okay?” 

She smiles at you and pulls on your hand leading you outside, “okay mama.” 

“Tommy.” Joel yells rushing to his younger brother, “Joel.” Tommy breathes, embracing each other, seeing each other for the first time in 3 years. “Was that..?” Tommy nods, “yeah, we made it here together.” Joel looks to Tommy, “and the kid?” Tommy huffs, a cloud exiting his lips, “your daughter, Joel.” Joel frowns and shakes his head, “no, that not possible, she took the-” Tommy placed his hand on Joels shoulder, “they didn’t work.” Joel’s breath stutters, choking back a sob, falling into Tommys arms. “There’s something you should see before you meet her, follow me.” Joel follows Tommy towards the house you retreated to, walking to the back of the house to a small garden shed, your body crouched down with you-his daughter. In front of you was a small wooden cross painted white, with black letters Melody Sarah Miller, small pink flowers painted around the name with a date. 07/15/2020. 

You put the small butterfly antique back with the other decorations that the town had donated for your daughter. You wipe your tears as you turn around with your daughter, Joel standing beside Tommy you immediately start shaking your head no, “sweetheart he deserves to know.” Your teary eyes met Tommy’s and your hand instinctively cradled your pump to protect it. Joel watches the interaction between the two of you, sweet, affirmative, loving, you’re pregnant. Joel’s heart sinks, regretting every choice he made to push you into his brother’s arms. 

You turn to Joel with sad eyes, he feels his demeanor crumbling at the sight of you, teary eyed and vunerable, your daughter shying away from him. “The pills didn’t terminate the pregnancy, I was pregnant with twins, I had alot of complications and went into early labour, Elliarna was the larger twin so she survived, Melody didn’t, I had to bury our daughter Joel and you weren’t here.” Your eyes began weeping as your body shook as you sobbed, reliving the feeling of despair, hopelessness and loss as you look at him. “I’m so sor-” You shake your head, “don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare Joel.” Joel’s body slumps in defeat, you were right, he doesn’t get to cop out and apologise now once all the hardship had been done, alone. He didn’t feel the grief, the void and emptiness losing this baby condemned you with. “You’re right.” Joels admission confuses you, him owning his actions calmed you a fraction, enough for you to take a breath. “Come here Elliarna sweetie, meet your daddy, remember how mama and Tommy told stories of your daddy Joel?” Elliarna steps out front behind you and in front of Joel. Joel’s eyes water, she looked exactly like him, her deep brown eyes mirrored his, her dark brown hair was sat in messy waves, the curve in her nose was a definite trait she inherited from him, the freckles on her cheeks softened the chubby-ness of her face. “Hi daddy.” Joel drops to his knees and holds his daughter, the weight of not missing 3 years of his daughter life weighing heavily on him, “hi baby girl.” Joel sniffles into his daughter shoulder, finding solace in the way she looks so familiar to Sarah. He pulls back and studies her face, afraid she will disappear from his arms. 

“She looks like her.” Joel whimpers, looking up at you, the statement overwhelming you and your lip wobbled. “Yeah, she does.” Elliarna insepcts Joel’s face and giggles, scratching his patchy salt and pepper beard, “you must be old daddy, you are all grey.” Joel chuckles and his chest feels a load of weight lifted off him, “yeah baby, i am getting old, aren’t I?” Elliarna giggles, “how old?” You scold her gently, “that rude Elliarna.” Joel dismisses it, “I’m 56, and you, you’re 3, right?” Joel looks to you for conformation, standing up his knees crack as he lifts up his daughter in his arms, “yeah, she’s 3.” Joel looks between you and Tommy, not displaying any affection in front of him, “and you two are? You’re..” Joel trails off noticing your pregnant belly. “Uh, yeah. We’re 8 months along now.” Tommy replies, testing the water. Joel nods, accepting the fact that you looked happier with Tommy than you ever did with him. “Now,” you start, looking at Joel, “who’s the girl”? Joel walks with his daughter in his arms, you and Tommy following beside him hand in hand, back towards the young girl that was left behind with the horses, standing awkwardly. 

You rush to her and pull her into a bone crushing hug, your swollen bump pressing into her, she hugged you back, welcoming the affection. “Ellie, meet my daughter, Elliarna.” Ellie laughed, “no way, that’s so frigging cool,” she turns towards your daughter, “we have the same name! sort of.” Your daughter giggles at Ellie and you smile between the bond that Joel and Ellie have. “Didn’t know you were such a pimp Joel.” You all laughed; she was going to fit in well with you. “This is y/n, the woman that gave me this beautiful girl, and my brother, Tommy.” Ellie looked between the three of you and you laughed. “Welcome to the family Ellie.” Tommy gives you a sweet smile, “let’s go and have dinner, we can talk more over a hot meal and a warm house to sit in.” Everyone agrees, “thank you for givin’ me a chance, I know I ain’t deserve it.” Joel thanks you sincerely and you smile, “you’re a dad of four Joel, it’s who you were meant to be, who am I to keep you from that?” 

You wake to a skull-splitting throb ripping through your temples. Joel was right. You’re feeling it today. Sunlight slices through the curtains, white-hot and sharp. You roll over and bury your face in your pillow, It smells like smoke and shame; a faint echo of last night. Joel’s kiss burns through your head, rough hands and a growl daring you to forget. His “Go to bed, Bird” rings in your ears.

Fuck.

You groan, hauling yourself upright, stumbling downstairs. You’re half-hoping he’s there, half-dreading facing him—gonna be hard pretending nothing happened. But he’s not here, because he left you last night feeling like a mistake, leaving you feeling stupid for thinking he felt it too.

You walk into the living room. Your dad sits on the couch happy as ever, totally oblivious reading the newspaper. Your eyes drag to the coffee table and Joel’s whiskey glass still sits there, another reminder. The Cypress Hill t-shirt you’re in is wrinkled with sleep, pooling over your body, you haven’t looked in the mirror, unsure if you want to face yourself yet.

“Hey, Bird, you look like shit,” he says, eyeing you up and down.

Thanks.

“I feel worse than I look,” you reply, flopping onto the couch beside him. “Tequila’s never a good idea.” Your stomach churns at the thought, mouth-watering like you’re about to puke. You squint toward the kitchen, and the clock reads 10:38, at least you got decent sleep.

“You hungry?” your dad asks, brow arched, peering over the paper.

“Maybe. Probably should eat something, definitely need water.”

He folds the newspaper, tosses it on the table, and grunts as he stands. “I got called down to Dallas, some job’s fucked up. You know it was possible to install gutters fuckin’ backward?” He  huffs out half a laugh,” Oh, and the airs busted again—Joel’s gonna be here on his lunch break.”

You blink, relief creeping in, the coast is clear. “Wait,” you say, panicked, “Joel’s coming over?” You slow your voice, hiding the mix of dread and thrill. “Yeah, why? Probably be here soon. You cool with that?” He lifts a brow, probing your unease, but his phone rings before he can dig.

“Yup,” he answers, grabbing his keys from the hook by the door. “Love you, Tweety. See ya Wednesday-ish.” Then he’s out, leaving you alone with the heat and Joel’s looming shadow.

Cool… I guess?

You grab your phone, and tap the screen, anxious for what’s there.

Three new texts.

(9:04 AM)

Karlie: Girl are you good??? Did that dilf kidnap you? Give me the tea ☕

You’d rather not. She’ll escalate to 911 if you don’t reply.

(10:40 AM)

You: Hey, sorry, I’m good. Hungover as fuck, I’ll call later xox

(9:08 AM)

T-Mills: You okay bird? We’re ok right? I didn’t mean to make u uncomfortable. don’t leave me on read

You’d hoped Tommy would let it go, how did you tangle yourself with both Millers in one night? At least you didn’t kiss Tommy. You just let him grind on your ass in public, then you know, ended up on his older brother’s lap. You replay last night again. The bar, Brett? Brad? Ben—the kid Tommy nearly decked. The truck, Joel taking care of you. The dream, somehow ending better than reality. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this,” Joel's mouth claiming yours, then “Go to bed, Bird,” like a punishment, like you were a bad dog.

Fuck him.

You tap Tommy’s name and shoot off a response without thinking. It’s probably the only way you’ll do it.

(10:42 AM)You: It’s fine Tom, must have opened my phone half asleep last night. I feel like shit!!! Remind me to stay away from tequila next time

He replies instantly like he’s been waiting.

(10:42 AM)

T-Mills: Next time huh? Round two tomorrow??? 🎉

Fuck Joel. Let Tommy fix this.

You know what, fuck it. Maybe more booze and Tommy’s attention will soothe this ache.

(10:43)

You: 9pm, pick me up???

You check the last text.

(10:30 AM)

Joel: Is the a/c rlly broken or??

You laugh out loud.

What a piece of work.

Does Joel think you’d lie to get him over? You don’t even want to face him today. Shame washes over you like cold water, maybe last night was just a big fuckin’ mistake.

(10:45 AM)

You: ???? i just woke up, don’t know what you’re talking about lol 🤷

A text bubble pops up, vanishes, pops up, vanishes. You laugh again. Joel’s got his foot in his mouth, and can’t muster a reply.

(10:46 AM)

Joel: k.

K? Really?

Oh, fuck that guy.

You get off the couch, and head for the bathroom to scrub last night off. The image of Joel’s face before he said “Go to bed, Bird” feels permanently burned into your head. His eyes scared, like he fucked up, angry at himself, disgusted. Rejection stings your eyes, but it turns to anger the longer you stew.

If he wants games, you can play too.

You hop out with a plan. Black denim shorts, barely covering your ass, paired with a cropped Rangers shirt from your high school slut phase. The one with the neck cut out, it hugs your curves, makes your boobs look fantastic. You throw on a cropped flannel, put on mascara, and lip gloss, tying your hair into space buns to finish the look. You head downstairs, the silence is loud, not even the hum of the A/C, just you and your thoughts.

You try to eat the sandwich Dad left, but your mouth’s dry—it goes down like sand, Gatorade helps. Boots drag and a knock hits the door, you’re even sweatier knowing Joel’s there, alone now. You ditch the flannel, wrap it around your waist, and let him in.

Fucking get a grip.

It only takes a minute for your facade to crack. He looks gorgeous, toolbox in hand, curls tucked under a Rangers cap, in work pants with a toolbelt sitting low on his hips. He barely acknowledges you, only giving you half a smile as he walks in. You catch his eyes flick to your chest as he passes by you on the couch though.

Small victories.

He heads to the thermostat, fiddling with wires, ignoring you like you’re air. Anger jolts through you, tingling from your toes to your shoulders, but that toolbelt pulls it back to your core. Finally, he breaks the silence.

“Where’s your dad?”

“Dallas. Work trip,” you deadpan. Yes girl, give him nothing!

Joel hums, shakes his head, and then gets back to it.

You try to ignore him, but your competency kink wins. He mumbles about circuits and fuses, cursing under his breath and groaning as he works. You half-watch true crime on TV, but it’s no use.

“So,” you start, eyes on the screen, voice calm, bored, flipping to MTV, “why did you do it?”

Joel sighs, long and low. “Ain’t got words for it, kid. Shouldn’t’ve happened, was a mistake, end of.”

You laugh, bitter, leaning over the couch arm. “Cool, and now you’re gonna make it my fault? My problem? You started it, Joel.”

You stand up from the couch, legs moving toward him, face flushed with anger.

He stops, drops the pliers, and pinches his nose bridge, squinting. He locks his eyes on you—something unreadable in them, “See, this is why it never should’ve happened. You think I want this, Bird?” His jaw clenches, voice rough. “Think I’m happy fuckin’ everything up? For what? This?” You can hear grief crack through his voice.

“So answer my damn question. Why’d you kiss me?” you repeat, firm, smooth, the anger outweighing the anxiety in your words. 

“I don’t know, kid” he sighs, pain clear. “Because I’m weak. I’m fuckin’ weak and you…” He stops, eyes raking you, shaking his head, fists balled.

“You what?” you press, voice low and cutting, walking closer. “Just say it. You wanted it, Joel. Don’t blame me.”

“Wanted it? I’m fuckin’ haunted by it, Bird, by you.” It comes out as a snarl, his eyes glazed with shouldn’t and can’t.

You’re in his face now, “Then why’d you come here? You could’ve just said no to him.”

He grabs your shoulders and spins you, your back hits against the wall. His voice is a jagged whisper, “Because you’re a goddamn curse. I hate you for this. I hate me, but I can’t fuckin stop.” His mouth crashes down, rough, hungry, swallowing your gasp. His free hand finds your shirt hem, fingers searing your skin.

You lean in, tangling into him, hands grasping fabric, pulling closer. You’d crawl into his ribcage if he’d let you. He pushes back, caging you against the wall. Your head spins. You buck your hips, desperation met with metal and leather. You unbuckle his toolbelt mid-kiss. It crashes, tools scattering, narrowly missing your feet.

“You’re fuckin’ killin’ me,” Joel groans into your throat, panting. His mouth bruises your jaw, and trails fire down your neck, boot forcing your feet apart. “Tell me no,” he rasps, voice breaking, shifting his body weight to the knee that’s flush against you. His fingers hit your shorts’ waistband.

“Tell me to stop.”

You don’t, you can’t. You’ve never wanted something so badly before in your damn life. Your breath hitches as his hand slips under, grazing your skin, teasing the edge of your underwear, slow and deliberate, heat pooling low. He’s relentless, his teeth on your collarbone, one hand pinning your hips, the other circling where you’re soaked until your legs tremble.

“Joel,” you choke, arching into him.

“Fuckin’ say it, Bird,” he growls against your chest.

His touch intensifies, fingers teasing your entrance, barely dipping in. You gasp, “please” slipping out, hips bucking involuntarily this time. “I can’t do this,” he mutters, faltering, at war with himself; he doesn’t stop, he just keeps working you to the edge.

You manage to whisper, “I want this, Joel—you, I need you” your pulse hammers.

“You think you can handle that, little Bird?” He drawls, “Huh? You know what you’re signin’ up fo?”

His voice is sending you over the edge, a whine breaking free when a truck rumbles outside. Keys rattle, Joel freezes, “Fuck.” He pulls back slowly, eyes wild, hands leaving you just as the door bangs open.

“Birdie, forgot my damn wallet!” Dad booms, stomping in.

You shove your shorts straight, heart slamming. Joel steps aside, grabs his toolbox, jaw tight, muttering, “Gotta fix this damn thing.”

Dad strides through, tossing his keys on the table, squinting—Joel by the thermostat, you flushed, leaning against the wall trying desperately to look chill. “Still hot as hell,” he grunts, eyes narrowing. “Thought you said you were on it?” He snags his wallet from the counter, oblivious but sharp.

Joel clears his throat. “Fuse issue, takin’ longer than I thought.” He dives back into the unit, tools clanking, avoiding Dad’s stare.

Dad hums, skeptical, he glances down to the toolbelt. “Right. Looked like somethin’ else was goin’ on when I walked in.”

Shit.

Your stomach drops, but he doesn’t linger, just shrugs. “Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.” He grabs your half empty Gatorade, “Love you Bird— bye Joel.” and heads out again, door slamming behind him.

Joel mutters, “Fuckin’ close,” twisting a wire, glancing at you—gaze loaded—then back to the A/C. It hums to life, cool air trickling out, tension thick as ever.

“Done,” he says, flat, packing his tools slowly, stalling. He straightens, toolbox in hand, but doesn’t move for the door. You’re alone again, the hum of the A/C doing nothing to cut the heat between you. His stare lingers, heavy, like he’s waiting for something.

“Why’d you stay?” you snap, voice sharp, stepping closer. “Could’ve bolted when he left.”

Joel’s jaw ticks, eyes flicking to the floor, then back to you. “Shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, rough. “Shouldn’t’ve come at all.”

“Then why did you?” you press, anger flaring. “You’re so full of shit—sayin'’ it’s a mistake, then pullin’ that?”

He steps toward you, close enough you feel his breath, warm and unsteady. “You don’t get it, Bird. I can’t—” He cuts off, shaking his head, fists clenching. “Fuckin’ hell.”

“Get what?” you bite back, staring him down. “That you’re a coward? Say it or leave.”

His eyes flare, guilt and want warring there, but he doesn’t answer. The silence stretches, taut, your pulse pounding in your ears. You’re inches apart, teetering, his hand twitching like he might reach out. Then he steps back, and turns, a low “Fuckin’ trouble” slipping out as he heads for the door. His gaze burns into you one last time, loaded with everything he won’t say, and he’s gone.

What the actual fuck?

You’re left reeling, his “ruinin’ me” echoes. The air cools, but the weight stays heavy. You slump down on the couch, staring at the whiskey glass, twirling the stupid necklace, even after that it still manages to ground you. Your skin still buzzes where he touched you, jaw to hips. The anger keeps churning, with something else now—want, raw, and fucking unshakable. Joel’s a coward, sure, but you’re not innocent. You pushed. You wanted it too. You sit back down on the couch, flipping through channels, trying to keep yourself distracted from the way you feel. You try reading and end up scrolling through your camera roll. Oh, fuck my life. You find an old picture, of Joel, Sarah, and Tommy. All of them wearing lifejackets, from a camping trip probably 5 years ago, Sarah had sent you it then, but it feels like this is the first time you’re really looking at it. Joel looks hot, Tommy, oh shit Tommy looks hot too actually, “goddamnit” you mutter to yourself.

Heat pools low again, unignorable now, he left you high and dry earlier—bastard. Guess you’re going to have to finish what he started yourself. You climb upstairs, shedding your shirt off halfway, it’s too hot, and you’re too pissed. You click your bedroom door shut, shorts sticking to your thighs as you sprawl on the bed, the curtains are half open, letting a warm glow in. You put your earbuds in your ears, and let your hands start to travel, letting the quiet of the hose settle while you drown it out with Pheobe Bridgers, Motion Sickness blaring loud. You slip the shorts off, leaving you in just your panties, and your fingers hover. You place the pointer and middle finger of your left hand on either side of your folds, scissoring them back and forth—slowly. Teasing your lips, barely grazing your clit. You’re already sensitive, you were so close to coming undone earlier, you know diving right would overstimulate you too quickly to enjoy. You want to take it slow, and draw out your pleasure for as long as possible.

You can’t stop thinking about the way Joel was looking at you downstairs, the way his brown eyes turned black, staring down at you like you were prey. The grip he had on your jaw, squeezing your cheeks, craining your neck towards him. You clench your thighs around your hand as the warmth at the bottom of your belly intensifies, you take your hand away, edging yourself.  You repeat this over and over until you’re practically soaking through to the mattress—desperate, your walls clenching around nothing.

You hear his rough, baritone voice in your head now, repeating over and over, “Think you can handle that, little Bird?” Your breathing grows erratic. Finally, you give in, sliding two fingers down, spreading your slick around the sensitive bud at the top of your pussy. You roll your fingertips over and over, teasing your entrance. You’re not sure if you’ve ever worked yourself up like this—it's agonizing, but feels so fuckin’ good.

You close your eyes tight, imagining your hands being replaced by Joel’s, his fingers fubbing merciless circles over your throbbing clit. A loud broken whine escapes your lips—”Oh fuck, yes, Joel”—as you plunge your middle finger in, curving it to reach your g-spot. You add another finger, then a third—stretching yourself out, picturing Joel fucking you with his fingers instead. The warmth simmering in your belly gets red-hot, pussy squeezing desperately around your fingers. You buck your hips into your hand, gasping every time your cupped palm creates a vacuum against you. Shockwaves jolt through your clit. You’re not being mindful now, no more teasing, you’re chasing your high, holding back sobs, biting your lip so hard you taste copper, right on the edge. A low rap hits your door. What the fuck? No. Who the fuck? You pull your earbuds out, “Hello? Who’s there?” you manage to choke out, trying to sound normal, but you don’t, and you know the answer. “ It’s me.” comes that low, gravelly voice through the door. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. I'm never wearing both headphones again. You snap your head towards the door and start to pull up your panties and the covers over yourself—not that it would help you at this point, you’re screwed, fuckin’ naked and afraid. “Thought I heard someone whimperin’ my name,” he says, as the doorknob turns. The hinge creaks as the door pushes open. “Need a hand?” You conjure up the courage to look up to him, adrenaline courses through your veins; it feels like your whole body is on fucking fire. There he stands, broad and rugged in the doorway, his dark eyes locked on you. His flannel’s unbuttoned at the collar, work pants slung low, and his thick cock, the one you’ve been dreaming about strains against them—girthy, solid, the outline making your mouth dry. You freeze.

“I—I wasn't—” you stammer, but he steps closer, boots heavy on the hardwood, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Heard my name, sweetheart. Don’t stop now.” His voice is molasses-thick, commanding but warm, like he’s daring you. “Show me what you were doin’.” You know what, fuck it. I don’t even care anymore.

Heat floods your face, and your pussy clenches at his words. Shaky, you spread your legs, tugging the blanket down, letting him see the mess. Your fingers were still slippery, panties soaked and needy, pulsing under his gaze. “Joel, I… I was just—” you whine, sliding them in your panties again, bringing a finger to your entrance.

He looms closer, eyes dark and hungry, his breath hitching as he watches. “Atta’ girl Show me how bad she’s been needin’ me. You wet like that just sayin’ my name?” Joel’s body weight shifts the mattress beside you before he rolls over to cage your body beneath his. Your heart is beating fucking erratically. His arms rest on either side of your head, completely silent as he moves one arm and trails a hand down from your collar, inching lower and lower. His fingers trace over your hardened nipples, carving an invisible line down your belly before stopping between your thighs. He places his hand over yours, like he’s the master to your marionette. “Oh, poor girl,” he coos—round puppy-dog eyes on yours again. “ Soakin’ fuckin wet. S’that all for me?” You want to speak but you can’t, you only nod. He guides a finger over the thin, soaked fabric of your panties lightly massaging your swollen lips. You’re still frozen, unable to form a sentence. You exhale a shaky breath that you hadn't realized you were holding—the faintest “please” escapes your lips. He keeps rubbing, harder now, dipping into the elastic of your underwear. “Left her cryin’ out for me earlier huh? Need me to fix her up?” his voice is low, drawl smooth—like honey. He lists his hand to cup your cheek in his big hand, making direct eye contact, searching your face for an answer. He drags his thumb across your cracked bottom lip, tugging it down, like he's trying to pull the words out. “Asked you a question, use your words darlin’,” his lips are ghosting your earlobe, whispering. “Tell me what you need, Birdie, I’ll make it all better.” You turn your head to face him, staring up through half-lidded eyes for a moment, before finding your voice again. ‘J-Joel, I need you,” breath hitching on every syllable. He slides his hand down between your thighs again, slowly moving your hand away now. Hand searching for the hem, hooking his thumb in, pulling your underwear off. He slides a finger down into the pool of slick between your legs, spreading it all over before he pulls his hand back. He brings it up and holds it between your faces. “I can tell, baby. She’s droolin' f’me. See that?” He rotates his hand, you watch as his finger glistens in the afternoon sun, and your jaw goes slack. Joel drags that same finger along his bottom lip and then sucks it clean. “Wanna taste?” He grabs your chin, tilting your head to give himself more access, and presses his mouth onto yours, gentle—swirling his tongue, exploring every inch he can reach. He lets out a little, strangled whimper. Did Joel Miller just whimper into my mouth? Holy fuck, he sure did.He pulls back off of your lips, you’re both collecting your panting breaths. He dips his head back down to the column of your throat, kissing along it, murmuring into your chest, “Sweet ain't she?” The room fills with stifled moans, labored breathing, and the creaking of weight under the bed frame. Joel is everywhere, taking up every thought, filling all of the space around you. Your head swims, hunger and lust flip-flopping in your belly. Nothing has ever felt so electric, so perfect. You’re impatient, painfully worked up, and you can’t take it anymore. “More, I need more, Joel,” you chant between gasps. “Please, make me come.”

“Say it again,” He says, pumping his fingers in and out, languid—slow.

“I need you to make me come.” You’re practically in tears now, his fingers circle your clit.

“So close. Try again, Bird.”

“Please, Joel, I’ll beg—I’m begging, don’t fuck around—you owe me.”

“Keep beggin’ for it, baby,” he says, voice low and rough. “You sound so pretty when you’re desperate.” He growls, shifting, and then he looks at you, all gentle. “Shouldn’t have left you like that downstairs,” apology soft, eyes guilty. His hands tug at his belt, pulling the work pants off, you see the outline straining against his briefs. You face him, grabbing at the waistband, tugging them down, you watch his cock spring free, thick and heavy against you. You pull him in closer to you, lips brushing against his ear. “Then make it up to me, cowboy.” His cock is even bigger than you expected it to be, It’s thick, heavy—girthy, and solid. Flushed pink and slightly curved, thank god you’ve been stretching yourself out for a while, because if not you’d be worried it would never fit. He groans, low and broken, ripping his shirt off, and throwing the blanket off of you, both fully naked now. He lets his eyes move down your body, “fuckin’ so pretty, been dreamin’ bout’ this for too long.” You whine and grab his cock, giving it a few slow strokes before moving even closer and lining him up to your entrance, sliding him up and down, through your folds, rubbing your clit with the leaking head, moaning. He grabs your hands and puts them above your head, rolling over on top of you, he leans down pressing at your entrance. “Sorry I left you like that earlier, baby,” he murmurs, voice filled with want. He pushes in, just the tip, allowing you to get used to the stretch before he slides in more. You moan into each other's mouths as he fills you up completely, inch by inch, slowly, It feels intimate, careful—like he's trying not to break you. He starts moving, deep and steady, dragging through slick walls, hitting that spot that makes everything throb. You're trying to match the rolling of his hips, hands move from above your head to his back, raking red lines down it. You wrap your legs tight around his torso, warmth coiling in your core, his hand is on your jaw again forcing you to look up at him. “You’re mine, Bird,” he whispers, breath hot on your skin. You shudder, breathing out his name. Your walls clench around him, squeezing his cock, every little sound you pull from him brings you closer to the edge, your pussy dripping as he thrusts, deeper, not rushed, building you up. His forehead presses against yours, sweat beading off of both of you, he picks up the pace. You bring one of your hands down between the two of you, rubbing circles. His thrusts get sloppier, he's staring down where you’re connected, watching you massage your clit, jaw slack, like he's hypnotized. He leans down to you, crashing his mouth to yours, all teeth and need. “You’re close, I can feel it. I’ve got you baby—let go for me,” That's all you needed, a tightness snaps low in your belly, and you come hard, soaking him. Your body is shivering as waves hit, you're squeezing around his cock, juices messy and hot down his shaft. Tears fill your eyes as you hold back a sob, you’ve never felt anything like this before. The intensity of the orgasm makes you raw, and emotional; your head spins. Joel groans, rough and low, “Fuckin' so perfect--mine ” his breath ragged, eyes dark with want.

But he’s close too. His thrusts turn sharp, urgent, cock pulsing. He pulls out fast, shaft slick and gleaming from you. He grips it, hand pumping once, twice—and he comes, thick ropes spilling across your mound, hot and messy over your trembling skin. He moans, head tipping back, cock throbbing in his fist as he rides it out, breath heaving.

Joel’s breath steadies, thick cock softening in his hand, cum streaked across your stomach. Guilt flickers in his eyes, but he grabs his flannel, wiping you gently. “Made a mess, huh, darlin’?” he murmurs, voice low. He fetches a warm washcloth, cleaning you with careful swipes—stomach, then between your thighs where you’re still slick. “Feel okay?” he asks, tucking the blanket around you, hand lingering on your arm.

“Yeah, Joel… I’m good,” you mumble, voice sleepy but warm. “You don’t have to go unless you want to."

He freezes, eyes darkening—guilt floods in fast, jaw tightening like he’s swallowing a blade. “I can’t stay, Bird,” he says, rough, standing up, grabbing his jeans off the floor. “Sarah’s callin’ tonight—said she’s got some news ‘bout school. I can’t be here, fuckin’ you, when she’s tryin’ to tell me somethin’ big.”

Your chest tightens—Sarah, still his anchor across the miles. “She’s in Boston, Joel,” you say, sitting up, voice sharp. “It’s not like she’s waitin’ by the phone—you’re just runnin’ again.”

He pulls his shirt on, belt clinking as he buckles it, eyes dodging yours. “Don’t matter,” he mutters, low, pained. “She’s countin’ on me.” He keeps talking, like he’s spiraling and can’t keep the words in, “Every second I’m with you, I’m lyin’ to her, to Kev. I’m here, balls deep in you, and she thinks I’m the dad she can trust. That’s what’s killin’ me.” His voice cracks, boots scuffing the floor as he turns for the door. “Lock up after me,” he says, quieter like it’s all he’s got left—then he’s gone.

You’re alone, body buzzing, sheets a mess. “We’ll Never Have Sex” by Leith Ross hums faintly from the forgotten earbuds on the floor. Too soon Leith, too fuckin soon, too fuckin late. Your phone buzzes It’s Tommy again.

(7:25PM) T-Mills: We’re still on for 2morrowr? 🐦🍺 Anger simmers beneath the afterglow. Honestly, fuck it. You decide to go. You text back,

(7:27PM) You: Yeah, dont be late! 😛 You toss the phone aside. Your fingers automatically reach for the necklace, “Seek the light” feeling heavier now.