ThoroughlyMimi

Ford stood at the stove in a grey t-shirt and jeans, working through an impressive stack of pancakes, a celebratory breakfast for the champions. The kitchen smelled warm and sweet, butter and syrup and coffee. Josie sat in her highchair beside the island, happily smearing banana into her tray with both hands while periodically kicking one socked foot against the chair leg.

You sat on the counter near the coffee machine with your legs crossed at the ankle, nursing a mug of tea while Ford slid another pancake onto a plate.

Maggie crossed through the kitchen after opening the back door, letting a stream of fresh morning air roll through the house. She paused briefly beside the island, sunlight catching against the gold frames of her sunglasses where they rested on top of her head.

“This sun better stick around for tomorrow,” she said. “You could wear that cute summer dress, baby.”

Your mind flashed to the dress hanging in your closet, the one you’d bought with Maggie last week. White cotton, drop waist, lace hem, corset-style bodice, low neckline. And your scar, entirely visible.

You lifted your tea toward your mouth to buy yourself a second.

“Mh-hm,” you murmured. “Maybe, yeah.”

Thankfully, before Maggie could start in on the subject properly, heavy footsteps sounded overhead.

Tucker and Walker appeared at the top of the stairs a second later in sweatpants, hair still sleep-mussed, moving with the loose-limbed soreness of boys who had spent the previous night throwing themselves into other people at high speed for fun.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ford announced, “Dickinson High’s very own Regional Champions, Tucker and Walker Heaton.”

You burst into applause instantly, laughing as Maggie joined in. The twins groaned through their grins.

“Thank you, thank you,” Tucker said, waving one hand like he was accepting an award.

Walker moved carefully down the stairs, one hand briefly pressing against his ribs as he reached the bottom.

“How are the ribs, Walker?” You asked.

“Sore,” he admitted. “But the ice helped. Imma get another out the freezer.”

Tucker wandered behind you as Walker headed for the freezer and without warning, he dropped both arms over your shoulders and leaned his full weight against your back. You made a protesting grunt noise, slapping backward at his arm.

“Jesus Christ, Tucker.”

“How about you, huh?” he asked lazily. “How’s Gator?”

Ford barked out a laugh from the stove. You twisted and jabbed Tucker sharply in the ribs. He yelped and stumbled backward laughing.

“That’s enough out of you,” you said. “Gator’s fine.”

Tucker grinned to himself as he dropped into a stool beside Walker at the island. Ford slid two loaded plates across the counter toward them.

“What a way to start the summer, huh?” Ford said.

“Still got, like, three weeks of school.” Tucker spoke through a mouthful of pancake.

Walker pointed his fork at him.

“But Coach did buy us those hoodies though. Like winners hoodies. It’s in my-- Where is my bag?”

“I dunno,” Tucker said. “Ask Baby’s boyfriend.”

“Gator put it in the car,” you said. “You want me to go get it?”

Walker was already halfway through another bite.

“I can go.”

“Eat your breakfast,” you told him. “I got it.”

You pushed off the doorway and crossed back through the kitchen toward the key bowl, fingers sifted briefly through the familiar clusters before finding the Suburban keys.

The morning air felt warmer outside than it had through the kitchen windows, the sun already high enough to heat the gravel beneath your feet. Walker’s duffel sat shoved awkwardly in the back of the Suburban beneath a pile of football gear and Josie’s pram. You grabbed the strap and hauled it free, realising it weighed significantly more than expected.

“Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, letting out a small grunt as the full weight dragged onto your shoulder. What the hell was in this thing? Bricks?

You reached up onto your toes to pull the trunk shut again and had just pressed it closed when the low growl of an engine rolled across the yard. A truck crawled up the smaller gravel road leading from the Cabin and came to a slow stop beside you. You glanced toward the driver’s seat long enough to meet Logan’s eyes through the open window before looking away again. Then you adjusted the bag higher onto your shoulder and started toward the Big House. The truck door opened behind you.

“Hey, wait up.”

You kept walking.

“What do you want, Logan? I’m in a good mood. I really don’t need you to ruin it.”

“Just gimme a second.”

A hand landed lightly against your shoulder. You stopped more out of annoyance than willingness and turned sharply toward him.

“Why?” you asked. “You got more names you wanna call me?”

Logan moved around in front of you before you could keep walking. For once, there was no grin on his face. No teasing glint in his eyes either. He looked uncomfortable in a way you had honestly never seen before.

“No,” he said quickly. “That’s not… I wanna apologise.”

“You want to apologise?”

“Yeah.”

He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said. About you being desperate. I just… I saw the jersey, his hands on you, I was just mad and…” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “I dunno. Fucking shocked, I guess.”

“So you decided to take it out on me?” you asked. “In front of everyone?”

The bag dug painfully into your shoulder as you shifted it higher.

“Yeah,” Logan admitted quietly. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. You’re saying sorry because Brooks told you to, or Ford, or Maggie.” You shook your head. “You aren’t sorry. You're an asshole.”

“Was Gator,” Logan said.

That made you pause.

“He’s the one who wanted me to apologise.”

You lifted one hand slightly like that proved your point entirely. Logan saw the gesture and pushed on anyway.

“But I ain’t doing it just ‘cause he told me to,” he said quickly. “I am sorry. I mean it.”

The weight of the bag finally became too much. You let it drop heavily into the gravel with a dull thud before looking back at him properly.

“Logan, you've been making your stupid little comments at me for years. Why do you suddenly wanna apologise now, huh?” Your throat burned unexpectedly. “Because this time you pissed off Gator? Someone you actually care about?”

There was enough venom in the words that you hated hearing it yourself. Logan’s face changed; his brows knitting together and in his eyes he looked… hurt?

“You think I don’t care about you?”

“Well do you?”

“You’re like my sister,” he said quietly.

His voice cracked slightly around the words.

You stared at him, caught off guard enough that you forgot to respond. Logan looked down briefly at the gravel before meeting your eyes again.

“Last night I was mad,” he admitted. “And I weren’t thinking, alright? Like… it was you and him. My cousin, basically my sister, and my best friend. Like that’s not… I just wasn’t… it was a lot.”

He let out a long exhale.

“I thought he saw you like I did,” he said. “Like our kid sister who we were allowed to poke fun at, but no other jackass was allowed to look at.”

You sighed heavily and dragged a hand across your forehead.

“And all the other times? All the comments about me, my fucked heart, you pulling my hair like we’re in second grade?”

“I dunno, I was just… messing with you.” He shoved both hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t get to mess with Noah. He’s all serious and fucking… weird.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitched slightly.

“And they all treat you like glass,” he continued. “I didn’t wanna…” He frowned, struggling for the words. “I dunno. You never said anything. You never told me it was upsetting you.”

You looked at him properly then, he meant it. The realisation settled strangely in your chest. Because when you thought about it honestly, Logan had always treated you differently than everyone else. Not cruelly. Never truly cruelly. Irritatingly, definitely. Insensitively sometimes. But refreshingly… normal.

Ford checked your pulse absentmindedly during hugs sometimes. Maggie could spot exhaustion in your face from across a room. Everybody around you adjusted instinctively, softened instinctively, watched instinctively.

But Logan never did.

If you were breathless, he made jokes until you laughed again. If you looked tired, he annoyed you until you snapped at him instead of sinking into yourself. Even after your second surgery in high school, when everybody else had hovered around your hospital bed speaking softly like you might shatter apart in front of them, Logan had shown up every day after school and acted exactly the same as always. Loud. Irritating. Normal.

You looked down at the gravel for a second before shaking your head slightly.

“I never thought about it like that.”

Logan tilted his head a little, watching you carefully now. A crooked smile tugged faintly at his mouth.

“So,” he said cautiously, “can you accept my apology?”

“Depends,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Are you gonna be weird about me and Gator?”

“Depends,” he shot back automatically. “You gonna keep eating his face in front of me?”

A startled laugh escaped you before you could stop it, you shoved hard at his shoulder as you bent to grab Walker’s bag again.

“Fine,” you muttered. “Apology accepted.”

You hoisted the strap back onto your shoulder and started walking toward the house again. Behind you, Logan spoke more quietly.

“You really like him, huh?”

You glanced back over your shoulder.

“Yeah, Logan,” you said honestly. “I really like him.”

“He really likes you too.”

You arched one eyebrow.

“Yeah? He tell you that?”

“He ain’t gotta tell me,” he said. “I know him. He likes you. A lot.”

You held his gaze for a second before nodding once.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Then you turned and kept walking toward the front porch.

You didn't look back again, but a second later you heard the slam of his truck door and the low growl of the engine starting up again. Somewhere beneath the warmth of the morning and the weight of Walker’s stupidly heavy football bag, one thought kept circling quietly through your head.

Logan Heaton had apologised to you.

And he had actually meant it.

You stepped back into the Big House carrying the duffel over one shoulder. Cartoons still blared from the living room, Rhodes sprawled half upside-down across the sofa cushions while Nicky sat cross-legged beside him, utterly absorbed in whatever brightly coloured trash was unfolding onscreen. Neither of them even looked up as you passed.

You rounded the corner into the kitchen where the twins were still sat at the island with Ford. Maggie had now joined them, one elbow resting against the counter, coffee mug in hand.

“Walker,” you complained, “what is in this thing? It weighs more than me.”

Walker stood and crossed toward you, taking the strap from your shoulder before the weight could properly drag you sideways.

“I did tell you I’d get it.”

“Excuse me for being helpful.”

Walker grinned faintly as he hauled the bag up onto the island and unzipped it. A second later he pulled out a dark blue hoodie and held it up proudly for inspection. The Bears logo sat over the left breast. Regional Champions stretched across the right. His surname and number were printed across the back in thick white lettering. Ford gave an approving nod.

“Sweet. Coach sort them?”

“Yeah,” Walker said. “Apparently he ordered them before we even got to the Semi’s.”

“Well,” Ford laughed, “he has you two. Knew it was a safe bet.”

You crossed toward Josie’s highchair while the boys kept talking, lifting her easily onto your hip before grabbing the dishcloth beside the sink to wipe syrup and banana off her hands.

“Is it just the cake you need me to pick up?” you asked Ford.

“Yeah, I guess.” He shrugged. “Do we need balloons and stuff? She’s turning one. She doesn’t know it’s her birthday.”

Maggie cut him a look sharp enough to stop traffic.

“You sound like Brooks,” she informed him. “Miserable old man.”

Ford rolled his eyes, Maggie ignored him completely and turned toward you instead.

“I want it all,” she declared. “Balloons, banners, all of it. She gets the same fuss everyone else gets. Don’t care if she’s just a baby.”

She stepped over and pinched Josie lightly on the cheek before smoothing a hand over the baby’s hair.

“Still your birthday, ain’t it, baby girl?” Maggie murmured. “Want to see you in a pile of presents.”

You smiled and looked over at Ford, he sighed like a man who knew he had already lost the argument before it began.

“I guess we need balloons and stuff.”

Maggie moved behind him and reached straight into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Ma!”

She ignored the protest entirely, pulling his wallet free before flipping it open with expert efficiency. A second later she removed his bank card and handed it directly to you.

“Get whatever you think,” she said. “Find her a cute little dress too.”

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered. “Just rob me.”

Maggie slapped his cheek lightly with one hand before reclaiming her coffee.

“Quit whining.”

She wandered back toward the living room while Ford rubbed dramatically at the side of his face. You balled the damp dishcloth up and tossed it at him. Ford caught it one-handed without even looking.

“Uh-oh,” you teased. “Ford’s in trouble for being a grumpy old man.”

Ford answered by raising a middle finger toward you, though the grin tugging at his mouth ruined any real offence. You laughed and stepped closer to pass Josie over to him. Ford took her, settling her against one arm while she started grabbing for his beard.

“Seriously though,” he muttered, “she’s a baby. I didn’t buy her nothing. Mags is gonna kill me.”

“Well lucky for you, I know how to shop.” You patted your pocket lightly. “And I just so happen to have your card.”

“I don’t know if I like it when you two team up on me.” Ford groaned softly.

You laughed again before glancing toward the twins.

“Did you two get your sister anything?”

Tucker and Walker looked at each other, then back at you.

“Like… what?” Tucker frowned.

“Walker?” You sighed.

“I actually did get her something,” Walker admitted. “It’s already wrapped in my room.”

You pointed at him immediately.

“And the award for Best Heaton Man goes to Walker. Congratulations.”

Walker grinned smugly, Tucker shoved him hard in the shoulder.

“What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve gone halves.”

“Watch the ribs!” Walker complained, shoving him back. “And why are we going halves? We’re not six. I just ordered something off Amazon. Not difficult.”

You shook your head fondly at both of them while gathering up the empty breakfast plates. The dishwasher door was halfway open when the front door opened and shut again behind you. Then came the familiar voice.

“Mornin’.”

You closed the dishwasher with your hip and turned. Gator stood just inside the kitchen entrance in a fitted grey t-shirt and dark jeans, sunglasses hooked into the collar of his shirt, backwards cap low over his hair. Tucker and Walker twisted around on their stools.

“Morning,” Tucker said. “You here to donate some more of your clothes to her wardrobe?”

“Probably best she keeps the jersey,” Walker added. “Won’t be worth nothing when I beat your record and make all-state as a sophomore.”

Gator barked out a laugh as he crossed toward the island and slapped a hand against Walker’s back hard enough to jolt him forward.

“Keep dreamin’,” he said. “You’re good but y’ain’t as good as me.”

Gator’s eyes had already found yours across the kitchen. His mouth tipped slightly at one corner before he winked.

“You ready, baby?”

The word still did something strange low in your stomach every time he said it. You nodded as you rounded the island toward him.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just need to put my shoes on.”

The second you got close enough, his hand slid around your back and pulled you gently into him, easy and familiar now in a way that still startled you. Both twins groaned instantly.

“Alright, we get it,” Tucker complained. “You love each other. Can you just do it somewhere else?”

Ford laughed loudly from behind the island. But your entire body went tense. Love. The word landed sharp and sudden in your chest. You hoped, desperately, that Gator either hadn't heard Tucker properly or hadn't thought anything of it.

Because even if it was true, even if somewhere deep down you thought maybe you did love him already. It was too early for that. Wasn’t it?

Gator felt you tense the second Tucker said it. You love each other. It had been tossed out carelessly, teenage teasing, nothing more than that. But Gator heard it and he knew from the way your shoulders tightened beneath his hand that you had heard it too.

The thing was, Tucker didn't know how right he was.

Gator had been thinking about it more than he wanted to admit over the last few days. Quiet moments mostly. Driving alone. Lying awake at night staring at the ceiling. Standing in the shower too long with his mind running circles around the same thought over and over again.

Love.

At first, he hadn’t even been sure he understood the word enough to apply it to himself. He didn’t really have much experience with it.

His mother was gone. Had been gone so long now that she barely felt real sometimes. He couldn’t say whether he remembered loving her or just remembered missing the idea of having one.

And Roy…

Gator’s jaw tightened instinctively even thinking about him. He didn’t love his father. Most days he barely even liked him.

Love had always seemed like one of those things other people got handed naturally. Families. Good homes. Mothers who hugged too long. Fathers who looked proud when they spoke to you. Gator had spent most of his life feeling slightly outside of all that, watching it happen around him without ever quite touching it himself.

He had never really felt loved by anybody and because of that, for a long time, he had quietly assumed maybe he just was not built for it either.

Then there was you.

Every road in his head always seemed to end there eventually. You and the feeling you gave him that he still did not fully know how to explain. Warmth. Relief. Want. Safety, somehow, even though he was twice your size and had spent most of his life believing he was the one meant to protect people.

It had to be love.

Because what else could it possibly be?

He thought about stupid things now with the kind of clarity that made his chest ache. How back in high school, when he drove you and the boys home, he used to put songs on he knew you liked just because he wanted to hear you sing softly in the backseat. How he watched for your reflection in the rearview mirror more than he watched the road some days.

How after your surgery, when you had been stuck at home recovering for months, he had gone back to his room every night and sat awake googling medical terms he barely understood because he wanted to know how to help if something happened. Wanted to know what to do. Wanted to know how to keep you safe.

How your contact in his phone had a different ringtone from everyone else’s so he would always know it was you calling.

But Tucker didn’t know any of that. And neither did you. So you had gone tense in his arm like the word itself might scare him.

Gator didn’t want that. Didn’t want you uncomfortable or panicked or overthinking something that was supposed to feel easy between you. So instead of kissing your mouth the way he had first intended, he turned slightly and pressed the kiss softly against your hair instead.

Then he looked toward Tucker.

“Don’t worry, Tucker,” he said easily. “You’re a winner now. Girls’ll be all over ya.”

Your laugh came immediately beside him; still his favourite sound in the world.

Tucker held up a middle finger from his stool while Walker started cackling beside him. Gator chuckled under his breath and gave the back of your waist one last gentle squeeze before letting you go. Then he followed you toward the front door while you bent to pull your boots on near the bench.

He waited quietly beside the door until you were done then pulled it open for you, one hand resting against the frame while the bright North Dakota sunlight spilled across the porch between you both.

You called a quick goodbye over your shoulder as you stepped out onto the porch. The front door closed behind you, muting the noise of the Big House down into a warm blur of voices and laughter. A second later Gator took your hand and tugged you gently toward him.

“Now we ain’t got an audience,” he said softly.

He kissed you properly. Not one of the quick little kisses you’d stolen around family lately. This was slow and deep, his hand settling against the small of your back. You melted into him instantly.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes stayed fixed on yours.

“Y’look really pretty.”

The softness in his voice made heat creep into your cheeks. You smiled shyly and reached up to straighten the backwards cap on his head.

“Thank you.”

You kissed him once more, lighter this time, then took his hand and led him down the porch steps toward his truck. Gator opened the passenger door for you, one hand steadying you as you climbed up into the seat. Then he rounded the hood and climbed in beside you.

He tugged his cap off and hooked it onto the cupholder, his hair was loose instead of slicked neatly back like usual. You liked it better this way. Without thinking much about it, you reached across and let your fingers slip into the loose hair at the back of his head.

Gator leaned into the touch and sitting there beside him, morning sunlight spilling warm through the windshield, his hand resting heavy against your thigh, you found yourself thinking how perfect it all felt.

・❥・

The drive into Dickinson felt slow in the nicest way, the kind of morning where neither of you seemed in any hurry to speak. Your legs were folded up beneath you in the passenger seat, one shoulder tipped toward Gator while your hand rested behind his head, fingers absentmindedly twisting through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Every so often your nails scratched lightly against his scalp, and you felt him shiver.

The truck windows were down, letting the warm air rush through the cab. Sunlight poured across your face in bright bands, the wind lifting strands of your hair as fields rolled endlessly past outside. You let your head fall back against the headrest and closed your eyes for a moment.

The warmth of the sun. The rumble of the truck beneath you. Gator’s thumb moving slowly against your thigh. You felt calm in a way you’d never felt before. So safe. So happy.

Your eyes opened again when the truck slowed and Gator flicked the indicator on, turning into the crowded mall parking lot.

You made a soft noise of protest as you pulled your hand from his hair and started untangling yourself enough to unbuckle your seatbelt. Before you could properly climb down, Gator was already out of the truck and rounding the hood. He opened your door, slid one hand behind your waist and lifted you easily down onto the asphalt like you weighed nothing at all.

He shut the door behind you, locked it, then slid the keys into his pocket before taking a few steps toward the entrance. He held one hand back toward you, fingers flexing impatiently in a silent grabby gesture. Your chest warmed stupidly at how naturally he did things like that. You slipped your hand into his and followed him toward the mall entrance.

Inside, the mall was bright and loud in the particular way only malls seemed to be. Fluorescent lights reflected harshly off over polished floors while some aggressively upbeat pop song echoed through the speakers overhead. Plastic shrubbery sat beside the escalators in giant beige planters, the distant sounds of the arcade drifting faintly from somewhere further inside.

The whole place felt oddly frozen in time, like stepping halfway back into the eighties. You loved shopping. You hated malls. There was something about them that always felt vaguely clinical and claustrophobic at the same time. You moved a little closer to Gator, tucking yourself into the side of him and sliding the hand not holding his into the crook of his arm.

“What shop first?”

“Decorations,” you pointed ahead toward the party supply store near the centre of the mall.  “Apparently Josie needs the full royal treatment.”

Gator huffed a short laugh and steered you both in that direction.

The party supply store smelled faintly of cheap plastic. Every surface was aggressively colourful, aisles crammed with paper streamers, novelty candles, plastic tablecloths and themed birthday decorations for every possible age and interest. Bright foil balloons floated near the ceiling in crowded clusters while handwritten sale signs hung crookedly from shelves that looked older than you were.

You and Gator stood halfway down an aisle lined floor-to-ceiling with banners and balloons organised by colour. Gator frowned thoughtfully at a wall of pastel pink decorations.

“Pink? Ain’t that girly?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “But it’s not very Maggie.”

“I thought it was for Josie?”

You laughed softly, a smile curling at your mouth.

“It might be Josie’s birthday, but this is all Maggie. Woman lives to make a fuss.”

You stepped closer to the display and started pulling down packs of white and yellow balloons along with a white birthday banner.

“Last year for Rhodes’ birthday she had some company come in with full-size dinosaur statues. It was insane. Rhodes was more interested in the bouncy castle, but people still compliment Mags on the décor all the time.” You shook your head fondly. “Hosting is like… her thing.”

You turned with your arms full, and Gator took everything from you before you even had to ask, barely interrupting the conversation as he shifted the decorations into one arm.

“I remember that,” he said. “Those dinosaurs were cool.”

“And expensive.”

“Ain’t that Maggie’s middle name?”

You laughed again and followed him toward the register. The girl behind the counter looked up the second Gator stepped forward. Her expression shifted almost immediately, posture straightening slightly as her eyes travelled over him with obvious interest.

You felt the flicker of jealousy before you could stop it. Girls had always looked at Gator, that part wasn’t new. But somehow now it felt different, you felt… possessive, almost.

Before the feeling had time to properly settle though, Gator looped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you lightly into his side, pressing an absentminded kiss against your temple while the cashier started scanning the decorations.

The cashier’s smile tightened just slightly.

“That’s $11.98,” she said.

Gator reached into his pocket; you caught his wrist immediately.

“Absolutely not,” you said. “I’ve got Ford’s card. He’s paying.”

You pulled the card from your pocket and tapped it against the machine while Gator took the paper bag from the counter.

The cashier’s eyes flicked toward you briefly, then back to Gator again. You slipped the card back into your pocket as she tore the receipt from the printer with a little more force than necessary before handing it over.

By the time you looked back up, Gator already had one hand held out toward you. You smiled and slipped your fingers into his.

“Thanks,” you called politely over your shoulder to the cashier as Gator led you back out into the mall.

You drifted from store to store together, past perfume counters and overcrowded sale racks and screaming children dragging exhausted parents through toy shops. Gator followed beside you with steady patience, never once complaining, even as the pile of bags hanging from his hands steadily grew more ridiculous.

You picked out a handful of presents for Josie; books she would probably chew more than read, soft toys, tiny shoes she would outgrow in five minutes flat. Then, in a toy store near the far end of the mall, Gator spotted a little wooden rocking horse painted cream and pale yellow.

You immediately shook your head.

“No.”

Gator looked over at you.

“What?”

“You do not need to buy her that.”

“She’ll like it.”

“She’s one,” you argued. “She likes electrical cords and dirt.”

Gator ignored you entirely and lifted the rocking horse box down anyway.

“It’s also huge,” you added as he carried it toward the register. “You have to drag that around the mall now.”

“S’fine,” he said easily.

And somehow, despite carrying a rocking horse under one arm and approximately six shopping bags in the other hand, he still kept reaching for you. You tried more than once to take some of the bags from him and every time he refused.

“S’fine, I got it,” he repeated.

“Gator--”

“Ain’t havin’ my girl carryin’ bags,” he said. “People thinkin’ I don’t look after ya.”

You rolled your eyes at the ridiculous touch of caveman masculinity in the statement. And then, traitorously, found yourself thinking: have I just set feminism back seventy years by finding that incredibly attractive?

In another shop you found Josie’s birthday outfit; a soft yellow summer dress with little bows on the straps and a ruffled skirt.

The whole morning carried on with the same ease. Gator’s hand in yours. His palm resting against the small of your back while you looked through shelves. His arm slung loosely around your shoulders while you walked. Even overloaded with shopping bags, he always seemed to find some way to keep touching you. Like he needed the contact as much as you did.

People moved around you both automatically in crowded walkways, giving space without being asked. Gator barely noticed anyone else, his attention fixed entirely on you whenever you spoke.

And maybe that was the thing you liked most. The attentiveness. The way he listened to you like everything you said mattered. The way his focus settled fully on you whenever you spoke, steady and unwavering. It made you feel important.

By the time you finally left the mall, the afternoon sun had turned the parking lot hot enough to shimmer slightly off the asphalt.

Gator loaded the shopping bags carefully into the truck bed, setting the rocking horse in last, then rounded the truck to open your door for you. One hand settled at your waist as he helped you climb back up into the passenger seat.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

Gator glanced up at you, sunlight catching against his eyes.

“Anytime, baby.”

He drove you back through town with one hand loose on the wheel and the other resting heavily against your thigh while the bags rustled softly in the backseat behind you.

Dickinson rolled past outside in familiar pieces. Gas stations. Feed stores. Sun-faded signs. Pick-up trucks parked crookedly along the roadside. Saturday traffic drifted lazily through town beneath the heat of the afternoon sun. By the time Gator turned onto Benton Street, you had half melted into the seat beside him.

“There,” you said, pointing ahead toward the bakery.

Gator pulled into a roadside space just outside. Before you could properly unbuckle yourself, he was already climbing out and coming around to your side like before. But then something caught your eye. Across the street, outside a café with little metal tables out front, two men stood beside a pair of motorcycles. And both of them were staring directly at you. Your stomach tightened instinctively.

One of them was bigger, broad through the shoulders with a thick grey beard and dark hair swept up into an old-fashioned quiff. A cigarette burned slowly between two fingers as he leaned against the bike. The other man was smaller, thinner, wearing dark sunglasses despite the shade from the café awning. He was speaking to the older man casually enough, but his attention stayed fixed on you the entire time.

A strange uneasy feeling crept over your skin.

Your door opened, Gator stood there with one hand against the frame, sunlight behind him.

“Y’good, baby?”

You pulled your attention away from the men across the street and blinked up at him.

“Sorry,” you said quietly. “Just… those men were staring. Like, intense staring.”

Gator glanced briefly over his shoulder toward the café before leaning in to help you down from the truck. The second your boots hit the pavement, he pressed a quick kiss against the side of your head while reaching back to swing the truck door shut.

“Well,” he said easily, taking your hand again, “they better find someone else t’stare at. ‘Cause you’re mine.”

You let him lead you toward the bakery. But halfway across the pavement, you glanced back once more over your shoulder. The two men were still watching you.

The little bell above the bakery door chimed as Gator pulled it open for you. Cool, air-conditioned air smelling of sugar and fresh bread wrapped around you instantly, a welcome change from the heat outside. Glass display cases stretched along the counter filled with frosted cupcakes, pastries and cakes decorated in soft pastel swirls while old country music crackled quietly through a radio somewhere in the back.

Gator let the door swing shut behind him and his hand slid naturally from yours to the small of your back as you walked toward the counter.

The bakery was owned by Donna Reeves, Brooke’s mom. Which unfortunately meant there was roughly a ninety percent chance whatever happened in this interaction would end up becoming town gossip before dinner. Donna looked up from the till and recognised you immediately, her face breaking into a bright smile.

“How are you, hon? Keeping well?”

“Hi, Mrs Reeves.” You smiled back politely. “I’m good. How are you?”

“Oh well, can’t complain.”

Then her eyes shifted past you toward Gator, her smile faltered ever so slightly as she took in his hand resting against your back. She recovered quickly, but not quickly enough to miss. You could practically hear the gears turning in her head already. By tonight, she would absolutely have you filed away as the main topic in whatever terrifying middle-aged women’s group chat she belonged to. Her attention settled fully onto Gator.

“Deputy Sheriff,” she said warmly. “How are you?”

Gator gave a short nod.

“Ma’am.”

That was it.

His hand dropped from your back as he turned away from the counter, gaze drifting toward the bakery windows and the street outside. Donna looked mildly offended by the lack of charm for approximately half a second before overcompensating with another broad smile.

“You here for Ford’s order?”

“Yes please.”

Donna brightened instantly again as she turned toward the back shelves.

“I can’t believe little Josie is already turning one!”

You kept talking to Donna beside him, all soft smiles and polite conversation, asking after Brooke, nodding along while Donna launched into some story about her sister visiting from Bismarck. Gator only half listened. His attention stayed fixed out through the bakery window toward the street opposite.

The two bikers were still there. They were not openly staring anymore, at least not while you were inside, but Gator knew the second you walked back out onto the sidewalk their eyes would find you again. A pair of old pervs. His jaw tightened slightly.

The bigger one flicked ash from his cigarette while the other leaned back against his bike, talking lazily enough to anyone watching from afar. But Gator noticed the way their attention kept drifting back toward the bakery windows.

Toward you.

Something ugly and protective stirred low in his chest, then he felt you shift beside him. Gator glanced back automatically. Donna was lifting a large white cake box onto the counter while you reached both hands out to take it. Nope, that’s my job, he thought. Before you could even touch it, Gator stepped in and intercepted smoothly, taking the box from Donna with one hand.

You looked up at Gator, already half smiling.

“I could have-”

He arched one brow at you and the sentence died immediately. You pressed your lips together to hide your grin and looked back toward Donna instead.

“Thank you, Mrs Reeves.”

“My pleasure, hon.” Donna beamed at you. “You should come by the house this summer. You and all the girls can sit by the pool. I’ll get Brookie to text you.”

“Yeah,” you said politely. “Sounds good.”

In reality, the thought of spending an afternoon around Brooke’s deeply strange older brothers while wearing swimwear sounded like a nightmare. Beside you, Gator shifted the cake box more securely into one arm before his free hand settled lightly against the middle of your back again.

“Bye, hon,” Donna called.

Gator held the bakery door open for you and the little bell chimed overhead as you stepped back out into the heat of the afternoon.

Immediately his hand found yours again. You crossed the pavement together toward the truck, sunlight glaring off the windshield hard enough to make you squint. Gator opened the passenger door first, helping you climb back up into the seat with one arm before carefully settling the box into your lap.

“Precious cargo,” he murmured.

You smiled as he shut the door and rounded the front of the truck toward the driver’s side. Only then, sitting alone for a moment in the passenger seat, did you glance back across the street. The bikers were still there and they were still staring at you.

・❥・

By the time the sun started dropping low behind the treeline, Gator was still at the ranch. He had brought you home from town and somehow never really left after that.

Ford had invited him to stay for dinner in the casual automatic way people invited Gator into family things. Dinner ended up happening outside on the back porch because the weather was too nice to waste indoors. Maggie lit the citronella candles along the table while the boys argued over barbecue sauce and Josie threw bits of cornbread onto the deck.

Afterward, while Maggie and Ford cleared plates and you packed leftovers away inside, Gator had ended up out in the yard throwing a football around with Tucker and Walker while Nicky chased after them trying desperately to join in and Rhodes launched himself bodily at anyone holding the ball.

Watching him out there had you feeling some type of way. Not because it looked unusual, but because it didn’t.

Gator blended into your family so naturally. He moved easily through the noise and chaos, shoulder-checking Tucker when he got mouthy, letting Nicky cling onto his arm while scooping Rhodes upside down with the other when he got too feral.

He had always been around but now he seemed comfortable. Part of it all, on the inside rather than glimpsing in from the edges.

Now the younger kids were finally in bed, and the Big House had settled into that softer nighttime rhythm it always seemed to find after.

Ford and Tucker were outside on the back porch hanging birthday banners and bunting while Walker sat cross-legged nearby blowing up balloons with the miserable focus of someone deeply regretting volunteering for a task. Maggie sat on the sofa in the living room with a glass of wine in one hand, supervising the whole operation through the open back doors like a tiny glamorous foreman.

“A little higher,” she called. “Tucker, if that banner falls down overnight I’ll bury you in the pasture.”

“Love you too, Mags,” Tucker called back.

You sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the coffee table wrapping Josie’s presents while beside you Gator quietly assembled the rocking horse he had insisted on buying earlier. You folded wrapping paper carefully around one of Josie’s toys before reaching automatically for the tape. But it wasn’t there, you looked around briefly and spotted the roll half under the sofa.

Trying not to lose the carefully folded wrapping paper, you leaned awkwardly sideways and stretched your arm beneath the couch cushion. Your fingertips brushed the tape but not enough to grab it. You adjusted again, trying to pin the paper seam in place with one hand while reaching further with the other. The second your fingers loosened, the wrapping paper started to slip apart.

You were trying to figure out how to reach the tape without losing the entire wrap job when suddenly a hand appeared beside yours. Gator pressed one finger calmly against the paper seam, holding it perfectly in place, he hadn’t even looked away from the rocking horse. One hand still tightened a screw while the other stayed resting against your wrapping. You blinked at him for a second before finally grabbing the tape.

“Thank you.”

Eventually the last present was wrapped and stacked beside the fireplace, little towers of pastel paper and curling ribbon waiting for morning. Gator helped you carry the bigger boxes over while Walker disappeared upstairs complaining dramatically about “permanent lung damage” from blowing up balloons. Tucker followed a few minutes later.

Ford came back in through the porch doors rubbing both hands down his face.

“Please tell me we’re done,” he groaned. “I’m knackered.”

Maggie lifted her wine glass lazily from the sofa.

“All done. You can go to bed, old man.”

“Thank Christ,” Ford groaned. “Night, everybody.”

He dragged himself upstairs without another word.

Maggie watched him go then downed the last mouthful of wine and got to her feet, eyes flicking between you and Gator.

“If you’re staying the night, that’s fine,” she said casually. “But you kids better be safe. I’m far too young to be a great-grandmother.”

“Maggie!” You stared at her in horror.

She passed the empty wine glass into your hands with complete composure.

“Night, baby.”

Then she winked and disappeared down the hallway before you could recover enough dignity to argue. You looked at Gator immediately.

“I’m sorry about… her.”

He just smiled, you shifted awkwardly with the wine glass still in your hand.

“Do you…wanna stay?”

Gator crossed the room in one stride and promptly threw you over his shoulder. A startled squeal left you as you clutched the wine glass with both hands.

“Gator!”

He laughed quietly under his breath and kept walking. As he passed the kitchen, you lifted your head enough to point toward the counter.

“Hang on. Pause.”

He stopped obediently while you carefully deposited Maggie’s glass beside the sink. Then he carried you the rest of the way down the hall. Your bedroom door kicked shut behind him and a second later he dropped you onto the mattress in an undignified heap before collapsing beside you with a heavy exhale. You rolled onto your side toward him, knees tucking up slightly as you edged closer until your nose almost brushed his cheek.

“Thank you for today,” you murmured. “You really didn’t have to take me shopping or carry everything or stay for dinner…”

Gator rolled onto his side too, propping himself up on one elbow. His other hand settled against your hip naturally, thumb slipping beneath the edge of your shirt.

“Y’gotta stop sayin’ it like y’made me do somethin’ I didn’t wanna do.”

His fingers traced slow circles against your skin.

“I wanna do stuff with you,” he said quietly. “Normal stuff. Don’t care what it is. Jus’ wanna be near you.”

You slid your fingers through his hair, enjoying the unfamiliar softness of it without all the gel and careful slicking-back he wore for work.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

His gaze drifted downward toward where his hand rested against your hip instead of meeting your eyes.

“Everythin’s easy when m’with you. Ain’t gotta think ‘bout nothin’.”

“I don’t know if I believe that.” Your hand slid from his hair down the side of his neck before resting flat against his chest. “That you don’t think about anything.”

“I don’t.”

A quiet laugh escaped you.

“Gator, your brain is literally always working.” You rubbed your thumb slowly against his chest. “You’re opening every door before I get there, carrying all my bags. I see you watching exits and rolling my window up before I even realise I’m cold.” You shook your head slightly. “I feel like your brain’s in overdrive all the time. You don’t have to do all that for me.”

His hand stilled briefly against your hip, then resumed its slow movement. Gator lowered himself onto the mattress properly until his face was only inches from yours.

“Don’t gotta think ‘bout that stuff. Treatin’ you right.” His eyes flicked over your face. “S’just… like my body knows what t’do. Knows it’s you.”

Your breath caught quietly and you edged closer until the tip of your nose brushed his. His eyes fluttered shut instantly.

“M’not good at this,” he admitted in a rough whisper. “Like… the talkin’ part.”

You brushed your thumb lightly over his cheekbone.

“I think you’re doing a pretty good job.”

A shaky breath left him.

“I jus’…” His brow tightened slightly. “Feels like m’fuckin’ vibratin’. All the time. An’ then when m’with you it jus’… stops.”

The confession hit somewhere deep inside you. Gator rolled slowly onto his back after saying it, staring up at the ceiling now, his hand slipping away from your hip. You stayed perfectly still beside him, sensing instinctively how much effort this was costing him.

“S’like I got this…” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Feelin’. An’ I don’t know the name for it. Or maybe I do, an’ m’scared t’say it,” he admitted. “’Cause I don’t wanna… m’gonna fuck it up.”

You looked at him for a long moment before resting your hand gently over his chest again.

“If you say it,” you whispered, “I’ll say it back.”

Gator turned his head toward you then. His eyes looked soft in a way you had never seen before. Open. Almost frightened by how much he meant it.

“That’s not…” He shook his head slightly. “I want you t’mean it.”

“If you say it,” you repeated softly, “I’ll say it back.”

Then you leaned closer until your lips nearly brushed his when you whispered.

“And I’ll mean it.”

Something in his expression broke open. Slowly, disbelievingly, he smiled.

“Yeah?”

You pushed yourself upward until you were straddling his hips, both hands framing his face as you looked down at him.

“If you say it,” you whispered again, smiling now too, “I’ll say it back.”

His smile widened helplessly beneath you. You kissed one of his cheeks softly.

“Say it.”

Then the other.

“Say it.”

Gator’s hands came up suddenly, holding your face carefully between both palms while he looked directly into your eyes.

“I love you.”

The words hit you like sunlight breaking through clouds. Your smile widened so hard it hurt.

“I love you too.”

He kissed you hard then, both hands tightening at your waist as your fingers curled against his jaw. You pulled back only enough to whisper it again against his mouth.

“I love you.”

A kiss against his nose.

“I love you.”

Another against his cheek.

“I love--”

Gator laughed softly and rolled you beneath him in one smooth movement, careful with your body even now, bracing himself above you as he kissed you again.

“I love you,” he murmured against your lips.

Another kiss.

“I love you.”

You giggled helplessly now, fingers catching in the hem of his t-shirt. He kissed you again, slower this time, mouth lingering against yours.

“I love you.”

Your laughter melted softly into the kiss as you tugged his shirt upward. Gator leaned back just enough to pull it over his head and toss it carelessly onto the floor, a crooked smile still sitting warm and boyish across his face.

You watched him shove himself upright with sudden urgency, grinning helplessly as he kicked off his jeans in a rush that nearly sent him straight off the side of the bed.

“Careful,” you laughed. “Jesus Christ.”

His hair had fallen completely loose now, cheeks flushed slightly, chest rising quicker than before as he finally managed to free himself from the second pant leg.

The sight of him standing there in nothing but his boxers, broad shoulders bare, the outline of his cock beneath the fabric impossible to miss, sent warmth curling low through your stomach. You reached for the button of your own jeans, pushing them down your legs before lifting your hips enough to kick them carelessly toward the floor.

Gator immediately started moving back toward you. You stopped him with the sole of your socked foot pressed lightly against his chest. He blinked down at you, and you wiggled your foot pointedly.

“Socks off, please.”

A slow grin spread across his face.

“Yes, ma’am.”

One large hand wrapped gently around your ankle as he lifted your foot toward him. His thumb brushed slowly over your skin while he peeled the sock off inch by inch before tossing it somewhere over his shoulder. Then, unexpectedly, he pressed a soft kiss to the arch of your foot.

“Gator…”

He only smirked against your skin before reaching for your other foot. This time the kisses lingered longer. The arch of your foot. The inside of your ankle. The top of your foot. You were still half laughing softly through your embarrassment when he suddenly caught both your legs beneath his arms and guided them around his waist as he crawled back over you onto the mattress.

The weight of him settled between your thighs, careful even now. His hands slid beneath the hem of your shirt. You lifted your arms automatically and he tugged it over your head before tossing it aside somewhere into the dark room. Then his hand came to the base of your neck, thumb warm beneath your jaw as he leaned down to kiss you again.

You parted your lips for him instinctively, fingers curling into the loose hair at the back of his neck as his tongue brushed softly against yours. His hand slid around your back, fumbling briefly before your bra unclasped. You laughed quietly into the kiss and tugged the straps free yourself, tossing it aside without ever really breaking away from him.

Gator lets himself be pulled toward you, putting an arm out beside your head to catch himself, resting over you and leaning his weight comfortably on his arm. His tongue continues to swipe deep into your mouth, slow and claiming, as his other hand strokes down over your warm skin, skimming your waist before tracing the thin line of the waistband of your panties.

He nudges your legs wider apart with his thigh, pressing firmly until you open for him, and his fingers dip beneath the elastic of your underwear, gliding over the soft curve of your mound before slipping easily between your folds.

You are already so wet for him, slick and hot and ready, and he honestly cannot understand how he got this lucky. That you even acknowledge he exists at all is a miracle, but to be here, to have you beneath him, soaked just for him, so pliant and reactive to every touch… to have you kissing him like he’s something precious, touching him like he matters, knowing that you love him? It’s more than he ever thought he’d deserve.

His fingers glide freely through your slick, rolling steadily over your clit, watching your face change, and when you break from his mouth to gasp sharp and breathless, he leans in close and inhales the very air that leaves your lungs, breathing you in completely.

Your hands smooth over his broad shoulders and down the tops of his arms, gripping tight to the firm, thick muscle of his biceps as his fingers glide lower, teasing slowly at your entrance, circling the tight ring of muscle there before he slips one finger inside with absolute ease. He withdraws it almost immediately, only to add a second as he re-enters, stretching you slow and perfect, and your grip on his biceps tightens instinctively, nails pressing in.

He lowers his face to the crook of your neck, painting small, soft sucking kisses all along the sensitive line of your throat, marking you, claiming you. One of your hands leaves his arm and dives into his loose hair, stroking through the strands at first, then raking your nails lightly along his scalp, making him shiver against you.

His fingers curl deeper inside you, searching, finding that spot, while his thumb comes up to brush firm circles across your clit, and you widen your legs further, desperate to give him more access, to bring him closer, to feel everything he’s willing to give.

His mouth moves down from your throat, along your clavicle, and begins to travel slowly down the line of your scar. You think, not for the first time, about how he does this, whether on purpose or just because it’s you. You’d told him about the men who came before, the ones who looked at that jagged pink line and made you feel like some sort of Frankenstein’s monster, broken and ugly and wrong. But Gator… he has never made you feel that way. His lips glide along the raised skin as if it were any other part of your body, just another piece of you to taste, to adore, to worship completely.

His kisses continue down across your stomach, burning paths over your skin, while two fingers remain curled deep inside you, working you open, and his other hand strokes softly over your shoulder then trails down the centre of your chest.

“Gator… please…” you whimper, unable to wait any longer, needing him closer, needing all of him.

He withdraws his fingers from you agonisingly slow, making you ache at the loss, then pulls back slightly as both his hands come to rest on your hips. He drags your panties down your legs, and you lift your hips to help him, eager to be rid of the fabric, then immediately pull your knees tight up to your chest so he can remove them completely without having to move too far away from you.

He tosses the garment carelessly to the side, and you begin to lower your knees again, but he stops you; grips your ankles together firmly in one hand, holding them in place above you, keeping your knees still tucked tight into your chest.

He uses his other hand to awkwardly tug his boxers down his hips; he doesn’t bother removing them fully, just pulls them down enough to let his cock spring free, heavy and hard. He uses his free hand to grip himself at the base, giving himself a few short, rough pumps, before bringing the tip right to your entrance.

He keeps hold of your ankles, pushing your knees a little tighter into your chest, as he teases the broad, slick head between your folds, gathering your wetness, coating himself in you. He rubs the head up and down, teasing over your clit and your hole in turn, driving you wild, before finally sinking into you in one long, slow motion.

You let out a breathy, drawn-out “fuckkk” as you feel the stretch, the way he fills you up completely. This position has him deeper inside you than he’s ever been, pressing into places no one else has ever reached, and he stills fully inside you, releasing his grip on your ankles so your feet rest against his chest. He strokes a soothing hand slowly down the length of your calf, watching your face carefully.

“Y’alright, baby?” he asks, voice thick and strained.

“Mhmm… s’fuckin’ deep,” you breathe out, head tipping back into the pillow.

“Too much?”

You shake your head quickly, frantically, and deliberately clench your muscles tight around him, sending a clear message that he better not dare pull out.

“Good… so good. Don’t stop.”

You shift your hips a little, inviting him to move, and he does, slowly pulling back until just the very tip remains inside, then sinking back into you with a roll of his hips that makes you see stars. You let out another low, throaty moan. Gator lifts your ankles from his chest, repositioning them to rest either side of his broad shoulders, and again he slowly pulls out, leaving you empty and aching, only to lean over you and kiss you deeply as he buries himself into you once again, all the way to the hilt.

Your hands grip hard into the sheets beside you, knuckles white. He is so deep now, nudging right against the walls of your cervix, and you swear you can feel him in your stomach, everywhere at once. You deepen the kiss, slipping your tongue boldly into his mouth, and he takes the cue, picking up the pace. His hips roll into yours with a steady, heavy rhythm, and you hear the wet, slick squelching sound of your bodies meeting, loud and wanton in the quiet room.

Gator can feel you clenching around his cock in a vice-like grip, squeezing him tight every time he pushes in, and he knows instantly there is no way he is going to last like this. You feel too good; hot, wet, tight, perfect. Fuck.

He reaches down between your bodies to brush his thumb rapidly back and forth over your clit, and you break the kiss immediately to moan right against his mouth, loud and unrestrained.

His eyes lock on, forehead resting heavy against yours, breaths mingling. He flicks his thumb faster, harder, back and forth over that sensitive bundle of nerves, and watches the way your face changes, the way you struggle to keep your eyes open under the overwhelming stimulation from both his fingers and the deep, driving rhythm of his thrusts.

He picks up the pace, driving into you harder, faster, and your eyes finally fall shut, too heavy, too good to keep open. Gator brushes his nose softly along the side of yours, presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, then returns his forehead to rest against yours, grounding you, keeping you with him.

“Uh-uh… eyes open, baby. Need t’see you. Look at me.”

He feels you clench around him again, hard, like you’re trying to physically pull him in deeper, to merge your bodies completely. He watches as you force your eyelids to lift, only for your eyes to immediately roll back in your head, completely lost to the pleasure he’s giving you.

He’s not going to last, you feel too good, but he needs you there with him, needs to see you fall apart. He pistons his hips faster, sharper, his fingers brushing quickly, relentlessly over your nerves, and he feels you quiver beneath him, your pussy pulsing and fluttering around his girth, signalling you’re right on the edge.

“Gator… ohfuck… yes… m’gonna… I’m--”

He singles all his focus onto his fingers dancing over your clit and the hammering motions of his thrusts, pushing into you over and over, hitting that deep spot every single time.

Your thighs are trembling violently beneath him; he can feel the muscles in your calves tensing against his shoulders, your toes curling tight. Then your hands fly up to grip his back, nails sinking sharp and deep into his skin, leaving trails of fire. Gator lets out a little hiss at the initial pain, but it feels incredible, better than anything he’s ever felt. He hopes you leave marks; hopes he carries the scars of you on his skin for days.

And then he feels it, the band snapping tight as you shudder beneath him, moaning out a mix of breathless curses, but it’s the broken, desperate groan of his name falling from your mouth that pushes him right over the edge. His hips stutter and falter, rhythm breaking apart, as he spills himself deep inside you with a raw, guttural groan, emptying everything he has into you.

You continue to shudder and twitch as the aftershocks of your orgasm work their way through your body, every nerve still firing, skin hypersensitive. Gator’s forehead is still resting against yours, his breathing ragged and heavy. His hand has moved from your clit now, instead rubbing slow, grounding strokes over the curve of your hip, calming you, soothing you back down.

He finally pulls out, holding your ankles steady as he gently lowers your legs back down to the bed, one at a time, careful not to jolt you. He shifts to lie beside you, pulling you close instantly. You can’t bring yourself to move yet; your body feels heavy, boneless, still tingling and shaking from the intensity of it all.

Gator pulls you tight against him, your back to his chest, wrapping his arms securely around you, holding you together. He kisses your shoulder softly, his lips warm against your cooling skin.

“I got you, baby. I love you.”

Your hands come up to close over his where they rest against your stomach, lacing your fingers through his, and you sink back into him completely, safe and whole and loved.

“I love you, Gator.”