sorrows of the earth

At twenty-two, you’re glad fifteen-year-old you didn’t make the decisions anymore. Within the first week of your freshman year, you missed your bed. You missed your mom blasting her songs through the house, and seeing your dad floating in the pool on the sweltering Texas days. Your family was crazy, loud, and crass, but the quiet of university gave you hives.

This summer was going to be the last before you traveled further north to Dallas to pursue the last leg of your degree. You were offered free room and board to finish your master's degree at a smaller school, and you were even granted an internship at which your mother screeched in excitement. You were thrilled to start your future, certainly, but this trip was expected to be a little… melancholy.

Your dad tried to convince you to let him drive you, but you insisted a two-way trip was a waste of gas, and you’d see him at home anyways. Home, you thought. Not for much longer, but home. Your old, rickety car sputtered on the half-hour drive, and you patted the poor steed’s dashboard reassuringly, almost as if it could be calmed by your hand. You did push the car’s limits by driving a bit too fast on the main roads, but you were just so, so eager to be home.

Once you finally reached the driveway, your parents were already rushing out the door, attacking you with an embrace, and you giggled happily, letting their warmth take over you. When they finally released you, you took notice of the massive – and very poorly painted – banner above the door, welcoming you home, with your name in big, messy letters drawn for the whole neighborhood to see. As you approached the door, you heard telltale sounds of… oh, God.

A party.

Before you could even protest, or remind your parents of the fact that you were a mess in nothing but a t-shirt and shorts, your hair was all messy, and your face made you look like the underside of a dumpster, they promptly shoved you inside as a cheer erupted from the crowd. Waves of family members shoved through to try and greet you first – aunts and uncles, cousins you’d missed, your sweet little nephew who’d been born four months before. There were even a few family friends you hadn’t seen in years, friends who must have traveled much too far just to see you. Your anxieties about your appearance faded as the energy in the room shifted. How silly you were to be so nervous. You felt surrounded by so much love, and honestly, it was just what you needed.

You almost don’t notice one of your childhood friends, Hannah, standing off to the side, as if she was patiently waiting for you to find her. You had wondered why she hadn’t been answering your texts for the past couple of weeks, then remembered fondly how she can’t keep a secret. You both share a look that nearly brings you to tears, overwhelmed by just the sight of her. You both look so… grown up.

You rush to her with arms outstretched, wrapping her in a tight embrace and laughing, overcome with joy. She pulls away to scan your face, nodding approvingly. “Damn, college did some good to you,” she laughs, holding your face for a moment, “maybe I should have followed you to UT, huh? Could’ve got this glow you have.”

Hannah is three years older than you. She was always so smart in school, and while it made you feel a little inferior, it also filled you with so much pride. She even tested into a program that earned her an associate’s degree when she graduated high school. She finished up her BA at community college even though she was offered several scholarships at many different colleges, all amounting to a number you could never dream of having. No full rides, though, and that was a dealbreaker for her parents. She’s down at the library, now, which you can only hope is something she loves.

You talk for a while, letting other folks come up to greet you and show praise for a few moments before you get too embarrassed and shoo them away. At one point, someone approaches from behind, covering your eyes. You feel them lean in all too close, their breath on your neck.

“Guess who,” they whisper, and you shiver.

If you didn’t know by the hands alone, the voice gives it all away. You pull away and smile wide, wrapping your arms around your dad’s closest friend for as long as you can remember, Joel Miller. Being the man he is, he lifts you up and spins you around, chuckling as you scream. He sets you back down and affectionately puts a hand on your shoulder. “Heya, kid. I’m real proud of you. I know how much this means to you. We’ll miss you down here.” You smile, your cheeks turning a light pink color as he walks away.

Your feelings for Joel are… complicated. He’s been around as far back as your memory goes, always there for your family when you needed him. Hell, he’d even come over when your dog ran out the door and you had to comb through the whole neighborhood to find her. You’d hop in the bed of his truck and shout her name until she came bounding towards you. He was there for birthdays, holidays, funerals…

He also made an occasional appearance in your teenage wet dreams.

It really isn’t your fault. He was consistently fit, handsome, caring, funny… he was the whole damn package and you couldn’t really ignore that as a teenage girl dreaming about prince charming. Joel wasn’t perfect, you knew that, but you loved that even more.

As you and Hannah watch him leave, she pokes you with her clawed finger, making you yelp and playfully slap her, pouting. She shakes her head at you. “What?” You cry, rubbing your arm where she poked you.

“You’re unbelievable,” she says, looking back at Joel. “He’s basically your uncle.”

“Ew, Hannah! Don’t say that, god, that’s so gross,” you say, shaking your head and covering your face. “Don’t make me feel worse! I can’t help this.”

Hannah, of course, knew all about your little crush on Joel and relentlessly teased you throughout the years for it. The teasing was well deserved, as it was silly to feel that way towards someone around 20 years your senior, but sometimes it got to you. It wasn’t like you were going to pursue him, he was just… one delicious fantasy that was stuck in your head.

“So, how’s Kevin?” you ask, trying to change the subject. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Hannah, but you know boy talk is her weakness, and you breathe a deep sigh of relief when she begins her ramble. The gossip doesn’t last too much longer, though, as your dad approaches you with a big smile, and you could tell by the look in his eyes he had some sort of surprise for you.

“Hey, nugget,” he smiles, making you roll your eyes at the nickname. “Come over here, I wanna talk to you about something.” You nod, giving Hannah’s hand a squeeze and smiling before walking away with your dad, intuiting that whatever he wants to talk about will take quite a while. You love him, but he’s something of a talker. He guides you through the sea of people in your living room to the back door, where more people have slowly gathered as the grill begins to work its magic and the crowd gets hungrier. Manning the grill was, of course, Joel.

Your dad leads you over to where he stands, Joel’s eyes not leaving the grill. ‘So serious about his hamburgers’, you think, smiling to yourself. Your dad claps him on the back and Joel jumps slightly, smiling at how surprised he was. He shoves your dad’s shoulder and your dad shakes his head. “This old fucker… well, he’s in desperate need of your help. See, the legal side of his contracting business is frankly a mess, and he won’t hire anyone thinkin’ it’s one big waste o’ money, or whatever.”

The two of them share a laugh, and despite how adorable your two favorite old men are, you find yourself growing increasingly impatient at their lack of to-the-pointness. You nod your head, crossing your legs in agitation. Your dad sighs and points to you knowingly.

“You’re good with that law aspect though, aren’t you? Making sure the… y’know, labor’s fair and the whole thing’s all up to code,” your dad says, scratching his nose. You know he has absolutely no clue what the hell he’s talking about, but he’s trying, and it gives you some semblance of warm joy at the thought. “I thought maybe… you could work for Joel this summer. Few months of real-world experience under your belt, get some decent pay… plus, the old man won’t be too hard on you, will ya, Joel?”

You bring your eyes back over to Joel, who’s clearly been a bit more affected by the alcohol than your dear old dad. His cheeks are red, his brow a bit sweaty (though that could be from the grill) and his lips pursed. You stop to wonder if someone so clearly messed up should be manning a grill, but the thought is stopped in its tracks as you notice something.

Joel is looking at you. I mean, really looking. Not in your eyes, no, at your face. Scanning you, drinking you in, like he’s looking at you for the first time. You feel your face get hot as his eyes go lower before slowly rolling their way back up, and he locks eyes with you, making you smile. He smiles back, which surprises you. It’s a smile that speaks to you. It tells you to be quiet, shushing you, keeping it a secret. You bite your lip, stifling a giggle as you look back at your dad.

You shrug. “I guess. As long as Joel knows the basics of everything, or has kept a file. You did have a lawyer when you started Miller Contracting, right?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at Joel playfully. He laughs too loud, taking another sip of his beer and nodding. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure he kept the files somewhere around, I’ll get ‘em for you. As long as you’re comfortable workin’ with me.”

Your dad shoves him a bit. “Oh, c’mon, Miller, she’s fine. She’s known you most of ‘er life, long as you just treat her right and don’t saddle her with work like you do Tommy, she’ll be alright. And make sure Tommy keeps his hands to himself!” He half-shouts, busting out into more laughter as you turn red again.

You snap your eyes over to Joel who quickly averts his gaze to the floor, and you bite your lip in frustration.

“Yeah, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine,” you say. “And don’t worry, Dad. We’re both good with our hands in different ways.”

You couldn’t be certain, but you thought you saw Joel choke on his drink.

You decided to go formal. First day, new job, might as well look nice, right? Your little… outfit was a little form-fitting, but you’d go for it anyways. You gathered what you figured would be first-day essentials and rushed out the door before your parents woke up. You knew your parents would either make you late by celebrating it as if it was some massive deal, or they’d force you to stay until they were ready to take you themselves, and you couldn’t bear the embarrassment of either.

As you start your car, your phone dings with a little notification. You check, pleasantly surprised, as it’s a text from Joel.

ミ★

(9:08 am) Joel: Hey kid, here’s the address for the office.

(9:08 am) You: look at you, joel, all tech-savvy!

(9:10 am) Joel: Gotta remind me I’m old huh?

(9:11 am) You: now do an emoji for me

(9:11 am) Joel: I am not doing tricks for your pleasure.

(9:12 am) You: i’ll bring you a coffee.

(9:12 am) Joel: 🎪🤹🤡

☆彡

You smile, shaking your head at your goofy, old boss. You punch in the directions to your GPS app and begin the 15-minute (turned to a 25-minute to stop for coffee) trip to your new job. And with around 20 minutes to spare, you pat yourself on the back. Joel is already waiting for you when you walk in, giving you a look you cannot place, especially being distracted by carrying coffee with you. You shove your folders into Joel’s chest momentarily to regain your balance.

“Hey, sorry, hold this for a sec,” you say, pulling out Joel’s coffee and setting it on the desk behind him and sighing, grabbing your papers back. “Thanks. Um… you okay?” Your question is prompted by you taking notice of the look on his face – a sort of slack-jawed, wide-eyed look, like you’d walked in wearing nothing. You feel something tighten inside of you, cursing yourself for feeling so weak at a man looking at you like some kind of meal. You clear your throat, trying to push out a little awkward laugh. “What, you never seen me in nice clothes before?”

Joel clears his throat, smiling a little at himself. “Not since your prom dress,” he says, clearly poking fun at you, since you decided at seventeen that the best thing to wear to prom would be a bright pink dress that looked WAY better in the store than it did the day of, and you had to go in one of your mom’s old dresses. You grimace at the reminder, shoving Joel playfully for bringing it up. “Thanks for reopening that wound, asshole. To think that wasn’t even the worst part of prom,” you say, shaking your head at the memory. He gives you a confused look, making you shrug.

“You know, because I went with Harrison.” you say, gesturing for Joel to catch on. “He… was an asshole? He left me alone all night and made out with my friend when we got to Hannah’s house. Did Dad not tell you?”

Joel nods as if he understands, but he just looks more confused. “Really? Ken’s kid acted that way? Shit, that fuckin’ bonehead’s married now. Can’t imagine what that woman’s goin’ through now. If I’d known, woulda kicked the shit out of him.” He smirks, taking a sip of his coffee.

You laugh, covering your mouth like someone’s going to hear you. “Yeah, I bet you would have. All you would’ve had to do is look at him and he’d run, the pussy. Speaking of, I bet his wife’s real frustrated that he can’t make a woman come.” Joel chokes on his coffee a bit.

As if on cue, Tommy walks in, a customary Joel resting frown on his face that quickly turns to a smile when he sees you. His walk picks up into a jog as he approaches you, wrapping you up into a hug that is purely Tommy. He smells like he just got out of the shower, which is comforting in the most unidentifiable way. He leans away to get a look at you, smiling wide. “Joel told me you’d be here! Couldn’t shut the fuck up about it, in fact,” he says, giving Joel a teasing look, to which Joel responds with a frown.

Tommy looks back at you and puts his hand on your shoulder. “I’m gonna show you where you’re workin’. This old fart won’t remember where everything is, so I’m in charge of the tour. He’ll come along, though, don’t you worry.” You smile and nod, even though you’re a little confused about why you’d be worried about Joel not being there. Did Tommy know something? Did Hannah already tell the whole damn town? Before you can catastrophize anymore, Tommy walks ahead of both of you, leading you toward your station.

The consultation office is new to the company, but the building is definitely not. The only thing that doesn’t seem to be over a decade old is the floor- seemingly new tile, which Tommy comments about. Something along the lines of “out of our own damn pockets” and how it was “worth gettin’ rid of the suspicious carpet stains”. You say something about how Tommy better not bring any girls around and make more stains, which makes Joel laugh. You’re shown Joel’s consult area, Tommy’s area (which he doesn’t really explain, but based on the fact that it looks like a man cave, you assume going in there is a bad idea), a tiny coffee machine that looks like it’s older than the building itself, and finally, your office.

It’s bigger than Tommy’s. Hell, it’s bigger than Joel’s. Obviously, it’s still not huge, but there’s enough space for your desk, a little lounge, and a bookshelf. There are boxes of files on your desk, seemingly all set out for you to go through and organize. However, another box catches your attention. It has a picture frame, a little pencil cup, and a few other things one might have in their office inside of it- but it isn’t yours. You inspect it closer, seeing the picture is of Joel and Sarah. You turn to look at Joel, confused, as he leans against the doorframe.

“You gave up your office for me?”

He just shrugs. “Wasn’t usin’ it.”

You reel. It’s stupid and cheesy, but you do. You rack your brain for any indication before that he was doing this for you, but you can’t remember anything he might have done to reveal this. He wanted to surprise you.

Tommy looks back and forth between you and Joel, smiling knowingly. “He really wasn’t. This geezer spends most of his time out workin’ instead of in here, even though we got a whole group of guys doin’ the work for us.”

“Well, we didn’t start this shit to have other guys do it,” Joel combats, standing up straight. “You’re just a lazy ass now that we got more people. It’s still Miller Contracting, not… Miller and The Other Guys Contracting.”

You stifle a laugh. So does Tommy. Joel purses his lips frustratedly, which only breaks the damn. You laugh so hard you cry, the silliness of the joke rushing at you. Tommy laughs with you, sharing a look with you. It was so fucking stupid and you both knew it.

Joel finally laughs, too. Laughs so hard he has to grab his stomach, delighted at the idiotic joke he made.

You and Tommy silently agree not to mention it. You’re afraid he’ll stop.

Once your giggles finally settle, Tommy crosses his arms and says something about having to get back to someone who called earlier and he steps out of the office. And then there were two.

Joel watches you. He doesn’t say anything when Tommy leaves, just stands exactly where he’s been the whole time, stalking you, waiting for you to move. You don’t look at him. It unnerves you, making you conscious of your movement, but you want him to keep looking. You can’t explain what he’s doing, and you can’t even begin to explain what you’re doing either.

You walk around the room some more, admiring the view from the window, touching the shelves, et cetera. His eyes stay on you. You turn and face him, considering asking him what the hell he’s looking at, but his gaze stops you in your tracks. Goddamn him. You force a smile and bring your hands up to your arms, rubbing them lightly. “Little cold in here, huh?” you chuckle.

Joel just shrugs. “Better’n outside.”

You nod. The air is tense. And awkward.

He leans away from the doorframe and for a moment you think he’ll walk towards you, but he doesn’t. “Well, I’ll let you get settled. Let me or Tommy know if you need anything.”

And he’s gone.

You use the rest of the day to organize the files all piled and half-organized on your desk, not even having time to read them with the unidentifiable order, or lack thereof, of it all. You assume the guys leave halfway through the day when silence falls over the office. It isn’t unsettling in the slightest, but comforting in the way it reminds you of the quiet of your dorm. You hadn’t missed it yet, but you found yourself starting to. Maybe this would be a nice substitute.

When you find yourself hungry for lunch, you decide stretching your legs is a good idea and just go to get some. When you come back, Tommy’s truck is there, and both of their office doors are closed, so you know they’re back. When you walk back into your office, there’s something there you hadn’t left.

It’s a jacket. Pretty fuckin big, too- not chunky big, just stretched out like whoever was wearing it had been wearing it for a long time. There’s a little pink Post-it note attached to it, seemingly from the office.

Don’t go touching the thermostat. -J

Fucking Christ. You groan but put it on, silently grateful for the act of kindness. Still, a thought nudged at the back of your mind.

You still hadn’t met him, the few times you’d tagged along to family events with Tommy. You’d met Joel’s daughter Sarah, an excitable young girl who’d enjoyed talking your ear off all night. You knew from what Tommy had told you that Joel’s been raising Sarah on his own since his ex-wife ran out on them. Joel doesn’t really get out much, Tommy tells you on the way home. Not really a fan of most people.

And so despite the nerves twisting up your stomach, you’d agreed to go to the party. It was supposed to be lowkey, and Tommy promised if you weren’t having fun you could leave early, no problem at all. 

You’d done most of–okay, all of–the costume planning. He wanted you to go as Bart and Marge from The Simpsons, but you’d vetoed that immediately. You suggested Fred and Daphne from Scooby-Doo, only for him to say but I'm not blond, no one will get it. And so, with two days until the party and only four days until Halloween, you’d finally settled on an angel and devil duo. Tommy liked it because he didn’t have to do much, just let you stick the foam tail on the back of his jeans and a tiny set of red devil horns that poked from the top of his slicked back hair.

You opted for something a little more intricate for the angel portion–a white lacy dress that just brushed the tops of your thighs, stockings that rolled up just under the hem of your dress, a simple pipecleaner halo pinned to the top of your head. You knew you looked good, but Tommy’s long whistle and the way his hands never left your body for more than five seconds the whole drive there proved it. You didn’t realize until you pulled up to a random house that the party was actually at Joel’s, and your stomach twisted in knots.

And now here you are, hiding in the kitchen from the many, many, people gathered in the house. It was nice at first, to let Tommy drag you around the house, introduce you to all the construction guys and various administration people he worked with. The way he’d wrap his arm around your shoulder, say that’s my girl proudly. Each time you found yourself being introduced to a new group of men, you studied them, wondering which one could possibly be Joel. It’s driving you crazy, that you’re in his house, at his party, and you still haven't seen him. The man is truly a mystery, and you hate surprises.

After a while of listening to Tommy and the guys talk shop–boring–you slide out from under his arm, murmuring something about getting a drink while he waves you off. It’s hot, almost stifling with the amount of bodies packed throughout the house, and you’re beginning to regret wearing long stockings. The kitchen is blessedly empty though, the counter cool against your sweaty back. 

A random cheer from the living room draws your head up, and only then do you notice the man standing on the other side of the kitchen, looking at you. He’s (objectively, of course) hot, leaning against the counter with an ease you envy.

“You alright, angel?”

You flush at the pet name and then realize, duh. Your costume. 

“Y-yeah, just hot. Lot of people.” 

He hums, takes a swig of his beer. His throat bobs with a swallow and you drag your gaze away.

Something about his dark eyes, the crinkles in the corner when he smiles at you, the lazy ease with which he moves around the kitchen to stand closer to you–it’s familiar, for some reason, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. 

His lips pull up in a smirk. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“With my luck, your face would break the camera,” you mutter without thinking. Oh god, why the fuck did you just say that? There’s an awkward moment as he processes your response, but to your surprise he laughs, taking another swig to hide his lopsided grin.

“I’m sorry–”

He holds up a hand to stop you, leaning over the kitchen island. The thin t-shirt he’s wearing does nothing to hide the swell of his muscles, his broad shoulders. He drags his eyes up your body, more curious than leering. 

“You’re funny,” he says, and you try to ignore the warmth you feel at his praise. He scrubs a hand on the side of his face, catching on the greying stubble there. “Haven’t seen you around before. You here with someone?”

You nod, waving a hand to the crowd in the living room. “Yeah, he’s out there somewhere, schmoozing it up.”

He considers this. “And you’re not much of a partier, I take it.” 

It’s not a question, but you feel defensive all the same, like you have something to prove to this handsome stranger.

“No, but–wait, what are you doing here? No one’s waiting for you out there?” You cross your arms over your chest and watch with a twisted sort of satisfaction as his eyes flash down to the low neckline of your dress and away just as fast.

“Just me.” He leans against the side of the island, close enough now that you can feel the hot wash of his breath on the side of your face. It should be gross, the smell of cheap beer and mint, but for some reason it’s nice. “But you should know. If you were mine, sweetheart, I wouldn’t leave ya here alone. Shame, really.”

You’re not sure what to say to that–unsure if he’s flirting or just being nice. You can never tell with these southerners, still trying to adjust to their slow drawling yes ma’am, no thank you ma’am even when they don’t really mean it. 

He moves in front of you, leaning close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, and you freeze. Is he about to–? But no, he leans past you to open the refrigerator door instead, grabbing a cold beer and moving back to the other side of the kitchen island. You exhale shakily, not sure if you’re relieved or disappointed he wasn’t trying to kiss you.

He laughs at the surprise on your face. “Y’want one? Help yourself.” And winks.

“I don’t–are you allowed to take stuff from the fridge?”

“Darlin’, it’s my house. What kind of host would I be if I didn’t offer you a cold drink, ’stead of that warm stuff out there?”

His words echo in your head–my house, my house, my house. Suddenly you realize why his dark eyes look familiar: you see them almost every day. On your boyfriend. On Tommy. So this must be…

“Joel,” you whisper. He raises a brow.

“Yeah…” he says, slowly. “Y’alright?”

“You’re–you’re Joel.” 

“Think we covered that, angel,” he drawls. Your cheeks heat and he reaches out with a  finger to trace the spot above your cheekbone. The condensation clinging to his fingers cools your warm skin.

“No, I mean,” you take a deep breath. “You’re Tommy’s brother.”

The look of realization that settles over his face would be amusing in literally any other situation. Joel pulls his hand away quickly and you already miss the warmth of him. He clears his throat and steps back a polite distance, running a hand through his hair. 

“Recognize you now, from the pictures Tommy showed me,” he grumbles. “Didn’t realize it was you in the get-up, that’s all.”

“Right,” you say hollowly. The tops of your stockings have fallen and you yank them back up your legs harshly. His eyes linger on the bare sliver of skin where the bottom of your dress and the tops of your socks meet. “And what are you supposed to be?”

“Ain’t it obvious?” He steps back, arms spread out in a ta-da motion. He looks normal in a plain t-shirt and dark wash jeans that fit him nicely. You try not to stare at the way his thighs flex, shaking your head in response. He scoffs and his hands slap back down against his legs. “I’m a contractor.”

You can’t help the snort that escapes, trying to cover it quickly with a cough. Tommy hated when you snorted, said it made you sound like a man. But Tommy isn’t here right now, is he?

Joel’s face lights up with a grin, eyes crinkling in the corners. He looks so soft, in the dimly lit kitchen, and for a second you forget the party, that you’re here with someone else, and just enjoy his presence.

He’s a surprisingly good conversationalist–from what you’d heard from Tommy, you’d assumed Joel was more of the strong silent type. A loner. And he was strong, from what you could tell, but definitely not silent. It was nice to be able to have a conversation with someone who was equally interested in what you had to say. Joel’s eyes never left your face as you rambled on, nodding along at all the right points, throwing his head back in laughter a few times. 

It was a welcome change–you couldn’t remember the last time you had a conversation with Tommy that wasn’t him just talking all about himself, and whenever you’d tried to chime in he’d whine about being too tired to talk anymore and just like that, the conversation would be over. Speak of the devil–literally.

You glance at the clock on the stove–almost two hours have passed since you started talking to Joel. And surprisingly, you feel like you could keep going all night, but then guilt twists your stomach when you remember Tommy out there, probably wondering where you are.

You clear your throat, interrupting Joel’s story about Sarah’s latest soccer game. “It was really nice talking to you but I’m gonna…I should find Tommy.”

“Oh.” He blinks, dragging his eyes back to your face. Hopefully he can see the reluctance there–he really is fun to talk to, easygoing in a way you haven’t felt with anyone else. “Yeah I should probably make the rounds, go say hi. Y’know.”

“Some host you are, hiding out here with me all night,” you tease. 

He grins, reaching his hand out like he wants to touch your cheek again and then seems to change his mind at the last second, letting his hand drop to your bare shoulder awkwardly. His palm is warm and you shiver.

He drops his hand like he’s been burned. “See you around, angel.”

You can only watch helplessly as he shoulders his way through the crowd, giving a tight smile to everyone who tries to stop and talk to him, avoiding anyone trying to pull him into conversation. You take a deep breath, adjust your dress one last time, and make your way back to the living room. It seems like there’s a never-ending wave of people laughing and dancing to the music blasting through the portable speaker in the corner of the room.

You’re smiling to yourself, thinking about the shit you’re going to give your silly boyfriend for not telling you how nice Joel really was, when you finally find Tommy slouched on the couch. You step forward to call out to him, and then–you can only watch, stunned, as his arm wraps around a girl, pulling her into the side of his body and planting a smacking kiss right on her lips, in front of everyone. 

What the hell?

The room spins and thankfully no one notices as you stumble back out into the hallway, gulping down deep breaths and trying not to cry. Your fingers wrap around the door handle of what you assume to be the bathroom, only to practically fall into a bedroom when the door gives way beneath you.

It’s Joel’s bedroom, because of course it is. You recognize the smell of him from earlier, mint and a little sweat, more concentrated here. And he’s sitting there, watching as you stumble in with tears on your face and then he’s up and across the room in a flash, cradling your face in his hands and wiping the tears away as fast as they can fall.

“What’s wrong, angel, what happened?” He pulls you close into a brief hug and then steps back, running his eyes up and down your body, looking for some kind of physical damage. If only.

You feel your lip wobble. “T-tommy, he, he–”

“Tommy did what?” His eyes are blazing as he looks at you, running his thumb over your pouting lip. “Did he hurt you, huh? Tell me what’s wrong.”

“He was, um. Kissing…someone else?” your breath comes out in a hitch. 

God, this is so embarrassing–you don’t even know Joel, really, and here you are crying in his room about your boyfriend, his own brother. He probably doesn’t care, doesn’t have time for your drama.

Joel’s silent and right when you’re about to apologize for the snot on his shirt and make some kind of excuse to leave, he mutters, “I’m gonna kill him,” and steps towards the door like he’s really thinking about doing it.

“No, wait! Please, can you just wait–” and right when his hand grabs the door handle you say, “Joel, please,” and that seems to stop him, your pathetic whisper of his name.

He lets out a long sigh, glancing down and scuffing his boot on the floor. You wish you could read his face, know what he’s thinking right now. A loud sniffle breaks the silence and you wrap your arms around yourself. More than anything, you just want to go home–but of course, Tommy drove you here, and now you’re stuck. The thought sends a fresh stream of tears down your face and Joel looks up when you wipe your eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I think I’m just gonna–I want to go home, I think,” you say. You can’t look at him, not wanting to see the pity in his eyes. “It was nice to meet you.”

You try to remember where you left your purse–hopefully not in the living room on the couch with Tommy. The thought of causing a big scene, of confrontation in general, makes you uncomfortable enough that you’re willing to risk leaving your whole purse here until whenever. You pull out your phone to call an Uber, and when Joel notices he grabs it out of your hand, locking it and shoving it in his back pocket.

“Hey!” 

He’s standing so close you have to crane your neck to look up at him, could count each individual lash of his if you wanted. Why do men always get the prettiest, longest eyelashes? It’s not fair. 

“Lemme take you home,” he says. There’s no room for argument in his tone, but you try anyway.

“Wha- no, you don’t need to do that. You can’t–you can’t leave your own party!”

The grin he gives you is so wide you can see the deep indent of his dimple. “Watch me.”

And then he’s out the door, making his way through the crowd back out to the kitchen with a sense of purpose. All you can do is follow him out in a daze–he still has your phone–and out a side door to where his truck is parked in the driveway. The night air feels good on your overheated skin and you take a few deep breaths, trying to calm your pounding heart. 

The shock has worn off, for the most part, and now you’re just angry. Angry at Tommy for bringing you here, for stringing you along, for being so willing to just throw away what you had—for what? Some quick fuck? Ironic coming from the man who hasn’t made you come once in the few months you’ve been together.

You scoff to yourself and Joel looks up, eyebrow raised when you just shake your head. He opens the passenger door for you, grabs your hand when you step up into the cab and doesn’t let go.

You pause with your legs still dangling out to the side and he won’t stop looking at you, all dark eyes and pouty lips. He steps closer in between your spread legs. The strap of your dress slips off your shoulder and as you reach over to pull it up his hand is already there, fingers dragging against your bare skin as he rights it in place. You shiver and his eyes darken.

The sound of a door slamming in the distance has him stepping away from you just as quickly. His truck is exactly what you’d imagined, a little cluttered but not overly messy. A half-empty pack of cigarettes lays crushed on the floor. There’s a small picture of him and Sarah together, cheeks smushed and grinning wildly, taped on the dash. When you flip the visor down to fix yourself as much as you can in the tiny mirror, another picture comes fluttering down. 

He picks it up before you can get a good look, but you glimpse Tommy’s dark hair and grin–the same smile you fell in love with, all those months ago–before he can shove it away in the glovebox. You should feel angry, something, maybe, but you’re just tired.

The drive is silent, with you interjecting only to give directions until he’s rolling to a stop outside of your house. He turns the key and the engine shudders to a stop. You can see the light you left on in your room, and for some reason the thought of walking into an empty house alone is entirely unappealing right now.

Finally he says, “’M sorry, angel. Had no idea he’d… I can’t believe him.”

“Not your fault.”

He turns and looks at you, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white. You want to feel them on your body, gripping you like that, more than anything right now.

“No,” he says. “But I still feel bad. Y’don’t deserve that.”

And then his hand is reaching out across the seat, covering yours where it’s twisting the hem of your dress. You flip your hands and lock your fingers with his. A million thoughts begin to swirl in your head but you ignore them all, and instead you find yourself saying–

“You wanna come inside?”

---

(this is part one, but i've already got part two mostly finished so that should be up within the next couple of days!)

taglist: @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @shaunasrabbit @season-high @ultrabrokengirlposts @cool-iguana (pls tell me if you want to be taken off i wont be offended!)