✨Adonis✨

you and eddie had been easy since high school—two kids always tangled up in each other's orbit, stupid and young and inseparable. he made you feel like you belonged somewhere, whether he was surprising you at your locker or walking you home to your trailer. you were a package deal.

until john came along.

eddie didn't like him. you told yourself it was just protectiveness, the way he'd always looked out for you. you didn't see what was really underneath it. john was trouble, but not the fun kind eddie brought. john’s was the kind that burned—the kind that had you yelling at him one night and falling into his arms the next.

eddie watched it all: the way john talked to you, the way he made you feel small. the way you kept going back.

you thought you were in love. and maybe you were. but you never noticed that eddie was the one who really knew you. the one who'd been there the whole time. maybe even the one who loved you most.

flash forward a couple years later, and here you were at twenty-five—a community college degree tucked away like a small victory, even if it didn't change much. eddie never went to college. he didn't need to. he’d found his rhythm under the hoods of cars at the local garage, grease under his nails and a cigarette behind his ear, doing honest work with his hands. you waited tables at a diner on the edge of town, the tips just enough to keep the lights on and the fridge full.

then there was dahlia. a year old now, with your eyes and a stubbornness that seemed similar to eddie’s. your boyfriend was gone more than he was home—an over-the-road trucker, chasing miles and barely checking in. most nights it was just you and your daughter, the trailer quiet except for her babbling and the hum of the highway in the distance.

but eddie was always there. he showed up with takeout when you hadn't eaten. he’d rock dahlia to sleep when you were too exhausted to stand. he watched her while you worked double shifts, never asking for anything in return. just a nod and a crooked grin, like it was nothing. like he hadn't been catching you every time you fell since you were seventeen.

eddie never missed a chance to poke at the bruise.

"if i were him," he'd say, wiping his hands on a greasy rag, that familiar smirk curling at the corner of his mouth, "i’d’ve put a ring on your finger yesterday. maybe the day before that, too. hell, i’d’ve proposed in high school."

you’d scoff, rolling your eyes so hard it almost hurt. "he’s busy, eddie. he’s got a whole rig to drive cross-country. it’s not like he's got time to shop for rings."

"mhm." he’d tilt his head, fixing you with that look—the one that said he saw right through you. "sure. real busy."

"what’s that supposed to mean?"

"nothin'." he’d shrug, all innocence. "just saying. you and deedee deserve better than 'busy.'"

you'd wave him off, change the subject, find something to wipe down or fold. but the words stuck. they laced themselves under your skin and stayed there, quiet and persistent.

because the truth was, you were starting to believe it too. the dream of john showing up with a ring, of him choosing you—choosing her—felt thinner every day, like a photograph left too long in the sun. you still held onto it with both hands, because letting go meant admitting you'd been holding nothing all along.

one day, you were extremely busy.

you were in your waitress uniform—stained coffee-colored at the cuff, apron slung half-tied around your waist—and you'd been running since you opened your eyes. groceries needed to be bought. bills needed to be sorted. a shift was waiting for you in twenty minutes.

you rushed through the kitchen, grabbing your keys, your wallet, your sanity by a thread. and there was eddie, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor with dahlia propped between his knees. he had a stuffed dinosaur in one hand, waving it in front of her face while making exaggerated roaring sounds. she was gigling, drool catching on her chin, her tiny fingers reaching for him.

“ed—" she babbled, the syllables stretching and stumbling. "ed-dee…"

he froze. his eyes went wide, that crooked grin splitting across his face like she'd just handed him the world.

“uh huh." he leaned in, voice soft and warm. "that’s my name. sweetheart, she said it!"

you wanted to smile. you really did. the corners of your mouth twitched, but the weight pressing down on your chest wouldn't let it settle. you forced a tight, distracted sound. "mhm."

eddie heard it.

of course he did. he always heard it—that edge in your voice, the one you tried to hide. he looked up, and his dark eyes found you across the room, pinning you in place.

"everything okay?"

you exhaled, and it came out shaky. the dam broke.

"i don't—i have to get groceries because there's nothing in the fridge, and the electric bill is overdue, and i’m already late for my shift, and dahlia’s diaper bag isn't packed, and i just—" you stopped, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. "i can't do all of this today. i can't."

without a word, eddie scooped dahlia up, settling her on his hip like she'd always belonged there—and maybe she had. he crossed the room in three easy strides, stopping right in front of you. close enough that you could smell motor oil and cheap cologne.

“hey." his voice was low, steady, the way it always was when you were falling apart. "look at me."

you did.

"it’s gonna be okay. i’ll grab the groceries. i know your list by heart, anyway." a pause. "and i can help with the bills till you get caught up. don’t argue with me."

you couldn’t help it. “eddie, you don't have to—"

"i know i don't have to." he shifted dahlia higher on his hip, his free hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. the touch was brief, but it lingered in the air between you. "but i want to. same as always." he tilted his head, that familiar smirk softening into something gentler. "i’ll watch her while you're at work. i was gonna do it anyway. you think i’d miss a chance to hang out with my best girl?"

dahlia tugged at his hair, and he winced, laughing.

"see? she agrees with me."

you opened your mouth to argue again, but the words died. because he was already turning away, already heading toward the couch where her toys were scattered, already taking some of the weight off your shoulders like it was the easiest thing in the world.

the relief hit you so hard it almost buckled your knees.

you let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding, and the tension in your shoulders finally loosened. you crossed the room in two quick steps.

“thank you so much, eddie. really." the relief in your voice was almost embarrassing. "i don't know what i’d do without you."

you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. his skin was warm. you pulled back just enough to press another kiss to dahlia’s forehead, and she let out a delighted squeal.

"alright, i gotta go. love you guys."

you grabbed your bag and headed for the door, already pulling out your keys. the door clicked shut behind you.

eddie sat there on the floor, dahlia still on his lap, staring at the spot where you'd been. the kiss on his cheek lingered like a phantom.

dahlia patted his face. "eddie?"

“yeah, baby," he said quietly, blinking himself back. "i’m here."

he looked down at her—at the curve of her cheek, the same stubborn set of her jaw you had—and felt something twist in his chest. every time you kissed his cheek, it rattled him. you always gave him a kiss on the cheek when he did you a favor. it was your way of saying thanks, but to him, it never grew old.

because in moments like this, with your kid in his arms and your lipgloss still warm on his skin, it felt so painfully right—like this was the life he was supposed to be living.

like he was the dad.

and stupid john was just some guy who happened to share your trailer.

by the time your shift ended, you were exhausted.

the diner had been a nonstop chaos of coffee refills, burnt toast orders, and a table of eight who'd asked for ketchup five times before their food even arrived. your cheeks ached from the smile you'd kept plastered on—the one the regulars loved, the one that kept your tips fat and your tongue bitten.

smile, sweetheart, you’re my favorite waitress in town.

on and on it went.

when you finally pushed open the door to the trailer, the first thing you noticed was the quiet.

the second thing you noticed was the groceries.

they sat on the table in neat, organized rows—canned goods in the back, boxed items in the middle, fresh produce up front. eddie had grouped them like he was running his own little pantry operation. you blinked, and then your eyes drifted to the fridge.

the bill was gone.

a sticky note sat in its place, written in eddie’s messy, all-caps scrawl: PAID. YOU'RE WELCOME. — E.

you stood there a moment, letting the reality of it sink in. one less thing to carry. one less weight on your chest.

across the room, eddie moved quietly in the kitchen, his back to you as he slid cans into the cabinet. he was trying to be silent—you could tell by the careful way he set each one down, the way he winced when a lid clinked too loud. he hadn't heard you come in.

you looked past him, into the living room.

dahlia was fast asleep in her crib, her tiny chest rising and falling in soft, even breaths. one arm was flung out, her fingers curled around the neck of her stuffed bunny. her bottle sat beside her, half-empty. the tv played care bears on low volume, the colors flickering softly across her peaceful face.

something in your chest loosened.

you slipped off your shoes and padded quietly into the kitchen, reaching around eddie to grab a bag of apples from the counter.

he startled, then relaxed when he saw you. that smile spread across his face—easy, warm, like he'd been waiting for it all day. it didn't matter that your hair was a mess, that your apron was stained, that you looked like you'd been put through the wringer. he looked at you like you were the best thing he'd seen all day. it was refreshing.

"hey, stranger."

"hi." your voice came out softer than you expected. "how was she?"

"the usual." he shrugged, reaching for a box of pasta. "ate all her dinner. gave me a concert when i tried feeding her. screamed when i tried to put her in her jammies. standard stuff."

you caught the way he winced slightly as he reached up to the top shelf. "what’s wrong?"

“nothin’." he said it too fast.

"eddie."

he sighed, turning to face you with a sheepish grin. he tilted his head, and you saw it—a tiny, almost invisible gap near his temple where a few strands of hair were shorter than the rest.

"she, uh." he rubbed the back of his neck. "she got ahold of a clump during story time. little piranha has a hell of a grip."

you stared at him. at the gap in his hair. at the way he was trying to play it off like it was nothing.

the laugh that escaped you was raw and sudden, bubbling up from somewhere deep in your chest. it was the first genuine sound you'd made all day—no performance, no plastered-on cheer. just you, laughing at the image of your tiny daughter scalping the man who'd spent his whole day taking care of her.

eddie’s grin widened. he brought a hand to your mouth, eyes glittering with mischief. "shh, shut up. you’ll wake her up."

your shoulders shook with muffled laughter. "i’m sorry, i’m sorry—"

"you’re not sorry." he tsked, pulling his hand away.

"i’m not," you admitted, voice breaking on a giggle. "that’s amazing. she got you good."

“betrayed by a baby," he said solemnly, turning back to the cabinet. “can’t believe it.”

the two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm after that—him handing you items, you putting them away. the only sounds were the soft rustle of bags, the occasional creak of the floorboards, and the distant, cheerful murmur of the tv. it was easy. It was quiet. It was everything your day hadn't been.

you broke the silence first.

"eddie?”

"hm?"

you stopped, a box of mac and cheese in your hands, and looked at him. really looked at him. at the dark circles under his eyes that probably matched yours. at the way his sleeves were rolled up, his hands dusted with flour from god knows what. at the patience etched into every line of his face.

"thank you. seriously."

he glanced at you, something soft passing through his expression. "you don't gotta keep thanking me."

"i know." you set the box down, turning to face him fully. "but i want to. without john here, i just… i get pretty stressed. it gets hectic sometimes, and i need someone to help me out."

he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. his voice, when it came, was stripped of its usual teasing edge. "you don't need to explain yourself to me. i know what you're carrying. i see it."

your throat tightened. "i just—i don't want you to think I'm taking advantage of you."

"hey." he stepped closer, close enough that you could smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with the powder of baby wipes. "you’re not taking advantage. you’re letting me help. there’s a difference."

"still. i don't know how to repay you."

"you don't have to." he said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "i’m always gonna be here. for you. for her. that's a choice i’m gonna keep making."

you looked up at him, and for a moment, the exhaustion didn't feel so heavy. the weight was still there, but it was shared now—split between two people in a quiet trailer, with a sleeping baby and a half-empty bottle of milk and a care bears episode playing to no one.

"always?" you asked, your voice smaller than you meant it to be.

he held your gaze, steady and sure. "always."

the word settled into the space between you like a promise.

before eddie could say a word, the front door swung open.

your heart jumped. intruder—the thought hit before reason could catch up. your mind flew to dahlia, asleep in the next room. but when you rushed into the entryway, it wasn't a stranger.

it was john.

you hadn't seen him in months—just phone calls, his voice tinny through the speaker, always promising to come home soon. he stood there in the doorway, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, looking heavier than you remembered. worn.

dahlia stirred in the crib, a soft cry breaking the silence. you scooped her up, pressing a kiss to her forehead, letting her settle against your chest before crossing to him.

“john." the name came out breathless. "i—i didn't expect you at all. why didn't you tell me?"

he dropped the bag and pulled you into a hug, one arm wrapping around you, the other around dahlia. you breathed in, and the familiar scent of his jacket hit you. beneath it, something else.

whiskey.

your smile faltered. your eyes softened with something you didn't want to name.

"missed you," he mumbled into your hair. then he pulled back, already turning toward the kitchen. "i’m gonna grab a drink."

he stopped short when he saw eddie leaning against the counter.

"eddie." john’s voice flattened. "didn’t know you were here."

"john." eddie’s jaw tightened. his eyes had gone cold—the same look he gave him back in high school.

he just nodded once, sharp and short.

john grabbed a glass from the cabinet and didn't bother to ask where anything was. he already knew. he filled it halfway, threw it back, then refilled.

"honey, maybe you should slow down on the drinks." you kept your voice light, careful. "you just got here."

john turned, glass halfway to his mouth. his eyes had that edge to them—the one you remembered from late-night arguments, when he got defensive over nothing.

"i had a long day. i can't have a drink?"

you held his gaze for a moment, then let it go. dahlia was stirring again, and you weren't about to start a fight with her in your arms.

"i don't want to fight, johnny." your voice softened. "you just got here. i was only suggesting."

you rocked dahlia gently, humming under your breath until her little body relaxed against yours, her breathing evening out. when she was fully asleep, you padded over to the crib and laid her down, your hand lingering on her back for a moment before you turned back to him.

"it’s getting late." you kept your voice low, soft. "what do you say you and i go to bed soon?"

you meant sleep. real sleep. rest. but eddie caught the flicker in john’s eyes—something darker, hungrier. he set his glass down without a word and crossed to you, pressing a kiss to your lips. lingering a second too long.

eddie felt like he wanted to vomit.

“be there in a minute," you whispered.

he just nodded and disappeared down the hallway.

you let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding.

eddie was watching you, his eyes soft. that look—the one that said really?—was written all over his face, his eyebrows raised, his head tilted just slightly.

you met his eyes and shrugged, soft and helpless. what can i do?

"let me see you out." you said.

you grabbed your jacket and slipped past him, holding the door open. the night air hit you both as you stepped outside—cool and quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the highway.

you walked side by side, not saying much at first. the gravel crunched under your feet. the stars were out, faint through the haze of the trailer park lights.

"dee’s getting bigger," eddie said finally. "she’s got your eyes."

"she’s got your stubbornness," you shot back, but there was no heat in it.

he snorted. "she’s gotta get it from somewhere."

you walked a few more steps in silence before eddie stopped. you stopped too, turning to face him.

"i don't like him." eddie’s voice was flat. honest. "i never did."

"i know."

"i’m serious. he shows up after months, drunk, and you're already tip-toeing around him. that’s not—" he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "that’s not how it should be."

you looked down at your feet. "it’s complicated, eddie."

"it’s not." he stepped closer. "you deserve better than complicated."

you wanted to argue. you wanted to tell him he didn't understand. but you'd known eddie too long for that, and he knew you too well to buy it.

so you just said, "i’ll see you tomorrow, eds."

he held your gaze for a long moment, then nodded. "yeah. tomorrow."

he turned and walked up the steps to his trailer, pausing at the door.

“get some rest, yeah?”

you nodded. he disappeared inside, and you stood there for a moment longer, the night air cool against your skin, before heading back.

the next afternoon, eddie swung by your trailer with a bag of takeout, same as he always did. you were on the phone in the kitchen, wedged between the counter and the fridge, your mom's voice tinny through the speaker.

"—and when are you two going to make it official? you’re not getting any younger, sweetheart."

you shifted your weight, tracing the edge of the laminate countertop with your fingernail. "mom, it's not that simple. he just got back—"

"he’s been back long enough. a man knows what he wants."

you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. eddie ducked through the front door, lifting the bag like a peace offering, and the relief that washed through you was probably a little too obvious.

"hey, mom, i gotta go. eddie’s here with food. i’ll call you later, okay?"

you hung up before she could protest.

"you’re a lifesaver," you said, taking the bag from him. the smell of greasy chinese food filled the small kitchen. you set it on the counter and started pulling out containers. "eddie, i swear, i don't know what i’d do without you."

"i do," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "you’d starve."

"probably." you smiled, then called over your shoulder, "johnny! food’s here. come eat."

in the living room, john was crouched in front of dahlia’s play mat. a plastic block dangled from his hand. dahlia sat in the middle of the scattered toys, her little face screwed up in determined refusal.

“come on. say it. say dadda."

she shook her head. firm.

"say daddy. daddy. dad-dy."

another shake. her bottom lip started to pucker.

"dahlia. come on."

you watched from the kitchen doorway, a takeout container in your hand. it was almost funny—the way he kept pushing, the way she kept digging in. eddie hovered behind you, and you could feel him trying not to laugh.

“john," you called gently, "just bring her over. she’s hungry."

he stood up, frustrated, and lifted dahlia out of the mess of toys. she squirmed for a second, then settled against his chest as he carried her to the highchair. he slid her in and buckled the tray, still muttering.

"why won't she say it? she’s old enough."

you set a few pieces of soft chicken on her tray. "you haven't been here in a while, honey. it’s not her fault."

he scoffed, running a hand over his jaw. "oh, so it's my fault? i work really hard, you know. i expect my daughter to know who i am."

you sighed, the smile staying put out of practice. "yes, yes. i know. eat, please."

you slid a container of noodles across the counter toward him and shot eddie a look—one that said just roll with it. eddie managed a small smile in return, but his stomach had gone cold.

you deserved better than this. dahlia deserved better than this. and john had no idea how lucky he was that you were still here, still patient, still making excuses for him.

eddie wanted to say it. wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you awake.

i’d be here every day. i’d teach her to say "daddy" and mean it.

instead, he cracked open a container of fried rice and said nothing at all.

you settled into the chair beside dahlia’s highchair, nudging a soy sauce packet out of your way as you peeled the lid off a container of lo mein. eddie slid into the seat across from you. john took the one at the head of the table, near enough to dahlia to reach over and ruffle her hair, which she immediately swatted away.

for a few minutes the only sounds were the scrape of forks and the occasional wet smack of dahlia pounding a piece of chicken against her tray.

"so," john said around a mouthful of noodles, "how's the shop treating you?“

eddie's fork paused. he resumed pushing rice around his container.

"it’s fine. keeps me busy. boss is decent."

"yeah? you like the work?"

like wasn't the word eddie would use. the work was honest. grease under his nails that stayed there no matter how many times he scrubbed. engines that made sense in a way people didn't.

but he wasn't about to explain any of that to john.

"it’s fine," he repeated. he shrugged, a lazy roll of one shoulder. "get to get my hands dirty. better than sitting in some office pretending to care about a spreadsheet."

john laughed, oblivious. "i get that. man’s work, right?"

you caught the flicker in eddie’s jaw—the micro-shift of muscle—and you stabbed at your noodles before either of them could read your face.

"it’s honest," eddie said flatly, and that was the end of that.

you busied yourself with dahlia. she’d grabbed a fistful of noodles and was squeezing them into paste between her fingers. you pried her hand open and wiped her palm with a napkin, keeping your eyes down.

"so," john said, and there was a shift in his voice — a gear change you recognized but couldn't avoid. "appreciate you helping out around here. with dahlia and all."

eddie didn't answer. he just looked up.

"it’s been real helpful," john went on, spearing a piece of chicken. "with me working so much. can’t always be around."

can’t always be around. you felt the words settle into the room, heavy and quiet.

"we manage," you said lightly, still focused on dahlia’s hands. "it’s fine, johnny. we’re fine."

"well." john chewed, swallowed, dabbed his mouth with a napkin. his gaze slid to eddie, lingered. "she needs someone around here."

the words hung in the air a beat too long. you looked up. john was watching eddie now—not the casual glance of a man making conversation, but something slower. a measuring sort of look.

eddie held his gaze. not a challenge. just a stillness, the way you hold still when you've been caught doing something you're not supposed to.

“well, i’m not going anywhere," eddis said quietly.

and the thing was—he didn't say it to john.

he said it to you.

john’s fork clinked against his container. he dropped his gaze, pushed his food around, didn't say another word.

you kept feeding dahlia, the kitchen suddenly very small.

eventually, john scraped his chair back, the legs screeching against the linoleum.

"alright, i’m gonna head out."

you looked up from dahlia’s tray. "what?"

"got some errands to run. now that i’m back, gotta get a few things sorted."

"but—" you set the spoon down. "i thought you came back to spend some more time with us. i need you to be here with her, johnny—"

he crossed the space in two steps, cupped your face, and kissed you. quick. decisive. the kind of kiss that was meant to end a conversation, not start one.

"it’s fine," he said, already pulling back, already reaching for his keys on the counter. "eddie here can take care of it. like always."

he said it like it was nothing. like eddie was a utility. a backup generator you flipped on when the power went out.

eddie didn't move from his chair. his hand rested on the table, fingers loose around a crumpled napkin. you saw his jaw tighten—that muscle again—and you knew he heard it too. the dismissal. the way john had wrapped you both in the same sentence:

eddie here can take care of it.

as if you were a task on a list. as if eddie’s presence in your life was just a convenience john could authorize.

before you could say anything, the door clicked shut.

you stared at the space where john had been. the air still smelled like him—like the city, like the road. you let out a slow breath, and turned back to dahlia.

she was watching you with those big, curious eyes, a noodle dangling from her fist.

“yeah," you murmured, brushing her hair back. "i know, baby."

you picked up the spoon again.

"here. open up."

the kitchen filled with the sound of running water. eddie had risen without a word, gathering plates, stacking them with quiet efficiency. you watched him clear the table, his movements careful and practiced.

"thanks, eds."

he didn't look up. "you done with your plate?"

you nodded, handed it to him. he took it, turned to the sink, and began to wash.

the water ran. the sponge scraped. dahlia gummed a piece of broccoli.

you watched the broad line of his back at the sink, the way his shoulders moved as he scrubbed. the kitchen felt smaller with him in it. not suffocating like before—just contained. like whatever was in this room stayed in this room.

"ed—dee." dahlia babbled.

he didn't turn.

"eddie." you drew it out, stretching the syllables.

a pause in the scrubbing. then a grin spread across his face, visible even in profile. you felt your own mouth tug up, a soft giggle escaping before you could stop it.

"uh huh. yeah, he's right there. washing dishes."

dahlia babbled something back, and you laughed again—a real one this time, light and surprised.

he finished the last plate, dried his hands on a dish towel, and crossed to the highchair. dahlia’s arms shot up before he even reached her. eddie lifted her like she weighed nothing, and she melted into him immediately—cheek pressed to his shoulder, tiny fingers curling into the collar of his shirt.

you leaned back in your chair and let yourself look at them. fatherhood by proximity. a man who showed up, washed dishes, lifted your daughter like she was the most precious thing he'd ever held.

"she’s always so happy to see you," you said softly.

eddie adjusted dahlia’s weight, one hand cradling the back of her head. "can’t stay away from my two best girls."

the words landed somewhere deep in your chest—a place you hadn't realized was still bruised from the door clicking shut. john had never said anything like that. not once. not in all the years of coming and going, of promises made in doorways and forgotten by morning.

you looked at eddie, at dahlia already half-asleep against him, and for a moment you forgot about john entirely.

"stay for a bit?" you asked. "after she's down?"

eddie met your eyes. "i wasn't planning on leaving."

you smiled, and eddie caught it—a flicker of something warm in his eyes before he turned his attention to the small girl nestled against his chest.

"hey, princess," he said, his voice dropping into that silly, sing-song register he only ever used with her. "what do you say you and your mom and i go out for a bit, huh? get some fresh air? maybe go to the community pool?”

you blinked. "what?"

eddie shrugged, that easy, lopsided grin spreading across his face as he turned to you. the afternoon light caught the silver in his rings, the curve of his smile softening the edges of the kitchen.

"figured if john’s gonna be out, so should we." he bounced dahlia gently, and she let out a happy gurgle. "we can go to a pool or something. get out of this house. the day's too nice to waste it indoors."

you opened your mouth, then closed it. the knot in your chest—the one that had been tightening since the door clicked shut—loosened, just a little. this was his way of fixing it. of telling you it was gonna be fine. he was always just... there, offering to take you somewhere else. somewhere the air was lighter.

"okay," you said, and the word came out softer than you meant it to. "yeah. okay."

he reached over and ruffled your hair—quick, familiar, like he'd done a thousand times before. "alright. pack some things. i’ll be with her until i can do the same."

he didn't wait for an answer. he just turned and carried dahlia toward the living room, already narrating the journey to her in a low, animated voice—“and through the treacherous hallway, past the mighty laundry basket, our hero approaches the living room..."—and you heard her giggle, that small, breathless sound that always made your chest ache.

you packed quickly. two towels. a change of clothes for dahlia. you caught yourself smiling at the bathroom mirror and didn't bother to stop.

twenty minutes later, you were standing in the driveway, dahlia on your hip, a bag slung over your shoulder. eddie opened the van door—that familiar, rusty groan of metal—and you felt something settle in your chest.

the same van he'd had since high school.

beige, faded, duct tape holding the interior roof lining in place. a dent in the passenger door from a mailbox you’d misjudged senior year when he was teaching you how to drive. it smelled like cigarette smoke that had long since faded and the faint, sweet hint of the air freshener you'd bought him three years ago.

it was ridiculous. it was falling apart.

it was home.

he scooped dahlia from your arms and settled her into the car seat he’d installed months ago—something he luckily found while thrifting, the harness straps worn soft from use. he clicked the buckles in place with practiced ease, tugging once to check they were secure.

"alright, back there," he said, tapping her nose. "you ready for an adventure?"

dahlia kicked her feet and shrieked.

"i’ll take that as a yes."

he turned to you, holding out his hand. you took it without thinking, letting him guide you up into the passenger seat. the door groaned shut behind you, and the world outside the dirty windshield suddenly felt very far away.

eddie slid into the driver's seat, cranked the engine. it coughed, sputtered, then rumbled to life.

the parking lot was asphalt-hot, shimmering in the afternoon sun, and the pool gate squealed when eddie pushed it open with his shoulder. he had dahlia tucked under one arm like a football, her little legs kicking, and she let out a delighted shriek at the sight of all that blue water.

"woah, hold on there, little monster," he said, adjusting his grip. "we’re not launching you in yet."

you followed behind, the bag cutting into your shoulder, and scanned the chaos of lounge chairs and scattered towels until you spotted a couple of empty chairs near the shallow end—close enough to keep an eye on the water, far enough to avoid getting splashed by the kids cannonballing off the edge.

"over there," you said, nodding toward it.

he followed, lowering dahlia onto the towel you spread out.

"bathrooms are over there," you said, pointing. "i’m gonna go change."

"go ahead." he settled onto the towel, cross-legged, and scooped dahlia back before she could make it to the dirt. "we’ll hold down the fort. won’t we, deedee?"

dahlia grabbed his nose.

"ouch. yeah. good grip."

you laughed and headed for the changing rooms.

the bikini was simple—black, high-waisted, nothing fancy. you’d bought it last year on clearance and never worn it. standing in front of the warped mirror above the sink, you tugged at the straps, smoothed the fabric over your hips, and decided it was fine. good enough.

you stepped back out into the sun.

eddie was mid-sentence—some low, dramatic narration about the dangers of the pool drain—when he looked up. his voice died in his throat.

you caught him staring, but you didn't catch what it meant.

he remembered the beach. senior year. a group trip after graduation, the two of you sitting on the sand while everyone else was in the water. you’d worn a blue bikini then, and he'd spent the whole afternoon pretending not to look. he remembered the curve of your waist, the way he tried not to imagine how your skin might’ve tasted like salt and sunscreen. he remembered thinking you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

he was wrong.

that version of you was sharp and new and untouched. this version had a faint, faded line across her lower stomach—a silver scar, barely visible, left behind by the small person currently trying to eat his thumb. it was a map of everything you'd been through. everything you'd carried. everything you'd survived.

you looked more beautiful than before. not despite it. because of it.

"you okay?" you asked, tilting your head.

he blinked. "yeah. yeah, i’m good."

you eased dahlia out of his arms, settling her on your hip. she immediately reached for your hair.

"your turn," you said.

he waved a hand. "ah, i’m not really gonna get in."

your jaw dropped. "excuse me?"

"just gonna sit here. keep the towels company."

"no. absolutely not." you pointed at him. "you dragged us here. you are getting in that water."

"i could supervise."

"you could swim."

he groaned, a long, theatrical sound that made dahlia giggle. "fine. fine. but i’m holding you responsible if i drown."

"you won't drown. the water's three feet deep."

"i’ll find a way."

he stood, dusted off his shorts, and trudged toward the bathrooms with the air of a man walking to his execution.

when he came back, you understood.

the trunks were black, simple, hanging low on his hips. his long hair clung to his shoulders, and his arms—you'd seen his arms a thousand times, but they looked different now. filled out. broad shoulders, thick forearms, the kind of muscle that came from years of wrestling with engines and transmissions. his tattoos stood out sharp against his skin, ink bleeding into the afternoon light.

you forgot how to breathe for a second.

he caught you looking. a slow grin spread across his face.

“see something you like?"

you felt heat crawl up your neck. you looked away, busied yourself with adjusting dahlia’s strap.

"we accidentally matched," you said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near flustered.

he looked down at his trunks, then at you. "huh. black bikini, black trunks. real coordinated."

“didn't plan it."

“uh huh.”

you shot him a look. he held up his hands, still grinning.

dahlia, oblivious, was wearing a red one-piece covered in tiny black spots. a ladybug. it had little antennae on the hood.

"look at that," eddie said. "she’s got black too. we’re a whole theme."

"a very accidental theme."

he stepped past you and lowered himself into the shallow end, the water rising to his chest. he hissed at the temperature—“christ, that's cold"—then turned and held out his arms.

"alright, princess. your turn."

you handed dahlia to him. she went willingly, splashing into his arms with a shriek of pure joy. the water darkened the red of her swimsuit, and she kicked her feet, sending droplets across his face.

he didn't even flinch. he just grinned, wiped the water from his eyes, and looked up at you.

"you coming in or what?"

the water was cold against your ankles, then your knees, then your waist. you waded over to them, the sun warm on your shoulders, and dahlia reached for you, wanting to be held by both of you at once.

edie shifted her into your arms, and for a moment, the three of you stood there—water lapping, sun burning, the noise of the pool fading into something distant and unimportant.

the three of you floated in the cool water, laughing as eddie kept dahlia giggling. his gaze kept drifting to you, lingering a beat too long. he couldn't help it—you were beautiful.

he’s thought so since high school. a quiet ache settled in his chest: the old longing to have you, to be yours.

you caught his look and offered a soft smile. your chest warmed when your eyes met. you’d known him since you were seventeen. he’d always been there. for a moment, you let yourself imagine eddie as dahlia’s dad instead, the three of you a real family.

eventually, you all headed home, wrapped in towels despite being thoroughly soaked. on the drive back, eddie and you traded easy laughs, slipping into comfortable small talk. he parked in front of your place, and you noticed johnny's old truck.

"that’s weird." a slight smile tugged at your lips, still recovering from laughing. "i thought he'd be out the whole day."

eddie’s gaze hardened as he shut off the engine. of course. of course this is how the night ends. you, him, dahlia—a perfect day. and now, back to reality. john’s home.

he unbuckled dahlia and lifted her out. you grabbed the bag, and the three of you head up the steps. inside, eddie sets dahlia down, letting her toddle around to burn off the last of her energy.

you glanced around. "johnny?"

you headed toward the shared bedroom.

"mama!" dahlia pattered after you.

"hey, no, come here." eddie tried scooping her up, a quick joke about her escaping already forming on his lips. then he stopped once he reached the doorway.

johnny was in bed. with another woman.

dahlia tugged at eddie’s leg, confused. "ed-dee?"

your eyes were already welling. eddie saw it—the crack spreading across your face. he picked up dahlia, ready to say something, anything.

"can you take her?" your voice was quiet. broken. "to your trailer?"

he nodded. he knew what you needed.

he was halfway out the door when the yelling started behind him.

"how could you do this?!" your voice cracked and sharpened all at once. "are you fucking serious? i’ve been trying so hard, johnny! trying to take care of dahlia, picking up shifts at the diner, keeping everything together while you're gone. you’re here for one day—one goddamn day—and this is what you do?!”

the woman in the bed scrambled, half-asleep, fumbling for her clothes. johnny sat up, sheets pooling around his waist, face twisting.

"don’t you yell at me," he snapped. "you think it's easy? you’re always busy, always tired, i needed—"

"don’t." you shook your head, voice dropping. "don’t even go there.”

"it was nothing, alright? just—"

"i want you out." the words came out steady even as your hands shook. "it’s over. i’ll take care of dahlia myself. i’ve been doing it anyway."

his voice softened, slick and familiar. "come on, baby. it was just a mistake. one mistake. you know i love you."

but you're already somewhere else. the short phone calls. the way he never seemed in a rush to come home. the way he talked around marrying you, always soon, soon, never now.

"no." you met his eyes. "you’ve been doing this the whole time, haven't you? that’s why you never wanted to stay."

he opened his mouth. but you were already walking away.

the door clicked shut behind you when you walked into eddie’s trailer, and the silence that followed was somehow louder than the screaming. louder than the woman scrambling for her dignity. louder than johnny’s excuses still echoing in your skull.

you stood there. dripping. empty.

eddie didn’t say anything at first. he was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching you. dahlia was passed out on the couch, curled into a tiny ball, a fortress of couch cushions walling her in. he must've built it while you were in there. while your world was ending a trailer away.

you opened your mouth. nothing came out.

that lump in your throat—hard, sharp, impossible to swallow around—pressed up until your eyes start to burn.

eddie’s face changed. the guarded tension in his jaw dropped away, and something raw and soft took its place. he didn’t ask. he didn’t say what happened or are you okay or any of the bullshit questions people asked when they already knew the answer.

he just opened his arms.

you stepped into him immediately, and the second your forehead hit his chest, you broke. the sob ripped out of you like it had been waiting for permission. your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, and you shook against him, ugly and loud and completely undone.

his arms closed around you, solid and sure. one hand cradled the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your wet hair.

"i got you," he murmured, voice low and rough. "i got you. let it out."

you cried harder.

he rocked you, just a little, swaying in the dim light of the kitchen. his thumb traceed slow, soothing arcs against your scalp.

"i’m so sorry, sweetheart." even his voice cracked at the edges. "i’m so goddamn sorry."

you felt him press his cheek against the top of your head. felt the steady rise and fall of his chest. felt his arms tighten, like he was trying to hold every broken piece of you together with his bare hands.

"you don't have to say anything," he whispered. "you don't have to do anything. i’m right here. i’m not going anywhere."

and you didn’t have to look up to know his eyes were red too.

your voice was wrecked, barely making it past the tears.

"i can't believe he would do that." a hiccup. then another. "he—he was here for one day. one day, eddie. and he just… he brought that girl to our home. our home. in our fucking bed.”

eddie didn’t stop stroking your hair. his hand was steady, patient, grounding. he let you spill it all out.

you kept going, words tumbling over each other, half-sobbed, half-spat. how your mom was already on your back about not locking johnny down fast enough, about how you're twenty-five and still not married in her standards, how you're going to be alone forever if you don't—and now this. now he showed up after months gone with some girl on his arm like you're nothing.

"i don't know what to do." your voice cracked, raw and young. "i don't want dahlia growing up in this. watching her mom fall apart over some guy who doesn't—who never—"

you choked. then the panic shifted, practical and desperate.

"the bills, eddie. i can't—the diner shifts barely cover groceries. johnny sends money sometimes, but if he stops, if he's done, i don't know how i’m gonna—"

"hey." his voice cut through, soft but firm. his hand stilled on your hair, then cupped the back of your head, tilting your face up just enough that you have to look at him.

"hey. look at me."

you do, through blurry eyes.

he held your gaze, his thumb brushing a tear off your cheek.

"johnny is an asshole," he says, quiet and certain. "he never deserved you. not one day of it."

you shook your head, trying to argue, but he doesn't let you.

"i’m gonna show up." the words landed like a promise. "i’ll take care of the bills. more. as much as you need. i’ll be here for dahlia—you know i will. and if it helps you sleep at night, i’ll pick up more hours at the shop. i don't care. i’ll work until my hands fall off if it means you don't have to carry this alone."

"but you can't—" you started, voice breaking.

"i can." he brushed a strand of hair from your wet cheek, tucking it behind your ear. his hand was warm, calloused, impossibly gentle. then he cupped your face, both palms framing your jaw, and tilted your head up to meet his eyes again.

"let me," he said, barely above a whisper. "please. let me take care of you. you don't have to figure this out alone. you never did. i’ve been here the whole time, and i’m not going anywhere." his voice dropped, softer than you've ever heard it. "you and dahlia are my family. you know that, right?"

the words hung in the air between you, heavy and warm.

you swallowed. you nodded as a fresh tear slipped down your cheek. he caught it with his thumb.

"i’ve got you."

the weight on your chest shifted—just a little—like maybe it didn’t have to be yours alone.

you couldn’t help but thump your fist against his chest, weak and trembling, frustration and gratitude tangled up so tight you can't tell where one ends and the other begins.

"god, y-you’re so—" another sniffle. another hit, softer this time. "annoying."

the word came out shaky, watery, stripped of any real bite.

eddie’s lips twitched. a glint flickered in his eyes, warm and soft, like candlelight cutting through the dark. he caught your fist before you could hit him again, holding it against his chest. his heart pounded steadily under your knuckles.

"yeah," he said, voice low and amused. "i know."

he pulled you back into his arms, and you go without resistance—boneless, exhausted, grateful. his chin rested on the top of your head. one hand spread across your back, the other craded the nape of your neck, anchoring you.

"let it out," he murmured into your hair. "you know i’m not going anywhere."

and you do. you cried until your chest ached and your throat burned and there's nothing left. through it all, he held you. rubbed your back. pressed the occasional kiss to the crown of your head. didn’t rush you. didn’t shush you.

when the last sob finally shuddered out of you, quiet settled around you both like a blanket.

"better?" he asked softly.

you nodded against his chest, too wrung out for words. your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding on like he might disappear if you let go.

he gave you one last squeeze, then tipped your chin up with his thumb and index finger. his eyes searched yours, earnest and unbearably gentle.

"i meant every word," he said. "every single one."

and he did.

over the next few months, eddie showed up more exactly like he promised. a fresh pot of coffee would already be brewed when you stumbled out of your room at six a.m. a bag of groceries would be sitting on the counter with the things you'd mentioned offhandedly three days ago. the rent would be paid before you could even stress about it.

john’s things disappeared piece by piece. you boxed them up yourself one rainy tuesday, and eddie didn't say a word—just handed you tape and sat on the floor beside you, sorting through the wreckage of a decade with quiet, patient hands. when you started to cry over an old photo, he didn't tell you to stop. he just set his hand on your knee and stayed.

slowlu, his things started appearing in their place.

a worn leather jacket hanging by the door. a second toothbrush in the cup. his favorite mug—chipped, with a faded band logo—claiming permanent space in your cabinet. a spare set of keys on the counter. a pillow that smelled like him on your couch.

he didn't move in. not officially. he still had his own trailer at the end of the lot. but somewhere along the way, yours became yours-and-his without anyone saying a word about it.

healing came slowly. in fits and starts. some days you'd be fine—laughing at something dumb he said, watching him teach dahlia how to change a tire on a tricycle she couldn’t even ride yet, feeling almost normal. other days, johnny’s ghost would settle heavy in your chest, and you'd go quiet, and eddie would just... know. he’d put on your favorite movie without asking. he’d make you coffee. he’d sit beside you and say nothing at all, letting you find your way back to the surface on your own.

it was hard. johnny was your high school sweetheart. he was woven into the fabric of who you were, and untangling yourself from him felt like pulling thread from a sweater—slow, delicate, sometimes ruining everything in the process.

but eddie made it bearable.

he made you laugh until your stomach hurt, doubling over in the kitchen while he attempted to make dinner and somehow set off the smoke alarm. eddie kept you company on sleepless nights, staying on the phone with you even when he had to be at the shop at six. eddie held dahlia when she had nightmares, rocking her back to sleep with a patience that made your heart ache.

he did everything he promised. and more.

and somewhere between the laughter and the quiet nights and the way he looked at you like you were something worth staying for, you started to realize—

you were falling for him.

it hit you one evening, soft and sudden. you were sitting on the porch, dahlia asleep inside, and eddie was beside you, acoustic guitar in his lap, playing something slow and nameless. the sunset caught the edges of his profile, and he glanced over at you with that half-smile, and your chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with grief.

oh.

you looked away quickly, heart hammering.

but you felt his eyes on you, warm and patient, and when he kept playing without saying a word, you let yourself sit in the feeling. let it settle into your bones.

terrifying.

hopeful.

the door creaked open and a familiar voice rung through the trailer, warm and theatrical.

"honey, i’m home!"

you looked up from the broom in your hands, mid-sweep in the kitchen, and the sight of him—leather jacket slung over his shoulder, his grin already crooked and knowing—makes something in your chest bloom.

a smile broke across your face before you could stop it.

"hey, you," you said. "how was work?"

he hung his jacket on the hook by the door, taking his time, savouring the routine of it. "greasy. frank’s nephew stripped a bolt on a '92 civic and i had to drill the damn thing out. took me an hour." he ran a hand through his hair, leaving a faint smudge of oil on his temple. "other than that? same old. some guy’s truck finally gave out. told him it was the transmission three months ago. three months. but what do i know, right?"

you shook your head, biting back a smile. "you know everything, obviously."

"obviously." he winked, then glanced around. "where’s my girl?"

"daycare. she’s got a little friend group now. apparently they color-coordinate their snack times."

eddie gasped, clutching his heart like he'd been mortally wounded. "what, she got tired of me already? i’m replaced by a toddler named brayden and a juice box?"

you laughed—bright and easy, the kind of sound that lives in your chest now instead of getting stuck on the way out. you shook your head, leaning against the counter while still holding the broom.

"no, never. she loves you too much."

his expression softened. the teasing fades into something quieter, something realer. his voice dropped a little when he said, "yeah, i love her too."

a pause. his eyes held yours.

"especially her mom."

the words landed somewhere deep in your ribcage. you stilled, fingers curling against the broom.

"yeah?" you asked, your voice coming out smaller than you meant it to.

eddie took a step closer. then another. the worn linoleum floor creaked under his boots.

he stopped in front of you, close enough that you can smell the faint traces of motor oil and faded cologne. his eyes traveled over your face like he's memorizing it. like he's been memorizing it for years and still hasn't gotten enough.

"get rid of that," he said, nodding at the broom still in your hands.

you immediately set the broom aside—clumsily, nearly knocking over the trash can in the process—and when you turned back, eddie’s hands are already reaching for you.

he pulled you in by the waist, slow and careful, like he's afraid you might spook. his thumbs pressed into the soft fabric of your shirt, just above your hips. he looked at you for a long moment—really looked—and you see the question in his eyes. the hesitation. the offer of an out, if you wanted one.

you can still step back. we can pretend this didn't happen. i’ll wait forever if i have to.

but you don't step back.

you don't even blink.

and whatever he saw in your face—whatever certainty flickered across it—was enough.

he leaned in slowly. giving you every chance to change your mind.

you don't.

when his lips met yours, it's soft. gentle. nothing like the rushed, careless kisses johnny used to steal. this one tastes like patience. like years of waiting finally paying off. like a promise he’d been keeping since before you even knew to ask for it.

his hand slid up to cup your jaw, tilting your head, deepening the kiss just a fraction. just enough to let you know he meant it.

when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, eyes still closed, breath warm against your lips.

"i’ve been wanting to do that for a long time," he admitted.

you opened your eyes and looked at him—really looked at him. the man who showed up. who kept showing up. who never once made you feel like a burden for needing him.

before you knew it, the two of you got a little carried away in the kitchen. one moment you were kissing, and the next his hands were on your waist, lifting you onto the counter like you weighed nothing, his mouth finding yours in that gentle, unhurried way that made the rest of the world fall away.

his hands slid up your thighs, thumbs tracing circles through the thin fabric of your jeans, and you sighed into his mouth, threading your fingers through his hair. the clock on the microwave ticked over. six minutes. then twelve.

"eddie," you breathed against his lips, but you didn't pull away.

“hm?"

you pulled back, breathless, giggling against his lips. "i have to go. dee—"

he groaned, forehead dropping to yours. "five more minutes."

"she’s gonna be the last kid there."

"so let me get her." he said it like it's obvious.

you opened your mouth to protest—you don't have to, i can do it, it's not your job—the same thing you always say. but he cut you off, cupping your face in his hands as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, soft and deliberate.

"be right back."

he grinned, and then he's out the door.

fifteen minutes later, he's back with dahlia perched on his hip, her little sneakers swinging. she’s babbling a mile a minute, pointing at something in the parking lot, and eddie nods along like he understands every word.

the three of you ended up sprawled on the couch, dahlia wedged between you. fraggle rock flickers on the screen. she’s more affectionate than usual—grabbing at eddie’s shirt, patting his cheek, curling her tiny fingers around his. you watched them, and something warm settled in your chest. she missed him. all day at daycare, she was waiting for him to walk through the door.

eddie’s heart tightened. he looked down at her, her little hand wrapped around his index finger, and he wiggled it, making her shriek with laughter.

"tell me about your day, baby girl. did you paint? build a fort? plot world domination?"

she babbled nonsense, and he nodded seriously. "good. world domination's a solid plan."

she looked up at him, quiet for a second. then, clear as day:

"dadda."

eddie’s eyes snapped to yours. your own go wide, a smile breaking across your face before you could stop it. he looked back down at her, a grin spreading slow and crooked.

"uh huh. dadda. that’s me." his voice is softer now, rougher. "can you say daddy?"

she stared at him. then she grinned. "dadda."

he laughed, the sound full and warm. "stubborn. i like it."

"da-ddy," you tried, leaning in. "daddy."

"dadda."

eddie shook his head, still smiling. "next time, sweetheart."

he leaned over dahlia, hand finding the back of your neck, and kissed you—slow, deep, like he's got nowhere else to be. you giggled against his mouth, and he smiled into it, and when you pulled back, dahlia is trying to copy you, puckering her lips and making a wet mwah sound.

eddie laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "love you, kid.”

you turned back to the tv, settling deeper into the couch cushions, dahlia’s weight warm and solid against your chest. but eddie’s gaze lingered on you. he watched the way your fingers traced lazy patterns through dahlia’s hair, the way your smile softened in the glow of the screen.

he felt at peace. like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

you weren't stressed anymore. you laughed more. you smiled more. the dark circles under your eyes had faded, replaced by a warmth that made him want to cup your face in his hands every time he saw it. he’d watched you heal, piece by piece, and somewhere along the way he'd realized he was healing too.

he’d stepped into a role john never deserved. a role john never even tried to fill.

and now, curled up on this worn-out couch with a fraggle rock theme song playing and a little girl who just called him dadda, eddie knew one thing for certain: he was going to give you everything you deserved. everything you'd never had.

his hand drifted to his pocket. the velvet box was still there, tucked away, waiting.

a week ago, he'd bought it. when he figured he had a chance. when he figured you felt the same way.

he looked at you now, the way you turned your head and caught his eye, your smile soft and curious.

"what?" you asked.

eddie just shook his head, a slow, secret smile spreading across his face.

“nothin’." he reached over and laced his fingers through yours.

You couldn’t blame them. His personality was one that was clearly meant to entertain in one way or another.

Speaking of which, in the midst of supervising some kickball with your hands on your hips, you feel the sudden press of fingers on your shoulders. It pulls a jolt from you, and when you glance over your shoulder, you’re met with Eddie’s dimpled grin.

“Are you meant to be keeping tally or what?” He steps to be by your side instead, crossing tattooed arms over his chest.

You send him a brief, unamused look before turning back to the field again, “Nope. ‘M only here in case someone breaks a bone.”

Eddie snorts, pushing wild hair out of his eyes as he squints at the game, “So you're basically a first-aid kit with legs," he said, nudging your shoulder with his. "Cool gig."

One of the younger campers— a tiny girl named Lily— comes sprinting over, clutching her elbow dramatically. She skids to a halt in front of you, lip quivering. Her elbow isn’t even red.

“I fell,” she announces, voice wobbling.

Eddie drops into a crouch beside her, all theatrical concern and wide eyes, “Whoa. Full-on tumble? That’s brutal.”

He turns his head slightly toward you without breaking character. "Doctor. We’ve got an emergency here." You might’ve scoffed out a laugh if not for the pouty girl in front of you.

The kid sniffles hard, holding out her arm like it was evidence in court. One of the other counselors on the field, Justin from across town, gives Eddie a dry look.

You lean down so you’re more at the girls height, expression softening. Your touch is gentle as you brush some of her hair back, holding up her arm with your other hand to see how she reacts to touch.

“Is it a sharp pain or just tingling— like it feels a little funny?”

Lily scrunches her nose in deep thought, “…Tingly?” she said finally. “Yeah. Like when my foot falls asleep.”

Eddie solemnly presses a hand to his chest, “Not broken then.” He says it with authority that definitely didn’t come from medical training.

He stands again with a grunt before nudging the little girls shoulder, “You’re good, kiddo. Go reclaim your kingdom.”

She blinks at you for approval, but you just give her head a pat, sending her off with a soft “Go on.”

She shuffles off, casting one last suspicious glance at the ball as she pads back across the field.

Eddie watches her go before letting his attention shift back to you, a lopsided grin creeping up. He rocks on his heels a little, always messing with something: his rings, the zipper of his jacket, your patience.

“You’re good with kids,” he says suddenly. Not teasing. Just observing. Then he added: “I mean, not in a lame way! In a cool way.”

He scratches the side of his jaw— black nail polish chipped and done by the campers— then looks toward the Mess Hall where dirty hands and full bellies awaited.

You glance to the side, carefully studying his profile. You admittedly appreciated his compliments, “Why d’you think I do this every summer?” You cross your arms, slowly looking back out at the sea of kids, “..But thank you.”

His smile softens at the edges. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans, shoulders rolling under the camp tee he finally put on.

“Huh,” he said simply. “Kinda thought you were doing it ‘cause your parents made you or whatever.”

A beat passes, honest and awkward in a way Eddie rarely let himself be. The wind picks up slightly, rustling the surrounding trees as giggles and shouts from children filled the air. One boy suddenly trips over his own feet, face-planting into the dirt.

You wince slightly, only relaxing when he yells his reassurance of being okay.

“Uh.. yeah, no,” you shake your head, “I started just because. I didn’t have any summer plans the year I first started. So.”

Eddie nods, following the kids movements as he brushed dirt off his knees to scramble back into the game like nothing happened.

“Cool.”

He turns his head slightly to look at you fully, really look, and for a second it felt heavier than usual. Not in a bad way, just… present. Then he shrugs a shoulder, “I’m only here ‘cause my uncle said he’d make me start selling encyclopedias door-to-door if I didn’t get a summer job.”

The comment pulls a sudden giggle from you— total boost to his ego.

A grin pulls at his lips, a short laugh huffing out of him. His nose crinkles along with it; his faint freckles were more prominent in the sun, “You think I’m lying?”

You make a noise of acknowledgment before biting at your inner cheek, “‘Course not.. I’m sure moms would’ve loved having you knock all day long.”

His cheeks pinken and he ducks his head as if he’s very interested in a pebble on the ground. “Shut up,” he mutters, but there’s no bite. You can still hear the smile in his voice.

He kicks the small rock before looking at you through messy bangs. He always made your heart beat a smidge too fast.

Then, because he can’t stand silence for more than five seconds: “I would’ve been an amazing salesman, though. Charismatic as hell.”

“Would’ve worn a tie.. like, really commit to the bit.”

A group of kids nearby start giggling before one boy shouts, “Eddie! You gotta teach me how to kick the ball right!”

He snaps back into counselor mode instantly— the one every camper loved.

“On my way, champ!”

Your eyes follow him all the way out to the gaggle of kids and then some, smiling when he shoots one last glance at you over his shoulder.

You can’t help the way you trace the line of his shoulders on instinct and the way his hair frames them. His back looked good in that shirt. His eyes were more orange than brown when hit with light— did he know that?

You come back to yourself just as he claps, telling the boy to try it again.

You were in too deep.