Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

August, 1995

He was late.

Beth glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand, watching the red numbers blink back at her. Not that big of a surprise. He usually was. He’d whisper "ten” against her lips with a crooked smile before he kissed her on the porch, after saying goodnight to her parents. He’d block one last tackle from Christopher and toss her little brother onto the couch before he’d hug her mom and thank her for dinner, then make his way to find Dad in the den if he wasn’t on duty. By the time he reached the mailbox around 10:30, he'd ease to a stop, careful not to hit the brakes too hard so they wouldn’t squeak. 

It wasn’t his fault he was late. It never was. And besides, he was always worth the wait.

A soft breeze drifted through the open window, stirring the blinds and bringing with it the familiar scent of woodsmoke from the neighbor’s pit. August had begun to collapse into fall over the last few weeks. The nights grew colder as the warmth of the day slipped away with the setting sun earlier and earlier each evening. She tucked her feet beneath the quilt, trying to chase away the chill that crept up her legs, prickling her skin and tightening her throat. She knew it was inevitable. She just wished it hadn’t come so soon.

Leaning against the bedroom wall, she watched the drive. Her fingers picked absently at a loose thread in the hem of the old sweatshirt she’d dug out from the back of her closet earlier that evening. The red printing was cracked and faded from years of washing machine abuse. The cougar beneath the name of the high school they’d walked out of for the last time in June looked far sadder than it had when she’d first gotten it as a freshman. But it was one of the few things not already packed for Penn in one of the taped up boxes that filled her room. 

She pushed herself to her knees and peeked through the blinds with a sinking feeling in her stomach. It was Wednesday; pay day. His dad would be on his way home from Lou’s by now, if he hadn’t already been dragged off that smoke-stained barstool and thrown out. It was always a toss-up whether he’d make it out the door before his dad came stumbling in.

The top step of the stairs creaked, followed by the click of the light switch, and light spilled through the crack under her bedroom door.  She quickly threw herself back onto the bed, pulling the quilt up over her shoulders and turning to face the wall, hoping to look at convincingly asleep as possible. Yes, Dad. Of course I’m asleep. I did go to bed two hours ago, after all. Why wouldn’t I be? Her heart thudded as she forced her breathing to slow, trying to pretend she was already asleep before the knob turned. 

The door hinges squeaked, followed by the heavy groan of the floorboards under her dad’s weight. He stepped into the room, already in his uniform, his radio buzzing softly on his belt and dented thermos of coffee in hand. He was quiet as he crossed the room, only muttering under his breath about her room being a damn mess. He carefully navigated the wreckage of what remained of her bookshelves, now spread across her floor and organized into piles of ‘donate’ and ‘school’. She pressed her face into the pillow, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing when he tripped over a stray sneaker, stumbled, and cursed under his breath before toeing it out of the way.

His movements were methodical, almost automatic, as he leaned over the bed to kiss her cheek, just like he always did before heading out on duty. She kept her breath even, willing herself to stay still while he crossed back to her door. Just had to sell it for a few more moments, and as far as she was concerned, it seemed like he was buying it.

The door didn’t shut. Instead, he lingered a moment longer, hand gripping the knob loosely while he looked around at the boxes that littered her floor before he let out a long, quiet sigh and gently closed it behind him. As the first of September crept closer, he’d started doing it more. She wasn’t sure why each time it made her chest feel even tighter, and she hugged him a little longer in the morning.

The hall light clicked off, followed by the heavy sound of Dad’s steps descending the stairs. The back door creaked shut, and his patrol truck roared to life, the engine rattling as it bumped down the drive. She didn’t move until the glow of his taillights disappeared around the curve, hoping the beat-up Chevy coming the other way wouldn’t cross his path. But the night remained still, the hum of his truck fading into the distant chorus of crickets and frogs along the treeline, the drive empty once more. 

She picked at the loose thread again with a soft sigh and let her hand fall to the bed. The silence in the house felt thick as she lay there listening, hoping the quiet that settled through her home didn’t mean noise within his own. She let her head fall lazily to the side, red numbers flashing back at her like a heartbeat.

Then, it was there, echoing across the yard like a song she’d played too many times until it was embedded in her memory. The familiar hum of his truck cresting the hill. The soft crunch of gravel beneath his tires as he rolled slow and careful past the front of her house with the lights off to keep from waking her parents. He never honked. Never lingered too long. Just slowed to a careful stop by the mailbox and flicked the headlights once. Twice. A quiet, secret little Morse code just for her, the flashes painting the walls of her bedroom in quick succession like a message only she could read.

She was up before the second flash, a smile stretching across her face as she grabbed her shoes and climbed back over her bed. With practiced hands, she pushed the window open the rest of the way, wincing only slightly at the soft squeak of the frame. She froze, listening for the sound of Mom’s slippered footsteps against the hardwood. None came. She forced the window up the rest of the way and slipped out effortlessly, socked feet catching on the shingles as she shimmied down the carport roof, just like they’d done a hundred times before. 

Though really, it was probably closer to 200 by now. Sometimes, she’d slip out twice in one night if he decided he missed her before he made it to the end of her road. 

It was almost muscle memory now: the quiet landing in the mulch of Mom’s flower beds, the sprint down the gravel with untied laces after shoving her feet into her red Keds. Her heartbeat always quickened just a little when she saw him. Jack Abbot, leaning against the side of his truck with arms crossed, that little smirk on his face like he had all the time in the world.

God, she loved him.

“You’re late,” she whispered, breathless as she approached.

He raised an eyebrow, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Living room light was still on when I came by. Had to do a few laps before I was sure your dad left.” 

His smirk widened as she reached him and wrapped her arms around his neck without hesitation. Jack’s arms caught her around the waist, pulling her in just as she kissed him like she hadn’t seen him in three months instead of just three hours. When they broke apart, she slipped beneath his arm and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Where are we going?”

He shrugged and opened the driver’s door, watching as she slid across the vinyl to the passenger seat.

“Same place we always do,” he replied with a hint of a smile.

She smiled, already knowing where they were headed as he climbed into the truck and turned the key. The engine sputtered once, then died. He cursed under his breath before he tried again. This time, the truck rumbled to life, and he exhaled with a small, relieved laugh. Shifting into drive, he pulled away from the house and glanced over at her, smiling.

“You’re gonna have to start it up for me once in a while when I’m gone,” he said, concern edging his otherwise easy tone. He’d said it a dozen times since deciding to go. “Don’t want this thing taking a shit on me when I get back.” 

His hand found her leg, as it always did when they drove, resting comfortably on her thigh. His thumb brushed the frayed hem of her cutoffs, eyes fixed on the gravel road that led away from her house. She played with the hem of his jacket, brushing her thumb against the soft, worn denim and leaning in to rest her head on his shoulder. 

“Already said I will,” she replied, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

He turned just enough to catch her lips with his, the kiss lingering longer than she expected, sweet and familiar. The faint taste of mint from the gum he always chewed mingled with the smell of motor oil and gasoline that clung to his clothes after working at the shop all day. A comforting smell that was so unmistakably him. 

The truck slowed to stop at the sign at the end of her road with a creaking of brakes. Her hand found his jaw, cupping his face, a soft, surprised giggle puffing out against his lips. Fingers found her hair, snaking through strands of copper before he broke the kiss, his breath mingling with her own in the cool night air. 

He pulled away just enough to look at her, hazel eyes soft in the way that always made her skin feel too tight. Rough knuckles ghosted the line of her jaw before he brushed a thumb over her lips with a smirk; the same one that always took her breath away. The same as it had the first time she saw it from the locker beside her own and the slamming of the door marked the beginning of Jack Abbot. With a wink, he shifted the truck into gear, the engine purring to life again as he turned onto the main road.

Beth had lived in this sleepy place her whole life: a blink-and-you’d-miss-it town with a Main Street lined with the same weathered storefronts and three traffic lights that only blinked red after eight o’clock. She’d always sworn that she would get out of this do-nothing place. Unlike most of her graduating class, they’d leave, and they wouldn’t look back. They’d make their own way in some city that made her feel small and once she was done with med school, she’d wear a few new letters behind her last name. His last name. 

But now, with only a few days left, the silence that once made her restless settled into her like it was trying to etch itself into her skin, burrowing like it was trying to make a home there. As if even the blink of the traffic light begged her not to go. But sitting there with her head on his shoulder, a Radiohead song crackling through the only radio station still playing at this hour, running away started to feel less like escape.

“You ever think we’ll come back here?” she said softly, watching ambulance lights flash in the bay of the emergency clinic. Mom would clock in for her shift there in the morning. She swore that Beth would return there after her residency. “You’ll be another one of those doctors bossing me around,” Mom would joke with a wink. “Except none of those doctors ever had their charge nurse change their diapers, so we’ll see who’s really listening to who, missy.”

Jack shrugged, hands adjusting on the steering wheel. There was something in the heartbeat before he said, “Maybe.” 

She could live with maybe. Sometimes she thought maybe, too.

Cool air whipped through the passenger window, fluttering the photo he kept tucked in the dash. It was one she never liked much; blurry, taken with Mom’s Nikon the summer they went camping, catching her in a laugh she couldn’t remember. She hated it, but Jack swore up and down that it was his favorite.

The gust tangled her hair, and she let it fall across her face, half-watching as their town flickered past. The auto shop where he’d worked that afternoon passed in a blur; garage lights dark, gate drawn after he locked up. He’d started there his freshman year, sweeping floors for a few hours after school. It was easier than going home after his mom died, and his dad started drinking more than he already had.

The owner, Mr. Munson, noticed him lingering longer each day, claiming his dad was just running late. So he handed Jack a wrench and started showing him the ropes while they waited for a ride that never came.

Eventually, those few hours after school stretched into summer shifts and grease under his fingernails that she’d scrape out when he came over for dinner. Mom always let him sleep when he dozed off on the couch. Neither of her parents cared much about curfew on those nights. Mr. Munson even gave her a job last summer answering the phone, joking about the lovebirds in bay two when he found her perched on a stack of tires, quizzing him from her SAT study guide while he worked beneath the cars. Guess he figured, why not put her to work if she was going to be there anyway?

They drove past the high school, the faded bleachers of the football stadium just visible in the distance. The same ones where she’d cheered for the last time that final fall before she turned in her uniform. The middle school parking lot rolled by, where Jack had first taught her to drive stick, or at least attempted to. They’d spent hours with his hands on hers as he guided her through each clumsy shift of the gears and tried to hide his laughter each time she cursed when the engine jerked. 

It all slipped by like a film reel running too fast, frames flickering by too fast under the glow of the streetlights. Familiar places slipped by in silence, each tugging at her like a thread. The shadows each flash of light threw across his face made his expression seem deeper, more serious as his eyes stayed focused on the road like they hadn’t driven it a million times before. As if the quiet night was pulling something out of him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Without thinking, her fingers brushed along his jaw. She traced the curve of it like she was trying to memorize the shape of him in the glow of the dashboard lights.

"You’re quiet tonight," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jack smirked, eyes never leaving the road. "I’m always quiet," he replied, his voice low and steady. "Thought that’s why you like me, Sparky. All part of my dazzling personality."

She smiled, but didn’t laugh. Her fingers kept tracing the side of his face.

“It’s a different kind of quiet,” she murmured.

Jack didn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand reached across the center console, finding hers. He kissed the back of her hand softly, his lips lingering there for a heartbeat longer than usual, before his fingers curled around hers, pulling them closer. He didn’t say more. Didn’t offer some sarcastic, dry quip to make her laugh like he usually would. Just kept his eyes ahead and twisted his fingers through her own. Just quiet, but not their quiet. 

She wasn’t sure how to explain it. It wasn’t the usual calm, the kind that was simply Jack’s way of being. It was something heavier tonight, something quieter that hung over the cab of the truck like a weight. She squeezed his hand in return, pushing down the knot in her gut that had lived there since he walked out the recruiter’s office to her car and told her that he was leaving. 

Not consuming. Not wrong. Just… there.

The truck rumbled to a stop at the intersection. The red light cast a warm glow over the cab, painting everything in a soft haze. Her hand lifted to his hair to twist a dark curl around her finger, giving it a gentle tug as she murmured, “Abby.” 

The nickname finally pulled his eyes from the road to her own. 

“You’re being weird.”

“M’not,” he argued weakly, pushing wind-knotted hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear.

“You are. You’re looking at me weird.”

“I’m not looking at you weird,” he protested with a soft chuckle, brushing his thumb along her freckled cheek. 

“Yes, you are,” she laughed. “You’re looking at me like you’ve forgotten what I look like.”

“Nah,” he breathed. “Just… missing you.”

“Can’t miss me if I’m right here, dummy,” she smiled, leaning into him, his hand warm on her face. 

The traffic light flashed at again, the amber light settling into his features. He looked older. Sadder. For a moment, she could picture him twenty years from now, with wrinkles around his eyes and gray at his temples. But he wouldn’t be sad, she told herself. Not like he was now. Not when those twenty years would be spent together, at least. 

“Yeah,” he smirked, “You are.”

She smiled softly, hazel eyes meeting blue, a mischievous spark flickering in his gaze. 

“C’mere,” he murmured. 

She barely needed the invitation before his hand found its place on her waist and pulled her closer, eyes half-lidded as he looked down at her, her own bracing themselves on his shoulders. She could feel the heat of his breath against her lips, the shiver that tingled down her spine having little to do with the night air blowing through the windows as his breath ghosted across her skin. She lifted her face and brought her lips to his own, his hand strong on her jaw while he kissed her soft and slow and the world fell away around them. 

No dates circled on the calendar, no quiet that made the air feel too thin. Just him. It was always just him.

Before he kissed her again, his breath hitched, caught in his throat before it died there like it was his last and he stiffened. She pulled back slightly to find his eyes wide and focused behind her through the open passenger window. 

She didn’t get the chance to ask before Jack’s hand slammed against the back of her neck, pushing her head down into his lap. Her cheek hit his jeans with a soft gasp.

“Ow, Jack!” she hissed, her voice muffled against his thigh. “Jesus, you could have just asked! Warn a girl next time!”

“Shh!” he hissed back, desperately shoving her further down. “Stay down, just— stay down.”

“What are you–?” she started to protest, but his hand quickly lifted from her neck to cup over her mouth. She huffed an annoyed breath through her nose and tried to wiggle free, but the pressure of his palm only tightened.

But then she heard it: the rumble of an engine pulling up next to them. He looked up, eyes darting to the side of the truck. Her pulse quickened as the sound of a familiar vehicle grew closer, stomach dropping so far into her ass she could have shit it out.

Shit.

The engine of a truck growled to a stop beside them. Her heart stopped. She didn’t need to look up to know who sat in it. She’d know the sound of it anywhere. She’d listened to it pull in and out of the driveway for eighteen years. 

Shit.

“Quiet,” Jack whispered. “It’s your dad.”

“No shit it’s my—”

“Shut up, Beth!”

She clamped her hand over his just as the whir of her dad’s window rolling down cut through the night. Radio chatter spilled out into the dark.

She could picture him perfectly: arm resting on the window, mouth set in a hard line beneath his mustache, his hat on the seat beside him atop the leftovers Mom had packed before she went to bed, and the steely blue eyes she’d inherited locked onto Jack through the open window.

“Evenin’, Sheriff Baker,” Jack greeted, voice tight with fake friendliness.

He cleared his throat. His hand shook slightly over her lips. The tremor made her roll her eyes, a soft huff of laughter puffing from her nose and making him tighten his grip in warning. He was always nervous around Dad, despite the fact he’d seen the county sheriff fall asleep in his chair more times than she could count over the last four years and heard him mispronounce words like jalapeño in ways that felt entirely intentional.

“Thought you went home, son,” her father’s voice rumbled from the driver’s seat.

Shit. 

C’mon, Jack…be cool. Act natural.

“Um… I did, sir,” Jack replied quickly, his voice barely cracking as he cleared his throat. “Heard a rattle on my drive home. Just out for a quick drive to make sure I fixed it.”

Beth rolled her eyes, groaning against his palm. You’re an idiot, Jack Abbot. Dad was on the porch when he pulled away and his truck sounded fine. 

She pinched his leg hard, shooting a glare up at him didn’t return. Really? That’s the best you could do?  

As if on cue, Jack pressed against her mouth again. Before she could think too much about it, she grinned wickedly against his hand and licked a long, slow stripe across his palm. Jack jolted like he’d been shocked, but somehow managed to keep his face steady. He cleared his throat again and wiped his hand on his jeans before he flicked her cheek and clamped his hand over her mouth again.

“That so?” Dad’s voice remained measured, and she could imagine the way his brow quirked at Jack’s explanation. He wasn’t buying it. She knew he wasn’t buying it. Not for a second. “I didn’t hear anything when you left the house.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Started right before I got home, sir,” Jack answered, a little too quickly.

Recover, Jack. Pull it together. You’ve listened to this man baby-talk to the dog. You can do this.

“Uh-huh,” her father hummed. He was quiet for a beat, knuckles tapping against the truck door above the Montgomery County Sheriff insignia. “Leanne talk to you about Saturday evening?”

“Yes, sir. She talked to me before I left,” Jack replied, his voice steadier now. Beth drummed her fingers against his forearm, leg bouncing anxiously. 

Drive away, Dad. Get a call. Buy the story. Something. Shoo. Leave. Go away.

Dad grunted in response. Beth didn’t dare breathe. 

Drive away, Daddy. Drive away.

Then, casually, as if her father hadn't just nearly given her a heart attack:

“Elizabeth.”

They both stiffened so painfully tight that Jack jumped again when her nails bit into his leg.

“Come on up.”

Shit.

I’m dead, she decided. Totally dead. 

Deader than dead. Not in some tragic accident, not in some heroic blaze of glory. No. She died of humiliation after being caught by her dad with her head in her boyfriend’s lap. She could already picture the obituary: “Elizabeth Diane Baker, beloved daughter, perished of mortification after an ill-timed patrol stop. Survived by no dignity whatsoever.”

Tragic, really.

She sat up slowly, pushing her hair out of her face, her back straight against the seat. Dad’s face was flat. Unreadable. Radio chatter crackled in the silence between the windows. A deputy answered the call. All the while, Dad stared at her without a word. She kept her eyes down, not meeting his gaze or Jack’s.

Yep. She was grounded. Without a doubt. She’d walk across the stage in four years to take her diploma and still be grounded.

Heat crawled up her neck so white-hot that she was sure her face was the same color as her hair. She swallowed hard and offered him a tight smile.

“Hi Daddy,” she breathed.

Dad stared back for a long, painful moment. The street light flashed like a taunt. His fingers tapped against the door rhythmically. 

Finally, he turned his eyes forward and eased off the break.

“Home by midnight.”

"Okay, Daddy,” she managed.

Dad gave a short nod and pulled away without another word. He must’ve figured their humiliation was punishment enough. Or maybe he just didn’t feel like explaining to Mom where he found her. 

Fuck. He was so going to tell Mom. 

Well, if this was her last night alive, at least he was giving her time to get her affairs in order. First step: burn her diary. Then, destroy the crushed joints, condoms, and the world’s jankiest lighter jammed inside the Altoids tin in her sock drawer.

The glow of his taillights faded down the street. Neither of them spoke. Beth’s pulse roared in her ears. Jack waited until her father disappeared around the corner, then finally exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath for an hour.

“Jesus,” Beth said, swatting him lightly. “You are the worst at this.”

“I panicked, alright?” His head dropped back against the seat with another deep breath before he shot her a glare. “I cannot believe you licked me,” he said.

She finally allowed herself to laugh, heat climbing up her cheeks. “That’s the part you can’t believe? You’re lucky that’s all I did,” she said, jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow. “A rattle? Really? He was outside when you left!”

He winced, huffing out a chuckle and rubbing his face. “Next time, you come up with the excuse, smartass.”

Beth smirked and leaned into him. “Next time, don’t shove me into your crotch like an animal, genius .”

Jack barked out a laugh, rubbing his eyes before shifting toward her, his arm looping around her shoulder as he kissed her temple. “Yeah, well,” he said with a shrug, “worked, didn’t it?”

“No!” she laughed. “It didn’t! We still got caught, idiot!”

“You’re still here. I’d say it worked,” he said, checking the clock on the radio, lips tugging into a smirk as he pulled through the intersection. “And with an hour and a half to spare.”

She rolled her eyes, kicking her feet up onto the dash and sliding them out of reach when he tried to push them down. “Better drive fast then, Abby.”

His eyes returned to the road, her head resting on his shoulder. “Can’t,” he said. “Your dad is on duty.”

She rolled her eyes again, her heart finally slowing its jump in her chest as the streetlights on Main Street faded in the rearview mirror. The quiet returned: soft static over an old Springsteen song on the radio, the gentle roar of night air churning through the cab. Jack grinned, glancing down at her once before looking back at the road.

“Okay, Daddy,” he mocked, mimicking her voice.

“Shut up, Abby.”

The old paper mill stood like a hulking shadow at the edge of town, a remnant of a time when the machines hummed with life before it shut its doors in ‘72. Her grandpa had worked there before then, when the remnants of the machines that sat in the shadows like ghosts still pumped out paper across the state. Everyone’s grandpa had then.

Now, it was just a collection of rusted metal beams and crumbling brick walls that had been condemned by the county years ago, once vibrant red paint faded and splotched where graffiti had been painted over, the shattered windows boarded up only to be torn down and boarded up again when the next class of seniors discovered the hole in the chain link fence.

He brought her here for the first time sophomore year after he got his license in September. She had been nervous to climb the rickety fire stairs up to the room; heights were never really her thing. When the wind whistled through the building like a breath and made her jump, he’d placed a hand on her back to steady her, keeping it there as he followed close behind. He didn’t take it off until they reached the roof. Even then, it lingered long after her breathing evened.

“You can see the whole town from up here,” he told her when she asked what the hell they were doing.

He told her that he liked the quiet. It took a few more climbs before he told her that he went up there to find it when he couldn’t in his own house. 

Her hands had shaken that first night, eyes fixed on the cracked asphalt far below until he took her hands in his own and whispered for her to look straight ahead. So she did, watching the pinpricks of light flicker through the trees, her head resting on his shoulder.

He didn’t let go, and she didn’t ask him to when his fingers curled into hers for the first time.

He kissed her for the first time on that roof before the month was over. The first time they did a lot of things was on that roof.

He had been right. It did have the best view of town.

But her favorite view was always the stars.

The night sky stretched wide above them, scattered with distant light that always seemed to burn brighter out here. She’d trace the constellations with her fingers while they lay on their backs, whispering their names to Jack like she hadn’t already told him a dozen times.

Heat radiated off him as she nestled beside him, cheek tucked against his shoulder. Their legs tangled beneath the old blanket he kept under the seat, his arm slung around her as his thumb drew soft, absent circles on her shoulder. She traced idle patterns across his chest, listening to the steady rise and fall of his breath as he watched the sky.

They’d lain here like this so many times before, whispering beneath their stars as if these nights would never end. She’d believed they wouldn’t.

But now she lay under the same moon that once watched them trade promises, caught in the space between goodbye and not yet, begging for just a little more time with the boy she meant to keep those promises with.

“Mom wants to know what you want for dinner Saturday,” she murmured, resting her head on his chest. “She’ll make whatever you want for your last night. Just needs to know before Thursday’s grocery run.”

He didn’t look at her. Just kept his eyes on the stars, arm tightening around her to pull her closer.

“She doesn’t have to do that,” he said.

“She wants to,” she replied. “And you know Mom doesn’t take no for an answer.”

He was quiet for a moment, then muttered, “Whatever she makes is fine with me.”

She threaded her fingers through his hair, gently twisting a strand as her head rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing.

“I’m not ready for you to go, Abby,” she whispered, voice catching as she tucked her face into his shoulder.

“I know,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles along her jaw. “I’m not either.”

She closed her eyes, breathing him in, trying to memorize the weight of his arms, the warmth of his body, like she could store enough of it to last the next months.

“You promise you’ll write? Every day?”

“For the fifth time,” he said with a faint smile, “I promise.”

“I already wrote the first five,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “So you’ll have one for every day once you get to Fort Benning. I’m mailing them tomorrow. They’re numbered, so don’t open them all at once. Open them in order because I’ll know if you don’t.”

Jack let out a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling beneath her cheek. “Of course you did.”

“Every day, Jack,” she said again, firmer now.

He caught her hand in his, bringing her knuckles to his lips. 

“Every day, Beth,” he murmured against her skin.

She toyed with the collar of his jacket, tugging him down into a kiss. Her lips brushed his as she whispered, “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you at school.”

“I know,” he said, voice tight, a short laugh catching in his throat. He tried to smile, but it faltered. Nudging her gently, he added, “You’ll find some Ivy League pretty boy before orientation’s over and forget my name by Christmas.”

Her face fell, just slightly, before she shoved his chest and sat up, glaring down at him.

“Don’t say that,” she muttered, brow furrowed. “I’ve told you I hate those jokes.”

“I know. I’m kidding, baby,” he said softly, pushing up onto his elbow with a sheepish smirk.

“It’s not funny, Jack.”

“You’re right,” he said, quieter now. He reached out, smoothing her brow with his thumb before he took her hand and gently tugged her back down beside him. “Come here.”

She let him guide her back down, still pouting as his arms wrapped around her. Her head tucked beneath his chin, and she clung to him, the stars forgotten beneath the steady thunder of his heartbeat and the slow drag of his fingers through her hair. She closed her eyes, listening, to the rhythm of him, to the cicadas humming in the trees.

“It’s just for a little while,” she said finally, the words tumbling out fast, like she had to say them before they fell apart in her mouth.

“Once you come home and we know where you’re stationed, I’ll start looking at schools nearby. My credits will transfer. Everything I’m taking is just general ed anyway.”

He didn’t answer right away. She felt the change. The way his hand paused in her hair before continuing its slow, thoughtful rhythm.

“Is that really what you want?” he asked after a long silence.

“Of course it is,” she said, offering a soft smile up at him. “That’s the plan, remember?”

“I know it’s the plan,” he said gently, rolling onto his side to look at her fully. “But Penn… that was your dream, babe. Med school was your dream. You’ve been talking about it since the day I met you. I saw your face on that campus tour; you were glowing, Sparky. You really wanna give that up for some Army grunt who’s going to get sent God-knows-where every two years? You should be off saving lives in Philly or Pittsburgh-.”

“Or Seattle,” she interrupted. “Or San Antonio. Or San Diego. I am holding out for Hawaii, though.”

He pressed his lips into a tight line, sighing quietly through his nose. They’d had this conversation a hundred times—Fort Benning. Penn State. A trip to the courthouse when he got back so her name would be on his PCS paperwork, a new last name scribbled into the transfer forms she’d send off for spring semester. A tiny, beat-up house on base they’d turn into their own little corner of the world, where they’d fall asleep tangled up together instead of racing home before curfew. Maybe they’d get that German Shepherd he was always talking about.

Nothing big. Nothing fancy. Just theirs. That was all she ever wanted. Him and the promises they’d made on this rooftop. The rest was just scenery.

“It’s just a school,” she said softly, her voice soft and firm. “I can get my med degree anywhere. But I can’t get another you. I’m not giving anything up, Jack. Not when it’s you.”

She brushed her thumb along his lips.

“You’ll go to Fort Benning. I’ll go to school. And then we’ll figure it out. Wherever we go, we go together. Okay?”

He smiled, but it wasn’t the right kind. It was the same one he wore when she sped over to the shop after she opened the letter, waving her acceptance letter over her head like a victory flag, shouting that she got in before she was even fully out of her car. It didn’t crinkle his eyes like it did when she caught it from across her parents kitchen table while he explained their calculus homework to her for a third time, or light up his whole face after she kissed him under the porch light before he leaned in for just one more. No, this was tighter. Too little. Wrong.

“Okay, Sparky.”

He said it quiet, teasing like always, but even that felt thinner than usual. But it wouldn’t when he came back, she told herself. It was just the leaving, for both of them. The same reason that her lips had started to tremble before she kissed him goodnight lately as the red circle on her calendar drew nearer; Jack Leaves.  

But they’d come back. Both of them. And when he did, his smile would be the right kind again, and she wouldn’t cling to his hand like she was afraid to let go.

She shifted closer, tucking her leg between his like she could anchor him in place. Like maybe he wouldn’t slip away if she held on tightly enough and pinned them down to this place.

“You should be going with me,” she said, her throat tight. “You keep saying that Penn’s my dream. It was our dream, Jack. You should be leaving with me.”

“Yeah? And who’s grades are getting me in?” he said lightly, but his hand tightened against her thigh.

“There’s other schools in Philly,” she said quickly, twisting her fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt. “I could help you fill out applications. You could start spring, we could get an apartment between our schools. It’s not too late—.”

“Beth.”

She looked up at him, sniffling like it would somehow suck the tears she could feel threatening to spill back up into her eyes. She hated crying. Especially in front of him. She didn’t want to be another thing he had to take care of. He wiped them away with that same strange little smile, his hand lingering against her cheek longer than it needed to.

“I’m going,” he said quietly, brushing her cheek with her thumb. “Paperwork’s signed. I’m property of Uncle Sam now.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” she whispered.

“No,” he said, almost like it hurt. “It doesn’t.”

Another tear slipped free and she buried her face against his chest before he could see. His shirt smelled like soap and summer and Jack , and she hated that she was already memorizing it.

“Hey,” he murmured, tilting her chin up until she had no choice but to look at him. His thumb skimmed her jaw and the ache that throbbed in her chest started to hurt just a little more. “Don’t do that. You’re gonna be just fine without me, Sparky.”

“You promise you’re going to write?” she asked with a wobbly laugh, swiping at her eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Beth,” he laughed, but it cracked a little. 

He rolled onto his back and brought her with him, her head tucked beneath his chin. The night spread out above them, his fingers tracing along her back while he stared up silently. She could’ve sworn she he heard him breathe like he was going to say something. Just for a half second. But the words never came.

“You’re going to make one hell of a doctor,” he said. Something in her gut twisted tight; a feeling that whatever he’d meant to say wasn’t what had come out of his mouth. She wanted to ask. Almost did. But she didn’t push.

Instead, she rolled her eyes. A small smile tugged at her lips. “You sound like my mom.”

“Well, she’s right. Doctor Elizabeth Baker,” he said like he was trying it on, curling his fingers into hers. “Doesn’t sound half bad if you ask me.” 

“Oh, don’t tell her that. Her head doesn’t need to get any bigger,” she laughed, his own warm against her cheek while he lazily played with her fingers, splaying them out over his own before intertwining them and letting it drop to his chest. “Doctor Elizabeth Abbot sounds a lot better.”

His fingers tightened around her own. 

“Yeah,” he breathed it out like a sigh. “It does.”

She looked up at him, face shadowed in the pale glow of the moonlight, his eyes fixed on her like he was seeing her for the first time. He always looked at her like that—just the way he had the day he slammed his locker shut and found her on the other side, fighting with the lock that never worked. It really, really never got old.

“I’m waiting. That’s it,” she said, smiling up at him. She swiped her thumb over his lips, coaxing up the corner of his mouth until his lips curved for her. Not that tight little wrong one. The real one. The wide, eye-crinkling one that belonged to her. “So get with the program, and shut up about it, Abby.”

His chest rose with a breath she felt more than heard. His fingers curled tighter around hers, holding on like he didn’t quite trust himself to let go. 

Jack’s chest rumbled with a quiet laugh. “Yeah? Why don’t you come over here and make me?”

Beth huffed, flopping onto her back beside him with a dramatically bored sigh, limbs sprawled like a cat in the sun. “You know, I think I’m good right here, actually.”

He turned his head to look at her with brow quirked, trying and failing to hide the amusement that flickered across his. “What now?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said breezily, lifting her hand to wave it vaguely in the air between them. “Just offended that you’d even suggest that I’d move to Pittsburgh, like this isn’t an Eagles family.”

She gestured pointedly between the two of them and Jack snorted. “You’re ridiculous. You know that?”

“And you’re an idiot, Jack Abbot,” she said, grinning up at the stars.

He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at her. She snorted out a laugh and the edge of his smile softened. Something quieter. Smaller. Wrong.

“Yeah,” he said, reaching out to toy lazily with the hem of her shirt like he couldn’t quite help himself. “But I’m your idiot, Beth Baker.”

She reached up, threading her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging just enough to make him lean down.

“Don’t you ever forget it,” she whispered against his mouth before she kissed him; slow and sure and stubborn, like she was etching herself into him piece by piece. 

Jack kissed her back the same he had on that same roof for the very first time. Soft, certain, a little breathless. His lips brushed against hers in a way that made her chest ache with the sheer rightness of it. His thumb stroked along her jaw, his other hand tangling in her hair, gentle and steady. She felt him smile against her mouth, soft and fleeting.

“You better come back,” she teased, her voice catching even as she tried to make it teasing. She tried to make it playful, tried to keep it light, but the hope in her voice was too raw to hide.

Jack didn’t answer, just kissed her again, deeper this time. Slower. 

She kissed him back like a promise. Like a tether. Like if she just pressed hard enough, long enough, she could keep him here with her. Stitch herself into the seams of his heart so tight he wouldn’t be able to leave without feeling her there. He shifted, rolling her onto her back with a low groan, pressing his forehead against hers. Jack sighed against her mouth, this soft, almost broken sound. 

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, hesitating just a moment before his hand tangled tighter in her hair. He shifted, rolling over her, and his weight settled over her. When she reached for his jacket, she found he was already shrugging it off. 

There was no rush to it. No clumsy fumbling like there had been sometimes before. Everything he did now was slow, reverent, like every second mattered. Like every touch was one he needed to keep. Every heartbeat, every breath, every little piece of her. Like he wanted to hold it close for as long as he could. Beth ran her fingers through his hair, smiling into his kiss even as her eyes burned.

She loved him. She loved him so much it scared her sometimes.

But Jack would come back. He had to. Because he loved her too. And when he did, they’d have the life they promised to each other under their stars. Like they never had to say goodbye.

They missed curfew by eight minutes.

Not their best. Definitely not their worst.

Gravel crunched beneath their feet as he walked her up the drive, their hands swinging loose between them. Every summer, her dad swore he’d pave it. He never did. She suspected he liked hearing the crunch; his own low-tech alarm system in case she ever snuck out. He never confirmed it, of course.

She wiggled her foot, trying to shake the heel of her shoe back into place, the laces dragging behind. With a sigh, she bent down, hooked a finger under the canvas, and tugged. Jack stopped when her hand pulled gently at his, watching her straighten with quiet amusement.

“I think I left a sock up there,” she whispered.

He rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Hey, I’m sure that wool sock made a perfectly cozy bird nest last winter. Even if my toes nearly froze off.”

He huffed a laugh and crouched in front of her, patting his thigh. She lifted her foot, resting it there while he tugged her laces tight. “One of these days, you’re gonna trip over these and eat shit, Beth.”

“I am so not,” she scoffed.

“You so will,” he shot back, motioning for the other foot. “And I’m gonna laugh my ass off when it happens.”

“That’s because you’re an asshole,” she said, nudging his shoulder with her knee.

His hands paused just for a beat before he finished the loop and pulled the laces snug. He pressed a kiss to her knee before rising, offering his hand. She took it, and his fingers closed around hers just a little tighter than before.

For a second, just a second, she caught a flicker of something in his eyes. Sadness maybe. Or something heavier. Maybe the same thing that made a home in her chest months ago and took out an extended lease. But then he squeezed her fingers and smiled, that easy, crooked grin.

“Come on, troublemaker,” he said, tugging her gently toward the house like he hadn’t just looked at her like she was the last good thing in the whole damn world. “Let’s get you inside.”

They climbed the porch in slow, unhurried steps. A moth circled the porch light, its wings flashing in and out of the warm, golden glow that spilled over the weathered boards. Beth paused at the top, turning back to him with a sheepish smile.

“Oh! Your jacket,” she said, her fingers already moving to shrug it off.

Jack reached out, his hands wrapping gently around her arms to still her. His touch was warm through the worn denim.

“Why don’t you hang on to it for me?” he said, voice low and a little rough. His thumb brushed a slow, lazy arc over her sleeve. “Always looked better on you anyway.”

Beth laughed under her breath, and shrugged the jacket back up onto her shoulders. She tucked her hands into the too-long sleeves, the fabric swallowing her fingers whole. With a smile, she draped her arms around his neck, her body pressed against his under the dim light.

“I’ll see you Saturday,” she murmured. “0600.”

He lifted a brow while his hands settled onto her waist, lips stretching into a smirk. “That’s six in the morning.”

“Shoot,” she clicked her tongue, laughing softly. “I thought I was getting better at military time.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned in. She pushed up onto her toes to meet him, pausing just enough to catch his gaze.

“Don’t be late,” she whispered.

For a flutter of moth wings, Jack just looked at her, smiling that same small, wrong smile. “Sure, Sparky,” he whispered back.

She kissed him again, breathing him in like she could hold on just a little longer.

“Goodnight, Jack,” she whispered against his mouth.

“Goodbye, Beth,” he whispered back.

But she didn’t catch it. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to.

The porch steps creaked under her weight when she finally turned away, fumbling for the key tucked beneath the mat. It slipped between her fingers once before she managed to get it into the lock. She looked over her shoulder, just for a second, and caught him standing halfway to the truck with hands tucked in his pockets, staring at her.

“What?” she called softly, smiling. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jack didn’t move for a second, didn’t even blink. Then he smiled. Not the wrong one. Not her smile. Something gentler.

“Just… taking a good look at you.”

She rolled her eyes, teasing like she always did, her voice warm and light. “Like what you see, Abbot?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he walked back to her in three long strides, took her face in his hands, and kissed her like he was trying to share the same breath. When his lips finally left hers, he dropped his forehead to hers with a shaky breath.

“I love you, Beth,” he whispered.

She smiled. “I love you too, Abby.” 

Jack kept his hand in hers as long as he could, his fingers trailing after hers when she finally turned away. She gave him one last smile before she pushed the door shut between them.

Before the lock even had time to catch in the tumbler, the entryway lights flicked on, flooding the front hall in harsh, accusing brightness.

“Elizabeth Diane Baker!”

“Oh my god, Mom! I know!”

On Saturday, he was late.

Not that big of a surprise. He was always late. And it was never his fault.

Except this time when it was.

Her parents hadn’t known what to say when six o’ clock slipped into seven. Mom just covered the dishes with a tea towel to keep dinner warm and gave her a small smile when her call went straight to the answering machine for the third time.

She sat in front of the living room window while seven stretched into eight. Mom covered the dishes with cling wrap and put them in the fridge while Dad stood behind her, gripping the counter, whispering a conversation Beth didn’t want to hear. Her focus stayed on the drive through the window, fiddling with the button hole on the sleeve of his jacket, eyes fixed on the mailbox.

The sun sank lower on the horizon. Eight passed. Mom sent Christopher up to bed after a while.

Sometime after nine, she heard Mom’s footsteps behind her, light and soft against the carpet like she was approaching a bomb. Beth didn’t take her eyes off the window.

“It’s getting late, honey,” Mom said gently. “Maybe try calling him in the morning?”

“I can’t call in the morning, Mom,” she snapped. “He’s leaving in the morning.” 

Mom just pressed her lips together and made a quiet noise. She could see the reflection of her tight mom’s smile in the glass.

It felt like an apology. She didn’t need an apology. He was just late. 

Mom stood there for a beat longer before slippered feet padded down to the den and she started to whisper with Daddy again.

It was never his fault when he was late. There had to be a reason that he was. The truck must have broken down. His dad must have come home. Because it couldn’t be his fault that he wasn’t here. Not when Jack promised he would be.

By ten, she was throwing the strap of her purse over her shoulder and stuffing her feet into her Keds. Mom and Dad stood in the entryway like statues, watching her fumbled for her keys on the hook by the door with that stupid look. She cursed under her breath when her keys slipped from her fingers, clattering against the hardwood.

“I bet the truck crapped out on him and he’s trying to walk it,” she mumbled. Though, she wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince. She scooped up her keys. “I’ll go find him.”

As she stood up, she caught the look that passed between her parents. So quick it was imperceptible. But there. 

“What?” She snapped.

Mom looked up at Dad when he placed a large hand on her shoulder. She let out a sigh that seemed to deflate her whole body and reached up to toy with the chain around her neck.

“Honey…”

She hated that voice. That soft, too-gentle, nurse-on-duty voice. The one Mom used at work when she was giving someone bad news.

“It’s Jack. You know he wouldn’t just not show up without calling, Mom,” she shot back, yanking the door open. “We’ll be back soon.”

The chorus of crickets and frogs felt too loud in the dark. Every creak of the porch steps beneath her feet cracked like gunfire in the stillness. Gravel crunched under her sneakers, laces dragging like jet streams behind her as the short walk to her car stretched out like a mile.

She slid into the driver’s seat and yanked the door shut, jamming the key into the ignition. The engine growled to life, the stereo blaring at a volume that would’ve earned a Dad-glare and a lecture about distracted driving. Headlights flickered on, still waking, as she was already backing down the drive.

With a huff, she reached up to snap the sun visor back into place, still down from her drive home from Becca’s that morning. Her hand froze halfway when she spotted the Polaroid tucked beneath the elastic strap. Jack grinned up at her from under the faded photo paper, his arm slung casually around her shoulders during her campus visit last May. She was tucked beneath his chin, beaming like she hadn’t known how to be anything but happy that day.

She stared at it, her chest both too tight and too empty all at the same time.

The car idled in the driveway, headlights casting pale beams over the cracked mailbox post while she just sat there, staring.

Then she dragged her hand down her face, threw the visor up hard enough it slapped against the roof, and jerked the car into drive.

By eleven, she was standing outside his house.

The porch light flickered in a nauseating rhythm, the yellowed yard swallowed in shadows, but the front window glowed with the pale light of a television behind the curtains. A dog barked in the distance.

Jack’s truck wasn’t in the driveway. The empty patch of oil-stained concrete where it usually sat stared back at her.

She shifted her weight, the paint chipped and peeling boards of the porch crying under her untied shoes. Her hands shook when she stuffed them into the sleeves of his jacket, breathing in deep through her nose like that could steady her.

She hadn’t been here more than a couple of times. Jack never liked bringing her here. He always had a reason not to when she asked; a busted water heater. His dad was sleeping off a shift or in one of his moods. Always something. She stopped asking after a while. He seemed relieved when she did. 

But, she’d tried the shop only to find it dark and the parking lot empty. Followed the roads he’d drive to her house looking for him bent over an open hood with grease on his cheek and a million apologies. She’d even climbed to the roof of the paper mill to see if he was looking for a few more moments of quiet before tomorrow came. 

But in none of those places did she find Jack.

Now, there was nothing but a flickering porch light and a hollow, gnawing feeling in her gut. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathed again, then forced her hand out of the too-long sleeve and knocked on the door.

She waited, listening hard for footsteps, for a light switch, for anything. She tossed her hair over her shoulder with a huff and knocked harder.

The door swung open before her knuckles could make contact with the wood again. The stench of cigarette smoke and stale beer hit her nose as his father’s figure filled the doorframe, backlit by the hallway light. The too loud sounds of the TV spilled out behind him, cutting through the dark.

Frank Abbot shared the same stubborn jaw with his son, though the dark stubble shadowing it suggested he hadn’t shaved in days. The hazel eyes that had smiled so gently at her from across the blanket that night were now watery and bloodshot in his father’s hardened face. He was already drunk. She could smell that much. A cigarette dangled loosely between her fingers. He took a long drag and stared down at her like he was bored.

She straightened, forcing a smile. “Hi, Mr. Abbot. It’s nice to-.”

“What.” He said flatly, blowing acrid smoke into her face. 

She pinched her eyes shut against it, waiting for the smell to dissipate before she spoke again. “I was wondering if Jack is here? He was supposed to come to dinner at my house and didn’t show, so I got—.”

“Ain’t here.” His dad was already turning away from the door and shutting it behind him.

“Hey! Mr. Abbot, wait.”

She put a foot into the door before she could even think about it to keep him from closing it. The danger in Mr. Abbot’s glare didn’t register when she met it. She didn’t have time for his bullshit. Instead, she leveled it straight on with her best Sheriff Tom Baker stare; one Frank had been on the receiving end of more times than he could probably count. She didn’t care that he had a good foot and hundred pounds on her and absolutely nothing to lose. Frankly, she didn’t either.

She knew the patrol schedule. Knew exactly when the deputies rolled past this house. They’d been called here enough times to make it a regular stop; especially when her dad asked them to keep an eye on it.

Jack always told her that she was too stubborn for her own good. Maybe she should have believed him.

“What the hell you think you’re doin’, girl? Got some nerve puttin’ your foot in my damn door like that.”

She sighed, ignoring the slur in his words. “Do you know where he is, Mr. Abbot?”

She pulled her foot out when he swung the door open again with an annoyed grunt. “Left two days ago. Headed off to play solider, I guess. Good fuckin' riddance. Better they deal with his sorry ass than me.”

The words hit her like a slap to the face.

“Thursday?” she breathed, almost choking on the syllables. The porch swayed under her feet. Her hands weren’t shaking from the way Frank stared at her anymore.

“That’s two days ago, ain’t it?”

She wasn’t even looking at Frank now. Instead she stared past him, through the empty house, through the last forty-eight hours that suddenly didn’t make sense anymore. Two days ago. No. That couldn’t be right. It couldn’t be. That was the morning after their night on the roof. The way he’d held her. The way he’d kissed her goodbye.

She blinked hard. Swallowed. Her eyes darted to the empty drive. “Where’s his truck?”

Frank scoffed like the question insulted him. “I sold it.”

“What?” she said, too quickly, too loudly. “No. He told me that he wanted me to—.”

“Yeah, sounds like he was tellin’ ya a whole lotta shit, kid.” He snorted, already swinging the door closed. 

The door slammed shut before she could say anything else, the sharp crack of wood on frame ringing in her ears louder than the crickets. She stared at it, frozen. A second passed. Then another.

She didn’t remember stepping back. Didn’t remember the porch steps creaking beneath her, or the sounds of the night over the deafening roar of blood in her ears.

She didn’t remember the cracked sidewalk under her shoes, or slipping into her car. Didn’t remember what song blared too loud on the stereo during the drive home, or how long she sat motionless in the driveway sometime after midnight.

She had only a vague memory of reaching for the visor with trembling hands, her blurred, wet eyes locked on the photo tucked beneath the strap.

What she remembered clearly, viscerally, was the ache. It tore through her so severe that she felt like she stopped breathing. She couldn’t cry. Couldn’t speak. She just stared at the smile that once belonged to her before it felt so wrong.

What she remembered were the words pounding through her skull like artillery fire, leaving her ears ringing.

He was gone.

He left.

He left her.

But he promised.

The passenger door clicked open. She didn’t look over as the frame of the car groaned under Dad’s weight, the seat creaking as he lowered himself in. The bear of a man was far too tall for her little sedan. He always griped about his knees being up to his chest whenever he borrowed it to run into town after Mom forgot her lunch on the counter.

But tonight, he didn’t say a word.

He just ducked inside, turned the stereo off, and stared forward with her, hands folded quietly in his lap. They sat like that for what felt like an eternity before he reached over and gently closed the visor.

She blinked hard, willing the tears back.

No. 

He promised. Jack promised her.

She clenched her jaw, pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth like it could hold everything in place. Like it could keep the ache from spilling out. Her fingers curled tight around the sleeves of his jacket bunched in her lap. She bit the inside of her cheek until the taste of metal bloomed behind her teeth.

The quiet didn’t last forever.

Her breath hitched first. 

Just once. Then again. Sharper, tighter until her whole chest seized with it. She didn’t try to stop the tears that slipped down her cheeks. They came quiet at first, steady streams trailing over her jaw. Then they came harder; shoulders shaking, breaths breaking in jagged pieces.

“Daddy—.” she gasped, voice cracking on the word like it hurt to say.

She didn’t have to reach far. His arms were already open. She fell into them like she was tumbling off a cliff, and he caught her like he always had. Strong arms wrapped around her, one hand at the back of her head as he pulled her close to his broad chest.

The sob that followed shook her whole frame. He rocked her gently, like he used to when she’d wake from nightmares too big for little legs to outrun. Only this nightmare wasn’t a monster under the bed. This nightmare was real. And it broke her open so wide she feared she’d never close.

Her sobs came louder then. Gasping, ugly things. Raw. She couldn’t speak through them. Couldn’t breathe through the ache in her throat as she cried for things she couldn’t even name.

She cried for the boy who’d smiled like the world disappeared when he looked at her. For the boy who kissed her like they had time. For the boy who kissed her hands under headlights and whispered about forever. For the boy in the photo tucked away that she couldn’t bear to look at, smiling like he’d stay.

She cried for the promises tossed aside like empty bottles behind the mill. For the voice that whispered forever and meant it right up until the morning he didn’t.

But mostly, she cried for the girl that never left that rooftop. Who sat there still waiting on that old blanket under their stars, forgotten with her sock in the place between goodnight and goodbye.

And this time, no one came back for her.