Archive of Our Own

Beth shouldn’t have found any of that hot.

Really, she shouldn’t have. There was nothing inherently sexy about a grown man staring down a teenage boy like a sniper calculating angles and trajectories. Nothing attractive about the way he made Abby smile and roll her eyes when he reminded her—for the fourth damn time—to call if she needed him. There shouldn’t have been anything remotely appealing about watching her daughter melt into his arms like she’d been doing it all her life.

But something about it did hit. Hard.

Maybe it was the wine. Or maybe it was just him. The way he’d stood there, steady and unshakable, like something she could lean against and never have to wonder if it would hold. The way his eyes had lingered on her a beat too long, like he already knew exactly what he did to her. All she knew was the warmth unfurling low in her stomach, spreading like firelight until it wrapped itself around every inch of her.

It was the same heat she’d been pretending not to feel for weeks. The same pulse she’d been trying to ignore since she saw him in that exam room—the one that caught her off guard in the quiet moments, that kept her awake some nights with the ghost of his hands on her skin while her own hands chased after it, his name caught in her throat. The same spark that caught every time his hands moved in the trauma bay—strong, precise, capable—or when she caught him laughing with a peds patient, soft in a way that wrecked her a little more each time and left her wanting to drag him into an on-call room.

And god, that supply closet earlier that week. The way he’d caught her by the hem of her scrub top like it was nothing, tugging her back against him until she could feel the warmth of his breath ghost over her skin. His mouth brushed her ear, low and rough as he whispered things that left her trembling. One kiss against her shoulder and he was gone, leaving her flushed, overheated, and way too wet for her workplace, gripping the edge of the counter just to stay upright long enough to regain her composure.

Needless to say, this had to be par for the course. She stood there with her thighs pressed together and her fingers idly toying with his belt loop, half listening to whatever story Marcus was telling across the yard. Something about his father-in-law, or basketball. Maybe both. She sure as hell wasn’t listening.

Her arm found its way around his waist as the taillights disappeared down the street, her body already leaning into his when she tucked her hand into the back pocket of his jeans like she’d done it a thousand times before. He glanced down at her, mouth tugging up at the corner, and that did it—whatever restraint she’d had snapped clean in half.

She rose on her toes, lips brushing the side of his jaw. “You have no idea what watching you play guard dog does to me,” she murmured, low enough that only he could hear.

Jack huffed out a laugh, low and rough, and pulled her against his side, tilting his head towards her. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, her hand fisting lightly in the fabric at his side. “I’ve been thinking about getting you alone all night. So unless you’ve got any objections, maybe we call it—”

His breath hitched, just slightly, but enough to make heat pool low in her stomach.

Jack raised his hand, calling out to Marcus and Jada. “We’re heading inside—getting out of the cold! ‘Night!”

A chorus of cheerful voices replied from the yard. “Goodnight!” Jack waved, grinning, and their laughter followed him as he turned toward the house.

“Lead the way, sweetheart,” he murmured, letting her guide him up the walk. Atlas padded after them, tail wagging, oblivious to the undercurrent between them.

The second the door clicked shut behind them, the world shrank. Jack barely had a moment to turn before she pressed him against the door, fingers sliding under his shirt, nails grazing skin. Her lips found his slowly at first, teasing, testing, as though she’d been starving for this and had finally decided it was worth the risk.

He inhaled sharply, a low sound that made her pulse spike, before his hands came up to her waist, holding her steady against him. Beth’s lips traced a path down his neck, soft and teasing, and Jack groaned, tilting his head just enough to give her better access. Her hands were already sliding under his jacket, tugging it off with a snap of impatience. The fabric hit the floor with a muffled thud, and she dropped to her knees, fingers working at his belt like she’d been rehearsing this moment in her head for weeks. She had. But that hardly felt important now.

“You’re in a rush,” Jack said, half-laughing, half-breathless, “what, trying to set a world record?”

Beth looked up at him, tugging the leather free from the buckle with a soft creak. “If I wait, someone might walk in.” She tugged at his zipper. “And I’m very tired of being interrupted.”

Jack shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re ruthless, you know that?”

“I’m realistic,” she shot back, leaning closer to hook her fingers under his waistband, “and impatient. Pick one.”

Jack exhaled slowly, trying to keep his composure, but the way his fingers combed through her hair betrayed him. “Fine. Impatient it is,” he muttered.

A soft, pleased hum rolled through her as she eased his pants down low on his thighs, her nails dragging lightly against his skin on the way down. She tugged the fabric just low enough to free him from his boxers, already half-hard and leaking. The sound he made when she wrapped her hand around him with a tug—somewhere between a groan and a growl—was exactly what she’d been chasing all night.

Beth tilted her head back just enough to watch him as she smeared her thumb against the bead of precum. His head tipped back with a grunt, thudding against the door when her tongue followed with a careful lick before she drew back, still stroking him slowly. He was braced against the door now, chest rising and falling in a way that made her pulse skip. His jaw was tight, like he was hanging onto that last thread of control, and god, she loved seeing him like that.

His hands flexed at his sides like he was trying not to touch her, and it made a thrill shoot straight through her. She wanted him wrecked, wanted that steady, unshakable exterior to crack in her hands. Her mouth hovered a breath away from him, her hands sliding up the backs of his thighs. She brought her mouth to him again, the flat of her tongue lapping at the head of his cock, her eyes fixed on his. A string of curses hissed from his mouth as his hips bucked at the touch.

Jack exhaled sharply, his voice low and rough. “Jesus, Beth.”

She cut him off with a slow drag of her lips against the sharp line of his hip bone, feeling him shudder under her mouth. “Shh. No talking,” she murmured, almost a purr. “Just stand there and let me ruin you a little.”

His response came as a tight nod, his hips rocking forward again in response to her touch. She couldn’t help the smirk that split her face at the sight of him watching her with darkened eyes. She brushed her thumb over the faded scar on his hip, letting her lips trace along the parts of him that were new in all of the gilded familiar pieces of him.

She lowered her mouth to him and dragged her tongue along the thick vein on the underside of his cock. Jack hissed out as the wet heat of her mouth closed around him and slid low to the base, prodding against her throat before she dragged her lips and tongue up along the length of him. The growled way her name left his throat became her new favorite sound as her tongue swirled around the tip of him and his head fell back against the door again with a throaty moan.

Her hand joined moments later to slide up and down him in tandem with her mouth. His whole body felt like a live wire under her, crackling and twitching under her touch. Her head continued to bob in his lap, her hair swaying with each motion as she took as much of him as she could, inch by inch, her eyes pinched shut and cheek hallowed. His hands fell to her hair, twining in strands of copper tight enough to tug at the roots.

“Fuck,” he groaned out, hips jerking towards her again. Her lips turned up into a smile around him as hazel eyes peered down at her in the darkest shade she’d ever seen. “Jesus, Beth—you look so pretty like this. So pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

She hummed around him, lips chasing her hand with each deliberate bob. He reached down to stroke her cheek, warm fingers brushing along soft skin. She looked up at him with nothing but heat in those blue eyes as the pad of his thumb brushed along freckled cheeks. Her lips left him with a wet pop, darkened and wet with saliva, Beth still stroking him in one hand as she pressed a kiss to his palm.

“Is this okay?” She murmured before she pressed her lips to his too sensitive flesh again. He could only groan in response.

She knew damn well it was more than okay, he thought, but he found himself unable to string together the words to tell her just how okay it was. Beth giggled around him, her eyes still fixed on his as she licked him again, lips and chin slick, her lipstick smudged along the length of him in a brick red smear the color of teenaged bad decisions and stolen moments from a lifetime ago. She seemed to be enjoying every moment of this, and fuck, he didn’t want her to stop.

Instead he nodded, trying to recall any words at all with her grip around him, sure that whatever left his mouth would be completely incoherent. Her smile was positively feline as began her movements again, tortuously slow at first, her tongue swirling and licking at him. Her lips left him again before she spit onto the head of his cock and returned her hand to him, massaging the slick length of him while she looked up at him with wet eyes, her chest heaving. He couldn’t help the moan that escaped his throat as his hips bucked into her fist.

She licked him again before taking him into her mouth, letting him guide himself deep, her throat clenching around him as she gagged around his cock. Her nails bit into his thigh and he felt his breath catch at the feeling of her throat around him. His whole body reacted to her, tightening with pleasure, his fingers gripping at her hair when she pulled back with a moan around him, the sound vibrating around sensitive flesh and straight up his spine.

Her eyes fluttered open, lashes wet, dark makeup smudged beneath them. Jack felt that familiar knot tighten in his gut at the sight of her smile. Her soft lips pressed against the tip of him in a brief, almost innocent kiss, only to lap at him with a playful flick of her tongue, eyes locked on his like a silent dare.

Before she could dive back in, he caught a fistful of her hair with a low growl, tilting her head back so she met his gaze. She stared up at him through thick lashes, his cock bobbing against parted lips, breath coming in shallow pants, her cheeks and chest flushed a delicate pink, hair tousled by his hands.

He took her in for a slow moment—kneeling before him, his cock teasingly close but just out of reach, that mischievous smirk still lingering like she’d gotten away with something undeniably sinful. She leaned forward again, but he tugged her back again, earning a disapproving whine.

“Up,” he growled, the word rough and sharp, vibrating low in his chest.

She whimpered, a soft, needy sound that made his teeth ache to sink in, before her fingers found the waistband of his jeans and tugged him closer. Her mouth followed, tracing slow, teasing paths along his stomach, over his hips, daring him to lose control.

He gritted his teeth, the heat of her lips driving him wild, and grabbed her by the hair again, pulling her back just enough to meet his gaze. Her eyes flashed at him, annoyed but blazing, and he let out a low, satisfied groan.

“You’re lucky I don’t just—” he started, voice thick, but she cut him off with a look that was half defiance, half invitation.

“Don’t what?” she breathed, lips twitching like she already knew the answer. “Fuck me right here in the entryway? If I remember correctly, you’ve done it before.”

Jack’s hand tightened in her hair, pulling her just a little closer.

“I had better knees then. Stand up, pretty girl,” he said, every word dripping with hunger, and she shivered at the sound, teasing him back with a tilt of her chin and a wicked little smirk. He traced his thumb along the plush of her lower lip, hissing out a breath when she sucked the digit between her lips, greedy tongue sweeping over calloused skin. He smirked, watching her thighs press together and rock against the friction of her jeans.

She straightened up, but barely had time to steady herself before he was on her, lips claiming every inch of exposed skin like he was memorizing it. His mouth traveled in a slow, hot path from her collarbone to the curve of her neck, teeth grazing lightly, a teasing nip that had her shivering before she even realized it.

Her hands found his waist, tugging at his pants in a rush to bring him closer, and he pressed her back against the living room with the solid weight of his chest, keeping her pinned even as she started shedding the rest of her layers. Sweater first, then his shirt over his head with a quick yank, the fabric falling away in a heap. Her jeans hit the floor with a soft creak of denim, leaving only the thin gray tank top between them, soft under his hands as he lifted it over her head.

By the time her knees hit the arm of the couch, she was down to nothing but her underwear—deliberately chosen, he realized with a low groan—dark green lace that cut high on her hips, nipples pebbled against the sheer cups of her bra. Her hair was a mess, lips smudged from earlier kisses, eyes wide and bright and completely wild. Every inch of her looked made to drive him insane.

He caught her lips again, deep and eager, letting his hands roam freely over the soft planes of her body, memorizing, claiming, devouring. She gasped against him, a little breathless laugh mingling with moans, and the living room faded away, leaving just the two of them, heat and hunger and need sparking between their bodies like fire.

Jack’s hands didn’t linger politely; they gripped her hips, hauling her impossibly close so that her chest pressed against his. She let out a sharp gasp, caught between a laugh and a moan, when his hand dipped into her panties, gliding through the slick between her thighs. He chuckled low against her ear, the vibration making her shiver.

“Fuck, look at you. All of that for me?” he murmured, voice rough, teasing.

Beth arched into him, fingers tangling in his hair, biting her lip to keep from saying yes—though she wanted to scream it. “Jack…” she breathed, but he silenced her with a slow, deliberate kiss, teeth grazing her bottom lip, tongue teasing hers until she melted against him.

He tugged back just enough to glance at her, eyes dark and hungry. “Tell me,” he growled, his tone leaving no room for argument. She straightened, knees weak, heart hammering, and he pressed her back against the couch arm again, lips hunting hers, biting, sucking, marking. “Need to hear you say it, pretty girl. What do you need?”

“Touch me,” she gasped out. “Please, Jack—touch me.”

Jack’s hands gripped her hips, tugging her back with a rough, possessive ease. Before she could even catch her balance, he leaned her over the arm of the couch, pressing her down so that the curve of her body was perfectly exposed. Her breath hitched, chest pressed against the cushion, and she felt his heat settle against her back.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he murmured against her ear, voice low and dangerous.

Beth shivered, her fingers digging into the fabric under her, nails catching on the couch. “Jack…” she breathed, half warning, half plea, and he only chuckled, teeth grazing the shell of her ear, lips trailing down her neck, biting, sucking, teasing.

His hands roamed lower, tracing the line of her hips, fingertips brushing against her underwear, and she arched instinctively, unable to stop the little moan that escaped. A shiver raked down her spine. She tried to shift, to grind back against the heat of him, but his grip tightened, a quiet warning. Jack’s hands tightened on her hips, holding her there—right where he wanted her. The rough press of his palm against her lower back kept her curved over the arm of the couch, her cheek brushing the soft fabric, breath hitching as his body crowded hers from behind.

His hands slid over her, slow and claiming, mapping the curve of her hips and the swell of her thighs, thumbs hooking just under the lace at the waistband of her underwear. Her breath caught when he pulled the fabric taut against her skin, dragging it just enough to make her whimper, her fingers curling into the couch cushion for something to hold onto.

“Look at you,” he muttered, half to himself, the words rough and warm against her shoulder as he pressed a kiss to her bare skin. “All worked up and I’ve hardly even touched you yet.”

“You’re…” she swallowed hard, voice shaky, “…such an ass.”

He chuckled against her, the sound low and dark, then ran his mouth down her spine, slow kisses and sharp little bites that left her trembling. By the time he reached her hips, she was panting, eyes squeezed shut, her thighs pressing together out of sheer desperation.

Jack straightened just enough to let one hand trail between her thighs, fingers brushing light—too light—against heat and lace. She gasped, hips jerking against his hand, but his other hand pressed her back down again. His fingers slid deeper, brushing against every sensitive curve, while his other hand pressed her shoulders down into the couch, keeping her pinned, helpless, and completely his. She squirmed, moaned, every breath shaky and hot, the world reduced to the press of his body, the heat of his hands, the sound of him growling her name into her ear. The teasing stretch, the pull of restraint—every second was a delicious torment. And Beth was completely, utterly lost in it.

“God, you feel…perfect,” he groaned, lips grazing her shoulder as his fingers dipped just inside the lace. The faint, slick warmth there made her shiver, hips jerking involuntarily.

“Jack…” she breathed, a little whine in her voice that had him chuckling against her skin.

“You like that?” he murmured, voice rough, each word dragging across her nerves like fire. “You like me holding you here, teasing you?”

“Yes,” she gasped, teeth sinking into her lip. “Please… please don’t stop.”

He smirked, low and dangerous, pulling her even closer against him. “Oh, sweetheart… I’m not stopping. Not until you beg me to. We’ve got all night.”

Beth moaned, fists digging into the couch, body arching back against him, desperate for more. His other hand gripped her hip tight, pressing her even closer to him, keeping her pinned, teasing, aching. Every brush, every nip, every low murmur of her name was driving her wild. She gasped as he yanked her hips back to his roughly, already able to feel his cock pressed against her thigh. He pulled her panties down and slipped his fingers between her legs, gliding them through the warm slickness that pooled there in a single, agonizing stroke.

Beth sucked in a breath at the drag of his calloused skin against her and pressed her hips back against his palm at the familiar, welcome stretch. Her hips rocked back, desperate for more, his other hand tracing lazy circles against her clit. Her cheeks flushed as embarrassment blossomed in her chest at the noises she made. Here she was, soaking wet and fucking herself against his hand as she gasped and sputtered like her brain had become completely devoid of intelligent thought, and he was still almost completely dressed behind her. She whimpered as thick fingers curled into her, stars flashing in her vision when she rolled her hips against them.

“God, you’re a tease,” she gasped out.

His fingers slipped from her with another throaty laugh and she nearly screamed at the loss of the dizzying sensation. “I can stop.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

He squeezed her hip with another low chuckle. Breathy sighs filled the room as his fingers returned to her flesh in those painfully light touches. Her breath caught in her throat as she shivered, the touch prickling her spine like an electrical current ran through her like a second pulse.

He traced a hand down the curve of her back as she rocked into his hand, fingers gliding over her spine, tracing over the fine script of the small gold dust woman tattoo that curved around her ribs before his hand slipped over her breast, thumb flicking over her nipple through the lace of her bra hard enough to make her gasp. He rested his palm against the small of her back as he met her backwards thrust with his own. Beth was determined not to finish in his hand as her vision went white, her breaths coming fast and hard, but it seemed Jack had other plans. She held back a whine when his fingers slipped out of her, clenching around nothing. His hands found her hips again as he pulled her back to him, squaring himself to her.

“Doing so good for me, sweetheart,” he panted out, fisting himself with a few hard strokes before notching himself between her legs. He dragged the head of his cock through her slick folds, smirking at the way her hips jerked back for him with a whine.

He dragged his knuckles along the inside of her thighs, not quite giving her what she was begging for, just enough to make her squirm under him.

“Jack…” she whispered, the sound catching in her throat before it fell off into a needy whimper.

He caught her chin with one hand, tilting her head back just enough so he could brush his mouth over the corner of her jaw.

“Yeah,” he rasped, dragging his teeth along her jaw, slow and deliberate. “Say it again.”

“Jack.” Louder this time. Needier—somewhere between a plea and a prayer.

He groaned against her skin, the sound low and guttural, and shoved his pants down around his ankles. The second the head of his cock pressed against her, slick and hot, her knees nearly gave out.

“Please,” she whispered.

He pressed forward until the head pushed inside, just enough to make them both suck in a breath. Her fingers clenched the cushion hard with a loud whine. He bent over her, his chest against her back, his mouth finding the spot just below her ear.

“You want it?” he murmured.

She nodded, frantic. “Yes. Please, Jack—”

That was all he needed. He drove into her in one smooth, deep thrust, swallowing the sharp little cry she let out with his mouth against her neck. Her body clenched around him, hot and perfect, and his grip on her hips turned bruising as he set a slow, deliberate pace that had her moaning into the couch cushions.

“Fuck,” he breathed, a hand pressed to her shoulder, fingers splayed like he could claim every inch of her. “You feel like a dream. Just like I remember you, baby. Perfect.”

Beth’s hands fisted in the fabric, her body rocking back to meet him, every breath a sound he wanted burned into his skin. He reached around, fingers finding her clit again, working her in time with his thrusts until she was a mess beneath him—every breath hitched, every sound shaking.

“Just like that,” he growled. “C’mon, pretty girl. I wanna hear you.”

Beth’s nails dug into the couch, knuckles white, her body arching into every thrust like she was trying to crawl inside his skin. Jack kept her pinned against the armrest, driving into her with a rhythm that made her moan spill out in broken, frantic, clipped little sounds.

“Jack—” Her voice cracked on his name, high and breathless.

He bent over her, chest flush to her back, one hand gripping her hip while the other slid lower between her legs. The second his fingers found her, she jolted, the sound she made hitting him straight in the gut.

“That’s it,” he rasped against her ear, thrusts slowing just enough to grind into her, deep and filthy. “Right there. Don’t hold it back, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

She gasped his name again, her body tightening around him. He felt every twitch, every tremor, like she was unraveling for him alone. Each thrust was hard enough to make the couch creak under them, to knock the air out of her lungs in gasps. Her hands scrambled against the fabric for purchase, nails clawing uselessly as he fucked her deeper, faster, like he couldn’t get close enough.

“Fuck—Jack, I’m—”

“I know.” His voice was a low growl in her ear. He fucked into her harder, hips snapping against the backs of her thighs. “Let go for me.”

She shattered with a sharp cry, her body clenching down around him so tight it ripped the breath out of his lungs. Her thighs trembled, legs going weak as he fucked her through it, the sound of skin on skin filling the quiet house. The way she shook beneath him—wild, unguarded, wrecked—pushed him right to the edge.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, thrusts going rougher, needier.

Beth’s fingers scrambled back against his thigh, dragging him closer, like she needed every inch of him. That alone undid him. He buried himself deep, groaning against her shoulder as the world narrowed to the heat of her, the way she pulsed around him, the sound of both of them falling apart.

He spilled into her with a rough, shuddering breath, holding her against him like he’d come undone if he let go. His hips stuttered, slowing and twitching until all that was left was the sound of their uneven breathing and the creak of the couch beneath them.

Beth slumped against the armrest, breath hot and shaky against the cushions. Jack pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, soft where everything else had been sharp. She made a soft, satisfied noise in her throat, and he couldn’t help but smile against her skin.

“Hell of a way to warm up,” he muttered.

She huffed out a laugh, still breathless. He eased out of her slowly, hands steadying her when her legs wobbled. She turned to face him, cheeks flushed, hair a mess, and for a moment all he could do was look at her—like she was the only thing worth looking at.

Beth smirked, lazy and smug, fingers tracing lazy patterns against his thigh. “I think we’re officially not cold anymore.”

Jack let out a rough laugh, catching her chin between his fingers and kissing her again, slower this time—no rush, just the heat of her against him, warm and soft.

“No,” he murmured against her lips. “Not even a little.”

Abby was convinced every high school gym smelled exactly the same: Axe body spray, hormones, and teenage desperation. Tonight, it was basically 70% Axe, 20% sweat, and 10% people pretending they weren’t crying in the bathroom.

The air in the gym was hot and humid, like breathing through a Febreze-scented sponge. A remix of some overplayed Top 40 song thumped through the gym hard enough to knock her frontal lobe loose. A bunch of freshmen were already slipping in spilled fruit punch like Bambi on ice.

The gym itself was dressed up like every other dance she’d ever been to—streamers across the ceiling beams, balloons bunched in sad little clumps, fairy lights everywhere. The theme was A Starry Night, but aside from a couple of shiny foil stars catching the mirror ball like disco shrapnel, there wasn’t much “starry” about it. Still… it was cute. Cheesy. Cornball in that kind of endearing, low-budget way. Her last homecoming. Which was weird.

God. Was she going to miss this? No. No, absolutely not. No one missed high school except for people like Mom and Jack, who were basically living out some kind of High School Musical reboot, minus the singing and plus a mortgage.

Maybe she was going to. Maybe… a little. Gross.

Gavin had been weird all night. Not angry-weird—just cold. Distant. Like someone had unplugged him. She’d danced with her friends, screamed the lyrics to songs she didn’t even like, and pretended she didn’t care when he shrugged her hand off earlier. That was probably her dad’s fault. Jack had scared him into emotional witness protection or something. So whatever. She’d danced with Kenadie and Charlee (who were still silently beefing in their matching dresses) and let Sabrina spin her in a circle until they almost fell over.

And then she saw it.

Gavin. Clear on the other side of the gym. Talking to Kayla Matthews.

Kayla freaking Matthews.

Where to even start with Kayla Matthews?

Well. First off. She was a bitch. Harsh? Maybe. Abby was a girls’ girl, but she was also a hating-ass bitch by nature, and even she had her limits. Kayla Matthews was the human version of a glitter lip gloss commercial. Abby had known her since freshman year and basically hated her since minute one. They played volleyball together. Cheered together. And for a whole year, Kayla made Abby’s life hell—cry-in-the-bathroom-between-classes hell. She’d begged Mom to let her transfer, but all she’d gotten was the same speech: “You leave and she wins.” Which, yeah, true. Doctor Cam had said the same, because apparently, Kayla Matthews was a whole therapeutic arc. Still annoying.

Kayla was the type who pretended to be all “oops, I’m just sooo dumb” but always knew exactly what she was doing—pretty, all big brown eyes and long curled hair and fake sweet smiles. She might have half the school convinced she wasn’t the absolute worst person Abby had ever met, but she knew better. Tonight, she was poured into a tight black dress, big dumb baby cow eyes smoked out to perfection, laughing way too loud at something Gavin said. And then she touched his arm. And he smiled at her.

Abby’s stomach twisted. Not heartbreak—she didn’t like him that much, especially after the way he blew it with Jack. More like… irritation with a hint of rage sprinkles. Just a topping. Like seriously, why even ask her to homecoming if he was going to spend the night drooling over Kayla Freaking Matthews? She could’ve gone with her friends. She could’ve gone with literally anyone else. Hell, she could’ve gone alone. She could have gone with—

Abby’s gaze drifted across the gym, catching on a little cluster of guys near the bleachers. Shaun stood in the middle of them, sleeves rolled up to his elbows since they’d left dinner, forearms on full, unfair display. He was laughing at something Lucas said—loud and easy, head tipped back a little, the way he always did when he actually thought something was funny.

And then his eyes caught hers. Just for a second. Hardly even a glance, really. People looked around in crowded spaces all the time. It’s not like he was trying to look for her. That soft, crooked smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, like it was meant just for her, and her stomach did something that could only be described as deeply stupid. Abby’s breath caught, and she immediately snapped her gaze away like she’d been caught doing something illegal. No. Absolutely not. She did not just feel that.

Thinking like that was actually insane.

Everyone knew that friends dating never actually worked out. It was basically the first commandment of teenage relationships: Thou shalt not date thy best friend, lest you end up sitting at opposite lunch tables for eternity. You break up, one of you gives the whole “we can still be friends” speech, and then—poof—you never speak again.

And this was Shaun.

Shaun Griffin, human golden retriever, partner in crime since they were eleven, the guy who always split his Pop Tarts with her in first period and snuck Raising Cane’s in under his hoodie into every movie they went to. She shouldn’t even be thinking about him like that. That was a line that was not meant to be crossed.

She just wished her brain could tell the rest of her body that.

Abby leaned forward, flashing Sabrina a quick grin before shouting over the bass, “Be right back!”

Sabrina caught her wrist before she could slip away. “Where you going?”

“Uh… get some air,” Abby said, way too fast. Sabrina raised an eyebrow like she didn’t buy it for a second.

“It’s hot in here,” Abby added, shrugging like that explained everything.

“You want me to come?”

“Nope.” Abby shook her head, already inching backward through a tangle of limbs and glittery dresses. “Mom texted me or something—I should check. I’ll be right back.”

Sabrina gave her a skeptical look but didn’t follow. She spun back toward the group, already laughing at something Charlee said, while Abby squeezed her way through the crowd. The music vibrated up through the soles of her shoes—heavy bass, sticky floor, a wave of heat clinging to her skin like a second dress. The smell of sweat and hairspray and too much perfume was suffocating.

When she finally pushed through the double doors, the noise died all at once. The music inside was just a dull thump now, faint and distant, like a heartbeat she could almost match. Cool night air rushed in, brushing against her overheated cheeks, threading through her curls. Her lungs expanded for what felt like the first time in hours. A streetlight hummed softly nearby, casting a pale circle on the concrete, moths dancing lazy circles around the bulbs. A couple of kids were smooshed under the awning making out. Classic high school.

She walked down the concrete steps and lowered herself onto the bottom one, tucking the hem of her dress under her thighs, the cement way too cold against the backs of her legs. Her pulse, still matching the beat inside, started to settle.

In there, everything was loud and bright and too close. Out here, the night felt wide open. No Kayla. No Gavin pretending not to see her. No weird, confusing Shaun feelings making her brain short-circuit. Just the hum of the streetlight, the whisper of wind through the trees, and the sound of her own breathing finally quieting down.

Abby swiped at the corners of her eyes with her thumbs, more out of habit than necessity. She wasn’t crying crying. Her face just felt hot and tight in that way where it might happen if she didn’t keep a lid on it. She huffed out a shaky breath, dug her phone out from where it was tucked against her hip in the waistband of the spandex shorts under her dress, and let the familiar glow of the screen wash over her.

Instagram popped open first, muscle memory steering her thumb before her brain even caught up. She scrolled past blurry Stories of the dance; Charlee and Kenadie’s matching dresses, people screaming lyrics into their phones in shaky videos, a Boomerang of the mirror ball. Someone had posted a picture with Gavin and Kayla in the background, Kayla’s manicured hand resting on his arm like a claim. Abby’s stomach flipped—small, sharp, stupid. She scrolled past it before she could start spiraling.

Her thumb caught on the screen mid-scroll on her own face with Mom’s username displayed above it. A linked post from Facebook, naturally, since Mom was way too old to use Instagram by default. Abby brought the post front and center and scrolled through the pictures posted earlier that evening.

Senior Homecoming 2025, Mom had written, I can hardly believe this is the last one! ❤️✨

In the first picture, Abby was laughing in the living room crouched between the dogs, Atlas’s ears flapping and Moose basically mauling her with love, tongue halfway up her cheek. In the second, she and Mom stood cheek to cheek, hair a little windblown, both of them mid-laugh. And the third—Jack. Jack with his arm draped around both of them and that stupid warm smile like they’ve always taken pictures this way. Mom was looking at him like she’d been waiting thirty years to, and Abby stood somewhere in the middle, eyes crinkled, shoulders pressed against theirs.

It was definitely not a soft launch. Not even a whisper of one. Mom skipped right ahead to the hard launch. No easing into it. No strategic hand-holding or extra coffee cup soft launch. Just BOOM. “Here’s my man. Here’s the kid. Here’s the dogs.”

She snorted, a tiny laugh escaping her despite the hot, tight knot still sitting in her chest. It was a little ridiculous, honestly. Especially once Abby tapped into the 103 comments and counting on the post that just got more and more unhinged as she read, like Mom and Jack were Coldwater royalty.

“Is that Jack Abbot??” Someone wrote. Another profile had commented, “Well I’ll be damned! Looking good, you two!” A profile with a picture Abby kind of recognized added, “This makes my heart so happy to see! Always knew you two were meant to be!” One guy who must have been living under a rock for thirty years wrote, “They grow up fast on ya, don’t they Dad? You guys look great! Beautiful family!”

A few profile pictures stood out—Miss Dana from the hospital with an “about time 😏” that ten people liked. Two nurses she remembered vaguely from her interrogation in the Pitt. A couple of old classmates of Mom’s with grainy profile pics from the early Facebook era. All of them losing their minds like they’d just watched the series finale of some small-town romance show. Like it was some big love story finally getting its third-act reunion.

And the thing was? Abby kind of got it.

Mom looked so… happy. Like the kind of happy Abby remembered from when she was little and didn’t quite understand why her chest felt too full when she saw it. Quiet. Safe. Easy. And Jack looked at her like she was the sun; like she was never even up for debate. Like loving her was just something he had to do, as imperative to his survival as breathing.

She lingered on the photo—the way Mom leaned in without even realizing she was doing it. The way Jack was smiling like she was the only thing in his line of sight. The way Abby fit there between them like… like it had been inevitable.

The wind picked up a little, slipping cool fingers through her hair, and she pulled her knees closer to her chest. The music inside was still thumping, but out here, it was quieter. Softer. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry, laugh, or throw Kayla Matthews into a dumpster.

Maybe all three.

Abby tapped out of Instagram and back to her contacts, the brightness of the screen making the rest of the world seem darker. The music inside the gym had shifted—something slower now, all honeyed vocals and soft bass that made everyone pair off and pretend it was the most romantic moment of their lives.

Her finger hovered over Jack’s name.

He had told her to call if she needed him. And she kind of did. The idea of slipping into the truck, cranking up the heater, and letting Moose stick his head out the window on the drive home while Jack complained about her playlist sounded a lot better than sitting here stewing about Gavin and Kayla Freaking Matthews. Maybe she could talk him into stopping for ice cream. It wouldn’t be hard. Jack basically never told her no.

Still… it felt a little crappy. It was Mom and Jack’s first night alone in forever. And though she had absolutely zero interest in imagining what that might mean, she couldn’t shake the guilt of interrupting it just so she could mope at home. She could practically picture it already: Mom in her comfiest sweats, two glasses of wine deep, halfway through an SVU marathon, passed out under a throw blanket with Atlas snoring across her legs, while Jack fished around for the remote so he could change it to CNN for fifteen minutes before passing out, too. Not exactly date night—but still.

She rolled her thumb against the edge of the screen, exhaling slowly. Her chest felt tight in that weird, restless way—too full and too empty all at once. She’d just about talked herself into hitting the call button when the gym door behind her creaked open.

“You planning on ghosting Homecoming, or just waiting for me to find you?”

Shaun’s voice was soft, a little breathless from the dancing. Abby startled, locking her phone without even realizing she’d done it, like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

He stepped out of the shadows by the door, sleeves still rolled and jacket in hand, hair damp at the edges from heat and sweat, grin tilted and unsure—like he didn’t know if he should be here, but came anyway.

Abby lowered her phone, fighting a smile. “Must be genetic at this point. If you can, you know, inherit bolting through osmosis.”

Shaun chuckled under his breath, that warm, low sound she’d known since they were kids. She set her phone in her lap as he stepped closer, jacket hanging over one shoulder instead of wearing it like a normal human being.

“Sabrina said you came out here for some air,” he said.

Abby shrugged, feigning casual. “Yeah. Needed a break from the hormonal mosh pit.”

He laughed, then held out his jacket. “Figured you might be cold.”

She hesitated just a beat too long, but he didn’t seem to notice, or at least pretended not to. He swung it around her shoulders, warm and soft and smelling like him: soap, clean laundry, something vaguely citrusy from his cologne. She tugged it closer on instinct, letting it swallow her a little.

“Thanks,” she muttered, eyes on the cracked concrete at their feet.

Shaun dropped down beside her, close enough that their elbows brushed for a second before she shifted. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, looking out at the parking lot like it was more interesting than it actually was.

“Can’t have you freezing out here,” he said. “Would really ruin my heroic image if you turned into a popsicle.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, you’re just oozing hero energy in your little Homecoming outfit.”

“Hey,” he said, nudging her lightly with his shoulder, grin spreading slow and wide, “you accepted the jacket. That makes this a cinematic moment. I’m basically the love interest now. Very John Hughes of me.”

“Delusional,” she shot back, but she was smiling, and he saw it. Of course he saw it. He always seemed to see her.

The music inside was a soft, muffled thump behind them, the night air cool against her overheated skin. She pulled the jacket a little tighter, trying to ignore the weird flutter in her chest that had absolutely no business being there.

“You don’t have to sit out here with me,” she said finally.

“I know,” he answered without missing a beat. He didn’t sound put out. Just sure. He tipped his head toward her. “I want to.”

She let out a slow breath and looked out at the cracked pavement. “So…” she started.

“So,” he echoed, drawing the word out like he was waiting for her to keep going.

For a moment, they just sat there. Him with his hands loosely hanging between his knees, her tucked into his jacket like she was trying to disappear into it. He looked at her sideways.

“You okay?” he asked.

She straightened a little. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He tilted his head with that quiet, steady kind of look that had always been impossible to lie to. “Abby...”

She exhaled through her nose, soft and tired. “I am,” she insisted. “Really.”

But he didn’t stop looking at her like that. And she hated how much it made her want to say more. The music inside shifted again, slow now, a syrupy pop ballad that made Abby grimace even from out here. Of course, it was Lover. Of course it was Lover and she was outside in her You Belong With Me era. Could this night be any worse?

“It’s just…” she started, picking at a loose thread on the cuff of his jacket. “No one’s ever asked me to one of these before. I haven’t even slow danced at one of these things. And I guess I just hoped that when someone did, it wouldn’t have gone like…” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely toward the gym, where somewhere inside, her date was probably still trying to pretend she didn’t exist. Or asking Kayla to dance.

“Like your date ruining your driveway and calling your mom’s boyfriend ‘bro’?” Shaun offered, perfectly deadpan.

She huffed out a laugh, surprised. “Exactly.”

His grin flickered, small but warm. “Well… you did set the bar pretty low with Gavin Daniels, so at least next time has to be better. I guess you can consider prom a do-over.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile stayed this time. “Wow. Comforting.”

He leaned back on his hands, shoulders relaxed like he belonged there next to her. “Hey. That’s what I’m here for.”

Shaun leaned back against the railing, his jacket still draped over her shoulders like a borrowed blanket she probably shouldn’t be enjoying this much. The night air hit her like someone shoved a freezer in her face, which was honestly refreshing after the gym’s gross perfume-and-sweat cocktail. She pulled her knees up, pretending she could shrink into herself like a turtle, ignoring the faint thump of bass sneaking out from inside.

Beside her, Shaun pushed himself up with a grunt, dusting his hands off on his pant legs before he turned to her.

Abby blinked up at him. “What are you doing?”

He held out his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I can’t fix the whole night. But, I can fix one thing.”

Her brow furrowed. “Uh… I—”

“Trust me,” he cut in, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Come on. I know you like this song.”

Abby hesitated, biting her lip. The cold air nipped at her face, and she felt exposed, ridiculous, and entirely herself all at once. She laughed, shaky but genuine. “Fine. But if you step on my toes, I get to kick you.”

“Deal,” he said, slipping her hand into his like it was obvious they’d always been holding hands in some parallel universe.

He eased her into a slow sway on the sidewalk, the streetlamp spilling this soft golden glow over them like something out of a cheesy rom-com. It was quiet—just the streetlight humming, the faint thump from the gym, and some random kids laughing in the parking lot. Shaun’s hand rested low on her hips, and when he slid the other around her back to pull her closer, she didn’t even think about stepping back. She just looked up and found warm brown eyes on her, all soft and impossible, like he actually meant it when he looked at her. Her chest did that annoying flutter thing again, like a hummingbird beating against her ribs.

“What?” she asked, quieter this time, leaning just slightly into him.

“Nothing,” he murmured, tilting his head down so their foreheads were almost touching. His eyes fell to her lips for a moment, and Abby wasn’t sure why that made her heart race like it did. “You look… really pretty.”

Abby’s stomach did that dumb little flip she hated, and she tried to play it cool. “Pretty?” she teased, even though her voice came out a little breathless.

“Yeah,” he said softly, still watching her lips. “But not just tonight… always.”

“Wow. Big line, Griffin.”

“You’re not arguing,” he said, tugging her closer just enough that her chest pressed against his. Abby snorted and shook her head, pretending to roll her eyes but secretly thinking… okay, maybe this night wasn’t a total disaster after all.

She tried to convince herself she was imagining it, but Shaun leaned in slowly, just close enough that Abby could feel the heat of his body, his fingers pressing gently against her back. Her pulse was doing that dumb, drumline thing in her ears, and she swore her stomach had flipped three times in the last ten seconds. The streetlamp made his eyes shine warm and brown, soft, impossibly soft, and she might have been holding her breath. She bit her lip, suddenly stupidly aware that she was becoming a legal adult in three weeks and had never, ever kissed a boy in her entire life.

The world felt like it had shrunk down to just them. Abby watched his lips, eyes tracing over the shape of them just inches from her own. She could feel the quiet hum of the streetlight, the faint press of his fingers, the warmth of his breath on her cheeks that smelled like cinnamon gum. Everything was perfect. Impossible.

And then… clatter.

The gym doors swung open behind them, and a flood of students spilled into the night, breaking the spell like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on her head. Abby blinked, disoriented, and Shaun instinctively pulled back just a step, his hand still brushing hers.

Mia, Charlee, and Kenadie poured out first, laughing and shouting with Gavin in the middle, phones out like they were live-streaming the whole night. Sabrina and her boyfriend followed with a couple of guys from the football team, joking and nudging each other as they went.

Mia glanced over her shoulder at Abby. “You coming or what?”

Abby froze. “Uh… coming where?” Her brain was still doing somersaults, and now she had to focus on logistics? Rude.

Kenadie and Mia stopped, exchanged a look, then burst into quiet giggles. Charlee leaned in and whispered something, and Abby couldn’t even parse it through the haze of embarrassment and adrenaline.

Kenadie shrugged, smirk tugging at her lips. “Alex Guzman’s throwing a party. You coming?”

Abby’s stomach did a little flip. Jack had said home by one, like, a million times. And Mom tracked her location on her phone. Underaged drinking and lying about where she was seemed like a sure fire way to gain admission to an “are you stupid or just dumb” lecture. She hesitated. “I… I don’t know.”

Mia rolled her eyes, tugging Abby’s sleeve. “Of course you’re coming. You’re gonna need Shaun to drive, duh—we won’t all fit in Sabrina’s car.”

Charlee gave Abby a little nudge and a grin. “Come on. It’s senior year! Live a little. Just tell your parents you’re crashing at Sabrina’s place. No harm, no foul.”

Abby groaned. “Mia, seriously… I can’t just—”

“You can,” Mia interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Abby.”

Abby shot Shaun a helpless glance. He shrugged, that crooked grin not quite reaching his eyes, and she felt a pang of guilt. Gavin, in full confident-sports-guy mode, draped an arm around her shoulders and nudged her toward the car. She glanced back at Shaun, and the way his smile tightened as he stuffed his hands into his pockets made her chest squeeze.

“C’mon, Abs,” Gavin said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “A little fun won’t kill you. What, scared your dad’s gonna explode?”

“Technically, he already has.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Abby rolled her eyes, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, that’d be tragic,” she muttered, forcing a laugh.

Gavin grinned. “That’s what I thought. So… you in or out?”

She hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek, caught between Shaun’s quiet presence and Gavin’s pushy energy. Shaun’s eyes flicked to her for a second—just enough to make her heart do something dumb—then back to the night, like he was letting her make her own decision.

“Fine,” she said, exhaling like she’d just run a marathon. “I’ll go. But only because I’m a risk-taker, clearly.”

Gavin laughed, squeezing her shoulder again. “That’s the spirit. Let’s roll.”

Abby’s shoulders slumped in reluctant agreement. “But if I get grounded…”

“You won’t,” Mia interrupted, smirking. “Just follow us there! You don’t even have to stay long if you have…” She glanced between Abby and Shaun with a little grin, “…other plans.”

Abby rolled her eyes, cheeks heating, and pulled out her phone. Fingers fumbling, she quickly typed: can I spend the night at Sabrina’s plz?

Almost immediately, her phone buzzed with a text back from Mom.

That’s fine. Let us know your comings and goings. Home by ten tomorrow. We’re headed up to bed, but my ringer is on. Love you big! ❤️

Abby shoved her phone into her pocket, still buzzing faintly from Mom’s reply, and threw one last glance over her shoulder at Shaun. He was a couple steps back, hands still stuffed in his pockets, while he talked with Lucas, that half-smile he always used when he was trying not to care stretching his face—but she knew he did. Her chest tightened, and suddenly she felt guilty for leaving him there, alone, while she got pulled toward the parking lot by Gavin.

Her feet shuffled over the asphalt, the cool night air brushing her legs and making her shiver. Every step felt like she was betraying some unspoken rule about friends and feelings, even though she knew Shaun wouldn’t say anything. But that didn’t stop her brain from imagining him sighing, maybe rolling his eyes, maybe silently judging her.

Foolproof plan, right? Yeah… totally foolproof. Just a perfectly executed, utterly foolproof plan—if she ignored the little pang in her chest every time she peeked back at him.