travmarshall

[travmarshall]

Travis fails to look up right away.

His fists are keeping rhythm—thud, thud, thud—against the heavy bag, shoulders now rolling with the kind of deliberate force that comes from a place deeper than muscle. Sweat slicks down the back of his neck, through the hem of his shirt clinging to his ribs. He’s been here longer than he probably should’ve. But he hasn’t exactly noticed the time. Nor the several missed calls on his phone sitting off somewhere to the side. He rarely did these days.

The voice—that voice—cuts in sharp and clear, threading through the space like smoke curling under a locked door.

He pauses mid-swing.

Only then does he turn, glancing over his shoulder as he pushes his wraps back slightly to get a better look. And there she is—again. Cool as ever, lookin' good, leaning on the ropes like she hasn’t already thrown the whole damn balance off in the room with her arrival.

His mouth twitches into something caught between a grin and a grimace. “Elena.” It isn’t quite a greeting. More like a name he’s kept tucked in his back pocket, not sure if he’d get the chance to use it again.

He pulls the gloves off with his teeth, slow and unhurried, tossing them to the side before making his way over to the edge of the ring. He doesn’t climb out when he gets there. Not yet. He just leans his arms against the top rope across from her, looking her over in that quiet way of his—eyes lingering long enough to register the joggers, the tee, and the wraps. Intentional. That much, he catches onto.

“You come in here lookin' like that and expect me not to say yes?” he voices, a rasp of amusement buried beneath it. “You’re either trying to bait me, or you’ve been itchin’ for this since the minute you left.”

Just then his gaze sharpens. Not in a predatory way—just focused. Like he was seeing her more clearly now than he had the last time.

“I ain’t too tired,” he says finally, dropping down from the ring and circling toward the mats, cracking his neck once, then again. “But you sure you’re ready to do more than just watch this time? 'Cause, you oughta know... I don’t hold back, Elena. Not even for you.”

closed starter for - @travmarshall

location— gym / boxing ring

The low rumble of Nyx’s engine echoed off the concrete walls as Elena rolled to a stop outside the gym, the bike’s purr fading as she killed the ignition. The night air was thick, heavy with the promise of rain that hadn’t come, and for a moment she stayed seated, gloved hands resting on the handlebars, watching the glow of fluorescent lights spill from the open bay doors.

She hadn’t planned on coming back. Not tonight. But after a day packed with work calls, paperwork that wouldn’t end, and juggling everything at home—still picking up the slack her siblings kept leaving—she’d needed an outlet. So here she was. And if she carried any of that weight, she wasn’t showing it. Not tonight.

Swinging her leg off the bike, Elena tugged off her helmet, letting her hair fall loose around her shoulders. This time she came ready—no stiff leather jacket, no boots too heavy for the mats. Just fitted joggers, a faded tee that clung from the humid ride over, and wraps already snug around her hands. Intentional. Comfortable.

Inside, the rhythmic thud of fists on a heavy bag filled the space, steady and familiar. She exhaled slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she stepped in, boots soft on worn mats.

Her gaze found him immediately. Focused. That same intensity she’d caught before—the one that had made her pause, made her walk out last time before she let herself get drawn in.

Not tonight.

She drifted toward the ring, arms draping casually over the ropes, watching him with that easy, steady calm she did so well. Then her voice cut through the space, light and edged with a hint of challenge.

“Tell me you’re not too tired to spar.”

[travmarshall]

Travis watches the jab land with a quiet sort of approval—doesn’t say much at first, just gives a single nod like her instinct spoke louder than any form could’ve. There’s something in the way she moves that draws a flicker of memory in him: the grit before the game, the way someone steels themselves before the world sees the cracks. He recognizes it. Probably too well.

He scratches at the stubble along his jaw, smirking again—but it’s softer now, laced with something closer to respect. “I’d say it means you’re a whole lot more honest than most people,” he replies, voice low, like the truth deserves that kind of reverence. “Most folks spend half their life pretending there’s no face. You? You found yours before the sentence even finished.”

He steps a little closer—not close enough to crowd, but enough that his voice drops a register. “That’s not weakness. That’s knowing your pain’s got a name. It’s when you don’t that it creeps in from all sides.”

He gestures to the bag again. “Now do it again. But this time? Less force. More control. You’re not trying to kill the bastard—you’re trying to remind them you’re still standing.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, like the smirk wants to widen but he reins it in. “Besides,” he adds, glancing at her sidelong, “you throw like that, and you might just upgrade to silver.”

She lets out a soft, amused breath through her nose at the emotional endurance part, as she watches him, for probably a beat longer than she should. "A bronze? That's it?" she echoes, lifting a brow. Though she was teasing, she had to say that was a fair grading given she couldn't handle emotional anything as of late. "Brutal grading curve, ranch boy. I'll take it, though." She steps onto the mat, hands propped on her hips now that there's a focus in her, like she's feeling the shift of seriousness in him and rising to meet it. At his warning, she holds her hands up in mock surrender. "No windups, got it. I'll save the cinematic debut for another day," she says, flashing Travis a grin before turning to face the bag. She bounces lightly on the balls of her feet, testing her stance as laughter spills from her lips. How could she ever take this seriously? His final line lands, though — the part about picturing a face, a situation. She goes still for a second, drawing in a breath and setting her jaw, then throws a clean jab into the bag. Maybe she used a little too much force, and it's not perfect, but his suggestion sure as hell helped. She glances over at him with something like satisfaction, and a little bit of curiousity. "So what does it say about me if I didn't even have to think that hard to find a face?"

[travmarshall]

Travis lets out a low whistle, leaning back against the couch cushion like Wes had just dropped a grenade in his lap. “Oh man,” he says, dragging a hand down his face. “You definitely buried the lede on that one, brother.”

He glances over at Holly, who’s now sipping her own beer with the practiced flair of someone trying to look more composed than she feels. Then looks back at Wes, eyes narrowing just slightly—not out of judgment, but out of curiosity. The kind of look a man gives when he knows there’s a lot more to the story and isn’t sure he wants to hear it all at once.

“So let me get this straight,” Travis says, gesturing vaguely between the two of them. “Holly’s been quietly ghosted by the human embodiment of dry toast, Nate—which, by the way, I still want to fistfight him about—and while she’s been dealing with that heartbreak in secret, you two are catching stray rounds because Shane’s losing it over Sonny being back in town and acting like Briar Ridge’s unofficial FBI.”

He rubs his jaw, then lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Jesus, and I thought I was the one carrying all the emotional baggage this week.”

There’s a pause as Trav considers everything, then sits up again, elbows on his knees like he’s about to lay out some kind of game plan—because that’s how he’s always coped with chaos: structure, even if it’s half-assed.

“Alright, look. Shane’s spinning out, yeah. But that doesn’t mean he should bulldoze everybody just because he’s scared shitless. Doesn’t make it okay. And Wes—whatever ‘situation’ you had with him? You’ll have to fill me in later, because I’m betting that was gasoline on a fire that was already lit. Don't take it personally.”

Then, softer, to Holly, “And Hol… I get why you didn’t say anything. I do. You’re allowed to have your own life, your own heartbreak, without every guy in this town forming a goddamn search party. But don’t let what Nate did convince you that you gotta keep going through this shit alone. You're allowed to lean on people, yeah?”

He leans back, voice dropping again into something quieter—honest, a little frayed at the edges. “You don’t have to carry it all just because you’re used to being the strong one. Trust me, I’ve tried that routine. It only ends one way.”

He glances between them again, this unlikely trio of wounded hearts, and lifts his own beer now in a mock toast. “Here’s to dysfunctional friendships, overbearing brothers, and exes who can eat shit. I'm kidding, don't tell him I said that.” Then he tips the bottle back and adds with a small smirk, “But seriously, if anyone’s down for a poorly planned intervention-slash-ranch bonfire, I got just enough whiskey and dry lumber to make it either therapeutic or wildly dangerous. Just say the word and I'll summon him. No heat on either of you.” → @hollyparkcr

Holly let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head as she reached for the bottle that Travis was handing to her. “Gee, thanks,” she muttered, taking a long swig before slamming the bottle down onto the coffee table with a hard thud. “Glad one of us enjoyed it. I'm pretty sure that was at least 80% backwash.”

With a look of disgust, the redhead moved toward the kitchen, still talking to both men over her shoulder as she went to pour herself a glass of water. “Look, I know. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I promise you were all going to find out eventually. But this is exactly what I'd feared would happen. And in my defence, it wouldn't have been a secret this long had I not gotten my heart broken. Nate had said he was flying out to visit his family for a couple weeks. No big goodbye. No drama. Just a ‘see you soon.’ Except I never did. Phone went dark. Texts left on read. No explanation, no breakup. Just gone. Like that year meant nothing. I told Wes because he saw through my fake smile. He knew that something was up. But it never seemed like it was worth it to tell Shane after that, because I honestly never thought I'd see him again in the first place."

Leaning back against the kitchen counter, Holly downed the glass of water, polishing it off before heading back over to the refrigerator to grab herself a beer of her own. The truth of the matter was, she could understand why her brother was hurt. Hell, she even felt bad. But she wished he would trust her enough that she could afford to put her faith in him. Right from the beginning.

"I'll talk to him soon, I guess. I'm sure we both just need some time to cool down, but I don't know. I wish that he could see me as more than just a little girl."

→ @wesparkcr

[travmarshall]

Travis refuses to answer right away. The moment stretches, quiet and full in a way that makes his throat tighten. His hands still hold hers, even as she starts to pull back, even as the outside world crashes in around them again with the reminder of everything they aren’t allowed to be—not really. Not anymore.

Her words echo in him like footsteps down a long hallway, each one touching something tender, something buried. And when she says you are more than enough, something inside him fractures and settles at the same time. Like maybe he doesn’t need to keep bracing for the fall, because she’s right here. Because she’s still Allie.

His fingers relax slightly, but they don’t let go. Not yet. He watches her as she gathers herself—efficient, practical, gracious even in retreat—and he knows what she’s doing. He’s done it, too. That subtle step backward when the truth gets too loud. When the heart starts to believe it can still have something it was sure it had lost for good.

He almost lets her do it.

Almost.

But then he shifts on the bench, turns just enough to face her fully, and his voice, when it comes, is low and steady, the kind of calm that comes only after a storm.

“You’re right,” he says, eyes locked on hers. “We should get home.”

A pause. “But I don’t know if I can walk away from this without tellin’ you what I really want to say.” He takes a breath, deeper than the others, like he’s drawing strength from the space between them—what little’s left of it, at least.

“I never stopped loving you, Allie. Not when I left, not when I tried to build something new, not even when I convinced myself you were better off without me." Should he be saying any of this out loud? No. But was that going to stop him? Of course not. Because if he didn't say it now, he might never. "I thought if I stayed gone long enough, if I stayed quiet, maybe that love would… fade. Turn into somethin’ easier to carry. But it didn’t. And sittin’ here with you, like this—it’s only made that truth louder.”

His voice wavers, but he keeps going. “I know it doesn’t fix anything. I know the past is heavy and complicated and messy as hell. I know I’ve got a lot to answer for, and I ain’t askin’ for anything you’re not ready to give. But I couldn’t leave tonight without saying it out loud. Not this time.” He finally releases her hand, but only so he can tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing her cheek again in a way that feels like muscle memory. He lets his hand drop afterward, resting it in his lap.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he adds, quietly. “But if there’s even the smallest part of you that still wonders what it might look like to try again one day—not rewind or pretend like nothin’ happened, but to really try to.... I don't know? Build somethin', even if it's just as friends....—I’ll be here if you need me.”

The smile he gives her is soft, worn at the edges by time and heartache, but unmistakably real. “And if all this was just one night—a moment in time—we needed… then I’m still glad for it. More than I can say.”

He stands slowly, shoulders rolling back, steadier than when he first sat down with her. He doesn’t move to leave just yet. He waits—because that’s what this part is, he thinks. Waiting. Hoping. Not pushing. Letting her decide if they’re still standing on the same page, or if this is just where they say goodbye a little softer, a little more final than they ever have before.

[travmarshall]

Why have you never proposed to your baby mama?

He goes still at the question—shoulders tense, jaw working like he’s chewing on something bitter. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, but steady, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid over the years.

“Truth? I’ve thought about it. More times than I can count. He runs a hand through his hair, eyes somewhere far off. “There’ve been nights I’ve laid awake, lookin’ at her across the room, Sadie asleep down the hall, and I’ve thought… maybe now’s the time. Maybe I could get down on one knee and mean it.”

He laughs once, no humor in it. “But then the morning comes, and we’re back to arguing over bills or who forgot to pack Sadie’s lunch or some old wound we never really patched up. And I realize—we’re holdin’ each other together with duct tape and denial.”

“I didn’t propose because deep down, I knew we were never built to last. Not in the way marriage needs. We got history, sure. We got pain. We got Sadie—who’s the best damn thing that ever came out of all this. But love?” He shakes his head slightly. “Love like that needs trust, needs peace. And we never quite figured out how to stop breakin’ each other.”

His voice dips even lower. “I stayed because of Sadie. Because I wanted to be there. To try. But I didn’t put a ring on her finger because I wasn’t sure if I was doin’ it out of love… or guilt.” Beat. “And if I’m honest? I think she knows that too.”

[travmarshall]

snog, marry, pie: shane, wes, holly.

“You’re straight-up evil for this one.”

He leans forward, grinning like he knows this is going to get him punched, probably more than once.

“Snog Shane. Not ‘cause I want to—but let’s be real, if I had to kiss someone in that lineup, might as well be my blood brother. One quick one. No eye contact. Never speak of it again. Honorary bromance loophole.

Marry Holly. Yeah, yeah, Shane’s sister. I get it. But she’s solid. Smart, funny, probably the only one who’d put up with me long-term without stabbin’ me in my sleep. Plus, she’d run the house better than I ever could.

And then he leans back with pure mischief in his eyes.

“Pie Wes. Not ‘cause I don’t love the guy—Wes is family. But someone’s gotta take the pie, and between the three of ‘em, he’s the only one I trust to get hit in the face and still hug me after.” He shrugs, spreading his hands like he’s made peace with the fallout.

ft. @shanepcrker , @hollyparkcr , @wesparkcr

[travmarshall]

If you could have a ONS with anyone, no consequences, just for pure fun, who are your top three? 😉

“Oh, so now you want my top three for a no-strings, no-judgment, just-one-night kinda deal?” He grins, all teeth and trouble. “Alright then, fine. I’m not proud, but I am honest.”

He starts ticking them off one by one.

“1. Leyla. Come on, this one’s a given. She’s got that ‘you know this is a bad idea and you’re gonna do it anyway’ kinda energy. The kind of night that ends with a broken lamp, a missing shirt, and a grin you can’t wipe off your face for a week straight. Total chaos—but the fun kind.

2. Gen. Yeah, I know—wife material. But hear me out. She’s smart, confident, knows exactly what she wants. I’d sign an NDA, light a damn candle, whatever she needed. That’d be one of those nights you remember like a fever dream, in a good way.

3. Cassia. There’s just… something about her. Quiet confidence, eyes that read you before you even open your mouth. You just know there’s a storm underneath, and I wouldn’t mind being caught in it—for a night, anyway.”

Just for fun, right? No consequences, no messy mornings, no one callin’ me an idiot after. Just one night to feel alive again. Hell, let ‘em call me if any are interested.”

ft. @leylayilmz , @genortiz , @cassiagallo

[travmarshall]

FMK Holly Sonny Selin

Travis lets out a long whistle, dragging his hand down his face like someone just handed him a live grenade.

“Damn. You’re really tryna ruin my life today, aren’t ya?” He glances around like Shane or Wes might come storming through the door any second, then leans in, voice low and conspiratorial. “Alright. But if this ever gets out, I’m sayin’ you twisted my arm and forced the answer outta me.”

He holds up three fingers, naming them off with exaggerated care. Because there’s no other way to go about it. “Holly? Marry. No question. Yeah, she’s Shane’s little sister, and he’d probably bury me in the back pasture for even saying it, but she’s sharp as hell, loyal, and she doesn’t take crap from anyone—including me. She’s got that quiet strength… the kind that sticks. And nothin’ beyond a piece of paper tying us together, legally, has to happen.”

He shifts in his seat. Like he’s uncomfortable. “Selin? I’d kiss her, I guess. Real gentle. She’s Wes’ first love, and I got respect for that. Plus, there’s always been somethin’ a little sad behind her eyes—like she’s carryin’ more than she lets on. Wouldn’t want to mess with that, but a kiss? Harmless. Mostly.”

And then he leans back, rubbing the back of his neck with a groan. “Sonny… yeah, nah. Fuck, kill, whatever—just not my mess to get caught up in. Shane’s still tangled up in all that, whether he admits it or not. Last thing I need is to be anywhere near that storm. I like my teeth where they are.”

He grins, wry and unapologetic. “So yeah—marry Holly, kiss Selin, avoid Sonny like she’s a damn ghost in a thunderstorm. Final answer.”

ft. @hollyparkcr , @sonnysolis , @selinymaz and honorable mentions go to: @shanepcrker , @wesparkcr

[travmarshall]

A sex tape just landed in your hands... and you get to watch! Who would you not mind seeing in action?

“Damn, you really just went there, huh?” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, smirk fully in place now “Alright, cards on the table? If a tape just happened to fall into my lap—and I ain't sayin’ I’d go lookin’ for it, but y'know… if fate insisted—”

He lowers his voice like he's sharing trade secrets “—I wouldn’t mind seein’ Leyla in action. That woman walks like sin and talks like she invented it. Bet she puts on a hell of a show.”

He grins, then lifts his hands like a man absolving himself of responsibility. “Pure curiosity. Strictly academic.” Then, after a beat, deadpan: “And if you tell her I said that, I’ll deny it till I’m in the ground. Probably still deny it from the ground.”

ft. @leylayilmz

[travmarshall]

FMK — leyla, elena, gen

“Man… you tryna get me killed or exiled from Briar Ridge?”

He runs a hand over his jaw, pretending to think, but he already knows the answer. “Alright, alright. Don’t go blabbin’ this around, but if we’re playin’ FMK…”

He holds up a finger for each name. “Okay, Leyla? She’s all sunshine and heat wrapped in a heap of bad decisions, I just know it—but damn if she doesn’t wear it well. She’d be more than a fuck but considerin’ my options, we’ll place her here for now. We’ll do it once for science, maybe twice, hell I don’t know...” He snorts, like he’s already picturing it when he shouldn’t be.

“Now Gen? She’s always given off wife material. She seems smart, grounded, got that sharp tongue but a good heart underneath it all. She’s the kinda woman who’d call you on your shit and make you coffee in the morning. Marry, no question.”

And then his voice softens, just a notch. “As for Elena? I’d probably kiss her. Gently. Like she’s a memory I don’t quite wanna let go of. She seems like she’s got a sweetness to her—one of those girls you don’t wanna ruin by stayin’ too long. But, she’s hot.”

He shrugs, grin returning with a little mischief behind it. “Now if any of them ask, I’m pleadin’ the fifth. I got enough trouble in this town without that firestorm headed my way.”

ft. @leylayilmz , @genortiz , @elenaduarte

[travmarshall]

👐 why did you and allie break up? are you glad it happened since you got sadie?

“Allie and I… we were kids, you know? Thought we had it all figured out. High school sweethearts, plans for a house, a wedding, little Travs running around. It felt real, like the kind of love that could survive anything.” He exhales, slow, nostrils flaring slightly.

“But life doesn’t give a shit about your plans. When she lost the baby… everything changed. I didn’t know how to deal. Neither of us did. She was grieving, and I—” He swallows hard, blinking a little too fast. “—I got scared. Scared she was outgrowing me, leaving for college, meeting people who didn’t limp when they walked or sit in bars pretending they were still somebody. So I did what I always do when I feel like I’m about to lose something—I pushed. Accused her of shit that wasn’t true, made her the enemy because it was easier than admitting I felt small next to her. She didn’t leave me. I left her. And that’s a regret I carry deeper than most.”

He pauses for a long beat when Sadie’s name comes up. A softness breaks through the tired lines in his face. “Am I glad it happened?” He nods, slowly. “Yeah. ‘Cause I got Sadie. And I wouldn’t trade her for a damn thing in this world—not even a do-over with Allie.”

Then, almost to himself: “But it don’t make it hurt any less either. Sometimes I think about what life could’ve looked like if I’d just held on a little tighter. If I’d been better. Stronger.” He sighs, the kind of sigh that settles in your bones “But I wasn’t. And now here we are.”

ft. @aliscncooper

[travmarshall]

Which Parker is your fave? And why is it Shane?

“Man, don’t make me pick between the Parkers. That’s like asking a guy to choose between beer and bourbon—it depends on the night.”

He leans back, arms crossed, eyes squinting like he's replaying a memory. “But yeah… of course, it’s Shane. Always Shane. We’ve been through it all—peewee football, busted noses, heartbreaks, hell, even that one night in high school we don’t talk about ‘cause it involved a tractor, a bottle of Fireball, and Mrs. Callahan’s rose bushes.”

He laughs, softer now, then shakes his head with something close to affection. “Shane’s more than a friend. He’s a brother, and not just in the ‘we-bled-on-the-same-knife’ kind of way. He stuck around when no one else did. When I bottomed out after the injury, he didn’t bail. Gave me work, gave me purpose—even when I didn’t think I deserved either.”

Travis pauses, then adds, more quietly: “He believes in me when I forget how to believe in myself.” He glances off, a flicker of warmth crossing his features before the usual weight settles back in. “That said… Holly’s a firecracker, and Wes? That kid’s got more sense in his pinky than I’ve had in thirty-something years. I’d take a bullet for any of 'em. But Shane? He’s the one who always knew how to drag my sorry ass back to shore when I was drowning.” He grins again, this time with some pride. “Don’t tell him I said all that though. I’ll deny it. Plus he probably already knows.”

ft. @shanepcrker , @hollyparkcr , @wesparkcr

[travmarshall]

Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about?

"Yeah... I have.” He runs a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh. “A couple weeks back, I was supposed to pick up Sadie from my folks' place. Just a normal Saturday, nothin’ major. But I’d been drinking the night before—hell, into that morning if I’m honest—and I woke up hours late. Phone dead. Missed calls. My mom ended up keepin' her overnight, said it was fine, but I could see it in her face... the disappointment, again."

He laughs—but it’s dry, humorless. "She didn’t yell. Didn’t need to. That’s the worst part. That look she gives... like she’s stopped expecting anything better from me." He leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice low now. "I swore to myself I wouldn’t let Sadie see me like that. Wouldn't be that dad. And yet... here I am. Still fuckin’ up. Still hiding the bottles in the damn shed like that makes it not real."

Another pause and he shrugs, eyes glassy but holding steady. "So yeah. There's stuff I don’t want people knowin'. Mostly ‘cause I already hate myself enough for it."

[travmarshall]

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

"Five years from now? Man… I’d like to say something involving football. Even if I can’t play anymore, I can’t see myself walking away from the game completely. Maybe coaching, maybe scouting—just something that keeps me close to it. It’s in my blood.

And my daughter… she’ll be 15 by then. Holy cow! That’s wild. I just hope I’m the kind of dad she still wants around, you know? I want to be there for the big stuff—school, heartbreaks, figuring out life, learning how to drive, etc. So yeah… the game in some form, and being the best dad I can be. That’s the goal."

[travmarshall]

If you accidentally killed someone, who are your top three people you'd trust to have your back?

"Alright, if something went down and I accidentally killed someone… no questions asked, I’d be calling: Shane – My best friend and blood brother. We’ve been through hell and back together. If there’s one person who’d help me bury a body and never speak of it again, it’s him. He wouldn’t even blink. Wes – He’s cool-headed, knows how to think on his feet. He’d help me figure out the clean-up, the story, even if he would grumble about it half the time. And Holly, of course – She’s smart, loyal, and way too sharp to ever get caught. Plus, she’d make sure I don’t do anything even dumber trying to fix it."

ft. @shanepcrker , @wesparkcr , @hollyparkcr

[travmarshall]

Travis glances over, the rim of his beer hovering just below his lip. He sizes the guy up—button-down too crisp, hair too tidy, that dry sarcasm masking either anxiety or attitude. Probably both.

He sets the bottle down with a soft clink before squinting against the light bleeding through the open windows beside them.

“Depends,” he offers, voice low and a little rough around the edges. “Are you one of those ghosts who haunts overpriced beach bars? ’Cause if so, you’re in the right place.”

He smirks, just barely. Not quite in warmth, but not in ice either. More so tired and amused.

Trav shifts on his stool just then, stretches out a bit, one arm slung lazily along the backrest. “Man Bun’s got selective vision, actually. You’re not holding a bikini or a surfboard, so you’re about four categories too boring to register, I'm afraid.”

He tips his chin toward the bar. “Want me to get his attention for you, or you gonna keep practicing your mime routine?”

OPEN starter at Golden Hour, sunset.

He’d been standing there long enough to memorize the chalkboard menu twice.Golden Hour lived up to its name — sun sinking low over the water, casting everything in that soft, amber glow that made strangers look like movie stars. The salt air curled lazily through the open windows, carrying the scent of coconut sunscreen and lime. The kind of place where time slowed down, drinks went heavy on the ice, and shirts were optional if your abs were loud enough.

Jordan, unfortunately, was fully clothed and still completely drinkless. He raised a hand. Again. Nothing. The bartender, an attractive, sun-kissed guy with a man bun and a name that was probably something like River or Sky, slid two daiquiris down the bar in the opposite direction, laughing at something a girl said as if Jordan hadn’t been standing there the past six minutes. Maybe seven. He didn’t want to be dramatic, but it was getting to that point.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the smooth wood, and tried the universal sign of mild desperation: the soft "excuse me" accompanied by a polite little wave. Still, no dice. Man Bun was already pouring tequila for someone who definitely arrived after Jordan. A couple to his right laughed, clinking glasses. The world moved. Time passed. Jordan’s throat got drier. Was he radiating invisibility?

He exhaled and leaned back from the counter, glancing left, then right. And then he turned to the person closest to him — a stranger, catching the tail end of the sunlight, looking like they belonged here a little more than he did. "Be honest," Jordan said, deadpan, "Can you actually see me, or have I finally transcended into a ghost?"

[travmarshall]

It's all Travis can do but watch as the axe thunks into the dead tree like the punctuation of a sentence too raw for words. He stays crouched for a few minutes, the bark now forgotten in his hands as Shane's voice fills the space between them—sharpened by betrayal, dulled by pain. “Sonny, again...” Travis echoes, quietly shaking his head. “For fucking sakes, man.” Just the mere mention of her name hits different—like a personal slight, that carves deeper than all the rest.

For a second, he looks away as his jaw works like he's chewing on something bitter. A remark? Maybe. Although, eventually his voice drops, rougher now, like gravel under tired boots. "What do you mean Wes saw her? Like, he saw her-saw her and they talked? And this whole time he didn't say a damn thing about it to anyone? Didn't even bother to hint at it in passing?" There's a moment, where Travis almost scoffs, the sound sharp and disbelieving. "Meanwhile you spent years wonderin' if she was even alive? We couldn't get you to sleep some nights because your brain wouldn't stop buildin' the worst-case scenario. Like every time your phone buzzed, you’d get that look. Like maybe it was her. Like maybe it was news. And the one time there was news, he just… fuckin' swallowed it? Are you kiddin' me?" In that regard, it was kind of cruel, the more Travis thought about it. Suddenly, Shane's anger made a lot more sense. As for Holly? "I won't even bother to pretend to understand what the hell your sister was thinkin'. Just the thought of her and Nate, makes me want to tear my own ears off just to forget I ever heard it."

Eventually, Trav walks over to the tree, resting a hand lightly near the embedded axe head—not quite touching the weapon itself, but instead brushing the scarred bark beneath it. “Look, I get it,” he says finally, eyes now trained on the splintered wood. “You’re not the bad guy here. For being hurt. For being angry. Hell, if you weren’t this pissed off, I might be worried you were becoming dead inside."

His tone is steady now, but his jaw flexes once before he speaks again. “I didn’t quite get the full story ‘til now. But… yeah, I agree. It’s messed up. Real messed up. And I ain’t gonna sit here and defend it to you just ’cause it came from two people we love. You had a right to know. And frankly, it sucks those choices got taken away from you twice over—first by Holly, then by Wes. It doesn’t matter how good their intentions were. They wanted to protect you, I'm sure. That’s always the damn excuse, isn't it? Protectin’ people we care about by keepin’ them in the dark. Like the pain and betrayal hurts less if you don't see it comin’.”

When he finally looks back at Shane again, it's not with pity this time but something closer to empathy. “The thing is, you and me? We don't work like that. We’d rather face the fire than sit around smellin’ smoke and bein’ told it’s just the wind.”

He turns to face Shane more fully now, no more pacing to break up the tension anymore, no more half-measures. "I don’t think any of us can blame you for bein’ furious. I would be too. And honestly? If you weren’t, I’d be wonderin’ where the hell my brother went.”

He hesitates but then after, a long measured beat adds, “We all remember what her leaving did to you. How you tried to act like it didn’t gut you. I know you—when you go this quiet and off the grid, it’s ‘cause your whole world’s burnin’ down around you and you’re just tryin’ not to show it. For Elijah.” He'd do the same for Sadie.

His voice drops again, although softer now. “Maybe the problem isn't just that you were lied to. It's the fact that, you still blame yourself. You would have dropped everything to go find her. For yourself, for Elijah. If you had just known she was out there, even just a glimpse, it would’ve given you something to hold onto. Hell, maybe things would’ve gone different. Maybe you wouldn’t be standin’ here now beatin’ a tree to death like it’s the only thing that understands you.”

It's at this point, he looks Shane dead in the eye, while running a hand down over his face, “Look, the only thing I will say is this—don’t let their mistakes make you forget what we've all seen in you from the beginning. ‘Cause the Shane I know? Doesn’t give up. He doesn’t turn cold just 'cause the people he trusted lied to him. And he sure as hell doesn’t let someone else’s choices tell him who he is. Or who he's going to be.” He tips his head, voice low. “Don’t let this be the thing twists you up so bad, it becomes something in your head it ain’t. Not really. You got every right to be angry. But for your sake, don’t let that anger convince you it’s now you against everybody. Don’t let it make you forget who you are underneath it all.” Which is a guy he respects and admires.

There's a half-smile, tired and wry but genuine all the same. “There's only room for one of us to be stubborn enough to stay that broken. And sorry to burst your bubble bro, but I claimed that title years ago and I ain't relinquishin' it to the likes of you.”

Shane stood there, listening to the words of his best friend—his brother in every way that counted. When Travis finally fell silent, Shane didn’t rush to fill the quiet. He was still seeing red, still reeling from the hurt of realizing the people he trusted most had chosen to lie rather than be honest with him.

They all knew he didn’t trust easily. And yet, they’d still decided that breaking that trust was a risk worth taking.

Shane struggled to imagine a scenario where he could ever justify doing the same to the people he cared about most.

When he had had a second to cool down, to literally and figuratively catch his breath, he finally glanced at Travis. "So now I'm the bad guy for not automatically giving them a free pass for lying to me?" He arched a brow. Too deep into his feelings of hurt and betrayal to give either of his siblings much grace right now. 

Obviously, he hated that he’d hurt either one of them. It literally went against how he’d lived his entire life, the creed he’d lived by was to protect his family at all costs. But this, this sense of betrayal stung too deep to just let it go. At least, not right away.

“Did they tell you why I reacted so strongly? What I was reacting to?” Shane shook his head, slinging the axe in his hand over his shoulder, barely pausing for a beat to wait for Travis’ answer before he continued. “Holly covered up an entire relationship—a serious one at that, apparently—with one of my friends and asked him to do the same for over a year, Trav. How am I supposed to trust someone who thinks so little of me that they’re okay with lying to my face for a year? And Wes…” his voice trailed off, his anger barely contained beneath the surface. 

In an effort to get it out, trying to keep from lashing out at Travis who clearly didn’t deserve it, he heaved the axe against the tree yet again, burying the head so deep that it stuck there and he left it hanging before turning back to Travis. “He saw Sonny. Prior to her coming back. He thought he saw her out on the circuit and he never even told me.”

His voice cracked with the remembered pain of years of wondering if Sonny were okay. Travis, just as much as his family, knew how much that had been Shane’s biggest fear in the years of Sonny’s absence. That something had happened to her, that she had been in danger and he hadn’t been able to protect her. The fact that Wes might have had even this tiny bit of information that would have at least confirmed she was alive and well and yet chose not to share it with Shane threatened to eat him up inside. 

"So forgive me if I don't really see how I'm the bad guy in this situation." With that, he turned his attention back to the axe imbedded in the tree and trying to pull it free. He knew Travis wasn't saying he was, but the idea that his siblings had eluded as much or even thought so poured a crap ton of salt on the wound.