directbing - Tumblr blog

directbing · 16 hours ago

Text

Endgame

bob floyd x fem!reader

You noticed him right away.

It was a quiet Tuesday afternoon, just you and the soft hum of the AC, until the bell above the bookstore door chimed. You looked up from restocking the poetry shelf behind the counter and spotted him stepping inside—tall, broad-shouldered, golden hair a little tousled from the breeze outside.

But it was his glasses that caught your eye first.

Rounded wire frames, a little fogged from the humidity, which he gently wiped on the hem of his shirt before pushing them back up his nose. He didn’t look like the usual customer. Something about the neatness of him, the calm. Like he was always five seconds ahead of whatever was happening.

“Hi,” you offered with a smile. “Looking for anything in particular?”

He glanced up, eyes warm and a little shy behind the lenses. “Uh… not sure yet. Just browsing, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” you said. “Fiction’s on the right. Non-fiction’s on the left. And the hidden gems are back there,” you added, gesturing to the narrow room behind the register. “Used books. Chaos. Treasure.”

That got a small smile out of him—barely there, but enough to make you pause.

He wandered for a while. Quiet, thoughtful. Hands in his jacket pockets, his fingers brushing against spines like he was familiar with the texture of every title. You got distracted with a few customers, and by the time you looked back up, he was standing in front of the register again.

“Find something good?” you asked.

He held up a copy of Slaughterhouse-Five.

You grinned. “Classic. Solid choice.”

“Never read it,” he said, shifting his weight a little. “Felt like I should.”

“Well, you picked a good copy. That one’s survived three owners and one coffee spill.”

He let out a quiet laugh, eyes crinkling. “Perfect.”

You rang him up, slid the book into a paper bag, and handed it over. “Thanks for stopping in.”

He nodded. “Thanks… uh—” He glanced at your name tag. “Y/N.”

And then he left.

That was it. First day.

But then he came back.

Once, then twice, then regularly. Always soft-spoken. Always polite. You learned his name on his third visit—Bob Floyd.

“You military?” you asked one afternoon when he came in with a badge clipped to his waistband.

“Yeah,” he said. “Navy.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a WSO,” he said, shrugging slightly. “I fly in the backseat of jets. Kind of boring.”

You blinked. “You fly in a jet and you think I have the exciting job?”

He smiled—wide this time. A real one.

After that, the rhythm started. Every few days, he’d stop by. Sometimes he brought coffee. Once, when the place was slammed and you looked visibly overwhelmed, he walked in with a sandwich from the deli next door and just handed it to you without a word.

You looked at him, stunned. “Did you—?”

“Figured you hadn’t eaten,” he said. “The guy behind the counter said turkey’s your favorite.”

You stared. “You asked?”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Seemed important.”

Eventually, he started lingering longer. Sometimes he’d sit in the chair near the window and read while you worked. You got used to him being there. Looked forward to it, even.

And then, one day, with the rain tapping the windows and a stack of books half-sorted in your lap, you looked over and said, “I’ve never been on a base. You guys have tours?”

He looked up from his book. “I could… probably show you around. If you want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’ve got a good recommendation record,” he said, holding up the book you’d handed him last week. “Figured I owe you.”

And just like that, something shifted.

———

You weren’t sure what you expected from a military base, but it wasn’t this much sun. The light bounced off the concrete as you stepped out of Bob’s truck, shielding your eyes and squinting up at the massive hangar doors ahead.

“Big, huh?” Bob asked, stepping around to your side with his hands shoved in his pockets. He wasn’t in uniform today — just a navy tee, jeans, and his glasses perched comfortably on his nose — but he still somehow looked more official here. Like this place belonged to him.

“Very big,” you echoed, still staring. “How do you not get lost?”

“Trial and error.” He smiled. “C’mon. I told Phoenix we’d stop by.”

He held the door open for you, and the second you stepped into the hangar, it was like walking into a different world — hot, alive, and buzzing. Jets lined up like sleeping giants, tools clanking in the distance, voices echoing off the walls. A few heads turned when you entered, but no one said anything right away. Just curious glances — flickers of recognition.

Bob didn’t notice. Or if he did, he didn’t flinch.

You stayed close to his side, your eyes darting everywhere, soaking in the unfamiliar world with quiet awe.

“This is where I work,” he said simply. “Over here is the simulator room, but you’re not missing much. It’s just a dark box that makes you nauseous.”

“Sounds… thrilling.”

“You’d love it,” he said with a chuckle. “I threw up my first day.”

You laughed softly, and Bob glanced at you — and maybe it was just the hangar light, or the sound of your voice, but something in his face softened.

From across the floor, someone whistled. “Baby on board!”

Bob exhaled through his nose, already looking like he regretted everything.

You blinked. “Was that—?”

“That’s Hangman,” Bob muttered, under his breath. “Don’t… don’t ask.”

Jake Seresin was making his way over with that smug, golden-boy energy radiating off him like a second sun. But before he could get to you, Phoenix intercepted, striding up like she’d been waiting all morning.

“About time,” she called. “I’ve had three people ask if they’re allowed to stare.”

“Please tell me you said no,” Bob said.

“I said wait five minutes and act casual.” Phoenix grinned at you, warm and surprisingly relaxed. “You must be the bookstore girl.”

You nodded, shaking her hand. “That’s me.”

“C’mon,” she said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. “Bob’s going to get mobbed in about sixty seconds, and I’m not babysitting. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

You looked at Bob, a little hesitant, but he smiled.

“I’ll be right here,” he said, nudging his head toward a small crowd of pilots heading his way. “Don’t let Phoenix talk you into anything illegal.”

Phoenix snorted. “I only did that once.”

As she led you deeper into the hangar, you glanced back just once. Bob was already in conversation, but his eyes flicked to you briefly. Just a second — but long enough to say still here. I see you.

And somewhere near the back of the hangar, Hangman leaned in to Bob’s side.

“So,” Jake said, voice low and too casual. “Baby on board. That your girl?”

Bob didn’t look at him. Just stared at the hangar doors where you’d disappeared with Phoenix. His mouth tugged into a small, shy smile.

“Not yet,” he said. “But I’m manifesting it.”

Phoenix didn’t need to say she was giving you the VIP tour—you could feel it in the way she walked. Confident, steady, a little protective. You’d barely stepped onto the hangar floor before she’d whisked you off, casually tossing a “You’ll be fine, you’re with me,” over her shoulder like that was supposed to ease your nerves.

Spoiler: it kind of did.

You jogged a couple steps to catch up with her as she led you toward the fighter jets gleaming under the bright lights. She was already pointing out a few things—flight groups, gear lockers, a very expensive-looking toolbox someone definitely wasn’t using correctly.

“Okay, full disclosure,” she said, glancing at you with a little smirk. “I don’t usually do tours. But Bob asked if someone could show you around, and I figured—I fly with the guy every day. Might as well do him justice.”

You smiled. “I hope that’s a good thing?”

“Oh, it’s a great thing. You’re in the hands of the best pilot-WSO duo on base. He’s got my six every time we’re in the air.”

You followed her gaze to one of the jets. It was sleek and deadly, all power and precision. Your eyes widened a little.

“This is ours,” she said, hand resting lightly on the frame. “Well—ours in the sense that the Navy owns it, and we abuse the hell out of it on a daily basis. But she’s good to us. And Bob—he makes her better.”

You raised a brow. “How so?”

“He’s got the kind of instincts you can’t teach. Reads the radar like it’s a second language. Calls out threats before I even see them.” She shrugged. “We’ve flown through some crazy stuff together. Not once have I ever questioned if he’s got me.”

There was something honest in her voice—real trust, real admiration.

You looked back at the plane, trying to picture it: Bob, in a helmet, locked in, calm under pressure. You’d never seen that version of him. The Bob you knew wore soft flannels and brought you sandwiches on your busiest days. The Bob who always asked how your shift was and remembered which books made you cry.

Phoenix crossed her arms, glanced sideways at you. “And outside the cockpit? He’s the most grounded person I know. Loyal to a fault. Always thinks things through. And he’s the kind of guy who’d rather sit through a three-hour rom-com than make someone feel alone.”

That made you laugh.

“Let me guess—he’s done that for you?”

She grinned. “He once sat through The Notebook on a deployment. I cried harder than I care to admit, and the whole time, he just kept passing me tissues like it was nothing.”

You smiled down at your shoes, cheeks warm.

Phoenix nudged your shoulder gently. “Just saying—guys like that don’t come around often. And when they do? You hold onto them. Even if it starts with just… spending time.”

You looked back at the plane, then toward the far end of the hangar where you could just barely make out Bob’s figure, deep in conversation with someone.

“I didn’t think someone like him would even notice someone like me.”

Phoenix raised a brow. “Then clearly, you don’t know how often he talks about you.”

You blinked. “He talks about me?”

“Mmhm. Said you’ve got a laugh that could shake the dust off his worst days. And that no one’s ever looked at him like he mattered until you did.”

Your breath caught a little, heart tugging.

Phoenix gave you a warm, knowing smile. “Come on. Let’s get you back to your not-quite-boyfriend before Jake tries to convince him to go skydiving again.”

The second Bob spotted you across the hangar, something in his shoulders eased.

You were walking alongside Phoenix, chatting easily, your arms swaying at your sides. From where he stood—half-listening to Coyote explain something about flight telemetry—it was like time clicked into place. Like the sun came out just a little brighter.

You caught his gaze before he could look away, and your face lit up in that quiet, devastating way that always made his heart race a little faster. You gave him a little wave.

“Hey, there you are,” you called as you reached him, Phoenix peeling off with a smug smile and muttering something about giving you two a minute.

Bob cleared his throat, trying not to grin too hard. “Hey. You, uh—have fun?”

“I did,” you said, brushing a piece of hair from your face. “Phoenix gave me the rundown. Told me you’re basically her better half in the sky.”

His ears went a little pink. “She said that?”

“She also said you cried during The Notebook, but we can unpack that later.”

His smile cracked wide open. “She told you that?”

“Oh yeah,” you teased. “Said you passed her tissues and everything. Real stand-up guy behavior.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, glasses slipping just a little. “Well… she was crying pretty hard.”

You tilted your head at him. “You’re kind of the whole package, huh?”

That caught him off guard. His lips parted slightly like he was going to say something, but all that came out was a soft, surprised laugh. “I—I try.”

“Trying’s working for you,” you said, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Everyone here kind of thinks we’re a thing, you know.”

He swallowed. “I know.”

You raised a brow, heart suddenly fluttering. “Does that bother you?”

Bob stepped a little closer, voice lowering just enough to make your stomach twist in that delicious, dangerous way.

“Not if it’s true.”

Your breath hitched.

Before you could say anything, Hangman’s voice cut through the moment: “Hey, Baby on Board! You bringing your girl to poker tonight, or are you too chicken to lose in front of her?”

“Tell him I’ll clean him out,” you said over your shoulder to Hangman, but your eyes never left Bob’s.

He chuckled. “That’s my girl.”

Neither of you said anything after that—not right away. But he didn’t need to. The look in his eyes said everything.

And when his hand brushed yours as you both started toward the others… you didn’t pull away.

———

The pool table had been pushed aside, replaced with a worn wooden table and a scattered deck of cards. Around it sat Hangman, Phoenix, Coyote, Payback, Bob — and you, somehow coaxed into joining despite claiming you hadn’t played poker since college.

Real cash was spread across the table in uneven little piles. Singles, fives, tens. Phoenix had set a buy-in cap — twenty bucks max — to keep things friendly. Still, competitive fire burned hot, especially in Jake Seresin’s eyes.

“You sure you wanna sit in?” Hangman grinned, tossing in his first five. “I play for blood.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s literally ten-dollar max bets.”

“Blood,” he repeated, grinning wide.

Bob sat beside you, shoulders slightly turned your way, quiet and observant. He hadn’t bought in tonight. “She’s playing for me,” he told the table earlier, soft and proud.

The first few hands? You folded quick. A couple clumsy raises. Easy bluffs. Hangman leaned back, smug, convinced you were just learning.

Then came a quiet hand.

Three players in.

The pot slowly growing.

And you cleaned them out.

“Full house,” you said, flipping your cards like it was no big deal.

Hangman blinked at his pair of aces. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” you said sweetly, dragging the pile of bills toward you.

After that, the game shifted.

Jake stopped talking. Coyote narrowed his eyes every time you lifted your cards. Phoenix just watched in growing amusement, sipping her beer like she knew.

And you?

You kept winning.

Not every hand — but enough that by the end of the hour, you had a neat stack of bills in front of you. Seventy dollars total. Most of it from Jake, who now had three singles and a crumpled five left to his name.

“This is highway robbery,” he muttered. “You played me.”

You smiled. “I didn’t do anything. You bet into it every time.”

“She’s terrifying,” Coyote whispered to Phoenix. “How is she so calm?”

Jake shook his head in defeat as you slowly counted your bills, pausing at the fifty mark. You picked up a crisp ten and a five, and held them out toward him.

He frowned. “What’re you doing?”

“Giving you back your dignity,” you teased. “Or at least fifteen bucks of it.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “You don’t want it?”

“I want a free drink and maybe a soft pretzel,” you said. “Not a reputation.”

Jake huffed, but he took the money. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or impressed.”

Bob was definitely the latter.

He leaned toward you, voice low, grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You really only kept fifty?”

You nodded, slipping it into your jacket pocket. “That’s more than enough.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hangman lose that gracefully.”

You laughed under your breath. “I’m sure he’s just holding in the tantrum for later.”

Bob chuckled. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“You’re fine,” you said, nudging him lightly. “You backed me up from the start.”

He gave you a look — one that held a quiet kind of admiration. Not loud, not flashy. Just a warmth that said he saw you.

And maybe, just maybe, his fingers brushed yours under the table. Not on purpose. Not at first.

But neither of you moved away.

———

(6 months later)

The hum of the overhead lights blended with the low clatter of forks against ceramic plates. It was nearing midnight, and the old 24-hour diner on the edge of town had mostly emptied out, save for a few regulars and the two of you tucked into a corner booth.

Bob stirred his coffee absently, eyes darting from his cup to the half-eaten slice of pie you were insisting he finish. You were grinning, warm and carefree, wearing one of his old academy hoodies over your dress from earlier in the night. And Bob, for once, looked a little uneasy.

You noticed.

“Alright, Lieutenant Floyd, what’s going on?” you asked gently, nudging his knee with yours under the table. “You’ve been chewing on that coffee stirrer like it personally wronged you.”

He smiled sheepishly, cheeks coloring. “I’ve just been thinkin’,” he said, eyes still not quite meeting yours.

You tilted your head, curious but patient.

He sighed and finally looked at you, the weight of something important softening his voice. “It’s been six months. Half a year. And I know we’ve said we’re taking things slow, and I love the pace we’re going, I really do. But I’ve been telling my family about you.”

Your eyes lit up just slightly. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “A lot. I mean—Phoenix calls you my girl at work and I don’t even bother correcting her anymore. I don’t want to. And my mom, she… she keeps asking when she’ll get to meet the person who makes me sound this happy on the phone.”

You softened. “Bob…”

“I want you to meet them,” he said, finally. “I’m nervous, don’t get me wrong. I think I’m more nervous about this than I was flying solo the first time. But they’re important to me. And you’re… God, you’re everything. I want them to know you.”

There was a long pause before you leaned over the table and squeezed his hand. “I’d love to meet them,” you said, voice just above a whisper. “And for the record, I think your mom’s gonna love me.”

Bob let out a quiet, relieved laugh and shook his head. “Oh, sweetheart, she’s already halfway planning the guest room.”

You grinned. “Guest room, huh? So I’m staying over?”

He blushed. “I mean… if you want to.”

You kissed the back of his hand and whispered, “I want to.”

————

Bob pulled his truck up the long gravel drive, tires crunching beneath them as the familiar white farmhouse came into view. A breeze made the wind chimes on the porch sing, and the golden hour light turned the sky soft and hazy.

Y/N sat in the passenger seat, completely frozen.

Bob glanced over. “You good?”

“Nope,” she said too fast. “Definitely not.”

His brows creased, concern flashing in his eyes. “Talk to me.”

“I’m about to meet your family, Bob. Like—your actual family. Your mom, your siblings, people who knew you before you were Lieutenant Floyd. What if they don’t like me?”

He turned toward her, resting his forearm on the steering wheel. “They’re gonna love you.”

“You don’t know that,” she whispered, eyes wide. “I mean—I’m not from here. What if I say something dumb? What if I mess up a handshake or like… I don’t know, accidentally insult your mom’s green beans or something—”

Bob laughed softly. “You’re not gonna insult anybody’s green beans.”

“You don’t know that!” she half-whined, hands clutching the skirt of her sundress.

He reached across and took one of her hands gently, grounding her. “Y/N. They are going to love you. My momma’s been cleaning the house since I told her we were coming, and she already made sweet tea, pot roast, and probably more bread than either of us should legally be allowed to eat. She’s excited. I’m excited.”

Y/N looked at him for a long moment before nodding, even if it was hesitant. “Okay. I’m okay. I’m ready.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

He gave her a smile and hopped out, coming around to open her door like he always did. She let him help her down, her hand lingering in his as they walked up the porch steps. She could hear voices inside—faint laughter, a dog barking somewhere in the back.

Before they could knock, the front door swung wide open.

“Bobby Ray Floyd, you get yourself over here and hug your momma!”

Bob grinned. “Hey, Momma,” he said, pulling her into a tight hug. His mother was shorter than she sounded, but sturdy and warm like she’d spent her whole life feeding people and loving hard. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled back in a soft braid, and her floral apron still had flour dust on it.

Then her eyes landed on Y/N.

“And you must be the sweet girl I’ve been hearin’ so much about,” she said, already reaching forward with open arms. “Come here, sugar!”

Y/N blinked but smiled, hugging her back. “Hi, Mrs. Floyd. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Oh, honey,” the woman said, pulling back and cupping her face in both hands, “Just call me Margaret. Mrs. Floyd makes me sound like I’m ninety and mean as hell.”

Y/N laughed nervously. “Okay. Margaret.”

“That’s better. And look at you—Lord have mercy, you’re even prettier than Bobby said you were.”

Bob blushed behind them.

Margaret waved them inside. “Come on in. Dinner’s almost done and everyone’s dyin’ to meet you.”

The house was warm and lived-in, smelling like roast chicken, biscuits, and cinnamon. Bob’s siblings were already coming out of the woodwork—two of his younger brothers giving him hell, his sweet younger sister introducing herself right away and pulling Y/N into conversation.

But not everyone was smiling.

From the hallway, a woman leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Her tone was flat as she said, “So. This her?”

Bob stiffened slightly. “Yeah. Hannah, this is Y/N.”

Y/N stepped forward and offered a polite smile. “Hi.”

Hannah gave her a once-over. “Hm.”

That was all.

Y/N’s smile dimmed for just a beat before Bob gently placed a hand on the small of her back and steered her toward the kitchen.

“Don’t you mind her,” Margaret said brightly. “She’s been in one of her moods. Been that way since she was old enough to steal Bobby’s toys.”

“Momma,” Bob mumbled under his breath, but Y/N squeezed his hand.

Dinner was loud and warm—Bob’s siblings trading stories and teasing him about everything from his slow drawl to the time he accidentally glued his own hand to a model plane in fourth grade. Margaret kept slipping more food onto Y/N’s plate. Bob just kept looking at her like he couldn’t believe she was really here, really sitting beside him.

And all through it, Hannah said almost nothing. When she did, it was pointed. Dry. Not loud enough to make a scene, but enough that Y/N felt it like a pebble in her shoe.

After dessert, when everyone wandered toward the porch, Bob stayed behind to help his momma with dishes. Y/N sat with his sister, watching the sun sink lower in the sky.

“She likes you,” Bob’s sister whispered, nudging her.

“She doesn’t act like it,” Y/N said softly.

“She’s just… guarded. Don’t let it get to you.”

“I’m trying,” Y/N admitted. “I just want to make a good impression.”

“You already have.”

Inside, Bob wiped his hands on a dishtowel and looked out the window—his girl, sitting on his momma’s porch, in his old rocking chair, like she belonged there.

And God help him, she did.

———

The sun had long set by the time everyone gathered around the big oak table in the Floyd family dining room. Someone had unearthed a battered Uno deck from the junk drawer, rubber-banded and worn, like it had lived through generations of Floyd family game nights.

Margaret poured everyone sweet tea in mismatched mason jars. “Uno always brings out the truth in people,” she warned playfully.

Y/N sat beside Bob, heart still fluttering from dinner and all the warm welcome she’d been shown—almost all of it. Hannah sat at the far end of the table, arms crossed tight and expression unreadable.

Will shuffled the deck dramatically. “Y’all ready to lose?”

“I don’t know,” Bob said, grinning at Y/N. “She’s got a good poker face.”

Hannah snorted. “Guess some people are just good at bluffing.”

Y/N blinked. She wasn’t even sure that one was meant to land—but it did.

The game began. Will talked the most trash, naturally. Margaret cheated a little, blatantly dropping extra cards and daring anyone to call her out. Bob sat close, letting his hand rest on the back of Y/N’s chair, his knee brushing hers now and then.

And Y/N? She was destroying them.

One by one, they folded, groaned, drew four. Y/N didn’t gloat. She just smiled, almost shyly, stacking up her winnings—a mix of fives, tens, and twenties everyone had tossed in to make the game interesting.

“Beginner’s luck,” Bob’s younger sister joked.

“I think it’s just quiet confidence,” Margaret chimed in warmly. “She’s got that strength in her. Like she’s used to holding her own.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Or maybe she’s just lucky enough to keep landing in the right places.”

Bob stilled.

Y/N’s smile faltered, just for a second, before she folded her hands in her lap and looked down.

Margaret frowned. “Hannah—”

“No, it’s fine,” Y/N said quickly. “Really. I’m just good at card games. I used to play a lot growing up.”

“You sure you weren’t playing people, too?” Hannah muttered under her breath.

That did it.

Bob sat up sharply. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Everyone went silent.

Hannah raised a brow, acting innocent. “What? I’m just making conversation.”

“No, you’re being mean,” Bob said, voice low but firm. “You’ve been like this since we walked in the door. She’s done nothing to you.”

“Maybe I’m just being cautious,” Hannah snapped. “You fall fast, Bobby. You always have. Someone needs to think straight when you can’t.”

“She’s not someone,” Bob said. “She’s Y/N. And she’s not like—”

He stopped himself. The room hung heavy with that pause.

“She’s not like her,” he said finally. “You know that.”

Margaret stood, her voice sharp. “That’s enough. We treat guests like family in this house, and we sure as hell don’t humiliate them at our table.”

Will muttered, “This is awkward,” trying to break the tension, but it didn’t land.

Bob’s younger sister gave Hannah a disgusted look. “What is your dealtonight?”

Y/N stayed quiet through all of it, eyes on the table, hands still neatly folded. Until Bob’s older sister—Sophie—stood up gently and nudged her arm.

“Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s go for a ride.”

Y/N glanced at Bob, who gave her a little nod. And then she followed Sophie out to the porch, where the summer air wrapped around them like a humid blanket.

⸻

They drove through the quiet country roads in Bob’s dad’s old pickup, windows rolled down. Neither spoke for the first few minutes. Then Sophie finally broke the silence.

“She’s not usually like that,” she said. “Hannah. She’s just scared.”

Y/N looked over, brows drawn. “Scared of what?”

“Of you,” Sophie said honestly. “Of how much Bob cares about you. Of what happened the last time he fell for someone.”

Y/N stayed silent, sensing more was coming.

“Six years ago,” Sophie went on, “he dated this girl. Real sweet. Beautiful. She came around once. We all liked her. But then she just… vanished. Called him from another state and ended it. Said she couldn’t do this kind of life. Couldn’t be second to the Navy.”

Y/N’s heart cracked.

“He didn’t cry,” Sophie said. “Didn’t yell. Just… shut down. For almost a year, it was like he disappeared, even when he was home. Hannah took it the hardest. She’d go sit in his room and just… watch him be quiet.”

Y/N bit her lip. “I didn’t know.”

“She’s being a brat. Don’t get me wrong,” Sophie said. “But she’s not trying to hurt you. She’s trying to protect him. Even if she’s doing a really shitty job of it.”

Y/N gave a tiny nod. “I’d never do that to him. I’d rather die than hurt him.”

She paused.

“…Though I guess that would also hurt him.”

Sophie let out a laugh. “Yep. That’s how we know you’re in it for real.”

Y/N smiled softly, watching the road roll out in front of them.

“Come on,” Sophie said. “Let’s get you back. He’s probably pacing the porch already.”

By the time Sophie’s truck pulled back up the long gravel driveway, the front porch light was glowing like a beacon, and there he was—Bob, standing on the steps in his hoodie and jeans, wringing his hands like he’d been waiting for hours instead of just thirty minutes.

Y/N barely had her door open before he was at her side, his voice low and anxious.

“You okay? I—I wanted to come with but I figured—”

“I’m okay,” she said, smiling softly, and reached out to brush her fingers against his. “Sophie filled me in.”

His jaw twitched, a million things on the tip of his tongue he wasn’t sure how to say.

“She told me everything,” Y/N added gently. “About her.”

Bob lowered his gaze. “I didn’t want that to be the first story they ever told you about me.”

“I’m glad I heard it,” she whispered. “I’m glad I know what you’ve been through.”

He looked up then, and there was something glassy in his eyes he tried to blink away.

Sophie gave them a moment, then cleared her throat. “I’m heading in. Try not to start another Uno war, alright?”

Y/N laughed softly as Bob guided her up the steps with a hand at her back. The house was quieter now. The tension from earlier still lingered, but it felt like the air had been cracked open, like maybe—just maybe—something had started to shift.

They sat on the back porch for a little while, shoulder to shoulder, Y/N’s head leaning against Bob’s arm, both of them watching the stars.

Then the screen door creaked open.

It was Hannah.

Bob immediately stiffened.

“Hey,” she said, not looking at him. Her gaze was locked on Y/N.

“Hey,” Y/N said back, not unkindly, just cautious.

Hannah took a few slow steps out, arms folded, like she wasn’t sure if she should even be standing there.

Bob stood. “If you’re gonna say anything else that—”

“No,” she cut in quickly. “I’m not.”

She looked between them, jaw clenched.

“I came out here to apologize,” she said finally. “To you.”

Y/N blinked. “Oh.”

“You didn’t deserve the way I treated you. Not at dinner. Not at game night. Not… at all.” Hannah shifted her weight. “I was being a bitch. And I knew it.”

Y/N opened her mouth, but Hannah raised a hand.

“I was scared. Not of you. Of what you could do to him. You don’t know what he was like after she left. He didn’t even come home for Christmas that year. Didn’t answer our calls for two months. I thought—I swore—he’d never come back from it.”

She swallowed hard.

“And then you showed up. And I saw the way he looked at you. Like his whole world just… lit up again. And I got scared all over again.”

Y/N stood slowly, walking a few steps toward her. “I understand,” she said quietly. “But I’m not her. I’m not gonna hurt him.”

“You say that now,” Hannah whispered.

“I mean it now,” Y/N replied.

A long silence.

And then—surprisingly—Hannah cracked a tiny smile. “You know… it pissed me off how good you were at Uno.”

Y/N grinned. “You should’ve seen me at poker night with the team. I made Jake Seresin hand over a hundred bucks.”

Bob let out a quiet, wheezing laugh. “You gave most of it back.”

“She kept the twenty with the barbecue sauce stain on it,” Bob added proudly.

Hannah blinked. “Wait, you’ve got the barbecue bill?”

Y/N’s brows furrowed. “Is that a thing?”