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lorna-d-m · 4 days ago

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Chapter Two: Giving Thanks

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!oc (Eleanor Roy)

Summary: Eleanor Roy is the coach's daughter and totally off limits to Miguel O'Hara. As a defensive player, he's known for being gruff and harsh. But when he wants to change his image, there's only one person he can think of to help him.

Word count: 5,694

W: language, tense family dynamics

ao3 link here

A/N: Anything that is italicized within the quotation marks is said in Spanish. Also, I'm tired but still love the stories, and if you're still reading, I love you even more.

Gwen gesticulated with her coffee in one hand and a Danish in the other. “Weren’t you scared? He looks so scary, in a sexy angry sort of way, of course.”

“Of course,” Jess smirked, sipping on her Earl Grey tea.

Eleanor sighed. She should’ve expected something like that from Gwen. She pestered her ever since the “puck bunny” news broke to find out what happened, and Eleanor finally said yes, so long as it was over coffee or drinks. Gwen insisted after work, as soon as possible, so they sorted out the details.

The little cafe was near enough to Gwen and Jess’s work, making it convenient. Eleanor brought her sketchbook and notepad in her tote bag, trying unsuccessfully to work before meeting with them. She worked as an author and artist for children’s books, publishing under a pseudonym. Instead of Eleanor Roy, she was Ellie King, a play on her own name.

Currently, she had ideas, but she had difficulty cutting them down and limiting herself. Eleanor wanted to do a story about a little fish and his adventures in the ocean, learning lessons along the way, but there were too many creatures she wanted to include. Indecisive, she found herself doing small sketches of potentials, playing with the shading and movement of them to see how they would look on the page.

“Miguel’s not that scary, and he’s not that mean either.” She took a sip of her coffee, happy she had asked for the dash of cinnamon on top. “He’s defense. He comes off that way, but if you break the ice a little he’s…” Eleanor trailed off in thought.

How is he? Protective? He did rescue her. Thoughtful? He did shield her from the cameras and make sure she was warm. Generous? He did buy her snacks. A little goofy? He did sing along to his music.

“He’s a good guy,” Eleanor said firmly. Her time with Miguel felt private. She didn’t want to share him.

Jess slightly changed the subject, moving away from Miguel, but still on the overall topic. “What did your dad say?”

“He said I was reckless and foolish, that the two of you are bad influences,” she teased with a glare, “and he’s glad that I’m alright. Making headlines was certainly not my intention, and he knows that. He’s just pissed because it’s me and his team in a more scandalous light, which he doesn’t like.” She tucked an errant curl behind her ear, deflecting. “He’ll be fine in a few days when someone else does something stupid.”

“Hopefuly Edward does something and you’ll be off the hook,” Gwen shrugged.

Hopefully. Her younger brother was a saint in her parents’ eyes, making them proud by playing university hockey and being a straight-A student. They didn’t know everything that happened behind the scenes, like Eleanor did. She loved her brother, but he made some stupid decisions sometimes.

Miguel wasn’t stupid. He knew what people thought of him. The partying and the cheating in his younger years did a number on his reputation. Add to that he was a defenseman instead of a sniper or a goalie, and a damn physical one at that, and he was not a fan favorite. When he looked out at the Arañas crowd, there were not many people wearing his 99 jersey.

He thought the “puck bunny” incident would be another strike against him, another reason he should find another team. Instead, as people posted videos of him pulling the creep off Eleanor and shielding her from the paparazzi, they called him a hero. Miguel had been called much worse in his time, so he took it on the shoulder.

Through November, he looked for Eleanor at the rink. It wasn’t unusual to see her at practices, sitting somewhere in the stands, sketching or writing something as she waited for her father. It was normal to see her at some of the home games, sitting somewhere near the bench, wearing a jersey with no name or number. He thought of all the times he saw her without really noticing her before. Now, he noticed her absence. Miguel didn’t see her, but he kept looking.

Thanksgiving rolled around. The team collected cans and other dry goods at one of their home games, and on Thanksgiving morning, they donated the food as one of their charity events. Attendance and participation were mandatory. Some players complained, wanting more time for the holiday with their family, but Miguel didn’t mind.

Unlike most players, he remembered when his family could have used these types of events to eat. They struggled paycheck to paycheck, and between Miguel’s equipment and travel team, and his stepfather’s gambling and drinking, he went to bed hungry some nights. His mother was always too proud to accept help, but now he felt like it was a way for him to give back to families in need.

The social media team snapped some pictures of him and Peter, the team captain, handing out cans. Peter brought his wife, MJ, and baby Mayday, and several other players brought their families. Miguel was alone, intentionally, but he studied the crowd at the rink. Maybe Coach Roy brought his family.

Eleanor stood near her father and the assistant coaches, not saying anything, but following along with their conversation. Her dark hair was carefully arranged in neat plaits like a crown, and a warm brown sweater covered much of what he saw on Halloween. Miguel felt a small, sick swell of pride knowing what lay under the heavy knit. Her lips formed the smallest pout as she listened, as if she wanted to speak but never had the chance.

Part of Miguel wondered how much behind-the-scenes information she was privy to, and the other part of him wondered how to get a private moment with her. Miguel typically didn’t like talking to people or being friendly — Peter and his goalie, Kaine, were exceptions — but he enjoyed Eleanor’s company and wouldn’t mind speaking to her again.

He didn’t find his opportunity, but he was glad just to see her.

***

Miguel signed his first NHL contract after graduating from college. He played all four years on a hockey scholarship since it was the only way he could afford the tuition. After the ink dried and he received his first bank deposit, he bought a condo for his mother and brother near their old neighborhood. Everyone assumed he did it to pay back his mother for all her sacrifices to get him to the NHL, long hours at the rink, traveling, gear, but really, Miguel couldn’t bear to think of his little brother stuck in a too-small apartment haunted by his father’s ghost.

He only visited for the holidays. Despite being 6’5” and 240 pounds, he always felt small in his mother’s house, and not in a good way. She had a way of nitpicking and making him feel like he wasn’t good enough. Miguel only subjected himself to her a few times a year, knowing he would at least get a home-cooked meal for his troubles.

Miguel could smell the smoke from the hallway, and as soon as he opened the condo’s door, his eyes watered. He didn’t need to go to the kitchen to know his mother was roasting peppers for her salsa, and that they were wrapped in foil and charring on the comal. Gabriel flew out the door, covering his mouth and coughing.

“C’mon, let’s take a walk. She should be done and blending them soon.”

That’s how it was with his baby brother. No hi, hello, how are you, straight to let’s go. And Miguel went, not wanting to suffocate at the hands of his mother. She made a damn good salsa, but at the risk of smoking them all out. All the windows would be open when they came back, letting the chilly late November air in and the smoke out.

Hands tucked in pockets against the cold, Miguel followed him to the corner store. They bought two Cokes, made with real cane sugar and in a glass bottle rather than a can, and sat on the stoop of their building drinking them. Gabriel shivered, having left his coat in his hurry, so Miguel took his off and draped it over his shoulders.

“How’s school going? You got finals coming up?” Miguel sipped his Coke slowly. The team had him on a strict diet since he was their heaviest skater, and he didn’t get to indulge very often.

“Yeah, a few days after the break. I might be over again to study and get some projects wrapped up.” Gabriel already finished his drink and munched happily on a bag of hot chips.

Miguel shrugged. “That’s fine. You’ve got a key if I’m not there, and the doorman knows you.”

Gabriel offered him some chips, and Miguel took a few. “When’s your next game?”

“Tomorrow in DC. They gave us today, so we will fly out early tomorrow morning.” Miguel already planned to sleep on the plane with his headphones on and hoodie pulled up. “I’ve got a home game after that, and then some more through the week. I’ll be in and out, so feel free to stay the week if you need it.”

Sometimes, Gabriel needed a quiet, private place to study or to work. He didn’t mind offering his apartment to Gabriel, especially this time of year when he spent so much time traveling. His guest bedroom had a bed and a computer desk just for Gabri, and anything he wanted stocked in the kitchen or pantry, he just needed to add to the grocery list, and it would appear. It was the perfect place to study and focus.

“Thanks.” Gabriel handed him the bag of chips again, and Miguel took another handful. Fuck the trainers, his weight was all muscle and ass.

***

“Hi mama,” Miguel stood on the edge of the kitchen. He didn’t go in for a hug, but his mother did. Over a foot shorter than him, her head hit his chest as her arms came around him.

“Ay Miguel, you’re getting too big. If you were playing on real ice, you’d fall through.” She pinched his side to emphasize her point.

He rolled his eyes. She always made comments about his size, usually before she complained about him not eating enough and forcing him to accept another plate. He ignored her as he grabbed a handful of chips to try the ceviche. Acidic and bright, the flavors danced over his tongue.

His mother didn’t make turkey, stuffing, sweet potato casserole, all the stereotypical fixings. Instead, he ate shrimp ceviche, guacamole, homemade salsa and tortillas, and birria tacos with plenty of cilantro and onion. It almost made up for his mother’s company. She insisted he needed to eat more to be strong, and not even five minutes later, she said he ate too much and was getting too big. Damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t.

They sat at the white lace mantel table after dinner, talking. It was easier for him to let Gabriel fill the silence between them, and Gabriel loved to geek out about his computer classes. Miguel didn’t really understand, but he listened to him. God knows Miguel prattled on and on about hockey. He was nodding along when his mother reached for his hair.

“Your hair is too long! You look like a girl. You need to cut it.” She muttered, but he knew he was still meant to hear. “All that money and you can’t afford to go to a barber.”

“Mama,” he pulled her hand out of his loose curls, “I like it like this. If I want to get it cut, I’ll get it cut.”

Trying to escape, he picked up the table and started cleaning the kitchen. Miguel heard their voices still at the table, so he listened carefully.

“Mama, when are you going to leave him alone? He’s a grown man, and an athlete. Let him eat what he wants and do whatever he wants with his hair.”

“Ah, you’ll never understand.” She said some curses under her breath. “When are you going to ask him about next semester’s tuition? You know we need that check soon.”

“Give me time. You don’t want him to think you only want his money, do you?”

“Well if he visited more often than maybe things would be different…”

Miguel shook his head as he scrubbed a pan. He paid Gabriel’s tuition. He wanted to pay the tuition so he could go to school and study whatever he wanted, but of course, his mother only cared about the money. It was always something when he visited: the cost of groceries, clothes for work, or something was broken.

He dried his hands and returned to the table. “Well-”

She cut him off. “When are you going to get a nice girlfriend? Just the other day you were all over Facebook with some, what’s the name, puck bunny? You’re not getting any younger, and your little game won’t last forever.”

Miguel’s blood boiled. Eleanor wasn’t a puck bunny, and it wasn’t right for his mother to judge her. She was a nice girl, nicer than Miguel could hope to be with, and she didn’t deserve to be ridiculed for one unfortunate night. He clenched his fist at his side, counted his breaths, and uncurled his fingers.

“Good night, mama. Gabriel, if you need anything, let me know. I promise.”

She swiveled like an owl in her chair, creeping him out. “Will you be home for Christmas?”

“Maybe.” Miguel shrugged on his coat. “Will you leave me alone for once?”

He heard her curses about him, and for once, he didn’t care.

With her dad being a coach, Eleanor practically grew up at the rink. She used to do her homework sitting by the bench. Every holiday was spent hosting teammates who had nowhere else to go. Now, she helped out when she could, attending events with her dad.

Thanksgiving morning, some of her younger cousins came with them to the rink. They clamored at the chance to meet the players and get their jerseys signed, so she offered to keep an eye out for them and keep them away from any trouble.

The kids flocked to Peter, the team captain, and Kaine, the goalie. Peter was great with kids, having an adorable daughter, Mayday, and he interacted with them for a long time, playing into their antics. She noticed Miguel off to the side, a little nervous with tense shoulders, but still smiling when he talked to her cousin, Mason.

She ruffled his hair when he came running over to show her the signatures. He talked animatedly about how cool they were and how big they were as he showed her their messy scrawls. Absentmindedly, her fingers traced over Miguel’s name, his #99 beside it. She wondered why he chose it. Maybe she could ask him one day.

***

As per tradition, the women of the family cooked and watched the children while the men piled into the living room, drank beer, and watched football. They were naturally hockey people, but they didn’t have NHL games on Thanksgiving, so they became temporary football fans. Edward fit right in, drinking a beer he was technically too young for, not that anyone said anything.

Eleanor specialized in desserts, satisfying everyone’s sweet tooth, so she did the majority of her work the day before. Her cakes and pies were resting in the fridge out in the garage, so she lent a hand to her mother and her aunts where she could. Half the time, it was wrangling children who tried to run off with food, but she did her part.

They ate at the big table in the dining room, festooned with harvest placemats and napkins, after her grandmother said a prayer. Her father carved the turkey, and they passed the sides around the table. Eleanor was mindful of how much she took, knowing her aunts would make some nasty comment about how much she ate. She smiled politely, taking small bites of food, and tried not to look at the plate of buttered rolls too longingly.

Her Aunt Joy, who was anything but, took a sip of her wine and made eye contact with Eleanor across the table. “I saw your picture in the paper a few weeks ago, and I was quite surprised. I thought your father taught you to stay away from hockey players.”

Eleanor’s face flushed. She hoped they wouldn't bring that particular moment up. She knew she did nothing wrong, so did her parents, but she still felt embarrassed every time someone mentioned it. Her costume left little to the imagination, and it was not her finest moment.

“He did, but I’m glad Miguel was there.” Eleanor thought carefully about what she wanted to say. “It’s hardly the scandalous story some want to make it, but it was nice of him to make sure I made it home okay. Dad must be a good coach on and off the ice.”

“Damn right,” he chimed in from the head of the table. “I like to think that any of my boys would do that for my daughter, but I’ll be the first to admit O’Hara surprised me.”

“With his penalty minutes, I’m surprised he didn’t fight or throw him into the boards,” her uncle chuckled. Miguel was known for racking up time in the box, spending as much of the game there instead of on the ice. Some pundits speculated he needed to reduce his penalty minutes if he wanted to stay with the Arañas.

“And with his reputation, I’m not surprised they called you a puck bunny,” Edward snorted, “no woman within ten feet of him is safe.”

That was the other facet of his fame. Miguel used to show up to games with a girl on his arm and leave the arena with a different one. There were countless articles and pictures of him with his flavor of the week, and particularly messy ones when he got caught cheating on his girlfriend. Not that Eleanor Googled them or anything…

“Awfully brave of him, kind too.” Her cousin, Hannah, practically fanned herself while thinking of him. “Did you happen to get his number or anything?”

Yes, not that she would give it to her. While Eleanor bit her tongue, her father spoke up again.

“Hannah,” he spoke sternly, “I thought we had this conversation when I caught you lurking by the locker room.” Hannah rolled her eyes, clearly not embarrassed at all. “My family shouldn’t fraternize with players. It’s just not right.”

Eleanor hadn’t spoken to Miguel since that night. She wanted to, but she didn’t know what to say. She avoided the rink, not wanting to risk an awkward interaction. He probably gave her his number to be polite. He didn’t actually want to hear from her again, certainly not see her. If she texted him, all she’d get back is a “Who’s this?” text, which she would rather do without.

After dinner, the men returned to the living room, and the women went back to the kitchen to start on the mountain of dishes. She took them from her Aunt Kim, who dried them, and put them away in the cabinets. Her mother joked it was because she was the only one tall enough to put them away.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Eleanor glanced quickly and was surprised.

Uber Driver: Good to see you today. Sorry I didn’t get the chance to talk to you. I hope you’re having a nice Thanksgiving, and maybe I’ll see you at the rink soon.

He saw her? He wanted to see her again? What should she even say to him? And of course, her drunk dumb ass named him Uber Driver. She’d have to fix that.

“Who are you texting, and why are you smiling like that?” Aunt Kim asked. She handed Eleanor another serving platter, and she put it away on the top shelf.

“Jess and Gwen,” she lied with a stutter, suddenly conscious of the rosiness of her cheeks. “They were telling me about their Thanksgiving mishaps.”

“Really? Goofy smile like that I thought you finally had a boyfriend,” she teased.

Hannah laughed, finally looking up from her phone she’d been on for the last twenty minutes. “You’re funny Aunt Kim. Eleanor would have to actually talk to a boy for once to have a boyfriend.”

Eleanor bit her lip. Her lack of a relationship became a bit of a family joke, and Hannah’s comment poked a sore spot for her.

“It’ll happen, Eleanor,” her aunt assured her. “When you least expect it, the right guy will swoop in and take you off your feet.”

Hannah smirked, “Yeah, right.”

December dragged. Miguel was in the swing of the season with games almost every other day, and some back-to-back. He felt like a ghost in his own apartment, returning late at night to eat, sleep, go to practice, and travel for games. But every time he stepped on the ice, he felt the familiar lightning lick up his spine. That crackle and electricity were why he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Eleanor came to their first home game after Thanksgiving, sitting in the block of seats her father had reserved. He spotted her during warm-ups, so he skated slowly by her seats, trying to look out the corner of his eye. Eleanor gave him a small wave — nothing that would be noticed by anyone else —, but Miguel knew.

Eleanor 🐰: Good game! Takes some solid defense to pull off an empty net.

He didn’t get many chances to speak to her. She always disappeared after the game, no matter how quickly he showered and changed clothes. Miguel thought about texting her half a dozen times, but he couldn’t think of anything that seemed worth saying.

Miguel: Quite the knowledgeable compliment. Thanks.

***

In late December, the Arañas hosted their annual winter festival. They went all out, renting one of the ice rinks in Central Park and selling tickets to the public. They brought in food trucks and had raffles, led a toy drive, and all proceeds went to a children’s charity. Children from the hospital and the group home were given free tickets and jerseys, and had the opportunity to meet the players.

Miguel wore layers under his jersey and jeans, knowing the late December chill would get to him after a while. Their equipment manager would bring skates for them so they could skate with the kids, so he didn’t need to worry about bringing anything other than toys to donate.

He huddled up with the other players, listening to the game plan for the day. There would be pictures, a tree lighting, and a gift giving, but otherwise, they were free to wander and do as they pleased. They were encouraged, of course, to interact with the kids as much as possible, but not many of the players needed to be told twice.

They flocked to the coffee and donut table like moths to a flame. Miguel grabbed two despite the nasty look from the team trainer and shoved them in his mouth. He washed them down with hot coffee and looked around. It snowed the night before and dusted the park. The main paths were cleared, making it easier for the children and parents, but much of the sides stayed snow-covered and icy.

He noticed a woman with her arms piled high, trying to take a shortcut over a hill. She slipped a little on the slick ice, almost dropping everything, but he caught a glimpse of her face as she struggled to stay balanced. Eleanor.

Miguel jogged over to her. His feet were steady on the ice, as always, and he met her at the base of the hill.

“Let me help you with that,” he offered, his hands reaching to take some of the load.

“No, it’s fine!” She protested, “I’ve got it.” As if to prove his point, one of the books slipped from her hands, and he caught it.

“You were saying?” he smirked.

Eleanor rolled her eyes as she handed him more items. “You know you’re making a habit of this.”

“Of what? Saving certain damsels in distress?”

She laughed, high and light. He couldn’t help smiling when he heard her laugh. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it.” Eleanor paused, turning to look at him. “But thank you, again.”

“What is all of this?” He peered into the bags hanging from her shoulders.

She sighed, clearly recounting a mental checklist. He was sure she’d be counting off on her fingers if she had any free. “Cookies and brownies for the dessert table, more presents for the kids that my dad bought but forgot to bring, and books for the story time photo op.” She steered him toward the tables set up at the rink’s edge.

“Impressive. Homemade or store bought?” Not that it mattered to him; he would still eat one of each. But he wanted to know if it was her baking he complimented, and if so, how to get more.

Eleanor scoffed, offended he would even ask. “Homemade, of course. I was up half last night making sure they would all look picture perfect.”

Damn. “And are there any ugly or imperfect ones you can set aside for me, or will I have to fight everyone for a pretty one?”

“Well,” She furtively glanced around as she set everything on one of the tables, “I suppose I could give you one now, payback and all for helping me.”

He grinned. Eleanor handed the cellophane-wrapped snowman cookie like it was a covert operation, which in a way, it was. If the other players heard she was giving out cookies, they’d be on her in no time, and Miguel wanted to keep her all to himself for just a little bit longer.

***

It didn’t take long for the kids to arrive and chaos to descend. Many of the players were just big kids themselves, so goofing around with them came naturally. Miguel stood off to the side for a bit, knowing he wasn’t a fan favorite, and watched. Peter gave kids piggyback rides while on skates, while Ben showed a group of pre-teen boys juggling tricks. Miguel wasn’t sure where he fit in amongst all the action, so he stayed put.

Some of the younger kids played tag on skates, wobbly but giggling. He watched them for a while, debating showing them how to stop a bit smoother, and how to kick off without cutting up the ice so much, when he noticed a boy who had been playing, standing off to the side. Miguel noticed him earlier. He was one of the few kids in an O’Hara jersey, and it caught his attention. It was one of the reasons he watched them play.

Miguel remembered when the boy tagged another kid; he pushed him pretty hard and knocked him to the ice. They got into an argument, as young boys often did, and he stormed away for a while. He was back now, not playing, but watching on the fringes.

The boy’s face was flushed, and not from the cold. He wiped away tears with a pudgy hand and sniffled. He was a few inches taller than the other kids and a few pounds heavier. Miguel knew what that felt like. He had always been the biggest kid in class.

His heart went out to the kid. It wasn’t that he played rough or was trying to be mean, as the other kids thought, but he’s competitive and bigger than them. It’s harder for him to slow his momentum and stop on the ice; it’s coming off as a push and a shove rather than a tag. Miguel blew out a breath and walked over to the kid.

The boy’s brown eyes widened at him, and he tried and failed to wipe away his snot and tears. He knelt down to the kid’s level and put his hand on his shoulder.

“Hey bud, I was watching you out there.” Miguel smiled so the kid knew he wasn’t angry or upset with him.

“You were?” He was awestruck for a moment, and then he rolled his eyes. “You saw them kick me out, didn’t you?”

Well, there was no way around it. “Yeah, I did.”

“I didn’t mean to push them!” He protested. “I just wanted to tag him…”

“I know-”

“You know?” Poor kid sounded shocked that someone believed him. He tugged on Miguel’s heartstrings again.

“Yeah, I do. But you’re pointing your feet wrong when you try to stop and slow down, so you’re coming in too fast. Do you want me to show you how to fix it?”

The kid’s eyes popped out of his head. “Really? You would do that?”

“Of course. We gotta get you back in the game.”

Miguel spent the next fifteen minutes with the kid, whose name he learned was Jason, teaching him footwork. Jason watched his every move, his tears long gone, and eventually it started to click. Some of the other kids who had been playing started to creep closer, obviously trying to learn too, so Miguel invited them over.

“Now there’s only one of me, and a few of you, so my friend Jason here is going to help by being my model.”

Jason’s eyes pleaded with him, but Miguel gave him a confident, toothy smile and an affirmative nod.

“Sometimes, when we’re skating along, we don’t realize how fast we’re going, or how hard it is to stop. Raise your hand if you’ve ever tripped trying to get to a stop?” He looked at the kids sheepishly, raising their hands until he raised his, too. A few of the kids started giggling, and more proudly raised their hands.

“See, even the pros do it, too, but I’ll make you look like pros. You know that cool spray of ice when we stop fast? It’s all footwork and knees, and once I show you how to do it, you’ll look cool and stop better.”

Miguel demonstrated a few quick start stops, and then he encouraged Jason to show the kids his new skill, too. “Think of your skates like skis. Both feet turn sideways, weight on your outside foot, knees nice and low. Don’t stand straight or you’ll fall like that.”

For emphasis, he kept his knees straight to show them how easy it is to fall. He knew he’d have a few more bruises, but it was nothing new. The kids giggled again, and maybe they would learn a thing or two.

“Let’s do it slowly: glide... turn both feet... knees bent... and dig in. Jason here’s gonna demonstrate for you guys, and I’ll watch how you’re doing.”

The kids mimicked him, with some falling and some succeeding. Miguel helped them up and reminded them that falling meant they were learning.

“Now that we’ve learned something, let’s try it out in another round of tag.”

He stayed for another ten minutes or so watching the game. He cheered the kids on, gave them pointers when necessary, and played one round when they dragged him into it.

The evening wound down, and all major crises were averted. The gift exchange went well, with the players giving every kid in attendance a wrapped present from the pile, and the storytime gave them some cute photo opportunities. They read several Christmas classics, from The Polar Express to The Grinch and The Night Before Christmas, but she noticed some of her books, written under a pseudonym, were placed around them. Her father must have done that to subtly promote her books. He always had a soft spot for her.

Eleanor packed up the baked goods with plastic wrap, not that many were left over, so people could take some home. The sun went down about half an hour ago, and the true chill started to settle in. She couldn’t find her jacket, so she hoped they would either leave soon or it would turn up sooner.

“Here,” her head snapped up, and kept going up to look at Miguel O’Hara’s molten brown eyes. “You look like you could use this.” She looked down at his hands pushing toward her. He was offering his team hoodie.

Her first thought was it wouldn’t fit. She never borrowed clothes from anybody, but he insisted, pushing it into her hands again.

“I can’t stand to see you shivering, please.” Something glimmered in his eyes.

Eleanor huffed but took the hoodie. She discreetly checked the tag, knowing Miguel was one of their biggest players, and pulled it over her head with her fingers crossed. Still warm from his body, and it smelled like his cologne, aftershave, and a little bit like sweat. She resisted the urge to take a deep breath in.

“Anything else I can help with?”

“Not really,” she shrugged, cookies in either hand, “I’m pretty much packing up here. I figure everyone will start heading out soon, so this way they can grab some to go.”

“Are you sure? No coffee or hot chocolate before they pack up?”

“I’m fine, I promise,” she insisted.

Miguel smiled skeptically, “If you say so…”

Eleanor continued her work, encouraging families and players alike to stop by and grab some treats for the road. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was much warmer in Miguel’s hoodie, and not just because it provided an extra layer.

Did it mean something? Maybe he was just being nice. But if he was just being nice, then why did he leave a hot chocolate on her table when she looked away?

Eleanor: Thanks for the hoodie. My dad found my jacket under one of the present tables. Go figure 🙄I can wash your hoodie and get it back to you at the next practice?

Uber Driver: Keep it. It looks better on you.

Maybe it was more than being friendly…

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fanfic

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lorna-d-m · 3 months ago

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Chapter Four: Birthday Wishes

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!OC (Cecilia Anderson)

Summary: Meet Miguel O'Hara, a rugged bareback rider who could have had it all, and Cici Anderson, the spirited daughter of a stock contractor trapped in a toxic relationship. When fate brings them together for a dance, they see each other again and again.

Word Count: 5,118

W: cursing, drinking, Miguel's doing some heavy yearning

A/N: Anything that is italicized within the quotation marks is said in Spanish. If you want to be added to the taglist you can comment or fill out the google form here

Previous chapter

Miguel should’ve known he was too deep when Cici convinced him to try one of her fancy face masks. He watched her in the warm lighting of the fancy hotel bathroom, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, as she offered a jar of pink gloop in her outstretched hand. Miguel refused, twice, until she pouted and batted her eyes. How could he say no?

Then, Cici snapped a picture of him with the sticky stuff smeared across his face, and she giggled a little too hard.

“What are you doing?” he asked, afraid to move his lips too much to speak.

She smiled wickedly. “Sending it to Gabri.”

“No!” he protested, but it was too late. “I’ll never live this down.”

“You’ll thank me for it later when your skin is as soft as mine.”

Miguel wondered how soft her skin was. The round apples of her cheeks, the plump skin of her thighs, or her ample breasts. He wanted to run his calloused hands across her, teasing and adoring, pinching and squeezing, but he settled for being near her.

Gabriel: Are you seriously doing a face mask with her?

Gabriel: Dude

Gabriel: Simp behavior

Miguel: Shut up. You’re not helping.

Gabriel: Did you figure out a gift for her birthday yet?

Miguel: Still not helping.

Gabriel: Buy her more of whatever she put on your face. She probably used half the container on your big head.

Miguel: 🖕

Gabriel was right, naturally, not that Miguel would admit it to him. That would give him too much power. But, it didn’t stop Miguel from craning his neck to read the brand name on the small pink container resting on the counter. It was a good idea, he told himself, and he was just mad that Gabriel thought of it before he did.

Besides, Miguel was a simp. In the weeks that passed, Miguel and Cici saw each other several more times. They stopped seeing each other at the dusty rodeo grounds as much, instead having more quiet nights in. More often than not, he let her pick the food and the movie. Miguel didn’t care as long as he was with her.

Cici’s birthday fell during a competition weekend. She deliberated about what to pack, wanting her cutest outfits to celebrate, but also cramming her professional clothes for interviews and press. Taylor and Gwen insisted it would be a crime not to pack one of her tight satin dresses, especially since Josh planned to come down for the weekend.

It was rare for him to see her at work, and she was excited to show him the ropes, metaphorical and real. Josh got confused whenever she tried to explain what she did all day, or how the evenings went, and Cici thought that if he could experience one, everything would finally click together.

Cici also relished the chance to show him off and feel special. It was difficult for her to articulate unless she was at least three drinks in, or awake and unable to fall asleep, but there were times the distance made her feel terribly lonely. She missed the little things, like his hand against her waist, or looking to see if he laughed at the same joke. Just being near him, for a day or two, was enough to make her feel better.

She checked her phone relentlessly on the day of. All her friends and extended family sent messages, made social media posts, and congratulated her. Cici responded to each one, giving them the heartfelt messages they deserved, but she couldn’t keep herself from checking her texts with Josh.

Radio silence. He said he would let her know when he left the city, and by the afternoon, she started getting worried. It was a long drive, and if he didn’t leave soon, he’d miss the celebration dinner.

“Stop checking your phone.” Cici’s head popped up at Miguel’s voice. He blocked the fleursecent light, and it created a halo around his mussy dark hair. Cici smiled wanly. “He’ll be here,” Miguel assured her.

She clicked off her phone. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”

“But…” he baited, one hand on his cocky hip.

Cici chewed her bottom lip in thought. “But I can’t help myself from worrying.” What if he isn’t coming? What if something happened?

“Come on,” he urged.

“Where are we going?” Her eyebrows scrunched together. “You need to be changed and ready soon, you don’t have time-”

“I have time for you,” he said firmly, “and you need to feel better.”

Cici relented, seeing the stubbornness in his eyes. “Fine, but you still didn’t tell me where we’re going.”

“What always cheers you up?” Miguel said it like he already knew the answer; he was just waiting for her to realize it.

“Coffee and a little something sweet?”

“Uh huh,” he rolled his eyes, “there’s a little bakery not that far from here. We can be there and back in enough time for me to get ready.”

***

Cici left her phone alone while she rode in Miguel’s truck, fiddling with the radio stations and the back angle. He didn’t press her to talk about what bothered her, instead, he let her mind wander and distract herself for a bit. Miguel just let her be, no questions asked, no judgment.

On the way back, she ate, doing her best not to get crumbs or spills anywhere. Miguel was right, as usual. Coffee and a concha made her feel much better.

He waited in the right-hand turn lane. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, waiting for the ridiculously lifted truck in front of him to turn. The parking lot filled up now, crowds arriving to claim a seat, grab a bite to eat, and talk with their buddies. Miguel lost a prime parking spot to take her out. He lost time, where he could’ve stretched or taken a nap, and money since he insisted on paying.

Cici chewed her bottom lip again, overthinking the best way to break their comfortable silence. “Are you doing anything tonight?”

Miguel chuckled, circling the parking lot for a spot. “You mean other than riding a fifteen hundred pound bucking horse that wants to get me off its back? No, no other plans.”

“Well I knew that,” Cici playfully hit his shoulder and then pointed to a free space. “Do you want to come to my birthday dinner?”

He was quiet for a moment, and Cici could tell it wasn’t just so he could focus on parking. Miguel threw the truck in reverse, turning over his shoulder to see. His hand rested on the headrest behind her, and she was acutely aware of his fingers lingering by her neck.

Miguel stayed there when he answered, his face inches from hers. “Of course I’ll be there. Text me when and where.”

“Okay,” she smiled. “Good luck tonight, if I don’t see you until you’re on the big screens, that is.”

Miguel was late, but he wasn’t going to tell Cici. She didn’t need the stress or the guilt. Instead, he hurried through his warm-up process. He still needed to stretch and change, and stretch again. Miguel double-laced his boots, wrapping the long edges around and around. He wound the athletic tape from his wrist to near his shoulder, protecting and supporting his muscles, careful around the elbow brace.

Miguel wasn’t as vain as other riders. He utilized all available protective gear, from the vest to the mouthguard, to shield himself from injury. Young and bullish guys would waltz in wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and chaps just to be carried out on a stretcher. Miguel understood early on that if this was to be his career, he needed to safeguard himself.

It was busy back by the dusty chutes, but Miguel still stretched his rigging over the rails and looked it over. Passersby clapped him on the shoulder, wishing him luck, and he nodded his head, focused on catching up. He still needed to find a quiet space to clear his head before they got to the bareback riding.

“Saw you leaving with Anderson. Trying to get a leg up on the competition?”

Miguel’s back stiffened, his hackles raising. Kron always set him on edge. He didn’t even need to speak, just breathe the same air, and Miguel would be bothered. Kron was his rival in more ways than one. Sure, they were competitors in the same event, but it went deeper than that.

They shared the same tainted blood. Kron, the rising star of bareback bronc riding, was the son of the legendary Tyler Stone. Miguel, meanwhile, was also the son of Tyler Stone, but since he was born on the wrong side of the sheets, his heritage was not known. Not that Miguel wanted anyone to know, his opinion of his biological father tanked when he found out the truth about how he pulled his iconic stunts. But it tied them together, and it was another way for Kron to antagonize him.

“Hey,” Kron grabbed Miguel’s shoulder, “I’m talking to you.”

“And I’m not.”

Although Miguel stood taller than Kron and broader, his brother still had him pinned against the fencing. Miguel’s eyes flicked around, from the bustling crowd to the handlers. He didn’t want to cause a scene, but Kron seemed intent on it.

“Walk away, Kron, and leave her name out of your mouth.” The last thing he needed was a cameraman or a journalist spotting them. He pushed past him, deciding to go through him rather than around.

Kron refused to let him slip away, grabbing him by the wrist. “Or what? What’re you gonna do, Mike?”

Miguel tore his wrist away and took a step back. “Stay out of my face and keep her name out of your mouth or I’ll tell the PRCA about your little pick-me-ups.”

That was enough to send Kron running, but Miguel knew it wouldn’t keep him away for long. Still, he would be able to get in the right headspace and stretch before his time came.

Typically, Cici spent her time before the night’s beginning meeting with other contractors, speaking to the press, and all the networking her job demanded. But that night, she wanted to sit back and enjoy, so she and Taylor made their way to their seats high up in the metal bleachers with plenty of snacks and drinks in tow. Now that Taylor entered her third trimester, she didn’t go far without snacks.

A local up-and-coming country singer sang the National Anthem, a denim jacket draped over her shoulders, the leather of her boots shining and glinting in the light. She was followed by sparkling red and blue fireworks. The announcers geared up to introduce the riders, and Cici shifted to better see the jumbo screen. Miguel lined up with the other bareback riders, a head taller than either man beside him, and broader, too.

Cici grabbed a handful of salty, buttery popcorn. Her phone buzzed in her lap, and she glanced at the screen. Josh <3 is calling. She shifted in her seat, looking for the nearest exit to duck out and answer.

“Ladies and gentleman, hold onto your hats because coming up next is a real force of nature!”

The cameras panned to Miguel on the back of a chestnut brown stallion, stirring up dust around the arena. He smiled and waved, each movement perfectly practiced.

“From the bustling streets of San Antonio, he’s a man who swings into action like no other. Known for his incredible agility and strength, he’s no ordinary cowboy; he’s the one and only Miguel O’Hara, the super hero of the bareback world!”

A young boy with a hat far too large for him leaned over the railings as much as he could, holding out a red, white, and green flag. Miguel slowed down, urging the horse to stop, and reached out for the flag. He tipped his hat to the young cowboy and proudly displayed his colors.

Cici checked her phone again once Miguel disappeared from view.

Josh: Sorry I can’t make it out tonight, baby. I’ll call again in a few hours. Enjoy your night.

Cici typed out several messages, but she wound up deleting them. She wanted to tell him everything, from that he should’ve called earlier, that she would’ve enjoyed her night more if he were there, and he shouldn’t bother calling, but she didn’t.

Cici: Thanks <3

Classically, bareback was the first event of the night. It set spirits high, drew big crowds, and made sure everyone got settled soon after the anthem. Steer wrestling and team roping followed, which was usually when Cici stepped out to speak to the press on how the night was going. She tried to make it back to her seat for the saddle bronc riding, which was similar to bareback, but riders used proper saddles rather than rope rigging.

Cici scrolled through her phone during the intermission, waiting for the final event of the night: bull riding. The PRCA TikTok page already posted clips of Miguel’s ride, being the top scorer of the night, and Cici paused to rewatch. She replayed the video again and again, frame by frame, scrutinizing his ride. If he wanted to take home the title, he’d need to repeat the performance.

“Before we bring on the bulls, let’s wish a happy birthday to one of our own tonight, Miss Cecilia Anderson!”

Cici flipped her phone over in her lap and looked up. She smiled widely for the cameras, knowing they panned to her as soon as they said her name, and she didn’t want to look too caught off guard. 20,000 attendees sang in unison, off pitch but well-meaning, and it warmed her heart.

Taylor appeared totally surprised, as did her mother sitting to her other side, and she wondered who tipped off the announcers. It could’ve been Nick, or her father, they would have the connections to pull it off. As the crowds reached the final strain, she spotted Miguel at the bottom of the metal steps, one hand leaning on the railing and the other tipping his hat to her.

That sneaky motherfucker…

For the first time in his life, Miguel regretted not packing a suit. He riffled through his suitcase, looking for anything presentable enough for dinner. Brushing shoulders with the good old boys wasn’t something he did, but Cici asked him to go to her birthday dinner, and he knew with her princess behaviour, this would not be a casual affair.

Clean jeans, nonscuffed boots, and his least wrinkled button-down shirt would have to do. His hair was still wet from his shower, so he mussed some gel into it. He wished he had brought a jacket or something to compensate, but it would have to do. He felt like hell, he always did after riding, but he looked alright enough.

He spotted her car in the parking lot and chuckled. It was always easy to find her. Miguel parked toward the back, feeling inadequate with his old truck. He lifted his hat and ran a nervous hand through his hair as he spoke to the hostess, informing her he was part of the Anderson party. She led him through to a private room in the back, and his uneasiness grew.

“Miguel, good to see you. Heck of a ride today.” Nick clapped him on the shoulder, and Miguel did his best not to look like a spooked horse. He muttered his thanks.

“Miggy!” Cici squealed and stood, a half-finished drink in her hand. Based on the way she wobbled, Miguel guessed that wasn’t her first drink. “I saved you a seat!”

He recognized her family members, but he still politely introduced himself. Cici sat at the head of the table with Miguel on one side and her sister-in-law on the other. Her brother, parents, and cousin rounded out the table. It was a small, intimate meal, but oddly comforting. He counted himself half lucky and half honored to be there.

Cici leaned in but still spoke loudly. “Josh was supposed to be here tonight, but he said something came up.” She took another sip of her drink, slurping on ice. “He said he was going to call me in a few hours, but that was hours ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I guess his loss is my gain.” Miguel realized how that sounded, and he tried to course correct. “For the food, I mean, everything looks so good.” And out of his price range… It was never a good sign when the menu didn’t have prices. He had a feeling Mr. Anderson would be footing the bill, but he didn’t want to be an expensive guest.

But he did mean it. If Josh couldn’t be bothered to see her or even call her on her birthday, it was another reason Miguel wished she would break up with him. She deserved to be with someone who would make her happy, not disappoint her at every opportunity.

She giggled. “It’s my gain too.” He quirked an eyebrow, and she explained. “He would cut me off after two drinks, even though it’s my birthday, and insist I should get the salad to ‘avoid the carbs’. Oh, and only one bite of dessert. I still want to look good in my birthday suit, don’t I?”

Fuck that guy. It’s her damn birthday, she should eat whatever she pleases.

The waitstaff brought several appetizers for the table, and Miguel asked for a Jack and Coke. They talked about the day’s competitors and the livestock while sharing plates and reaching around each other. The Andersons would be staying in town longer than Miguel, who was headed out the following morning. There were other events for the Anderson stock, and they would stick around until the rodeo ended in a few days. Then, they would pack everything up, head home for a few days, and move to the next one.

After his Jack and Coke, he switched to water. He munched on the appetizers, appreciative of the spread, and mindful about not appearing too greedy or hungry. Every time he saw the Andersons, he wanted to make a good impression.

Miguel thought Cici looked sexy in her tight little dresses, or even her comfy lounge clothes, but he was surprised to feel his dick twitch when he watched her devour a porterhouse steak. He wanted to blame it on the pleased moan she took every other bite, or the way her eyes rolled back, and she would curse, but he knew it was something more primal than that. That girl could eat, and he wanted her to be well fed, and not only that, he wanted to be the one to feed her.

Damn, he needed to stop thinking like that… especially around her family. She had a boyfriend, and no matter how much Miguel couldn’t stand him, he respected her.

Cici could drink, too. With each one, she started to laugh a little harder, smile a little wider, but there was a certain glimmer in her eyes that dimmed. She avoided talking about Josh entirely, and she rolled her eyes and sighed in disgust every time she checked her phone.

Miguel stayed mostly quiet, only speaking when spoken to. Everyone else knew each other so well he felt like an outsider, but Cici did her best to make connections and draw them together. He felt awkward but grateful, always a little self-conscious.

The back of the house stuck candles in a heaping slice of chocolate cake. Cici blew out the candles after pausing to make a wish, and Miguel wondered what the princess wished for. Selfishly, he wondered if he could give it to her.

At the end of the night, they said their goodbyes and prepared to leave. Her mom and sister gave him a goodbye hug, and he got a firm handshake from her dad and brother. He offered to drive Cici back to her hotel, and her family was grateful they didn’t need to deal with a drunk Cici, chuckling that he had no clue what he signed himself up for. But he didn’t mind. At least it was time with her.

Miguel came back from the restroom and started to get the picture of drunk Cici. She fooled around in his hat, pretending to be a wild west gunslinger with the brim pulled down low. Her family rolled their eyes and clapped him on the back, bidding him goodnight and good luck. Miguel wasn’t superstitious; he didn’t believe in the cowboy hat rule, but he felt his heart skip a beat all the same.

All it took for her to go from white girl wasted to tired and whiny was walking through the restaurant and to the parking lot. Miguel let her lean on him when needed, her soft stomach and chest pressing into his back and arms as she grew sluggish, but he didn’t mind. Warmth radiated from her, and he wanted to keep that feeling.

“I’m hot,” she protested as soon as they got in the truck. “I’m sweating, Miguel, fix it,” she mewled.

Miguel bit back a laugh, knowing he was on thin ice right now and if he laughed he’d piss her off. He blasted the AC and moved all the vents to blow toward her, knowing in about two minutes time she would complain about being cold.

She didn’t ask him, she just reached forward and turned all the vents and fiddled with the controls. Then, she played with all the buttons for the radio and the CD player. She twisted and turned, but she never spotted the gifts Miguel got her in the backseat, hidden amongst all her other presents.

“I know it’s not as fancy as you’re used to, but…” he trailed off, “...it’ll get the job done.

“I know.” She sounded tired, and not just physically. “I’m not always a princess, you know? I don’t need all the fancy things…”

Cici found an old country station and let it play quietly. Miguel snuck looks at her through the mirror, her face lit up by the moon and passing streetlights. She hummed along to the music, her eyes closed and her head tilted back. Cici looked pretty at peace, not performing for anyone else but herself. He may have taken the longer route back to her hotel, a few wrong turns here and there, but she didn’t notice.

Her phone buzzed in her purse, and she pawed around to find it. Miguel didn’t know who would be calling her at that time of night, but he had a pretty good guess. It was confirmed when she cursed as soon as she saw it.

“I’m gonna put it on speaker, so pretend like you’re not here,” she warned.

Great. Miguel rolled his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t giving the guy a fair chance, but nothing he had seen or heard set him up for a great first impression.

“Babe, I’m sorry. I could not get away from work today. It was meeting after meeting, totally slammed, and we’ve got the deadline next week, so we’ve been re-working everything.”

The silence hung heavy. Miguel gripped the steering wheel, grateful the night hid his white knuckles. He parked in her hotel parking lot, but neither one of them moved.

“I get that you were busy, but you couldn’t have called or texted?” Cici sounded tired, and she worked to keep her voice level. She didn’t want to sound too drunk. “Or said something to let me know you weren’t going to make it, but you were still thinking of me?”

“Babe, I’m always thinking of you. But I couldn’t even get to my phone today. I was so busy.”

It was a lame excuse, and Miguel resisted the urge to gag and roll his eyes. Cici stayed quiet again, clearly trying to think through the tequila fog. Miguel put a reassuring hand on her knee and squeezed it, telling her to say what she was thinking.

Cici sniffled and pinched her nose, “You didn’t even wish me a happy birthday.”

“Look, I’m sorry I forgot. Let me make it up to you,” he sounded too defensive for Miguel’s taste, but that was not his place to say. “Whatever you want, just send it to Tiffany and she’ll make sure you get it. Jewelry, makeup, lingerie, whatever you want babe, spoil yourself.”

“I don’t want gifts, Josh, I just wanted to see you.” Fat tears rolled down her cheeks, and Miguel looked for a napkin or anything he could use to help her.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, babe. You know I’m super busy here, like I can’t get away right now. Just get whatever you want, and I’ll let you know when it’s a good time for me.”

Cici wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. Her lower lip trembled, and she blinked away more tears. Miguel wished he could do more for her, but she needed to realize how shitty he was herself.

“Okay,” she sighed, trying to get a handle on her voice, “let me know when it’s a good time for you. I could come into the city rather than you coming out to the ranch.”

“Sounds perfect, baby. Can’t wait to see you in something sexy.”

“Yeah,” she laughed, but it didn’t sound genuine, “Can’t wait to see you.”

The call ended abruptly, and immediately she started sobbing. Miguel didn’t know what else to do for her other than be there for her. He leaned over, and she nestled herself against him, crying into his shoulder. Miguel held her because it was all he could do.

“Why doesn’t he love me? I feel like I’m trying so hard to make this relationship work, and I’m getting nothing in return.”

“Let it all out, princess,” he soothed, rubbing her back. The sound of her voice cracking threatened to break him.

“It wasn’t always like this, you know?” She sniffled again and pulled back, looking into Miguel’s eyes. “Maybe it’s the distance, or our busy schedules, but I don’t know what else to do.” She searched for something in his eyes that he couldn’t tell her, not yet.

He shrugged, “Relationships change.” Relationships should end, but he wasn’t stupid enough to tell her that. Knowing her, it would only make her more determined to work things out.

“I know,” she sighed, “I know they do. But I’m not sure it’s been changing for the better. And I don’t know if I can make it better all by myself.”

“Well, you’re not going to solve anything out here. C’mon princess, I think it’s time for you to sleep all these big feelings off.”

“I think you mean sleep the tequila off,” she half giggled.

“That too,” he acknowledged with a wry smile. “Now lemme help you take all this inside.”

Miguel helped bring all her gifts upstairs, the sparkly bags and delicately wrapped boxes carefully opened so she could peek inside, and the only thing he let her carry was a bouquet from her parents. He liked her little smile every time she sniffed the bouquet. Something as simple as fresh flowers brought her so mucy joy, so why couldn’t that asshole do the bare minimum for her?

“I’m leaving everything here for you except-”

“Can you help me with this zipper?” Cici cut him off. She stood with her back to him and her hair swept out of the way.

Miguel took a deep breath, and it was all her warm, floral perfume. His hand dwarfed the dainty zipper as he followed the track, and his other hand rested on the small of her waist. He wanted to give her a squeeze, pull her close, and kiss her neck, but that wasn’t his place.

“Thanks! What were you saying before?”

He thought she would go to the bathroom or the side to change, but she stayed right there, in front of him. Greedily, he watched as she shrugged out of the dress, exposing her pink lacy bralette and panties, and slipped on an oversized t-shirt.

Happy fucking birthday.

“Miggy, what were you saying?” She looked at him like he was an idiot. He realized, a little too late, that it was her second time repeating herself.

“Oh, I left everything there except my gifts for you.”

“Aww, you didn’t have to get me anything!”

He did, if he wanted to be better than her boyfriend. “It’s not much, and I don’t even know if you’ll like it…” he deflected.

She sat crisscrossed on the bed, plush white blankets around her, and her hair pulled back in a messy bun. He longed to curl up next to her, but he stayed standing. “Let me see…” Cici said as she poked into the bag.

Cici pulled out the stuffed longhorn cow, wearing the stupid little blue plaid pajamas Miguel had to fight to get him into, the face masks she likes to use thanks to Gabriel’s advice, a coffee gift card, and a pile of candies with a note saying she could choose their next movie night.

“Awww! I love him! And he smells so good! And all my favorite goodies? You know me so well.” She looked on the brink of tears again, but he knew these were happy tears.

He flushed with guilt and embarrassment. The cow smelled good because he spritzed it with his cologne before putting him in the bag. Miguel shrugged, “It’s easy to know you. All I have to do is listen and pay attention.”

She set the goodies on the nightstand and sank into the pillows and blankets with the cow clutched to her chest. Miguel could see himself curled up next to her, his arm resting across her stomach, and his fingers grazing the cow. Cici looked like she was about to fall asleep any second, but her hazy eyes stayed focused on him.

“And yet, it’s more than some people do. You’re a good man, Miguel. You might not want to admit it, but you’ve got a softie at heart.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, don’t go spreading that around. Can’t have people knowing that.”

“The big, bad, Miguel O’Hara. Not so bad after all.” She teased him, and her hair spread out on the pillows.

“Goodnight, princess.” He tugged on the comforter until it came up to her chest. “Happy Birthday.”

“Goodnight, Miggy. Thank you.”

He caught her sniffing the top of her cow again, and a small smile tugged on his lips.

Taglist: @tojishugetiddies

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