My name being Jo makes this fic extra funny đ
I looooove this đ
Candygram
Summary: It's Valentine's day and you shoot your shot with Eddie by sending him a Candygram.
Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, fluff, sfw
4.8k Words Master List
âJust do it.â Robin said, following your line of sight to the booth in the corner of the Hawkins cafeteria. It was a simple table with a red cloth thrown over it and a handmade banner that read âCANDYGRAMS $1â and was decorated with tacky hearts.Â
Every time you glanced over at the booth, your heart would start pounding and your stomach would twist in knots. You had never considered yourself to be shy before, when you first moved to Hawkins a few years ago, Robin had joked that you didnât need a welcome wagon because you had thrown yourself into band and had introduced yourself to everyone with ease.Â
You had masked your anxiety over being the new kid with an overinflated sense of confidence and it had worked out really well for you until you caught feelings for the freak who sat next to you in remedial science.Â
âI think... I would rather chug formaldehyde.â you said slowly, staring so hard at the offensively pink and red booth that Robin was sure it was going to catch flames.Â
âEither go up there and buy a candygram or Iâm going to do it for you.â Robin said. âIf I have to hear you waffle about this for one more day Iâm gonna rip my hair out.âÂ
âBut if I send him one, then he might actually acknowledge me and realize I might have something resembling a feeling for him, and thatâs just not really cool, you know? Goes against my chill and mysterious personality.â you said, leaning back on your chair with a cocky grin.Â
âLast night I saw you and Steve cry over Bambi.â Robin deadpans.Â
âOkay, so we were drunk and also shut up.â you snorted, rubbing your face.Â
âHow are you going to know if thereâs anything there if you donât even take the chance?â Robin scolds. âCome one, Iâve seen the way you look at him. Iâm surprised the whole school doesnât know-â
âAgain, cool and mysterious personality.â you tried again.Â
âPlus I know heâs just as weird as you.â Robin continued, ignoring you. âI mean, last week I saw him get Jason Carver to back off one of the freshmen by pretending to exercise a demon out of him!â
You stared at Robin for a beat before thunking your head on the lunch table. âIâm going to marry him. Holy shit, he actually tried to expel the demon lurking in Carver?â You were laughing at the thought.Â
During your first senior year and his second, Eddie Munson had caught your eye when you had the same lunch period. He was loud and energetic and so fucking weird you couldnât help but to be drawn to him. Had your parents not forced you to stick with band, you would have considered joining Hellfire. Unfortunately even with this last go-round as a super senior, they still made you stick with it despite your senioritis reaching terminal levels.
You never had a good opportunity to talk to him, and the more time passed the harder it became to justify just randomly approaching him. This semester you finally had your opportunity when youâd been put in the same class and sitting next to each other no less. Still, the most youâd been able to say was âyeah, sureâ when heâd asked you for a pencil once.Â
Four weeks sitting next to Eddie, and you had barely spoken to him while noticing every little thing about him. He read a lot in class when he could get away with it, and doodled in his notebooks constantly, especially dice and dragons seemed to be the biggest theme. His school notebook wasnât nearly as filled in as his Hellfire notebook, and he was always fidgeting in class. He also didnât talk much, and at least once a week heâd end up falling asleep in class with his head in his hand.Â
âThereâs not gonna be a wedding if you canât even talk to the guy.â Robin said. âHeâs not even scary! Dustin comes in to talk to Steve all the time about Hellfire. Heâs just a dork.â
âI know and thatâs the problem.â your voice was a strangled laugh mixed with a groan.Â
âYou showed up the first day of band and introduced yourself to everyone, even if they werenât in your section. What is the hold up with you talking to Eddie?â Robin pried.Â
âBecause back then, it didnât matter.â You looked over at Robin, poking at your mystery meat. âWhen I first got here it didnât matter if anyone liked me or not. I was only supposed to be in this school for a few months and then graduate. Then I didnât. I could handle it if someone didnât like me. None of you were really supposed to matter to me. No offense.â
Thankfully, Robin didnât seem offended. âYou were just making nice with the inmates until parole.â she joked and you nodded.Â
âYup, and then when I realized that I was going to have to actually have a full other year of school, that meant that I was going to have to care if I was ever gonna graduate.â You continued. âLuckily you saw through all my bullshit bravado and started dragging me to movie nights with you and Steve.âÂ
âYeah yeah, we love friendship. So what does any of this have to do with Eddie?â Robin said, not needing you to explain the backstory that she had been present for.Â
âIt means that with Mr. Munson, I unfortunately, care so fucking much what he thinks of me.â you relented. âHeâs the biggest freak in school, and the dorkiest loser, and if I try and talk to him and heâs not interested in talking back I wonât be able to take it. Robin, I will simply lay down and be dead for the rest of my life.â
âThatâs not how that works, you canât be dead for the rest of your life.â She shook her head, her brows furrowed. âBecause if youâre dead then... youâre not aliveâ
âSchrodinger's corpse then. Alive and dead at the same time.âÂ
âLook, just send him the stupid candygram. The worst he can do is say no.â She stood up from the table and grabbed your hand. âLetâs go.â
And thatâs how you ended up at the booth, jotting down Eddieâs name on a piece of paper and shoving a few quarters in the till with Robin looking smug. âI doubt heâs ever gotten one anyway, if anything he should be thrilled that someone wanted to send him one.â
âIf this kills me, Steveâs in charge of the music at my funeral.â you sighed.Â
---
Candygrams were being handed out and delivered through the week. You werenât paying attention to what period they were supposed to be handed out, and so when two students in obnoxious heart shirts and fake wings burst into your science class with Eddie right next to you, you were about ready to throw yourself out a window.Â
No one was surprised when Janet and Charlie were tossed a few candygrams, but everyoneâs head whipped around when the red heart shaped lollipop and card was set on Eddie Munsonâs desk. Eddie himself seemed more surprised than anyone.Â
He had the lollipop in his mouth before he even opened the note attached and you were seconds away from bolting out the door. With any luck, maybe he didnât know your name even after weeks of sitting next to each other.Â
âWhoâs it from, freak?â asked Patrick, the basketball jock who sat a few rows ahead. That earned a few snickers from the class.Â
âItâs from your mom.â Eddie said without missing a beat and taking out the lollipop. âTell her I say thanks.â
More laughter from the class as Patrick stood up as if ready to fight, but the teacher quickly told him to sit down.Â
Shit, this wasnât supposed to happen. You felt a bit guilty that your candygram had kicked up a fuss, but at least Eddie didnât out you as the person who sent it to him. In fact he wasnât looking over at you at all.Â
You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he flipped the card around, as if looking for something. All that was written was his name and âYOUâRE SWEET!â written in cheesy font and his name scribbled in your handwriting.Â
And nothing else.Â
You didnât know if you should laugh or cry at your stupidity. Youâd been so jumbled and nervous that youâd forgotten to sign the damn thing. Robin was gonna have a field day with this one.Â
Eddie kept fidgeting with the card through the rest of class, twisting it and bending it until it was as crumpled and torn as your heart felt. He shoved it in his pocket and didnât even glance at you as the bell rang and he stood up and tossed the eaten lollipop stick in the trash.Â
Itâs not personal. You told yourself. He has no idea who sent it to him.
Thatâs when you had a horrible idea, so stupid it might actually work.Â
---
âExplain how this is going to work again?â Robin asked. âYouâre going to keep sending him lollipops this week until he notices you?âÂ
âSort of.â you said, buying another candygram. âIâll just send him a few joke ones as a feeler and if he responds positively Iâll come clean. If not, I keep my dignity. Itâs a win-win.â
âSince when do you care about your dignity?â Robin sorted.Â
âSince I caught feelings for the least dignified guy in school, I guess.â You knew it was stupid, you knew it was ridiculous, but you already messed up once so you might as well lean into it. You scribbled his name down, this time signing it with a satisfied giggle. âThis is so dumb.â
Oh, but it was so worth it. You had bought it before school started, guaranteeing that itâd be delivered the same day, handing over a crisp dollar to Nancy Wheeler who had volunteered for the booth. If Eddie had been surprised the first time, he looked almost shocked now.
Eddie, sorry I forgot to sign the first one! This card said, once again not giving away any sign of who it was actually from. You saw his eye sparkle in amusement as he ate his lollipop, and this time the card was read over a few times before being carefully tucked into his dungeon master notebook.Â
By the third day, the novelty of Eddie Munson getting candygrams had worn off with the rest of your class, but Eddieâs grin only grew wider each time.Â
âAnything for me, Cupid?â Eddie asked as the student council members walked back in to hand out more lollipops.Â
He whooped as another one was dropped on his desk and he snatched up the card quickly and you had to cover your face and bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling at his excitement.Â
Eddie, sorry Iâm so bad at remembering to sign these things! I just get way too excited about sending them out that I lose focus. So anyway this card is actually from-
You had carefully spaced out your writing on the small rectangle of paper so that it left absolutely no room for you to sign your name. Eddie looked downright giddy as he read the note over and over. Seeing him so happy made your stomach burst into butterflies and even if he decided after this he wasnât interested, this was enough. Knowing that he was smiling because of you was enough.Â
Someone said your name and you looked up, surprised to see one of the student council members standing next to you and handing you a candygram. Your eyebrows shot up as you took it with a thanks and opened up the card.Â
Who had sent one to you? Youâd been so wrapped up in your little scheme you didnât even consider that someone would try and send you one either.Â
A smile tugged at your lips as you saw your name and a small drawing of what looked like an egg in a nest as the sender. Robin, of course. Probably making fun of you for sending candygrams to Eddie without signing either.Â
You tucked the candygram in your own notebook safely and dared a glance over at Eddie again. You hadnât expected for him to be looking back at you, and your heart jumped in your chest. He unwrapped his lollipop and lifted it slightly as if he was trying to toast. You held yours up as well to him, an off sense of camaraderie between two people who had their day temporarily disturbed for commercialized love.Â
Thursday came around, Valentine's day proper, but theyâd be doing one last day of candygrams on Friday as well. This was a fundraiser after all, and capitalism trumps any semblance of real sincerity. Well, you said that but that wasnât exactly going to stop you from continuing your little plan.Â
Today was the day you were going to pull out the big guns. You handed over a full $5 to have a carnation sent to Eddie, as well as a return to sender card to Robin for being a good friend.Â
âShouldnât he be the one sending you a flower?â Nancy asked, handing you the card to write on. You wondered how Nancy had time for all of the extracurricular activities she had going on, working with the student council and the school newspaper.Â
You just shrugged at the question, not realizing how wide you were smiling or how obviously warm your cheeks were. To anyone with two eyes, you were glowing and to anyone with one eye, you were phosphorescent.Â
The disinterest that your classmates had from the last two rounds perked back up with a flower was delivered to Eddie that afternoon.Â
âFor little old me?â Eddie said, batting his eyelashes at the delivery boy as he took the carnation. You giggled to yourself as he opened the card again.Â
Man, Iâm bad at this arenât I? Donât worry, this time Iâm writing very small so I have room to sign this card. Seeing you light up when these get delivered has made my whole week, and totally worth it. Anyway this is from-Â
To be fair, you had actually signed your name this time. However this time you had made an attempt to erase it with one of those erasers. The horrible stiff ones that only made big smudges and made the mistake worse and nearly tore through the paper. You had carefully looked at your smudged signature for a long time before deciding it was illegible enough to send.Â
Eddie faked a swoon in his seat, nearly toppling over onto the floor. âCome on!â he laughed, pushing himself back upright, smiling with his whole face. He looked over the note again, something clicking in his brain and you quickly looked down at the book you were currently pretending to read.Â
âItâs someone in here.â you heard him mutter to himself and your heart started pounding in your chest. You focused on your breathing to try and stop yourself from giggling and giving yourself away.Â
âStop sending yourself stuff, Munson. Itâs pathetic.â Patrick called out.Â
âIf you wanted me to be your Valentine, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask nicely.â Eddie said, but he sounded distracted as his eyes scanned the room for any hint of who this mysterious person is. âAnd next time, Iâm more than happy with just the lollipop, itâs saving me on smokes.â
You didnât even notice the lollipop on your desk until class had started back up. Unfolding the card you smiled to yourself, seeing that it was from Robin again. This time the egg in the nest had a crack in it and seemed to be hatching. Youâd ask her about it later.Â
Nothing said during the rest of class even registered with you, every word was in one ear and out the other. This had been a fun week sending Eddie all the lollipops and flowers but tomorrow was the last day to have something sent to him.Â
Were you going to sign your name? Thatâs the million dollar question. You had told Robin that you would if Eddie seemed interested, and he had made it clear he was enjoying the attention.Â
But would he still enjoy the attention if he learned it was from you? You two werenât exactly friends, but not complete strangers either. He didnât seem to dislike you, after all heâd raised a toast with you with your lollipops the other day.Â
Well, if you were gonna put yourself out there, you were gonna do it on your own terms.
âYouâve got to be kidding me.â Robin said that Friday morning as you dropped a handful of ones on the table for one last hurrah.Â
âNope, Iâve committed.â you said, taking the small stack of cards and getting to work.Â
âIâm going to have you committed.â Robin shook her head. âI mean, this is actually insane, you know that right? Thereâs no reason to go through all this trouble, when you could just talk to him.â
âOh, but whereâs the fun in that, Buckley?â you asked, as you added one letter of your name to each of the cards. âGotta make him work for it.â
âSo youâre gonna give him a Valentine's themed word jumble as your big sign off?âÂ
âYup.â you confirmed, adding his name to each of the cards. Heâd get them all in one go and then itâs up to him to unscramble your name and figure it out.Â
After that... well, the ball is in his court.Â
Besides, if he liked the lollipops enough that heâd reach for one instead of a cigarette then thatâs good enough.Â
âYouâre such a weirdo. You deserve each other.â Robin went on. âThe Weirdo and the Freak. Itâs like Beauty and the Beast except.. Not.â
âRobin, donât you know three languages?â you snorted finishing up your stack and handing them over to be sent. âYou are so much smarter than me, but this is where you lose words?â
âItâs Friday and I havenât had coffee.â she pointed out. âOh, thanks for sending me one by the way.â
âYeah, of course. I mean you sent me one so I wasnât gonna leave you hanging.â you nudged her playfully.Â
âI didnât send you one.â Robin looked at you, confused.Â
âWhat?â You reached into your backpack and pulled out the notebook where you had placed the card and handed it to her. âBut thatâs a robinâs egg...?â
âItâs an egg, probably.â Robin agreed. âBut Iâm broke. I didnât send any out.âÂ
You stared at the card with new eyes. If she didnât send it, then who did?
---
âHoly shit.â Eddie muttered as a bag of lollipops was dumped on his desk with no rhyme or reason, earning a round of laughter and snickers from the class. The teacher had long since given up on trying to keep the classâs attention when the Cupidâs showed up.Â
He sorted through the cards, a puzzled expression on his face as he looked at the different letters on the cards until he found one that had real words on it.Â
Figure it out, Sucker <3 Eddieâs face was a wonderful mixture of amusement, bewilderment, and mild offense.Â
One of the Cupidâs handed you another two lollipops as well. One was actually signed by one of your friends in band, and the other had another doodle of an egg. This time the egg was completely hatched and there was some sort of weird bird flying off.Â
Not a robin. You decided, trying to figure out what it was supposed to be.Â
You barely paid attention in class for the rest of the hour, your attention split between the three egg Valentines you received and the man next to you. Eddie had pulled out his Dungeon Master notebook to try and decode your message. You felt flattered that he was using his favored notebook to try and figure out your puzzle.Â
Eddie was sucking on one of the lollipops diligently as he scribbled down random letters. Now that you thought about it, youâd never seen him look so studious in class before. You wondered if this is what he looked like when he was working on his campaigns and your brain decided to give you a treat of a daydream where the two of you were sitting around in your room while he explained his campaign and how heâd love to have someone like you join Hellfire-
It was three minutes before the bell, and that meant just a few minutes until your last period and the weekend. With Valentineâs day falling in the middle of the week, most of your friends were going to be off doing things with their partners. Maybe you, Robin, and Steve- no wait, Steve actually got dates. Robin worked on the weekend.Â
Maybe Eddie- NOPE. Not going there, you were not about to get your hopes up for this.Â
You glanced over at him again, looking at his notebook to see if he was anywhere close to decoding your name. Eddie had the worst handwriting youâd ever seen and so you would be surprised if he could even figure out his own notes. Between unjumbling your letters, he had started doodling in the margins. You assumed that they were D&D monsters from the look of it, since none of them looked like actual animals except for the bats in the corner.Â
The only other thing you recognized was a dragon, drawn in a larger scale on the side of the page. Itâs wings were expanded and it was flying off, and from this angle it looked like a weird...
It looked like some bird
Some sort of weird bird
Your head snapped back down to the card in front of you. This wasnât a weird bird. It was a dragon. A dragon hatching from an egg. An egg that hatched a dragon. A dragon that was drawn with the same pose as the one in Eddieâs notebook. Eddieâs notebook had your dragon no wait, your card had his dragon-
Eddie Munson had sent you the cards.Â
Eddie had-
âOh.â You said out loud. You were nearly fighting back hysterical laughter at this, and you pressed your hands against your face, with your shoulder shaking with repressed laughter.Â
Why the hell had Eddie sent you those cards? The two of you had barely spoken to each other!
 You did the same damn thing, dipshit. You reminded yourself. In fact you had gone way harder than he had. But what did this MEAN?Â
The bell rang and everyone scrambled to get out of the classroom, and before you could say anything, Eddie was off and running out of the classroom at the speed of light.Â
What was that about?
Robin was right. If you were ever going to have a chance with him, you were going to suck it up and talk to him, even if it meant possibly embarrassing yourself. Plus, finding out why he sent you three candygrams was currently trumping any fear of rejection. Curiosity killed the cat, but at least he died satisfied. Youâre pretty sure how that saying went at least.Â
You knew that Eddie had Hellfire today, it was Friday and he and all of his friends had been running around in their club shirts. With a deep breath you...realized you had no idea where the hell they actually met.Â
This whole thing could have been planned better, actually.Â
You started walking around the school blindly for any sign of the signature baseball tee that they all wore. If you found one of them, they were sure to lead you to Eddie. God, you felt like a stalker.Â
There. Long dark curls against a stark white shirt with black sleeves. Your heart leapt in your chest, and you had to make the choice now.Â
âE... Eddie! Wait up!â you called out, walking quickly towards him.Â
When he turned around to look at you, you felt the air disappear from your lungs. How was it possible for him to be so beautiful and why the fuck did no one in this school seem to notice?Â
Eddie pulled the lollipop heâd been sucking on out of his mouth, surprised to see you.Â
âHey.â he said. âUh... you sit next to me in class.âÂ
He was either playing dumb, or you were about to make an ass of yourself. But, like Robin asked, since when do you care about dignity?
You reached into your bag and pulled out the candygrams that had been sent to you and holding them out.Â
To your relief he gave you a bashful smile. âGuess you caught me, huh?â he asked. âYou solved my Valentineâs puzzle.âÂ
âI have a pretty high intelligence when I apply myself.â you said, which only made him grin wide. âBut I gotta say, Munson. Iâm actually a little disappointed. I mean, sadistic and scary dungeon master of the Hellfire club, and this is the best puzzle you could come up with?â
He crossed his arms and took a step towards you. âWell, I donât know you as well as Iâd like.â he said, and your stomach erupted into butterflies. âHad to start somewhere.âÂ
âI guess I had to be sneaky and pay attention to you to figure it out. Youâre hard not to notice, you know.â you admitted, crossing your arms as well to mimic him.Â
âBeing The Freak means I fail most stealth checks.â he shrugged.Â
âHigh charisma though.â you threw out there, hoping that line would land and to your delight it did.
âItâs the Munson Magic. I come by it naturally.â Eddieâs smile was so wide it was cheesy but shit, it was working on you.Â
âNot great intelligence though.â you smirked at him.Â
âOh? And how do you figure that?â He looked a little offended now, and you saw his shoulder stiffen as if he was waiting for this to suddenly go south.Â
âSpell my name, Eddie.âÂ
You could see the lightbulb go off in his mind and his eyes widened.Â
âYou- wait, you were the one who kept sending me the cards?â Eddie looked nothing short of bewildered and ecstatic. You had a feeling that if things went well, you wouldnât have to worry about ever knowing what he was thinking as he wore every emotion on his sleeve.Â
âSurprise?â you asked, playing with the strap of your backpack.Â
Eddie licked his lips, chasing the last of the flavor of the sucker heâd been eating. He looked at you, as if searching for something, and you cut in before he had the chance to find it.Â
âDo you want to hang out sometime?â you asked, a little louder than you meant to. âLike, just us.â
âDo you think you can handle a date with The Freak?â Eddie asked, standing a little straighter. âIâm sure youâve heard the rumors, and I promise the worst of them are true.â
âDonât threaten me with a good time, Eddie, Iâve always wanted to join Hellfire.â you smirked. âIâm sure there are worse things for a first date than sacrificing someone to Satan, or summoning demons, or joining a cult.â
âIâm a gentleman, I would never ask a lady to summon demons on the first date. Thatâs at least a third date activity.â Eddie held his hand to his heart and raised a hand as if making an oath.Â
Oh yeah, you were going to marry him. You were already picturing proposing to him and taking him away from this town.Â
âThen how about dinner at Bennyâs?â you suggested. âBurgers and shakes on me and you can tell me more about Hellfire and dragons and I can give you a spelling lesson.â
Eddie ran his ringed fingers through his hair and you giggled as the rings got snagged and he struggled to untangle them.Â
âItâs.. a date then.â he said, but it came out as more of a question, as if he was asking if this was really happening.Â
âA date.â You agreed, handing him your number, having come prepared.Â
As you began to walk away, he called out after you.Â
âWait! You said you wanted to check out Hellfire, right?â Eddie said and you turned to look at him. âIâm... Iâm actually running a one shot tonight. Kind of beginner friendly enough. I donât often do this in the middle of the semester but one of our usuals dropped out because he had a date so... we have an open seat at the table. If you think you can handle it.â
Your smile widened as you walked over to him. âI think Iâll take you up on that.â
Eddie offered his arm to you, as if he were a gentleman which you took eagerly.Â
âSo... how do you actually spell your name?âÂ
---
Dear Reader, I hope you have the easiest name to spell because that would make this fic at least 3% funnier. Also, I'm proud I got this done before Valentine's day because I never even finished my Halloween or Christmas fic. Be proud of me.
Please reblog if you enjoyed it <3
Tag List: @gagasbee, @ihaventgotaclue-really @tastefullyferal @anonymouskiwi @hellfiredarling
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A BEAUTIFUL SOMEWHERE II CHAPTER TWO
Series Masterlist x OBX Masterlist x Full Masterlist x Series Summary
Chapter Two â Our Song
Chapter Summary:Â JJ and John B. have a talk about those dreaded papers. Stevie runs into an unexpected acquaintance and finds an outlet for her anger. The Pogues get together for the first time in years and decide what to do with the time they're given together.
The air smells like sawdust and summer heat and JJâs skin is slick with sweat as the humming of the jigsaw ceases and makes room for the gentle lap of the waves mingling with the low music coming from the radio.
He can feel a sense of pride pushing against his skin, trying so desperately to find room inside of him, expanding in a way that makes it unable for him to not let himself feel it. Itâs something heâs trying to get used to step by step. JJ never really had anyone be proud of anything he did so all of this is unfamiliar, itâs foreign. But he is trying. And looking at the cedarwood door frame before him, he tries to cherish the feeling of pride instead of covering it up with poisonous thoughts of self-depreciation.
âLooks good, man.â
John Bâs voice cuts through the early afternoon quiet and catches JJ off guard like a cold splash of water on sun-burned skin.
âThanks. What are you doing here?â
He doesnât mean to sound rude, he really doesnât, but itâs a fact that none of his friends ever show up here. Their friend group lives and breathes like some kind of natural organism that comes and goes as it does without much talking or planning. They all just gravitate toward each other in their own designated spaces like the chateau or the wreck or the beach. But this place? This is his little getaway, his shelter and his prison. Both a place to rest and to get absolutely obliterated by his own thoughts.
âUh, good to see you too.â John B. scoffs though he grants JJ a look of mock offense void of any and all seriousness.
âYou know what I mean.â
âI wanted to hang out and you werenât at your place or the shack. And I know you stress-build so this was the only place you could be.â
âI donât stress-build.â
He does. In fact, itâs one of the few healthy coping mechanisms heâs developed since leaving high school and forcing himself to grow up, at least a little bit. Thereâs a certain adult quality in building something when things get tough instead of breaking something down. You can choose to mess up when life treats you unfairly or you can choose to create something.
Heâs been destructive for so long that he feels like he owes the world some creations. Or maybe he owes himself, JJ is not entirely sure.
â⊠and anyway, why would I be stressed? Life is fucking peachy.â
John B. lifts his eyebrow in that annoyingly smug way that is so quintessentially him it makes JJ feel both nostalgic and aggravated at the same time.
âAre you really asking me that? Like is that a legit question? Because thatâs a dumb question.â
âYeah, Iâm asking.â
âWell uh let me think. Maybe youâre stressed because Stevie is back home for the first time in years after the both of you had an atomic bomb-sized blowup, that you both still refuse to talk about. â
Many nights have gone by since then, many nights when JJ was so close to opening up. To telling John B. every excruciating detail, every heartbreaking word that had been spoken. He never did though. There is always something holding him back. Some invisible vine wrapping around his heart, then his throat and pulling close, cutting off all blood, all oxygen until the thought of spilling the truth evaporates from his mind as if they never existed in the first place.
âNot stressed about that. Itâs been years, weâre good.â
âThat why you canât sign the divorce papers? Because youâre good?â
JJ doesnât have a lot of good memories of hanging out with his dad but he does remember one memory that at least started good. He was maybe 9 and Luke had allowed him to skip school and accompany him on a trip to Raleigh. He doesnât remember why they went there in the first place but he does remember eating greasy burgers at some dingy diner and drinking lukewarm Dr Pepper in the car while his dad was singing along to Lynyrd Skynyrd. At least JJ was drinking Dr. Pepper. The good memories stop there. On the way back Luke was grumpy and mean and aggravated and JJ remembers clutching the door handle with his tiny hands and hoping that Luke would slow down, just slow down.
He didnât slow down, not until he ran a red light and someone stepped out into the street and Luke had to step on the brake with all his might, trying to get the car to a standstill before hitting the person.
Fortunately, they didnât hit anyone, but little JJ was flung against the seatbelt with such force that to this day he still remembers the way all the air was knocked out of him, the way he couldnât breathe. It just wouldnât come and his lungs felt empty. All void of oxygen.
He feels that exact same way as those words tumble from John B.âs lips. Like the air has been sucked out of his lungs and switched out with gravel, stones, rocks. Heavy and rough.
The manila envelope is stuffed into the glove compartment of his car, stashed somewhere between parking tickets that still need to be paid, pens that donât work anymore, and napkins from various fast food places around the island.
âI â look I donât know why I canât do it. Itâs not like I believe weâll get back together or anything like that. We havenât spoken to each other in 4 years, I might as well sign them. Itâs not like this marriage was a good idea to begin with. It just â â
âJust what?â
JJ has thought about this so many times, so many nights have been spent tossing and turning in bed with no thoughts but those dreaded documents. Her name in blue ink on white paper all swirly and graceful. She sent them before, the only form of communication they had in 4 whole years. Just a year after she left the island they landed unceremoniously in his mailbox. Back then he just ignored them. Pretended like he never received them. Maybe part of him wished that it would get her to call, to come visit even. He never heard back though and so for the time being it was easy to play along with this version of the truth he tried so hard to hold onto. But the thoughts never really left. He always knew they were there buried in his closet like metaphorical skeletons.
This time he canât pretend. Canât lie to himself or to her. She handed them to him personally. Blue ink on white paper. Manila envelope on sun-kissed skin.
And he still canât bring himself to put his name on the dotted line. Itâs supposed to be so easy. Itâs the hardest fucking thing.
âIf I put my name on those papers It feels like admitting this was a mistake. I donât want this to be a mistake. I made a lot of shitty calls in my life but marrying her was not one of them. I know it doesnât mean anything right now, this stupid piece of paper but I just canât bring myself to sign it,â JJ explains then lets out a long sigh of frustration. âI know itâs fucking dumb.â
âDo you still love her?â
JJ Maybank doesnât remember a time in his life when he didnât love Stephanie Collins. Loving her is part of him like the scar on his wrist from falling off of his surfboard and being smacked against a sharp rock. Like the dimple thatâs only on one side of his face. Like that chip in his tooth from when he hit the ground jumping from a swing set.
âJB, I donât think it matters.â
âYou married her because you love her. If you still do, and I know you do, maybe you shouldnât sign those papers.â
âDude I â â
âLook, just maybe you two need to stop looking at the past and start seeing if thereâs a chance for a future for the two of you.â
âWhat the fuck are you on about?â
âJJ, you bought a house for this girl. Youâre building door-frames. Everything you do is for her. Would be a shame if she never got to see it.â
JJâs eyes wander across the room. To the drywall thatâs not fully painted yet. The fireplace he fixed up. The cedarwood door-frames and to the corner of the porch there are two bright orange ceramic tiles. One with a J, one with an S in sloppy blue handwriting. They were 10 maybe 11 when they painted them in her backyard while her mom was reading a book on the porch. He remembers the soft voice of Billy Joel coming from the radio and the smell of coral honeysuckle in the air and the taste of peach iced tea on his lips.
Most of all he remembers her smile, all gap-toothed and gorgeous. Even then he thought she was the most beautiful girl heâd ever seen.
Maybe John B. has a point.
âI â uh I wouldnât even know where to start.â
John B. shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly before giving him a tiny smile. âNot sure but I heard sorry is a pretty good opener.â
The chainlink fence rattles as Stevie leans her bike against it, the hot summer sun beating down on her already, even this early in the morning, leaving her skin tingling.
In all the world there is no better remedy for the summer heat than a cherry popsicle from the gas station by her old house. Itâs quite a ride now all the way from Figure 8 but some things are worth taking long bike rides for. Like cherry popsicles and the sweet taste of childhood nostalgia.
Stepping into the building is like stepping back into her childhood, her teenage years. The linoleum floor is still perpetually sticky and the air still smells stale and sharp like out-of-date candy and cleaning chemicals mixed with the smell of gasoline.
The icy AC air sends a shiver through Stevie and makes a layer of goosebumps appear across her skin. Back when they were kids, JJ would wrap his arms around her and rub her arms until she would assure him that he had warmed her up sufficiently for her to make a conscious decision on what candy to get. âYou canât think right if youâre cold. Your brain wonât work. Trust me, itâs science.â Even back then she severely doubted that statement but she never said anything to disprove his claims. It might not have been based on actual scientific research, but it was true to JJ and anyway, Stevie liked having his arms around her. So who was she to tell him wrong?
âEverybody wants to rule the worldâ echoes through the room reverberating between the coolers on one side and the metal rags filled with chips and condoms and beef jerky and canisters of 10W40.
Stevie pushes open the lid of the ice box, letting the stale static air escape before grabbing the object of her desire, the cherry red popsicle. Generic brand and probably a blend of every chemical one should not put in their body. But there is just something so addicting about the artificial cherry flavor that makes cutting her life short by a year or two just worth it.
As she puts the ice on the counter the song playing from the overhead speakers ends and Chicagoâs âYou're the Inspirationâ starts playing, making it impossible for Stevie to suppress a smile. Talk about the universe sending a sign. A strange feeling settles in her stomach, a mix of happiness and nostalgia and longing and loss. A memory of what once was and what will never be.
âYou found everything alright?â The cashier asks, turning around to face Stevie.
So many people pass in and out of your life leaving no lasting traces, nothing to remember them by, neither good nor bad. A fleeting moment in time spent together only to be but a distant shadow in a memory.
And then there are people like Luke Maybank. Reckless and cruel, leaving destruction and pain wherever they step. Bruises and scars on good people with good hearts.
She remembers the first time she met him, he smiled at her but it was all teeth and absolutely no kindness. He called her little miss and she hated the way those words sounded coming from his lips. Acidic and evil. Like a Disney villain only in real life leaving real bruises on real skin.
He looks older now, worn out by life and circumstance. His skin is leathery and grayish dull, suntanned, and dry from spending too much time in the sun without giving a single thought to wearing sunscreen. His eyes still hold the same icy glint though. Grey and sharp and slicing right through her cutting straight to the bone.
âHey, do I know you?â
She almost wants to laugh at that, at his absolute incapability to take any interest in JJâs life, so much so as to forget her of all people.
A little voice in her head is whispering mischievous thoughts into her ear. âTell him, go ahead. Tell him youâre his daughter-in-law. See what he says!â
She doesnât listen to the voice though, she used to when she was younger but part of growing up is learning when to shut them up and when to follow them. This is a shut-up moment.
âNo, I donât think so.â
âYou sure?â he musters her up and down trying desperately to find a place in his head to file her away.
âPretty sure.â
âWell alright then. Couldâve sworn Iâve seen your pretty face before.â
And when he smiles at her then itâs no teeth or danger itâs that one dimple on his cheek dipping into his skin the same way JJâs does. She thinks she hates this even more. Seeing a resemblance of the man she loves most in this world in this vile person before her.
âThatâll be 86 cents please.â
She hands him a dollar bill and mumbles out a rushed âkeep the changeâ before all but running out of the store.
Hatred feels red, it feels like burning you from the inside out. Bones and muscle and flesh and skin. Stevie has never felt hatred for anyone the way she feels for Luke Maybank.
He might not remember her but she remembers him alright. She remembers all the bruises and black eyes and scars littering JJâs body. She remembers the fear in JJâs voice and the tears running down his cheeks and all the pain and suffering he had to go through because Luke couldnât be bothered to be a father and a decent human being.
Part of growing up is learning when to shut up the voices telling you to do irresponsible, dumb things. Stevie never claimed to be all that grown up. So when she catches sight of the ugly beige chevy suburban with the dent in the side and the crack in the windshield it feels like some higher power takes over. Her feet move as if on autopilot and bring her closer and closer to the car. Her hand reaches into the pocket of her denim shorts and grabs a hold of her key. The one with the pink plastic surfboard keychain and the small switchblade knife.
Dad probably had other things in mind when he gave it to her. Protection, safety. But then again he said to use it in emergency situations and this emergency has been a long time coming.
She doesnât even realize itâs happening until the satisfying hiss of a deflating tire pulls her back into the reality of the situation.
Itâs morally wrong, she knows this as well as anyone. But every time she thinks about Luke Maybank all she can see is JJ bruised and battered and asking to be loved only for his father to leave him bloody and broken. Slashing the tire might be morally wrong but as she walks away from the scene of the crime, rides down the familiar streets of Kildare on her bike one hand on the handle one hand holding the popsicle, lips colored cherry red, thereâs not a hint of regret inside of her. Sometimes things arenât morally right but maybe that doesnât mean theyâre all wrong.
âPogue meetup. 8 on the dot @ the chateau. Mandatory!â
John B. isnât a texter. Never has been. He gets right to the point and if his point takes more than 3 sentences to explain he will call you. So when the text comes through Stevie doesnât even have to question who it is summoning her to the old stomping grounds. Immediately the new number is saved in her phone as John B. Heâs the only John she knows but it feels entirely wrong not to put the B where it has always been and always will belong.
The Chateau looks familiar and yet different. The big tree behind the house still stands grand and proud, the string lights still attached. She wonders if they still work. If they can still turn a backyard into a fairytale. The house looks different though, newer. Itâs sporting a fresh coat of paint, light olive green, and the porch seems to have been built completely new from the ground up.
Music sounds from the backyard and laughter rings through the early afternoon daze. Her heart aches with a sense of longing, a remembrance of different times with the same people.
Their laughter still is her favorite sound in the world.
âLook who it is! Princess Pogue herself!â John B. calls out across the yard as she rounds the corner, smiling faces greeting her.
âYo, I donât know if that title still applies. Miss Collins is living on figure 8 now.â Pope inquiries, though Stevie can tell thereâs no malicious intent in any of his words. Itâs pointless teasing between friends forever entangled in each other's lives.
âUh, objection your honor. May I remind you of one simple fact please?â
âGranted, what is that fact, Mr. Maybank?â
âOnce a Pogue, always a fucking Pogue.â
His exclamation is met with a roar of applause and cheers and for a moment Stevie feels 18 and invincible again. 4 years feel like a lifetime sometimes and in moments like this one 4 years feel like theyâre but a blink of an eye.
JJâs arm falls around her shoulders as she plops down on the tree stump next to him. He smells like salty air and cheap mint body wash and fire. A can of beer is pushed into her hand, condensation cold and wet against her skin. Itâs the same brand theyâve always had, the cheapest they sell at any of the stores around the island. Itâs nice to know fundamental things havenât changed.
The fire casts the group in a reddish golden glow, like oil paintings, like movie scenes too beautiful to be real life.
âYou all wanna know something crazy?â she says, a smirk spreading on her lips.
Curious eyes regard her awaiting her next words.
âRichard has bidets installed in every bathroom. Remember when we didnât have running water after one of the storms? Francine or Fiona or something? And we had to flush using collected rainwater.â
âWhen we sneaked into the country club to shit?â JJ asks with that cute little innocent smirk on his face that is all but innocent but works so well with his big blue eyes and the shaggy blond hair.
âYeah JJ, that time. Well while we had to do that, figure 8 has fucking bidets.â
âTypical,â Kiara says and rolls her eyes in a way that Stevie missed so dearly. If only she could bottle up this moment, with all her friends smiling and happy and talking nonsense the way they always did.
âDoes it like ⊠tickle? Does it feel nice? Like nice nice, if you know what I mean.â
âOkay, woah JJ. No. No, come on. â John B. speaks up accompanied by a harmony of groans following JJâs question, earning him a confused âwhat?â from JJ himself.
âNo more talk about â butt stuff. Weâre here to celebrate the first time all of us Pogue are back on the island at the same time in years. So I would like to propose something.â
âHe said butt stuff.â
âJJ!â Stevie scolds, slightly shoving her elbow into his ribs. Just enough to startle but not enough to hurt. Never.
âSorry.â
âI propose the idea of making this the best summer ever. No drama. No problems. Just pure old Pogue shenanigans. That means fun, drinks, music, and maybe a blunt or two. What do you guys say?â
Sarah chimes up with an enthusiastic âSounds good to meâ and a grandiose bright smile. It doesn't take more than a second for the rest of the group to join in, a joy radiating from all of them that is simply contagious.
âWell, let's drink to that!â
âTo the best summer of all time.â John B. says.
âTo good friends.â
âTo best friends.â Kie corrects Pope earning herself an agreeable nod of his head from the boy. The man.
âTo spending time with the people you love most.â
As those words fall from Sarahâs lips, Stevie canât help but glance at JJ through the corner of her eyes. It would be the world's most egregious lie if she were to deny that part of her still loves JJ. That part of her will always love him, no matter how much time or distance is put between them. Being here again just makes that so abundantly clear to her. Just because she knows though, doesnât mean anyone else has to. So when his eyes catch hers she looks back towards the fire, acting as if nothing happened in the first place.
âTo letting go of the past and building new futures.â
JJâs words sound so honest and meaningful and back 4 years ago she immediately wouldâve known what they meant. Wouldâve been able to read him like an open book.
Not anymore though. And maybe those are the consequences of her own actions that she now has to live with. You are not the girl you were when you left, her mind tells her, and he is not the boy you left behind.
âTo old memories. And to making new ones.â
Beers raised in the air, they all let out a whooping âPogues for lifeâ before taking sips from their drinks. Turning to JJ, Stevie is met with him already looking at her. God, he really does have the most beautiful blue eyes sheâs ever seen. There have been so many times sheâs gotten lost in them and she can almost feel herself slipping back into them. Letting the blue waves pull her in and pull her under. She wouldnât even mind. There has never been a death as sweet as drowning in JJâs eyes.
âCheers, sunshine.â
âCheers, JJâ
What a traitorous heart she has, one that won't stop fluttering just because her husband looked at her and granted her a smile. Oh, what a traitorous heart.
The moon sits high in the sky like a spotlight shining down upon the backyard of the Chateau. John B. and Sarah have turned in a while ago and both Kiara and Pope are softly snoring away on the cough inside the house, leaving only Stevie and JJ out by the dying fire.
Just them and the moon and the stars, the soft humming of the radio, and the melodic chirping of the katydids.
âWhy are you smiling like that?â JJ asks, now sitting on the floor, back resting against the stump and hands locked behind his head.
âJust â youâre not gonna believe what I did today.â
âWhat did you do? Youâre going all red, what did you do Collins?â
His eyes are wide with mischief and adoration and heâs got a red glow dusting his face. Sheâs not sure if itâs sunburn or the result of one too many beers. Either way, she thinks it makes him look so fucking adorable.
âI ran into your dad today.â
Thereâs a flicker of hurt in his eyes, one thatâs always been there but one she hopes will go away one day. She doubts it ever will but thereâs no harm in hoping.
âYeah, I heard heâs back in Kildare.â
âHe works at the gas station by Willow Drive. Didnât even recognize me.â
âOf course, he didnât. Never took an interest in any of the things that mattered to me.â
âMmmh. Well, I was â god I was so mad, JJ. When he looked at me all friendly I just thought of all the things he did to you and how he never got his comeuppance and I just â freaked. It doesn't even absolve half of what he did to you but I just couldn't help myself.â
âWhat did you doooo?â
Heâs giggling. A grown man giggling like heâs been told the funniest story in all of timeâs existence. She loves the sound. Wants to hear it over and over and over again.
â I slashed his tire.â
âYou did not.â
âUhâhuh. I did. With a tiny keychain switchblade too.â
âStephanie Collins, youâre a full-on criminal. Iâm so proud of you.â
âI learned from the best.â
The two of them descend into a fit of laughter, half drunk on beer and high on weed but mostly intoxicated by the magic of being around each other again as if the last 4 years never happened and those kids who were dumb and in love are still there inside of them just under the surface waiting to break free.
âHey, Stevie?â
The sincerity in his voice sends a funny sensation through her heart.
âYes?â
âIâm sorry.â
âFor what?â
He shrugs his shoulders and averts his eyes, training them on the dying embers of the fire. Itâs funny how something can burn so brightly, so viciously and suddenly itâs but a dim light, barely a spark. Thereâs a metaphor there for their relationships, sheâs a writer, she finds metaphors in everything. But being drunk on nostalgia and residual love, she canât quite seem to uncover it.
âFor everything. Just â I shouldâve said it a while ago and I never did so I just wanted to say it now.â
Vulnerable JJ is still something that is quite unfamiliar to her. He is so full of laughter and smiles and overcompensating for how he really feels, he doesnât show this side of him often. Never did. So when he does itâs special and it means more than he probably even realizes himself.
âWell, thank you. I appreciate it. Iâm sorry too.â
He places a kiss on the top of her head, so soft and gentle that she wonders for a second if she imagined it.
âYou know, earlier before I noticed your dad I felt like the universe was welcoming me back to the island in the weirdest way possible.â
âHuh? Howâs that?â
âThey played âYouâre the Inspirationâ over the gas station radio. Our wedding song.â
JJ turns to her, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. Sheâll never get tired of looking at his face, Stevie decides at that moment.
âThatâs not our wedding song.â
âUh, yes it is! We had our first dance here in this very backyard while that song was playing. We all sang along. Donât you remember?â
âI remember every single second of that day. But that was not our first dance.â
He shakes his head, shaggy blond hair swaying messily with the movement, before dusting himself off and standing up. Fumbling his phone from the pockets of his cargo shorts, he furiously starts typing before the Bluetooth speaker lets out a thumping sound and then reconnects to JJâs phone.
âOur first dance,â JJ says and holds out his hand to her, pulling her to her feet and closer to his body, snaking one hand around her waist. âwasnât even here. The first time I danced with my wife was on the back patio of the Wreck while we were waiting for the food that Kie couldnât bring because she was at the Chateau getting the decorations ready for the reception.â
Heâs right. Of course, he is. JJ never forgets the little things that turn out not to be so little after all. Back when they were still together he would remember the most inconsequential details. Her favorite flowers, food, songs. The way she liked her coffee and that waking her up with kisses was entirely more successful than a damn alarm clock.
âAnd this song was playing.â
When he presses play on his phone, a loud voice advertises a Spotify original podcast to them, yet another true crime one, because there arenât entirely too many of those.
âSorry, I donât pay for premium. I think itâs a scam.â
Stevie doesnât ask him to elaborate, sure there is a completely rational explanation to JJ as to why the premium service is a scam. It probably even makes a little sense if you let him explain it thoroughly.
She doesnât ask him to elaborate, just wraps her arms around his neck like sheâs done so many times before in a lifetime that feels like it wasnât even her own but also like it happened just hours ago. Time is a funny thing.
A guitar chord fills the air followed by the hauntingly beautiful voice of Eva Cassidy.
âYou'll remember me when the west wind moves
Among the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in fields of goldâ
Suddenly sheâs back on the patio of the Wreck, 18 and in love, and freshly married to the boy that has always had her heart. Life was so complicated and yet so simple. Nothing has changed, everything is different.
âYou looked so beautiful in that white dress. And I â â
âJJ, I loved your outfit. Those damned cuffed jeans and that crisp white shirt? That was my husband right there.â
âI liked being called your husband.â He admits with a bashful smile that evokes the dimple on his cheek. On him, nothing is menacing or uneasy. Thereâs not a hint of his father in him, this is all JJ.
âYeah?â
Theyâre softly swaying through the night, stars illuminating the dark around them.
âOh yeah. Made me feel like a real adult. Like I had done something right in my life. If someone as amazing as you thought I was worth marrying then how fucked up could I really be?â
Stevie never liked hearing him talk about himself like that. Granted, that version of him was usually overshadowed by the fake confident, big-mouthed, larger-than-life persona he put on, but whenever this version did show up, it almost broke Stevieâs heart.
âIs that why you didnât sign the papers the first time I sent them?â
âYou sent them before?â
âCanât bullshit a bullshitter, JJ. I know you got them. Itâs okay though. I get it. Itâs hard for me too.â
He bites his lip in consideration as if for the first time in his life weighing his words, deciding what to say next.
âI just â I canât do it. Iâm sorry. Every time I try I just canât bring myself to sign them. Like I forgot how to spell my own name or something. Itâs kinda really fucked up.â
âJJ, itâs okay. You donât have to do it right now, Iâm here all summer. Just give them to me before I leave.â
The thought of her leaving is sending a pang of hurt through her heart. Thereâs still so much summer left, she tells herself, no need to think about the end yet.
Resting her head against his chest, Stevie closes her eyes, squeezes them shut so tightly it makes her see phosphenes for a second, shutting out the reality of what is happening. If she closes her eyes tight enough she doesnât have to face the fact that with the end of the summer comes the actual proper end of her marriage. But this is what she wants right? Closure?
âJJ?â
âHmm?â
âWill you come to my momâs wedding?â
"Obviously. Iâm her favorite.â
She chuckles against his chest, the fabric of his shirt swallowing most of the sound.
âOnly if you promise me something though.â
Stevie pulls away and looks up at him and just for a small moment she allows herself to get lost in the blue. Just this once.
âYouâll save a dance for me.â
All her dances are his. Forever. Itâs something she promised herself in silence when they danced in the back garden of the country club that one night when they were 16 and meant to work at the midsummer event but snuck away to slow dance as the band played a soft song. Just because things changed between them doesnât mean that promise will be broken.
The fire is out, just a burned-down log and a pile of ash as Eva Cassidy lulls JJ and Stevie into a soft haze. The song is about to end but neither of them is ready to let go. Not yet. Maybe when the summer ends and things go back to normal. But not right now with the night all inky black. Not right now when itâs just them and the moon and the stars and the melodic chirping of the katydids and Eva Cassidy singing their song.
âYeah, okay. Iâll save a dance for you.â
âI never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I've broken
But I swear in the days still left
We'll walk in fields of gold
We'll walk in fields of gold
Ooh
Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
As you lie in fields of gold.â
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Iâm afraid you need to face the truth. Without a clique of popular blogs promoting you, your writing is doomed not to be noticed. Itâs the exact same for me. I see fics getting hundreds, sometimes thousands of notes though the writing or storytelling is often only subpar (not always tho, many great writers out there too) just because the muns are super active on the dash all the time and thus, have a huge following. (Or donât reblog other writersâ stuff out of principle bc they donât wanna share the spotlight.) Sucking it up to them might work, but itâs just so exhausting to fake, isnât it? I wish I could tell you better news my friend. Iâm sorry. Itâs always the same for us small writing blogs. Hugs.
I've had this in my inbox for a while and I kept forgetting about answering. Genuinely though you are so right. It feels like if you're not consistently putting out stuff you don't even have to start because people will not give you the time of day. But it's hard when you're working a full time job.
Then when I do have the time to sit down and write quite honestly all the passion and love I have for it evaporates when I think about the fact that more likely than not it will not get more than 10 notes (2 of which are from me timezone reblogging and one is @lovelylittlebarnes pitty reblogging to help me out cause shes my ride or die).
It's so hard getting into a fandom writing space now and It didnt used to be. Everyone used to be so welcoming and now it's all so competitive and quick. If you're not hitting that one fic at the right time earning a base following and putting you on the radar then you can pretty much forget about it.
And the whole "you write for yourself" stuff is absolute bullshit too. Stories are meant to be shared and interacted with. If I did it for myself only, I wouldnt need to be on tumblr. Stories are a social thing.
I also feel like people just dont browse the tags anymore. They find one or two big blogs to follow and then rely on those to churn out content or reccomend them (their friends blogs) stories.
You are so right though, sucking up to big blogs sounds exhausting and quite frankly I dont have the time either. It's hard enough holding up my actual friendships đ
I'm just grieving how it used to be a community instead of a popularity contest.
Hey if you wanna come of anon and talk to me feel free to do so, I'd love to read your works and support you in any way possible. â€
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Reblogging again in the hopes someone sees it đ
âThe truth is I gave my heart away a long time ago, my whole heart, and I never really got it backâ
â Melanie Carmichael (Sweet Home Alabama, 2002)
Stevie hasnât been back to the Outer Banks in 4 years. Ever since the atomic meltdown happened between her and JJ. The one they donât talk about. The one that still has them hurting 4 years later.
When she finds herself back on the island to help her mother with the wedding preparations, she doesnât expect for an ocean of memories, unspoken words, suppressed feelings and wrong decisions to come crashing down on her like a tidal wave.
What happens when old mistakes are being discovered, A love long forgotten is being remembered and a pristine A4 size manila envelope holds the key to Stevie and JJâs future?
Chapter One
Chapter Two
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... and once again posting on tumblr leaves me devastated cause I put hours into something that gets 3 notes.
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âThe truth is I gave my heart away a long time ago, my whole heart, and I never really got it backâ
â Melanie Carmichael (Sweet Home Alabama, 2002)
Stevie hasnât been back to the Outer Banks in 4 years. Ever since the atomic meltdown happened between her and JJ. The one they donât talk about. The one that still has them hurting 4 years later.
When she finds herself back on the island to help her mother with the wedding preparations, she doesnât expect for an ocean of memories, unspoken words, suppressed feelings and wrong decisions to come crashing down on her like a tidal wave.
What happens when old mistakes are being discovered, A love long forgotten is being remembered and a pristine A4 size manila envelope holds the key to Stevie and JJâs future?
Chapter One
Chapter Two
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A BEAUTIFUL SOMEWHERE II CHAPTER TWO
Series Masterlist x OBX Masterlist x Full Masterlist x Series Summary
Chapter Two â Our Song
Chapter Summary:Â JJ and John B. have a talk about those dreaded papers. Stevie runs into an unexpected acquaintance and finds an outlet for her anger. The Pogues get together for the first time in years and decide what to do with the time they're given together.
The air smells like sawdust and summer heat and JJâs skin is slick with sweat as the humming of the jigsaw ceases and makes room for the gentle lap of the waves mingling with the low music coming from the radio.
He can feel a sense of pride pushing against his skin, trying so desperately to find room inside of him, expanding in a way that makes it unable for him to not let himself feel it. Itâs something heâs trying to get used to step by step. JJ never really had anyone be proud of anything he did so all of this is unfamiliar, itâs foreign. But he is trying. And looking at the cedarwood door frame before him, he tries to cherish the feeling of pride instead of covering it up with poisonous thoughts of self-depreciation.
âLooks good, man.â
John Bâs voice cuts through the early afternoon quiet and catches JJ off guard like a cold splash of water on sun-burned skin.
âThanks. What are you doing here?â
He doesnât mean to sound rude, he really doesnât, but itâs a fact that none of his friends ever show up here. Their friend group lives and breathes like some kind of natural organism that comes and goes as it does without much talking or planning. They all just gravitate toward each other in their own designated spaces like the chateau or the wreck or the beach. But this place? This is his little getaway, his shelter and his prison. Both a place to rest and to get absolutely obliterated by his own thoughts.
âUh, good to see you too.â John B. scoffs though he grants JJ a look of mock offense void of any and all seriousness.
âYou know what I mean.â
âI wanted to hang out and you werenât at your place or the shack. And I know you stress-build so this was the only place you could be.â
âI donât stress-build.â
He does. In fact, itâs one of the few healthy coping mechanisms heâs developed since leaving high school and forcing himself to grow up, at least a little bit. Thereâs a certain adult quality in building something when things get tough instead of breaking something down. You can choose to mess up when life treats you unfairly or you can choose to create something.
Heâs been destructive for so long that he feels like he owes the world some creations. Or maybe he owes himself, JJ is not entirely sure.
â⊠and anyway, why would I be stressed? Life is fucking peachy.â
John B. lifts his eyebrow in that annoyingly smug way that is so quintessentially him it makes JJ feel both nostalgic and aggravated at the same time.
âAre you really asking me that? Like is that a legit question? Because thatâs a dumb question.â
âYeah, Iâm asking.â
âWell uh let me think. Maybe youâre stressed because Stevie is back home for the first time in years after the both of you had an atomic bomb-sized blowup, that you both still refuse to talk about. â
Many nights have gone by since then, many nights when JJ was so close to opening up. To telling John B. every excruciating detail, every heartbreaking word that had been spoken. He never did though. There is always something holding him back. Some invisible vine wrapping around his heart, then his throat and pulling close, cutting off all blood, all oxygen until the thought of spilling the truth evaporates from his mind as if they never existed in the first place.
âNot stressed about that. Itâs been years, weâre good.â
âThat why you canât sign the divorce papers? Because youâre good?â
JJ doesnât have a lot of good memories of hanging out with his dad but he does remember one memory that at least started good. He was maybe 9 and Luke had allowed him to skip school and accompany him on a trip to Raleigh. He doesnât remember why they went there in the first place but he does remember eating greasy burgers at some dingy diner and drinking lukewarm Dr Pepper in the car while his dad was singing along to Lynyrd Skynyrd. At least JJ was drinking Dr. Pepper. The good memories stop there. On the way back Luke was grumpy and mean and aggravated and JJ remembers clutching the door handle with his tiny hands and hoping that Luke would slow down, just slow down.
He didnât slow down, not until he ran a red light and someone stepped out into the street and Luke had to step on the brake with all his might, trying to get the car to a standstill before hitting the person.
Fortunately, they didnât hit anyone, but little JJ was flung against the seatbelt with such force that to this day he still remembers the way all the air was knocked out of him, the way he couldnât breathe. It just wouldnât come and his lungs felt empty. All void of oxygen.
He feels that exact same way as those words tumble from John B.âs lips. Like the air has been sucked out of his lungs and switched out with gravel, stones, rocks. Heavy and rough.
The manila envelope is stuffed into the glove compartment of his car, stashed somewhere between parking tickets that still need to be paid, pens that donât work anymore, and napkins from various fast food places around the island.
âI â look I donât know why I canât do it. Itâs not like I believe weâll get back together or anything like that. We havenât spoken to each other in 4 years, I might as well sign them. Itâs not like this marriage was a good idea to begin with. It just â â
âJust what?â
JJ has thought about this so many times, so many nights have been spent tossing and turning in bed with no thoughts but those dreaded documents. Her name in blue ink on white paper all swirly and graceful. She sent them before, the only form of communication they had in 4 whole years. Just a year after she left the island they landed unceremoniously in his mailbox. Back then he just ignored them. Pretended like he never received them. Maybe part of him wished that it would get her to call, to come visit even. He never heard back though and so for the time being it was easy to play along with this version of the truth he tried so hard to hold onto. But the thoughts never really left. He always knew they were there buried in his closet like metaphorical skeletons.
This time he canât pretend. Canât lie to himself or to her. She handed them to him personally. Blue ink on white paper. Manila envelope on sun-kissed skin.
And he still canât bring himself to put his name on the dotted line. Itâs supposed to be so easy. Itâs the hardest fucking thing.
âIf I put my name on those papers It feels like admitting this was a mistake. I donât want this to be a mistake. I made a lot of shitty calls in my life but marrying her was not one of them. I know it doesnât mean anything right now, this stupid piece of paper but I just canât bring myself to sign it,â JJ explains then lets out a long sigh of frustration. âI know itâs fucking dumb.â
âDo you still love her?â
JJ Maybank doesnât remember a time in his life when he didnât love Stephanie Collins. Loving her is part of him like the scar on his wrist from falling off of his surfboard and being smacked against a sharp rock. Like the dimple thatâs only on one side of his face. Like that chip in his tooth from when he hit the ground jumping from a swing set.
âJB, I donât think it matters.â
âYou married her because you love her. If you still do, and I know you do, maybe you shouldnât sign those papers.â
âDude I â â
âLook, just maybe you two need to stop looking at the past and start seeing if thereâs a chance for a future for the two of you.â
âWhat the fuck are you on about?â
âJJ, you bought a house for this girl. Youâre building door-frames. Everything you do is for her. Would be a shame if she never got to see it.â
JJâs eyes wander across the room. To the drywall thatâs not fully painted yet. The fireplace he fixed up. The cedarwood door-frames and to the corner of the porch there are two bright orange ceramic tiles. One with a J, one with an S in sloppy blue handwriting. They were 10 maybe 11 when they painted them in her backyard while her mom was reading a book on the porch. He remembers the soft voice of Billy Joel coming from the radio and the smell of coral honeysuckle in the air and the taste of peach iced tea on his lips.
Most of all he remembers her smile, all gap-toothed and gorgeous. Even then he thought she was the most beautiful girl heâd ever seen.
Maybe John B. has a point.
âI â uh I wouldnât even know where to start.â
John B. shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly before giving him a tiny smile. âNot sure but I heard sorry is a pretty good opener.â
The chainlink fence rattles as Stevie leans her bike against it, the hot summer sun beating down on her already, even this early in the morning, leaving her skin tingling.
In all the world there is no better remedy for the summer heat than a cherry popsicle from the gas station by her old house. Itâs quite a ride now all the way from Figure 8 but some things are worth taking long bike rides for. Like cherry popsicles and the sweet taste of childhood nostalgia.
Stepping into the building is like stepping back into her childhood, her teenage years. The linoleum floor is still perpetually sticky and the air still smells stale and sharp like out-of-date candy and cleaning chemicals mixed with the smell of gasoline.
The icy AC air sends a shiver through Stevie and makes a layer of goosebumps appear across her skin. Back when they were kids, JJ would wrap his arms around her and rub her arms until she would assure him that he had warmed her up sufficiently for her to make a conscious decision on what candy to get. âYou canât think right if youâre cold. Your brain wonât work. Trust me, itâs science.â Even back then she severely doubted that statement but she never said anything to disprove his claims. It might not have been based on actual scientific research, but it was true to JJ and anyway, Stevie liked having his arms around her. So who was she to tell him wrong?
âEverybody wants to rule the worldâ echoes through the room reverberating between the coolers on one side and the metal rags filled with chips and condoms and beef jerky and canisters of 10W40.
Stevie pushes open the lid of the ice box, letting the stale static air escape before grabbing the object of her desire, the cherry red popsicle. Generic brand and probably a blend of every chemical one should not put in their body. But there is just something so addicting about the artificial cherry flavor that makes cutting her life short by a year or two just worth it.
As she puts the ice on the counter the song playing from the overhead speakers ends and Chicagoâs âYou're the Inspirationâ starts playing, making it impossible for Stevie to suppress a smile. Talk about the universe sending a sign. A strange feeling settles in her stomach, a mix of happiness and nostalgia and longing and loss. A memory of what once was and what will never be.
âYou found everything alright?â The cashier asks, turning around to face Stevie.
So many people pass in and out of your life leaving no lasting traces, nothing to remember them by, neither good nor bad. A fleeting moment in time spent together only to be but a distant shadow in a memory.
And then there are people like Luke Maybank. Reckless and cruel, leaving destruction and pain wherever they step. Bruises and scars on good people with good hearts.
She remembers the first time she met him, he smiled at her but it was all teeth and absolutely no kindness. He called her little miss and she hated the way those words sounded coming from his lips. Acidic and evil. Like a Disney villain only in real life leaving real bruises on real skin.
He looks older now, worn out by life and circumstance. His skin is leathery and grayish dull, suntanned, and dry from spending too much time in the sun without giving a single thought to wearing sunscreen. His eyes still hold the same icy glint though. Grey and sharp and slicing right through her cutting straight to the bone.
âHey, do I know you?â
She almost wants to laugh at that, at his absolute incapability to take any interest in JJâs life, so much so as to forget her of all people.
A little voice in her head is whispering mischievous thoughts into her ear. âTell him, go ahead. Tell him youâre his daughter-in-law. See what he says!â
She doesnât listen to the voice though, she used to when she was younger but part of growing up is learning when to shut them up and when to follow them. This is a shut-up moment.
âNo, I donât think so.â
âYou sure?â he musters her up and down trying desperately to find a place in his head to file her away.
âPretty sure.â
âWell alright then. Couldâve sworn Iâve seen your pretty face before.â
And when he smiles at her then itâs no teeth or danger itâs that one dimple on his cheek dipping into his skin the same way JJâs does. She thinks she hates this even more. Seeing a resemblance of the man she loves most in this world in this vile person before her.
âThatâll be 86 cents please.â
She hands him a dollar bill and mumbles out a rushed âkeep the changeâ before all but running out of the store.
Hatred feels red, it feels like burning you from the inside out. Bones and muscle and flesh and skin. Stevie has never felt hatred for anyone the way she feels for Luke Maybank.
He might not remember her but she remembers him alright. She remembers all the bruises and black eyes and scars littering JJâs body. She remembers the fear in JJâs voice and the tears running down his cheeks and all the pain and suffering he had to go through because Luke couldnât be bothered to be a father and a decent human being.
Part of growing up is learning when to shut up the voices telling you to do irresponsible, dumb things. Stevie never claimed to be all that grown up. So when she catches sight of the ugly beige chevy suburban with the dent in the side and the crack in the windshield it feels like some higher power takes over. Her feet move as if on autopilot and bring her closer and closer to the car. Her hand reaches into the pocket of her denim shorts and grabs a hold of her key. The one with the pink plastic surfboard keychain and the small switchblade knife.
Dad probably had other things in mind when he gave it to her. Protection, safety. But then again he said to use it in emergency situations and this emergency has been a long time coming.
She doesnât even realize itâs happening until the satisfying hiss of a deflating tire pulls her back into the reality of the situation.
Itâs morally wrong, she knows this as well as anyone. But every time she thinks about Luke Maybank all she can see is JJ bruised and battered and asking to be loved only for his father to leave him bloody and broken. Slashing the tire might be morally wrong but as she walks away from the scene of the crime, rides down the familiar streets of Kildare on her bike one hand on the handle one hand holding the popsicle, lips colored cherry red, thereâs not a hint of regret inside of her. Sometimes things arenât morally right but maybe that doesnât mean theyâre all wrong.
âPogue meetup. 8 on the dot @ the chateau. Mandatory!â
John B. isnât a texter. Never has been. He gets right to the point and if his point takes more than 3 sentences to explain he will call you. So when the text comes through Stevie doesnât even have to question who it is summoning her to the old stomping grounds. Immediately the new number is saved in her phone as John B. Heâs the only John she knows but it feels entirely wrong not to put the B where it has always been and always will belong.
The Chateau looks familiar and yet different. The big tree behind the house still stands grand and proud, the string lights still attached. She wonders if they still work. If they can still turn a backyard into a fairytale. The house looks different though, newer. Itâs sporting a fresh coat of paint, light olive green, and the porch seems to have been built completely new from the ground up.
Music sounds from the backyard and laughter rings through the early afternoon daze. Her heart aches with a sense of longing, a remembrance of different times with the same people.
Their laughter still is her favorite sound in the world.
âLook who it is! Princess Pogue herself!â John B. calls out across the yard as she rounds the corner, smiling faces greeting her.
âYo, I donât know if that title still applies. Miss Collins is living on figure 8 now.â Pope inquiries, though Stevie can tell thereâs no malicious intent in any of his words. Itâs pointless teasing between friends forever entangled in each other's lives.
âUh, objection your honor. May I remind you of one simple fact please?â
âGranted, what is that fact, Mr. Maybank?â
âOnce a Pogue, always a fucking Pogue.â
His exclamation is met with a roar of applause and cheers and for a moment Stevie feels 18 and invincible again. 4 years feel like a lifetime sometimes and in moments like this one 4 years feel like theyâre but a blink of an eye.
JJâs arm falls around her shoulders as she plops down on the tree stump next to him. He smells like salty air and cheap mint body wash and fire. A can of beer is pushed into her hand, condensation cold and wet against her skin. Itâs the same brand theyâve always had, the cheapest they sell at any of the stores around the island. Itâs nice to know fundamental things havenât changed.
The fire casts the group in a reddish golden glow, like oil paintings, like movie scenes too beautiful to be real life.
âYou all wanna know something crazy?â she says, a smirk spreading on her lips.
Curious eyes regard her awaiting her next words.
âRichard has bidets installed in every bathroom. Remember when we didnât have running water after one of the storms? Francine or Fiona or something? And we had to flush using collected rainwater.â
âWhen we sneaked into the country club to shit?â JJ asks with that cute little innocent smirk on his face that is all but innocent but works so well with his big blue eyes and the shaggy blond hair.
âYeah JJ, that time. Well while we had to do that, figure 8 has fucking bidets.â
âTypical,â Kiara says and rolls her eyes in a way that Stevie missed so dearly. If only she could bottle up this moment, with all her friends smiling and happy and talking nonsense the way they always did.
âDoes it like ⊠tickle? Does it feel nice? Like nice nice, if you know what I mean.â
âOkay, woah JJ. No. No, come on. â John B. speaks up accompanied by a harmony of groans following JJâs question, earning him a confused âwhat?â from JJ himself.
âNo more talk about â butt stuff. Weâre here to celebrate the first time all of us Pogue are back on the island at the same time in years. So I would like to propose something.â
âHe said butt stuff.â
âJJ!â Stevie scolds, slightly shoving her elbow into his ribs. Just enough to startle but not enough to hurt. Never.
âSorry.â
âI propose the idea of making this the best summer ever. No drama. No problems. Just pure old Pogue shenanigans. That means fun, drinks, music, and maybe a blunt or two. What do you guys say?â
Sarah chimes up with an enthusiastic âSounds good to meâ and a grandiose bright smile. It doesn't take more than a second for the rest of the group to join in, a joy radiating from all of them that is simply contagious.
âWell, let's drink to that!â
âTo the best summer of all time.â John B. says.
âTo good friends.â
âTo best friends.â Kie corrects Pope earning herself an agreeable nod of his head from the boy. The man.
âTo spending time with the people you love most.â
As those words fall from Sarahâs lips, Stevie canât help but glance at JJ through the corner of her eyes. It would be the world's most egregious lie if she were to deny that part of her still loves JJ. That part of her will always love him, no matter how much time or distance is put between them. Being here again just makes that so abundantly clear to her. Just because she knows though, doesnât mean anyone else has to. So when his eyes catch hers she looks back towards the fire, acting as if nothing happened in the first place.
âTo letting go of the past and building new futures.â
JJâs words sound so honest and meaningful and back 4 years ago she immediately wouldâve known what they meant. Wouldâve been able to read him like an open book.
Not anymore though. And maybe those are the consequences of her own actions that she now has to live with. You are not the girl you were when you left, her mind tells her, and he is not the boy you left behind.
âTo old memories. And to making new ones.â
Beers raised in the air, they all let out a whooping âPogues for lifeâ before taking sips from their drinks. Turning to JJ, Stevie is met with him already looking at her. God, he really does have the most beautiful blue eyes sheâs ever seen. There have been so many times sheâs gotten lost in them and she can almost feel herself slipping back into them. Letting the blue waves pull her in and pull her under. She wouldnât even mind. There has never been a death as sweet as drowning in JJâs eyes.
âCheers, sunshine.â
âCheers, JJâ
What a traitorous heart she has, one that won't stop fluttering just because her husband looked at her and granted her a smile. Oh, what a traitorous heart.
The moon sits high in the sky like a spotlight shining down upon the backyard of the Chateau. John B. and Sarah have turned in a while ago and both Kiara and Pope are softly snoring away on the cough inside the house, leaving only Stevie and JJ out by the dying fire.
Just them and the moon and the stars, the soft humming of the radio, and the melodic chirping of the katydids.
âWhy are you smiling like that?â JJ asks, now sitting on the floor, back resting against the stump and hands locked behind his head.
âJust â youâre not gonna believe what I did today.â
âWhat did you do? Youâre going all red, what did you do Collins?â
His eyes are wide with mischief and adoration and heâs got a red glow dusting his face. Sheâs not sure if itâs sunburn or the result of one too many beers. Either way, she thinks it makes him look so fucking adorable.
âI ran into your dad today.â
Thereâs a flicker of hurt in his eyes, one thatâs always been there but one she hopes will go away one day. She doubts it ever will but thereâs no harm in hoping.
âYeah, I heard heâs back in Kildare.â
âHe works at the gas station by Willow Drive. Didnât even recognize me.â
âOf course, he didnât. Never took an interest in any of the things that mattered to me.â
âMmmh. Well, I was â god I was so mad, JJ. When he looked at me all friendly I just thought of all the things he did to you and how he never got his comeuppance and I just â freaked. It doesn't even absolve half of what he did to you but I just couldn't help myself.â
âWhat did you doooo?â
Heâs giggling. A grown man giggling like heâs been told the funniest story in all of timeâs existence. She loves the sound. Wants to hear it over and over and over again.
â I slashed his tire.â
âYou did not.â
âUhâhuh. I did. With a tiny keychain switchblade too.â
âStephanie Collins, youâre a full-on criminal. Iâm so proud of you.â
âI learned from the best.â
The two of them descend into a fit of laughter, half drunk on beer and high on weed but mostly intoxicated by the magic of being around each other again as if the last 4 years never happened and those kids who were dumb and in love are still there inside of them just under the surface waiting to break free.
âHey, Stevie?â
The sincerity in his voice sends a funny sensation through her heart.
âYes?â
âIâm sorry.â
âFor what?â
He shrugs his shoulders and averts his eyes, training them on the dying embers of the fire. Itâs funny how something can burn so brightly, so viciously and suddenly itâs but a dim light, barely a spark. Thereâs a metaphor there for their relationships, sheâs a writer, she finds metaphors in everything. But being drunk on nostalgia and residual love, she canât quite seem to uncover it.
âFor everything. Just â I shouldâve said it a while ago and I never did so I just wanted to say it now.â
Vulnerable JJ is still something that is quite unfamiliar to her. He is so full of laughter and smiles and overcompensating for how he really feels, he doesnât show this side of him often. Never did. So when he does itâs special and it means more than he probably even realizes himself.
âWell, thank you. I appreciate it. Iâm sorry too.â
He places a kiss on the top of her head, so soft and gentle that she wonders for a second if she imagined it.
âYou know, earlier before I noticed your dad I felt like the universe was welcoming me back to the island in the weirdest way possible.â
âHuh? Howâs that?â
âThey played âYouâre the Inspirationâ over the gas station radio. Our wedding song.â
JJ turns to her, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. Sheâll never get tired of looking at his face, Stevie decides at that moment.
âThatâs not our wedding song.â
âUh, yes it is! We had our first dance here in this very backyard while that song was playing. We all sang along. Donât you remember?â
âI remember every single second of that day. But that was not our first dance.â
He shakes his head, shaggy blond hair swaying messily with the movement, before dusting himself off and standing up. Fumbling his phone from the pockets of his cargo shorts, he furiously starts typing before the Bluetooth speaker lets out a thumping sound and then reconnects to JJâs phone.
âOur first dance,â JJ says and holds out his hand to her, pulling her to her feet and closer to his body, snaking one hand around her waist. âwasnât even here. The first time I danced with my wife was on the back patio of the Wreck while we were waiting for the food that Kie couldnât bring because she was at the Chateau getting the decorations ready for the reception.â
Heâs right. Of course, he is. JJ never forgets the little things that turn out not to be so little after all. Back when they were still together he would remember the most inconsequential details. Her favorite flowers, food, songs. The way she liked her coffee and that waking her up with kisses was entirely more successful than a damn alarm clock.
âAnd this song was playing.â
When he presses play on his phone, a loud voice advertises a Spotify original podcast to them, yet another true crime one, because there arenât entirely too many of those.
âSorry, I donât pay for premium. I think itâs a scam.â
Stevie doesnât ask him to elaborate, sure there is a completely rational explanation to JJ as to why the premium service is a scam. It probably even makes a little sense if you let him explain it thoroughly.
She doesnât ask him to elaborate, just wraps her arms around his neck like sheâs done so many times before in a lifetime that feels like it wasnât even her own but also like it happened just hours ago. Time is a funny thing.
A guitar chord fills the air followed by the hauntingly beautiful voice of Eva Cassidy.
âYou'll remember me when the west wind moves
Among the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in fields of goldâ
Suddenly sheâs back on the patio of the Wreck, 18 and in love, and freshly married to the boy that has always had her heart. Life was so complicated and yet so simple. Nothing has changed, everything is different.
âYou looked so beautiful in that white dress. And I â â
âJJ, I loved your outfit. Those damned cuffed jeans and that crisp white shirt? That was my husband right there.â
âI liked being called your husband.â He admits with a bashful smile that evokes the dimple on his cheek. On him, nothing is menacing or uneasy. Thereâs not a hint of his father in him, this is all JJ.
âYeah?â
Theyâre softly swaying through the night, stars illuminating the dark around them.
âOh yeah. Made me feel like a real adult. Like I had done something right in my life. If someone as amazing as you thought I was worth marrying then how fucked up could I really be?â
Stevie never liked hearing him talk about himself like that. Granted, that version of him was usually overshadowed by the fake confident, big-mouthed, larger-than-life persona he put on, but whenever this version did show up, it almost broke Stevieâs heart.
âIs that why you didnât sign the papers the first time I sent them?â
âYou sent them before?â
âCanât bullshit a bullshitter, JJ. I know you got them. Itâs okay though. I get it. Itâs hard for me too.â
He bites his lip in consideration as if for the first time in his life weighing his words, deciding what to say next.
âI just â I canât do it. Iâm sorry. Every time I try I just canât bring myself to sign them. Like I forgot how to spell my own name or something. Itâs kinda really fucked up.â
âJJ, itâs okay. You donât have to do it right now, Iâm here all summer. Just give them to me before I leave.â
The thought of her leaving is sending a pang of hurt through her heart. Thereâs still so much summer left, she tells herself, no need to think about the end yet.
Resting her head against his chest, Stevie closes her eyes, squeezes them shut so tightly it makes her see phosphenes for a second, shutting out the reality of what is happening. If she closes her eyes tight enough she doesnât have to face the fact that with the end of the summer comes the actual proper end of her marriage. But this is what she wants right? Closure?
âJJ?â
âHmm?â
âWill you come to my momâs wedding?â
"Obviously. Iâm her favorite.â
She chuckles against his chest, the fabric of his shirt swallowing most of the sound.
âOnly if you promise me something though.â
Stevie pulls away and looks up at him and just for a small moment she allows herself to get lost in the blue. Just this once.
âYouâll save a dance for me.â
All her dances are his. Forever. Itâs something she promised herself in silence when they danced in the back garden of the country club that one night when they were 16 and meant to work at the midsummer event but snuck away to slow dance as the band played a soft song. Just because things changed between them doesnât mean that promise will be broken.
The fire is out, just a burned-down log and a pile of ash as Eva Cassidy lulls JJ and Stevie into a soft haze. The song is about to end but neither of them is ready to let go. Not yet. Maybe when the summer ends and things go back to normal. But not right now with the night all inky black. Not right now when itâs just them and the moon and the stars and the melodic chirping of the katydids and Eva Cassidy singing their song.
âYeah, okay. Iâll save a dance for you.â
âI never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I've broken
But I swear in the days still left
We'll walk in fields of gold
We'll walk in fields of gold
Ooh
Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
As you lie in fields of gold.â
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âThe truth is I gave my heart away a long time ago, my whole heart, and I never really got it backâ
â Melanie Carmichael (Sweet Home Alabama, 2002)
Stevie hasnât been back to the Outer Banks in 4 years. Ever since the atomic meltdown happened between her and JJ. The one they donât talk about. The one that still has them hurting 4 years later.
When she finds herself back on the island to help her mother with the wedding preparations, she doesnât expect for an ocean of memories, unspoken words, suppressed feelings and wrong decisions to come crashing down on her like a tidal wave.
What happens when old mistakes are being discovered, A love long forgotten is being remembered and a pristine A4 size manila envelope holds the key to Stevie and JJâs future?
Chapter One
Chapter Two
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A BEAUTIFUL SOMEWHERE II CHAPTER TWO
Series Masterlist x OBX Masterlist x Full Masterlist x Series Summary
Chapter Two â Our Song
Chapter Summary:Â JJ and John B. have a talk about those dreaded papers. Stevie runs into an unexpected acquaintance and finds an outlet for her anger. The Pogues get together for the first time in years and decide what to do with the time they're given together.
The air smells like sawdust and summer heat and JJâs skin is slick with sweat as the humming of the jigsaw ceases and makes room for the gentle lap of the waves mingling with the low music coming from the radio.
He can feel a sense of pride pushing against his skin, trying so desperately to find room inside of him, expanding in a way that makes it unable for him to not let himself feel it. Itâs something heâs trying to get used to step by step. JJ never really had anyone be proud of anything he did so all of this is unfamiliar, itâs foreign. But he is trying. And looking at the cedarwood door frame before him, he tries to cherish the feeling of pride instead of covering it up with poisonous thoughts of self-depreciation.
âLooks good, man.â
John Bâs voice cuts through the early afternoon quiet and catches JJ off guard like a cold splash of water on sun-burned skin.
âThanks. What are you doing here?â
He doesnât mean to sound rude, he really doesnât, but itâs a fact that none of his friends ever show up here. Their friend group lives and breathes like some kind of natural organism that comes and goes as it does without much talking or planning. They all just gravitate toward each other in their own designated spaces like the chateau or the wreck or the beach. But this place? This is his little getaway, his shelter and his prison. Both a place to rest and to get absolutely obliterated by his own thoughts.
âUh, good to see you too.â John B. scoffs though he grants JJ a look of mock offense void of any and all seriousness.
âYou know what I mean.â
âI wanted to hang out and you werenât at your place or the shack. And I know you stress-build so this was the only place you could be.â
âI donât stress-build.â
He does. In fact, itâs one of the few healthy coping mechanisms heâs developed since leaving high school and forcing himself to grow up, at least a little bit. Thereâs a certain adult quality in building something when things get tough instead of breaking something down. You can choose to mess up when life treats you unfairly or you can choose to create something.
Heâs been destructive for so long that he feels like he owes the world some creations. Or maybe he owes himself, JJ is not entirely sure.
â⊠and anyway, why would I be stressed? Life is fucking peachy.â
John B. lifts his eyebrow in that annoyingly smug way that is so quintessentially him it makes JJ feel both nostalgic and aggravated at the same time.
âAre you really asking me that? Like is that a legit question? Because thatâs a dumb question.â
âYeah, Iâm asking.â
âWell uh let me think. Maybe youâre stressed because Stevie is back home for the first time in years after the both of you had an atomic bomb-sized blowup, that you both still refuse to talk about. â
Many nights have gone by since then, many nights when JJ was so close to opening up. To telling John B. every excruciating detail, every heartbreaking word that had been spoken. He never did though. There is always something holding him back. Some invisible vine wrapping around his heart, then his throat and pulling close, cutting off all blood, all oxygen until the thought of spilling the truth evaporates from his mind as if they never existed in the first place.
âNot stressed about that. Itâs been years, weâre good.â
âThat why you canât sign the divorce papers? Because youâre good?â
JJ doesnât have a lot of good memories of hanging out with his dad but he does remember one memory that at least started good. He was maybe 9 and Luke had allowed him to skip school and accompany him on a trip to Raleigh. He doesnât remember why they went there in the first place but he does remember eating greasy burgers at some dingy diner and drinking lukewarm Dr Pepper in the car while his dad was singing along to Lynyrd Skynyrd. At least JJ was drinking Dr. Pepper. The good memories stop there. On the way back Luke was grumpy and mean and aggravated and JJ remembers clutching the door handle with his tiny hands and hoping that Luke would slow down, just slow down.
He didnât slow down, not until he ran a red light and someone stepped out into the street and Luke had to step on the brake with all his might, trying to get the car to a standstill before hitting the person.
Fortunately, they didnât hit anyone, but little JJ was flung against the seatbelt with such force that to this day he still remembers the way all the air was knocked out of him, the way he couldnât breathe. It just wouldnât come and his lungs felt empty. All void of oxygen.
He feels that exact same way as those words tumble from John B.âs lips. Like the air has been sucked out of his lungs and switched out with gravel, stones, rocks. Heavy and rough.
The manila envelope is stuffed into the glove compartment of his car, stashed somewhere between parking tickets that still need to be paid, pens that donât work anymore, and napkins from various fast food places around the island.
âI â look I donât know why I canât do it. Itâs not like I believe weâll get back together or anything like that. We havenât spoken to each other in 4 years, I might as well sign them. Itâs not like this marriage was a good idea to begin with. It just â â
âJust what?â
JJ has thought about this so many times, so many nights have been spent tossing and turning in bed with no thoughts but those dreaded documents. Her name in blue ink on white paper all swirly and graceful. She sent them before, the only form of communication they had in 4 whole years. Just a year after she left the island they landed unceremoniously in his mailbox. Back then he just ignored them. Pretended like he never received them. Maybe part of him wished that it would get her to call, to come visit even. He never heard back though and so for the time being it was easy to play along with this version of the truth he tried so hard to hold onto. But the thoughts never really left. He always knew they were there buried in his closet like metaphorical skeletons.
This time he canât pretend. Canât lie to himself or to her. She handed them to him personally. Blue ink on white paper. Manila envelope on sun-kissed skin.
And he still canât bring himself to put his name on the dotted line. Itâs supposed to be so easy. Itâs the hardest fucking thing.
âIf I put my name on those papers It feels like admitting this was a mistake. I donât want this to be a mistake. I made a lot of shitty calls in my life but marrying her was not one of them. I know it doesnât mean anything right now, this stupid piece of paper but I just canât bring myself to sign it,â JJ explains then lets out a long sigh of frustration. âI know itâs fucking dumb.â
âDo you still love her?â
JJ Maybank doesnât remember a time in his life when he didnât love Stephanie Collins. Loving her is part of him like the scar on his wrist from falling off of his surfboard and being smacked against a sharp rock. Like the dimple thatâs only on one side of his face. Like that chip in his tooth from when he hit the ground jumping from a swing set.
âJB, I donât think it matters.â
âYou married her because you love her. If you still do, and I know you do, maybe you shouldnât sign those papers.â
âDude I â â
âLook, just maybe you two need to stop looking at the past and start seeing if thereâs a chance for a future for the two of you.â
âWhat the fuck are you on about?â
âJJ, you bought a house for this girl. Youâre building door-frames. Everything you do is for her. Would be a shame if she never got to see it.â
JJâs eyes wander across the room. To the drywall thatâs not fully painted yet. The fireplace he fixed up. The cedarwood door-frames and to the corner of the porch there are two bright orange ceramic tiles. One with a J, one with an S in sloppy blue handwriting. They were 10 maybe 11 when they painted them in her backyard while her mom was reading a book on the porch. He remembers the soft voice of Billy Joel coming from the radio and the smell of coral honeysuckle in the air and the taste of peach iced tea on his lips.
Most of all he remembers her smile, all gap-toothed and gorgeous. Even then he thought she was the most beautiful girl heâd ever seen.
Maybe John B. has a point.
âI â uh I wouldnât even know where to start.â
John B. shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly before giving him a tiny smile. âNot sure but I heard sorry is a pretty good opener.â
The chainlink fence rattles as Stevie leans her bike against it, the hot summer sun beating down on her already, even this early in the morning, leaving her skin tingling.
In all the world there is no better remedy for the summer heat than a cherry popsicle from the gas station by her old house. Itâs quite a ride now all the way from Figure 8 but some things are worth taking long bike rides for. Like cherry popsicles and the sweet taste of childhood nostalgia.
Stepping into the building is like stepping back into her childhood, her teenage years. The linoleum floor is still perpetually sticky and the air still smells stale and sharp like out-of-date candy and cleaning chemicals mixed with the smell of gasoline.
The icy AC air sends a shiver through Stevie and makes a layer of goosebumps appear across her skin. Back when they were kids, JJ would wrap his arms around her and rub her arms until she would assure him that he had warmed her up sufficiently for her to make a conscious decision on what candy to get. âYou canât think right if youâre cold. Your brain wonât work. Trust me, itâs science.â Even back then she severely doubted that statement but she never said anything to disprove his claims. It might not have been based on actual scientific research, but it was true to JJ and anyway, Stevie liked having his arms around her. So who was she to tell him wrong?
âEverybody wants to rule the worldâ echoes through the room reverberating between the coolers on one side and the metal rags filled with chips and condoms and beef jerky and canisters of 10W40.
Stevie pushes open the lid of the ice box, letting the stale static air escape before grabbing the object of her desire, the cherry red popsicle. Generic brand and probably a blend of every chemical one should not put in their body. But there is just something so addicting about the artificial cherry flavor that makes cutting her life short by a year or two just worth it.
As she puts the ice on the counter the song playing from the overhead speakers ends and Chicagoâs âYou're the Inspirationâ starts playing, making it impossible for Stevie to suppress a smile. Talk about the universe sending a sign. A strange feeling settles in her stomach, a mix of happiness and nostalgia and longing and loss. A memory of what once was and what will never be.
âYou found everything alright?â The cashier asks, turning around to face Stevie.
So many people pass in and out of your life leaving no lasting traces, nothing to remember them by, neither good nor bad. A fleeting moment in time spent together only to be but a distant shadow in a memory.
And then there are people like Luke Maybank. Reckless and cruel, leaving destruction and pain wherever they step. Bruises and scars on good people with good hearts.
She remembers the first time she met him, he smiled at her but it was all teeth and absolutely no kindness. He called her little miss and she hated the way those words sounded coming from his lips. Acidic and evil. Like a Disney villain only in real life leaving real bruises on real skin.
He looks older now, worn out by life and circumstance. His skin is leathery and grayish dull, suntanned, and dry from spending too much time in the sun without giving a single thought to wearing sunscreen. His eyes still hold the same icy glint though. Grey and sharp and slicing right through her cutting straight to the bone.
âHey, do I know you?â
She almost wants to laugh at that, at his absolute incapability to take any interest in JJâs life, so much so as to forget her of all people.
A little voice in her head is whispering mischievous thoughts into her ear. âTell him, go ahead. Tell him youâre his daughter-in-law. See what he says!â
She doesnât listen to the voice though, she used to when she was younger but part of growing up is learning when to shut them up and when to follow them. This is a shut-up moment.
âNo, I donât think so.â
âYou sure?â he musters her up and down trying desperately to find a place in his head to file her away.
âPretty sure.â
âWell alright then. Couldâve sworn Iâve seen your pretty face before.â
And when he smiles at her then itâs no teeth or danger itâs that one dimple on his cheek dipping into his skin the same way JJâs does. She thinks she hates this even more. Seeing a resemblance of the man she loves most in this world in this vile person before her.
âThatâll be 86 cents please.â
She hands him a dollar bill and mumbles out a rushed âkeep the changeâ before all but running out of the store.
Hatred feels red, it feels like burning you from the inside out. Bones and muscle and flesh and skin. Stevie has never felt hatred for anyone the way she feels for Luke Maybank.
He might not remember her but she remembers him alright. She remembers all the bruises and black eyes and scars littering JJâs body. She remembers the fear in JJâs voice and the tears running down his cheeks and all the pain and suffering he had to go through because Luke couldnât be bothered to be a father and a decent human being.
Part of growing up is learning when to shut up the voices telling you to do irresponsible, dumb things. Stevie never claimed to be all that grown up. So when she catches sight of the ugly beige chevy suburban with the dent in the side and the crack in the windshield it feels like some higher power takes over. Her feet move as if on autopilot and bring her closer and closer to the car. Her hand reaches into the pocket of her denim shorts and grabs a hold of her key. The one with the pink plastic surfboard keychain and the small switchblade knife.
Dad probably had other things in mind when he gave it to her. Protection, safety. But then again he said to use it in emergency situations and this emergency has been a long time coming.
She doesnât even realize itâs happening until the satisfying hiss of a deflating tire pulls her back into the reality of the situation.
Itâs morally wrong, she knows this as well as anyone. But every time she thinks about Luke Maybank all she can see is JJ bruised and battered and asking to be loved only for his father to leave him bloody and broken. Slashing the tire might be morally wrong but as she walks away from the scene of the crime, rides down the familiar streets of Kildare on her bike one hand on the handle one hand holding the popsicle, lips colored cherry red, thereâs not a hint of regret inside of her. Sometimes things arenât morally right but maybe that doesnât mean theyâre all wrong.
âPogue meetup. 8 on the dot @ the chateau. Mandatory!â
John B. isnât a texter. Never has been. He gets right to the point and if his point takes more than 3 sentences to explain he will call you. So when the text comes through Stevie doesnât even have to question who it is summoning her to the old stomping grounds. Immediately the new number is saved in her phone as John B. Heâs the only John she knows but it feels entirely wrong not to put the B where it has always been and always will belong.
The Chateau looks familiar and yet different. The big tree behind the house still stands grand and proud, the string lights still attached. She wonders if they still work. If they can still turn a backyard into a fairytale. The house looks different though, newer. Itâs sporting a fresh coat of paint, light olive green, and the porch seems to have been built completely new from the ground up.
Music sounds from the backyard and laughter rings through the early afternoon daze. Her heart aches with a sense of longing, a remembrance of different times with the same people.
Their laughter still is her favorite sound in the world.
âLook who it is! Princess Pogue herself!â John B. calls out across the yard as she rounds the corner, smiling faces greeting her.
âYo, I donât know if that title still applies. Miss Collins is living on figure 8 now.â Pope inquiries, though Stevie can tell thereâs no malicious intent in any of his words. Itâs pointless teasing between friends forever entangled in each other's lives.
âUh, objection your honor. May I remind you of one simple fact please?â
âGranted, what is that fact, Mr. Maybank?â
âOnce a Pogue, always a fucking Pogue.â
His exclamation is met with a roar of applause and cheers and for a moment Stevie feels 18 and invincible again. 4 years feel like a lifetime sometimes and in moments like this one 4 years feel like theyâre but a blink of an eye.
JJâs arm falls around her shoulders as she plops down on the tree stump next to him. He smells like salty air and cheap mint body wash and fire. A can of beer is pushed into her hand, condensation cold and wet against her skin. Itâs the same brand theyâve always had, the cheapest they sell at any of the stores around the island. Itâs nice to know fundamental things havenât changed.
The fire casts the group in a reddish golden glow, like oil paintings, like movie scenes too beautiful to be real life.
âYou all wanna know something crazy?â she says, a smirk spreading on her lips.
Curious eyes regard her awaiting her next words.
âRichard has bidets installed in every bathroom. Remember when we didnât have running water after one of the storms? Francine or Fiona or something? And we had to flush using collected rainwater.â
âWhen we sneaked into the country club to shit?â JJ asks with that cute little innocent smirk on his face that is all but innocent but works so well with his big blue eyes and the shaggy blond hair.
âYeah JJ, that time. Well while we had to do that, figure 8 has fucking bidets.â
âTypical,â Kiara says and rolls her eyes in a way that Stevie missed so dearly. If only she could bottle up this moment, with all her friends smiling and happy and talking nonsense the way they always did.
âDoes it like ⊠tickle? Does it feel nice? Like nice nice, if you know what I mean.â
âOkay, woah JJ. No. No, come on. â John B. speaks up accompanied by a harmony of groans following JJâs question, earning him a confused âwhat?â from JJ himself.
âNo more talk about â butt stuff. Weâre here to celebrate the first time all of us Pogue are back on the island at the same time in years. So I would like to propose something.â
âHe said butt stuff.â
âJJ!â Stevie scolds, slightly shoving her elbow into his ribs. Just enough to startle but not enough to hurt. Never.
âSorry.â
âI propose the idea of making this the best summer ever. No drama. No problems. Just pure old Pogue shenanigans. That means fun, drinks, music, and maybe a blunt or two. What do you guys say?â
Sarah chimes up with an enthusiastic âSounds good to meâ and a grandiose bright smile. It doesn't take more than a second for the rest of the group to join in, a joy radiating from all of them that is simply contagious.
âWell, let's drink to that!â
âTo the best summer of all time.â John B. says.
âTo good friends.â
âTo best friends.â Kie corrects Pope earning herself an agreeable nod of his head from the boy. The man.
âTo spending time with the people you love most.â
As those words fall from Sarahâs lips, Stevie canât help but glance at JJ through the corner of her eyes. It would be the world's most egregious lie if she were to deny that part of her still loves JJ. That part of her will always love him, no matter how much time or distance is put between them. Being here again just makes that so abundantly clear to her. Just because she knows though, doesnât mean anyone else has to. So when his eyes catch hers she looks back towards the fire, acting as if nothing happened in the first place.
âTo letting go of the past and building new futures.â
JJâs words sound so honest and meaningful and back 4 years ago she immediately wouldâve known what they meant. Wouldâve been able to read him like an open book.
Not anymore though. And maybe those are the consequences of her own actions that she now has to live with. You are not the girl you were when you left, her mind tells her, and he is not the boy you left behind.
âTo old memories. And to making new ones.â
Beers raised in the air, they all let out a whooping âPogues for lifeâ before taking sips from their drinks. Turning to JJ, Stevie is met with him already looking at her. God, he really does have the most beautiful blue eyes sheâs ever seen. There have been so many times sheâs gotten lost in them and she can almost feel herself slipping back into them. Letting the blue waves pull her in and pull her under. She wouldnât even mind. There has never been a death as sweet as drowning in JJâs eyes.
âCheers, sunshine.â
âCheers, JJâ
What a traitorous heart she has, one that won't stop fluttering just because her husband looked at her and granted her a smile. Oh, what a traitorous heart.
The moon sits high in the sky like a spotlight shining down upon the backyard of the Chateau. John B. and Sarah have turned in a while ago and both Kiara and Pope are softly snoring away on the cough inside the house, leaving only Stevie and JJ out by the dying fire.
Just them and the moon and the stars, the soft humming of the radio, and the melodic chirping of the katydids.
âWhy are you smiling like that?â JJ asks, now sitting on the floor, back resting against the stump and hands locked behind his head.
âJust â youâre not gonna believe what I did today.â
âWhat did you do? Youâre going all red, what did you do Collins?â
His eyes are wide with mischief and adoration and heâs got a red glow dusting his face. Sheâs not sure if itâs sunburn or the result of one too many beers. Either way, she thinks it makes him look so fucking adorable.
âI ran into your dad today.â
Thereâs a flicker of hurt in his eyes, one thatâs always been there but one she hopes will go away one day. She doubts it ever will but thereâs no harm in hoping.
âYeah, I heard heâs back in Kildare.â
âHe works at the gas station by Willow Drive. Didnât even recognize me.â
âOf course, he didnât. Never took an interest in any of the things that mattered to me.â
âMmmh. Well, I was â god I was so mad, JJ. When he looked at me all friendly I just thought of all the things he did to you and how he never got his comeuppance and I just â freaked. It doesn't even absolve half of what he did to you but I just couldn't help myself.â
âWhat did you doooo?â
Heâs giggling. A grown man giggling like heâs been told the funniest story in all of timeâs existence. She loves the sound. Wants to hear it over and over and over again.
â I slashed his tire.â
âYou did not.â
âUhâhuh. I did. With a tiny keychain switchblade too.â
âStephanie Collins, youâre a full-on criminal. Iâm so proud of you.â
âI learned from the best.â
The two of them descend into a fit of laughter, half drunk on beer and high on weed but mostly intoxicated by the magic of being around each other again as if the last 4 years never happened and those kids who were dumb and in love are still there inside of them just under the surface waiting to break free.
âHey, Stevie?â
The sincerity in his voice sends a funny sensation through her heart.
âYes?â
âIâm sorry.â
âFor what?â
He shrugs his shoulders and averts his eyes, training them on the dying embers of the fire. Itâs funny how something can burn so brightly, so viciously and suddenly itâs but a dim light, barely a spark. Thereâs a metaphor there for their relationships, sheâs a writer, she finds metaphors in everything. But being drunk on nostalgia and residual love, she canât quite seem to uncover it.
âFor everything. Just â I shouldâve said it a while ago and I never did so I just wanted to say it now.â
Vulnerable JJ is still something that is quite unfamiliar to her. He is so full of laughter and smiles and overcompensating for how he really feels, he doesnât show this side of him often. Never did. So when he does itâs special and it means more than he probably even realizes himself.
âWell, thank you. I appreciate it. Iâm sorry too.â
He places a kiss on the top of her head, so soft and gentle that she wonders for a second if she imagined it.
âYou know, earlier before I noticed your dad I felt like the universe was welcoming me back to the island in the weirdest way possible.â
âHuh? Howâs that?â
âThey played âYouâre the Inspirationâ over the gas station radio. Our wedding song.â
JJ turns to her, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. Sheâll never get tired of looking at his face, Stevie decides at that moment.
âThatâs not our wedding song.â
âUh, yes it is! We had our first dance here in this very backyard while that song was playing. We all sang along. Donât you remember?â
âI remember every single second of that day. But that was not our first dance.â
He shakes his head, shaggy blond hair swaying messily with the movement, before dusting himself off and standing up. Fumbling his phone from the pockets of his cargo shorts, he furiously starts typing before the Bluetooth speaker lets out a thumping sound and then reconnects to JJâs phone.
âOur first dance,â JJ says and holds out his hand to her, pulling her to her feet and closer to his body, snaking one hand around her waist. âwasnât even here. The first time I danced with my wife was on the back patio of the Wreck while we were waiting for the food that Kie couldnât bring because she was at the Chateau getting the decorations ready for the reception.â
Heâs right. Of course, he is. JJ never forgets the little things that turn out not to be so little after all. Back when they were still together he would remember the most inconsequential details. Her favorite flowers, food, songs. The way she liked her coffee and that waking her up with kisses was entirely more successful than a damn alarm clock.
âAnd this song was playing.â
When he presses play on his phone, a loud voice advertises a Spotify original podcast to them, yet another true crime one, because there arenât entirely too many of those.
âSorry, I donât pay for premium. I think itâs a scam.â
Stevie doesnât ask him to elaborate, sure there is a completely rational explanation to JJ as to why the premium service is a scam. It probably even makes a little sense if you let him explain it thoroughly.
She doesnât ask him to elaborate, just wraps her arms around his neck like sheâs done so many times before in a lifetime that feels like it wasnât even her own but also like it happened just hours ago. Time is a funny thing.
A guitar chord fills the air followed by the hauntingly beautiful voice of Eva Cassidy.
âYou'll remember me when the west wind moves
Among the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in fields of goldâ
Suddenly sheâs back on the patio of the Wreck, 18 and in love, and freshly married to the boy that has always had her heart. Life was so complicated and yet so simple. Nothing has changed, everything is different.
âYou looked so beautiful in that white dress. And I â â
âJJ, I loved your outfit. Those damned cuffed jeans and that crisp white shirt? That was my husband right there.â
âI liked being called your husband.â He admits with a bashful smile that evokes the dimple on his cheek. On him, nothing is menacing or uneasy. Thereâs not a hint of his father in him, this is all JJ.
âYeah?â
Theyâre softly swaying through the night, stars illuminating the dark around them.
âOh yeah. Made me feel like a real adult. Like I had done something right in my life. If someone as amazing as you thought I was worth marrying then how fucked up could I really be?â
Stevie never liked hearing him talk about himself like that. Granted, that version of him was usually overshadowed by the fake confident, big-mouthed, larger-than-life persona he put on, but whenever this version did show up, it almost broke Stevieâs heart.
âIs that why you didnât sign the papers the first time I sent them?â
âYou sent them before?â
âCanât bullshit a bullshitter, JJ. I know you got them. Itâs okay though. I get it. Itâs hard for me too.â
He bites his lip in consideration as if for the first time in his life weighing his words, deciding what to say next.
âI just â I canât do it. Iâm sorry. Every time I try I just canât bring myself to sign them. Like I forgot how to spell my own name or something. Itâs kinda really fucked up.â
âJJ, itâs okay. You donât have to do it right now, Iâm here all summer. Just give them to me before I leave.â
The thought of her leaving is sending a pang of hurt through her heart. Thereâs still so much summer left, she tells herself, no need to think about the end yet.
Resting her head against his chest, Stevie closes her eyes, squeezes them shut so tightly it makes her see phosphenes for a second, shutting out the reality of what is happening. If she closes her eyes tight enough she doesnât have to face the fact that with the end of the summer comes the actual proper end of her marriage. But this is what she wants right? Closure?
âJJ?â
âHmm?â
âWill you come to my momâs wedding?â
"Obviously. Iâm her favorite.â
She chuckles against his chest, the fabric of his shirt swallowing most of the sound.
âOnly if you promise me something though.â
Stevie pulls away and looks up at him and just for a small moment she allows herself to get lost in the blue. Just this once.
âYouâll save a dance for me.â
All her dances are his. Forever. Itâs something she promised herself in silence when they danced in the back garden of the country club that one night when they were 16 and meant to work at the midsummer event but snuck away to slow dance as the band played a soft song. Just because things changed between them doesnât mean that promise will be broken.
The fire is out, just a burned-down log and a pile of ash as Eva Cassidy lulls JJ and Stevie into a soft haze. The song is about to end but neither of them is ready to let go. Not yet. Maybe when the summer ends and things go back to normal. But not right now with the night all inky black. Not right now when itâs just them and the moon and the stars and the melodic chirping of the katydids and Eva Cassidy singing their song.
âYeah, okay. Iâll save a dance for you.â
âI never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I've broken
But I swear in the days still left
We'll walk in fields of gold
We'll walk in fields of gold
Ooh
Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
As you lie in fields of gold.â
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maybe the night would take me home II Frankie Morales
Part 1 : "Divorce And The American South"Â & "The Thunderbird Inn"
a Frankie Morales Story inspired by the album "We Don't Have Each Other" by Aaron West and the Roaring Twenties.
A/N : This imagine series will deal with sensitive topics please see my tags for TW. Please proceed with caution. Also thereâs mention of smoking and alcohol. English is not my native language, go easy on me please.
Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated
There's a hole in the wall and a square where the wallpaper is a lighter shade of beige than the rest. There probably used to be a painting or a mirror. The ceiling fan is missing one of its blades and there's a huge rip in the ugly brown curtain that's blocking the street lights from flooding the room.
He can just about make out the glow coming from the street light in front of his window. There used to be more color permeating the thin curtains and throwing kaleidoscope patterns into his motel room but people have started to take down their Christmas lights leaving him with just the ugly yellow of the street lamp.
The motel room is dull and gray and hopeless and broken and ugly and Frankie thinks it's fitting because that's exactly how he feels and really, he doesnât mind it all that much.
The clerk at the front desk, he wants to say his name is Steve, is nice, and always pours him a cup of coffee whenever he finds Frankie sitting in the tiny lobby area of the Motel where the vending machines are. The coffee isnât good but itâs warm and thatâs enough these days.
âLong night?â he asks and every time Frankie nods and says âSure has been.â Steve then grants him one of those smiles that lets you know the person is looking straight through your lie but theyâre way too nice to call you out on your bullshit.Â
âWell, tomorrowâs a new day. Hope that one is better,â he replies, every time.
Frankie nods again knowing full well it wonât be.
Heâs given Frankie a break on the rent this week.Â
âLook donât you worry about it. Just make sure you pay me back with next weekâs rent. I know youâre good for it.âÂ
âI probably am.âÂ
Steve was laughing then. He probably wonât laugh when he hears that Frankieâs coming up short again this week.
Back in his tiny motel room, his clammy hands grab the room's phone tightly. It will probably cost him a fortune to use it â again â though after throwing it against a solid brick wall, his cell phone is but a piece of junk left somewhere by the side of the truck stop.Â
He doesn't really need it anyway. Too many pictures and memories and shit he doesn't want to think about because he canât get it back. Â
He takes another sip from the bottle. He thinks it's whiskey but he might be wrong. It all tastes the same these days.
Calling her wonât do any good and he knows but he can't help himself. It's like an itch that he just has to scratch. It's like a desperate need that he has to satisfy. It's like an addiction he has to feed.
It's 2 in the morning and she's most likely asleep and Frankie hates himself for waking her up. She's lost enough sleep as it is. But his mind is so loud and he needs to get all of these things off his chest. All the things he didn't say when he should have, when it counted, when it meant something, when she needed him to.
It's not the first time he's called either. He wonders if she'll ever pick up.
There's a perfectly clear picture burned into his mind of the first time he'd called her after he left. He had been stranded at some run-down truck stop that could've been the perfect location for the first kill in a horror movie. There was a bottle of water in his hand and the phone receiver in the other.
He can't recall how long he'd spent inside the phone booth reading her number out loud and trying to work up the courage to call her but he knows it's been quite a while. And when he did he was met with the dial tone. With every beep his heart sunk a little further, felt a little heavier.
" Hello this is Y/N, I can't pick up the phone right now but feel free to leave a message after the tone and I'll ring you back. Ok, bye. "
Her voice sounded so cheery and he remembers the tears threatening to leave his eyes at the sound of it. She hadn't sounded this cheery in a long long time and his heart broke knowing that was partially his fault.
" Hey Y/N, It's me .... Frankie. If youâre listening can you please pick up the phone? I know you're home. "
He could still recall her daily schedule better than anything, after all, they had been living together for years.
" I know where I went wrong. I really do. I uhâ I'm at a truck stop. Not sure where I'm going yet but I'll call you. Please talk to me, baby. I love you. "
He remembers his heart breaking and breaking more and shattering and it hasn't been fixed yet. There's that little cynical corner of his brain that tells him it never will be fixed. All good things come to an end sooner or later and this is THE good thing in his life. She is the best thing. She was the chance he never thought heâd get. A shot at redemption.
That other day he found a bar just outside the township line. He goes most every night now whenever he can feel a bad night coming. All nights are bad nights now. The floors are sticky and the bar is dusty but the drinks are cheap and the barkeeper doesnât bother to get him tangled up in any kind of conversation. All Frankie gets is a look of pity as he pours him another drink. Fuck, he didnât know that he looks that pathetic.Â
The alcohol doesnât numb his heart the way it used to. Back when he woke up in a cold sweat with visions of a life he tried so hard to leave behind he could always count on the inside of a bottle to make the demons disappear for a while. Then when that stopped working, the drugs managed to do it.Â
And then when he hit rock bottom, for some inexplicable reason, life chose to send him her and she made every other coping mechanism pale in comparison. Her love did not make the demons go away, or the fear, or the guilt. Her love made him realize that he could live a good life regardless. That even the worst parts of him are worthy of love.Â
He thinks she mightâve been wrong.
There's a half-empty pack of cigarettes laying on the nightstand. He hasn't touched them for a while. Got them at that same truck stop where he smashed his phone but only smoked half a pack before he remembered that promise he made her a long time ago, back when she had first told him, back when they were happy.
And he failed. Because for a while heâd felt like the reason he stopped smoking in the first place had vanished. If there was no one to promise something to, was there even a promise to begin with?Â
The cigarettes bring back memories of the second time he'd called her. It was right after he arrived here, at this very same motel. With the very same peeling wallpaper and the chipped door and the ceiling fan that is missing one blade and the carpet with the burn marks. The same motel he is basically succumbing in right now.
He was less nervous the second time he'd called her, less nervous but more fucked up. Half drunk on cheap whiskey and half drunk on the infinite sadness he's felt ever since their life went to shit.
This time he didn't make himself believe she'd pick up. He knew she wouldn't and maybe that was a good thing. Frankie didn't want her to know he was shitfaced, that he tried to numb the pain with past vices he promised to leave behind.
" Hey Y/N "
As the words rolled off his lips there was no doubt in his mind that she'd still know. He sounded drunk. He hated it.
" Just wanted to tell you that uh â I uh I've been trying to quit. I went from a pack and a half a day to this e-cigarette bullshit. "
It had been a stupid idea, thinking this e-cigarette shit would do anything for him but it was worth a try. Everything was worth a try for her.
" It stops the coughing fits. I know that you always hated my smoking habit. I hope you can be a little proud of me. I know I don't deserve it. I love you, bye."
There was a time, Frankie thinks and scoffs, when he thought love was enough. What a fool he'd been. Now he knows that's all proper bullshit.
It isn't like he doesn't love her, he loves her entirely too much for his own good.Â
It's that too much love can destroy you. It eats you up from the inside out.
He can't keep himself from loving her though, and from holding onto that little spark of hope that she might still love him back. After all they've been through, all they had to endure, the thought that she might one day forgive him and love him again was the only thing still keeping him afloat. Without her, he'd sink. And maybe, he thinks, maybe love is enough. It's enough to make him go on.
There's a fly buzzing around the room, sitting down on Frankieâs arm from time to time. He doesn't have the energy to swat her away.
A little voice in his mind wonders what would happen if he just kept laying here. Maybe if he only lays here long enough, maybe the bugs will eat him alive. Maybe the night will swallow him and take him home. Maybe sheâll come looking for him.
His mind wanders off to places he tried hard to forget. To the tears and the pain and the way she didn't yell at him. Not once.
She didn't scream or yell or throw stuff at him. She just stared and let it all wash over her as if she was invincible.
He knew she wasn't. Knows she isnât now. She wasn't invincible but she was too deeply wounded to care anymore and that was the most terrifying part of it all.
He wanted her to yell so he knew she still cared.
He thinks of the dream and how he saw himself, lifeless, alone. How everyone was looking at him as they lowered his casket into the ground. How his friends were there, his brother, his family, and even the neighbors. Not her though. She wasn't there.
His fingers are dialing the familiar numbers before he can even fully register what's happening.
There's the dial tone that he's grown to know so well lately. Three more and he gets to hear her voice.
Two.
One.
" Hello this is Y/N, I can't pick up the phone right now but feel free to leave a message after the tone and I'll ring you back. Ok, bye. "
Lies. She wonât call back. But that's okay, he understands why she doesnât. Why she canât.
" Y/N It's me again. Frankie. "
He combs his fingers through his hair nervously.
" Of course, it's me, who else would call you at this time? I'm sorry. "
He's been saying sorry an awful lot lately. Especially considering the fact that he hasn't been very generous with that word when it really mattered.
" I had a dream. About you. Well not exactly about you. Actually, you weren't in it and that's kind of the problem. "
Remembering the dream sends a cold shiver down his back.
" I uh â I was on a plane. I flew back north, no idea where I wanted to go. All I know is that I didn't make it there. Plane went down like it was made of paper. They were all at the funeral. My funeral. Everyone. Not you though. You â You weren't there Y/N. That scares me. I hope you'd come to the funeral. I'd want you there. "
He knows it's time. She's not gonna pick up anytime soon so this might be his only chance of ever getting to admit his faults of ever talking about the actual problem, the root of all the pain and heartbreak. It's not face-to-face but it's the next best thing. It's his only shot.
" Y/N, I know I fucked up. I do know. It's just after it happened. After â "
Saying it out loud will make it real. It will break his heart once again. He's an adult though and has been running from his issues long enough. This stupid urge to flee made this all so much worse.
Take a breath.
And face the reality.
" After it happened. When we lost the baby I just, I shut off. I shut you out and I am so sorry. I just, I needed to be strong for you but I wasn't. All I did was push you away. I never listened. I wasn't there. I should've been there for you to help you get through this but I was too busy keeping myself from bursting at the seams. Fuck, I was so selfish. If I could change the way I treated you, treated the situation, trust me I would. I would. I miss her so much Y/N and I never even got to meet her and I didn't want to put this all-consuming sadness on you so I pulled away. I didn't want to make you hurt even more than you already were but that's exactly what I did and I will never forgive myself for that. I hope you can though. I love you so much. "
There's a hole in his chest the size of a newborn.
It's the size of a little baby girl he never got to meet. A little baby girl he always imagined would have his eyes and her mother's breathtaking smile. A little baby girl he'd raise to be brave and generous and smart and wonderful.Â
There is a hole in his chest the size of a little baby girl and he knows it will never fully heal.
He should've been there for her, his wife, the mother of his child. He had tried so hard, so hard to hide his sadness and pain from her instead of embracing it with her by his side. He should've been there with her so they could hold each other above the waters. But he let her drown by herself and he would never fully forgive himself for that.
" I love you Y/N and I'm coming home soon I promise. That's if you still want to see me. I won't let you go through the darkness alone anymore though. I love you. "
He hangs up the phone and without a warning, the tears roll down his cheeks. They're the silent kind, the painful kind. But for once, since it all happened they're not entirely from sadness, a small part of him is feeling a little lighter now that he's faced reality. A small part of him cries tears of relief. A small part of him still believes that maybe things with his wife can work out again if only he can show her how much he cares and loves her. That he can hold her hand even through the darkest of times.
A small part of him knows that it can't get worse than this.
A small part of him, a small part knows she loves him back. Even with that gray cloud hanging over him reminding him of the paperwork that might be waiting for him at home.Â
There's a hole in the wall and a square where the wallpaper is a lighter shade of beige than the rest. There probably used to be a painting or a mirror. The ceiling fan is missing one of its blades and there's a huge rip in the ugly brown curtain that's blocking the street lights from flooding the room.
is dull and gray and hopeless and broken and ugly and Frankie thinks that things can only get better from here on out.
Itâs 2am when he sneaks out of his room and past the lobby. Steve will forgive him, heâs sure of it. For the two weeks' rent and for not saying goodbye.Â
The world is fast asleep as his car takes him down the empty streets towards the bar he found some resemblance of comfort in for the last few weeks.
One last drink, he tells himself. But this one wonât be for the bad days ahead. This one will mark a page turned, a step taken.
âWhiskey?â the barkeeper inquires, already pulling the bottle from the shelf.Â
âGimme a beer instead. Whatever bottles you have in the fridge is fine.âÂ
No more words are exchanged as the barkeeper hands Frankie the cold bottle.
This oneâs for the daughter heâll never meet, he thinks, and the wife who shouldnât love him no more but god does he hope and pray she still does. Even when he doesnât deserve it.
Heâs got half a tank of gas left and as soon as the bottle is empty heâll make his way home.
Not the motel.Â
Home. Their apartment.
And heâll face whatever is waiting there for him.Â
Thatâs the thing about losing everything â things can only get better from here on out.
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maybe the night would take me home II Frankie Morales
Part 1 : "Divorce And The American South"Â & "The Thunderbird Inn"
a Frankie Morales Story inspired by the album "We Don't Have Each Other" by Aaron West and the Roaring Twenties.
A/N : This imagine series will deal with sensitive topics please see my tags for TW. Please proceed with caution. Also thereâs mention of smoking and alcohol. English is not my native language, go easy on me please.
Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated
There's a hole in the wall and a square where the wallpaper is a lighter shade of beige than the rest. There probably used to be a painting or a mirror. The ceiling fan is missing one of its blades and there's a huge rip in the ugly brown curtain that's blocking the street lights from flooding the room.
He can just about make out the glow coming from the street light in front of his window. There used to be more color permeating the thin curtains and throwing kaleidoscope patterns into his motel room but people have started to take down their Christmas lights leaving him with just the ugly yellow of the street lamp.
The motel room is dull and gray and hopeless and broken and ugly and Frankie thinks it's fitting because that's exactly how he feels and really, he doesnât mind it all that much.
The clerk at the front desk, he wants to say his name is Steve, is nice, and always pours him a cup of coffee whenever he finds Frankie sitting in the tiny lobby area of the Motel where the vending machines are. The coffee isnât good but itâs warm and thatâs enough these days.
âLong night?â he asks and every time Frankie nods and says âSure has been.â Steve then grants him one of those smiles that lets you know the person is looking straight through your lie but theyâre way too nice to call you out on your bullshit.Â
âWell, tomorrowâs a new day. Hope that one is better,â he replies, every time.
Frankie nods again knowing full well it wonât be.
Heâs given Frankie a break on the rent this week.Â
âLook donât you worry about it. Just make sure you pay me back with next weekâs rent. I know youâre good for it.âÂ
âI probably am.âÂ
Steve was laughing then. He probably wonât laugh when he hears that Frankieâs coming up short again this week.
Back in his tiny motel room, his clammy hands grab the room's phone tightly. It will probably cost him a fortune to use it â again â though after throwing it against a solid brick wall, his cell phone is but a piece of junk left somewhere by the side of the truck stop.Â
He doesn't really need it anyway. Too many pictures and memories and shit he doesn't want to think about because he canât get it back. Â
He takes another sip from the bottle. He thinks it's whiskey but he might be wrong. It all tastes the same these days.
Calling her wonât do any good and he knows but he can't help himself. It's like an itch that he just has to scratch. It's like a desperate need that he has to satisfy. It's like an addiction he has to feed.
It's 2 in the morning and she's most likely asleep and Frankie hates himself for waking her up. She's lost enough sleep as it is. But his mind is so loud and he needs to get all of these things off his chest. All the things he didn't say when he should have, when it counted, when it meant something, when she needed him to.
It's not the first time he's called either. He wonders if she'll ever pick up.
There's a perfectly clear picture burned into his mind of the first time he'd called her after he left. He had been stranded at some run-down truck stop that could've been the perfect location for the first kill in a horror movie. There was a bottle of water in his hand and the phone receiver in the other.
He can't recall how long he'd spent inside the phone booth reading her number out loud and trying to work up the courage to call her but he knows it's been quite a while. And when he did he was met with the dial tone. With every beep his heart sunk a little further, felt a little heavier.
" Hello this is Y/N, I can't pick up the phone right now but feel free to leave a message after the tone and I'll ring you back. Ok, bye. "
Her voice sounded so cheery and he remembers the tears threatening to leave his eyes at the sound of it. She hadn't sounded this cheery in a long long time and his heart broke knowing that was partially his fault.
" Hey Y/N, It's me .... Frankie. If youâre listening can you please pick up the phone? I know you're home. "
He could still recall her daily schedule better than anything, after all, they had been living together for years.
" I know where I went wrong. I really do. I uhâ I'm at a truck stop. Not sure where I'm going yet but I'll call you. Please talk to me, baby. I love you. "
He remembers his heart breaking and breaking more and shattering and it hasn't been fixed yet. There's that little cynical corner of his brain that tells him it never will be fixed. All good things come to an end sooner or later and this is THE good thing in his life. She is the best thing. She was the chance he never thought heâd get. A shot at redemption.
That other day he found a bar just outside the township line. He goes most every night now whenever he can feel a bad night coming. All nights are bad nights now. The floors are sticky and the bar is dusty but the drinks are cheap and the barkeeper doesnât bother to get him tangled up in any kind of conversation. All Frankie gets is a look of pity as he pours him another drink. Fuck, he didnât know that he looks that pathetic.Â
The alcohol doesnât numb his heart the way it used to. Back when he woke up in a cold sweat with visions of a life he tried so hard to leave behind he could always count on the inside of a bottle to make the demons disappear for a while. Then when that stopped working, the drugs managed to do it.Â
And then when he hit rock bottom, for some inexplicable reason, life chose to send him her and she made every other coping mechanism pale in comparison. Her love did not make the demons go away, or the fear, or the guilt. Her love made him realize that he could live a good life regardless. That even the worst parts of him are worthy of love.Â
He thinks she mightâve been wrong.
There's a half-empty pack of cigarettes laying on the nightstand. He hasn't touched them for a while. Got them at that same truck stop where he smashed his phone but only smoked half a pack before he remembered that promise he made her a long time ago, back when she had first told him, back when they were happy.
And he failed. Because for a while heâd felt like the reason he stopped smoking in the first place had vanished. If there was no one to promise something to, was there even a promise to begin with?Â
The cigarettes bring back memories of the second time he'd called her. It was right after he arrived here, at this very same motel. With the very same peeling wallpaper and the chipped door and the ceiling fan that is missing one blade and the carpet with the burn marks. The same motel he is basically succumbing in right now.
He was less nervous the second time he'd called her, less nervous but more fucked up. Half drunk on cheap whiskey and half drunk on the infinite sadness he's felt ever since their life went to shit.
This time he didn't make himself believe she'd pick up. He knew she wouldn't and maybe that was a good thing. Frankie didn't want her to know he was shitfaced, that he tried to numb the pain with past vices he promised to leave behind.
" Hey Y/N "
As the words rolled off his lips there was no doubt in his mind that she'd still know. He sounded drunk. He hated it.
" Just wanted to tell you that uh â I uh I've been trying to quit. I went from a pack and a half a day to this e-cigarette bullshit. "
It had been a stupid idea, thinking this e-cigarette shit would do anything for him but it was worth a try. Everything was worth a try for her.
" It stops the coughing fits. I know that you always hated my smoking habit. I hope you can be a little proud of me. I know I don't deserve it. I love you, bye."
There was a time, Frankie thinks and scoffs, when he thought love was enough. What a fool he'd been. Now he knows that's all proper bullshit.
It isn't like he doesn't love her, he loves her entirely too much for his own good.Â
It's that too much love can destroy you. It eats you up from the inside out.
He can't keep himself from loving her though, and from holding onto that little spark of hope that she might still love him back. After all they've been through, all they had to endure, the thought that she might one day forgive him and love him again was the only thing still keeping him afloat. Without her, he'd sink. And maybe, he thinks, maybe love is enough. It's enough to make him go on.
There's a fly buzzing around the room, sitting down on Frankieâs arm from time to time. He doesn't have the energy to swat her away.
A little voice in his mind wonders what would happen if he just kept laying here. Maybe if he only lays here long enough, maybe the bugs will eat him alive. Maybe the night will swallow him and take him home. Maybe sheâll come looking for him.
His mind wanders off to places he tried hard to forget. To the tears and the pain and the way she didn't yell at him. Not once.
She didn't scream or yell or throw stuff at him. She just stared and let it all wash over her as if she was invincible.
He knew she wasn't. Knows she isnât now. She wasn't invincible but she was too deeply wounded to care anymore and that was the most terrifying part of it all.
He wanted her to yell so he knew she still cared.
He thinks of the dream and how he saw himself, lifeless, alone. How everyone was looking at him as they lowered his casket into the ground. How his friends were there, his brother, his family, and even the neighbors. Not her though. She wasn't there.
His fingers are dialing the familiar numbers before he can even fully register what's happening.
There's the dial tone that he's grown to know so well lately. Three more and he gets to hear her voice.
Two.
One.
" Hello this is Y/N, I can't pick up the phone right now but feel free to leave a message after the tone and I'll ring you back. Ok, bye. "
Lies. She wonât call back. But that's okay, he understands why she doesnât. Why she canât.
" Y/N It's me again. Frankie. "
He combs his fingers through his hair nervously.
" Of course, it's me, who else would call you at this time? I'm sorry. "
He's been saying sorry an awful lot lately. Especially considering the fact that he hasn't been very generous with that word when it really mattered.
" I had a dream. About you. Well not exactly about you. Actually, you weren't in it and that's kind of the problem. "
Remembering the dream sends a cold shiver down his back.
" I uh â I was on a plane. I flew back north, no idea where I wanted to go. All I know is that I didn't make it there. Plane went down like it was made of paper. They were all at the funeral. My funeral. Everyone. Not you though. You â You weren't there Y/N. That scares me. I hope you'd come to the funeral. I'd want you there. "
He knows it's time. She's not gonna pick up anytime soon so this might be his only chance of ever getting to admit his faults of ever talking about the actual problem, the root of all the pain and heartbreak. It's not face-to-face but it's the next best thing. It's his only shot.
" Y/N, I know I fucked up. I do know. It's just after it happened. After â "
Saying it out loud will make it real. It will break his heart once again. He's an adult though and has been running from his issues long enough. This stupid urge to flee made this all so much worse.
Take a breath.
And face the reality.
" After it happened. When we lost the baby I just, I shut off. I shut you out and I am so sorry. I just, I needed to be strong for you but I wasn't. All I did was push you away. I never listened. I wasn't there. I should've been there for you to help you get through this but I was too busy keeping myself from bursting at the seams. Fuck, I was so selfish. If I could change the way I treated you, treated the situation, trust me I would. I would. I miss her so much Y/N and I never even got to meet her and I didn't want to put this all-consuming sadness on you so I pulled away. I didn't want to make you hurt even more than you already were but that's exactly what I did and I will never forgive myself for that. I hope you can though. I love you so much. "
There's a hole in his chest the size of a newborn.
It's the size of a little baby girl he never got to meet. A little baby girl he always imagined would have his eyes and her mother's breathtaking smile. A little baby girl he'd raise to be brave and generous and smart and wonderful.Â
There is a hole in his chest the size of a little baby girl and he knows it will never fully heal.
He should've been there for her, his wife, the mother of his child. He had tried so hard, so hard to hide his sadness and pain from her instead of embracing it with her by his side. He should've been there with her so they could hold each other above the waters. But he let her drown by herself and he would never fully forgive himself for that.
" I love you Y/N and I'm coming home soon I promise. That's if you still want to see me. I won't let you go through the darkness alone anymore though. I love you. "
He hangs up the phone and without a warning, the tears roll down his cheeks. They're the silent kind, the painful kind. But for once, since it all happened they're not entirely from sadness, a small part of him is feeling a little lighter now that he's faced reality. A small part of him cries tears of relief. A small part of him still believes that maybe things with his wife can work out again if only he can show her how much he cares and loves her. That he can hold her hand even through the darkest of times.
A small part of him knows that it can't get worse than this.
A small part of him, a small part knows she loves him back. Even with that gray cloud hanging over him reminding him of the paperwork that might be waiting for him at home.Â
There's a hole in the wall and a square where the wallpaper is a lighter shade of beige than the rest. There probably used to be a painting or a mirror. The ceiling fan is missing one of its blades and there's a huge rip in the ugly brown curtain that's blocking the street lights from flooding the room.
is dull and gray and hopeless and broken and ugly and Frankie thinks that things can only get better from here on out.
Itâs 2am when he sneaks out of his room and past the lobby. Steve will forgive him, heâs sure of it. For the two weeks' rent and for not saying goodbye.Â
The world is fast asleep as his car takes him down the empty streets towards the bar he found some resemblance of comfort in for the last few weeks.
One last drink, he tells himself. But this one wonât be for the bad days ahead. This one will mark a page turned, a step taken.
âWhiskey?â the barkeeper inquires, already pulling the bottle from the shelf.Â
âGimme a beer instead. Whatever bottles you have in the fridge is fine.âÂ
No more words are exchanged as the barkeeper hands Frankie the cold bottle.
This oneâs for the daughter heâll never meet, he thinks, and the wife who shouldnât love him no more but god does he hope and pray she still does. Even when he doesnât deserve it.
Heâs got half a tank of gas left and as soon as the bottle is empty heâll make his way home.
Not the motel.Â
Home. Their apartment.
And heâll face whatever is waiting there for him.Â
Thatâs the thing about losing everything â things can only get better from here on out.
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Like honestly I have no idea what to do at this point. I've tried everything. I guess the only way really is to suck up to bigger blogs and hope it works out ...
None of my writing I posted in the last year has gotten more than 30 notes. I honestly don't know what to do anymore I'm legit devastated đ I put so much time and effort into it I dont know what's wrong.
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Once again my writing is not showing up in the tags. I hate this fucking website.
10k words and several days of writing for ... nothing. Love it.
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Blue Memories // E.M.
Summary: Eddie and Reader are strangers turned friends turned lovers turned exes. We follow them on one really tense car ride and experience the ups and downs of their relationship through the songs playing on the radio.
Pairing: Eddie Munson x female Reader
Trigger Warning: Swearing. Mention of alcohol. Mention of food. Mention of drugs.
Wordcount: 10k + (Itâs a big boy)
A/N: Â Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.
Weiterlesen
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I dont think I'll have the proper words to truly explain how wonderful and utterly soul crushing this story is.
Like ... it has everything I love about stories that focus on Wayne and Eddie's family and it paints such a vivid and realistic picture. I loved reading this is was such a treat.
And even though you know and you think you're prepared, the ending comes around and tips out your heart and chews on it.
In conclusion: I adored this but I feel like I am now entitled to financial compensation after going through this much heartbreak.
Coffee Cups and Unconditional Love
Summary: Wayne Munson has been there for his nephew since before he was born, and he'll be there for him for the rest of his life - a.k.a. an explanation of why Wayne Munson owns so many coffee mugs as told through his relationship with his nephew
CW/TW: alcoholism, mentions of child neglect, death, illegal activities, dismissal of mental health issues because it's the 70s/80s, season 4 spoilers if you haven't finished yet
Word Count: 17.6k
A/N: I'm just gonna apologize in advance for this one. It was a labor of love, and I hurt my own feelings writing it.
April 1965
Wayne Munson was a simple man with simple tastes. It didn't take much to make him happy. A couple cigarettes from his pack of smokes, a cold beer, and a working radio were the only things he needed to unwind after a long shift at the plant. He mostly lived off of TV dinners, cold sandwiches, and cereal, and that was fine with him. He had never been the greatest cook, and not wasting his time in the kitchen gave him more energy for work anyway.
At the age of twenty-three, he only had a few more payments left to make on his trailer before he owned it outright, and he had a foldout bed for his younger brother Richard to use when things weren't going so great with their parents. He'd made it clear that his home was always open to him, no questions asked.
However, that didn't mean he wasn't surprised to find his brother and a crying girl sitting on his front step when he got back from the grocery store.
Wayne was a man of few words, and the few he did have did not equip him with the skills to handle a clearly distraught, sixteen year old girl. He and his brother exchanged a look before he wordlessly ushered the two inside.
He put on a fresh pot of coffee before busying himself with putting away his groceries, occasionally glancing over to where his brother was attempting to calm down the crying girl on his sofa.
"Everything is gonna be okay, Linda," he heard his brother say. "Wayne'll know what to do."
Once his groceries were put away and the coffee was finished brewing, he realized that he only had the one coffee mug. He found a couple of plastic juice cups in the back of one of his cabinets and poured the coffee into those and the lone mug. He set the mug in front of the girl and then handed one of the cups to his brother. He held his own cup as he sat down in the chair across from the couch.
Before he could ask what in the world was going on, the girl gave him a funny look.
âWhere are your other mugs?â she asked as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
âIâve only got the one,â he replied.
âWho only owns one coffee mug?â
Wayne shrugged.
âMy mother owns three entertaining sets in different patterns with eight mugs a piece. I canât imagine someone only having one mug.â
She sniffled a bit, but it seemed as though sheâd stopped crying for now.
âDonât really need more than one when you live alone,â he said before taking a sip of his coffee. âNow, does someone wanna tell me why you were crying on my porch?â
Wayne looked back and forth between the two as they shared a look, both hesitant to come right out and say it.
âI canât help you if you donât tell me whatâs going on, Richie.â
âLindaâs pregnant,â Richie blurted out as he started talking a mile a minute. âWe didnât plan for it to happen or anything, but it did. And then her parents found out, and all hell broke loose. You shoulda heard what they said about me, Wayne. About us. About our family.â
Even without being there, Wayne could imagine it pretty perfectly. Their parents werenât exactly the greatest people, and there was a reason heâd left home as soon as he could, a reason why he had a spare bed specifically for his brother. Their dad was a mean drunk and took it out on everyone around him. The neighbors would hear him yelling, and the next morning, broken furniture would be sitting on the curb waiting for the next garbage pickup. Their mom just made excuses for him and watched as it happened. A bystander in her own life sweeping up broken glass and scrubbing beer stains out of the carpet. They werenât exactly the kind of family that youâd want your daughter to involve herself with. Wayne had some firsthand experience with that fact.
âIt was just awful,â Linda said as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. âThey told me I could either stay with my cousins in Kentucky until I had the baby and gave it up, or I could get out of their house. So, I got up, and I marched out with Richie.â
âI didnât know where else to take her,â Richie continued. âThereâs no way Iâd leave her at mom and dadâs, and I just panicked and brought her here. We could help pay your bills or buy groceries or anything else you need. I got that job that I was telling you about - the one as a bag boy down at the grocery store.â
âAnd Iâm going to pick up as many extra shifts at the diner as I can until Iâm too pregnant to work,â Linda added, talking over Richie. âAnd weâll help out around here with anything you need. Youâll barely even know weâre here.â
Wayne ran a hand over the back of his neck and abandoned his coffee on the table.
âWhereâs all your stuff?â he asked. âYouâre gonna need stuff if youâre moving in.â
âThey didnât give me time to pack when they threw me out,â she replied. âBut I still have my house key, so Richie was going to take me back over there to get my things tomorrow when I know theyâre both out of the house.â
âAnd I was gonna head over and grab my own stuff after we talked to you,â Richie continued. âDidnât want to show up here with a bunch of stuff if we were gonna have to go somewhere else. I figured she could use the fold out I usually sleep on, and I can sleep on the couch.â
âNo, youâll take my room,â Wayne said as he moved to get up from his seat. âIâll be fine out here. Just gotta straighten it up a little bit for you.â
Before he could leave the room, Wayne was practically knocked over by the force of Linda leaping up to wrap her arms around him in a tight embrace.
âI canât thank you enough,â she said.
He awkwardly patted her on the back.
âItâs fine,â he replied. âIâd do anything for my brother.â
The next day, Wayne busied himself with getting his room ready for Linda and Richie to move into while they were out collecting Lindaâs things. When the couple returned, Linda handed a brown paper bag to Wayne.
âThese are for you,â she said with a smile. âA little thank you for all that youâre doing for us.â
Wayne opened the bag, and inside, he found three different coffee mugs - one dark green, one light blue with pink rosettes, and one yellow and white striped.
âI snagged a mug from each of my motherâs entertaining sets. Itâll drive her nuts, and now you have enough mugs for us all to have a cup of coffee. Everybody wins.â
The gift of coffee mugs wasnât the only way Linda started to improve his life. She actively scolded him about the way heâd been eating and told him that she was going to fix his diet even if it killed her in the process. And so his TV dinners were reserved for the nights when Linda was working the dinner shift at the diner and hadnât planned for leftovers that Wayne and Richie could easily reheat on their own.
Sheâd promised that heâd barely even know that they were there, but she made her loving presence known.
October 1965
Wayne ducked out of his shift at the plant several hours early when he got the call that Linda had gone into labor. His brother wanted him there for support, and he wanted to meet his niece or nephew the second they were born, so he was happy to do it. He sat in the waiting room for hours until his brother came to grab him.
âReady to meet your nephew?â Richie asked him as they entered the hospital room.
Wayneâs attention was immediately drawn to Linda sitting up in bed cradling her tiny son. She was sweaty, and her wavy, dark hair was even messier than it normally was, but he didnât think heâd ever seen her look happier in the six months heâd known her.
âDo you want to hold him?â Linda asked, never looking away from the baby in her arms.
Wayne nodded and made his way to sit in one of the chairs by her bed. Richie carefully took the baby from his girlfriendâs arms and placed him in Wayneâs awaiting hold.
âWayne, meet Eddie. Eddie, this is your Uncle Wayne.â
"Hey Eddie," Wayne whispered, as he cradled the newborn. "It's nice to meet you."
"His full name is Edward Wayne Munson," Linda said, causing Wayne's gaze to snap up from the baby in his arms to look over at her.
"Really?"
"Would I lie to you?"
Wayne's heart swelled, and he would have been lying if he said that he didn't get a bit choked up.
Wayne was often awake with Linda during the late night feedings. With Richie still going to school and working extra shifts whenever he could to support his little family, he needed all the sleep he could get, so Linda would take Eddie into the living room whenever he got fussy.
"Are you sure this is alright?" she'd asked the first time she accidentally woke him up.
"Don't worry about it," he reassured her. "I've always been more of a night owl anyway."
So the two would sit together at the tiny kitchen table as Linda fed her son, a light blanket draped over her chest to protect her modesty. Not that Wayne would have ever stared at his brother's girl. He'd come to think of her as the sister he never had, and he was fiercely protective of her. He'd make her tea, and she'd tease him about how nice it was to have more than one mug to share between them.
"If I didn't steal my mother's mugs, we wouldn't be able to have nights like these," she said. "And wouldn't that be a shame?"
"You're never going to let that go, are you?" he asked with a small laugh.
"The handle was chipped, Wayne. You only had one mug, and it wasn't even in good condition."
"I've never needed much."
"Well, you'll never have to drink out of a chipped mug again. I'll make sure of it."
On the nights where Eddie was particularly fussy and wouldn't go back to sleep after being fed and changed, Linda would move over to the couch and pass the baby over to Wayne. Wayne would sit in the worn out rocking chair that he'd picked up at the Goodwill, and he'd slowly rock with him as she made herself comfortable. By the dim light of the lamp on the end table, she'd read aloud from her beat up copies of the Lord of the Rings novels, and Eddie would fall asleep to the daring adventures of hobbits and elves with his uncleâs finger in his grasp.
December 1965
Eddie was only a little bit over two months old for his first Christmas, and he could barely hold his own head up, but Linda still went over the top to make it as special as she could on her limited budget.
They couldnât afford to get Eddieâs photo professionally taken with the Santa at the big department store in the city. It was just too expensive if she wanted to put any gifts under the modest tree that they were all pretty sure Richie had chopped down illegally. Instead, she placed her son in the Christmas stocking that sheâd found at Goodwill and stitched his name onto and had Wayne take pictures of him with his beat up polaroid camera. They didnât have anyone that they wanted to send the pictures to, so every single one was hung up on the refrigerator until Linda decided it was time to add them to her photo album.
âNext year, I want pictures of him playing in the snow,â Linda said as she looked at the collage of photos on their fridge. âAnd Iâm getting a picture of him with Santa even if I have to force one of you to dress up to make it happen.â
On Christmas morning, the three of them sat in a circle on the floor in front of the tree with baby Eddie laying on his stomach in the middle. They all knew that he was too young to know what was going on, but Linda made a point of setting each of Eddieâs gifts in front of him so he could marvel at the brightly colored comics that sheâd wrapped them in. There werenât many presents under the tree, and they were all for Eddie anyway, so everyone was content to sit there with their morning cups of coffee for as long as the baby wasnât fussy.
âOh, before I forget,â Linda said as she popped up from her seat leaning against the sofa. She headed back to the bedroom and returned with a small parcel wrapped up in newsprint. She handed it over to Wayne as she sat back down and pulled her son into her lap.
âI thought we agreed on no gifts?â Wayne asked. âSave all our money to make things special for the kid?â
âItâs not from me,â Linda said as Eddie gripped her finger. âItâs from Eddie, of course, and you canât expect him to follow our rules. Heâs just a baby after all.â
Wayne sighed and carefully unwrapped the gift. Inside the crumpled newspaper was a coffee mug with âWorldâs Best Uncleâ hand-painted on the side along with a bright blue baby handprint of Eddieâs.
âItâs not much,â Richie said. âBut we hope it shows even a little bit of how thankful we are for everything youâve done for us.â
âItâs perfect,â Wayne replied. âReally. Thank you.â
April 1967
For Wayneâs twenty-fifth birthday, he insisted that he didnât need any gifts, and he didnât want them to make any sort of a fuss over him.
âYouâre being absolutely ridiculous,â Linda told him. âWe canât just skip your birthday.â
âIâm happy with what I have,â he said with a shrug. âWe donât need to bring more stuff into this trailer, and Iâd much rather just spend the day playing with Eddie and maybe listen to the ball game on the radio if there is one.â
âThatâs fine, I guess. But Iâm making you your favorite dinner. And a cake. Iâll maybe even get some ice cream to go with it. And weâre singing to you while wearing party hats made out of newspaper whether you like it or not. Itâs been decided, and I will not fight with you on this one, Wayne.â
âYes, maâam,â he replied with a laugh.
So, on his birthday, Linda made a pot roast slow roasted with carrots and onions and a side of mashed potatoes with extra, extra gravy. For dessert, there was a double chocolate chip cake with vanilla frosting and strawberry ice cream. Wayne didnât fight about the newspaper hat that Linda made him wear, and he pretended that he didnât hate being the center of attention when they all sang to him if only because he got to hold Eddie while it was happening. The eighteen month old tried to feed him a handful of cake before shoving it in his own mouth and giggling wildly.
He shouldnât have been surprised when Linda set a small gift in front of him. He knew what it was without even opening it. Every time she thought of giving him a gift, it was a coffee mug, and he had started giving the same to her. Theyâd started an almost competition of sorts, seeing who could find the most interesting mug at Goodwill or one of the small thrift stores in the city. This one was beige and had the words Ohio University Grandma printed in green on the side. It might have been the best one yet.
âWe have something else for you,â Richie told him after sharing a look with Linda. âA gift we couldnât really wrap.â
âI expected the mug, but I told you guys that you didnât have to give me anything.â
âWe know, but this is a really important gift,â his brother continued. âWeâre giving you your bedroom back.â
âYou donât have to do that. I donât mind sleeping in the living room. Weâve been over this a hundred times. You need your privacy more than I do, and with the kid, you need the extra space.â
âWe know thatâs how you feel, Wayne,â Linda said. âBut itâs time for you to start sleeping on a real bed again.â
âWhich is why weâre moving out,â Richie blurted out.
âYouâve been so good to us these past two years,â Linda continued. âAnd we are so grateful for everything youâve done for us and the life you helped us build. Itâs because of everything that you did that we know weâre ready to take this step.â
âI finally grew a pair and asked her to marry me, and we found an apartment thatâll be ready for us to move into next month. Itâs not going to be easy, but weâre excited. Really excited.â
âWell, Iâm really happy for you guys,â Wayne told them. âTruly. But youâre gonna leave the kid with me, right? Iâm way too attached to him to let him leave.â
As if agreeing with Wayne, Eddie reached up and pressed a sticky, chocolate-covered hand onto his uncleâs cheek. Wayne dug his fingers into the boyâs side and smiled down at him as he giggled and squirmed.
âI donât know,â Linda said. âI think Iâd miss him too much.âÂ
She looked at her son as if he was the whole world, and to her, he probably was.
âYouâre probably right.â
âBut youâll still see us all the time,â she promised. âWeâll be over here bothering you every chance that we get, and as soon as weâre settled into our place, weâll be having you over for dinner every single Sunday night. Youâll get sick of us and be longing for some peace and quiet before you know it.â
Wayne didnât know how to tell them he didnât need peace and quiet anymore. Heâd grown used to coming home from work to see his nephew playing in the living room and laughing as he toddled around the trailer. He was used to Linda singing loudly and off-key along with every song on the radio as she busied herself in the kitchen. He was used to his brother cracking jokes and making loud comments about every single sport he watched on TV. He was used to there being too many people in his tiny trailer, and he didnât want that to change.
But he was proud of them. So extraordinarily proud of the two of them and the life they were building together. In the past two years, heâd watched them grow from a couple of scared kids into the loving parents that neither of them had ever had themselves. It would hurt to live apart from them, but he knew that it was what was best for all of them.
May 1970
âMunson residence,â Wayne said as he answered his ringing phone.
âWayne, itâs Linda,â the voice on the other end of the phone replied.
âI was just about to head over to your apartment. Need me to pick up anything on my way?âÂ
It wasnât unusual for Linda to ask him to pick up something on the way to dinner. Especially now that she was in college. Sheâd gotten her GED the year before and was about to finish her first year of schooling to become a teacher. Now that Eddie was a little older and getting ready to start preschool, she was ready to give up her waitressing job and work towards something more stable that fit better with her life as a young mom. Something that would allow her to be home for his bedtime every night.
âActually, I was calling to ask you for a different sort of favor. I hate to cancel our dinner so last minute, but Richie got called into work for an extra overnight inventory shift at the grocery store, and I have a huge group presentation for one of my classes due tomorrow. Normally, I would give you more notice, but I was wondering if I could maybe drop Eddie off over there for a sleepover? Richie would be able to pick him up first thing in the morning when he gets off work, and this way I can meet up with my classmates to put the finishing touches on our project. Iâd owe you a huge favor.â
âYou know heâs always welcome over here. Are you heading over now?â
âIn a little bit. I still have to pack an overnight bag for the kiddo. One of the girls from my group is going to pick me up, and then weâll drop Eddie off with you before we head over to the library.â
âSounds good to me. See you soon.â
While waiting for his sister-in-law and nephew to show up, Wayne looked through the kitchen to see if he actually had anything that he could feed Eddie for dinner. He hadnât been expecting to have to cook that night, and he usually did his weekly grocery shopping on Mondays before he came home from work. He supposed he could make the kid a TV dinner if it came down to it, and he maybe had a can of soup or two in the cupboard, but neither were up to the standards of the food that Linda normally made him.
But, when Linda arrived with Eddie, she entered the trailer carrying dinner for them.
âIâd already started cooking before Richie got called into work,â she said as she set the lasagna down on the table. âI knew you wouldnât have had a solid dinner plan, and I wasnât going to let two of my favorite boys get stuck eating what Iâm sure would have been TV dinners.â
âYou know me too well.â
Before Linda could respond, Eddie took a running leap at his uncle who caught him easily.
âUncle Wayne!â Eddie said as he clung to his uncleâs chest. âWe get to have a sleepover! And mama said I can stay up an extra half hour âcause itâs a special occasion!â
âShe did? Well, thatâs a good thing because I was thinking we could have a campout in the living room, and maybe if itâs okay with your mama, we could even make some hot chocolate.â
Eddie shifted in Wayneâs arms to face his mom and fixed her with his best pleading gaze, all puppy dog eyes and pouty bottom lip. The kid had them all wrapped around his little finger, and he knew it.
âHow could I say no to this precious face? Itâs fine with me,â Linda said with a small laugh at her sonâs excitement at her answer.
Wayne set Eddie down on the counter next to the sink.
âWhy donât you wash your hands while I talk to your mama, and then you and I will have some dinner, okay?â
Eddie nodded vigorously and turned on the water, so Wayne turned his attention back to Linda.
âAlright, so bedtime is anywhere between seven thirty and eight tonight. Heâs gonna be home with Richie all day tomorrow, and I know itâs going to be a lazy sleepy day anyway, so heâll get plenty of rest if he doesnât sleep enough tonight. His pajamas and clothes for tomorrow are in his backpack, but if you donât have him dressed before he gets picked up, thatâs fine, too. If he wants a bedtime story, Peter Pan is his favorite right now, and he usually falls asleep around the second chapter. Thatâs somewhere in his bag with Mister Lion. I gave him a bath earlier, so you don't need to worry about that, but make sure he brushes his teeth. He will try to convince you that he doesnât need to, but he wants to be just like his Uncle Wayne, so if you brush your teeth when itâs time for him to, he shouldnât put up too much of a fight. I donât think Iâm forgetting anything, but itâs not like youâve never watched him before. You know how to handle my little hellraiser better than anyone.â
She looked over towards her son who was now laying with his stomach flat against the counter as he clapped his hands under the running water repeatedly trying to make the biggest splash he possibly could. She moved to turn off the sink before sitting her son upright on the counter and drying his hands off with the dish towel.
âWere you making a mess of the kitchen, you little stinker?â she teased as she skittered her fingers across her sonâs belly.
âNo,â he replied through his giggles as he curled in on himself. She stopped tickling him and ruffled his messy curls that matched her own.
âYou be good for your Uncle Wayne, okay? Daddy will be here to pick you up first thing in the morning. Now give mama big hugs and kisses.â
Eddie stood up on the counter and flung his arms around Lindaâs neck. Once sheâd wrapped her arms around the boy, he moved his hands to squish her cheeks as he smothered her with as many kisses as he could give.
âI love you so much, Eddie Bear,â she told him, laughing as he kissed one of her eyes.
âI love you more,â he replied.
âAnd I love you most.â
She gave him one last big squeeze and kissed his forehead before setting him down on the ground.
âAlright, Iâve kept Sandy waiting out in the car long enough. Donât have too much fun without me!â
Wayne and Eddie had a relatively easy night together. They ate dinner, and Eddie didnât fuss when Wayne had to wash the sauce off of his face afterwards. He sat at the kitchen table drawing pictures with the crayons and notebook paper they kept at the trailer for him while his uncle cleaned up the kitchen, and he narrated all of his art as he drew. They had the hot chocolate that Wayne promised with extra marshmallows, and there were no complaints about brushing teeth since Wayne was brushing his teeth, too. Wayne set up the foldout bed in the living room with an extra set of sheets and the fuzzy yellow blanket that was Eddieâs favorite. They both changed into their pajamas, and then they read four chapters of Peter Pan before Eddie fell asleep on the couch curled up against his uncleâs side with his fingers threaded through Mister Lionâs mane. Wayne carefully moved the sleeping boy to the bed and placed a kiss on his forehead. He fell asleep on the couch shortly after.
Wayne always woke up at five without an alarm clock no matter what time he went to bed the night before. It was both a blessing and a curse. Being careful to keep quiet enough that he wouldnât wake Eddie, he made his way to the bathroom to take a quick shower before his brother got there. He didnât know when his brother would be there, so he wanted to be ready to head to the plant early just in case heâd be racing out the door.
When he was finished getting ready, he headed into the kitchen where he found a very sleepy looking Eddie with the fuzzy, yellow blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was dragging Mister Lion by his tail behind him.
"What are you doing up, Eds? Did I wake you?" he asked.
"Bad dream," Eddie replied, sniffling a little. ââMnot scared, but Mister Lion needed a hug.â
Wayne scooped Eddie up, and the boy immediately wrapped his arms around his uncleâs neck.
âI got ya, buddy,â he said as he rubbed the boyâs back. âI got ya.â
Wayne continued to hold Eddie as he moved around the kitchen and started his morning coffee. Once heâd poured himself a cup, he headed to sit down on the couch.
âWhy donât you try to get a little more sleep, Eds?â he suggested. âIâll start making breakfast after I finish my coffee, and then Iâll get you up, okay?â
Eddie nodded a little and moved to curl up next to his uncle on the couch not wanting to stray too far from the comfort that heâd found.
By the time Wayne had finished his coffee and used the little he had left in his kitchen to make some scrambled eggs and toast for the boy, it was close to seven. He had to be at the plant by seven thirty, so he was going to have to call in sick if his brother didnât show up soon.
Eddie was not a morning person, so it took a few minutes for Wayne to get him up and seated at the table, and when he glanced at the clock on his wall, he knew he wasnât going to make it to work on time.
âMr. OâGrady? Itâs Wayne Munson,â he started when his boss at the plant finally answered the phone. âIâm gonna be a little late for my shift. Iâm watching my nephew. My brother was supposed to pick him up by now, but Iâve still got the kid, and I canât leave him here alone.â
âItâs fine, Munson,â his boss answered. âIn the ten years youâve worked here, youâve never taken a vacation, and the only times youâve ever called off were when your nephew was born and when he broke his wrist last year. Take the day to spend with the kid. Sullivan has been asking for more hours anyway, and I can call him in to cover for you this time.â
âThanks, Mr. OâGrady,â he said as he lunged to take the ketchup bottle away from Eddie before he could empty the entire thing onto his plate. âI really appreciate it.â
Wayne poured himself another cup of coffee and sat down across from Eddie who was more interested in eating ketchup than the eggs on his plate. He figured that inventory took a little bit longer than expected. The grocery store opened at nine, so theyâd have to be done by then, and if his brother wasnât at the trailer by nine thirty, heâd start calling their apartment.
Nine thirty came and went, and the phone call to Richie and Lindaâs apartment went unanswered. The same happened every other time he called between then and noon. Wayne was starting to get worried, but he was trying his best not to let it show. His focus was on Eddie who didnât seem to mind that he got to spend extra time there.
Finally, when Wayne was getting ready to set the table with the TV dinners that heâd ended up making for their lunch, someone answered the phone at the apartment.
âHello?â
âIs everything okay over there?â Wayne asked, skipping the pleasantries. âIâve been trying to get a hold of you all morning.â
âEverythingâs fine. I was sleeping,â Richie replied. âWhat time is it?â
âFor the love of god, Richie.â Wayne lowered his voice and glanced into the living room to make sure Eddie wasnât paying attention to him before he continued. âI was starting to think something bad had happened. I called you at least a dozen times. Scared the shit outta me.â
âIâm sorry. I came home from work and passed out immediately. Didnât hear the phone until just now.â
âBut you were supposed to pick up Eddie before you went home.â
âI stopped on the way to change my clothes. Smelled like sweat and pickle juice after someone dropped a box and the shit splattered everywhere. I figured Linda changed her mind and was picking him up since she wasnât home when I got here.â
âWell, she definitely didnât come here.â
âShe had a group presentation due today, and she was really hounding the other girls to make sure it was perfect. She probably just caught the bus and headed over to campus early. Do you want me to come over and get Eddie?â
âDonât worry about it. You should get some more sleep. One of you can come and grab him after Linda gets home from class.â
âAre you sure? I know he can be a handful.â
âWeâre fine. Iâll take him to the park or something, and he can do my grocery shopping with me. Besides, I just made him lunch, and I kinda like having him around.â
âYou wanna keep him?â Richie asked with a laugh.
âDonât tempt me,â Wayne responded with a laugh of his own. âBut I donât think Linda would be too happy about it.â
âYouâre probably right. Weâll give you a call when weâre on our way to get him, okay? Most likely right around dinner time?â
âSounds good to me.â
After lunch, Wayne finally got Eddie dressed and took him to the playground across town. Since theyâd done nothing but sit around the trailer all morning, the kid had a lot of energy to burn, and he chose to burn it by giving his uncle a heart attack every time he went to leap off of something he probably shouldnât have climbed in the first place. Eventually, he got tired of scaring years off of his uncleâs life, and Wayne agreed to push him on the swings as long as he promised not to jump off of those, too.
Once heâd successfully tired out the kid, Wayne loaded Eddie into his truck and headed to the grocery store. His usual get in, get what he needs, and get out trip took a lot longer than normal with his nephew riding in the cart, but debating about breakfast cereal and lunch meat with a kid who wasnât even going to be eating them was wildly entertaining. In the end, he only ended up with three things that Eddie had wanted in his cart, and he was taking that as a win.
Standing in the checkout line, Wayne couldnât help but overhear the conversation between the two housewives behind him. He wasnât one to pay attention to town gossip, but he couldnât ignore them.
âIâm sure youâve heard about the accident last night,â the first woman said.
âNews travels fast in a small town like Hawkins,â the second replied. âItâs a shame really. Those poor girls.â
âOh, I know. I wonder if theyâve been able to find their families by now. Eleanor said that they werenât sure who to call.â
âHow did Eleanor get so much information about this anyway? It wasnât in any of the papers today.â
âHer husband was on duty, and you know he went home and told her every detail. The man canât keep a secret to save his life.â
âCan you blame him? A drunk driver crashing into a car full of girls leaving the community college library is probably the most exciting thing heâs ever seen working around here. Not that a tragedy is exciting mind you. Itâs just more interesting to talk about than the occasional traffic violation.â
Wayne almost dropped the milk that he was holding on the ground. Their conversation meant nothing to him. To him, or his brother, or the little boy who was currently fighting to stay awake in his shopping cart. The fact that no one had seen Linda since last night was merely a coincidence. She was probably at home with Richie right now telling him all about how her presentation went and getting ready to pick up her son. She had to be.
But, when Wayne pulled up to his trailer to find his brother sitting on his front step looking more scared and alone than he had when he came to tell him that Linda was pregnant, he knew that wasnât the case.
Wayne held Eddie throughout the funeral. Richie was an absolute wreck and could barely hold himself together let alone take care of his son. But he had his older brother to help pick up the pieces, and that was a comfort in such an upsetting time.
Wayne hadnât expected such a large turnout for the funeral. With the way she lit up every room she entered, the fact that she had had an effect on so many people in her short twenty one years shouldnât have been a huge surprise. There were groups of girls from all of Lindaâs classes, and the diner had closed for the day because all of the waitresses and cooks wanted to be there. There were high school friends who had just arrived home from college, and there were families from their apartment building. All there to pay their respects. The only notable absence was Lindaâs own parents. Not that anyone had really expected them to show up anyway. They hadnât tried to contact her at all in the time since theyâd kicked her out, and Wayne would have forced them to leave if theyâd tried to show their faces.
After the services, Wayne took Eddie straight back to the apartment. He and Richie had discussed it beforehand, and they figured that the whole situation would be too overwhelming for him. Theyâd explained to him what had happened in a way that was simple enough for a child to understand, but the boy was still so young and confused about why his mother wasnât coming home. He didnât need to be surrounded by a bunch of people he didnât know talking about what a shame it was that his mother was gone.
So, while his brother stayed behind to receive condolences, Wayne reheated one of the many casseroles people had dropped off at the apartment for them, gave Eddie a bath, and put him to bed. But throughout it all, he couldnât help but notice that his usually bright and talkative nephew was the most quiet and reserved heâd ever been since he learned how to talk.
When Richie finally came home, he didnât say anything. Just grabbed the casserole dish that Wayne had left on the counter along with a fork and sat down on the sofa where Wayne was pretending he cared about whatever was on TV.
Without saying anything, Wayne got up and grabbed a drink for his brother. Nothing fancy. Just a glass of the iced tea from the fridge. But there was an unspoken meaning behind it that they both could feel. That Wayne was always going to take care of them and get them what they needed. No matter what, he would always be there.
âThanks,â Richie said as he accepted the glass. âFor everything.â
âDonât worry about it,â Wayne replied. âItâs what Iâm here for.â
August 1970
Sunday dinners had remained the norm for the three Munson men, but Lindaâs absence was always in the forefront of their minds. Not just because she was the best cook out of the three, but because she was the one who really got them to talk to each other. Wayne and Richie were never big talkers, and she had bridged their gap in communication.
And maybe that was why Wayne had accepted the Sunday overtime shifts that were offered to him. He hated missing the time with his family, but he hated the awkward silences more.
After not attending Sunday dinner for nearly a month, he figured that it was time to start going back. Eddie was starting school soon, and he felt guilty for the time he was missing with the kid. He felt even more guilty once he saw the state of their apartment.
Heâd let himself in like he normally did, and the first thing he noticed was his brother passed out on the couch. There were empty beer cans strewn across the floor around him, and the room was in complete disarray. The kitchen wasnât any better. The sink was overflowing with dirty dishes, and the trashcan was filled with enough beer cans to show that this probably wasnât the first time this had happened.
He made his way back to Eddieâs room since the kid was nowhere to be found in the front of the apartment, and he found his nephew happily playing alone. It wasnât exactly a comforting sight though. While the room was in relatively decent shape, the laundry hamper was overflowing to the point where there were small piles of clothes surrounding it, and there was a distinct odor hanging in the air. But the worst part was Eddie himself. The boy looked dirty. This definitely wasnât the first day that heâd worn those clothes, and his hair was a tangled mess that obviously hadnât been washed anytime recently.
âHowâs it goinâ, Eds?â Wayne asked, finally alerting his nephew to his presence.
âUncle Wayne!â Eddie leaped up from his spot on the floor to give his uncle a hug.
As Wayne picked up the boy, he was hit with another wave of that stench, and his suspicions about said stench coming from Eddie were confirmed.
âSo, when was the last time you had a bath?â he asked.
âWe donât have to do that anymore.â
âWhy not?â
âI donât know,â Eddie said with a little shrug.
âAnd Iâm guessing youâd have the same answer if I asked why the kitchen isnât clean?â
âYep.â
âAnd why the laundry isnât done?â
âYep.â
âDo you know anything?â Wayne teased.
âI know weâre eating TV dinners tonight!â Eddie said, excited that he could tell his uncle something.
âAnd how do you know that?â
ââCause we eat âem every night. Daddy puts âem on a plate so I wonât know, but he never throws out the box cause heâs too busy sleeping on the couch.â
âDoes he do that a lot? Sleep on the couch like that, I mean?â
âYeah. Heâs no good at bedtime anymore.â
Wayne couldnât tell if he was more heartbroken for his nephew or angry at his brother at that moment. All he knew was that he needed to do something.
âHow do you feel about coming over for a sleepover?â Wayne asked. âWe havenât had one of those in awhile, and I miss hanging out with my favorite kid.â
Eddieâs response was an enthusiastic yes, so Wayne set him back down.
âIâm gonna go talk to your daddy, and then weâll get your stuff ready to go, okay?â
âOkay!â
Part of Wayne wanted to be thankful that at least Eddie still seemed happy. He was okay on the inside even if it was clear that his dad had dropped the ball. But a much larger part of him was consumed by his anger. Angry at his brother for letting his home get this messy. Angry at his brother for clearly not taking care of his child. Angry at his brother for picking up their fatherâs bad habits.
But, most of all, Wayne was angry at himself for avoiding the awkward silences. If heâd kept going over for Sunday dinners, he would have caught the warning signs sooner. He could have kept things from getting this bad. He could have done something to help, and he was going to live with the guilt of not helping sooner for a very long time.
When Richie didnât respond to his name or being shaken, Wayne grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and dumped it over his brotherâs head.
âWhat the hell, Wayne?â Richie sputtered as he came to and glared up at his brother.
âDonât what the hell me,â Wayne replied. He was trying to keep his volume down so Eddie wouldnât hear them. âItâs barely five oâclock on a Sunday, and you were passed out drunk.â
âItâs not a big deal.â
âIt is a big deal. I shouldnât have to tell you that with the way we grew up. Do you really want to put your kid through that?â
âIâm not turning into dad.â Richie sat up and laid his head in his hands. âI will never be anything like that man. Iâm just not doing the best right now, okay? After everything, I lost my job. Missed too many shifts. It all spiraled from there. I just need some time to get back on my feet so we donât lose the apartment.â
âYou canât take time when youâve got Eddie to think about,â Wayne said as he took a seat next to his brother. âIâm bringing him home with me. This isnât good for him, and you know it.â
âYou canât take my kid away from me.â
âThe boy stinks, and Iâm guessing he barely has any clean clothes left from what I saw in his room. This place is a wreck, and you donât seem to care because youâre too busy drinking. He told me all you do is sleep on the couch like you were when I got here.â
Wayne ran a hand over the back of his neck. He hated putting this out there, but he had to open his brotherâs eyes, and he didnât see any other way.
âHe starts preschool next week, Richie. If he gets there looking and smelling the way he does now or tells anyone anything about the way youâre living, someone is going to come here and take him away from you. He needs a safe and stable living environment, and this isnât one right now. So you can either let him come with me while you pull yourself together, and you can still come and see him everyday. Or you can keep living like this, and you could wind up losing him for good. The choice is yours, and one of those options seems a lot better than the other to me.â
âShit.â
Richie kicked the coffee table in frustration and sent empty beer cans flying.
âSo, I can come see him everyday?â he asked after a moment.
âWhenever you want. I promise.â
âOkay . . . Iâm not really turning into dad, am I?â
âNo. I just think you went through some shit that youâre way too young for, and it made you make some bad choices. Youâve at least acknowledged it, so youâre doing better than he ever did.â
Wayne didnât wait for a response from his brother. He just grabbed a garbage bag from the cabinet under the sink and headed back to Eddieâs room where he started shoving all of the dirty clothes into the bag.
âYou canât throw away my clothes,â Eddie pouted. âI need those.â
âIâm not throwing them away. Iâm gonna do your laundry. Your daddy is awake, so why donât you go talk to him while I get your stuff ready to go?â
Once Eddieâs clothes were taken care of, Wayne moved around the room grabbing whatever he saw that he thought his nephew would maybe want at his house and loading it into the duffle bag he found under the bed. He took the dinosaurs and toy cars that Eddie had been playing with when he came in. He took the stack of books and photo albums that were sitting on the tiny nightstand by his bed. He even grabbed the toy guitar that he was sure he was going to regret bringing with him. And, of course, he grabbed Mister Lion.
After a quick trip into the bathroom to grab Eddieâs toothbrush and other toiletries, he headed back into the living room where Eddie was giving his dad a goodbye hug.
âYou be extra good for your uncle, okay?â Richie said as he pulled away from his son. âAnd Iâll be over to see you every day.â
âYou promise?â Eddie asked.
âCross my heart.â
Once they were back at the trailer, the first thing Wayne did was give Eddie a bath.
âI thought I didnât need to do this anymore,â Eddie pouted as his uncle worked the shampoo into his hair.
âIâm gonna be honest with you, Eds,â Wayne replied. âYou smell, and I canât have you stinking up my trailer. So, itâs either you take a bath on a regular basis, or youâre sleeping on the porch.â
Eddie looked up at his uncle with wide eyes.
âYouâd make me sleep on the porch?
âNever. Which is why we need to get you cleaned up.â
Getting Eddie bathed was the easy part. Tackling the tangled mess of his hair was an entirely different beast. Wayne tried to be as careful as possible as he worked through the knots, but Eddie was especially tender-headed, and his hair was a mess from the neglect, so there were plenty of complaints and tears.
âMama never made it hurt,â Eddie said between his sniffles.
âIâm sorry, Eds,â Wayne replied. âIâm being as gentle as I can.â
âI miss her.â
âI know. Me, too.â
Wayne made grilled cheese and tomato soup for their dinner. It wasnât anything special, but it was better than a TV dinner, and he made himself a promise that heâd never feed his nephew one of those for dinner ever again if he could help it. And, after the table was cleared and the dishes were done, he put the kettle on the stove to start heating up some water to make tea for himself and hot chocolate for Eddie.
When Wayneâs mug collection started to outgrow the small cabinet shelf, heâd moved most of them into the living room to put on display, but his favorites were kept in the kitchen for easy use. He pulled out the mug from Eddieâs first Christmas for himself, and then he grabbed Lindaâs favorite mug - the light blue one with the pink rosettes - for Eddie. He carefully carried the mugs over to the coffee table before going through the bag of Eddieâs things to find the book he was looking for.
âHey, Eddie, can you come over here?â he called over to his nephew as he sat down on the couch.
Eddie abandoned his crayons and the picture he was drawing to climb onto the couch with his uncle.
âYou were too little to remember it, but did your mama and daddy ever tell you that you all lived here with me when you were a baby?â
âWe did?â
âYou did. The three of you shared my bedroom, and I slept out here. Whenever you were up at night, your mama would come sit in the kitchen, and weâd have tea together while she fed you. And then, when you still wouldnât go back to sleep, sheâd hand you over to me. Weâd sit over here, and sheâd read her favorite book to you until you fell asleep in my arms.â
Wayne grabbed the mugs off of the table and passed Eddieâs to him before picking up the copy of The Hobbit that heâd set aside.
âI know you miss your mama, and I know this isnât the same as having her here, but this is a little piece of her that I can share with you.â
Eddie curled up against his uncle, and they sipped their drinks as Wayne started to read Lindaâs most favorite adventure out loud to her son. It wasnât much, but it was all Wayne could do to make Eddieâs first night in his trailer a little bit easier.
December 1970
Richie had made good on his promise to come and visit every day for the first two months that Eddie was staying with Wayne. But right around Halloween, he started missing days. And then multiple days in a row. It broke Wayneâs heart every time he saw Eddie realize that his dad had forgotten about him again, but there wasnât much he could do about it. Richie had either stopped answering his phone at the apartment, or he was never home no matter what time of day Wayne called. Nor did he answer the door any of the times Wayne dropped by to check on him.
On Christmas Eve, Wayne realized that his brother hadnât been over to see them since Thanksgiving, and he wasnât sure if theyâd be seeing him at all the next day. Wayne wasnât going to let his brotherâs screw ups ruin the holiday for Eddie though. It was going to be hard enough on him to spend his first Christmas without his mom. He didnât want the whole day to be miserable.
Wayne had hidden all of Eddieâs gifts from Santa in the cabinet over the fridge - the only cabinet that Eddie hadnât found a way to climb to yet - and he had gotten a small tree to prop up in the corner. It wasnât very impressive, but Eddie was all smiles when he got to put the star on top, and that was good enough for him. Heâd even picked up everything he needed to make cinnamon french toast for breakfast and a roast for Christmas dinner. It was shaping up to be a fairly decent holiday.
But, when he asked Eddie if he was excited for Santa to visit them that night, he was met with frustrated tears instead of the happiness heâd expected. Wayne stopped what he was doing and went over to where Eddie was sitting on the couch. The boy had tears streaming down his cheeks, and his tiny hands were balled into tight fists.
âHey, hey, whatâs wrong?â Wayne asked as he knelt down to get on Eddieâs level.
âI forgot.â
âForgot what?â
âI forgot your present, and now itâs too late.â
âItâs okay. You donât need to get me anything. I promise.â
âNo, I gotta,â Eddie said as he wiped at his tears. âMama said it wasnât special if you didnât get a mug, and I wanted it to be special.â
Wayne moved to sit on the couch and scooped Eddie up in his arms, allowing the boy to cry into his shoulder and get his feelings out.
âI was going to ask daddy to take me, but heâs never here.â
Wayne could pinpoint a lot of things about his brother that had angered him lately, but he didnât know if he could ever forgive him for hurting Eddie like this. Still, he didnât want his nephew to end up hating his dad. When Richie pulled it together, theyâd be a family again, and he didnât want moments like this to sour that.
âItâs my fault, Eds,â Wayne lied as he rubbed Eddieâs back in an attempt to soothe him. âYour daddy gave me some money so you could buy me a Christmas gift and told me that I should take you, and I got so busy with work that I just forgot about it. But if we leave right now, I bet we can make it to the Goodwill in time for you to pick out something real special.â
The opportunity to go present shopping cheered Eddie up immediately, and before Wayne knew it, the boy was pulling at his arm to get him to help grab his coat and shoes.
The Goodwill was still open when they got there, and nobody was inside except for the very bored looking teenager running the cash register.
âNow, you go pick something out, and Iâll wait here until after youâve paid so whatever you pick can be a surprise,â Wayne said as he handed Eddie a few dollars.
Eddie took the money and wandered off towards where the homegoods were kept, and Wayne busied himself by looking at a rack of kids clothes near the front of the store. He wasnât necessarily planning on buying anything, but if he could maybe find something decent that would fit Eddie, he might as well look. He only turned his attention back to the checkout counter when he heard his nephewâs voice.
âExcuse me,â Eddie said as he reached up to set his purchase on the counter. The counter was taller than he was, so he had to stretch just a little bit. âI want to buy this as a Christmas gift for my uncle, please. I have my own money and everything.â
âWell, arenât you the cutest,â the girl working the cash register said as she picked up his mug. âAre you sure this is the one you want to get him though?â
âYes, itâs the best one.â
âOkay, thatâll be one dollar. And for an extra quarter, I can even put it in one of these fancy gift bags for you if youâd like.â
âYes, please.â Eddie set his money on the counter and waited as the girl got his change and wrapped his purchase.
âHere you go, sweetie,â the girl said as she handed Eddie his things.
âThank you! Merry Christmas!â
Eddie raced back over to his uncle, and it was apparent that the tears from earlier were long forgotten.
When Wayne unwrapped his new âVirginia is for Loversâ mug in front of the tree on Christmas morning, he couldnât contain his laughter.
âWhatâs so funny?â Eddie asked.
âItâs nothing Eds. Iâll tell you when youâre older.â
âDid I pick a good one then?â
âYou picked the best one. I love it.â
And he did. Not just because it was Eddie that gave it to him, but because he knew it was the exact mug Linda would have chosen if she was there.
June 1973
Wayne and Eddie had settled into a routine together. During the school year, Wayne put Eddie on the bus before heading to work, and then he picked him up from after school care on the way home. Wayne made them dinner while Eddie did whatever homework he had to do, and then it was bathtime and books before bed. There wasnât really enough room for two beds in Wayneâs bedroom, but heâd rearranged the furniture enough that they could just barely fit the fold out bed in his room when Eddie had expressed that he didnât like sleeping out in the living room alone.
The only difference during the summer was that Eddie went to daycare instead of school. It was a little too expensive, but Wayne was doing his best to make it work.
Richieâs visits were few and far between at this point. They were lucky if he came to visit Eddie once a month, but it was usually a longer absence than that. They didnât even have a way to contact him when he was gone anymore because heâd lost the apartment, and the only reason they knew he lost the apartment was because heâd told Wayne that if there was anything of Eddieâs still there, he should probably get it before the landlord changed the locks. When Wayne had showed up to grab the rest of Eddieâs toys and books, heâd grabbed the rest of the photo albums and a few of Lindaâs things that were still around that he thought Eddie might like to have one day. Richie was supposed to give them his new address and phone number once heâd settled into a new place, but that had been nearly a year ago, and Wayne wasnât holding his breath. His brother had broken so many promises since Eddie had moved in with Wayne, that he had a hard time believing anything his brother said.
So, when Richie showed up that morning and said that he wanted to take Eddie for the whole day, Wayne couldnât have been more surprised. Even when Richie did remember to show up, he never spent the whole day with his own kid. But his brother said he had a new job, and he wanted to celebrate with his son. Wayne was reluctant to let it happen, but he knew the kid missed his dad, and if Richie wanted to step up, it would at least give him a chance to get some work done around the trailer without any distractions.
But when they came back around dinner time, Wayne regretted letting them go alone. Physically, Eddie was fine, but they returned in a different car than the one theyâd left in. A much nicer car that Wayne knew his brother wouldnât have been able to afford. Heâd heard some rumors about cars getting stolen around Hawkins and getting brought to a chop shop somewhere outside of the town, but he hadnât given it much thought since no one wanted to steal a car from someone who lived in a trailer park.
âUncle Wayne!â Eddie said as he climbed out the car and ran to his uncle. âWe had the best day!â
âYou did?â
âYeah! First, we went to the arcade, and then we got hot dogs, and after that, dad showed me how I can get any car I want for free!â
âOh really?â Wayne glanced over at his brother who was leaning against the hood of what Eddie had all but confirmed was definitely a stolen car. âThat sounds like a really great day, Eds. Why donât you go inside and get washed up for dinner while your dad and I have a little chat, okay?â
Wayne waited until Eddie was out of earshot before he walked over to his brother.
âSeriously, Richie? Is that what your new job is? Stealing cars?â
âLighten up. Do you know how much money I get for each car I bring in? I might actually be able to afford a decent apartment again, and I can quit sleeping on peopleâs couches. Eddie could even come stay with me.â
âOh yeah. Sure. Being enmeshed in illegal activities is exactly what every seven year old needs. Do you even hear yourself?â
âDonât tell me how to raise my son, Wayne. I think I know what Iâm doing here.â
âWell, thatâs rich coming from you.â
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âSince when are you the one raising him, Richie? The last time I checked, we havenât seen you since March.â
âHeâs still my son.â
âThen act like it. Because Iâm the one who gets him to and from school and makes sure he gets his homework done. Iâm the one who makes sure that heâs fed and clothed and has a roof over his head. Iâm the one that he cries out for whenever he has a bad dream or heâs sick. And Iâm the one who comforts him and distracts him every time you say youâll be here and then donât show up because youâre too drunk or you overslept or just forgot and didnât care. And I am sick of you coming back around for a day and lying to him about how youâre going to be around more often and promising to spend more time with him because every time you break that promise, his heart breaks all over again. He deserves better than that, and you know it.â
âShut up.â
âYou canât just tell me to shut up when you donât want to hear the truth, and frankly, Iâve stayed quiet long enough. This is something you should have heard a long time ago.â
âI said shut up.â
âIf she could see the way that youâre treating her boy, Linda would be so ashamed of you right now.â
âFuck you!â
Richie launched up from where he was leaning on the car to post up to his brother. For a minute, Wayne was convinced that Richie was going to take a swing at him from the anger burning in his eyes, but nothing happened.
âYou want me to be a better dad? Fine. Iâll be a better dad,â he spat as he stormed toward the trailer door. âWe donât need any help from you anymore.â
Before Wayne knew it, his brother was marching out of the trailer pulling a very confused looking Eddie behind him.
âSay goodbye to your uncle, Eddie,â Richie said as he opened his car door. âYouâre not going to be seeing him for a while.â
âRichie, be reasonable.â
âYou canât have it both ways, Wayne. Either Iâm the dad that you want me to be, or I leave him here with you. So Iâm taking my son, and weâre leaving because I will not stand here and listen to you insult me. And if I ever hear Lindaâs name leave your mouth again, thatâll be the last time you ever speak.â
Richie climbed into the car and slammed his door shut. Once Eddie was inside with him, he sped away and out of the trailer park leaving Wayne to spend the night alone for the first time in years.
February 1976
It was after midnight when Wayne got the call. He'd been asleep for a few hours at that point, and he'd been woken up by the phone. At first, he'd tried to ignore the call, but the person on the other end of the line was persistent, so the phone just kept ringing. He stumbled out of his bedroom and into the kitchen to grab the phone.
âHello?â Wayne answered the phone, his voice hoarse from barely being awake.
âHave we reached Wayne Munson?â
âSpeaking.â
âMr. Munson, this is Chief Carver with the Hawkins police department. We currently have your brother in custody down at the station. His bail hasnât been set just yet, and he declined his one phone call, but Iâm calling to inform you that we also have your nephew here. He was asleep in the back of the car when my officers picked up your brother, and weâve been told that youâre the only other family the boy has. We were hoping to place the child in your care as weâd rather contact family than anyone else in situations like these.â
âI can be there in fifteen minutes.â
Wayne didnât need to hear anything else before he was putting on real pants and racing down to the station. Heâd barely seen his brother and nephew since their fight as Richie had cut him out of their lives. He only saw them in passing, but Richie would quickly leave whatever public space they were in when he noticed Wayne was there, too. And even if he had a phone number, he doubted Richie would take his calls. He didnât want to say that he was afraid of what heâd find when he got there, but he wasnât expecting anything good.
âI got a call from the chief about my brother,â Wayne said as he walked up to the officer sitting behind the front desk. âIâm supposed to be picking up my nephew.â
âWayne Munson, right?â the officer asked. âIâll take you back to see your nephew shortly. Just gotta go over some official business first. You know how it is. Now, your brother will be staying here overnight because we wonât be able to get him arraigned until morning.â
âWhat is he facing in the way of charges?â
âWell, for starters, he was already wanted for multiple counts of grand theft auto and the possession and selling of stolen merchandise. Tonight, he was picked up on a DUI with multiple traffic violations, expired plates, and child endangerment to sweeten the deal. There was also a startling amount of liquor in the car with him. When he was pulled over, he attempted to assault an officer, and he resisted arrest. We donât expect you to stay here until heâs arraigned, so we can call you and let you know what his bail is set at after the hearing occurs.â
âDonât bother,â Wayne replied. âI wonât be posting his bail. All I care about is my nephew. Is he okay?â
âAs far as we can tell, the boy is fine. A little shaken up, but okay. He was asleep in the backseat when the car was pulled over, and he only woke up when your brother started to get belligerent. We have reason to believe they were living out of the car from the sheer amount of stuff loaded into the trunk and backseat. Because the car was one of the ones heâs accused of stealing, everything inside it was admitted into evidence. However, weâre hoping someone will be able to sort through it after the weekend, so we can set aside anything that belongs to the boy and get it to you then.â
âCan I see him now? I just want to take him home.â
Finally, the officer led him back to the stationâs break room where he found Eddie sitting on the sofa with his knees hugged to his chest.
âAlright, Eddie,â the officer said. âYour uncle is here to take you home.â
Eddie got up from the sofa and headed over towards where they were standing without saying a word. It was the quietest that Wayne had ever seen the boy other than when he was sleeping, and he hated it more than he could say.
Eddie stayed quiet the entire way back to the trailer despite Wayne asking him how he was doing, telling him he missed him, and just trying to get even the smallest bit of a conversation going. He tried not to read too much into it. It had most likely been an overwhelming night for him so far, and he was probably worn out.
It was only once they were back at the trailer that Wayne realized he didnât have any pajamas or extra clothes for Eddie. He still had most of the clothes that had been left behind when his brother had taken the boy back, but heâd grown in the three years since heâd worn any of that stuff, so Wayne doubted heâd be comfortable in any of them. He grabbed one of his own t-shirts out of the basket of clean laundry heâd neglected to put away and offered it to Eddie.
âI know itâs not pajamas, but you might be more comfortable sleeping in this.â
âIâm fine,â Eddie replied, not bothering to take the shirt. âI sleep like this most of the time.â
The boy moved to sit on the edge of the couch, and Wayne set the shirt down on the coffee table just in case Eddie ended up changing his mind.
âHow long do I get to stay here?â Eddie asked.
âWhat do you mean?â
âAm I gonna have to go stay somewhere else?â
âNo, Eds. Youâre here with me for good.â Even if Richie didnât end up in jail for any of the charges he was facing, Wayne was never letting Eddie out of his sight again. Even if that meant spending what little money he had on a custody battle for his nephewâs wellbeing.
Wayne noted the confused look on Eddieâs face at his response, but he didnât press the issue further. It had already been a long night for the both of them, and he was surprised that Eddie wasnât already passed out.
âIâve still got all of your stuff here from before, so I figure we can go through it tomorrow. See if any of your clothes might still fit or if there are any toys you might still want, and then we can go to the Goodwill and maybe get you some new things to replace what doesnât work anymore.â
âYou kept my stuff?â
âOf course, I did. Why wouldnât I?â
âI donât know,â Eddie said as he looked down at his shoes. âFigured you wouldnât want my stuff here either.â
It was the either that struck him. How Eddie was so quiet when he said it as if he didnât want to voice his fears out loud. Wayne moved to sit next to Eddie on the couch.
âWhat do you mean?â he asked gently.
âNothing.â
âItâs not nothing, Eds. Youâre upset, and I canât help if you donât tell me whatâs wrong.â
Eddie refused to look at his uncle, continuing to stare at the ground instead.
âDad said you didnât want me here anymore. That there wasnât space for me, so I had to go back with him.â
Wayne thought that being punched in the chest would have been less painful than hearing that. As much as he wanted to sit there and call his brother a liar along with a slew of much harsher names, he couldnât let himself do that. Eddie had already been through so much that night, and he wasnât going to be responsible for worsening the boyâs opinion of his own dad. Instead, he placed a comforting hand on Eddieâs shoulder.
âThat couldnât be further from the truth. There was not a day that went by that I didnât wish you were here with me. Your dad and I had just had a fight, and it made more sense for you to be with him than it did for you to stay here. Thatâs all it was.â
Wayne got up from the sofa and moved over to where the old foldout bed was pushed into the corner. Behind it was a small, wooden chest. He picked up the chest and set it back down in front of Eddie. He encouraged Eddie to open it, and when the boy did, the first thing he saw was his old stuffed lion. He pulled the plushie out and hugged it to his chest before looking back to find many more of his childhood play things. Toy cars, dinosaurs, and little army men mixed in with crayon stumps, notebooks filled with his drawings, and his motherâs well-loved copies of Tolkienâs epic fantasy. The boy looked up at his uncle with wide eyes.
âIâm sorry if my mistakes ever made you feel unwanted,â Wayne started, âbecause the truth is that I would still want you here and have the space for you even if this trailer was the size of my bathroom and nothing bigger.â
âYou swear?â Eddie asked. He held out his pinky, and his uncle immediately gripped it with his own.
âI swear.â
Wayne moved to set up the fold out bed.
âYou donât have to go through any of that tonight. Itâs late enough as it is. Let me get your bed set up, and we can deal with all of that tomorrow.â
âIâm fine on the couch.â
âDonât be silly. Iâm not gonna let you sleep on the couch when Iâve got a perfectly good bed for you.â
âItâs really okay. When we werenât sleeping in the car, I slept on a lot of couches at other peopleâs places. The floor sometimes, too. But I always liked the couches best."
The boy seemed eager to please as if he'd been told not to be difficult about where he slept in the past. To accept what he was offered without complaint. Wayne didn't want to fight him on this, but he also didn't want Eddie to think that this was any trouble for him. He'd give him the choice and let the boy do whatever he was most comfortable with.
"Well, I'm just gonna go ahead and set up the bed anyway. You don't have to sleep on it if you don't want to, but I want you to have it as an option."
Wayne barely slept that night. Eddie had looked at the fold out bed as if it was a trap before curling up into a ball on the sofa. It was then that it occurred to him that his nephew hadn't had his own room or any space to really call his own since the first time he'd come to live at the trailer. He'd always shared his uncle's room or the living room or whatever space his dad was able to provide.
Wayne had never needed much space. He didn't have a lot of stuff, and he figured he could fit most of his things in the tiny closet outside the bathroom if he did a little rearranging. Most of his drawers had been taken up by Eddieâs clothes when he lived there the first time anyway. He could take the fold out bed in the living room and give up his bedroom for his nephew. And if Eddie had his own space, maybe that would silence whatever was telling him that he was unwanted and allow him to relax.
So, instead of sleeping, he went through his closet. The boxes filled with Eddieâs old clothes were emptied onto the bed so he could load them up with his things. Moving it all into the hall closet and drawers could wait until morning since he didnât want to accidentally wake his nephew, but he could get the room mostly ready for the boy to move into it.Â
By the time it was a reasonable enough hour for him to go and make his morning coffee, he had all of his stuff piled in boxes in the corner and another box of things he was planning on donating to Goodwill. He figured he could wash the sheets and put a fresh set on the bed later, but everything else was ready.
Eddie was still curled up asleep on the couch when Wayne exited the bedroom, so he tried to be as quiet as possible as he started the coffee. He woke up before the coffee was done though, and soon enough, he was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he stood next to his uncle in the kitchen.
âYou sleep okay, kiddo?â Wayne asked as he pulled out a couple cereal bowls.
Eddie nodded before moving to take his normal spot at the small table. Wayne didnât want to pry too much, but he was clueless about what Eddieâs life had been like over the last few years, so he tried to get the boy to talk to him without it seeming like he was interrogating him.
Over bowls of Cheerios, Eddie shared that most of the time, his dad had him hang out at the comic book shop after school and on the weekends. He wasnât supposed to get in the way while Richie was working, so every week, his dad gave him two dollars, and he could spend that on whatever comics he wanted even if the only ones he really cared about were the X-Men ones. The guy who ran the shop was really nice and let Eddie sit there for as long as he needed to even on the days that he wasnât buying anything. He never missed school, and his dad always made sure he was fed, so at least he hadnât been lacking in those departments. Richie was neglectful in a lot of ways, but he had managed to do the bare minimum. He could be thankful for that at least.
After breakfast, Wayne had Eddie help him sort through the boyâs old clothes. None of the pants were going to fit him anymore, but he had a handful of shirts that had been a little big before that he could still fit into. Wayne just hoped that theyâd be able to find a few pairs of jeans in decent shape while they were at Goodwill because he definitely didnât have the money to drop on new pants.
Eddie wanted to keep his dinosaurs and the one little car that had been his favorite, and of course he was keeping Mister Lion, but the rest of his old toys joined the Goodwill boxes. He just wasnât interested in those things anymore. Wayne made a mental note to pick up a new box of crayons the next time he was at the grocery store since Eddie was very adamant about keeping all of his old drawings, and his old crayons were barely usable anymore.
Their trip to Goodwill was a successful one. Wayne had to use up a good portion of his cigarette budget for the month on a new wardrobe for Eddie, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. Heâd been meaning to cut back anyway.
âWhy donât you go and put your clothes away in your room?â Wayne told Eddie when they returned to the trailer.
âMy room?â
âThe bedroom is yours, Eds. I just have to move a few things into the other closet and change the sheets, and then itâll be ready.â
âYou donât have to give up your room for me.â
âI know. But I want to. Figured you should have a space of your own if youâre gonna be staying here permanently.â
Eddie dropped the bags he was holding and went to give his uncle a hug.
âThank you,â he whispered.
âNo need to thank me. You deserve this.â
As Wayne was moving the rest of his stuff out of the room, Eddie was drawn to one item in particular.
âYou play guitar?â he asked, eyeing the old acoustic in his uncleâs hands.
âI used to. I donât think Iâve actually played it since before you were born. I was about your age when I learned though.â
âCould you teach me?â
âSure can. I was just gonna stick it in the closet, but you can keep it in your room if you want and you promise to be real careful with it.â
Eddie nodded enthusiastically before taking the guitar from his uncle and carrying it back into his bedroom.
The rest of Eddieâs first day back at the trailer passed by without any incident. Eddie was slowly warming up to being there again even if he still seemed cautious about what he was and wasnât allowed to do. It wasnât until bedtime that Wayne was certain things would be okay between them.
By then, he was exhausted from having stayed up all night and all the work he did to get the bedroom ready for him. Heâd just tucked Eddie in and was getting ready to set up his own bed in the living room when he heard the bedroom door open.
âWhat are you doing out of bed?â he asked. âThought you were going to sleep?â
âI was,â Eddie said as he looked down at the ground. âBut I was just thinking maybe you could set up your bed in my room like we used to? Just for tonight?â
âI think that can be arranged.â
Wayne squeezed the fold out bed into the cramped bedroom. Without saying a word, Eddie handed his uncle the copy of The Hobbit that was sitting on the nightstand, and even though he was ready to crash, Wayne settled in and read until his nephew was softly snoring beside him just as he had so many times before.
December 1976
Wayne was not spoiling Eddie for Christmas this year. If anyone asked, he insisted he wasnât. He was staying well within his budget for the holidays, but he was buying pretty much everything secondhand, so his money went a little further. Heâd picked up a few board games and an assortment of mismatched legos from the Goodwill, and heâd managed to get a good deal on a new set of strings for the guitar. Heâd even picked up the 64 pack of Crayola crayons that had a sharpener built into the box and some plain, unlined paper for him to draw on. Eddie's Christmases with his dad hadn't exactly been great ones, and he wanted to do what he could to make up for that. There was just one last thing he wanted to get.
It had all started when Eddie had spent an entire day drawing at the kitchen table. Wayne hadn't been paying much attention to him because anything that kept Eddie occupied and quiet for more than five minutes meant he could get some cleaning done around the trailer without his nephew getting underfoot or making more work for him. He loved the kid as if he were his own, but he could be a handful at times. When he went to put another load of dirty clothes in the washer and figure out what he was making for dinner, he got a good look at what Eddie had been drawing.
Wayne gathered up the papers and shuffled through them, and he was amazed by Eddie's work. They were good drawings. Not just good for a kid drawings where you could tell what they were supposed to be but they still looked clumsy. These were actually good, and they were all dragons. Different shapes, sizes, and colors. Some breathing fire, some flying, and some sleeping, but all recognizable as dragons.
"Did you draw all of these?" he asked.
Eddie nodded without looking up from his current drawing.
"And you didn't trace 'em or copy them from something or anything?"
"Nope. I just drew what I pictured."
âThese are really great, Eds. Best drawings Iâve ever seen.â
âReally?â
âYes, really. Donât know where you got all this talent from. No one in our family can draw more than a stick figure.â
Eddie was absolutely beaming from all of the praise.
âWhich one is your favorite?â the boy asked.
Wayne flipped through the stack of drawings in his hand before pulling out one of a purple dragon asleep on a pile of gold coins and jewels.
âIf I had to pick, itâs this one,â he said as he held up the picture. âWould you mind if I hung it on the fridge?â
âYou wanna hang up my picture?â
âOf course, I do. Gotta display it like the masterpiece it is.â
After the first drawing was in its place on the fridge, Eddie wanted to hang the rest of his dragons up in his room, so Wayne carefully taped up each and every one of them exactly where Eddie told him to. The entire time, Eddie was sitting cross-legged on his bed monologuing about how cool dragons were and why they were his most favorite fantasy creature. It was then that Wayne knew he had to find a way to get his boy something dragon-related for Christmas.
The problem he was facing was that there seemed to be absolutely nothing dragon-related in all of Hawkins, and he was running out of time. He didnât know what he was going to do until he spotted something on one of the shelves in the comic book shop.
Wayne couldnât give Eddie as much money as his dad had been giving him to spend on comics, but every Saturday, they took a trip there after lunch and before they did their grocery shopping for the next week. Eddie was allowed to choose one comic to take home, and Wayne would let him take as long as he needed to make that decision. Usually, heâd just stand and wait with Eddie, but a box with a large red dragon on the front had piqued his interest, so he went to examine it. It didnât take long for him to realize that it was the perfect gift for his nephew.
When Eddie ran up to him with the comic heâd chosen, Wayne told him to go wait in the truck while he paid. As soon as his nephew was out of his sight, he grabbed the box and bought it along with the comic. It was a little more than he wanted to spend, but he knew it would be worth it to see Eddieâs face when he opened it on Christmas morning.
Wayne had barely opened his eyes before Eddie was shoving a gift into his hands on Christmas morning. Heâd insisted that he didnât need anything like he had for every single Christmas of his adult life, and he had been ignored as usual. When he opened the gift bag, he was presented with four different coffee mugs.
âThereâs one for this year, and one for every Christmas I missed,â Eddie said, looking very proud of himself.
âHowâd you get the money to pay for these?â
âA group of kids on the playground bet me their milk money that I wouldnât eat a worm.â
âYou ate a worm?â
Eddie shrugged. âIt didnât seem like a bad idea at the time.â
Wayne snorted and moved to ruffle a hand through the boyâs curls. âWeâve gotta work on your impulse control, kid.â
âDo you like them?â Eddie asked.
âI love âem. In fact, Iâm gonna have my morning coffee in one of them, and Iâll make you a special Christmas hot cocoa in one, too.â
After the drinks had been passed out, Wayne pushed his bed to the side so he and Eddie could sit on the floor together with the tiny fake tree that Wayne had found at a garage sale. It wasnât much, and it looked even tinier when the small pile of gifts for Eddie was almost the same height, but Eddie had just been excited to have a tree which was good enough for Wayne.
As Eddie opened his gifts, Wayne made sure that the one he was the most excited to give him was the last one he opened.
âDungeons and Dragons?â Eddie read off the front of the box.
âItâs a fantasy roleplaying game,â Wayne told him. âI donât know much about it, but the guy down at the comic book shop said itâs pretty fun, and I know how much you like dragons and fantasy stuff, so I thought this could be fun. I figured you could read the manual and maybe teach me how to play? If thatâs okay with you, of course.â
It was more than okay with Eddie. Wayne watched as Eddie did nothing but read the manuals and plan out a small campaign for them to play for pretty much his entire winter break. On New Yearâs Eve, he sat his uncle down at their kitchen table and walked him through creating a character before diving into their fantasy adventure. Wayne tried his best to understand what was going on, and Eddie often had to remind him which die to roll and when, but the boyâs excitement and enthusiasm for the game was apparent the entire time. He never got frustrated with him for forgetting what he was supposed to be doing, and he put every bit of his dramatic, over the top personality into painting a picture of this fantasy world.
There were plenty of days where Wayne was convinced that he was doing everything wrong when it came to raising Eddie, but as he watched his nephew fall in love with his new game, he knew that heâd done at least one thing right.
May 1980
When Eddie started middle school, Wayne had decided he was old enough to take the bus home from school and be alone at the trailer until he got home from work. For the most part, this hadnât been a bad idea, and Eddie had only almost flooded the trailer once. But, towards the end of eighth grade, there was one big hiccup.
âI messed up,â Eddie called from the bathroom the second Wayne had walked in the door.
"Messed up how?"
"Can you just come here?"
Wayne made his way back to the bathroom where he found Eddie leaning over the sink. Sitting on the edge of the sink was a pair of scissors, and there was a very obvious chunk of hair missing from the left side of his head. Considering the fact that Eddie had just told him a week before that he was planning on growing out his hair in an attempt to emulate his favorite musicians, Wayne was more than a little bit confused.
"Wanna tell me what happened?" he asked.
"I was just minding my own business and talking to my friend Jeff about how awesome Corroded Coffin was gonna be at the talent show next week when the kid in the seat behind me smashed his gum in my hair."
"Is this the same kid who called you a freak and ripped up your notebook last month?"
"Yeah . . . I've been ignoring him like you said, but he just won't leave me alone."
Wayne had never considered beating a child before, but there was a first time for everything.
"And I'm guessing the scissors are out because you were trying to get the gum out by yourself?"
"I tried everything. But I couldn't get it out with my hands, and trying to pick it out with my comb only made it worse. And I didn't know what to do, so I figured I could just cut it out, and no one would notice. But I ended up cutting off too much, and now I look like this."
"Why didn't you wait for me to get home? I could've helped you."
"I was embarrassed," Eddie said. The boy looked like he was about ready to cry. "I don't like talking about this stuff, so I thought maybe I could do it alone, and then I wouldn't have to tell you."
Wayne sighed before squeezing past Eddie to pull his clippers out of the bathroom cabinet.
"I can fix this," he said. "It's not going to be what you want, and it's going to take awhile for your hair to grow back, but I can at least even it out and make it look like you wanted your hair to be shorter, okay?"
Eddie nodded.
"Good. Now take a seat and let me take care of you."
Eddie sat down on the edge of the toilet, and Wayne got to work. To make it easier for the clippers to do their job, Wayne started out by using the scissors to cut off Eddie's curls in chunks that he tossed aside in the sink. Once his hair was a more manageable length, Wayne turned on the clippers and started evening out the cut. It definitely wasn't what Eddie wanted, but soon enough, the boy was sporting a fresh buzz cut.
âIâm going to clean up in here, and then you can take a shower if you want. After that, meet me in the kitchen. I think you and I might need to have a talk.â
After sweeping up Eddieâs hair, Wayne headed into the kitchen and put on the water for hot chocolate. That was their routine. Whenever they had to talk about something even remotely upsetting, they did it over cups of hot cocoa in the hopes that the sweetness of the drink would soften the blow.
Eddie came out of the bathroom and took his usual seat at the kitchen table just as Wayne was finished making their drinks. He set Eddieâs mug down in front of him before taking his own seat. It was obvious to him that the boy had been crying while he was in the bathroom from his red-rimmed eyes, but he didnât comment on it. He didnât want to make Eddie feel worse than he clearly already did.
Wayne couldnât get a word out before Eddie started talking.
âI donât think I wanna do the talent show anymore,â he said as he stared into his mug.
âWhy not? Itâs all youâve talked about for weeks.â
âThey havenât even heard me play yet, and Iâm already getting picked on for it. What if I suck, and it gets worse?â
âSo what?â
âWhat do you mean so what?â Eddie asked. âYou just had to shave my head. I donât want anything like this to happen ever again.â
Wayne sighed and took a sip from his mug.
âI know we donât talk about your mama very often, but after you, music was her favorite thing in this world. When you all lived with me, there wasnât a moment of the day that she wasnât singing along with whatever was playing on the radio, and she might have been just about the worst singer Iâve heard in my entire life. Couldnât carry a tune in a bucket if her life depended on it, and we all teased her about it constantly. But that didnât stop her from singing her heart out whenever she heard her favorite songs.â
âWhat does that have to do with me?â
âPeople around here are small-minded, and theyâre raising their children to be a bunch of small-minded idiots. No matter what you do, thereâs always going to be someone whoâs gonna try to make you feel small. Thatâs just the way life is. And if you stop yourself from doing the things you love just because someone else is making fun of you for it, youâre only letting the bullies win. Youâve gotta be a bigger and louder version of yourself and not let them affect you.
âYou are so much like your mama in a lot of ways. Practically a little clone of her at times. Especially when you smile. But the biggest difference that I can see is that you have talent. I may not understand the kind of music you like, but I can tell when something sounds good. I hear you practicing, and youâve got a gift. I wonât lie to you and pretend that everyone is going to love your performance or that the bullies will magically disappear, but what I can tell you is that it would be a damn shame if you didnât share your gift with the world just because some little shit stain on your bus clearly wasnât raised right.â
Wayne got up from the table to put his mug in the sink, but heâd barely taken a step before Eddie had jumped up and wrapped his arms around his uncle in a bone-crushing hug.
âThank you,â Eddie whispered.
âYouâre welcome,â Wayne replied as he hugged him back. âI probably donât say this enough, but I hope you know that I love you, and Iâm always going to be in your corner.â
âI know. I love you, too.â
âGood. And if you have any more trouble on that bus of yours, you let me know, and Iâll kick that little punkâs butt. No one is gonna get away with treating my boy like crap.â
Eddie snorted as he pulled away from his uncle.
âIâm sure heâll be terrified. Youâre basically the least intimidating person I know.â
âOkay, smart ass. Iâm plenty intimidating.â
âYouâre about as scary as a teddy bear.â
It was Wayneâs turn to laugh.
A few weeks later, when Fatherâs Day rolled around, Wayne woke up to a gift and a homemade card waiting for him next to the coffee maker. He opened the card first, and printed in Eddieâs messy scrawl, it read:
I feel like this is probably long overdue, and I should have been honoring you today for at least a few years now. Youâve been more of a dad to me than I ever remember mine being, and I feel like I donât tell you how much I appreciate everything youâve done for me enough. So thanks for always being there. Happy Fatherâs Day from your boy.
Feeling a little choked up, Wayne pulled the gift towards himself next. It was wrapped up in the comics from the day beforeâs newspaper with way too much tape. He knew what it would be before he'd even unwrapped it, but he was always happy to see whatever mug Eddie had picked out for him. This one was dark green and patterned with sunflowers, and he knew that it was going to become one of his new favorites immediately if only because of the circumstances in which he received it.
March 1986
Wayne Munson was tired. Tired of people judging Eddie without really knowing him, tired of people not listening to him, and tired of people defacing his missing posters instead of actually helping him look. He was tired of having to keep his guard up when anyone tried to talk to him because he didnât want to lose his temper and attack someone for spouting vile nonsense at him, and he was tired of spending every waking moment - and most of his sleeping ones - worrying about Eddie. Tired of sleeping in the high school surrounded by people who had actively been hunting down his boy to do who knows what to him. He was just tired.
So, when Dustin Henderson came up to him and gave him the news that Eddie was gone, he could feel himself crumbling from the inside out. At first, he didnât want to believe it. It couldnât be true. His boy was out there somewhere and hiding until someone could find concrete evidence that cleared his name. He had to be. But the guitar pick necklace that Dustin held out to him and the apparent pain plastered across the kidâs face had sealed it. His boy was dead, and he was never going to see him again.
Wayne had never been one to outwardly express his emotions. He tended to keep things tucked away until he could have a moment in private, and he certainly never cried in public. But hearing the way that Dustin spoke so fondly about Eddie broke him. Because Dustin was saying everything that he already knew to be true. If Hawkins had really taken the time to get to know his boy, they all would have been able to look past his outer appearance, and they would have loved him just as much as Wayne did. He was certain of it. He just never thought heâd hear someone else say it.
Shortly after he spoke to Dustin, Wayne and the other trailer park residents were given the all clear to go back to their trailers and gather their things. The relief workers had marked it as safe for them to enter briefly, but no one was going to be allowed to stay there for very long. They were instructed to gather up anything important and head back to their temporary housing at the school as soon as possible. Eventually, theyâd be able to come back and grab the rest of their things when more permanent housing was found for them, but for now, they were limited in how much they could take.
Wayne didnât know how much of his stuff was going to be worth saving. Frankly, he was surprised that his trailer had even been left standing when he saw the fault line that ran through what had once been his living room. Out of an abundance of caution, he had entered through the door down near the bedroom instead of the main entrance. He moved quickly, shoving as many of his clothes in his bag as he could. Heâd much rather wear his own stuff than the donations that people brought into the school.
After that, he grabbed the sentimental things. For once, he was thankful that he didnât keep things in conventional places because that meant that all of his photo albums were safe. The notebooks full of Eddieâs childhood drawings and his favorite dragon picture were safe. Eddieâs beloved stuffed lion was safe. All of these were carefully added to his bag. But the one thing he couldnât take was what hurt the most to leave behind.
Heâd known the second that he saw the fault line running through his home that his mugs wouldnât have made it. What was left of his living room display was now smashed on the floor, and he could tell just from the look of it that there was nothing he could save. He knew it was stupid for him to be so upset about them. They were just a bunch of mugs and nobody else would find them important. Anybody else wouldnât give them a second thought because they could be replaced.Â
But they were important to Wayne. Those mugs tied him to better times with people he would never be able to see again. He could buy a new mug, but he couldnât buy the mugs that Linda had stolen from her parents for him, he couldnât buy the mugs that Eddie had eaten a worm to pay for, and he couldnât buy the mug that Eddie gave him the first time he recognized him on Fatherâs Day. He couldnât buy back the happiness that looking at those mugs and remembering their stories gave him. That was gone forever.
He didnât want to set himself up for even more disappointment, but a part of him needed to know if the mugs that he stored in the cabinet had made it through the earthquake. Those were the ones that he used the most often. His favorites. He would be heartbroken if they were all destroyed, but he needed that closure.
When he opened the cabinet above the coffee maker, he was met with a shelf covered with the broken pieces of his mugs that had smashed against each other in the enclosed space. He knew not to get his hopes up, but it was still a painful sight to see.
But, pushed into the very back corner of the cabinet, there was one mug that appeared to still be intact. He carefully pulled it out of the debris to inspect it. Sporting a new chip on the handle, the mug featured the phrase âWorldâs Best Uncleâ hand-painted on the side along with a bright blue baby handprint. The mug from Eddieâs first Christmas.
As he carefully wrapped the mug in a sheet of newspaper that was sitting on the floor underneath the kitchen table, Wayne felt himself choking back tears for the second time that day. It wasnât his whole collection, but at least it was something. After all, he was only one man. He always said he didnât need more than one mug.
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This was so fun to read. I love her inner monologue speaking up every once in a while. It really makes it feel like we're in her head.
I'm also such a sucker for any stories that explore Wayne and Eddie's relationship. This story hit all the spots. It's perfect đđ
Guess I'll have to go read the rest of the stories set in this universe now. đ„°
could we have something with wayne? i love wayne đ„ș was he upset when reader first got pregnant? worried about how eddie would cope and the consequences of having a baby so young? or was he buying onesies and telling everyone in the trailer park he was gunna be a grandpa?
this was an absolute delight to write. the penny verse is an extension of another series I have (Call You Mine) and Wayne is heavily involved in later chapters. this contains a ton of spoilers for it but i donât care all that much because I love Wayne too and I really like his relationship with reader and what I have going for his backstory with Eddie. hope you enjoy it!
little note, tumblr seems to have glitched (surprise, surprise) with the text color so if you have your tumblr palette set to a darker mode, you may need to change it to read the actual fic. weird how it doesn't do it for ANY of the informational sections, only for the actual body of the fic. funny how that works isn't it?
đđ«đđąđ„đđ« đđđ«đ€ đđđ„đ€đŹ
(Father-in-law!Wayne Munson and Daughter-in-law!Reader bonding)
warnings: mentions of pregnancy and drugs (reader does not use)
a/n: reader is 19, eddie is 20 and both are married to each other. daisy edgar jones is NOT reader, she is how i imagine Eddieâs mom to look so sheâs used for the aesthetic. happy reading and let me know how you like it! as always, reblogs and comments (not jerk ones) are appreciated and mistakes will be fixed later!
more of the pennyverse here
Itâs late, the sun is dipping below the earth visible to your eye, the trailer park lit only by the porch lights attached to a few of the mobile homes and light slipping through window blinds, drapes and curtains.
Youâre standing in front of the window next to the front door, fingers separating the blinds and fingertips pressed against the cold glass. Itâs warm in the trailer, compared to outside and courtesy of the space heater that goes above and beyond in heating your humble home.
The musical sound of Eddie, singing something of Whitesnakeâs in the shower can be faintly heard but you arenât paying him any attention. Your only focus is on the tan trailer four down from Maxineâs; spread out and relaxed in one of the lawn chairs under its awning is the Munson youâre most concerned about, at the moment.
It had been almost an entire month since youâd last spoken to him, something you hadnât been aware of until you had purposely started to avoid him.Â
Your relationship with Wayne Munson was anything but complicated. Well, until recently. When youâd first met him, not only did you discover he was about as wise as he looked and not nearly as scary as you imagined him to be (reminded you a lot of Eddie, actually), but you also realized he cared for Eddie, deeply. Enough to sit you down and tell you all about how he knew of Eddieâs deep affections for you before telling you all about his relationship with PennyâEddieâs motherâand how he hoped you two would have a much happier ending. Heâd asked you to take care of Eddie then, too. If you wanted to be with him, that was. And you did, so you agreed.Â
Then youâd broken up with Eddie. Youâd been heartbroken the entire time and positive youâd disappointed Wayne. Only, when you made your way to the trailer to fix what youâd destroyed, you had encountered Wayne again and expected to be turned away. Instead, he told you he knew you wouldnât break your promise to him and welcomed you back.
The thing is, while you were sure he really believed you wouldnât break your promise to take care of Eddie, you were also sure there had to have been a moment during your break up in which Wayne Munson regretted ever trusting you with his nephewâs heart, especially since that nephew was more his son than anything.Â
Now, you were disappointing him again. It didnât have anything to do with leaving Eddie, far from. If anything, you were now permanently bound to Eddie, in some way. Youâre pregnant, as in you have his baby growing inside of you.Â
It had come as a shock to you because you had no inkling that you were pregnant up until a couple of weeks ago (like two) and just as you were beginning to actually enjoy and soak in the fact that you and Eddie were going to be parents (you were gonna be someoneâs mom! How fucking weird!), Eddie burst your bubble, informing you heâd seen Wayne recently and mentioned it to him.Â
You love Eddie. Want to spend the rest of your life with him doing stupid shit like marrying him right after your graduation ceremony and having a baby at the apparently irresponsible ages of 19 and 20, but you wanted to strangle him right then. Not just because heâd told Wayne, but also because heâd done so like he was some random person from his past who asked him how he was doing and heâd casually mentioned that he and his young wife were expecting. Wayne deserved better than that.
Which is why, after days of cowering and avoiding him (it wasnât all that difficult, Wayne spent about 98% of his time at his girlfriendâs homeâthe trailer you were staring atâso you hadnât seen him often to begin with since that romance had developed) youâre determined to talk to him. Just need a couple more minutes to work up the courage.
You arenât stupid. Well, you are, but not that stupid. You know what most âadultsâ (youâre an adult, too, but youâre talking about the old ass folks) thought about you. How dumb they assum you are for marrying young and Eddie, no less (they could suck your dick, heâs a fantastic husband), and now that youâre pregnantâand not even showing all that muchâyou know theyâd think they were right. Like having a baby with the man you loved was some giant fucking punishment. Clearly, they need to rethink who they are married to if it was such a concern for them or mind their own business.
But WayneâŠgod, you had no idea what to expect from him. He was one of the few people in this town whose opinion you actually respected and valued. Heâd wanted you and Eddie to wait a little but still gave him his blessing to marry you because he knew nothing would stop you. Your parents had been about the same, but thatâs a different, messy story. Marriage was one thing, having a baby is much larger than that.
Youâd been avoiding Wayne out of fear of hearing him voice what you knew was slowly making its way around Hawkins: youâre making a mistake.Â
Youâd be disappointing Wayne. Again.
Still, you canât avoid him forever.
You see the man in question rattle the beer can in his hand, something youâd seen him do plenty of times on the couch outside of this trailer before heâd take the lack of liquid in it as a sign to get up, joints creaking, and make his way inside for the night.
You hurriedly slip on your coat and crash through the front door. Itâs much colder than you anticipated but you ignore it and soldier on, making your way down the road.
You stare at your shoes as you sit in the empty lawn chair next to his, the cold of it numbing your butt on contact.
You know heâs not looking at you, probably still admiring the colors of the sky and taking everything in like he always is.
He breaks the silence first.
âBit cold out for you, ainât it?â
You wet your lips, hands curled in the warm pockets of your coat.Â
âItâs not so bad. I prefer cold weather over the heat.â
He hums, low and always all-knowing. You know that he knows why youâre here. Just like Eddie, heâs patient with you; letting you come to him, letting you tell him when youâre ready. You think maybe Eddie picked up that particular character trait from how Wayne interacted with him.Â
âI wantedââ You start and donât finish. Another moment passes before you try again.
âI didnâtââ
Fuck! Why was this so hard? You hadnât realized how badly you wanted to make him proud of you, after everything youâd put Eddie through (who probably put Wayne through a lot, as a result), you wanted to make up for it by being good to his boy and what was supposed to be a happy thing was beginning to feel like you trapping him. You knew that wasnât the case, Eddie wanted the little being growing inside of you just as much as you did.Â
Trying to explain that to someone so much older was challenging. Trying to explain it to someone older and someone you didnât want to ever look down on you, was practically impossible. You probably appear young and dumb.Â
You figure, maybe itâs time to succumb to defeat, shoulders sagging.
âYou can say it.â
Itâs a whisper but Wayne hears it, finally turning his head to take you in. You still canât meet his eyes, donât want him to see how sad yours are.
âSay what?â
âThat Iâm stupid. Iâm ruining my life, settling. Trapping him. Screwing him over,â you donât even notice youâre doing it, your hand moves to rest on your stomach, as if to protect your baby from the accusation youâre about to throw out. âIâm making a mistake.â
Wayne doesnât say anything at first, just hums again. Itâs not one of agreement. His thumb runs over the aluminum of the beer can in his grasp.
âYou think that?â
You brave a glance at him, willing yourself to not cower under his gaze. Wayne Munsonâs stare can have any sinner confessing, just from the sheer intimidation in it.Â
You canât find your tongue all of a sudden, feeling like a child. You just shake your head, timid.
âThen why would I think that?â
âUhm, because. Uh, because itâs what everyone thinks. Itâs what they thought when we got married in June, too.â
Wayne chuckles, shaking his head fondly.
âDidnât seem to stop you from going through with it.â
It hadnât. Before you even got to the courthouse, word had spread and one of the cheer moms who worked there had tried to offer you some unsolicited advice: donât do it.
You did it.
âThere ainât nothing âbout you two thatâs been conventional. Always got me rubbing my scalp.â
You giggle, biting your lip to try to stop yourself but you know Wayne meant to make you laugh, tried to ease you with humor he rarely expressed. For some reason, the jokes about him balding greatly amused you.
âAre you mad? That Iâm pregnant?â
âNo,â he shakes his head, gruffly clearing his throat. Doesnât do much, his voice is always raspy. âTakes two to get in a spot like that. I didnât see it coming, thatâs for sure. But like I said, you two ainât ever been conventional. Glad to see youâre following the order of things, âleast. Iâll be honest with you, itâs always been a little hard to picture where Eddie would end up, what heâd be doing in life. Other than playing that loud music and going to those damn noisy shows. Made me a little nervous with those girls I knew he brought around, didnât ever meet none of them but I knew. If it had been then, Iâd probably have been more scared. âSpecially if he felt like he had to hide âem. Or if they had to hide him.â
Wayne leans further back into the chair, making the stiff thing look as comfortable as a recliner.Â
âItâs different with you. We had this conversation before. You remember?â You think you know what heâs about to bring up, so you nod.
âMhm. Youâre about how old Penny was when she had Eddie. Maybe a little younger. You ainât married to an asshole, either. For the most part.âÂ
You laugh again and point out, âI thought Penny never married Otis.â
Otis is Eddieâs dad. The older brother (by 10 years) of Wayneâs who swooped in and stole his best friend from him, introducing the much younger girl to a life of a hardcore drug youâd never touch and one Eddie would make sure he never had any part of: meth.Â
Wayne had told you sheâd gotten clean when she found out she was pregnant with Eddie and stayed that way, for him. You know thatâs when he fell in love with her. Sadly, their story would never involve romance. They were kept apart by Otis, distance and themselves, neither one of them speaking up when sheâd returned to Hawkins with Eddie, unwilling to have him live in a meth lab. In a cruel ironic twist, sheâd ended up dying of an overdose not much longer after her return; sheâd been struggling to sleep with everything going on and unknowingly mixed two over the counter sleeping pills that shut her system down. Sheâd stayed clean only to die because she wanted a good night's sleep so she could take care of her son. Eddie had been forced by the system to live with his father, only being allowed to return to Wayneâwith a shaved head when traces of the drug were found in his hairâafter his fatherâs lab was busted.
âShe didnât,â Wayne agrees, that far off look in his eye when he recounts his younger days to you. âBut he wasnât exactly the type of man any woman would want to marry. You got lucky with Eddie, he ainât nothing like Otis.â
You hum in agreement, mind flooding with thoughts of soft curls and even softer brown eyes. You know Wayne loves Eddie on his own and wouldnât ever treat him differently, but you canât help but be thankfulâfor Wayneâthat Eddie is an almost exact replica of his mom, appearance wise. For both of them, actually. Eddie hates his father and you know heâd hate himself if he looked in the mirror and saw any resemblance.Â
âYou got your head on right.â You snap out of your thoughts at the comment, surprised.Â
âHuh?â
âYou might be young, but you sure ainât stupid. I may not know everything that went on with you, but I know you saved yourself from it. You and Eddie been doing an awful lot of that your whole lives, âleast you get to do it together now. I know you love Eddie, and I know you love that baby. So donât you dare say you made a mistake. Would I have liked for you to wait? Sure. Hell, Iâm pretty sure you wouldnât have minded waiting either. Unlessâwas thisâŠ?â
âNo! No! It wasnât planned at all!â You donât mention that you and Eddie hadnât been using protection, just blindly trusting your birth control. He doesnât need to know that.Â
Wayne sighs in relief. âSee? You ainât stupid.â Debatable. âAnd even if it was, I trust that you know what youâre doing. âS the reason I let you two live in that trailer alone.â
You smirk, happy to have the opportunity to chime in.Â
âAre you sure itâs not because of Ms. Maple?â You wiggle your eyebrows, not so discreetly nodding your head to the trailer behind you and the occupant youâre sure is inside.
You laugh as Wayne raises his eyes at the awning.
âLord,â he mutters, with fake annoyance. Heâll tell you all about Penny but he wonât say a thing about Maude Maple. You suspect itâs because he feels like heâs betraying Penny in some way, even though they were never involved. Munson men are loyal.Â
âIs that what you came over here to pester me about? Or are we gonna keep this talk serious?â
âNo,â You pout, curling your legs up to your chest. âI justâI didnât know how to tell you. Kind of forgot we have to tell people actually, and when Eddie mentioned that heâd brought it up in a chatââ
Youâre cut off when Wayne booms out a laugh, surprising you considering youâd rarely heard him laugh hard.
Heâs almost snickering when he calms down, âIs that what he told you? That boy called me up and asked if we could talk. Figured it could only mean heâd gotten you pregnant, considering he already eloped with you. He was shaking in his shoes the entire time he was over, he didnât just bring it up in a run-in.â
Your mouth drops open, eyes squinting as you think about how youâre gonna chastise Eddie as soon as you get back to the trailer. That jerk! He made it seem like it was just something that came up in conversation, not something that heâd set aside time to talk to Wayne about!Â
Another half of you wanted to kiss him silly for taking it seriously and having a meaningful conversation with his father figure about becoming a father.
âNo wonder you were so well prepared.â
âThat didnât have nothing to do with it. Like I said, I figured you were. Not just âcause he wanted to have a talk, it may not be obvious to the two of you since you see each other every day, but youâre filling out a little more.â
Your eyebrows shoot up, though thereâs no animosity to it. You know heâs not implying youâre gaining weight, heâs saying youâre showing.Â
âWinter layers canât hide it.â
Your mouth drops open and closed, gaze darting from what you thought was your normal looking stomach to Wayne and back again.
âYouâre good!â You marvel, baffled at how observant and damn near omnipresent Wayne Munson is.
Wayne looks pleased with your statement, a small smile on his face. âI know. Eddie says itâs a girl. What color clothes should I be buying my grandbaby? You got any names picked out?â
You pull your hand out of your pocket to nervously bite at your thumb. Ever since youâd accepted the fact that you were gonna be a mom (still so fucking weird), to a girl, there was only one name bouncing around in your head. You hadnât even shared the idea with Eddie yet.Â
âI really like âPennyâ.â
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Hello friends. This weekend @staticscreenwriting / @astartothemoon and I hung out in person again, and we went to the Stranger Things Experience in London together! If you know anything about us, you know we love Steve and Eddie, so we made sure to show our love for them with Joâs handmade vests! â€ïž
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