#rhettt abbott fic

[attapullman]

That Abbott Boy | Rhett Abbott

GIF by delopsia

Summary: You and Rhett have stayed in each other's orbit since you were children. But what if there's something more than just friends?

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings & Notes: Rhett Abbott x f!reader, brief mentions of underage drinking and violence, fluffy and angsty (?), childhood friends, Rhett's the town whore and likes boobs, bad mouthin' Perry Abbott, destruction of pinatas, 18+ as always. Happy Halloween, witches! You can play your tricks, but here's your treat!

Children flooded the barn, your daddy’s ranch overtaken by sugar-hyped little hands and giggles as your classmates pet the horses and pretend to drink from the trough. Set up outside were balloons and presents, marking the momentous occasion of your birthday. The sun shines bright upon your cheeks as another year blesses you.

Your ma wrangles the hyperactive group and announces the piñata. A cheap, store-bought thing, meant to resemble a puppy dog but failing. Your classmates scramble to line up, eager to be the one who breaks open the winnings of more sugar. And as you turn to lead the battle, you see that Abbott boy.

Rhett. Cerulean eyes hidden under his baseball cap. That thin smile that says more than his mouth ever does. With only a decade of life under his belt, he comes across like there’s more layers to him than anyone could know. He’s affectionately stroking his hand along the nose of your mare, soothing her after too many grabby fingers. Too distracted by his care to notice everyone else has left the barn.

“You coming?” Your voice is small in the old building. His gaze snaps to you from his thoughts, running his hand along the horse’s flank before following you outside. You’re accurately aware of him trailing behind you. His heavy footfalls into the dusty ground. A dusty rose spreading along his cheeks when your eyes accidentally meet.

Joining the group and taking your rightful place at the front of the line, your ma wraps a bandana around your eyes and twists you twice. Orientation lost as hands straighten your shoulders toward the misshapen papier mâche. The burden of embarrassing yourself overwhelms your small frame, but you swing with purpose. You’re the birthday girl and you will knock it down!

Swing one. Miss. Swing two. Miss. Swing three. Miss.

Rules dictate your turn is over and you hand the blindfold and bat over to the next child in line. Swing. Miss. Swing. Hit. It’s a compilation of hits and misses as the line dwindles. Next to bat is Rhett. You give him a small smile as he steps up. He takes the wood between his hands, shoulders squaring to the challenge as he runs his fists over the woodgrain. His eyes are focused, a boy with only one goal.

Swing one. Miss. Swing two. Miss. Swing three. Hit! A bit of paper dislodges from multiple blows and a few treats fall to the ground. The next kid in line holds their hand out expectantly for the bat. But that Abbott boy has other plans.

Thwack. Thwack. Two more hits directly to the piñata, splitting it and upending every sweet in its arsenal. Children flock to the ground as they pick up as many as possible. Rhett’s face is proud - the winner of the arbitrary game - and he bends to pick up a chocolate.

The kid not picking up candy? You. A slow heat rises from your chest and the tips of your ears flood a rosy color. How dare he cheat! On your birthday! Squaring your shoulders, your ma catches you quickly. She knows your temper. Gives you a shake of her head and advises you to spend your energy on other ventures.

“That Abbott boy is gonna be trouble, just you wait and see.”

_____________________________________________________________                                                                                        

The church is stifling, holding the hot July air hostage. Sunday best sticks to sweaty skin. Programs are used as makeshift fans to create a breeze. The preacher drones into the still air that threatens to choke the life from this joyous union.

How Perry Abbott found someone to marry him is beyond you. Aloof one moment, violent the next. You saw what he did to Trevor Tillerson at the skating rink all those years ago. His brother may be a piñata cheater, but Perry was actual bad news. This poor blonde woman must be missing some grey matter to think this was a good idea. 

The preacher finally starts saying words you recognize (“Do you take this man…”)  and the church doors open as Perry kisses his bride. The wash of fresh air clears your head and allows you to be happy for the couple. Love is in the air!

At the reception you mingle with a few girls from class. Only a year until you escape this hellhole. Wabang is nothing but girls turning into their God-fearing mothers and boys becoming their drunken cowboy fathers. Before you’ve hit drinking age most of them will be married, taking over their families homesteads and pushing out children. You’re not even eighteen and yet this is the dream floating through every classmates mind. Your skin crawls at the idea of settling down with someone like a Tillerson.

Food and dancing is outside - thankfully - and various members of the community are congratulating the newlyweds. Your own parents are wrapped in conversation with the sheriff and your neighbors. Land disputes are as frequent as phone bills here. A classmate asks if you’re going to the ol’ back roads that evening. Wink wink. You barely begin to answer her when a laugh carries over from the church, a group of high school boys leaning against the cracked siding, swigging from smuggled beers over quiet conversation.

You catch Rhett Abbott’s eye. He smirks back over the lip of his bottle, a twinkle in his eye. Good money could be bet that he’s been drinking since this damn service began. He draws the bottle away and holds a finger to his lips, his smile quirked to the right as he asks you to keep his secret. As if you’d ever tell. 

His eye slips into a wink. God, he is such a flirt.

Since that fateful piñata day, you and Rhett have stayed in the same orbit. Although, while you’ve remained studios with your head down to ensure an easy exit from the town, he seems to always be mixed in something. Too many nights at the ol’ back roads, scrapes from roughhousing with friends, more than one girl making insinuations the next morning in the girls restroom. But that Abbott boy has always been good to you. A tip of his cap when he walks by you in town, feed sack in hand. That slow smile when he returns the pencil you dropped in class. Last fall the two of you had spent the afternoon sprawled in the sunshine behind the school, skipping out on government because the government can go fuck itself. And it was too nice a day to be cooped up in a concrete building.

Your friendship was easy. Rhett soothed the tension in your brain, that drawl of his like music as he went on about ranch work and dreams of riding bulls one day like his dad. You were going to miss him when you left. 

Your head shakes to indicate silly boy and you return his naughty grin so he knows he’s still in your good graces. He turns back to the group, and you miss him looking back at you when you join your parents.

______________________________________________________________

Staring out from behind the curtain, you see your parents and other relatives of your family sat near the front of the audience. Holy hell, this is real.

You’ve been dreaming of high school graduation since the day Wabang lost its appeal. That printed diploma claiming that you paid your dues in this town and the world is your oyster now. 

The dinky auditorium they held graduation in each year was filled with the sound of chairs scraping and families clapping each other on the back for their children’s newest accomplishment. Behind you, your graduating class is alive with nervous titters.

A hand slides across your waist, high enough to not raise question, and Rhett peeps his head next to yours. His newly grown stubble is neater than usual, and his curls are actually combed. You lift a hand to smooth the collar of the shirt that’s crumpled under his graduation robe. You’re so proud of him for making it here.

You follow his eyes and catch where his family is sitting. Royal and Cecelia both deep in conversation with their neighbors, Perry and his little family occupied in their own bubble. What’s the daughter’s name again? Ashley? Anna? Amy? You don’t worry too much, she’ll come up soon enough in conversation with Rhett. Not even two and she’s the center of their household. He adores her.

The two of you share a smile as you acknowledge the moment. So many of your shared dreams have centered around this day and what it means. Finally leaving this godforsaken town. His eyes twinkle with the promise of leaving his family behind. That Abbott boy is finally going to make his own path. You’re so fucking proud.

A microphone crackles. The ceremony is commencing. Rhett squeezes your hip excitedly before finding his spot at the front of the line. Let the beginning of your lives begin.

______________________________________________________________

The door squeaks open, letting a blast of icy air flood the bar. Patrons let out their individual noises of complaint. The Handsome Gambler fills with more bodies, huddling around booths as holiday greetings are exchanged. Yet another Christmas in Amelia County. You’ve avoided the town the last few years, but when your roommate’s parents took a last-minute cruise she begged you for a “traditional cowboy Christmas”. She had been disappointed that your parent’s ranch didn’t look out of a House Beautiful spread.

She’s delighted by The Handsome Gambler though. The “quaint” charm as sun-beaten men drink their Jameson and Rainier. You’ve already seen several people you know, raising your chin in hello. 

But it’s the one face that hasn’t returned your greeting that plagues your mind. Sat beside a buckle bunny blonde who cannot keep her hands off his arms - Do you blame her? That ranch is doing everyone favors - and you can’t seem to catch his eye. You haven’t seen him since your final goodbye three years prior, your daddy’s truck full with your things. 

You’ve heard about him though. One of your parents always has something to say about that Abbott boy. 

Ridin’ bulls like his ol’ man. Pretty damn good too.

Seen him with half the girls in town. He’s gon’ get one of ‘em pregnant if he don’t watch out.

Always in a brawl, limpin’ around town. Never know if it’s a bull or person throwing the punches.

No one ever talks about how Rhett still lives at home, in his plaid bedroom at the end of the hall. Never making it out of Wabang like he so desperately wanted.

You glance over one last time. His head ducks down. What happened to him?

______________________________________________________________

That next summer you get stuck in Wabang when your car won’t start after visiting your parents. The mechanic in town gives you a week minimum for the part to come in. Theresa at the library offers you a few shifts of your high school job, something to pass the time until you can get to your real job a few hours away.

The last few days have been pleasant, mostly elders in the community and the odd teenager whose homestead doesn’t have dial-up. The monotony of checking in battered paperbacks feels good. When you had a moment you spruced up the children’s display with summer books you had enjoyed as a child. 

“H’ya.” The distantly familiar voice startles you. Your heart thumps against your chest as your gaze raises to two wide blue eyes and a sheepish smile. “D’nt mean to startle ya.”

Next to him is Amy, nearly as tall as the stack of books she’s carrying. She’s participating in the daily summer program led by Theresa. Every day this week a member of her family has dropped by to pick her up, stopping by to inquire about your folks or your life away. Your mouth goes dry after so long away from the presence of that Abbott boy.

You go along scanning Amy’s books, listening to her prattle on about this and that. She’s an inventive kid, the stories are never dull. Rhett keeps rubbing the back of his neck, that strong bicep hidden underneath a shirt stained with pasture mud. You suppress the urge to tuck an unruly strand back into his cap. But that privilege died years ago.

The two leave with a polite goodbye and your head is reeling. Especially the next morning when Amy strides through the library doors chattering excitedly, her uncle on her heels balancing two coffees. Dropping her off with the other kids with a tap of his elbow. You make yourself busy arranging a shelf when he turns toward you.

He slides the styrofoam cup toward you. You can smell the cinnamon, exactly how you take it. 

“S’for you.” A tension breaks between you two as you accept the coffee, tentatively raising it before enjoying that first sip. Your lips curl in a smile as that warm feeling envelopes your entire being. 

“Thanks. How’d you know I’d want a coffee?” While you know the answer is because he’s thoughtful, he mumbles something about Amy and his mother and a barista. Your smile lets him know that you’re thankful regardless of the reason. 

There’s so many things you want to ask him. What is his life like? Is bull riding everything he imagined it to be? Why didn’t he leave Wabang?

But before you can launch into that conversation, he’s excusing himself back to the ranch, Carhartt jacket out the door before you can ask if he wants to grab a drink later.

Every morning as Amy walks in for the summer program, Rhett trails behind her. A coffee in each hand. Drops it off without any explanation, just a smile so hard to read it plagues your mind. 

This goes on until the part for your car finally comes and you can leave this town - and the people in it - behind you.

______________________________________________________________

You’re running late. Another Wabang wedding that has eaten up your weekend with the drive you loathe. There’s a pair of heels and a lipstick in your glovebox for “emergencies” after forgetting and wearing your dusty work boots and a slip dress at the last one. The “Entering Amelia County” sign whips by as you toe the speed limit.

Pulling into the church lot, you’re thankfully not too late. You slip into the back and hope your parents don’t notice, but you’re easy to miss amongst the ten gallon hats.

Vows exchanged. Preacher preaches. A kiss to top it off. And now you’re back where you were ten years previous, standing to the side of the dance floor catching up with classmates while Rhett Abbott drinks a beer leaning against the church.

The biggest difference is that he’s a man now. He’s no longer that Abbott boy. All sinful broad shoulders and muscle from hours of labor. Skin tanned and scarred from sun exposure and barbed fences. That damn brace on the hand not nursing a beer. And instead of cracking jokes with the other twentysomething cowboys, his focus is solely on you.

Neither of you makes a move to connect, letting your gazes linger as you stay with your respective parties. The afternoon fades into dusk. The string lights at the edge of the reception area come to life, offering an amber glow to the increasingly drunken crowd. Even you have enjoyed more than your fair share of whiskey. When the ol’ timers leave, the festivities really begin.

“Care t’dance?” He’s drunk, sliding up behind you smelling of leather, malt, and cinnamon. You know he has three left feet, but when those warm hands wrap around your waist, any worries about your toes promptly disappear.

He’s intoxicatingly close. You’ve never been this close, touched this much. Just quick hip squeezes and the occasional shoulder push, the odd side hug after high school afternoons sitting amongst the grass. At this distance you can see that his eyes have dark spots of indigo. That one eyebrow dips lower than the other. At this distance you fully realize how attracted to him you are.

Rhett’s always been a friend, nothing more. Someone who shared the dream to leave. Another animal lover. The piñata cheater who ruined your tenth birthday. So why did he smile always make you heart flutter?

His dancing is as bad as anticipated. He steps on your toes every few steps, muttering “S’ry” each time. Eventually succeeds to just swaying back and forth, letting you take the lead. His blush feels like a reward, your favorite bashful cowboy.

The music slows to a hauntingly sweet melody and you allow your head to fall to his chest, already missing watching his beautiful face. There’s a wall between you two, unspoken and heavy. It weighs on your chest. Where are the words to express what you’re thinking?

Before you can summon the words - the courage? - to say what you want, the song ends. Panic floods you. And you’ve always been one to choose flight over fight. An excuse tumbles from your lips and suddenly you’re fleeing the makeshift dance floor as quickly as those godforsaken heels will allow. 

The blood is rushing in your ears, too loud to hear your name called out behind you. The church is too full of partygoers. Your feet turn toward your car and the solace it provides. 

He catches up to you in the parking lot, his legs longer and faster. Takes the creamy white Stetson off his head while he catches his breath. He didn’t realize you were so fast. 

The two of you are suddenly alone for the first time in years, no distractions  to disrupt the brewing emotions. Your back to the driver’s seat door, eyes alight with confusion. Him towering over you with the kindest expression painted over his features.

“Why’d’you run?”

His breath washes over you, warm and comforting. Every instinct tells you to run, to get away from the rush of emotion consuming your soul that has been building for a decade. But then…fingers intertwine with your own, a soothing thumb over your palm. You’re reminded he’s still that Abbott boy, smelling like trouble but gentle as the prairie grass. You have no need to worry about being vulnerable with him.

A deep breath shudders through you. You break eye contact to answer his question. “Got a little too wrapped up in the moment and forgot I’m not one of your buckle bunnies.” 

He lets out a hesitant laugh. Hands released as he cups your chin to look into your eyes. Such pretty eyes.

“I’d trade every one of ‘em for a moment with you.” It’s silent as both your breaths cease, his heartbeat vibrating between you. Your eyes plead for more reassurance, more proof that you’re more than another conquest for a man with too many trophies. He licks his lips. “You remember that piñata?”

You nod. Hard to forget being that mad.

“S’ry for cheatin’. I wanted t’be the one t’get the candy out. Impress ya, show I was the best.” He chuckles. “I’m s’stupid. You like rules. And probably wanted the candy yerself. Surprised ya didn’t kick my ass.”

“I wanted to.” Another low laugh escapes his lips.

“Figured you’d want nothin’ to do wit’me and was good with it for a while, but the summer you grew tits? Came back t’school and nearly passed out. So self-conscious and kept coverin‘em. Wanted to smack your arm, I couldn’t look away. Luke Tillerson brought ‘em up on the way home ’n I punched ‘im in the jaw. That’s when I knew I liked ya. Wanted you to be mine.”

That dirty cowboy. Naughty smiles exchange as you both glance down at your chest, much more developed and pushed up thanks to underwire. He blinks hard to clear his mind.

“When you left, figured t’was time to move on. Beat myself up for never gettin’ the courage to leave too.” Your hand slides up his forearm, sharing comfort for such a raw nerve. He smiles his thanks and runs his own hand up your arm, resting a thumb on your shoulder. “Thought maybe y’were back perm’nently when I saw ya a’the library.”

“It was just until my car was fixed.”

“Know that now. But a guy can dream, right?” The wall has completely crumbled now, your bodies close, breaths intermingling. Your mouth opens to speak, to fill the space.

The words are stopped by a warm cowboy mouth fitting over yours. 

The stars align. Planets shift. The cars leaving the party around you fade into the distance. All that remains is Rhett and everything he offers.

Maybe Wabang is worth it after all.