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fanfreakinfiction · 1 year ago

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Listen to the Music

Chapter One: Should've Been a Cowboy

Masterlist 🖤

7.3K Words // Joel Miller x f!southern Reader

Pairing: Joel Miller x younger/southern!reader (Could be video game Joel or HBO Joel. I like the 2003 timeline though, so we’ll just pretend the 2003 timeline is canon for both.)

Chapters:

One - Should’ve Been a Cowboy

Summary: Jackson gets a jukebox which mean’s Joel has to install it! Annoying for him, but exciting for one certain someone who loves music.

Tags: Multipart, SUPER slowburn, eventual smut, FLUFF, age difference, M/F, canon type violence, drinking, smoking, alchol, reader gives off innocent vibes but isn’t, Joel is grumpy, reader is southern, corny ass music transitions bc i love it, slight mention of religion (reader is from the bible belt), some mentions of smut.

A/N: Set in Jackson - probably a little out of canon but just rollll wit it. This is also a split POV! Also if you love 90s country music you will like this. I made a Tipsy Bison Playlist for you guys to check out where none of the music was made past 2003.

Jackson was buzzing, quite literally. Every corner you turned, someone was eager to share the latest news.

"Y/n! Did you hear? Jesse and Astrid brought back that jukebox from the ski lodge! They’re gonna fix it up and put it in the Tipsy Bison!" Olivia shouted breathlessly from the stables' entrance, her jet-black hair falling in disarray around her face.

"Hell 'liv, you ran all the way here to tell me that?" You chuckled, taking a break from shoveling muck in the stables. Your Southern drawl emerged breathy and unusual from not conversing with anyone for the past hour. Wiping your forehead with the back of your hand, you greeted the teenage girl with a warm smile as she rushed to embrace you.

"Well, yeah! Mom said you liked music! Told me to come tell you! Said to meet her and Ginger there at 7:00 sharp!" Olivia exclaimed with contagious excitement.

You laughed, returning the embrace and appreciating the bond you'd formed with the young girl over the years.

The first friend you'd made upon arriving in Jackson was Caroline, a slender woman with blonde hair and blue eyes, and a mouth that matched yours. Hugging her hip was a young girl, Olivia, with jet-black hair and the same blue eyes. At the time, Olivia couldn't have been more than seven. In the four years since, Caroline had become like a sister to you, and Olivia like a niece. It was bittersweet watching her grow up, but you’d protect that little girl with your life.

"Well, your momma is right about that," you said, tucking a strand of hair behind Olivia's ear. "And I hate to tell ya, darlin', but Ellie beat you to it. I heard about the jukebox from her this morning." You turned Olivia towards Ellie, who was busy in the back of the stables, hunched over a worktable, oiling an old saddle Mike had found during a recent patrol.

"Ellie’s here?!" Olivia squealed, running off to join Ellie at the back of the stable.

Shaking your head with a laugh, you turned back to your work, the girls' excited chatter filling the stables.

As 6 pm approached, Ellie abandoned the saddle for a conversation with Olivia. Although it irritated you slightly, it also warmed your heart to see Olivia making friends her age. In this post-apocalyptic world, friends were a rare commodity, especially outside of safe havens like Jackson.

You were only five years old when outbreak day happened. Your parents were at work, and you were at daycare. You vaguely recalled your daycare teacher trying to stay calm, but panic eventually overtook her as she locked all the children in the bathroom. Your grandparents, miraculously, arrived to rescue you. Your grandfather, a Vietnam Vet who’d served two tours before leaving the military, was also a grizzled cowboy. He owned a ranch where he boarded and broke horses.

The most vivid memory you had of outbreak day was your grandfather bursting into the daycare with a .308 Winchester in hand, calling for you frantically. You recalled him nearly pulling your arms out as he scooped you up, then handing you over to your crying grandmother. Your grandfather reprimanded the daycare teacher sternly, instructing her to get the kids to a military outpost at the airport and then evacuate Tulsa. The exact words had faded from your memory.

You remembered the scent of your grandmother's perfume as you clung to her while she carried you out of the daycare. Fighter jets roared overhead, and you covered your ears as your grandmother hurried to their old Jeep. Your grandfather opened the passenger door for your grandmother, and she kissed your head. During the two-hour drive from Tulsa, Oklahoma, to his ranch, your grandmother had you play a game called "Keep Your Eyes On Jesus," where you'd focus on the silver cross necklace she always wore. That day marked the end of your life in the city and your chances of making friends. Your childhood died on the daycare bathroom floor.

"Helloooo, earth to Miss Y/l/n?!" Ellie's voice suddenly snapped you out of your thoughts as you continued to organize bridles, leads, and cinches.

You turned abruptly. "Hmm?" was all you managed as you met Ellie's gaze.

Ellie pointed to her empty wrist, giving you a knowing look. “It’s 6:20,” she said, her tone almost teasing.

"Shit," you murmured, quickly shoving tack items back into makeshift storage bins. Ellie laughed as she headed out of the stables with Olivia in tow.

---

Joel was exhausted, bone-deep tired. His knees ached, his back throbbed, and a relentless headache pounded behind his eyes. All this fuss over a damn jukebox.

Now, don't get him wrong; Joel loved music as much as the next person, and he understood why the whole town was buzzing with excitement. But he felt like people were acting as if they'd found a cure for the infection, not an old jukebox.

And yet, there he was, in the Tipsy Bison, helping to secure the wiring for the ancient contraption. A small crowd of men gathered around, drinks in hand, watching him work. Not a single one offered to help, and Joel knew why, but it still irked him to have the entire town gawking at him.

"You got time for leanin', you got time for cleanin'," Joel's dad used to say when he and Tommy were watching him work.

"Will it work?" Seth's voice interrupted his thoughts from over the bar.

Joel responded with a grunt as he connected two wires, causing the jukebox to spring to life. The bar fell silent, and Joel felt a wave of annoyance—or perhaps embarrassment—wash over him as he sensed everyone's eyes on him.

Slowly, he stood up from his crouched position on the dusty floor, his knees cracking in protest. He examined the jukebox, its lights aglow with a soft, white hue. However, the interior glass was so filthy that the song list was barely readable. His gaze fell on a doorbell wired to the coin slot. Joel pressed it once, his eyes scanning the various lettered and numbered buttons.

"S2," he mumbled to himself, thinking of Sarah as he hovered over the letter. With all eyes in the room on the back of his head, he slowly pressed the buttons into the old metal board of the machine, each button emitting a satisfying 'click.'

Silence enveloped the room, followed by a whirring sound.

Please don't make me look like a fool in front of the whole town, Joel silently pleaded, not caring to whom he addressed his thoughts—God, Satan, or Buddha.

Another click, more whirring, and then the old jukebox started singing like a canary.

"I'm in a hurry to get things done

Oh, I rush and rush until life's no fun

All I really gotta do is live and die

Even I'm in a hurry and don't know why…"

The room erupted into cheers and hollers as the song "I'm in a Hurry" by Alabama filled the space. Joel released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. A hand clapped his shoulder, followed by another pat on his bicep, as various townsfolk expressed their gratitude. He grunted in response, uncomfortable with the attention. He couldn't help but think he preferred it when the town treated him like some cryptid.

"Joel... drinks are on the house tonight. I think this'll be the busiest night since we found that Bud Light truck," Seth said, crossing his arms and standing next to Joel to admire his work. Joel shifted uncomfortably but nodded his thanks to the man.

"So, uh, how does it work with no coins, I mean?" Seth asked, looking at the old doorbell attached to the wiring coming from the coin slot.

Joel let out a soft huff. "That there is the 'coin,' per se. Push it however many times for however many songs, but… I'd maybe limit people to three," he quipped, attempting dry humor.

Seth smiled crookedly. "Yeah, I'd hate to hear the same shit twenty times in one day."

Joel sighed. "Yeah, let me see what I can do about the glass, and it'll be nearly new."

With that, Joel carefully worked the glass out of the jukebox, his eyes widening slightly as he pulled back the grimy cover. He didn't know what he had expected, but this jukebox seemed like a unicorn. As he pulled back the filthy glass, a list of songs greeted him—mostly country music, some '80s hits, and a few oldies like Frank Sinatra. Seth whistled softly behind Joel's right shoulder as the music filled the cozy bar.

"Can't be late, I leave in plenty of time

Shakin' hands with the clock

I can't stop

I'm on a roll, and I'm ready to rock…"

———

The snow crunches beneath your boots as you speed walk through the snow towards your tiny cottage on the outskirts of Jackson. It was a modest two-bedroom, one-bathroom house, but it had a porch with a breathtaking view of the mountains. The unusual emptiness of the streets at this hour suggested that most of the town's residents were either at the Community Kitchen or the Tipsy Bison.

Almost slipping on your porch steps, you chuckled to yourself, attributing it to the icy snow. Unlocking your front door, you immediately shed layers of clothing in a trail leading to the bathroom. Excitement pulsed through you as you started the shower, envisioning the possibilities that the jukebox might hold. Maybe it would play Johnny Cash or some new Alan Jackson track you hadn't heard before. Alan Jackson held a special place in your heart.

Thoughts raced as you hurried through your shower, eager to join the buzz of the town. Drying your hair hastily, you searched for your special occasion jeans. They were a pair of dark-washed Levi's, the kind you'd nearly sold your soul for at one of the general stores. They hugged you perfectly in all the right places and, most importantly, were clean—devoid of stains or blood.

Pulling them up over your hips and buttoning them up, you checked yourself out in the mirror. A dark red sweater with a v-neck and your patrol boots completed the look. You adjusted the silver cross necklace around your neck, a memento from your grandmother, and heard her voice echo in your mind.

"Just keep your eyes on Jesus, baby… we're almost to the ranch."

Breaking your reverie, you felt ready to head out for drinks and music. Slipping into your coat, you ventured out into the sunset-lit, snow-covered streets of Jackson. The Tipsy Bison came into view after a short walk, and your excitement threatened to burst from you. The line outside the bar, however, crushed your spirits.

"No way..." you muttered, coming to a halt. The entire town seemed to be here. You watched from a distance, scanning the crowd until your eyes landed on a blonde-haired woman nearing the front of the line. She turned and made eye contact, flashing a wild smile as she waved you over.

There was a hint of apologetic awkwardness as you joined your friend. Some people in line shot you dirty looks for cutting, but it’s not like the bar’s gonna grow legs and walk away.

"About TIME!" Caroline exclaimed, enveloping you in a warm embrace as you met her outside the bar. "Ginger's already inside; she got us a spot at the bar!" Her excitement was contagious.

"Sorry! I had to go home and change. I didn't wanna come out smellin’ like a horse," you apologized, returning the hug.

"Oh honey, a shower doesn’t change that," she teased, playfully elbowing you.

"Caroline!" You gasped, feigning offense, and lightly elbowed her in return.

Curious, you peered into the bar, attempting to glimpse over the tall men in front of you. Music wafted out, and you heard the buzz of chatter as people walked in and out.

“It’s a shit ton of Country music," you overheard someone say as they walked away, "Well, what’d you expect from a ski lodge in Wyoming in 2003?” came the retort. Caroline shot you a knowing look, and you suppressed a smile.

The line gradually moved forward, and you stepped into the warm atmosphere. Caroline hung up her coat, and you couldn't help but shoot her an envious glance at her overly dressy top – a pink silk halter tied tank top that accentuated her figure beautifully.

“The hell’d you find that?!” You asked, a mix of curiosity and a hint of jealousy in your voice. It made her cleavage stand out, and it seemed perfectly timed as an unfamiliar song started playing from the jukebox, capturing everyone's attention.

“Her hair was Harlow gold

Her lips a sweet surprise

Her hands were never cold

She had Bette Davis eyes…”

Being on your own for so long after your grandparents had passed had made you lose a sense of pride in your appearance. But being in Jackson, surrounded by other women again, ignited that desire to care once more. Caroline had been instrumental in helping you rediscover your femininity, teaching you how to braid your hair and transform dull button-ups into something more womanly. Caroline had been a high school senior when the outbreak happened, with a life and dreams you couldn't relate to. She aimed for Harvard, wanting to be like Elle Woods from a movie called "Legally Blonde." Those aspirations had seemed foreign, considering your upbringing on the Ranch, where your grandfather taught you to care for animals, garden, hunt, fish, and, of course, how to shoot – and shoot well.

Caroline was the first person to make you question your beauty, to make something seemingly frivolous in the apocalypse feel essential.

"I believe that caring for myself isn’t self-indulgent, but rather an act of survival," Caroline had told you when you questioned the worth of bartering for old Avon makeup from the general store.

Caroline took your hand, pulling you toward where Ginger had miraculously saved some standing room at the bar. You hardly noticed as your gaze fixated on the Jukebox, where a line of people awaited their turn to pick a song. Your heart sank a little; you didn't think Caroline or Ginger had the patience to wait for you to choose a song.

Stepping up to the worn wooden bar, you were greeted by Seth's crooked smile. "Be back with ya in a minute, ladies," he said, his old hands moving as fast as they could to serve the bustling crowd.

"Bout time!" Ginger exclaimed as you turned to her. "I didn't think Seth'd let me save space any longer," she added with a laugh, her eyes scanning your and Caroline's outfits with admiration. "Damn girl! What'd you have to sell for those?!" She playfully ran her hand over the material of your jeans.

You rolled your eyes dramatically. "Oh, you have NO idea!" you began, but before you could continue, Seth returned.

"Two whiskeys, please," Caroline ordered for both of you, prompting you to resume your story. "You wouldn't believe it, okay..."

"Here we go..." Caroline rolled her eyes, and you playfully nudged her. Ginger hadn't heard this story before, and you were eager to share.

"I was rummaging through a house right after I'd left the ranch, and I found a Walkman! Battery-operated and a whole box of cassettes," you explained as Seth brought the whiskey back. Ginger listened intently as you continued. "I picked up some of the names I recognized from the pile. I ended up with like 10 tapes and a whole pile of batteries!" You took a swig and leaned on the bar top, facing Ginger, while Caroline leaned on your shoulder, clearly having heard this story many times before.

"Who were the tapes of?" Ginger asked, taking a swig of her dwindling beer.

"So I had an Alan Jackson cassette, I had a Shania Twain cassette, hmm oh! Johnny Cash's greatest hits, which were technically four tapes, one Journey cassette, George Strait, and then I even found a Marty Robbins tape!" You listed the tapes off, trying to recall them all.

"Sooo? What's this got to do with those Levi's?!" Ginger asked, laughing.

"Well, damn, hold on, sister, I'm tryna set the story up!" you retorted with a laugh.

"Anyways," you continued, "one day I'm navigating some thick woods. My headphones are around my neck, and I still have the music goin'. Well, I clipped the Walkman to the hip of my pants, and this fuckin' infected came outta nowhere!" You gestured dramatically with your hands. "This thing fuckin' leaps on me and pushes me up against a tree—"

"—crushes the Walkman!" You and Caroline said in unison, and all three of you burst into laughter, drawing the attention of others in the bar.

Tears welled in your eyes from laughing as you recounted the memory. "I'd never been so fucking mad in my life!" you recalled, trying to catch your breath. "I also haven't cried as hard since the day I lost that thing," you said dramatically as you took a drink. "Almost wish it'd bitten me instead of killin' my fuckin' Walkman," you added bitterly.

"Well, what did you do to it?" Ginger asked curiously.

"The infected? Oh. I fuckin' stomped that thing's head in," you deadpanned, throwing Ginger and Caroline into another fit of laughter. "Like... a lot," you repeated, deadpan again as you took another drink. "Fuckin' thing destroyed my Alan Jackson tape...anyways, I held onto the tapes, maybe out of bitterness. But once I got to Jackson, I traded the tapes for the jeans." Ginger made an "Oooh" sound, nodding as if she now completely understood.

Caroline tapped you on the shoulder, about to say something, when the sound of a very familiar song filled your ears, and you had to bite back the squeal that threatened to escape.

"It's Alan Jackson," you said, your eyes gleaming with a serious excitement that caught Ginger's attention.

"Come on," you said, pulling Caroline with you onto an opening in the bar floor as the chorus hit. You pulled her into a two-step, a dance you had seen your grandparents do every year on their anniversary.

"I should've been a cowboy

I should've learned to rope and ride

Wearin' my six-shooter,

ridin' my pony on a cattle drive

Stealin' the young girls' hearts

Just like Gene and Roy

Singin' those campfire songs

Woah, I should've been a cowboy…"

You sang unabashedly, as if you, Caroline, and Alan Jackson were the only ones in the bar. Your head threw back in laughter after Caroline begrudgingly tried to match your steps. After a moment, you were so engrossed in your dance that you didn't even realize other people had joined in, dancing to the music. Ginger laughed from her spot at the bar as she watched your and Caroline's forgotten whiskeys.

———

Seth had been right. This was the busiest Joel had ever seen the Tipsy Bison. Brooding in the corner of the bar, tucked into a dimly lit table, Joel sat, nursing his fourth glass of free whiskey.

Shit. If Seth was offering, he wasn't gonna say no to free drinks.

Joel's tired eyes scanned the room as he tried to determine who he recognized and who he didn't. His gaze landed on a particularly familiar set of eyes. Tommy.

He watched as Tommy approached the secluded table, offering a crooked smile to the man.

"Big bad Joel fixed the jukebox?" Tommy teased as he sat down across from Joel.

"Did it for the free drinks," Joel retorted, attempting to deflect the sudden unwanted attention, his face flushing as he averted his brother's gaze.

"Well… you may have just earned some points with Maria," Tommy said with a genuine smile.

Joel smirked back. "Guess something good did come from this after all." He could feel the whiskey settling deep in his chest as he spoke to his brother.

Tommy glanced around at the crowd, but a roar of laughter snapped both of their heads toward the bar. Three women stood a few feet away, listening to one woman tell a story.

Joel narrowed his tired eyes. He didn't recognize the woman engrossed in her story. However, he did recognize the blonde with the revealing pink blouse. She scanned the patrons of the bar like a hawk, looking for her next prey and obviously uninterested in her friend's story.

The woman had approached Joel two days after he arrived with Ellie, asking to bum a cigarette and then bombarding him with a thousand questions as she batted her eyelashes at him. Her name was something like Karen, he couldn't quite recall. But when another bout of laughter reached his ears, his gaze locked onto your form, now less hidden behind the woman with her back to him.

He watched almost mesmerized as you laughed and smiled. Pretty, was the only thing his brain could manage. Suddenly, your face became very serious as you said something that made the two girls howl in laughter.

Tommy cleared his throat after an awkward silence, and Joel realized he had been completely caught staring at you. Their eyes met, and his little brother looked like he was about to say something smart, but Alan Jackson's music broke Tommy's focus.

"Holy shit! I forgot this song existed!" Tommy exclaimed with a nostalgic laugh.

Joel's attention was drawn back to the bar by another bout of laughter. Except, now, you had migrated to the middle of the room. Your arms were placed perfectly on the blonde chick as you began dancing. The blonde appeared obviously embarrassed by the sudden change, making a face of disdain. You laughed, the sound caressing Joel's ears, and he felt something stirring in him. Maybe it was the whiskey, but deep down, he knew it wasn't.

He and Tommy watched carefully as more patrons began to crowd the space, joining in the dance. Tommy let out a huff of laughter, his eyes now focused on the scene. As the song ended, everyone clapped, and Seth, the bartender, felt it appropriate to make an announcement.

"Everyone, thank Joel on your way out! He fixed up the jukebox," Seth declared, and a wave of applause and stares washed over Joel.

Joel could feel a flush creeping into his face at the attention. He cringed inwardly as all he could manage was a stupid smirk while looking down at his whiskey glass.

"Jukebox Joel!" someone in the crowd cheered, and Tommy choked on the beer he was drinking. Joel delivered a swift kick to Tommy's shin.

"Haha! What? Come on… it's better than Jackass Joel," Tommy laughed with a smirk as he teased Joel.

Joel actually let out a soft chuckle at that and shook his head as he looked back down at his empty glass. "Prick," Joel muttered softly as he glanced up at his little brother. "I'm gonna go get another." With a sigh, he pushed himself up from the table and made his way toward the bar to get another drink.

———

"I'm gonna go have a cigarette. Save me a spot!" Caroline swiftly moved to grab her coat, leaving you and Ginger at the bar.

Ginger looked at you. "So how's the stables?"

"Mmm, they're fine. I've recently gotten some help from this teenager, Ellie," you replied as you finished off your whiskey, paying no mind to the man who muscled in on Caroline's vacant space behind you.

"Is she a good help?" Ginger asked as she also finished off her beer.

"Depends on the day," you said with a soft laugh. "She's a great listener, just a little poor on the completion side of things. Like today, I asked her to oil this saddle Mike brought in from a patrol. Olivia stopped by to see me, and sure enough, Ellie just ended up talking with her for the last hour of the day. It's like she won't shut up. I swear, these outbreak babies are somethin' else," you added with an exasperated sigh. "She's a good kid, though. Smart as hell. I'm just mad I'll have to get up early to finish oiling the saddle before patrol." You finished with a final smile as you looked up to make eye contact with Ginger, who appeared as if she'd seen a ghost. She wasn't even looking at you but over your shoulder.

"Ginge?" you asked worriedly, placing a hand on her shoulder to shake her a bit.

"I'm gonna go grab a cigarette," she said hurriedly, shaking your hand off her as she all but ran out of the bar, leaving you standing there stunned.

In an instant, your senses tingled with the presence of an imposing, commanding figure emanating a cocoon of warmth from the shadows behind you. A shiver of anticipation raced down your spine, and a cascade of goosebumps rippled across your skin as you executed a deliberate, almost theatrical pivot to meet the piercing gaze of none other than Joel Fucking Miller.

———

If Joel had a dollar for every face he'd seen turn away from him in fear, he would've been a millionaire twelve years ago. But nothing felt as satisfying to him as watching your little friend scamper off to leave you with him.

He waited patiently for you to turn around before he spoke. His eyes drifted from the back of your head, tracing the contours of your figure, to rest on the soft curve of your ass. The sight made his breath hitch, and his gaze locked onto a familiar little red tag that stared back at him—Levi's.

Fuck he thought to himself. Those must've cost a pretty thing like you a whole lot.

After what felt like ages, you finally turned to meet his gaze. Your soft, youthful face surprised him. You were young, younger than him, maybe even younger than Sarah would've been.

Your lips parted slightly as you gazed up at him with your fucking doe eyes. His eyes traveled south from your lips to the silver cross around your neck. He cringed internally, his gaze shifting away from your neck as he signaled to Seth at the bar.

"Mr. Miller..." Your voice fell warily from your lips, carrying a soft southern accent that caught his ear.

Joel grunted softly. "Mhmm," he replied, waiting for Seth to bring his last whiskey of the night. He had to force himself to look away from you.

"You're… Ellie's dad?" Your voice sounded sheepish, not in the usual "I'm scared of you" kind of way he was accustomed to in this town, but in a "I messed up" kind of way. He spared a glance at you, noticing how you fidgeted with your hands and struggled to make eye contact, trying to look up at him apologetically.

"Mhmm," was all Joel settled for after a long pause. Your face paled, and he had to look away to keep from laughing.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Miller!! Ellie has been a great help, and I'd love for her to st—" You sounded panicked, and he didn't like it.

"Kid's got ADHD or somethin'. Can't finish anything she starts…unless it's food or a sentence," the words flew from Joel's mouth before he could process what he had just said. Seth rounded the bar at that moment and handed Joel his whiskey.

Joel took the glass and was about to take a sip when your giggle froze him in his tracks. It wasn't a laugh or a chuckle, but a full-blown giggle.

"Haha! She is very food motivated! Sometimes I catch her going for the sugar cubes that are meant for the horses," you laughed as you spoke to him. Joel looked down at you with a crooked smirk, sipping his whiskey as he turned his attention back to his glass.

"Well… uhm, I should probably..." Your voice trailed off with a hint of uncertainty, and from his peripheral vision, Joel could make out a flush on your cheeks as you tried to awkwardly excuse yourself from his presence.

"You let me know if she gives you more trouble..." What the hell was he doing? Was he actually talking right now or was it the whiskey? Slowly, he turned to look at you, his left arm resting on the bar as he slowly set his glass down, shoving his right hand in his belt loop. You were flushed, perhaps you'd had too much to drink? Or maybe it was... nah. He looked into your eyes, his gaze searching yours for a moment before dropping to that stupid silver cross on your neck. He wanted to rip it off your neck while burying himself deep inside you. Your voice brought his attention from your neck and his thoughts to the present, where he stared into your eyes.

"Yeah… I, uh... I will." You almost sounded confused and curious. You were biting your lip, your face still flushed, your hair framing your face perfectly. He had to stop himself from grabbing you by the back of the head and forcing himself on you. "Thanks for fixin’ up the jukebox..." Long gone was the shy demeanor as your words came out like sultry silk. You stared back at him seriously, and he could tell you were being genuine. He tried to swallow the sudden dryness the whiskey had left in his mouth. His aching back and throbbing knees from fixin’ the damn thing long forgotten as he rolled your thanks around in his head.

Damn.

He grunted in response and, with a white-knuckle grip on his whiskey glass, he forced himself to walk away. He passed by you, his form squeezing around yours in the crowded bar as people danced. He forced himself to look straight ahead when your left shoulder grazed his chest as he nudged past you gently. He slinked his way back to his table in the corner, where Tommy and Maria now occupied two of the four chairs.

As soon as he approached, they eyed him and stopped talking almost immediately. Tommy spoke up first with a smirk. "So uh..."

"Shut it," Joel snapped, his words coming out harsher than he had intended, and Maria huffed.

"Be nice. You're on my good side for the night. Don't make that change before I've even had a chance to enjoy it," she glared at him. Leave it to Tommy to pick a hardass for his wife.

"She's nice, Joel, but... she's young," Maria said with a sigh.

He felt angry heat flicker in his belly, replacing the momentary desire. He glared at Maria, who stared right back at him, and he felt his jaw tighten, his teeth grinding.

"Hon, why don't we go dance... enjoy it while we can?" Tommy's voice rang out, and for once, Joel was thankful for his baby brother.

He watched carefully as Maria reluctantly agreed and let Tommy lead her away. Tommy shot Joel a knowing look as he disappeared into a sea of people. Joel settled back into his seat from before, his eyes scanning the now dancing and raucous crowd.

Unconsciously, he found himself searching for you, scanning the spot where you'd stood with your friends, but it was now occupied by some other men.

———

"What the fuck, Ginger?!" You spat harshly as you confronted the two girls who were practically shivering outside, puffing on a shared cigarette.

"What do you mean 'what the fuck'? You were runnin' your mouth about the scariest man in town's daughter!" Ginger retorted, a mischievous laugh escaping her lips. "I wasn't about to stand witness to you getting your teeth kicked in!" she added, taking another drag.

"Wait, you saw Joel Miller?!" Caroline chimed in as she put out the cigarette.

"Saw him?! She damn near insulted his daughter in front of him!" Ginger laughed, and you could feel your cheeks redden.

"I didn't know he was behind me! You could've said something! I had to apologize, standin' there like an abandoned idiot!" You playfully frogged Ginger on the arm, your accent growing thicker with anger.

"Ow!" Ginger winced as she rubbed her skinny arm through her leather coat.

"Wait, you actually talked to him?!" Caroline asked as if it were an impossible feat.

"Well, yeah. I felt kind of bad… Ellie is a good kid, she's just very talkative," you explained, crossing your arms to ward off the cold.

"And he talked back?" Caroline continued her interrogation.

"I mean if you can call a couple of pig-like grunts talking, then yeah, I guess," you replied with a shrug.

"Hmm…" Caroline offered as she gave you a once-over. "Come on, let's get back inside." She headed into the bar, with you and Ginger following behind.

The night passed fairly uneventfully, save for a few men asking for a dance. Caroline, as usual, was the star of the night, charming most of the men into buying her drinks and joining her on the dance floor. Ginger cozied up to a man you recognized from the kitchen, someone she had been with before. You were starting to feel the fatigue kick in when you realized the line for the jukebox had drastically shortened. Excitedly, you made your way to the magical machine, your eyes scanning the list of songs. You were in awe of the extensive selection: Journey, Patsy Cline – one of your grandmother's favorites, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, and some you didn't recognize at all, like Linda Ronstadt, ABBA, Earth, Wind & Fire…

You didn't even notice a presence near the bar, watching as you scanned the list in awe. Your fingers guided you, pressing the doorbell button connected to the coin slot, as you had watched so many people do all night.

Your fingers grazed over the letter "J" for Joe—Jesus. "J" for Jesus, you mentally reprimanded yourself. Then you moved to a number, "5," your age on outbreak day. You listened to the machine click and whir in amazement. Unsure of the song title or the artist, you waited to hear the first chords.

"Came in from a rainy

Thursday on the avenue

Thought I heard you talking softly

I turned on the lights, the TV, and the radio

Still, I can't escape the ghost of you..."

Leaning on the jukebox, you listened to the foreign song by a band called Duran Duran. The lyrics suddenly made you feel melancholic as you absorbed each word.

"What has happened to it all?

Crazy, some'd say

Where is the life that I recognize? (Gone away)"

———

Joel couldn't help himself. He wanted to blame the whiskey, but deep down, he knew he wasn't even close to drunk. From his spot at the far end of the bar, he watched as you walked up to the damn jukebox. You looked like a kid on Christmas, that twinkle in your eye, just like Sarah when he threw her a surprise birthday party with all her friends, or like Ellie at the Museum…

He watched you hesitate when it was your turn to pick a song. His eyes drifted to those Levi's, like they had been poured onto you. The way they clung to your curves made his mind wander. He imagined himself coming up behind you in his kitchen while you prepared to cook something that he had hunted. His chest tucking into the curve of your back while he pressed his hips into the curve of your ass. The thought shot an arrow of fire straight to his groin. Fortunately for him, Maria's voice echoed in his head. "She's nice, Joel... but she's young." He knew Maria wasn't bullshitting him about that. You hardly looked the same age as the women you hung around with.

His gaze shifted from the curve of your hip to the profile of your face. From this angle, he could watch your eyes scanning the song choices. He wondered what you would choose and, for a fleeting moment, told himself that if you picked a slow song, he'd have to ask you to dance. He watched your face crinkle slightly as you read through the songs, likely because you didn't recognize most of them. Sipping his whiskey, he waited to see the outcome.

He observed as your fingers grazed the buttons until making their final destination. He couldn't help but imagine what those fingertips would feel like grazing his body in the same tender way. Your smile lit up when the jukebox whirred to life, and he released a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding when the song "Ordinary World" by Duran Duran began playing. It was an odd choice, he thought to himself.

The semi-familiar song filled the now-dwindling bar. Couples still danced, others nursed their beers, and some chatted. His eyes remained locked on your face as you listened intently. He could tell you had chosen the song on a whim, not knowing it. He sat and watched as the once-childlike wonder on your face slowly dissolved into a heartbreaking frown, one that he had seen a hundred times before on different women's faces.

Heat rose on his cheeks as he watched the blonde from earlier drunkenly sling her arm over your shoulder. Suddenly, he felt like a creep for watching you for so long. He turned his gaze back to his now-empty glass as Seth came over to offer him another. Politely declining, Joel stood up slowly, adjusted his coat, and, feeling a pang of regret, he slipped out the side door of the bar.

"But I won't cry for yesterday

There's an ordinary world

Somehow I have to find

And as I try to make my way

To the ordinary world

I will learn to survive"

———

"Come on, kiddo… time for you to walk me home," Caroline hummed in your ear, her arm slung around you. Her alcohol-laden breath pulled you out of your self-wallowing music session. You slid your left arm around her waist, providing some balance as she leaned her head on your shoulder.

"My dad loved Duran Duran…" Caroline slurred into your neck, and a shiver ran down your spine. She had only mentioned her father once before, and it had been followed by a request never to bring it up again. Hastily, you changed the subject and led her to the entrance of the bar to retrieve her coat.

You grabbed her dark purple barn coat and draped it around her shoulders, making sure she was bundled up, then zipped up your own coat tightly. Caroline took your hand as you began to walk, leaning heavily on you. It had to be late because as soon as you stepped outside the Tipsy Bison, you felt your hair freeze. Both your and Caroline's breath fogged up the space in front of you as you surveyed the mostly empty streets of Jackson. Caroline's house was on the other side of town, and you mentally prepared yourself for the chilly walk ahead when Caroline made a mumbled noise into the crook of your neck.

“‘S lookin at you all night..” she murmured as you helped her navigate the snow-covered streets.

"Hmm, darlin'?" you asked, guiding her carefully.

"He was lookin' at you!" she repeated, a bit louder this time.

Confused, you adjusted your hold on her to prevent any accidental slips that could bring both of you down in the snow. "Who was lookin'?" you inquired, but she didn't reply. Suddenly, she went limp in your arms, and you let out a soft yelp at the abrupt change in weight.

"Carol?!" you called, trying to stifle a laugh as she put her full weight on you. "Shit. How much did you drink, darlin'?" you groaned, realizing that you were going to have to carry her home.

The walk across town to Caroline's house had left you wide awake. After taking her shoes off and tucking her into bed alongside a peacefully sleeping Olivia, you left the house quietly, ensuring the door was locked behind you. Stepping back out into the night, you were greeted by the sight of the quiet town, blanketed in snow with darkness settling in. A shiver ran down your spine as you took in the serene atmosphere.

You began your journey toward your own home, which lay on the opposite end of town. However, as you walked, your thoughts wandered back to the saddle that Ellie hadn't finished oiling. Despite your tiredness, you knew that if you went home now, you'd simply lay in bed tossing and turning, unable to sleep. With a sigh, you turned on your heel and headed back towards the stables, your hands shoved deep into your pockets to ward off the cold.

As the stables came into view, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. The door was ajar, and a soft light spilled out from within. You knew you had closed up for the night, and the thought of leaving a kerosene lamp burning in a barn full of hay and the town's most prized mode of transportation was, unthinkable.

An uneasy thought crossed your mind; maybe it was Maria or Tommy, someone needing to head out for a late-night patrol. However, such occurrences were rare unless there was an emergency. With cautious steps, you entered the stables as quietly as you could, your senses on high alert.

To your chagrin, you found the horses calmly chewing on the hay you had left for them hours ago. The pit in your stomach deepened as you scanned the area, trying to discern any signs of an intruder.

"H...Hello?" you called out, your voice sounding uncharacteristically shaky even to your own ears. You couldn't help but think sarcastically, Oooh, very threatening. In that moment a thought crossed your mind that maybe Jackson was making you soft. You stood there, waiting for a reply, but there was none.

Confused and still on edge, you carefully followed the source of the soft lantern light. It led you to the back of the stables and into the tack room, your footsteps echoing softly in the enclosed space.

There, almost right where Ellie had left it, you saw the saddle that Mike had found on his patrol. However, what caught your attention in the dimly lit room was the unmistakable sheen across the leather. It gleamed in the lantern light, catching your eye immediately. It had been fully oiled, a stark contrast to the untouched condition it had been in earlier when Ellie had been working on it.

Confusion wracked your body; did Joel make Ellie come back to oil the saddle? Your fingers gingerly rubbed the leather between your fingers. No, this wasn’t Ellie’s work; this was oiled to perfection. Ellie was a good kid, hell, a great kid considering all the other children who’d grown up in this hellscape, but she oiled saddles like she was pouring syrup on pancakes. No, this had been done by someone with skill and experience.

A soft smile crossed your face as you reached for the lantern. Maybe Joel Miller wasn't the monster your friends had told you about after all. You'd have to ask Ellie in the morning.

As you stepped out of the barn, relocking everything up for the night, you couldn’t shake the warm feeling in your gut. A feeling you hadn’t felt since you’d eaten your last meal with your grandparents... a feeling that scared you.

Unbeknownst to you, a dark figure across the street watched from the shadows, illuminated only by the orange glow of his lit cigarette as he leaned against a column under the roof of the general store. Joel took a drag from his cigarette as he watched you relock the barn for the night. He tried to tell himself the warm feeling in his chest was from the cigarette he'd been puffing on, but he knew better.

Joel took one last drag from his cigarette, flicked it to the ground, and crushed it beneath his boot before heading home, maybe something good came from that damn jukebox after all… he thought to himself as his eyes followed your form walking off into the snowy darkness of Jackson.

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