#Amalfi Coast Private Villas | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

b-afterhours · 26 days ago

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AOS Neon: Honeymoon (one shot)

SUMMARY: ‘90s. It’s the aftermath. Jaded, Bill and Alma navigate their new lives as they try to drag themselves out of the dark debacherous trenches they had once ensnared themselves in. It’s easy to forget their evils when a silver lining introduces itself into their lives but can they create a less hedonistic life that would be just as satisfying?

WARNINGS: adult content, mature readers only.

Author's Note: This is part one of this one shot series. Everything was becoming a bit too long to post as a whole piece, so part two will be posted soon. (this part is still long after spliting it, tho haha) thx for reading, and also thx for your patience.

May 1995 | Honeymoon

Alma was sitting on the edge of a grand bed, fiddling with her camcorder. The French doors were wide open, inviting a cool sea breeze that gently made the white sheer curtains billow. Once the camcorder was in operating order, Alma slipped on her white leather huaraches and walked into the large, quaint washroom. She lifted the camera, aiming it at the mirror, and waved at her reflection, capturing the moment. She turned, showcasing her outfit—a deep v-neck halter top and hot pants you could see through the white lace tunic dress she wore over it.

She awkwardly fluffed up her hair, wondering what to record next. Lowering the camera, she began walking through the house, showing it off as she made her way through to look for Bill. Shortly, they would be leaving for a day on the water. He was out by the pool with his legs in the water, leaning back on his palms, looking out from the cliff the private villa sat on. His eyes were closed, enjoying the sun on his skin as the breeze blew his half-opened white linen button-down back. A closing door caused him to open his eyes.

“Is it time to go?” He asked, and when turning, he saw the camcorder pointed at him.

“Almost. Say hi.”

“Hey,” he said, giving the camera a little two-finger salute as he stood up.

“You look so hot,” she mused, making him turn away with a light blush. “Say where we are.” She directed.

“Amalfi coast, baby!” He playfully stuck his tongue out directly into the lens and covered it with a large hand.

….

They were on a boat riding the waves along the cliffs on the coast. Colorful homes, perched against the rock, seemingly stacked precariously right on top of each other. It was a beautiful sight; description could never give it justice. Not even the camcorder could truly capture the dreamy seaside town as they saw it.

Bill invited Alma to sit on his lap and steer the boat. The rental company handed the keys over, and they were sent off with no further instructions besides how to turn it off and on. Bill found it peculiar but figured he could handle it. Navigating was easy, but as they ventured further from the main shore, the waters grew choppier. Spotting a wave in the distance, Bill reached around Alma to turn the wheel to avoid meeting it head-first. But his efforts were in vain—another wave crashed into the boat from the opposite side, splashing cold, salty water over the bow. Alma yelped, drenched, and startled; she had tried to steer clear of it when Bill suddenly overruled her.

Over her shoulder, she looked at him displeased as wet locks of her hair clung to her, and then they began laughing.

“Why don’t you just drive it?” She said, trying to slip off his lap, but he held her tightly, locking her in place.

“No, no,” he chuckled, brushing the wet hair away from her face. “I was looking too far out. I didn’t see that one coming.” He kissed her.

Their tongues met, and their hands wandered, carried away in the moment until a playful succession of honks from a passing boat snapped them out of their reverie. They had been in Italy on their honeymoon for a week now, and they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. It wasn’t that they hadn’t been this way before, but the thrill of being newlyweds brought a fresh intensity to their desire and attraction. It felt like a new chapter of their romance—one they were eager to explore together.

There was also the lingering fact that they were trying to get pregnant. They had taken a test before their trip, and even after their Vegas wedding a few weeks ago, the results came out negative—much to their shared disappointment. It didn’t make sense to them, but they kept their worries private, choosing to keep it relaxed. Stressing too much about it wouldn’t be helpful. They felt that expressing their true feelings would jinx it all together.

After boating around the tall grottoes, they found themselves anchored in a quiet cove far from boat traffic. Bill playfully lifted Alma in his strong arms and threw her off the boat before diving in right behind her. They swam together in the calmer waters until Alma suddenly paused, her eyes fixed on the boat with a concerned expression. Bill turned to look, equally perplexed.

“What?” he asked, slicking his wet hair back.

“How do we get back on? Wasn’t the ladder on this side?”

“No, it’s on the other side.”

“No…” she said wearily. “Maybe it’s in the back?”

Bill began to second-guess himself as concern started to creep in. Alma began paddling toward the boat to check for the ladder, but Bill hollered, telling her he would check instead. With the full stretch of his arms, he swam with powerful strokes, quickly rounding the boat. Just as he suspected, the ladder was on the other side. He heard Alma laughing then—she had only been trying to scare him after the wave mishap.

“That’s not funny!” he yelled, but she only laughed harder—until he suddenly heard her sputtering. “Are you okay?” he called out with worry.

“Yeah,” Alma choked. “Water got in my mouth.”

After their swim, they enjoyed lunch on the boat—a hearty sandwich they shared, filled with fresh pesto, burrata cheese, juicy tomatoes, arugula, prosciutto, and salami, all on freshly baked ciabatta bread. Alma had also packed a wicker basket with berries, cheeses, and sparkling water for snacking. Bill eventually brought the basket over to the bow of the boat, where Alma lay on her stomach on the thin mint green cushions, sunbathing with a book. He sat beside her, casually rolling a joint with weed he’d sourced from the housekeeper at the villa where they were staying. It wasn’t the best, but it did the job.

Before laying back, he kissed her ass cheek, hardly covered by the hi-cut bikini she wore, and rested his head on it. The perfect pillow for him.

“Do you want a hit?” he asked, his gaze traveling the slope of her back. She didn’t seem to hear him as she turned a page. He reached over and expertly unfastened the metal clasp of her bikini top with one hand, letting it snap away from her.

“Oh, thanks, I was about to do that myself.” She muttered.

“I asked if you wanted a hit.”

“Huh,” she glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, sure.” She plucked the joint from his fingers, absentmindedly taking a puff while continuing to read.

“What kind of filthy shit are you reading this time?” He asked, taking the joint back. She seemed completely absorbed in the noir romance novel, captivated by whatever was on the page.

Alma chuckled softly. “I haven’t gotten to those parts yet. I just found out the main guy is actually a detective. The woman who is interested in him is his mark, and she doesn’t know. He’s romancing her for intel, but he’s falling for her instead.”

“Sounds fucked up.” He muttered, even if his real thoughts found the plot slightly intriguing.

“Yeah… but he’s so fucking hot it doesn’t matter,” she teased, flipping another page.

“Mhmm,” he hummed, taking a toke. “Just remember where you can get the real thing.” He said, grabbing onto his package for emphasis.

“I haven’t forgotten,” she turned over her shoulder and smirked.

They enjoyed each other's company in comfortable silence. The boat's rocking lulled Bill into a cat nap, but when he awoke, he looked up at the face of the rock cliffs and the clear skies.

“It’s so fucking nice here,” he said, voicing his thoughts out loud.

Alma had set her book and bikini top aside, lying flat with her cheek resting on her forearm. She took a deep, wistful breath, taking in and admiring their beautiful setting. It was nice to enjoy a proper vacation for once, where work or obligations weren’t waiting for them around the corner. Their only rule while on holiday was that they could not discuss work at all. However, they both slipped once or twice. Now they were enjoying the fruits of their labor, spending their days mostly doing nothing—lounging, taking in the scenery, indulging in delicious food, and making love any chance they had in between.

“Aw, was our trip to Portland not pretty?” she asked facetiously, recalling their spontaneous weekend getaway to the city earlier in the year. “Or Vegas?”

“Compared to this?” he chuckled. “Nah. But now I do want a boat.”

“And I want a pool,” she quipped. “But of course, you do.”

“Take Echo around on it,” he smiled, thinking of her. “Do you think she misses us?” Echo was being cared for by Ulyssa, who was also house-sitting. Currently, they were in the den; Ulyssa had put one of Alma's aerobic workout VHS in the VCR and Echo was mimicking the workout alongside her.

“Well, she was happy to hear from us when we called. But—I don’t know, I think she gets tired of us sometimes.”

“What? She’s a baby, what’s there to be tired of?”

"Sure, but seeing the same two people all the time? We even take her to work! She’s been going since she was like six months old!” She laughed.

“By the time she’s old enough to work, she’s going to have more job experience than her fucking boss, probably.” He laughed. “She misses us, though.”

“Yeah,” Alma smiled. “I miss her too.”

“And it won’t be only us she’ll have to see all the time for much longer.” He said optimistically, reaching for her foot and bending her knee to kiss her ankle.

They shared some strawberries and sips of sparkling water before Alma went back to her book while Bill flipped around, hugging her bottom, which he laid his head on, cheek to cheek. She appreciated the light tickling fingers he ran over her bare back, sometimes fluttering her eyes closed when she felt the sensation run up to the top of her head.

“Read some to me?” He asked, his breath ghosting over her flesh tantalizingly.

“These parts are a bit boring…”

“Just read.”

She began reading aloud, the text describing the main character's unexcused absences from work due to late-night trysts with the mysterious man she was enamored with. Meanwhile, his hands continued to glide over her warm, tan skin until she felt one slip under her bikini bottoms, where he gently slid a finger inside her.

“Bill!” She gasped, looking around them.

“No one’s around.” He said, beginning to pump his fingering teasingly inside her.

Boats waded in the distance, but unless they had binoculars pointed at them, their occupants couldn’t make out what was happening at the bow of the boat. Noticing Alma’s shoulders relax and her enjoyment of his movements, he inserted another finger, eliciting a soft moan from her.

“Keep reading,” he instructed, but Alma was too caught up in the risqué nature of what they were doing to obey. “Keep reading, or I’ll stop,” he warned, slightly backing his fingers away. Alma looked back at him and pushed her hips against him. “I’m serious,” he said, slipping his fingers out all the way.

“Wait. I’ll read to you, baby.”

She kept reading as his fingers worked inside her. Every time she paused to moan, his movements would momentarily slow, but the more she tried to ignore what was happening, the more he intensified his efforts. It was hard to focus on the text with her breath hitching, struggling to maintain the flow of the words. Bill seemed to enjoy feeling her wetness coating his fingers, experimenting with different motions to see which ones would make her stammer and break into moans she couldn’t suppress.

“Lift your hips,” he demanded, planting hard kisses on her ass cheek.

She did as he said without missing a beat, her eyes still on the text. But she couldn’t tell you what she was reciting anymore—the words had lost all meaning. She felt his teeth graze her skin as his fingers tugged her bathing suit bottoms aside, letting his tongue delve into her core. A sharp gasp escaped her, and she struggled to keep reading while his tongue prodded and licked at her entrance.

“Oh fuck, that feels good,” she moaned.

Bill paused, much to Alma’s annoyance. “Is that in the book?” he chuckled. “Keep reading if you want to come.”

Alma looked at him over her shoulder with a coy glint in her chestnut eyes. “Can I turn around?”

“No. Read like this isn’t happening at all.”

Alma took a deep breath to steady herself and continued as he wanted. It was hard to ignore the sensation of his tongue slurping and sucking as he shook his head back and forth animalistically behind her, but she focused, determined to take on the challenge. Suddenly, he repositioned himself, gripping her bucking hips to keep his face from being pushed away while he licked from her ass crack down. His tongue lapped and hummed at her sensitive bud, and he felt her body tense, her words reduced to choked-out sounds. Burying his face deeper, he felt her release with a loud moan, letting go of her hips to let her ride out the sensational last waves of her orgasm on his tongue.

He crawled up from behind her, his broad form casting a shadow over her while leaving kisses up her spine and across her shoulder to meet her lips. Their tongues intertwined, her hand slipping past the waistband of his swim shorts, getting caught up in the moment when suddenly a friendly horn beeped several times in the distance. Reflexively, Bill put an arm around Alma to shield the fact that she was topless, but what was the use any way they were in Europe after all?

“I think that’s the same boat from earlier,” Bill laughed at the realization.

~~~

The following day, they woke early to visit a local street market set along narrow, cobbled roads. The previous night, Bill had prepared a lovely dinner at the villa, and afterward, they enjoyed a night swim in the pool, tiring themselves out into a full night’s rest. Earlier in the week, they had shopped at upscale boutiques, but they wanted an opportunity to see what the seaside city had to offer them that they just couldn’t get anywhere else. Alma sifted through a box of antique brooches, costume jewelry, and trinkets, picking out a few pieces before moving on.

Bill was at a booth nearby, looking at a stack of old sweaters, when Alma approached him; he had a dark-colored cashmere cardigan pressed against his body, gauging the fit.

“That’s nice,” she said, pulling big framed sunglasses she bought at a booth down her nose to get a better look at it.

“Yeah, I’m getting it.” He smiled.

“What else did you find?” she asked, noticing his grip around something.

“Oh, this trench lighter,” he said, showing her the brass cylinder in his hand. “I think it’s World War 2.”

Taking her hand, they reached a booth with children's clothes. He watched as Alma looked at a particular dress, but it was much too small for Echo to wear. A fleeting thought of a future baby who could fit it crossed their minds. She asked the woman running the booth if they had something similar in a larger size, and the woman waved her over to the other side of the booth. Alma held up a few options for Bill to help her choose. Each dress was beautifully detailed, featuring intricate embroidery that gave them an authentic artisan feel.

They left with a few more items, including souvenirs for friends, and Bill stumbled upon a cassette for an obscure Italian shoegaze band at the very last booth they visited. Trekking their way back to the villa, they took a short break at a quaint café. Sitting outside under a yellow umbrella that shaded the tiny round table, they drank their robust, masterfully crafted coffee.

“What time is it?”

“We’re still on time,” Bill said, setting his mug down. “I don’t get how you have all the planners you do and still won’t get a wristwatch?”

“Feels too country club.” She shrugged. “Besides, you have yours on, I don’t need one.”

They would be enjoying their penultimate day further inland at a vineyard for a wine tasting excursion. While the city they were in was walkable, albeit for the several uneven walkways and multiple staircases, they had rented a car. It was a small thing, but luckily the top went down, giving Bill room to actually sit up straight to drive it.

They were looking over a map to get an idea of where they needed to go to reach the vineyard.

“We’re here,” he pointed with a spare pen from Alma’s tote, circling the location of their villa. His other arm was draped on her chair, leaning towards her with his leg crossed over the other. With the tip of the pen, he followed a road that would take them out of the town and onto the freeway. “This road brought us here from the airport, remember? And we take this a few miles, then we turn here. It’ll take us into the village,” he explained, encircling the general area where the vineyard lay. “We’ll be there after a short drive.”

“Alright,” Alma nodded. “I believe you.” She said, kissing his cheek, prompting him to turn to steal a kiss on the lips.

Before they left, Bill tied a patterned silk handkerchief over Alma’s head to keep the wind from tangling her hair on the freeway. She sat with her knees on the seat, aiming her film camera at him as he drove along a cliff overlooking the sea. Though Bill kept his focus on the road, he couldn't help but worry about how small the car felt, concerned she might fall out. Once Alma glanced at the view outside her camera's viewfinder, the height spooked her, and she quickly sat her bottom firmly back into her seat, much to Bill's relief.

“Yeah, sit down. We’re high up,” he chuckled.

“On top of the world!” She laughed with delight.

They arrived in the village, where the roads were poorly paved. Driving up the hill, the vineyard estate was in view, overseeing the town, but they had to slow down to let a small herd of sheep cross the road. They still made it in time, and Bill got out, smoothing down his black button-down tucked into tailored trousers, before opening Alma’s door. She stepped out in a black two-piece Spanish-style dress with ruffled cap sleeves and a long skirt, paired with heels.

They toured the estate with a group of others, admiring the gilded architecture and the frescoes of Christian imagery on the ceilings, while the guide shared the manor's history. They were brought to the warehouse, which stored the large barrels of wine, of which they would be tasting soon. The guide thoroughly explained the process from grapes to bottles. Though they hung back from the pack during the tour, when it was time to sit on the terrace overlooking the vineyard, they hurried to claim a table the furthest from the crowd.

Severs laid down an appetizer of bruschetta at their table, and then sommeliers would approach, describing the wine they were distributing before filling their glasses.

“This one was good,” Bill said, tapping at a glass that had remains of a dry red. His other glasses still had a drink or so left in them. “We should get one for Bianca.”

“Yeah, she would like that,” Alma smiled. Her glasses were all empty, including the glass of sparkling rose they were presented with when they joined the tour.

The guests were invited to stroll through the vineyard at their leisure while the sun hung low in the sky. Alma and Bill were among the first to rise, exploring the neatly arranged rows of growing grapes. As they took pictures, a couple offered to snap some shots for them. Before long, they found themselves assisting others with their photos until they eventually found the chance to break away.

“They’re having their pictures taken by a published photographer. You should have charged them,” Bill lightly joked.

“Well, you were there telling them you should have collected the fees while I was busy,” she chuckled, squeezing his arm as they strolled. She was feeling a little tipsy, to be honest.

Ahead of them, a swarm of gnats drove them to turn down a row of grapes to avoid them. At the end of the row, they encountered a small orchard with a footpath leading into it. Bill turned his head, and the estate looked back at him, while the other guests seemed to be preoccupied with the stream at the opposite end of the vineyard.

The flourishing leafy branches dimmed the sun as they ventured a few paces into the orchard, seeking privacy. Once Alma felt they were hidden enough, she yanked him down by his arm, and they began to kiss passionately. Alma's hands immediately moved to undo his belt. Taking her by the waist, he guided them behind a tree for extra cover. She dropped to her knees, eliciting a delighted chuckle from Bill.

She latched onto him, feeling him quickly grow and thicken in her mouth. Maintaining eye contact with his lustful, half-lidded green eyes, she continued to pleasure him. Hollow cheeked and humming around him. A deep growl rumbled from his chest as she took him to the back of her throat.

“You like that?” she seductively asked when she pulled away, stroking him.

“What’s not to like?” He said, threading his fingers through her hair while she swirled her tongue around him. “I love it when you’re being a good girl for me.”

He thrust into her mouth as she submitted to him. They couldn’t prolong their impromptu escapade, but it wasn’t difficult to finish with how enthusiastic Alma was taking him. His hips ceased, holding himself in the back of her throat, but before he could pull away, she gripped his thighs to keep him there.

“Fuck,” he huffed as she took him deeper than he’d anticipated. He had wanted to pull her up from her knees and finish inside her, but that wasn’t going to happen. The muscles in his belly tightened as he released down her throat with a heavy grunt.

She pulled back, allowing the rest to flood her mouth before making a show of it on her tongue. A pearly drop dribbled from her tongue and onto the fertile earth before she happily swallowed it.

“I wanted to taste you,” she said, licking the slit of his tip affectionately. “Want me to tell you the notes and the vibe of it?”

He laughed, tucking himself back into his trousers before helping her to her feet and brushing the leaves and mulch from her skirt. When he pulled away after giving her an appreciative kiss, he noticed a strange-looking shrine nearby.

“What’s that?” He nodded his head in its direction, fastening his buckle.

“Huh?” She turned quickly, worried it was a person from their tour wandering about.

In the orchard, a tree had been hollowed out to create a makeshift altar. As they approached, they noticed flies buzzing around white and green candles arranged in a semicircle, their bases fused with puddles of wax. Rust-colored dirt splotches clung oddly to them. Bells hung from braided ropes made of horsehair. At the center was a figure of an amply-shaped pendulum-breasted woman surrounded by other strange relics whose meanings were unclear to them.

“It’s like the altar your parents had for your siblings,” Bill said, crouching for a closer look.

“No,” Alma replied, feeling a creeping shiver up her spine. “It’s nothing like that. This is… I don’t know.”

“Look at these,” he said, pointing along the edges of the wood structure. “Sigils.”

“They look like moon phases,” she said curiously.

“Oh yeah,” he nodded in agreement. “Probably made with that dagger behind the little statue.” He pointed.

“Don’t touch it!” Alma quickly grabbed his hand when it got a little too close.

He peered up at her with a smirk. “You scared?”

“No,” she quipped unconvincingly.

“It doesn’t mean anything, love,” he said, straightening up. “Well, it probably means something to whoever made this, but—” He briefly paused, noticing red-stained chicken feathers embedded in the candle wax and realizing the rust-colored dirt wasn’t actually dirt. He chose not to mention it. “It’s nothing.”

“Yeah… I don’t think we were supposed to find this. Can we go?”

“You’re scared,” he chuckled, taking her hand to lead them out. “That’s okay.”

“I’m not! You would not survive in a scary movie, it’s always the smug assholes that die first.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismissed with a chuckle.

…

It was their last day in Italy, and they had no plans other than to savor their final hours in the villa. After wrestling with zippers and latches to close their overstuffed luggage, Alma and Bill relaxed together in the large Roman tub. As they begrudgingly complained about the long journey ahead, Bill gently washed her hair.

“Eh,” Bill sighed. “Let’s not think about it too much,” he said after rinsing the suds from her hair. “We’re still here.”

He kissed her neck and wrapped his arms tightly around her as she sat between his legs. She held onto his arms, relaxing into his warm, loving embrace.

“I-I almost don’t want to leave,” she said in a hushed tone. “I just want to be like this all the time.”

“Me too,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “It won’t be the last time we do something like this.”

“Where do you want to go next?”

“Anywhere,” he said, lifting her sud-covered hand from the water, kissing it. “I would go fucking anywhere with you.”

Alma smiled. “Me too.”

Dawn approached, and they had lounged around outdoors, half-dressed. Alma was in a cropped tee with a yin-yang print and panties, while Bill wore comfortable white boxer briefs and an unbuttoned white shirt that he rolled the sleeves of. Sharing a bottle of white wine, they spoke about the highlights of their trip and laughed about their real wedding night. Nothing happened—they both fell asleep.

“God,” Bill groaned. “We just kept going and going, but it was one of the top ten best sleeps of my life, and you know I never sleep well.”

“You’ve been sleeping better lately, I think,” she said, pushing his hair from his forehead.

“I think working out helps.”

“I see,” she raised her brows. “You got a nice tan here too.” She said, sweeping her thumb across his sun-kissed clavicle.

“You like it, don’t you?” He asked, noticing her gaze lingering on his toned physique. “I’m not some scrawny kid anymore.”

“You were hardly scrawny. I do like it, though, as I’ve said before,” she quickly added. She had complimented him plenty of times before. “But I think you sometimes like it even more than I do.”

“I’m not that fucking weird,” he defended.

“Then why do you have half a boner right now?”

He laughed. “I’ve been having it.”

He pulled her onto his lap, causing her to giggle before their lips met in a kiss. Alma then stood up, took off her shirt, and stepped back, just out of reach before he could pull her back in.

“Let’s go slow,” she said with a teasing smile, biting her lip. They had been on each other with a hunger and haste that left them breathless since arriving. “We have all night.”

“You want me to make love to you,” he peered up at her, golden, just like the hour they were in.

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” she asked cheekily.

He stood, lifting her into his arms, bridal style. “Yeah, that is what we’ve been doing,” he kissed her.

The French doors were left open to let the sunset glow beam in, and their lips disconnected when he laid her down on the bed softly.

“I have another lingerie set I could wear,” Alma suggested, propping herself up on her elbows.

“Just like this,” he said, crawling above her. “You’re perfect like this.”

They rolled around in bed, caressing, kissing, nails lightly scratching, and teeth grazing flesh. Alma hovered over him, kissing along his stubbly jaw and neck, reaching down to his wide chest planting affectionate kisses. While her teeth softly grazed his nipples, her hand glided along his side, and he braced himself for her touch, but she left her hand on his hip, continuing to trail kisses down his torso. His eyes fluttered closed, enjoying the sensation of her dark, long hair tickling his skin. A smirk spread across his face as he felt her lick down his happy trail. Peering down, he saw her cheek nuzzling the erection straining against his underwear. She looked up at him with a sweet, playful gaze, and he smiled back at her.

He let out a pleasant moan as she kissed and licked the white fabric holding him back. She got to her knees, hooking her thumbs around the straps of her panties, putting a show of slowly lowering them. She paused, revealing only a groomed triangle of pubic hair, before lowering herself right on top of him. He chuckled, amused by her playful teasing.

They languidly rutted against each other, soft, breathy moans escaping them. He wrapped an arm around her waist and flipped her over on her back. Pushing her legs in the air, he took her panties off. He held his gaze on her pussy, glinting like a diamond with her arousal, while he pressed kisses on her leg.

“Gorgeous,” his eyes flicked up to meet hers. “I want to kiss every inch of you.”

He leaned down, kissing her pussy affectionately before rising to kiss her lips and trailing them down her body, mirroring the actions she had taken earlier. He cupped her breasts, licking her nipples until they were hard peaks. She sighed in pleasure as he added another hickey to the collection on her chest while running her fingers through his hair. His hand slid down her side, traveling to brush against the hair on her mound, back and forth, sending sensual shivers across her body as he continued to brush his lips down her torso.

He pressed a long, loving kiss just below her navel before resting his forehead against her belly. He looked as if he were kneeling in prayer between her legs, and Alma softened.

“I want you to have my baby,” he said, gazing up at her with heartfelt sincerity.

Until now, they had avoided talking about their lovemaking in terms of trying to conceive, wary of the pressure it might bring. The weight of his statement struck her—it wasn’t just about indulging in each other's bodies or enjoying their connection; there was more to all of this.

Alma nodded. “I’ll give you a baby,” she softly touched his cheek. “I’ll give you however many you want.”

His loins heated hearing that. She leaned forward, cupping his face in her hands, and they shared a deep, passionate kiss illuminated in the salmon sunlight. He leaned back, taking his underwear off, but still, he went slow. Taking his freed erection, he slipped the blushing tip of his cock inside her making her moan in anticipation, but he pulled back. Dipping the head in several times before sliding it up and down her wet slit. He positioned it at her clit and pressed a flat palm against them, and began thrusting. Rubbing himself on her sensitive nerve.

“I love when you do that,” Alma gasped.

He bit his lip, feeling the slick of her arousal spread. He dipped down and pushed into her slowly, feeling her warmth envelop him inch by inch. Satisfied moans left them once he filled her, and he began rolling his hips.

“Fuck, I love you,” he said with his head bowing by hers.

Alma wrapped her arms around him, panting in his ear. The tenderness with which he rocked into her made her heart flutter, and Bill could feel it in her pussy. It encouraged him to pick up the rhythm of his thrusts, wanting more. He turned his head, watching her brows scrunch and her mouth hang open as her moans grew more urgent. Her muscles clenched around him, causing him to draw in a sharp breath at the sensation.

“Don’t stop,” she said before locking lips with him.

He maintained the rhythm when she met her peak and moaned into his mouth. He didn’t give her time to settle when he rose to his knees, taking her with him so she was now positioned in his lap. She began to grind her hips at a quick pace, her eagerness he loved so much evident. However, he gently placed his hands on her waist, guiding her to slow down.

“Easy, baby,” he reminded with a light chuckle.

Their movements stilled as they got lost in the worship of each other's bodies. Alma bared down on him, causing him to twitch, and his hips jerked involuntarily from beneath her. She matched his thrusts, her breath hitching with the depth of their connection. He let her take the helm, leaning back to watch her pleasure herself as she pleased. His hand slid from her shoulder, distracted by the way she rode him. It rested by the side of her throat, his thumb pressing at the base. Noticing this, he attempted to slide his hand down to grasp one of her bouncing breasts.

Alma stopped him, gently placing his hand back where it had been. He was stunned—he hadn’t touched her throat this way ever since the night he almost lost her at the hands of someone else. It was difficult for her to allow anything to touch her neck for a long time. However, she trusted him. He had started with soft kisses, which she gradually learned to accept, though some nights she’d still pull away, and he’d stop without a word.

Touching her neck took longer; even something as simple as brushing her hair off her shoulder would make her flinch. He understood. He knew all too well, from his own painful upbringing, that bruises may fade, but the memory of them lingers. He saw what was done to her. But more than that, she had seen what his hands were capable of. He feared, deep down, that maybe she was afraid of him. Yet she always fervently reassured him—again and again—that what he had done was never the reason for her hesitation. His hands saved her.

When she pressed her throat into his hand, which rested there as he looked on, concerned, he was taken aback. He knew she trusted him completely, but this felt like true surrender. She was offering him the most vulnerable part of herself—even as he was already within another.

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but there was a look of certainty and resolve that stopped him from pulling his hand away, even as his anxious mind screamed at him to do so. Still, he held on with the lightest touch, careful, gentle—mindful.

The pace of her hips quickened, and tears slipped from her cheeks as she closed her eyes, rapt in pleasure. Bill’s chest tightened as he felt her clench and flutter around him, the intensity almost overwhelming. When her climax hit her, even with trembling sore thighs, she continued to grind on him. His gaze dropped to where their bodies were joined, her body moving in a fluid motion, the sight of it causing his muscles to tense. The visual, combined with the sound of Alma’s moans and her wetness, pushed him closer to the edge, the pleasure almost too much to contain.

Her head was tossed back, but with his hand wrapped around her neck, he coaxed her to look at him.

“Tell me where you want it,” he asked with an intense look in his eyes.

"Come inside me," she panted, her voice breathless. "Put a baby in me," she moaned loudly.

Quickly, he repositioned them back into the missionary position. His hand remained on her throat as he snapped his hips, burying himself deep inside her with a final thrust, releasing his essence. Lost in the throes of his own climax, his grip on her throat tightened. Alma waited a moment, watching as his thrusts served to pump his cum further inside her, before gently reaching for his hand. His head snapped up, guilt already rising as he realized he hadn’t been completely mindful of his hold. But before he could apologize, she pressed her lips tenderly into his palm, reassuring him without words.

…

June 1995 | Seattle

Bill came through the side door of his home, kicking off his running shoes after his jog through the neighborhood before dawn broke. As he climbed the stairs, he pulled off his headphones and left his Walkman on the bench in the mezzanine, while on his way to the bedroom, he paused to check on Echo.

The disco ball nightlight cast soft, glittering specks around Echo's room, where she was facing away, seemingly sound asleep. Her toys, however, were scattered across the floor when one of her tasks before bed was putting them away in the chest. Bill narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Creeping quietly into the room, careful not to wake her, he approached the bed. Echo’s chubby cheek was pressed into her pillow, her full lips parted slightly, in deep sleep. That could only mean one thing—she had pretended to sleep when put to bed last night and stayed up playing with her toys. He hated having to get on to her about things, but she couldn’t be up in the middle of the night without them knowing; it just wasn’t safe.

Entering his bedroom, Bill was surprised to find the unmade bed empty. It was too early for Alma to be awake, yet the sound of cascading water came from the en suite bathroom. He tossed his cap on the bench at the foot of the bed in passing and then put his sweaty gray shirt into the hamper in the closet room before heading toward the bathroom only in his red running shorts.

Alma wiped the steam from the glass shower door when she noticed Bill’s figure entering the bathroom.

“Hey,” she greeted with a soft smile, her voice warm and relaxed.

“You’re up early, babe.”

"I told you last night I had a meeting with the city arts council manager," she said, a hint of annoyance creeping into her voice.

“Oh, yeah, I knew that,” he said, pulling off his shorts to join her in the shower. He paused mid-motion, noticing the pregnancy test lying face down on the sink counter. “Did you already check this?”

“Uhm, no…” she said, with trepidation.

“Can I?”

“Sure,” she said after a hesitant beat.

He flipped the test over and stared at the results, his brows furrowing, perplexed. He tilted the test back and forth, trying to catch the light just right to discern whether there were two pink lines present. Alma wrung her hair out quickly after growing increasingly uneasy with the silence.

“What?” she asked, her concern growing as she stepped out of the shower and quickly wrapped a fluffy black towel around herself.

Bill glanced between her and the test, unsure of what to say. “Uh, do we have another one?” he asked, opening the cabinet door underneath the sink where they kept the tests.

“That was the last one. What does it say?”

“Uh… I don’t know?” He bit his lip.

“Well, let me see,” she said, plucking the test from his grip. Her shoulders slumped, and she frowned. “It’s negative.”

“Wait,” Bill stopped her before she could toss it in the trash bin. “There’s another line—I think?” He attempted to point it out, but she didn’t seem interested. “This one just might be a dud. I can buy some more—”

“No—just forget it,” she said with a huff, turning and walking out of the bathroom.

“Alma?” he called after her. He glanced at the test one last time, hoping the results had miraculously changed during their conversation, but the results remained the same. Indecipherable. He left it on the counter and followed her.

He found Alma in the closet room, buttoning a black pinstriped vest to her body. She quickly turned her head, blinking back tears she was trying to suppress. Bill took a deep breath, feeling a pang of sympathy for her disappointment.

“Hey,” he said gently, approaching her. “It’s just a bad test. We can get more.”

“No,” she said, shrugging him off when he leaned in for a reassuring kiss. “I’m tired.”

“Don’t do that,” he sighed.

Alma glanced up at him apologetically and gave him a kiss. “Sorry. Forget the tests. Can we just talk about this later?” She reached for a pair of matching dress pants from the hanger.

“Mm,” he chewed on his lip, meeting her pleading gaze. “Okay. Fine,” he acquiesced.

Later—had turned into a couple of days, much to Bill's annoyance. Since that morning, Alma had been sour and distant. She had been cold towards him; they hadn’t had sex for two days until last night, but it just felt purely mechanical, and it drove him further up the wall. He would have stopped in the middle of it if she hadn’t finally participated by straddling him and rode him hard and fast as if letting out some frustration until he came with no other choice to. She unceremoniously dismounted him, cum dripping from her and back onto him, and fell asleep with her back turned to him without a word. He suddenly understood how he used to be, shutting her out in the same way. It seemed she had learned it from the best. Now it bit him in the ass.

It was evening in the home office. Alma sat on the soft leather couch, entertaining Echo and making her giggle for a moment before turning back to her planners. She was reading from a stack of sticky notes, jotting down important dates to transfer to her booking planner.

Bill was at the desk, working on the computer, when he glanced over at Alma. Although he was aware that their daughter was present, her continued behavior as if nothing had happened a few days ago made his nostrils flare with frustration.

“Hey, this tech stock I have went up,” he announced, pointing at the computer screen, hoping that his accountant wife would be interested enough to come over and take a look. “By a lot.”

She didn’t even do so much as look up at him; instead, she kept writing in her planner. “Oh, that’s good, babe,” she nodded but remained unmoved.

Bill scratched his head and took a deep breath, glancing at the wall clock. It wasn’t quite Echo’s bedtime yet, but he couldn’t stand the stuffy energy in the room any longer.

“Echo,” he called for her. “Let’s get ready for bed.”

Alma didn’t remark about it being early, but Echo certainly gave him a curious look about it.

“Listen to your Daddy, E’,” Alma said, opening her arms for a tight embrace. “Come here.” She kissed Echo on the cheek. “Good nighties. I love you.”

“Good nighties, Mommy!” Echo giggled in her arms.

Bill picked up Echo and, before leaving the room, he turned to Alma. “I’m heading to bed, too.”

“Okay,” Alma replied with an indifferent nod.

He got Echo ready for bed, helping her into pj’s and reading her a book until she fell asleep. Double-checking, he lifted her arm by the shirt cuff around her wrist with a finger and watched it fall limp by her side. Carefully, he slid out of her bed and tucked her in, placing a soft kiss on her forehead before departing.

He stood in the dark hallway, the light from the office casting a glow at the other end. He swallowed hard, torn between going straight to the bedroom or confronting Alma in the office. He hated every bit of this fucked up, cold silence, and he resented that he had turned on his heel and decided to go to bed without her instead.

Laying in bed, he wished that pleasuring himself in the shower had relaxed him enough to fall asleep quickly, but it didn’t. Because of the sex they had the night before, he thought jerking off how he knew his body best would be some consolation, but she was on his mind. Times of her being more enthusiastic and receiving compared to last night getting him off, but when he finished, the clarity settled in. He was left saddened as he watched his release waste away down the drain.

He woke in the middle of the night, momentarily disoriented, unsure of when he had fallen asleep. He was alone in the bed. Turning to the glowing green digital alarm clock on his nightstand, he saw that it was 3:40 a.m.

He groaned loudly as he got out of bed, rubbing his forehead. Though the light was off, he instinctively checked the last place he had seen Alma—the office. Flicking the light on, he quickly turned it off again, momentarily blinding himself, but it was clear the room was empty. Rubbing his eyes, he passed through the archway to the mezzanine and even glancing with his black speckled vision over the banister, the living room was vacant as well. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard the faint sound of the TV, some infomercial droning on during these hell hours, coming from the den.

As he approached the sectional, the glow from the TV illuminated her pedicured feet and hair-stubble legs until she fully appeared. Alma lay there, her arm draped off the couch, dressed in a spaghetti-strap tank and panties. Bill stood still, watching her chest rise and fall in even breaths. He sighed and shook his head before turning off the TV, silencing the grating, cartoonish product-shilling voice of the infomercial mid-sentence. The only sounds left were the faint crackle of the TV's settling static and Alma’s soft snoring.

It didn’t matter if his back would ache the rest of the day; he sat down in the crux of the couch beside her. He gently took her hanging hand and held it, managing to fall asleep. When he woke later that morning, she was nestled in his arms, as if they had sought each other out in their sleep. Tenderly, he brushed a few strands of hair from her face, then let his hand drift from her shoulder, down her arm, and over to her belly, resting it above her otherwise flat womb. The touch caused her to stir, and he quickly pulled his hand away, swallowing hard as she woke. She looked confused at first, but when her eyes met his tired gaze, her expression softened.

“Sorry,” she mumbled groggily. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep down here.” He stayed silent, uncertain if she was being truthful, but kissed her anyway. To his relief, she kissed him back with more feeling than she had in the past few days. Just as he considered taking it further, vying for connection, she started to get up. “I know your back hurts,” she said, pulling him by the hands as he slowly rose. “You should have just taken me to bed.”

“It’s alright,” he sighed, straightening his stiff back.

The day unfolded much like the others. Alma remained avoidant, still unwilling to talk. Bill tried steering their conversations toward the issue, but she always managed to dodge it. That night, Alma was alone in the private sitting room lying on the lounge chaise reading the sequel to the noir romance book she read on their honeymoon when Bill walked in. He looked at her with genuine surprise, he hadn’t expected to see her there. He had been in the office, doing much of nothing before stepping out for a smoke on the balcony. The last time he saw her, she was heading into the sauna. Now he wondered if he had only just imagined it.

Alma watched him as he grabbed the stash box from a shelf. Bill opened it and frowned. He’d forgotten he had smoked the last joint and didn’t feel like taking the time to roll another, so he put the box back and decided to head to bed. As he turned, he caught Alma quickly shifting her gaze back to her book, pretending she hadn’t been watching him.

“Are you sleeping in here tonight?” he asked with a hint of snark.

“No. But maybe I should,” she muttered, speaking more to the pages of her book than to him.

He cleared his throat, hoping she’d look at him, but instead, she just adjusted the strap of her nightgown back onto her shoulder. He could see her discomfort, but at this point, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Can you—can you look at me?”

Alma tensed, taking a deep breath before her eyes flicked toward him, where he stood by the fireplace. Putting her book down, she straightened up and looked at him like he asked, her expression silently saying, well?

“The other day, Alma? These past couple of days, even. What’s going on?”

She looked everywhere but him, wanting desperately to flee, but there was no escape, and was obligated to meet his gaze again.

“I don’t know, Bill,” she shrugged. “I really thought…” Her voice trailed off. “Maybe I just can’t do it. I’m tired.”

He closed his eyes, frustrated by her words. “Tired? You don’t think that I-”

“We fuck, and fuck, and fuck, and nothing is happening! It’s starting to feel—” she stopped abruptly, unwilling to voice what she almost said. She had been reading self-help books since the beginning of the year and knew she just couldn’t always act on impulse. Regardless, she didn’t like what her thoughts had conjured.

Bill’s jaw tightened, and his nostrils flared. “Starting to feel like what?” When she looked away, shaking her head, he pressed on. “Starting to feel like what, Alma?”

“Like a chore!” she snapped back at him. Her eyes widened in shock, mirroring his own horrified expression at her words.

“A chore,” he repeated, stunned and hurt. “Fuck…” he muttered, scratching the back of his head and looking away, dejected, crossing his arms.

“I—I don’t mean that,” her voice cracked. “I don’t. It’s just,” she paused, blinking and gazing at the skylight above them as tears stung her eyes. “I can’t give you what you want, Bill. The tests… I can’t. We’ve been trying for seven months!”

“You,” he said, closing his eyes and pressing his lips into a hard line as he tried to steady himself. “You’re only thinking about yourself in this.”

“What?”

“The tests… I know I might look disappointed, and you might think it’s disappointment in you, but it’s not, love. It’s me!” He pointed at his chest with a pained expression, admitting his true thoughts of inadequacy out loud. “Maybe it’s me that can’t!”

Alma gasped, biting her quivering lip, heartbroken that he felt this way. “Bill, no…”

Tears streamed down Alma's face, feeling so fucking awful. Bill inhaled deeply through his nose, blinking rapidly as his own tears threatened to spill.

He cleared his throat. “We can just… shit,” he said under his breath when he felt his tears flood the hollow of his eyes, which he quickly wiped away. “We'll just forget this.”

Alma rested her elbows on her knees, sobbing regretfully into her hands. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Bill approached her and crouched down, gently pulling her hands away from her face. Alma clung to him, weeping into the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry too,” he said, his voice filled with sadness. “I just want to go back to before all this. I asked for this, and… I want it to be fun again.”

“It is fun,” she sobbed. “It’s not a chore; I was just being a bitch!” He held her tightly until she calmed down. She sat back, took a shaky breath, and wiped her runny nose with the inside of her nightgown. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said, caressing his cheek.

“There’s nothing wrong with you either, love.” He rose to sit next to her on the lounge chaise.

“We can still try,” she said softly. “If you still want to. Just no tests. It’s messing with us.”

Bill took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay,” he sighed. “No tests.”

…

July 1995

When he arrived for his first shift at Sheisty Sound Records, he was surprised to see the marquee out front read, "WELCOME GIANCARLO."

The aisles were bustling with customers browsing through the shelves. A group of teens and young adults began to form a line in front of the cash wrap, each holding CD copies of the hottest hip-hop album that had just dropped. It was even playing on the shop’s sound system.

“Hey, Giancarlo,” Ash called for him.

He worked at the shop in Seattle for a few days now. Most of his tasks were menial—sweeping floors, tidying shelves, breaking down shipment boxes, stamping hundreds of white paper bags with the store logo (his hands still stained with blue ink), and, unfortunately, cleaning the bathrooms. Currently, he was carefully scraping price tags off a pile of records with a box knife. The job became much easier after Darby showed him a trick—dabbing a napkin soaked in lighter fluid on the tags so they would come off smoothly instead of peeling away in frustrating little pieces.

“Yes?” he inquired, looking up and realizing a couple of customers were staring back at him impatiently.

“Could you hop on the other register?” she asked, closing the cash till and reaching for another customer’s items.

“I’m allowed to?” he asked, uncertain.

“They never said you couldn’t. I need some help here, homie.”

“Oh, okay, sure.” He nodded, stepping over to assist her.

When Bill and his family picked him up at the airport, they asked whether he was ready to jump straight into a shift at the record shop right then and there as they drove back into town. While Giancarlo had come to work at the shop—and used that as a key selling point to convince his parents to let him travel—he hadn’t expected Bill to actually put him to work right away.

“Right now? I mean, sure, I guess.”

Bill and Alma laughed. “We’re kidding,” Bill said, looking at him through the rearview mirror.

“Relax a little!” Alma turned to him and winked. “How was the flight? What did you bring us?” She asked, peering curiously at the white box sitting beside him.

“Uh, my mom sent me with some cannolis for you all,” he said while gently pulling his headphone wire out of Echo’s grasp.

“I freakin’ love her,” Alma quickly said while he continued speaking.

“I was in California for, like, two hours, so that was cool. But, uh, I just slept on the flight, so...” He lightly shrugged.

“Nice. How was your mom when you left?”

“God,” he groaned lightly before mimicking his mother’s accent with exaggerated precision. “Giancarlo Rocco, any time you land, you call me!” he said, earning amused chuckles from Bill and Alma. “Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know! Did you remember to bring your inhaler? Like, jeez,” he sighed. “I haven’t had to use that thing since I was twelve, but she still made me bring it. And don’t worry, I called. But she wants me to call when we get to the house.”

“Oh, she gave us a run-down of how you like your eggs and how you like to get tucked into bed at night,” Alma said, but Gian remained silent. “I’m kidding again. We didn’t get any instructions, I promise. She trusts you; you’re just her last baby. I’m sure it makes her a little sad seeing you travel on your own like a big boy.”

The young man saw Bill’s eyes dart towards Alma somberly when she spoke; he didn’t know what to make of that but figured it was nothing when he reached for her hand and kissed the back of it.

Giancarlo’s eyes widened at the sight of the house when they arrived. The color was striking—black, or almost black. He hadn’t known you could paint a house that color, but it looked pretty chic. Bill parked their black Tahoe outside under the breezeway instead of the garage, so Alma could quickly get Echo out of the drizzle through the side door. Both Alma and Echo were recovering from a cold Echo had picked up from somewhere, and Bill managed to remain unscathed by the illness.

At the peak of their illness, Echo had vomited in the middle of the night. Alma got up to strip the bed but found herself dry-heaving doing the task. She wasn’t typically squeamish, but her stomach churned so violently that it was a miracle she made it to Echo’s bathroom after struggling with the child safety knob to throw up. Echo stood by, looking concerned and frightened, as Alma rinsed her mouth in the sink. After Echo’s repeated questions, Alma reassured her that she was okay. Exhausted, she gave up trying to clean the mess, took Echo to sleep in her bed, and left it for Bill to handle in the morning.

“I’ll meet you two inside!” Alma said before leaving them.

“Wow,” Giancarlo said, stepping out of the SUV and taking in the grandeur of the house. “Real dump you have here.”

Bill smiled, slipping the keys into his bomber jacket. “Ah well, home is what you make it, right?”

Bill gave Giancarlo a tour of the house as soon as they entered. After showing him the first level, they started up the stairs and paused at the library, where Alma joined them with Echo in tow. While on the second level, they went straight to the home office. Alma showed off her cameras, and Bill showed him the small vintage lighter collection he began recently before the tour came to an end.

“Our room is just down the hall,” Bill pointed out, carrying his daughter in his arms. “Echo is right by,” he pointed at a door on the opposite side. “This is a guest room, and we store shit in the room next to Echo’s for now at least.”

“Is this where I’m sleeping?” he asked, peering into the guest room.

“You want to see where you’re sleeping?” Alma asked, peeking around Bill to look at him. “You’re going to like it.”

He did appreciate his sleeping quarters in the basement. It had a living room of sorts; it was large, with a couch, a pool table, a mini fridge, and gym equipment in the corner. The walls had a few framed concert and movie posters, but other than that, most of the decoration was minimal. There was a TV center in the bedroom, where he would be sleeping on a comfy, plush queen-sized bed.

“This is nice! Thanks, guys.”

“For sure!” Alma smiled. “The bathroom and shower are through that door. And yeah, it’s your own space to enjoy. The laundry room is on the other side of the room, so if you hear any noise, it’s just that.”

“We’ll leave you alone now,” Bill said as he watched Giancarlo scan his sleeping quarters appreciatively. “Meet us in the dining room when you’re all settled.”

When he was left alone, he immediately checked the mini fridge. It was stocked with the snacks, candy, and drinks he liked. He remembered overhearing Alma reminding Bill to ask for his favorite snacks during a previous phone call. With a smile, he grabbed a small bottle of Sunny D.

That evening, after dinner, they surprised Giancarlo with a small round chantilly cake. His 17th birthday had been just two weeks earlier, and Alma had insisted on getting him a cake to celebrate. Alma asked how he had celebrated his birthday, and Giancarlo described a fun day at an arcade, where he and some friends had played laser tag.

“Oh, that sounds fun!” Alma said, resting her head on her hand at the dinner table and listening attentively.

The more she looked at him, the harder it became for Giancarlo to hold his gaze. He always thought Alma was very pretty, but his brother Lorenzo’s crush on her had put him off. She was his mother’s best friend, and she was Mr. Skarsgård’s girl, so it just felt strange that his brother crushed so hard for her. Especially, when she wasn’t the only beautiful friend his mother worked with that he’d been around that he could choose from. However, now, with Alma giving him her undivided attention and showing genuine interest in what he had to say, his face flushed with warmth. He felt a shy, awkwardness wanting to creep up, but he pushed it away as best as he could. It was nice to have attention from a pretty girl, no—woman. A woman as pretty as her making him feel seen was nice.

“I probably wouldn’t be very good at it, but being under the black lights and stuff would be fun.” She said with a girlish giggle. “Kind of like a club.”

“She has bad aim.” Bill quipped before taking a sip of his water.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” she lightly shrugged with a carefree smile. Briefly, Bill and Alma shared a glance, as if remembering a time she missed with amusement.

Soon after becoming well acquainted and shown around the city, he finally started working at the record shop.

“Chill on the ‘mister’ and 'miss' stuff here,” Bill said as he backed into a parking spot by the shop. “I mean, you even call Echo ‘miss’ and she’s three, man.” He lightly chuckled. “But I get it, it’s just how you are.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that vibe seeing the city, it’s more laid back.” Gian shrugged.

“Exactly. But everyone is cool, and you’ve kinda met half of them already, so don’t worry too much if you do it by accident.”

Bill reintroduced Giancarlo to Darby, leaving them to make some calls and taking two in-person meetings with sharp-looking men in the office that day. He caught on quickly, and now he was checking out customers, feeling more like a real employee at Sheisty Sound Records.

With Giancarlo’s help, the line grew shorter, and the crowd was soon managed. Ash gave him a high five for his speediness. Alma walked in, holding the door open with a booted foot while balancing several rolls of posters under her arms. As she maneuvered through the threshold, Matt came over and took them from her.

“I didn’t know you were working this morning?” She said, after thanking him.

“I’m not. I’m just here on my lunch break.” Matt’s hours had gone down to part-time since he had started trade school, but it seemed like he couldn’t stay away sometimes. The record store was a comfort zone of his. “It’s busy though!”

“Good, good,” she sighed, feeling unusually winded from her minimal efforts.

Alma approached the cash wrap and asked Ash if she could steal Gian for a moment before she went on her lunch break.

“I just need some help carrying some boxes out of the radio room.”

Giancarlo followed Alma to the backstage area and through the green room. Although he had been given a tour of the facilities by Darby, he wasn’t familiar with the radio room. He watched as she rummaged through her small backpack purse for a ring of keys and then opened the heavy door.

“Has your day been going okay?” she asked, peering up at him through long mascara lashes. “No one's been rude to you? I mean anyone.”

“No,” he said sheepishly. “It’s been good, Miss Alma.” He awkwardly scratched his elbow. “What goes on in this room?”

“Well, not much, yet,” Alma said, pointing at the dusty hardware. “We’re slowly selling and trading some of this old junk for proper studio equipment. We hope to rent out this space for private studio sessions. That’s the plan, anyway.” She said, placing her hands on her hips.

“A studio would be cool!”

“I think so, too! Imagine seeing ‘Recorded at Sheisty Sound Studios’ on the music packaging!”

“Legit! Bill hasn’t mentioned this at all?” he said, scanning the equipment.

“Because it’s not finished yet,” she lightly laughed. “Speaking of the execution is more impressive than the plans, right?”

“I get that, yeah,” he nodded.

“Besides, he thinks talking too early about things before they’re done will jinx it.”

“Are those the boxes you needed moving?” He pointed to some beaten cardboard shipping boxes in a corner.

“Oh, yeah. You know what? Let me pull my Jeep around back; it’ll be easier. Just be careful they're full of broken CDs.”

“Broken?”

“Yeah, they arrived like that,” Alma said, shaking her head with visible annoyance. “It looks like someone opened the box and started chewing on them! I’ve been trying to get the warehouse to exchange them for nearly three weeks now. Anyway, I’ll be right back.”

While working these past few days, Giancarlo noticed just how busy Alma and Bill were. They were constantly picking up supplies for the shop, taking calls, and meeting with important people—all while managing a child who ran about the store. On top of that, even with limited capacity due to being miles away, Bill still oversaw Trigger Finger. It seemed exhausting, but they both seemed to enjoy the contained chaos.

Later that evening, as Giancarlo was helping Chrissy update the "UPCOMING SHOWS" chalkboard, he held the ladder she was sitting on and read out the list of acts and dates Alma had given him. Bill came by and asked if Giancarlo would be ready to leave in 15 minutes.

“Or maybe, once you’re done helping Chrissy,” he said, looking up at her from where she sat. “How’s it going up there?”

“Unfortunately, the air isn’t any crisper,” she replied with her usual dry humor, “but it’s very strange to be able to see the top of your head. Did you know it’s misshapen?”

Bill kissed his teeth with an amused smirk on his face when he turned his head towards the office.

“It’s already at the post! I was told that the shipment would be replaced.” Alma’s irritated voice rang from the office. “Well, that’s fucking unacceptable!” She was up from her seat to close the office door for some privacy.

“Hold on,” Bill muttered, stepping away and heading toward the office. “Alma.” His voice was firm but calm. She glanced up at him sharply, her frustration evident. “Give it to me.” He gestured toward the phone.

Alma hesitated for a beat, then handed it over as Bill closed the door behind him. Unknowingly, he shut it on his daughter, who ran over to follow him in. The little girl frowned, on the verge of tears, but Darby swooped in just in time, distracting her before she could.

Giancarlo heard Chrissy snicker above him while she wrote neatly and legibly on the chalkboard. “He’s going to let whoever she’s speaking to have it.”

“Mhmm.” Giancarlo hummed knowingly.

“He’s a nice boss, but he doesn’t put up with any bullshit, for sure,” she added with a sing-song tone. “Are you related to Alma?”

“Me? No, uhm, Bill and my mom are business partners. It’s uh, it’s yeah,” he stammered. “I’ve just known them since I was a kid, so you could say family friends, I guess.”

“Oh, okay. How old are you?”

“Seventeen. Since last month.” Giancarlo said, turning toward the office as he heard the faint sound of Bill’s raised voice.

“Gemini?” Chrissy asked curiously.

“Uhm no? I think I’m a cancer, so my mom tells me. I don’t know much about that, though. But what are you?” He asked to be polite.

“Scorpio.” Giancarlo only nodded, not familiar with what that meant. “Okay, that was the last one on the list, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded and then held out his hand for her to get down.

“You worked with Donnie the other day, right?”

“I did.” He said folding the ladder closed to put it away.

“Cool. Well, there’s a small carnival in town, and we’re going. Would you, maybe, want to go? Maybe see what we really get into instead of hanging out with mid-30-year-olds and a baby the whole time you’re here?” She lightly laughed.

“Uh, yeah! I don’t think they would mind. I still have to ask, though.”

“For sure! We’re going tomorrow night. We’re both off, so we’re heading out by seven.”

Bill and Alma came out of the office laughing after having their less-than-savory message run up to the supervisor of the shipment warehouse, who would finally correct their mistake.

Later that evening, as dinner wrapped up—a meal of meatballs with mashed potatoes Bill had made—Giancarlo decided to mention his plans.

“She offered to pick me up, too,” he said as a selling point.

Bill sat back in his seat in thought and then exchanged a long uncertain look with Alma, who was wiping Echo’s messy sauce covered hands with a napkin.

“So… you don’t want to hang out with us?” Bill asked, crossing his arms.

“I thought you came to visit us or, at the very least, Bill.” She pointed at him with a hand. “He’s been excited about you coming here.”

“Oh, I-I mean,” Giancarlo stammered, worried he had offended them or disrespected their hospitality. He glanced at Bill, then back at Alma, who was smirking.

“It’s fine,” Bill said with a chuckle. “We don’t mind.”

“With all due respect, I don’t like how serious you two can pretend to be. It’s really unnerving if I’m honest.” He said, making them laugh.

“You’re going to have fun, Chrissy is a funny girl. Donnie too, he’s a bit of a jock though, but a sweetheart. Like you,” she winked.

“What time should I be expected back?”

Bill scratched at his collarbone with furrowed brows and looked at Alma's equally contemplative expression. He was such a good kid, he was asking for a curfew that they hadn’t even considered giving him.

“Uhm,” Bill sighed, glancing at Alma for guidance while rubbing his jaw. Alma seemed to enjoy seeing him struggle with this. As parents, they wouldn’t need to set curfews for years to come, so this was new for them. “How about ten?”

“Or what time does your mom usually expect you home when you’re out?” Alma inquired.

“9:30.” He said begrudgingly.

“Wow,” Alma said, taken aback by his honesty. He could have lied to them by giving a much later time, but instead, he shaved off thirty minutes from the curfew Bill suggested.

“Well,” Bill spoke up. “Bianca, respectfully, isn’t here. You’re with us. You just turned seventeen, I think you know how to handle yourself a bit. So what do you think is an appropriate time to be home?”

“11:30?”

“Then twelve,” said Bill. “Be home by twelve.”

Bill and Alma were in the private sitting room that evening, enjoying the night. Echo was tucked in bed, and Giancarlo had been out for a few hours now. Alma lit some incense sticks by the fireplace and returned to the couch with a glass of scotch neat for Bill, who smiled brightly at her. It felt like a little reward, given to him when earlier in the bedroom he had her pressed down into the mattress, grinding into her while she lay prone beneath him, bouncing her hips to meet his thrusts. After taking some pressure off themselves, sex between them had returned to where they set aside their inhibitions and just let their bodies talk.

“He’s probably going to be here like right on the dot! He’s like a little old man inside,” she said, sitting in his lap with her back resting on the armrest.

“He needs to be deprogrammed from whatever mind control B’ has him under,” Bill laughed, setting his drink on the table after a small sip. “In Vegas, he went out with a fake ID though, so he’s not a total square. He does things.”

“Oh yeah. And he just respects you a lot. What happened when you gave him money before he left? He didn’t want to take it, did he?”

Bill shook his head. “Nah. He’s a little too polite for his own good. I get why Bianca raised her sons that way, but—” He trailed off as Alma lightly yawned, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck. His hand stroked her smooth legs absentmindedly, his voice softening with concern. “Are you feeling better?”

“Hmm. Yeah, why?”

“I heard you gag when you blew your nose this morning in the bathroom.”

“It was gross and thick, like it came from the back of my throat. My body is just purging the remnants of the cold, I guess.”

“Yeah…” he said, kissing the top of her head.

Bill was in the den, watching a movie with Alma, but she had fallen asleep with her head in his lap while they waited on Giancarlo. She had been going to bed much earlier, he noticed. He was noticing a lot of things lately with her, but he wasn’t sure how to address them. It was sleeping early and sleeping in. Yesterday morning, she thought the new gallon of milk had gone bad. He checked—it was fine. Then there were the cannolis he’d only managed to snag a bite of; he suspected she’d devoured most of them, but he wasn’t about to accuse her of that.

Despite the nagging thoughts in his mind, things had been great between them since their emotionally charged argument not long ago. He feared messing things up by asking her to take a pregnancy test. If he pushed it on her, and it was negative, he’d feel like an asshole. Alma told him she would know, but he had to bite his tongue when she said so because, only from hearing about it, she hadn’t any idea she was pregnant with Echo for many weeks. If he said that, though, that would have just started a fight he didn’t have in him to have. So he stayed quiet, lost in thought, gently stroking her hair as the movie flickered on the screen.

Taking a deep breath, he checked the clock on the entertainment center. It was five minutes until 11:30. Although he’d said Giancarlo was allowed to come back by midnight, he was certain he’d still be coming through the door at this time regardless. The minutes ticked by, the hour arrived, and then it passed.

Alma was up again, but Bill told her not to worry. However, she knew her friend Bianca well, she might be miles away now, but she wouldn’t hesitate to deal with both of them if something happened to her child.

“What do you think he could be doing?” Alma asked, taking a sip of cold water as a headache began to set in, and then hugged herself in one of Bill’s oversized hoodies.

“He better be having the time of his fuckin’ life being out this late,” he muttered.

Alma smirked, amused. “I told him. Nothing good happens after two am.”

Bill nodded, glancing over at the clock, seeing that there were 40 minutes until two.

“Do you think I accidentally gave him permission to stay out ‘til then by saying that?” Alma said, feeling like she made a mistake.

“Hmm, no. This… is kind of weird for him, but he has our number in case he needs a ride. I should have given him one of our pagers,” he said regretfully. “Maybe Chrissy is drunk or—”

“Maybe he is?”

“Eh.”

“Or stoned? Does he do that?”

“He doesn’t even know I do that.”

“Oh please. He’s not dumb.”

Bill groaned loudly, letting his head fall back on the couch. Alma’s late-night questions were starting to get on his nerves, while he silently worried.

“This is eating you up…” Alma lightly chuckled. “He probably met some girl. Imagine. When Echo is his age?”

Bill pinched the bridge of his nose, he didn’t want to imagine it at all. “She’s never leaving the house. I should have never said twelve—fuck. Knowing all the shit I used to do at his age… the only thing I can think he’s doing is doing a girl in someone’s back seat instead of being home right now.”

“You’re such a fucking Romeo,” Alma rolled her eyes.

“You keep asking questions, and that’s what I think, so.”

“He tells you stuff like that?”

Bill shrugged indifferently. “Kind of, but not often. Obviously.”

“You two talk like asshole locker room boys, don’t you?”

“No,” he lightly chucked because he wasn’t being all that truthful. “He’s told me stuff. I don’t ask for details.”

“Right,” Alma side-eyed him.

“He’s a young man, what more can I say, other than telling him to wrap it up if he’s going to go there?”

“Hmm, yeah,” Alma agreed, blinking her heavy eyes. “I’m tired,” she sighed.

“I can wait up for him.”

“I don’t want to leave you worrying by yourself.”

“You look tired, love,” he said gently, hoping to not offend her by agreeing. “If it’s you he’s decided to listen to, he should be here soon.”

“Sorry, I don’t know why I said that. But okay,” she yawned loudly. “I’m only talking so much to keep myself up, but I’m annoying myself too.”

Bill escorted Alma to bed and waited in the living room in the dark, staring out the large window that overlooked the long front yard. He could see headlights through the fence of trees on the road, and there usually wasn’t much traffic in the neighborhood, especially at night. The car turned into his driveway at an even speed while the headlights swept across the dark room. He recognized Chrissy’s little 1980s beater when she cut the lights off. As the car slowly made its way around the arched driveway and back onto the road, Bill waited for the knock at the door, but it didn’t come. He could imagine Giancarlo, standing there worried, debating whether he should sleep on the porch like a dog rather than dare knock on the door at this hour.

Bill turned on the small lamp on the side table by the couch and stood up. A light, tentative knock sounded from the door, seemingly prompted by the glow of the lamp. When Bill opened the door, Giancarlo slightly flinched.

“Mr. Skarsgård, I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to—”

Bill raised his pointer finger to his lips. “Come inside.” He stepped aside, his stern gaze following Giancarlo as he walked past him. “You fucking reek.”

“Shit,” Giancarlo muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed on the floor in shame.

“Like skunk and cheap whore perfume,” Bill said, amused.

“I’m really sorry. And to Miss Alma, I’m sorry. I-If you haven’t called her already, could you give me a chance to speak to my mother about what I did later this morning?”

“She doesn’t need to know.” Giancarlo looked at him, both surprised and relieved. “You’ve come back in one piece. Did you have a good time tonight, at least?”

“Uh, yeah,” Giancarlo said, a bashful smile creeping onto his face as he looked down at the floor again.

Bill smiled. “Good. Tell me about it in the morning then.”

That morning, Bill was the first one up for a run, or so he thought. He wasn’t even going to bother with waking up Giancarlo to join him, but as he passed Echo’s room to check on her before leaving, she was stirring in her sleep. He stood there for a second, watching to see if she was just shifting into a more comfortable position. When she turned over, through narrowly opened eyes, she saw her father at the doorway and smiled.

“Papa,” she said tiredly, rubbing her eyes.

“Morning,” he said happily, taking a seat on her bed. “Did you sleep well, honey?”

She nodded while he pushed her hair from her face. “Mama?”

“Still asleep. Do you want to go sleep some more with her? I’m going to run.”

“I go?”

“With me? Hmm, maybe next time. Look outside,” he pointed to her window, covered with sheer lavender curtains. “No sun.”

“Early?” She wondered, scrunching her eyes.

“Early. Yeah, very,” he said, blinking his tired eyes, he only slept a few hours.

He gently picked her up out of bed, and as they made their way down the hall, Echo knocked off his black cap, which he left behind to pick up later. Alma was sprawled out on the bed, her cheek smashed against the pillow and her back facing the entryway. Bill placed Echo on the bed and encouraged her to wake her up. Echo crawled over Alma’s back and sat down on her, pushing gently on her shoulders to nudge her awake.

“Mama, mama,” Echo repeated until Alma stirred awake.

“Hey, baby,” she whispered, groggily. “Why are you up so early?”

“She was up–”

“Oh my god!” Alma exclaimed, startled by Bill, who had been standing silently behind her. It wasn’t unusual for Echo to find her alone some mornings while he was up early working out, so she had expected this morning to be the same. “Something—Giancarlo didn’t come home?” She asked, sitting up with worry.

“He’s here,” Bill assured her, and she exhaled with relief. “I told you last night when I got in bed.” He tilted his head, noting her confused expression. When he mentioned it, she replied with a sleepy, ‘Oh, good.’ He figured now that she must have been talking in her sleep. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Alma replied, laying back down and stretching as Echo crawled over her, nuzzling her face into Alma’s exposed belly where her tank top had ridden up. Alma looked down at her with amusement. “Silly girl,” she said, pulling Echo into an embrace. “Let’s sleep some more, E.” She then pulled the covers over them, settling in for a bit more rest.

“I’ll be back,” Bill said, kissing her before leaving.

“I’ll be waiting,” Alma sighed, sinking comfortably into bed.

Giancarlo woke up to find fruit roll-up snack wrappers in his bed that he barely remembered eating. Despite knowing he wasn’t in trouble, the anxiety he felt didn’t entirely go away. He groaned as he slid out of bed, still feeling a bit regretful, but decided to get ready for the day instead of loafing around. After a refreshing shower, he felt exponentially better and couldn’t help but smile as he thought about the events of the night before.

He had gone to the carnival, where they only stayed for a while, enjoying a few rides and playing some games. He won a large neon-colored stuffed giraffe from a ball and milk jug game and offered it to Chrissy as thanks for driving, but he was stuck carrying it around, sort of wishing he lost instead. Chrissy and Donnie were older teens in community college, so he met some of their friends, who invited them to a party at a house with a backyard deck overlooking a large lake.

The party was packed with young adults of all ages, drinking from red solo cups and smoking from a makeshift gravity bong made with a five-gallon water jug and a dirty plastic trash bin. Giancarlo mingled with some of Chrissy’s friends, who were friendly but couldn’t help but point out his accent when he spoke. Though it was slightly annoying, he tried to deflect by mentioning that they had a strange accent too, but they denied it with a laugh.

Giancarlo exchanged a few words with Chrissy as they hollered over the music, "Fantastic Voyage" by Coolio thumping through the speakers. Despite the upbeat vibe, their conversation took an awkward turn when Chrissy brought up his mother being business partners with Bill.

“Uh yeah, she owns half the place and runs it,” he said, sipping from his nearly empty solo cup.

“Was that weird? When she decided to get into that business?” Chrissy asked curiously. “The strip club. What’s it called again?”

“Trigger Finger.

“Right, Trigger Finger, what the fuck is that about?” She laughed, and he slightly chuckled, knowing what it meant because Bill had told him.

“To answer your other question, no, it’s not weird… She’s been in the business my whole life, so,” he shrugged. “She danced. I guess she was pretty good ‘cause when I was little she’d make me and my brother put on gloves and count her earnings. Just fat stacks laid out on the living room floor.”

“No shit!” Chrissy laughed. “She must be a babe! Did Alma ever dance? Donnie thinks she did,” she deflected the suspicion onto him rather than claim they were hers.

He finished his beer, feeling the conversation shift into uncomfortable territory. “No, she just bartended,” he clarified, scratching his head.

“Right. Sucks, she would have been a moneymaker,” she lightly laughed.

“Uh, yeah, probably,” Gian said, tugging at the hem of his Coogi sweater, feeling the need to escape the conversation. “I’m going to get some more,” he added, shaking his empty cup. “Did you want some more?” he asked, glancing into her cup. It was still mostly full, but he asked anyway to be polite and quickly excused himself when she declined.

While waiting for some boys to finish assisting with a keg stand, Giancarlo was approached by a girl his age. She asked if he could refill her cup too. She had fox-shaped eyes, full berry-stained lips, tan skin, and ears peeking from her long, straight black hair. She seemed to have been charmed by his looks as well when they both smiled at each other bashfully.

As Giancarlo made his way up from the basement and into the kitchen, he paused. Bill was standing before Alma, her back was against the island. He was sweaty, wearing a black shirt with cut-off sleeves, leaning down, murmuring something in her ear while her cheeks blushed pink. It reminded him of how his friends would chat up girls. She playfully pushed him away, but her other hand rested lightly on the waistband of his running shorts, keeping him close.

Giancarlo hesitated, unsure whether to quietly retreat or make his presence known. It was a bit strange to see them like this; even if it was their home, he had never seen them so overly affectionate outside their wedding. He debated stepping back out of view and making more noise to alert them to his presence, hoping to avoid interrupting their private moment.

“You can be so sweet,” he overheard Alma softly say as she leaned into Bill’s affectionate kisses along her neck.

Before she could flutter her eyes closed, she peeped Giancarlo stepping out from the frame of the kitchen archway. Alma took her grip away from Bill's waistband and placed her other on his cheek to gently halt his movements. She liked him, all sweaty from his morning workouts. Something about his warm, dewy skin and his musky scent always invoked a need in her, and he knew that and took advantage anytime he could.

She gave him a pointed look, and he straightened up, clearing his throat. Giancarlo took a beat to enter when he heard the fridge open and soft chatting.

“There’s something that’s gone bad in here,” Alma said, pinching her nose, moving stuff about.

“Alma, I don’t smell anything. Are you sure–”

“Good morning,” Gian said shyly.

They both turned to look at him. He looked fine, if not a bit embarrassed. Being young, hangovers didn’t affect him much; he only appeared tired as he rubbed his shoulder.

“Morning. Had second guesses about joining the carni’ life?” Alma joked.

“Uh, the pay wasn’t up to par. I’m sorry, Miss Alma, for coming home late. It was very rude of me.”

“Ah, well. Shit happens, right? You want some coffee?”

“Please. I would like that.”

“I’ll check on Echo,” Bill quickly said to Alma. She was upstairs struggling to dress herself in her swimsuit. They didn’t want to fight her about doing so because she was excited to go to her swimming lesson. “Thanks for apologizing,” he patted Giancarlo on the shoulder in passing. Though neither he nor Alma was upset, it was the principle of giving his wife an apology that he appreciated.

…

“Okay, we’re leaving!” Alma said from down the hall.

He and Giancarlo were in the office, and Bill was showing him a few business-related tasks he performed daily. Giancarlo was interested in pursuing a business degree when he started college, so he asked a bunch of thoughtful questions that even made Bill take pause to answer carefully.

Echo ran in to kiss her father goodbye, and then she darted to Giancarlo for a hug. “Come swim, GiGi?” she asked, her eyes wide with excitement.

Giancarlo chuckled, crouching to meet her hug. “Next time, E’,” he said softly.

Alma, catching the interaction, winked at Giancarlo. Until suddenly, Echo was heard saying, “Damn it.”

“E’ c’mon, what did we say?” Bill lightly admonished.

“There was something bad in the fridge,” Alma said, gaining Bill attention as she picked Echo up. “It was the leftover dumplings. They went black and furry.”

Bill's brows furrowed, and he frowned, more upset to learn she found the issue rather than relieved. He felt he was onto something, but the rotten dumplings made him doubt his thoughts. “Well, good thing you found it,” he muttered.

Alma brushed off his strange reaction as she adjusted Echo on her hip. “I’ll see you two at the shop later,” she said, giving Bill a light kiss goodbye before heading out the door.

Bill watched her leave, in the windbreaker and shorts she wore over her modest one-piece swimsuit. "Echo has two more classes left," he mentioned to Giancarlo, breaking the brief silence. "She’s a fast learner. Last week, she ran and jumped in by herself, though. They had to teach her not to do that, obviously.”

Giancarlo smiled, glancing at the door. “She’s pretty fearless.”

“Yeah, a little crazy too. Like, impulsive, you know? That’s from her mother.”

Shortly, Giancarlo was following Bill down the hall to his bedroom. As they reached the doorway, he hesitated, his feet instinctively stopping at the threshold. While he was allowed in his mother's room, he just never felt comfortable entering it. It always felt like her private sanctuary away from everything, where she could unwind out of the view of gawking eyes. His mother was beautiful with a big personality to boot; he always saw how people looked at her as a little boy long before he understood her profession, so he respected the boundary of her bedroom as a place where she could just be. Bill paused, glancing back at him, noticing the hesitation.

“What, are you some kind of vampire? You need to be invited in,” Bill teased, nudging his head for him to follow.

Giancarlo stepped inside, taking in the space. The room was nicely kept, with a large, neatly made bed, and above it hung an abstract painting, dark and chaotic, almost like an angsty Jackson Pollock. The overcast light filtered through the open curtains, giving the room a muted glow. His gaze drifted to Alma’s vanity, where her short black eyeliner pencil lay uncapped, leaving a small streak across the surface. Otherwise, the space was tidy, with all her other products neatly arranged.

Giancarlo followed Bill into the walk-in closet, taking in the neat arrangement of clothes—rows of button-downs, jackets, dresses, and stacks of folded band shirts beside an array of shoes. Bill moved with casual ease as he secretly slipped a bottle of lube out of sight under a stack of shirts. He joined him by a large tabletop dresser in the center of the room. Bill paused for a moment, glancing back at him with a small, mischievous grin.

“Hm, you’re not supposed to know about this but,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

Bill opened a thin drawer and slipped his hand underneath, and a soft click sounded as he revealed a hidden compartment. Under the drawer were others, but they were revealed to be a facade as the safe showed itself, which Bill pulled out slightly, quickly entering a code on the keypad. The safe opened with a satisfying beep.

He produced two handguns, and Giancarlo was taken aback for a moment but tried to remain cool.

“Let’s shoot these,” Bill said, a playful smirk on his face. “And then you can tell me what happened last night.”

Giancarlo couldn’t help but think that Bill’s earlier comments about Alma being crazy now seemed like a deflection on his part. The truth was underneath the surface, they both were.

While he thought the plans for the day were to go back to work at the record shop, shooting guns at a makeshift target in the edges of the backyard was a lot more fun. He wasn’t shy around them per se, his mother owned one, and he’s helped his father clean his before. This was the first time he was allowed to shoot one, though.

“It hit that tree!” Bill laughed, tracking where the bullet went after he held the gun sideways and missed the target. “Anyway, I figured it was some girl.” He said, returning to Gian’s retelling of his night. “She took you out to the deck?”

“Yeah, the boat deck. We just happened to walk out there; she kept asking me to say certain words because of my accent, but she was cute about it,” he shrugged bashfully. “But the mood kind of changed when a bunch of other people showed up to make out.”

“Oh,” Bill raised his brows, a knowing look on his face. “And then you did too, I guess?” He checked the cartridge, counting the remaining bullets.

“Well, we talked some more, but yeah,” Giancarlo said, aiming carefully and hitting the target this time.

“Nice,” Bill complimented. “What’s her name?”

“Gabriela.”

“Gabriela,” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “Well, at least you have something to share with your friends back home. You got her number?”

“I got all of it—her number, her address, and her email.”

Bill chuckled. “Good. What the hell did you two talk about? I didn’t know you were such a Casanova.” Giancarlo blushed hot red, and Bill tilted his head, intrigued. “Gian?” he said, a knowing smirk on his face. “You didn’t.”

“Eh?” He replied, looking embarrassed yet proud.

“For real?” He looked at him under his raised brows, causing his forehead wrinkles to show more prominent.

“Yeah…”

“For real?” He repeated, still in disbelief and amused. “Fucking hell,” he laughed incredulously.

Giancarlo hadn’t expected it, but there they were in the boathouse, away from everyone else on the deck. When she asked him to take her shirt off, he hesitated, nervous despite having been in similar situations before. His hands shook slightly as he peeled the fabric away. It was daunting hoping he was doing things correctly.

Suddenly, she laid back on the floorboards, and he hovered over her, speckling her neck with hickeys. He felt her push gently at his shoulders, and worry crept in—was she not enjoying it?

“Have you ever eaten pussy before?”

Gian swallowed hard. “Yeah…” he lied but tried to sound confident. “Do you want me to?”

She responded by pushing her short skirt up. He wasn’t sure if he was doing a good job, it was rather dark, and he relied on his sense of touch to guide him, but it felt like she was enjoying herself. Then, things escalated quickly. She was pulling down his pants and boxers, and he felt himself physically sweat. His heart raced when she guided him towards her entrance.

“Wait,” Gian panted. “One second.” He patted his pants, feeling for his wallet, where he stored a condom for this very moment.

“Oh,” she giggled, watching him rip the foil open. “Right.”

“Well, I hope you wore a condom, or else you’re gonna have a little Echo of your own in nine months,” Bill laughed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Gian nervously scratched his neck. He liked Echo well enough, but a child at his age sounded like a nightmare scenario. “Could I ask you a question?”

“Hmm, okay, sure,” he agreed reluctantly.

“N-nothing about last night,” Gian assured him. “I was just thinking—you're so different here. Not in a bad way. Just more relaxed, I guess.”

Bill puffed his lip out in thought. “Eh, sure. It’s a slower pace here than New York, so—”

“Do you like it here?” He asked thoughtfully. “The house, the four-car garage, the wife, the kid… And what’s next, a dog?”

Bill chuckled. “A dog would be cool. Hmm.” He chewed on his lip, deep in thought. “I do like it here. I don’t have to be anyone but myself. The Bill I am in New York? He’s kind of...fake. Do you think I enjoy being a badass asshole all the time? It’s exhausting. Your mom’s tough in her own way, but in our line of work, you have to dial it up. You have to harden yourself, or you’ll get railroaded and stomped out real quick.”

Giancarlo nodded, in understanding.

“But yeah,” Bill continued, “my wife and kid are at swimming lessons right now, for fuck’s sake. It’s suburban as hell, but trying to rebel at my age? That’d be pathetic. When I was a shitty little punk kid, I thought the status quo was the enemy,” he said, lining a shot at the target and taking it. “But I was a little wrong about it. You don’t have to fall in line with the cookie-cutter life. It’s about figuring out what works for you.” He shrugged. “And it’s not like I can’t still listen to the old music. But it’s the mid-nineties now, though. Hip-hop is the thing making conservatives clutch their pearls. That’s the new punk, I think.”

“Yeah, it kind of is!”

“Yeah,” Bill chuckled. “I like it. Gets the old, closed-minded people squirming, and that means something, I guess. If it’s making them react, it’s doing what it’s supposed to do.” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I went off a bit, but I’m only saying this because change is inevitable, you know? Your thoughts change, your life changes, but if you fight it, life will drop something so fucked up on your lap the only way out is through, or you’re de—” he caught himself, swallowing the word. “Left behind. You don’t ever want to get to that point. And you won’t, because you’re a smart kid. All that to say, yeah. I like it here. Alma made a good call, landing us in this place.”

“Right, right, and was this something you’ve been wanting to get off your chest lately or—” He laughed.

“You asked, smartass!” Bill shot back, grinning. “Don’t act so fucking cool now just because you got pussy for the first time in your life last night. That’s nothing.”

“Not the first time, technically!” Giancarlo replied, sounding a little offended.

“A finger bang doesn’t count, Gian.”

“The hell it doesn’t!” he laughed.

“You don’t even know,” Bill laughed, shaking his head. “You don’t even know, that’s all I’ll say.”

“Don’t know what?”

“Well, that’s for you to find out. Not all girls are the same. You’ll know when you know. Anyway, let’s shoot the rest of these bullets. I don’t want to be out here when Alma and Echo come.”

“Are you not allowed?” he asked Bill while he pointed the gun at the target.

“Eh, she worries about the neighbors, as if they’re so close by.” He rolled his eyes. “I say fuck them,” he said, pulling the trigger.

Later that evening they were all in the den, all except Bill, who was having one of his work calls with Bianca in the office. Alma warmed up pizza rolls, brought chips, and made root beer floats for the family movie night. Echo was busy passing her tiny troll dolls to Giancarlo to hold while she arranged her stuffed animals in front of the entertainment center. However, she quickly became distracted by the chips and French onion dip, leaving Giancarlo stuck holding the plastic toys in his hands.

“Did you have a good time riding around in the Mustang today?” Alma asked him, lying against the armrest on the opposite side of him.

She wore Bill’s oversized hoodie again, paired with biker shorts, her bare feet digging into fluffy throw pillows. Though she was mindful of dressing more modestly since they had a young guest, Giancarlo still found it strange to see her like this. He respectfully kept his gaze above her shoulders, especially in the mornings when she wore tight tank tops and short cotton shorts. It wasn’t difficult for him—he remembered a few times when, as a much younger boy, he and Lorenzo had to accompany his mother to work when their father "forgot" to take them some weekends. They would wait in the locker rooms with homework before them. Though the other dancers did their best to cover up, knowing the children were there, his mother had trained her boys to always keep their eyes down regardless.

Giancarlo nodded, setting Echo’s toys on the couch cushion. “It’s real fast.” He chuckled.

“Did he let you drive it?” She smirked.

“Just around this neighborhood. My dad is a trucker, you know, but honestly, I’ve only driven a handful of times.”

Alma’s jaw dropped. A boy from Brooklyn wouldn’t have much driving experience, when there was the subway and taxis galore to get around. “You didn’t tell Bill that, did you?” Giancarlo sheepishly shook his head, making her laugh. “I wouldn’t have either. How was your week here, though?” she asked, taking a sip of her float. “Did we work you too hard? Are you ready to go home?”

“No, I liked working at the shop! I liked working with Darby. He’s a cool guy, showing me stuff and all that. He told me he used to be an English tutor.”

“He was, yeah,” Alma said, getting a few chips out of the bowl to eat.

“Yeah, well, he offered to proofread my college admission essays whenever I needed the help. I thought that was nice of him. But yeah, thanks for taking your time earlier to show me how you balance books and all that. It’s all really helpful.”

“Oh yeah, no problem,” she smiled. “It can be kinda boring, I’ll admit, but some days something comes up, and it gets a little exciting, especially when you solve it.”

“GiGi look!” Echo exclaimed, pointing at the TV when some slapstick scene played out. “So silly!”

“I think she’s really enjoyed having you around,” Alma said to Giancarlo. “She loves being a little hostess. Remember how she was on Thanksgiving, serving rolls at the dinner table?”

“Mhmm, I had like five on my plate.”

“Yeah! I think I had about that many too.” She laughed.

They fell silent, returning to the movie. Giancarlo sat back, sipping on his root beer with the vanilla ice cream half melted, wondering how he liked it. He noticed Alma repositioning herself, rubbing the side of her belly uncomfortably, as if she had gotten a belly ache. She was eating the pizza rolls rather quickly, so his only assumption fell on that.

Alma swallowed thickly, getting up from the couch. “Uhm, could you keep an eye on Echo for a sec’?

“Sure,” he nodded, noticing sweat on her upper lip.

She entered the downstairs bathroom and opened the mirrored cabinet, reaching for a bottle of Pepto-Bismol. She made herself queasy from eating too quickly. As she took a swig directly from the bottle, the thick, neon-pink liquid hit her tongue, but when she tried to swallow, her stomach churned. She coughed and spit into the sink, tears stinging her eyes. Suddenly, a loud, long burp escaped her, bringing the relief she was seeking. Still, for good measure, she took another shot of Pepto, but this time she shot back like a shot of chilled tequila, and she was able to hold it down.

They were laughing at a funny bit in the movie when the downstairs phone rang. Alma looked down the hall where it sat in annoyance.

“I can answer it.” Giancarlo offered.

“Nah, just let it ring. We don’t take calls after nine.”

The ringing cut off, then started up again. Alma got up to take the receiver off the unit to prevent it from ringing again. Just as she reached for it, the phone stopped mid-ring, only to blare again a moment later.

“What the fuck?” she muttered.

Upstairs in the office, Bill heard the incoming call tone on his line while speaking to Bianca. He ignored the red flashing light since he was wrapping up his call with her anyway.

“I’ll talk to you later. Thanks for caring for my baby,” Bianca said. “I’m ready for him to be home, though.”

“Mhmm. It’s no problem, we have a room he can have if he decides he doesn’t want to get on the plane.” He heard his pager beep in the drawer, and it made his brows raise.

“Yeah, no way!”

When he got off the call with Bianca, he went to press the call waiting button, surprised it remained flashing this long. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Darby.”

“What’s up?”

“Have you seen the news? Are you near a TV?” Darby asked, still at the shop as he closed up. He was distracted by Kurt Loder from MTV News, whose voice filled the store, continuously updating viewers on the breaking story.

“What’s going on?” Bill asked. Just then, he heard a faint scream from downstairs.

“NO!” Alma’s voice cut through the air.

“Uh, Darby, let me get back to you,” he said quickly, hanging up despite hearing Darby’s protests on the other end of the line.

Echo whined when Alma cut the movie off, holding the receiver between her ear and shoulder. It had been Ulyssa calling her from a loud dive bar payphone in Chicago. Alma, in a panic, clicked the channel button on the remote, trying to find MTV, struggling to remember the numbers to dial directly to it.

Ulyssa heard her friend gasp loudly on the phone. “No!”

“I know, it’s so fucked up!!” Ulyssa said sadly and in disbelief. “I-I don’t want to believe it! I’m so sorry, Alma!”

“What the hell is going on?” Bill asked, coming up from behind her.

She quickly got off the phone with Ulyssa and then pointed at the TV before them. “Look!”

Kurt Loder was on the TV, and on the screen to the right was a photo of the lead singer who performed at the secret show, his birth year hyphenated with the current year, 1995, just below.

Bill furrowed his brows, looking a bit shocked. “He’s dead? What the fuck happened?”

“He OD’d,” Giancarlo informed him.

“For fuck's sake!” He grumbled, running a hand through his hair, and looked back at Alma.

Her hand was clasped over her mouth, and he noticed tears silently streaming down her cheeks. Unsure of what to say, he scratched his brow. Sure, she was a fan, and they had shared a moment, but a rock star overdosing wasn’t new, unfortunately. Not only that, she wasn’t someone who came to tears so easily. She glanced up at him briefly before hurrying off, and he caught the sound of a sob escaping her once she reached the hallway.

When Bill turned toward Giancarlo, he noticed a look of concern on his face. “She’ll be okay. Uh, could you watch E’? I need to call Darby back. Fuck…” he muttered, running a hand through his hair again.

Even though it was after hours, they were all on their way to the record store. Darby had informed Bill over the phone that some fans of the band were beginning to gather outside the shop. Bill was annoyed by that, but in some way he understood. The band and its poetic, melancholic, deep-thinking lead singer had been important to a lot of people and to the town they hailed from. Since their iconic homecoming show, every now and again Bill would be asked by customers or out-of-town fans of that night. And he would be happy to share, recognizing the impact it had and proud of his wife's part in it.

“Is that the news?” Giancarlo asked, pointing out the window as they drove past the front of the shop.

“Shit, yeah, it is…” Alma said, leaning over to peer through Bill’s window.

“How are they able to do this so fast?” Bill muttered, his eyes catching the flicker of tea candles lit on the walkway, along with pictures of the singer, clearly ripped from magazines and taped to poster boards. Fans had already turned the front of his shop into an impromptu memorial, and now even the local news was covering it. He shook his head, half in disbelief. "It’s like they were waiting for something like this to happen.”

At first, Bill had considered waiting until morning to check on the shop, but now he was glad he’d come to see it for himself. The scene outside was somber, a group of fans gathered together, hugging, crying, and singing the band’s songs softly in unison.

He sighed, doubtful that they’d even be able to open the shop tomorrow. This wasn’t just a memorial—it was quickly turning into a vigil, and it didn’t look like it would end anytime soon.

Alma gently lifted Echo from her car seat, disturbing her from her sleep. “Shh, baby, it’s okay,” she cooed softly. Echo stirred, her little hands clutching Alma’s dress. Alma had dressed her in her princess nightgown, anticipating that Echo might need to sleep in the office for a while tonight, unsure how long this unexpected trip would take.

“We can go in around the back,” Bill pointed out to Giancarlo while they stood looking at the commotion as he put his black cap on.

Alma passed Echo off to Bill, the little girl fussing in his arms until she shifted, resting her cheek comfortably on his shoulder. He glanced at Alma, who took a deep breath, visibly steadying herself. She slipped on a jean jacket over her casual black and white plaid spaghetti-strap dress, which she had thrown on hastily before they left the house.

“Can I go on ahead?” Giancarlo asked, his curiosity piqued by the growing memorial. More people were showing up, some carrying grocery store bouquets, others with bottles of Jack Daniel's in hand, paying tribute in their own way.

Bill nodded. “Right behind you.” Once Giancarlo left, he turned to Alma, his voice soft. “You gonna be okay?”

Alma shrugged indifferently. “Yeah.” Then, after a pause, she let out a bitter laugh. “What a fucking cliché.”

“Mhmm,” Bill agreed quietly, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze before leading them forward.

Another news station was set up in front of the store, and Bill sighed internally, seeing the situation's full weight.

“Is it a show, Papa?” Echo asked curiously. “Is it a party?”

“Put your head down, baby,” he whispered to Echo, who was looking around, intrigued by the gathering, and gently guided her head to rest on his shoulder again. He didn’t want her on some news broadcast for something so grim. Instead, he kept his focus straight ahead as he navigated through the crowd.

“Look GiGi!” she hollered at Giancarlo, who walked a little ahead of them as they made their way down the alley where the large mural of Echo adorned the side of the building. “Look at me, GiGi!” Her elated demeanor stood in stark contrast to the somber tone of the night, but as a child, she just didn’t understand. Her parents preferred it that way. “It me!”

When they entered through the back door, Darby greeted them as he chose to stay, to watch the store not out of loyalty alone but also out of curiosity. He was a big fan as well, but he was just mostly deeply disappointed.

After taking a few calls and trying to prevent the memorial from spilling in front of the door, they all found themselves on the roof, where they could discreetly watch over the gathering below.

“That reporter was the first one here,” Darby pointed with the two fingers holding his cigarette at a smartly dressed woman in a muted red suit dress. “I think that’s what started everyone making their way here. I overheard her mentioning that there were fans gathered at his house and even at his childhood home in Olympia. The current owners had to check into a hotel because of the crowd outside their house.”

Alma sighed loudly as she watched the police arrive, trying to clear people off the road. She perched carefully on the ledge beside Giancarlo, watching the scene below them.

“You know, a girl at the party I went to told me how she tried to get into the show they had here,” Giancarlo said, turning to Alma.

“Yeah, I bet. Everyone and their mother tried to get into the show. Quite crazy—stressful,” she raised her brows. “People stayed outside just to hear what they could. Just happy to even feel the vibrations.”

“That’s what she ended up doing.”

“Too bad she wasn’t your friend then, I would have let her in,” she smirked. “Was she nice?” Bill had only confirmed to her that he had met a girl when he was out later but nothing more.

“She was,” he blushed. “Uh, are you going to talk to the news?” He pointed below, his expression curious.

She grimaced, contemplating the question. “I don’t know. There’s not much to say. I just booked them here for a show. Once.”

Bill, overhearing her, chimed in, “It was a damn good show, though. It got this shop on the map.”

“That’s true,” Darby agreed, nodding in affirmation.

“Yeah… I don’t know, not tonight,” Alma replied, giving Bill a pointed look. “You could always talk to them too.”

“I could. But not tonight,” he winked at her, taking a puff of his cigarette.

"Sorry, the end of your trip turned out to be such a bummer,” she turned to Giancarlo, playfully nudging him.

“Eh. This is like history, though, is it not? Like Jim Morrison or something?”

“Shit… Maybe bigger than that,” Darby said.

….

A week had passed, and things at Sheisty Sound Records had settled somewhat. The store had been closed for three days; it just wasn’t feasible to operate with so many people crowding the storefront. However, they managed to coexist with the mourners, who were welcomed and agreed to be mindful of crowding the front door. To maintain crowd control, they decided to cancel an upcoming gig and replace it with an album listening party for the band, which they hosted alongside BUZ’R FM, instead. All three studio albums, along with their EPs and b-sides, played in order, filling the store with familiar fuzzy guitars and smooth gravelly vocals.

Alma had left the listening party early with Echo; using her kid as an excuse as to why. Bill stayed behind at the shop, he could tell she was tired, just like she had been lately, but that evening she looked even more drained than usual. When he walked her to her Jeep, she even looked pale and clammy. Before shutting her door, he asked if she was alright, and she seemed rather annoyed over his concern.

“Yeah…” she said dismissively. “This is all just—a lot. Depressing.”

It was the following morning after the listening party. Bill emerged from the basement, where he had been lifting weights, and crossed paths with Alma and Echo on his way to the shower. Alma looked more refreshed, even glowing, which reignited those nagging suspicions in his mind. After his quick shower, he joined his family in the kitchen. Echo was busy helping by placing slices of iron-rich bread into the toaster, her small hand pushing the lever down as she giggled with excitement.

“I try?” Echo asked eagerly when she saw her mother crack an egg into a bowl.

Bill heard Alma clear her throat as he reached into the fridge for orange juice, and he noticed her looking at the golden yolk and clear whites with slight disgust.

“Yeah, you can do the last one,” she offered, her tone encouraging as she assisted Echo in positioning the egg for cracking.

She watched the yolk and whites plop in the bowl, joining the others, and it deepened her disgust. Alma told her daughter to take a seat at the breakfast nook to join her father. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Alma braced herself to whisk the eggs with a fork. Her stomach churned, and her mouth began to water at the sight. With a quick decision, she poured the mixture onto the hot skillet, hoping that cooking the eggs would somehow make them less unsightly.

Bill was engaged in conversation with Echo, who was intently listening to him explain a cartoon strip from the newspaper, when he suddenly heard Alma gag loudly. He turned to her and noticed her cheeks were flushed, a sheen of sweat glistening on her upper lip.

She turned away, embarrassed. “Can you do this?” Bill nodded, laying the newspaper down, and swiftly taking over the hot pan. “I can’t with the fucking eggs today,” she muttered under her breath before heading upstairs to the bathroom.

As she climbed the stairs, her stomach continued to churn, and she swallowed hard against the rising nausea, feeling the cold sweat bead on her brow. Once inside, she leaned against the cool surface of the sink, trying to steady her breathing. The image of the whisked uncooked eggs, their slimy texture, and the odd wet, raw smell, flashed in her mind, and she wretched.

Running to the toilet, she spat and coughed, but nothing came out. Her stomach was empty, and all she felt was the sting of stomach acid burning her esophagus. She groaned, wiping her sweaty forehead with the back of her hand, then walked back to the sink, rinsing her mouth with mouthwash. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled and looked at her reflection in the mirror before her, but she quickly looked away.

Her reflection looked accusatory, and she couldn’t handle that at this moment. She had noticed how Bill had been watching her for a while now, his concerned glances lingering a bit too long. His constant questions about whether she was okay—questions she couldn’t answer with complete honesty but always deflected with a reassuring "yes" to ease his worries. The sinking feeling of her denial settled in alongside a rising tide of fear.

Bill and Echo ate breakfast downstairs, enjoying each other's company. Alma never returned to join them, which he really didn’t appreciate, but he brushed it off. All his sneaking suspicions of her being pregnant now seem glaring after how pale she looked from cooking some perfectly fine eggs. Now that was something. That wasn’t something you could easily explain away.

“Papa,” Echo said, tugging at his arm while he was distracted in thought. “I play on the tris-tricky…”

“The tricycle,” he said, helping her.

“Yeah!” She grinned. “Tric-tr…”

“Tricycle,” he enunciated again, a bit more clearly.

“Tri-sick-caul,” she repeated with concentration.

“Yeah, you got it,” he smiled. “We can do that later. If you eat more of the fruit on your plate,” he pointed before stealing a piece of watermelon.

“Where’s Mama?” She asked, scrunching her eyes.

He hummed, taking a bite of his toast. “I think she went back to sleep.”

“She sooooo sleepies. All da’ time,” she mentioned, scooping ketchup-covered scrambled eggs onto her spoon. She managed to get most of it into her mouth, but with her other hand, she pushed stray bits of egg past her lips.

Bill slightly raised a brow. If she noticed that, then maybe he wasn’t overanalyzing so much.

When they finished their meal, he brought out the playpen to the living room and put Echo in it. She didn’t like it too much anymore, as she said it was for babies and felt too old for it.

“Just for a little bit,” he told Echo. “I’ll be right back,” he stressed. “I hope to see you still in here when I do.”

“Mm,” she lightly frowned, pushing against the rail.

“Echo, it’s just for a little bit. Okay? For me?”

“Okay, Papa,” she pouted but plopped down and accepted it.

Bill entered the bedroom and found Alma, cocooned in the thick eggplant-colored duvet, her body curled tightly into itself. He bit his lip, uncertain of how to approach her. He decided to lay next to her in bed, getting on her level, just as he did when comforting Echo. With one arm resting behind his head, he turned his gaze toward her. Though her eyes were closed, he could hear her soft whimpers of discomfort, signaling that she wasn’t asleep. Her nausea persisted, and a headache had settled in, making her retreat inward. She clearly wanted to be left alone, but when he touched her forehead as if to check her temperature, she slowly opened her eyes and looked up at him.

“Are you okay?” He asked gently.

Alma’s irritation flashed in her eyes, her voice sharp. “God, you keep asking! Yes, I’ll be fine.”

Bill's lip curled, clearly offended by her tone, but he softened after a beat. “Alma. I have to ask you a question. Are you pregnant? I’m so serious right now. Are you?”

She paused, uncertain. “I don’t know?”

Bill sighed, frustration creeping into his voice. “You’ve been a little off lately. Strange symptoms you’ve never had. Last week, you sobbed over—”

“Really?” Alma interrupted, her tone defensive.

“You don’t cry easily. You cried more about a rock star who OD’d than you did during the wedding speech I gave you.”

Alma rose to her knees, her frustration spilling over. "You cannot be serious! Are you still jealous he kissed my hand?! I’ll cut it off if you want me to!" she snapped.

Bill's expression hardened as he sat up. "Now you're not being serious!" he accused, his voice rising. "I asked you a genuine question, and you can't answer me!"

She rolled her eyes, brushing off his concern. "I would be a little off, honestly, now that you want to point it out. This is the second guy who’s kissed me, who’s fucking dead now! So maybe you should watch out." Her voice was thick with sarcasm as she crawled out of bed.

Bill followed her, his expression firm. "Don’t be funny," he said, looking down at her sternly. "I didn’t come here to fight. If we could just buy a test, that’s all I’m asking." His voice softened, but the seriousness remained in his gaze.

“I don’t want to!” Alma blurted, her voice cracking as tears welled up in her eyes. Bill was taken aback, his chest tightening as he saw her visibly upset. She blinked back tears, her breath shaky. “I’m scared,” she admitted with a soft whisper.

Bill took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed. His head was bowed, looking a bit defeated. “I’ve been trying to be understanding. I just—this is new to me,” he said softly, looking up at her with tired eyes. “I’m not trying to dredge up old shit, but that’s the truth. You’ve been through this before, and you know your body, I get that, but this is my first time. For all of it.”

Alma’s defensive posture eased. “I’m sorry," she whispered. "I just want it to happen so badly, and I feel like the more I want it, the less likely it’ll happen. So I-I keep it in,” she explained, pressing a balled fist against her chest. “I get so scared to be as excited as you when I take those tests. I hate disappointing you.”

Bill reached for her, guiding her to sit on his lap. “If it’s only ever us and Echo, I’m more thankful and happy for it. You two are more than enough.” He paused for a moment, his voice softening. “Maybe… I’m just asking for too much?”

Alma wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tightly. She swallowed hard, her voice heavy with emotion. “No… it’s not too much,” she replied sadly. “I want another little baby too. Echo needs a sibling; she can’t be alone when we’re gone. It’s not fair.”

Bill stared up at the ceiling, trying to distance himself from the overwhelming feelings her words stirred in him. He knew how deeply personal those thoughts were to Alma, and they made his heart ache for her.

“So,” he began, clearing his throat to regain some composure, “you’ll just let me know? Please, if there’s any thought that you might be... tell me?”

Alma nodded slowly. “I’ll take a test if you get it.”

“Really?” Bill asked, surprised by her willingness.

“Yes… but tomorrow,” she said softly. “Clean slate.”

He took a deep breath, relieved. “Okay. Yeah.”

~~~

Bill took Echo out on her tricycle after lunch, guiding her as they circled the arched driveway.

“Pedal harder!” he encouraged while he jogged backward. “Or you’re never going to beat me!”

Her giggles filled the air as she tried to pedal faster, her little legs moving frantically, determined to race past him. He laughed too, amused by her effort.

Meanwhile, Alma sat in the living room folding laundry, glancing out the window as she watched Bill and Echo playing together. However, her thoughts were miles away, consumed by memories of her mother. She felt for her in a way she hadn’t fully grasped before. The struggles her mother had endured with her father now seemed so much clearer.

Alma’s heart weighed heavy, understanding now, even if only just a fraction of what her mother must have gone through—the stress, disappointment, and the unbearable feeling of inadequacy. The deep desire for something that just never seemed to come, no matter how badly it was wanted, until Alma. She was their miracle, she knew they loved her so much, but sometimes she felt that she was never the daughter they had wished her to be.

Privately, Alma enjoyed how things were now. It had been nearly two years since Bill moved to Seattle. And after a year in their home, they finally felt settled. She and Bill had found a comfortable rhythm, a groove, shaped by their routines around Echo. Though she wanted a baby, the thought that everything could change tomorrow was daunting. It scared her.

Outside, Bill’s boot rested lightly on the back wheel of Echo’s tricycle as he made revving sounds, causing the bike to jerk playfully. He watched her giggle as she pedaled hard when he let off, and the same thought crossed his mind. He loved these moments with her, and though he'd never put Echo to the side if a new baby came into the picture, he knew these times—just the three of them—were fleeting.

TBC

#bill skarsgard #my bill writings #avenue of sins #aos #aos neon

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