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perpetuelledaydreaming · 4 months ago

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Mamma mia | chapter six

listen to: Cinnamon Girl - Lana del Rey | Look at us now - Daisy Jones & The Six (playlist here)

warnings: accidental pregnancy, smut 18+, raising a child alone. warnings will be added as the story progresses.

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fi!!

Your eyes flutter open to find the purple tile of the bathroom being washed in sunlight, washing your legs, too, reflecting it directly into your eyes. You frown slightly before closing your eyes again. The sun is not pouring through the window yet, not wholly, and yet you feel everything is too warm, too hot. You squirm desperately again, searching for relief. It is only as you take in the sounds outside, waves crashing melodically against the sand, birds chirping, that you take in the soft snoring.

Opening your eyes wide, you let them fall to your legs. It is then that you see his long legs spilling from the bathtub. With a gasp, you stand up from Bradley's Bradshaw's chest; turning around, you watch him sleeping. Shirt gone, he is standing in his boxers, deep in his sleep. You had lost consciousness in the Hard Deck; you're still determining how you ended up here. Not quite sure how you ended up slotted between his thighs, laying on his chest, his arm seemingly wrapping around your middle. Checking your body, you realize you're now in his Hawaiian shirt but still with your bikini on, yet he is a furnace.

He barely stirs as you move his arms and do your best to get out of the shower. It is only until you stand up that a piercing pain goes through your head.

"Fuck," you whisper to yourself.

You shouldn't have drunk that much, you stare at yourself in the mirror. Tan skin, along with some red spots, especially on your shoulders, although you should've known better. You stare at yourself, curlier hair than the night before, red cheeks from the heat of him, deep into thoughts as you gaze at the man in your bathtub, sleeping soundly. He's golden, caramel in his eyes and curls, and his tan skin.

Your stomach is all in knots as you watch him. You pray you haven't slept with him as you watch his jeans on the floor. You don't want to forget your first time. And then you frown; he wouldn't have taken you to bed; he knew how drunk you were; you were still wearing your bikini, and yet. Fear floods your body as you think about it; anger fogs your senses.

It is almost involuntarily how you stomp through the bathroom, reach the tap, and suddenly turn the water on. Bradley's a deep sleeper, you realize. It takes him a second, a frown with his eyes still closed, to feel the ice water hitting his stomach. And then he screams as he stands up from the shower.

"What the actual fuck?" Rooster groans as he launches himself out of the tub, droplets of water glistening on his golden skin, looking away from you. Drenching his boxers, leaving little to the imagination.

"Did we have sex?" you demand as you stare at his baffled features. It annoys you even further, as your eyes involuntarily go down to his boxers. "I was completely black out!" you yell, swatting your hand against his bicep.

"We didn't- What, what are you talking about!?" Bradley's voice rumbles, breathing deeply as he tries not to shiver from the water. It felt like needles in his skin, but he still turned to you.

Lifting his gaze from his wet body to find you there. Brows pinched together, lips twisted in a certain way, glaring beautiful eyes. He'd forgotten for a second how lovely you were in the haze of the feeling of ice on his skin, but then, there you are. And he recalls how warm you were yesterday, your smile, your skin against his.

And then, you keep screaming.

"I woke up, and you're naked!"

It takes him a few seconds until what you're implying dawns on him.

"You told me to take my pants off!" he answers as he now glares at you, too, scowling.

Your eyes widen at his words. There's no way you could've asked him; you'd passed out. You should've been in your bed, not naked with someone in the bathroom. A smile tugs on Bradley's lips as he watches your eyes widen. Indeed, not the confident girl at the bar he'd been chasing all night is now taking it back, completely unaware of her actions.

"Why would I do that!?" you shake your head, shoving at his shoulders, but then his hands curl on your hips, guiding you closer to him. You can smell him, the beer, and the cinnamon as your cheeks burn up.

"You said you wanted a shower because you'd puked," he answers with a quick smile as he examines your features, avoiding his gaze. "I agreed, but you told me that I had to take my pants off if I wanted to get you in the shower,"

"Oh, and you listened to me? Such a gentleman," you answer sarcastically.

Bradley rolls his eyes playfully and continues. "I helped you wash, respectfully; when you got cold, I gave you my shirt because I couldn't find a towel, and then you pushed me in the bathtub, kissed me, and told me that you were too sleepy," he says, a smirk playing on his lips. You swallow hard as he takes your chin between his thumb and index fingers, lifting your gaze towards him. "I was drunk too, so I agreed, we just fell asleep,"

You remember how handsome he is, with his golden halo surrounding him. He is also sweet, so sweet that you feel your heartbeat picking up.

"If you don't believe me, ask your friends. They were watching the whole thing," he says softer.

Your eyes widen even more; quickly, you turn away and run towards the spiral staircase, looking for the ones who should've been taking care of you. And not him, not the handsome pilot with barely any clothes on.

"August! James!" you scream as you run down the staircase. You hiss slightly at the light and loudness of your own voice, your headache screaming at you.

Over there, on the kitchen table, you take in the scene. Still, in yesterday's bikinis with blankets and a men's t-shirt over their bodies, they scowl as you walk towards them. You don't mind the other pilot in the kitchen cooking breakfast for the two of them. You simply sit down loudly on your new spot at the table.

"What the hell?" you demand.

"Ugh, Honey, lower," James groans as she closes her eyes, fingers lightly massaging her temples. August drinks the green juice before her; she barely gets it down before gagging.

"Did I have sex with him?" you ask as you watch Rooster walking down the stairs, buttoning his jeans up and staring at you with a hint of mischief.

"You were too drunk to stand up, even less to ride someone," James groans.

Your cheeks turn red as you hear Bradley snickering to himself as he sits next to you, almost too calm, too relaxed, waiting for his breakfast. He has a large smile on his lips as he gazes at you. He checks you out, unashamed of whatever you've been thinking. Your heartbeat picks up as you watch that smile.

"We were too. That's why we only watched," August finally says as she gasps happily when her pilot places a plate of eggs in front of her.

"Yeah, I watched too," the other pilot says.

You frown at him.

"Mickey, don't," August whispers to him.

"See?" Bradley says as he gets closer to you, his eyes shining, and you can't help it. The corner of your lips tugs slightly.

"We tried to force you to your bed, but you told us he was too comfortable," James continues to explain as she lets out a satisfied whimper and takes a bite of the eggs the other pilot serves.

"Just have breakfast," August continues as the pilot, Mickey, finishes serving the rest of you and sits with Augustine, kissing her forehead and eating.

Turning, you see him. Caramel eyes are still glued to your face, a playful smirk still adorns his face, and those tan arms are big and robust as he leans into you. You press your thighs together as you think of him caring for you. Your mind wanders to the freckles under his eyes, the glow of the remaining droplets of water in his skin, and the scar on his cheek. You bite your inner cheek.

"Can I have my t-shirt?" he whispers to you playfully. Your eyes widen, and you quickly take the shirt off, wanting to wipe away that shit-eating grin on his face, leaving you barely naked with that skimpy bikini. He chuckles as you throw his shirt at him while his eyes wander your body. "You're a strange girl, Honey,"

"Shut up,"

It is almost lunch by the time Bradley Bradshaw decides to return to base. Until now, in those hours, taking breakfast before settling the discussion, who would listen to a drunk girl unconscious for thirty minutes before asking them to get naked. After that, you got to know him better. He was into baseball when he was young; he always knew he wanted to be a pilot. He'd lived in San Diego when he was younger, just for a little while. He only talked about his mother, and there was no mention of his father. You wondered if he had left them, as you heard a story about his mother and him in the supermarket when they moved to Virginia.

The story had you at seams, Augustine and James too. You were in tears as you'd spent most of the morning talking. And yet, between laughter, you could see him, truly see him. He seemed almost too friendly and happy to be a kid without a present father. Still, there was a sense of nostalgia in him; something was missing. You were thinking about it as he leaned against your door's frame.

"You know, I think you and your friends make a nice family," Bradley says. He holds upwards to your door's frame, clinging onto this, lingering for you. He doesn't want to leave.

It's a strange comment; your chin wobbles slightly as you take it in. You'd never thought of this being your family per se. James and August are family, but it seemed strange. You thought you'd have a family only until you got married. You didn't even know if you wanted children. But now you bought a house with friends, take care of each other, and always be there for them. They are your family.

"Thank you,"

A beat of silence lingers as you watch him. You don't want him to leave either, not when he had you laughing so hard that your whole body was aching, not when he was so warm that you could feel his heat even feet away from you.

"So, are you playing another day at the Hard Deck?"

His face lights up. He nods, chewing on his bottom lip. Your heart was melting at how you looked at him through your lashes, softly and meekly, even hours before you were about to kick him out of the house. He does his best to clear his throat to not seem so excited.

He fails. It only makes your chest wound tight with excitement.

"I'll play whenever you want, any song, wherever you want," he says.

Wetting his lips with his tongue, he looks downwards, reaching tentatively at your naked hip. He breathes deeply, glancing up at your face, as he curls his fingers and guides you towards him. Your eyes are on his face, body compliant as you fall against his chest but quickly climb on your tiptoes to kiss him.

Closing your eyes in anticipation, he exhales softly before leaning down and kissing you softly. It is not like the day before. There is not the same sense of urgency—well, there is—but now it is more tender, as if he is afraid he could break you.

You don't mind it yet; you could, but you don't now. You want this, for now, tender and soft.

"Come here next Sunday," you whisper, pulling away. "You'll prepare breakfast this time,"

Bradley's smile widens. "Done deal," he says as he taps your hip softly. "See you next Sunday, Honey," he says, leaning down again and pressing his lips against you.

"Honey, there's someone on the phone for you," James says just as Bradley pulls away and walks away from the Porsche. You linger for a moment, watching him get in his bronco. "Honey," James calls once more.

You ran quickly to the sunroom, and James held your newly charged phone in her hand. Swiftly, you took it from her hands and whined slightly at the cast on your other hand. It had been through hell in the past few days.

"Hello?"

"Honey?" your eyes widen as you hear the way-too-young-looking pilot with brownish golden locks and lashes so long that they touch his gold-framed glasses on the other side saying.

"Bob, hi," you whisper, as if not to alert James or Augustine. Quickly, you walk away from the sunroom into the living room. "I never thought I'd hear from you again,"

"I'm sorry. I tried your cellphone all weekend, and it didn't," he says in a drawl. You remember he was from the South but then moved to California. It makes your stomach twist to think that he'd been calling you while you were kissing two other men.

"No, I'm sorry," you answer. "I was careless,"

"Thank you," he answers honestly, as if he is surprised that you admit it. You smile to yourself. "I wanted to, uhm," he stumbles over his words as you bite your cheek, waiting patiently for the boy who tasted like peaches and smelled like apricot to say that he wanted to see you. "Ask you if you remember that date we talked about?"

"Yes,"

"Oh," he states. "I was wondering how about Saturday?"

"June 14th?"

"Yeah,"

You gaze at the ocean through the kitchen windows. You're last summer, and you want to be careful not to hurt anyone, but dates can't hurt. It's something for the summer, nothing permanent, you tell yourself.

"It's a date,"

SEVEN YEARS LATER

"Mommy, can we go to the water?"

Rising your eyes from your book, you gaze at your daughter. In her little pink swimsuit, her pink plush lips with a broad smile, her button nose, her caramel-greenish eyes, her brownish-golden in disarray with sand on it. You could never be tired of watching her smile.

Quickly, with the permanent smile on your face since the day she was born, you pull her into your thighs, pecking her neck and cheeks as she shrieks excitedly. Squirming under your hands, her laughter rumbles through your spot on the beach. Augustine and James smile at the scene as Augustine leaves Inés' toys that they were playing with in the sand, and James leaves her book down.

"Mom!" your child chips as her giggles continue. "Please, I want to show everyone how good we swim together; there's a competition!" she says as she points at the beach.

Gazing at the coastline, you see the other children's mothers at the Summer Camp. Dread creeps into your body as you see some glaring back at you. A constant in any school or summer camp function you'd realize. You can't help but notice it, really, the occasional glances from the other mothers, their eyes conveying unspoken criticism or curiosity as they see your family.

Three women in their late 20's or early 30's -they never can tell- raising a six-year-old. No father in sight. You feel the weight of their expectations, of the backstories they invented for you. An invisible burden you've carried since the moment you became a mom.

"Your auntie James is so much better at swimming than me, my love," you say, trying to dissuade her from the flock of mothers.

"That's true, baby," James agrees as she pinches Inés' chubby cheek; she giggles in return.

"How about a stroll? And some ice cream?" You say, lowering your voice as you whisper into your child's ear. Inés' eyes light up with joy as she nods impatiently.

As you stroll along the sun-kissed beach with your daughter, the golden sands stretch out before you, warmed by the gentle caress of the afternoon sun. You watch her walking a few steps from you, heart swelling as you see the little prints of her feet on the sand, playing in the glistening shoreline.

Mine. You remember that's what you first thought when you saw her. All mine. You repeat in your head as her button nose crinkles, and she giggles while her caramel eyes with flecks of green eyes reflect the vibrant sea. You'd imagined her when you were pregnant. You'd imagined her for so long; you'd imagine her over a thousand times since the summer ended when you were left heartbroken and alone. Nine months that seemed to stretch out forever. Nine months where you thought that she might give you clues about who her father was.

The most beautiful creature in the world. You realized that she had a bit of each of them as she was placed into your arms. Now, six years later, it only scares you more as she leans down, picking shells every few steps, that you might lose her.

"Mommy, look!"

Her pink plush lips form a wide, infectious smile that could light up the entire coastline. The innocence in her laughter and the way her button nose crinkles when she giggles warm your heart. Her caramel eyes with greenish flecks, reflecting the vibrant sea, are a constant source of wonder for you, a testament to summer.

It is a testament to your broken heart, too.

That's what you thought, as you recall when Jake kissed you last Thursday.

You were surprised at first, blinking as you watched his face. His eyes shut so hard that you were sure white spots clouded his vision. He held your cheek with the tenderness that he had you with that first night you spent together. Someone who was truly in love. A part of you wants to pull away, but then he moves his lips further, and you feel your chest is about to explode. You want to comply with vigor and stay beneath his lips until you forgive him for everything.

Chapters One and Two of your relationship prevent you.

Instead, you push against his chest. Glaring at him, you barely give him time to react. The moment your palm makes contact with his cheek, your lip quivers. It takes you back. The mark he left on your collarbone. The tingle in your hard. Your throat is raw from crying and screaming. His tears. His cheek was crimson from how hard you'd hit him. It isn't as hard now, but it is still enough to make time.

Jake doesn't move. You stay still, as if you are invisible if you don't move. When he finally turns, his cheek is still hot from the contact between your and his skin. You can see her in his eyes, a fraction of him, his face layered with the faces of Bob and Bradley. All of them, painted in her smile.

"Don't ever do that, I mean it, Jake."

"Mommy, Matilda is there!" Inés gasps with excitement as she catches a glimpse of one of her friends.

Almost involuntarily, a happy sequel escapes her lips as she waves at her small friend from afar. The permanent smile on your face when you are with her only expands as you watch her more petite friend perform the same ritual as she pulls at her mother's dress and points at you.

"You want to go and play with her, my love?" you ask softly, kissing her cheek.

"Yes!" she squeals one more, her legs already moving in the air in the direction she needed to go.

Admiring the tousled, brownish-golden strands of hair that dance in the salty breeze, you let her down. A sprinkle of sand adds to the disarray as she runs towards her friend. For a second, you can savor the moment and taste it. The sun setting down, the butterscotch light turning fire, the salty air in your tongue and skin, your heart full as you watch that little creature, your happiness, your everything in the warm sand.

It is strange. How someone so novel, fresh, and unfamiliar with pain that brought you so much love could remind you of so much pain. Ghosts layer within her face, features, bearings, and speech. You can see all of them. The permanent golden halo Bradley carries, she does. She drips the kindness and tenderness that Bob had shown you and helps you with. Her attitude, her confidence, fearless nature. It has Jake all over it.

And just like that, as the sun begins to hang lower in the sky, casting a warm, honey-golden cue in the sky, they appear as apparitions from your past. You don't see them at first, too enthralled with your child to even realize that you caught their eyes. Bob was the one who saw you first; Bradley just followed his line of vision to find you there, arms crossed, one-piece pink swimsuit wrapping your body carefully, an almost transparent fabric covering your lower half. Jake half-hoped that it wasn't you once Bradley called him, not after Thursday.

You're too busy gazing at Inés, wrapped in a hazy, nostalgic light, that you don't see them coming. Not even when they are inches away can they smell the honey scent of your skin? It feels uneasy, though. There's a slight sense of discomfort. And then, it's Bradley's voice that you listen to first.

"Well, well," Bradley drawls with a sly, crooked grin. You flinch at his voice and turn towards him, his caramel eyes filled with the same spark he watched you with so many years ago. "If you aren't a sight for sore eyes,"

The golden afternoon sun is not comforting; now, it feels like a merciless spotlight, illuminating you and your past as your eyes move from one of his faces to another. The three of them, together. Your heart sinks like a stone in your chest. The mere sight of them sends a shiver down your spine.

It is as if time has folded in on itself, and suddenly, you are back to that summer. You are back seven years ago on the beach, tears falling down your eyes because of them, a whirlwind of emotions and desires entangled with the sense of dread and guilt.

A wry smile tugs at Bob's lips. "Tell me about it."

Lips quivering, dread washes over you as a heavy and suffocating sensation. It is sticky; guilt and dread and fear are sticky, so sticky that you can't seem to breathe. You'd stall them, you'd hide from them. The storm, the clouds gathering at the horizon, they were still far away enough, the tempest threatening to unleashed was kept at bay. Now, the storm, now them, they are just feet away from Inés.

You are afraid to talk momentarily as you watch them, Bradley's and Bob's satisfied and pleased smiles. They'd been trying to piece it together, the little crumbs of moments from seven years ago. How did the other fit in their memories of you? Then Jake came along. And so, they'd been looking for you; they'd been looking for answers in the weeks since they realized.

"What are you doing here? You don't have some planes to fly?" you ask, a voice harsh enough to let them know they are not welcome.

It doesn't stir them away, though. The knot in your stomach tightens as you speak, and your palms grow clammy with anxiety.

A heavy sigh escapes Bradlye's lips. "Part of it, Honey," he says as he points to other pilots at the beach, all playing a game.

"God," you let out.

It sounds like a curse, and it's meant like a curse. Each passing second is like a relentless drumbeat, counting down to the inevitable confrontation. The dread grows as you silently pray that Inés can stay with Matilda long enough for them to leave.

And yet, there's no sight of them leaving.

Bradley and Bob share a knowing look. Jake remains in the back, avoiding your gaze, almost ashamed. Bradley, anything but ashamed, gives another step closer to you.

"You know, we've been talking and thinking. We should all really talk about that summer, huh?" His words feel like velvet caressing your ear, and you raise your eyebrows.

"Why?" your voice trembles with defiance and trepidation.

Bradley huffs with a chuckle, shaking his head softly. "Just really wondering how you dated all of us, and I only knew about Jake."

Jake bit his cheek briefly, glaring at Bradley as he finally raised his head. Jake doesn't like Bradshaw's cocky grin since Jake finally told him that he was involved too; he wanted it less when he realized that Bradley knew about you and him. You never told him, Bradley had said. He'd figured it out. Jake doesn't know the details of it, and he still doesn't want to, like when he realized seven years ago that Bradley had stayed at your house. It is still a stomach-sick-inducing feeling.

It lingers on Jake's tongue as he finally intervenes.

"I knew about the two of you," Jake interrupts, gazing at Bob and Bradley, who turn towards him. Your face is petrified as his eyes finally lock with yours.

Bob raises an inquisitive brow, genuine surprise in his eyes. "I didn't know about either of you," he murmurs.

Swallowing hard as you cross your arms in front of your chest as if it would assure you any kind of protection, you glare at the three of them. The air was heavy with unspoken emotion.

"There's no way I am discussing this right now," you spit, giving a step back, heart racing as you pray they don't see her.

"Honey, you can't keep running away from this," Bradley says, a hint of a smile playing on his chest.

Amused that they've caught you, but Jake can see the desperation creeping into your eyes.

"Can't you leave me alone? It was seven years ago; you shouldn't care about this,"

Bob perceives it as soon as the last word almost breaks your voice. His eyebrows pinch immediately, concern drawn on his features. Bradley just notices as you begin to blink faster; he knows you; he knows that there's something wrong. The tension from the air still lingers as it dawns on all her unease. Concern flickers in their eyes; you can see it.

"Honey, just listen,"

"Mommy!"

Her small, sweet voice breaks through everything. Through their thoughts, through the conversation. It cuts the air you are breathing; it goes through your heart. You stay still, staring at their faces, scattered. They look scattered as they search for the source of the voice. You can hear her little steps in the ocean and feel them in the ground. You can always feel her. For a second, you hope she doesn't come, so you don't turn around; you hope she might get distracted.

But she's too determined, intelligent, or small to perceive these things. You know she feels you; she's concerned when you don't turn around. You think a crack as you refuse to look at her. But then, she's next to you, and her tiny voice cracks.

"Mommy?"

"Did she say..." Bradley whispers brows pinched together and jaw open.

The realization hits them like a bolt of lightning, as every fiber in your body snaps. You can't just look at them anymore; it's so natural. Your body vibrates, and your heart tightens as you lean down to look at your baby girl. Inés's brows are upwards in the middle, and her caramel eyes with green flecks are dripping with concern.

"Is she talking to..."

You quickly lean down and pick her up, holding her against your hip as fast as you can and pressing her body against you.

"My love," you whisper to her as you press your forehead against hers. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you," you lie as you place strands of her blondish brunette behind her ears.

She gives you a kind smile, the kind you know she gives you when you know she doesn't believe you or agree. It is strange; you never thought you could read someone's thoughts, but then again, what kind of mother would you be. She's not saying anything; what brought her here suddenly left in the past. Now, she's focused on something else, someone else, three of them.

It dawns on you what they are looking at, and you wish you could avoid their gaze, but you can't. Not when Inés looks up at the three men with wide, innocent eyes. Utterly unfazed by their presence.

"Who are your friends?" she asks.

And then you finally look up. Seeing they're almost permanently with golden skin, they're all pale as a ghost. Their eyes are too enthralled with the issue, given that you have a daughter who is old enough to ask these things. That you are with a child when, seven years prior, you'd told them that you didn't know if you wanted a child. You are with a child, without a ring on your finger, and they are watching her, seeing themselves in her.

"These are Bob, Rooster, and Hangman, baby," you say softly, nonchalantly, as if not to raise any alarms. Inés, no longer hiding her face, gazes at them curiously. It's strange how quickly you press her tighter to your chest as if to hide her.

But there's no hiding it because you know what they are seeing, and they all know what you are thinking because they are considering it, too.

Jake knows she has something about his striking green eyes, the flecks on them, all too Seresin. His nieces have those eyes, too.

Bradley, god, Bradley could recognize that smile anywhere. It's the same as the one he had at that age and the one Carole had in that photo that Bradley carries in his wallet.

For Bob, it's the same blondish-brunette locks of hair. His nephews have the same tousled hair, soft and wavy, and could fall perfectly anywhere, even with the salty air that makes it dance.

"You have weird names," Inés spills, her voice sweet and almost a giggle. It is blunt, but then again, when is she not honest and blunt?

They chuckle along with her. It's forced and short. You don't react, staring at them, waiting for the moment you've been dreading. But there's no running away; they were right. There's no running away as the growing sense of unease is palpable. The chuckle is a mere façade, and you no longer have it in yourself to play the charade. Not with your child at risk now.

"It's nice to meet you, honey," Bob says first, trying to break the silence momentarily. "Say, we don't have your name. Could you tell us?"

Bob is kind and soft with his words. Inés struggles to get away from your chest for a second, trying to get closer to the man she has now suddenly endorsed as someone she can trust.

"Inés. My name is Inés,"

Bob's eyebrows raise as he looks at you, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. His grandmother's name was Inés, and you'd talked about it. A summer night, your dress dropping from your shoulders as he kissed it better, you'd asked him what he would name his daughter. Inés, you'd thought about that name too. It'd been left at least for Bob as he continued to kiss your salty skin. His Adam apple' bobs, swallowing hard as his chest tightened, losing air.

The air turns heavier for all of them; it doesn't escape to Bradley or Jake, the looks you exchanged with Bob. It just makes it worse because now it suddenly seems to clear the implications of her existence. All wholly disarmed by her appearance, they do not know what to say; in all fairness, you can't expect them to know. Though, you can still see them doubting themselves, grappling with the fact that she might be theirs, but not convinced until.

"And how old are you, sweetpea?" Jake finally inquires.

"I turned six years old in May," Inés replied, her voice filled with innocence. She was even proud of how old she was. A grown-up almost past five, you are no longer a baby, she recalled her auntie Augustine saying.

"Six?" Bradley's brows furrowed.

"Yeah, in May," she added, sensing their confusion.

And you let out a sigh as your world finally comes crashing down.

author's note: after a year of a very hard and awful year, this story is back! I'll do my best to write again. I hope some of you are still reading!

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perpetuelledaydreaming · 1 year ago

Text

Mamma mia | chapter five

listen to: Why did it have to be me? - Abba | My boy only breaks his favorite toys - Taylor Swift (playlist here)

warnings: accidental pregnancy, smut 18+, raising a child alone. warnings will be added as the story progresses. For this chapter single-mothering? and stupid boyfriends.

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fi!!

The sun was coming down, casting a warm golden glow over the pristine beaches and the navy-blue waters. The breeze carried the sweet scent of saltwater and sunscreen as you entered the Hard Deck, following James and August.

The day was a quintessential summer day.

After Augustine had kicked both Coyote and Jake, reasonably quickly after James had finished, literally. She chased them out of the house. They barely had time to pick up their clothes; James and you threw the rest of their belongings through the window while you laughed as they dressed in the front yard.

You can still feel Jake’s eyes on you. He winked at you while running away from Augustine, who was about to shower them with the hose. You’d shamelessly screamed at him, ‘Call me!’ still ran through your mind, and how his green sea-foam eyes shined as he saluted you was still imprinted in your heart.

Soon after, you biked to the beach; even with your injured wrist, you forced yourself to drive because the day was too beautiful not to spend it outside. By the time you were biking back, you bumped into a larger-than-usual crowd around the Hard Deck. Augustine quickly forced you to stop as she saw a group of Navy newbies walking into the Hard Deck. Parking your bikes in the back, you quickly ran inside, still in your swimsuits; your laughter and excitement filled the air, blending with the cheerful chatter of other patrons.

The bar was too full; it’d been a while since you’d seen it like that. Maybe it was the fact that you’d been under the sun all day, or the fact that the bar was too crowded, the fact that you mainly drank homemade lemonade and barely any food, maybe it was the fact that you had had your first orgasm that morning but, even in your bikini and body wrap, your body felt like it was simmering, a soft heat surrounding you.

“Here!” Augustine screams as she drags you to a small spot near the bar, where you take in the sight around you.

Sailors in their crisp uniforms mingled with locals and visitors. There was this aura around the bar. A sticky general sense of content filled the air, heavy like honey. The tropical breeze that managed to get through the window licked at you as you scanned the bar, momentarily gazing at your friends laughing.

You stay still for a moment. Trying to paint the memory in your mind, to add the scent of the bar, the scent of summer, scan it in your face, remember every second of that day. Your heart swells as you take everything in. Every last memory of the moment.

Of your last summer.

“You don’t have to change places at the table?” James says as Jimmy brings your drinks, recalling how August sat on the opposite side of the table from where you and Jake had. God, you turn maroon every time you think about the morning.

“Of course I have!” August grumbles as she remembers how she will now sit on your spot, far from where Jake had you.

“I disinfected it with alcohol!” you answer as you sip the Martini. More than you should.

“I don’t care!”

“Let her be,” James replies as she sits down; she eyes you from the side. “I mean, at the kitchen table?”

Your jaw drops for a moment before James bursts into laughter. You can feel your cheeks warming up even more before you dip your fingers into your drink and quickly splash James. The drops scatter around James’ face, and she giggles even harder.

“You did it all over the house,” you grumble.

Augustine nods. “I can’t sit on that sunroom couch for at least a week,”

“I disinfected it!” James says with a light smile as she shrugs her shoulders.

Honestly, you’d never seen James excited about anyone; she barely showed interest in someone since you’d met her when you were ten, and not everyone made an impression. She mostly hooked up one time every six months; it was often the cycle she had. As she called it, she would get bored and choose the most exciting suitor.

Ignoring them soon after.

“Who are you, and what did you do with our best friend?”

“Right?” you answer, smiling happily, another big sip. “Those googly eyes aren’t yours,”

“Oh my god, stop it,”

But with Javy Machado, it was different.

“Anyway, which guys you were looking at, August?” James says as she sips her wine and looks around the bar. Augustine does the same, trying to locate her next suitor, and you decide to help.

That’s when you see him.

He’s handsome, mainly because he is beaming when his striking amber eyes meet yours. It is strange. The way he moves through the crowd, it looks like he belongs here. It isn’t that he’s exuding confidence. He does seem confident, but it isn’t like that. There’s something in him, a somewhat halo effect. He appears to be glowing. He looks to be like the afternoon sun, with the tan skin and the caramel curls, what seemed to be like an attempt at an 80s pornstach. He looked like cinnamon.

Your heart skips a beat as time slows down, and the warmth of the summer day emboldens you to keep looking as if you haven’t been totally caught.

It doesn’t matter, though, because he seems just as awe-struck as you are. His soft lips parted as he takes you in. Salty hair, tan skin, just a bikini top and a Martini in your hand. Bradley has seen plenty of beautiful women in his lifetime, but there’s something about you, your eyes, and how dazzling they are. A butterfly in a bar of sunshine.

“Go talk to him!” James quickly says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You quickly snap your head towards James, looking away from him as she smiles at you playfully, nudging you to go talk to him. You take the second round James had already ordered as soon as Jimmy sets them on the table.

Your cheeks turn maroon as you sip your Martini again. “No, I can’t!” you answer, shaking your head. Momentarily thinking about Jake and Bob.

“August just went for hers!” she says. You turn around to find the seat next to you empty. Frowning for a moment, you return to James. “You can go too,” she insists.

You bite your lower lip as you take a deep breath. Your mind goes back to this morning, thinking about Jake. He was supposed to call you today, and yet he didn’t. Then you remember Bob. For all you know, he might be calling you right now since your phone is dead, but he still hasn’t. You aren’t insecure, per se. It isn’t like you haven’t been thinking about them. If you had their numbers, you probably would’ve called them.

You hold your breath for a moment. It has been a week since your summer started. Two short live romances in two days and a little more should be enough fun. Fun according to your friends, fun according to anyone your age. This is the time to make stupid decisions, experiment, and learn what you like.

And so, you turn around looking for him.

But he is gone.

Your eyes scan the bar as best as possible, but there’s no sign of the mystery man. “He’s gone,” you huff silently to James, who frowns and immediately starts to look for him as if ready to fight him while you order another drink.

Drinking the alcohol, feeling the liquid courage settle on your empty stomach, you think that’s for the best. You don’t notice when the music stops, too busy in your thoughts and telling James to drop it to notice what’s happening around you.

And then you hear someone clearing their throat.

“I know I’m just a fool who’s willing To sit around and wait for you,” the smooth, velvety voice makes you jolt around, and there he is.

He is close to you now, enough that you know he can smell the salt on your skin and the thick scent of the ocean in your hair. Enough that you can see the little beads of sweat in his mustache, his pink cheeks, and the freckles surrounding his eyes. You can smell him, too, the olive scent surrounding him mixed with the scent of the beer he must’ve been taking. All-American, all beautiful, and now he’s singing to you. Acapella.

“But baby, can’t you see there’s nothing else for me to do?” he continues to sign as people turn in delight, making the connection between him and the girl he’s singing to, you. “I’m hopelessly devoted to you,” his eyes are locked into yours as your cheeks flush, and you try to keep your smile down.

There’s delight in his eyes when he realizes that you can’t stop smiling. He is bewitched.

“But now there’s nowhere to hide Since you pushed my love aside,” he sings, swinging his hips, a dramatic performance, but now he’s accompanied by a chorus of military guys. You gasp as everyone starts to accompany him. Even James now. “I’m out of my head, Hopelessly devoted to you,”

The high tone isn’t his best for his friends; he still manages to keep it, but it causes you to cover your face with your hands as you giggle. He laughs too but continues to sing, through his chuckles, his smile now wide that he heard your laughter.

“Hopelessly devoted to you,” he signs lower, his voice husky and beautiful. “Hopelessly devoted to you,” he sings as if the lyrics are meant only for you. For a moment, the world around you fades away, and you stare at him as the last note lingers in the air.

Your heart flutters as the crowd erupts into cheering and applause. Everyone is now screaming his callsign, Rooster. He smiles at you, an expectation somewhere in his eyes, but you are too enthralled with him, with the gesture that you are simply beaming at him, waiting for him to say something.

“Sailor, sit here,�� James finally says as she points to the empty seat beside you.

Rooster glances at James, giving her a thankful smile before he sits next to you. You frown as James quickly leaves you to it, winking at you and silently wishing you good luck. Rooster eyes trail down your body, taking in your outfit in a bar crowded with clothed people. He enjoys it, the carelessness in you.

“You don’t look like a singer at all, you know that?” you tease him, deciding you’ll be the first one to talk as if it would do much to diminish your anxiety.

Rooster’s grin widens. What little he can recall from his dad was that he was never the greatest singer, not that it ever stopped him, but his mom had a prettier voice. Maybe it was the fact that he sang too much as a child until he became talented. He just knows that his father loved to sing; he loved music. Hell, this was how his father and his uncle managed to convince his mom to go on a date with Goose.

“I like to keep a few tricks down my sleeve, you know?” he responds with the same teasing tone as he orders another beer from Jimmy, getting closer to you.

“I think that’s the best trick to pick up girls I’ve ever seen,” you answer as you turn towards him. “Do you use it a lot here? What’s your repertoire?”

Rooster bites his lower lip as he shakes his head and sips on the beer, denying your assumptions. You roll your eyes.

“Oh, come on, Rooster,” you say with a playful smile, pushing him softly on his chest, your fingertips grazing against his strong muscles.

You can’t help but notice how his eyes light up when you say his name, making your heart swell. You wonder for a moment if you are truly good at flirting as you gaze at him, blushing as the moments pass.

“Bradley Bradshaw to you,” he responds, his voice soft and almost teasing. “You?”

After you tell him your name, his smile grows wider. Your inner cheek gets caught between your teeth as you take in his handsome features - those captivating eyes, the long lashes, and even that distinct pornstache that somehow adds to his charm.

“So, Bradshaw, how many times have you used it?” you inquire, genuinely curious about the adventures of the daring pilot.

“Two,” Rooster answers, but a hint of disappointment crosses your face, hidden behind your furrowed brow. It should be more, you think to yourself. With looks like his and that voice that could melt hearts, you’re sure he’s had many admirers.

“How did it go the first time?” you ask, leaning in.

“Crashed and burned,” he admits, a touch of vulnerability in his voice.

“And the second?” you ask, the corners of your lips curling up with anticipation.

“Well, do you want to get out of here and find out with me?” he suggests, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, playfully gasping at his assumption. “What makes you think that I want to sleep with you?”

He counters with a playful pout, “Oh, so you’ll leave me brokenhearted?”

You can’t help but chuckle for a moment. The playful banter between you two feels natural, like you’ve known each other for far longer than just this encounter as if you’d known each other your whole life. It makes you feel a bit more comfortable. It’s strange. Feeling the surge of courage in your chest makes everything feel lighter for a moment. He seems lighter, but there’s something else in his eyes. A sense of longing.

Giving him a mockingly dramatic expression, you quickly stand up from the chair and walk to the door.

Rooster’s eyes widen. “Wait, wait,” he says, his voice softening. He follows you while you smile as you feel him closely behind you, his fingertips touching yours, before you push the door to the outside.

The sea breeze hits your face perfectly. The moon is shining bright in the sky, enough to illuminate the beach just in the right way. A wide smile on your face as you close your eyes and relish the day. You don’t notice him looking; you don’t notice how he admires you, how his eyes are glowing as he takes you in. At night, with just a swimsuit, your face clean, your cheeks red, you are beautiful.

“Dance with me,” he suddenly whispers.

You snap your head towards him, opening your eyes softly as you take him in. Your heart flutters at his request, and you can’t resist his earnest plea. “You will truly break my heart,” you jest, as you take his hand and follow him to the sand.

Wordlessly, you take his hand, and he begins to sway the two of you side to side. Your body quickly molds to his, perfectly, moving in sync with the rhythm of the music from inside the bar. His strong arms wrap around your waist, drawing you even closer to him. Olive and beer fill your senses, intoxicating and comforting all at once.

You gaze into each other’s eyes, and the world around you disappears. It’s as if there’s just the two of you on the beach, lost in the feeling, the electricity, and the warmth.

“You are so one of them,” you whisper as your hands climb up his chest and wrap themselves around his neck. His skin is hot; it burns. You don’t know why you are so sensitive; you want to blame the alcohol, but you think that’s just an omen for a moment.

Rooster frowns, unable to understand what you mean. “The one guy that genuinely falls in love, every evening, with a different type of girl only to fall out of it again the next morning,” you explain.

“That’s not true at all,” he protests as his hand gently trails up your back, sending a trail of electricity in its wake. The touch is both tender but a little more intimate, enough to know that he wants more but also soft enough that you lean into him. You don’t care that he’s too warm, that the heat might turn suffocating.

“And then, which is worse. As you are breaking her heart, you are telling all of these lies about how she’s too good for you, and you can’t possibly be a good option for her, and you love her too much to stay with her,” you continued.

Rooster chuckles softly as he leans down further.

“You’re too good for me,” he says, and you can’t help but smile.

His eyes linger on your face for a second, studying it; he’s tasting the moment, and so are you.

And then, he leans in.

The way he cups your cheeks is enough for you to gasp softly before his lips connect to yours. His mouth molds perfectly with yours, his nose bumping yours as your eyes close and you let yourself go. Bradley feels his heart thundering in his chest; you taste just like honey and lemon. His fingers dig into the delicate skin of your hips. It’s slow and long; he’s taking his time, but you can feel it, his impatience and yours; you know it by now as he ran his hands along the low of your back and you into his hair.

The kiss is sweet and pleasurable. It isn’t passionate or soft. It’s something else, too intimate, too unknown.

It wasn’t like it was with Jake or Bob. It’s different.

God. Jake and Bob, for all you know, they might be there.

As the thought crosses your mind, Rooster wraps his arms around your torso, and he’s pulling you closer to him, tight. As if he doesn’t want to let you go, he deepens the kiss.

But then something’s off. Your stomach churns, and a feeling of nausea washes over you, your breath shallow, and suddenly you are suffocating. You shake your head, barely having time to push him away enough by his chest for him to notice. He lets you go fast, just in time before the bile rises from your throat.

It might be the dehydration, the mix of alcohol, the fact of not eating, or just your consciousness.

But as you finish throwing up your guts, everything seems a bit blurry. A pressure on your chest that you hadn’t felt ever before overwhelms you; it feels like you can’t breathe as you wipe your mouth.

“Honey?”

Your vision goes blurry, and your throat feels so tight that no words come out of your mouth. All you can feel is the panic rising inside your chest; everything goes black.

SEVEN YEARS LATER

As James and Augustine had promised, they did take care of you. It’d been over two weeks since you’d run into Jake, Rooster, and Bob. They’d taken the toll of doing groceries and doing simple errands around the town so you would avoid places that they might be. Hardware stores, cinemas, bars, and Grocery stores were strictly forbidden until further notice, at least for you. Inés could go out with Augustine and James. You knew that you simply couldn’t.

Agustine told you that she had a contact in the Navy who might be able to tell you how long they’d be here. You waited patiently as you tried to do your best to work and take care of Inés, trying to cheer her up when you’d tell her that you couldn’t go to the movies together or the grocery store. Or the park on the main street. It was getting harder and harder each day, especially since Inés, three days after you’d sworn off any of these places, had realized and didn’t want to go anywhere without you.

She quickly decided to hibernate with you, and you honestly didn’t know if it could last long.

Even more with John’s presence in the house, more often than not. He’d apologized a week prior, and you’d let it go because you didn’t have the energy to fight with him. Not now, at least. He’d stayed over that same weekend; he’d tried to talk to her, but Inés outright refused. She even insisted that she had to sleep with you every night of the weekend until finally John left. Most importantly, John wouldn’t even be allowed to use her bed; he had to sleep on the couch.

As you looked down at your beautiful daughter, at her button nose, at those oh-so-familiar caramel eyes with flecks of green, her oh-so-familiar twisted soft pink lips, all wrapped together in that small frown as she slightly glared at you with her oh-so-familiar brunette golden hair in disarray, waiting for an answer, you knew that John would be complaining about his backache for at least a week.

“I just don’t get why she doesn’t like me,” he says as he slurps slightly from his cereal bowl. You cringe at the sound but try not to mind as you close the door of your mother’s house.

It was her night with your mom; part of you was grateful that she was in another place that wasn’t the house or her summer camp.

“She just doesn’t know you that well. That’s all,” you pinch your nose as you curse mentally the heels that you’d to wear due to a meeting with a client.

“That’s why I told you, both of you should come to LA with me; we can go to that Disney Park,” he insists on the other end.

You wonder for a slight second, only a second, if he didn’t have anything else to do at work because you did, and he still decides to bring up this. You regret it immediately as you stop in front of your car, phone heavy on your hand. Men you’d dated before had run away from you the moment they found out about Inés; here was a man who wanted to spend time with her.

“Yeah, I know,” you answer softly as you stare at the sky. The cues of orange were already reflecting on the clouds in the sky; the afternoon sun was warming up your skin, toasting it, making your soul sizzle slightly.

For a second, you close your eyes, and you let yourself go back to that summer. To those afternoons where the sun stretched as much as it could, showering you with its light. Salt air kissing your lips. Clouds lazily drift by. Rhythmic, soothing melody of the waves rushing towards you. You can remember their touch as they’d kissed your neck, your skin, their lips rolling down your body.

“Babe?”

You gasped softly as you opened your eyes. “I’m here,” you answer, clearing your throat as you look around, hoping no one else has seen you.

There were many moments throughout the years when you thought that you’d seen one of them. Jake more often than Bradley or Bob. Your heart always drops to your stomach, and your vision turns technicolor. Colors become so bright that you almost become sick. They, he, they always looked at you just in the way you liked those years ago. They didn’t age when you thought you saw them.

That’s how you realize that it is him, passing by in a car you didn’t recognize. As your eyes lock with him, you know deep down that he is looking for you.

“I have to go,” your voice could be barely heard; it’s not more than a whisper as your eyes are glued to the jeep that continues to drive. John might’ve heard you, you don’t know, but you also don’t care.

Holding your breath, you hope that he will drive away, but he doesn’t. It parks a few feet away from you. Your heartbeat picks up as you see the door opening. You’d seen him a few times with the green jumpsuit. He looks a lot older now, a lot grown up. Grown-up, something about it makes you want to recoil. It doesn’t fit with the memories you have of him.

He was supposed to stay twenty-five; you were supposed to stay twenty-three. The more times you see him now, the more it eats away those memories.

“What are you doing here?” You whisper, a sudden cool evening breeze brushing against your skin as you stand in the street, washed in golden light. The moon was now peering over the edge of the horizon, casting a faint shadow to glow over the sky.

“I thought I’d pass by,” Jake replies, his voice laced with a hint of nostalgia as he gazes at you. Those eyes staring back at you, just like they did seven years prior.

There’s a brief moment when you can feel like you’re back there with him again. Seven years ago, you had your father; seven years ago, you were still innocent; you hadn’t gone through anything, managed to live your life prior to them unscathed, without so much as a crack. Now, as you stand there, you can feel it.

All the cuts, all the breaks, all the different ways you were twisted and pulled back the way you’d to paste yourself back together for Inés.

Your face was stern, furrowing your eyebrows slightly. “You know what you sound like, right?” you ask.

Jake’s lips tug slightly on the edges. He managed to see those parts of you seven years prior, hidden through a meekness you’d tried to push down those sharp edges of you. He likes that you let the sharpness come through now.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he admits, his voice ting with regret. “I hoped,” he says slowly; you roll your eyes at him. “I think I was the only one that came to your parent’s house, right?”

As soon as the words drop from his lips, you feel everything stop. Staring at him, your mind rumbles to look for answers to what he means. He has your rattle; he notices it. He knows your body like the back of his hand, every edge, curve, inch. He had it memorized seven years ago. There’s a part of him that’s relieved that he can still read you; he was afraid that he couldn’t anymore, even with this.

“What are you -”

“I heard your name,” he interrupts softly, “Rooster and Bob were talking about you and how they know you.”

The silence is heavy as you stare at each other. There was a time when this was your worst nightmare, that either Bradley or, Bob or Jake found out about each other. You’d tried to handle it. None of them had asked you for anything else but what you had, and you hadn’t planned to ask for more.

Until then, they did, until you did.

“I don’t have to explain anything to you; you do know that, right?” you finally answer after weighing your options.

Jake nods. He half-expected that answer after the domino of events that trail behind your relationship.

His eyes examine you. Cheeks flushed, hair loose, the professional sleeveless black dress hugs your body perfectly. He’d imagined you like this: professional, beautiful. A little bit older, a little bit wiser. Sometimes he’d imagined what his life would’ve been like if he hadn’t fucked up as he did.

But now, as he heard Bradley and Bob bickering about that summer. He realized that maybe he wasn’t the only one to blame.

“So, it wasn’t only me that summer, and Bradley for that matter,” he says, his eyes flickering now to yours.

The words come out of your mouth faster than you wished. “It was,” you sound definitive because you knew for a second it was before everything came tumbling down. But then again, you know it isn’t true, and you’d made the choices you’d made. You’d made your bed with all three of them. “I mean, I was also, you were.”

“Forgot that you avoid talking about feelings,” he murmurs, his eyes still fixed on you, the hint of a smile on his lips as he gives a step closer to you.

Your eyebrows pinch. Memories of that fateful summer flooding back. You recall how confident he was, the charm that always seemed to follow him, and why you got stuck in his web. Anger floods back too, simmering in your chest, defensiveness, everything you don’t want to feel again and less for him.

“I’ve changed; it has been seven years, and you only knew me for eight weeks.”

It’s filled with poison, you know it, and he does it too.

“And I haven’t been able to forget you, honey,” Jake confesses, his voice filled with a melancholic longing as he gives another step. “Please, just hear me out,”

You smell the sandalwood, the lemon. You look up at him through your lashes, holding your ground, not moving an inch as you stare at him. He shouldn’t make your heart beat this way, not when it has been so long. And yet he does; he makes your body react. Perhaps it is the fact that he is looking at you like that; perhaps it is the way the sun is hitting you right now, but anger drains slowly as you feel him closer.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say softly, eyebrows still pinched.

Part of you wishes you didn’t sound so soft when he’s around you, but the thought of him has been marinating for so long in your mind since you first saw him here again. His face is calm, but you can still sense the regret.

“I shouldn’t have let you go,” Jake repeats, swallowing hard as his hand carefully comes up to your face; he does it carefully, as if not to scare you.

A sound slips out of his lips as you lean into his touch. It doesn’t even cross your mind to move; you’re not too thrown off by his tenderness; you’d been craving it.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you argue; closing your eyes, you let his skin touch yours. It burns you, from the inside out, the fact that you still crave his touch like this.

“Honey,” he breathes out. “Of course it does. What are the odds that you are here and I am here?”

He startles you. You open your eyes just as fast as you’d leaned into him. Staring at him, he doesn’t know what you’re hiding. He does not know what kept you here. You want to yell at him, the odds, you scoff mentally. The odds were that you got knocked up by one of them, the odds were that you couldn’t leave, and the odds were that you raised your daughter on your own. Even worse, the present odds. The odds are that if he, or any of them, find out what you’ve done, they might take Inés away from you.

“Jake, stop,” you bite, taking a step back from him. You don’t dare to look at him for a moment.

“Honey,”

“You lied to me,” you pull away completely. “You lied to me, broke my heart,”

Jake frowns. He hates this. He hates that you run away, time and time again; you’ve always run away from him. Now that he knows, he just doesn’t let you go that easily. No, he can’t.

“You lied, too. I mean, were you sleeping with-”

“Go,” you snap at him. Jake watches as you glare at him, your eyebrows pinched. He remembers the way your lips turn when you’re mad; he knows you. You aren’t mad right now. He stares at you, your long lashes, your golden skin. Eyes that he’d been seeing in his dreams since he left. Pink, plush lips. His eyes stay there for longer than before, and when he looks back at you again, you’re already staring.

You know what he is about to do.

“I said, just go-”

One, two, three steps, and he has reached you. His hand finds your hip and grabs at it roughly, cupping your jaw; his lips find yours.

author's note: Thank you so much for your patience!!!!! I have so many questions about this fic because I've rewrote so many things. Need your opinions.

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