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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 1 year ago

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Shot through the Heart But You’re to Blame (You Give Love A Bad Name)

Chapter Fourteen of Sweet Home Alabama

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd), Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd)

Description: Before you can believe it, it's your wedding day. If only you could bring yourself to be as happy as Natasha and Carole seem to be. Carole is in her element, bossing around everyone in the wedding party as well as the staff and the caterers. She seems wholly occupied at the thought of giving her son a picture perfect wedding. When a wrench gets thrown in the works, it's anyone's guess as to who loses their cool.

Meanwhile, Jake is prepping for a lightning storm. It seems like the world is ending. He's lost everything he's ever fought to get. Is there one last chance fated for these estranged lovers?

Themes: love, attraction, angst, sex, cheating, lying

Warnings: Carole being Carole. She’s a warning in and of herself!

Word Count: 3127

A/N: Well yall, we're at chapter fourteen. This is the beginning of the end for this story, and I'm so nostalgic to think of it ending. I've been working on this story since June or July of 2023. A little over 6 months of writing and just about 4 months of posting this story and here we are. I can't believe it. I want to take this time to thank everyone who has been reading this story. You've made me so thrilled and genuinely shocked with your love and support.

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

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Floyd Plantation, Greeneville, Alabama - Wedding Day

The day of your wedding dawns bright and clear, with big creamy clouds floating across the sky. It’s hot and humid, static electricity making you jumpy - you wouldn’t be surprised if it rains tonight - though you hope it doesn’t rain during the ceremony. Carole would freak out if that happened. In any case, Floyd Plantation is resplendent, the grounds festooned in bunches of white, cream, and peach flowers, the chairs covered in white satin with big bows on the back. Standing in the master bedroom of Floyd Plantation you’re being poked and prodded with pins and makeup brushes. You feel rather like a doll as you stand there and let the makeup artists doll you up to Carole’s satisfaction. You can faintly hear the band setting up in the big tent for the reception and not for the first time, you wish that Carole would just shut up. She’s been drilling you about notable guests and on your answers for an interview with the press after the ceremony all day. You’re already frazzled, your nerves strung tight, and you’d really appreciate a few moments to yourself before you walk down the aisle.

“Alright, Linley, remember that Mr. Fulsom and his third wife will be here tonight. Her name is Marta,” She’s got her glasses on as she prepares to run through the list with you again.

You sigh, and continue the tirade. “I know, Carole. Don’t call her Donna or Leanne because those are ex-wives numbers one and two. That’ll cause her to start drinking, if she drinks, she’ll cause a scene, and we need Mr.Fulsom on the Bradshaw side because he is one of the best political supporters on the East Coast and he will be instrumental to Bradley’s career.”

“Well, it looks like you’re ready.” She turns to the poor beleaguered make-up artists hovering on either side of you. “Is there anything you can do with contouring? All of this time in Alabama and she looks tireder and flabbier than ever. It must be all the fried food you get around here. Anyone would think salads aren’t an item you can eat, looking at her.”

You can’t even summon up the energy for an eye roll as she waltzes back out of the suite, her heels clacking loudly against the tiles. The titters of the makeup artists as they attack your face with vigor again doesn’t help your mood or the way your stomach cramps with nerves.

Jake’s Yellow House, Pigeon Creek, Alabama - Wedding Day

In the years since his marriage fell apart, Jake’s been able to sniff out lightning storms like none other. It’s like he can taste the electricity in the air, and feel it in the summer breeze. At least the scent of electricity on the breeze diverts his thoughts from the event happening in Greeneville tonight. He’d been invited, sure, but Jake Seresin’s not sure he’ll be able to sit in the audience in a monkey suit and hear a preacher ask if anyone objects to the nuptials - not without screaming, “I object!” at the top of his lungs. It’s why he’s pacing back and forth in front of his house as the sun sinks languidly below the horizon.

Eventually, the nervous energy singing in his veins isn’t placated by pacing, so he pulls on his heavy work gloves and starts loading up his truck for a night out on the beach. If he can’t see the love of his life, if he can’t stop her from getting married to another man, he might as well make a few more lightning-glass sculptures. Jake’s just loaded up the first set of heavy metal beams into the bed of his truck when a pickup truck rolls up the driveway. Unsurprisingly, it’s his Mama stepping out of the truck. He hasn’t seen the look on his mom’s face in years, not since he decided to give up on his dreams for Linley and the baby they were expecting. The disappointment on her face, then and now, stings more than he ever expects it to.

“Hi.” She’s wearing one of her fancy church dresses, like she’s heading up to Floyd Plantation to say goodbye to her daughter forever. Amelia’s lounging in the front seat looking positively miserable in a pink frock, and Jake would smile at her dismay if he didn’t feel just as miserable as his little sister. “There’s a wedding going on.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard mention of it a time or two.” He can’t look at his mom or his sister. He can’t bear to see the pity and righteous anger in their eyes. Though, it is a balm to his soul that the anger is on his behalf.

“I sure hope this weather cooperates.” A lick of cooler wind brushes across his face, damp as it rustles through the trees.

“It’s supposed to be a big one, tonight.” The lightning rods clank satisfyingly as he chucks them into the truck piece by piece.

“You know, Jake…” That tone of voice is something Jake’s been trained to pay attention to since he was very little. He grabs the last of the rods and his toolbox as his mama picks up his sleeping bag. “You're my only son and I love you, but sometimes, you are too much like your daddy.”

There’s naked pain in his voice as he finally responds. “She made her decision, Mama.”

“You know, for somebody who’s been holding on to something so hard, you’re pretty quick to let it go.” But has he been quick to let her go? Jake Seresin has been in love with Linley Mitchell since he was ten years old. He’s been holding out hope that she’ll come back from New York for the better part of seven years, taking the time to make something of himself so she’ll finally like the man she sees enough to stay. He’s been hoping and praying. But what can he do when the person he’s been praying for doesn’t want him at all? It feels like there is only one decision he can make. All he can do is step back and hope that she’ll be happy, even if its not with him.

“You know, I can't control her any more than I can control the weather.” So as he latches the tailgate back up and gets into the cab, he hopes that Linley is happy, incandescently unbelievably happy with Bradley Bradshaw. He leaves his Mama and sister in the dust as he pulls away, the sad look on his face mirroring the ones on theirs.

Floyd Plantation, Greeneville, Alabama - Minutes before the wedding

Natasha’s fingers are deft and gentle as she carefully buttons up each of the miniscule buttons at the back of your dress. Your hair and makeup are perfect, you’re wearing your new blue earrings and you should be ready to go. You’ve got the old, the new, the borrowed and the blue, but you can’t recognize the woman you see in the mirror.

“It’s just nerves, Linley.” Natasha’s quick to reassure you. “You’re doing the right thing.”

“Am I?” You turn your head back and forth, gaze caught on prisms of light cast by the blue glass earring you’re wearing.

“He can give you the life we dreamed about when we were penniless and living in the dorms at FIT off of instant noodles and our dreams of success.” She’s resplendent in a periwinkle blue gown, her short bob styled into a sleek cap which makes her look effortlessly stylish and elegant.

“And he adores you, doesn’t he?” You bend obligingly as she arranges your grandmother’s veil over your head, extra careful with the aged fabric as she pins it into place.

“He does, doesn’t he?” Your heart feels like it’s ripping itself into pieces and you’re not going to think about why. You made your choices. Bradley Bradshaw chose you and he adores you. He even says he loves you. You’re not sure you believe it, but affection should get you halfway there at least, right?

As the music plays out across the assembled guests in their finery, you feel electricity in the wind as you take your father’s arm. Natasha proceeds down the aisle in front of you, her pace stately even as thunder rumbles ominously over your head. The audience stands on cue as Wagner’s Bridal Chorus is tunefully played by the orchestra Carole and Bradley hired fpr your wedding. The sky is dark and the breeze is chilly enough to have goosebumps rise along your bare arms and a shiver trailing down your spine. The photographers are clicking away, and Bradley is looking gorgeous in his fitted black tuxedo at the end of the aisle. He’s got a fond, sweet smile on his face at the sight of you. To the audience members, he looks like a man in love. But to you, he looks just a little fake, just a little tired. There isn’t love in his eyes as he looks at you, but pride and satisfaction. What’s the likelihoods that your dad will block Bradley from running after you if you turn tail and book it to his truck?

But that thought comes too late. You’re just about to take Bradley’s hand in front of the minister when the shouting of your nom de plume rings out over the hushed audience. It’s a sharply dressed African American man, and you recognize him seconds before two of the guards Carole hired deck him.

“Mr. Fitch?” You’re shocked as you tread back down the aisle as fast as your cumbersome dress and heels will allow you.

“Get your hands off me!” He’s fighting off the guards as much as he’s able to.

You can feel Bradley coming up behind you as you finally find the words and demand, “Wait! Let him go!”

“Linley?” You can hear the confusion in Bradley’s voice as Mr. Fitch straightens his creased suit as much as he can and walks towards you. “Miss Floyd, you are one hard woman to get in touch with.” His voice rings commandingly through the crowd.

“Mr. Fitch. He signed the papers. What are you doing here?” It seems like everyone is watching your every mood as you hiss the words out. You’re not sure why he’s here at all.

“He did … you didn’t.” At least Mr. Fitch finally seems to realize he has an audience too, because his voice is just as hushes as yours is.

“What?” Sure enough when he pulls the papers out and shows you the signature tabs, Jake’s signature is in bold ink scrawled across the page, but the tab where you should have signed is empty. You could have sworn you’d signed at least one of the copies before you made your frenzied trip to the post office that morning. But you can’t remember. You’d been completely drugged by the scent of Jake on your skin, by the ghostly feeling of his hands and then also still hungover to boot. “You mean I’m still married?”

You just see the joy on Penny and Amelia’s faces as Mr. Fitch says, “Well, only if you want to be.”

“Oh, for God’s sakes, Linley! I thought you took care of this.” Just when you’re starting to finally feel joy in what should be one of the most joyful days of your life, it is your fiancé’s voice which plummets your mood. Bradley sounds disappointed, even if his face doesn’t reveal it.

“It was an honest mistake, Bradley.” You’re not sure he believes you.

“Well, then, can we fix it before we all get soaked?” Carole’s domineering and nasal voice rings out over the assembled company.

“Does anybody have a pen?” Your voice is thin as you ask that question, and it gratifies you that most of the audience so obligingly searches for a pen in their belongings. Bradley even tries to ask Carole, but her scoff makes your eyes roll just a little even as you search for a pen yourself.

It’s Penny Benjamin, the only mother you’ve ever know who pulls a pen out.

“Darling,” Her voice is soft and filled with as much love as you’ve ever heard. “These things don’t just happen, you know.”

With the pen in hand, you’re filled with so much confusion. All of a sudden you’re seeing Jake and Bradley side by side in front of your eyes. Mr. Fitch is looking at you with the same sympathy you can see in Penny’s face. Every glance you take of Bradley shows him silently urging you to sign the papers. But you can’t. At the moment, you’re not sure why you agreed to marry Bradley anymore. He’s gorgeous, sweet, funny and kind, but he’s so buttoned up all the time, so sure of what he needs to do to succeed. In comparison to him, you’re something of a mess. You couldn’t be organized if you try, and forget it if an idea sparks in your brain. You’d happily give up food, sleep, and hygiene if your ideas manage to make their way onto pages first and then fabric in turn shortly after. It’s a trait of yours Bradley has always hated. But he’s never realized how much of you that is.

In contrast, you remember what Jake used to act like when you got in that mood. He never minded, carefully coaxing you to eat, to sleep, picking his moments to break your concentration. In truth, that’s probably why you and Jake are kindred spirits. He used to get the same way before big football games, practicing until his muscles gave out and he’d collapse. A part of you wonders if he is the same way with his glasswork. You have a sneaking suspicion he is, and if the bags under his eyes when you saw him at the opening for Deep South Glass, your suspicion would be correct. There was also the matter of how thin and sad he’d looked. Your hand with the pen hovers over the papers. You try to sign the papers the way Bradley and Carole so want you to. But each attempt at putting pen to paper is ultimately unsuccessful. There is something like resignation in Bradley’s face when you put the pen down for the final time and walk toward him.

“Bradley?” He looks oddly surprised that you’re talking to him right now. “You don’t want to marry me.”

“I don’t?” His voice is still light and polite.

“No.” You’re nearly besides yourself in comparison to the cool look in his eyes. “No, you don’t. Not really.” Your throat is tight and your head is spinning as you carefully try to think of words to tell Bradley the truth without breaking his heart.

“You see, the truth is, I gave my heart away a long time ago.” There’s a sob building in your throat as you say the words because you can see Bradley’s heart break the more you say. You fell in love with Bradley Bradshaw a long time ago because of his big heart. “My whole heart and I never really got it back.”

“I don’t even know what else to say, but I’m sorry.” You sniffle as you hand the ring, the beautiful Tiffany ring back to him. “I can’t marry you, and you shouldn’t want to marry me.”

“Wow.” Of everything you’d expect the man you’re leaving at the altar to say, “Wow” is not something you’d have expected. “So this is what this feels like.”

You chuckle despite your tears, because something tells you that Bradley is going to be just fine after this botched wedding.

“That’s it?!” Carole’s screech nearly takes your eardrums out; it is that high pitched. “You’re just going to let her humiliate you with some bullshit about an old husband?” If there was a member of your collective friends and family who were unaware of what was happening, well, there isn’t a hope of that now.

“Yeah, mom. I think I am.” Bradley smiles softly at you, kisses your knuckles and walks away, murmuring ‘Excuse Me’ to the guests as he does. You think there is a pep to his step as he strides away, and he looks lighter, happier.

“Well, in my entire life, I have never met anyone so manipulative, so deceitful! And I’m in politics!” There’s something menacing in Carole Bradshaw’s voice and tone as she marches closer to you.

“I -” You’re more than a little discomfitted. “I’m just trying to be honest, Carole. Your son deserves that.”

“I will not allow the future President of the United States to be dumped at the altar by some psycho Daisy Mae! You go after him now, you little bitch!” Well, at least she’s showing her true colors now. The guests gasp the moment she starts cursing you out, and surprisingly, Penny and your dad step up in front of you like a physical shield at your ex-fiancé’s mother’s vitriol.

“Wait just a minute. There’s no need for name-calling, now.” Penny is angry, her placid demeanor melting into the mien of a mama bear out for blood as she glares at the Mayor of New York like she’s an unruly bar patron.

“My daughter spoke her piece and that’s all there is to it, Carole.” That it’s your dad who defends you just seems to have made Carole angrier. But she seems to realize that she can’t attack Maverick Mitchell on his home turf. Instead she turns back to Penny in her simple black dress and growls, “Oh, go back to your double-wide and fry something!”

That’s about when you’ve had enough of the almighty righteousness of Carole Bradshaw. You take one step forward, square up your hips like your daddy taught you how to years ago and take one almighty swing. Your fist makes contact satisfyingly with the bridge of the nose she’s always proclaimed is perfect with a thwack and a very satisfying crunch. She looks dazed as she lands on the soft grass. Her nose may be bleeding just a little, and that makes you grin vindictively.

“Nobody talks to my mama like that!” Beau Simpson is there to help prop her up, but you could care less about the crazed Mayor of New York. Nat giggles as you hand her your bouquet and you smile softly at your dad as he hands you his truck keys. At the moment, the rain lets loose, deluging the pretty flowers and satin chairs and beautifully dressed people in moments.

“Hey y’all! If you're friends of the bride, stick around!” Your proclamation is filled with whoops of glee from all the people you love in Pigeon Creek. “I’m going to go find me a groom!”

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine #sweet home alabama #a top gun au #star's sweet home alabama top gun au #jake hangman seresin x oc #hangman x oc #jake seresin x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #rooster x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc

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