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joelsrose · 2 months ago

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Guns and Roses: Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: At dinner with Tommy and Maria, you navigate the awkward tension with Joel, who appears to be displaying subtle signs of change. As the days progress, you find yourself grappling with the complexities of his words and actions, trying to decipher the shifting dynamics of your relationship.

11k words.... no comment No TW, enjoy !!! Lemme know if you’d like to be added to the tag list, thank you so much for your support guysss Previous chapter

It had been a week since that patrol with Joel—a week since you’d carefully stitched up his hand, and those quiet words he’d spoken still lingered, refusing to leave your thoughts. In the days that followed, you’d buried yourself in work—tending the garden, taking on extra watch shifts, anything to keep your hands busy and your mind from wandering to him. You hadn’t seen him at all—not in town, not at the gates, not during the late hours when patrols overlapped. You hadn’t felt the weight of his gaze, that quiet intensity that always seemed to linger when he looked your way. And maybe that was for the best. Easier. Simpler. Less complicated by the tangle of feelings you weren’t ready to face.

You came home late from an extra patrol you’d picked up with Maria, the cold biting into your skin, each gust of wind slicing like shards of glass. Exhaustion clung to you, settling deep in your bones, dragging your steps as you trudged down the empty, snow-covered street. The soft glow of the streetlights flickered faintly, casting long shadows across the snow.

By the time you reached your front door, your fingers were numb, stiff from the cold. Just like clockwork, the knob resisted you—stubborn and unyielding, as it always did. You muttered a string of curses under your breath, the sound carried away by the biting wind as you jiggled the handle. For months, you’d meant to ask Tommy to fix it, but it always slipped your mind—until moments like this, when exhaustion weighed you down, the cold gnawed at your skin, and all you craved was the warmth waiting inside.

But the damn door had other plans.

Finally, after what felt like a battle of wills, the door gave way, and you stumbled inside. The warmth greeted you like a long-lost friend, wrapping around you, instantly melting away the chill that had seeped into your bones. You stood there for a moment, letting the quiet of the house settle over you, your breath escaping in a soft sigh. With a weary kick, you sent your boots tumbling off, shaking the stubborn remnants of snow from your clothes, relieved to finally be home.

Upstairs, you peeled off your clothes and stepped into the shower, the hot water hitting your skin like a balm. It melted away the grime and exhaustion, the day’s weight slowly washing down the drain. You closed your eyes, surrendering to the warmth, the steady hiss of the water drowning out the world. For a brief moment, there was nothing but the soothing heat on your skin, each droplet tracing lazy paths down your neck, over your shoulders, and along your back. You sighed deeply, releasing the day’s burdens with it.

After your shower, you wrapped yourself in a towel and padded quietly across the floor, the cold air biting at your damp skin. You crawled into bed, where the soft sheets welcomed you, their coolness quickly warming against your body. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, a gentle reminder of Maria’s sachets, mingling with the earthy scent of the cabin’s aged wood. The weight of the blankets settled over you, grounding you, cocooning you from the chill of the night that pressed against the window.

In this silence, an escape from the chaos outside, you could finally let the world fade away—its noise, its burdens, slipping into the background like a distant hum.

As you lay there, the quiet of the room enveloped you, and your mind began to wander. You thought about life—how everything had shifted, how different it all was now. The past felt so distant, almost like a dream. There was a time, before Jackson, before the world fractured, when the most trivial issues consumed your thoughts—what to eat for dinner, whether to meet up with friends after school, the simple, everyday choices that seemed so important then. Now, those concerns felt like relics of another life, buried beneath the weight of all that had changed. You had learned to live with the loss, to accept that some wounds never fully heal, yet the emptiness still lingered beneath the surface, like a quiet ache that never really faded.

Jackson had given you stability, a sense of home you hadn’t felt in years. It was strange, really, how something so small and unremarkable could offer so much comfort. Tommy and Maria—kind, steady, always there—had become your anchors, giving you a place to belong when you thought that feeling was lost forever. You’d stumbled upon Jackson by chance, after weeks of traveling alone, exhausted and battered by the world outside. You hadn’t expected to stay, let alone find safety, but something about the place, the people, made it feel like a refuge from the constant chaos.

Maria, with her quiet strength, had been the first to welcome you. Her friendship slowly chipped away at the loneliness you carried like a second skin. Tommy, with his warmth and easy smiles, always ready with a joke or quick laugh, made the weight of life feel just a little bit lighter.

Yet, even with Jackson’s security and the friendship of people like Tommy and Maria, you tried to avoid the thoughts that crept in during the quiet moments—the yearning for someone to truly share your life with. But love in this world felt selfish, a luxury you could no longer afford.

All that mattered now was survival.

You buried that ache deep, convincing yourself it was easier this way, after the scars of your last relationship had left you afraid of opening up again. The pain of the past had taught you to keep your walls up, and though you longed for connection, the fear of being hurt again kept you at a distance. Even now, the loneliness remained, hiding in the shadows, always waiting.

Without realizing it—or maybe without wanting to admit it—your thoughts drifted to Joel, just as they did every night, like clockwork.

You couldn’t help but wish things were different between you two. That you could turn back time, undo the awkward silences, soften the sharpness of his words, and erase the coldness in his eyes. The distance between you and Joel felt like an unbearable weight. It wasn’t just his words that stung—it was the way he looked at you, like you were someone to tolerate, an inconvenience in his tightly guarded world. You often wondered what it would take to break through that wall, to have him look at you the way he did Tommy or Ellie—with that rare warmth, the quiet loyalty he reserved for only a few.

But maybe it wasn’t just Joel. Maybe it was you, too. Maybe there was something fundamentally wrong with you, something about the way you occupied space that made you feel like an outsider, always on the fringes, looking in. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but the thought gnawed at you relentlessly. Was it something you’d said? Something you’d done? Or was it simply who you were—always too much or never quite enough?

The echoes of your past relationship still lingered, making you second-guess every word, every gesture. You had been made to feel like you were too needy, too clingy, and that doubt had rooted itself deep inside you. Now, every interaction felt like a delicate balance, as if any misstep might confirm the fear that you were just…too much.

You sighed, pulling the blankets tighter around yourself, as if they could somehow shield you from the weight of those thoughts. But the image of Joel’s hardened gaze clung to you, like a bruise you couldn’t touch without feeling the dull ache beneath. The friction between you had thickened into a wall so impenetrable, you didn’t know how—or even if—you could break through it. With that heaviness pressing on your chest, you let your eyes drift shut, sleep slowly creeping in, even as your mind swirled with memories: his sharp words, the cold bite of snow, and the wide, unbridgeable distance between you.

But then there were those rare moments, like when you had tended to his hand. His fingers, rough and calloused from years of survival, had briefly rested in your own, forming a fleeting connection. For just a second, you thought you saw something softer in his eyes, something that disappeared as quickly as it came. It left you questioning whether it had been there at all, or if it was just your tired mind imagining what you wished to see. That glimpse of warmth was always so brief, it felt almost like a dream, gone before you could even grasp it.

Your eyes grew heavy, the exhaustion finally settling in, and before you realized it, you had drifted off, once again with thoughts of Joel lingering in your mind.

It was becoming a pattern—no matter how hard you tried to push him away, he always found his way into your last waking thoughts, like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

•••

The next morning, you woke with a quiet sense of resolve. The world outside felt different, lighter somehow, as if the weight of the previous days had begun to lift. The snow, once harsh and unrelenting, had softened in the night, its flurries now gentle, drifting lazily through the air. There was something in the crispness of the morning—a quiet, unspoken promise of change. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there, lingering in the air. It whispered of new beginnings, though what those might be, you weren’t sure just yet.

You stepped out onto the front porch, the wooden boards creaking softly beneath your weight. The morning was still, but the world around you was beginning to stir. People walked by in small clusters, bundled up against the cold, their breath visible in the crisp air as they moved through the motions of daily life—talking, laughing, going about their routines with a sense of quiet purpose. Children’s voices carried faintly from a distance, their laughter bright against the otherwise muted morning. There was a peacefulness to it all, an ordinary rhythm that felt comforting in its familiarity.

The garden in front of you lay dormant, a barren stretch of earth dusted with a thin layer of frost, its potential hidden beneath winter’s icy grip. For now, it seemed lifeless—a quiet, desolate patch of ground that mirrored the stillness around you.

But you had plans for it.

You had told Maria and Tommy all about your dream for the garden, how this coming spring, you would finally put it to life. As you stood there, cradling your coffee in both hands, warmth seeping into your fingers, you imagined what it would become. In your mind’s eye, the empty space transformed—bursting with color, vibrant and wild, flowers of all kinds stretching along the fence, breathing life back into the soil. And most of all, there would be roses.

You had always loved roses—their fierce, unapologetic beauty, delicate yet resilient, with thorns that spoke of their strength. You could already picture them—soft pinks, fiery reds, deep purples—spreading across the garden, filling the air with their sweet scent. The thought brought a small smile to your lips, a quiet hope stirring within, as if nurturing the garden might somehow heal something within you too, fill some sort of void you had become too aware of.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the creak of Tommy’s front door swinging open across the street, pulling you from your reverie. He lived right in front of you, and the sound was as familiar as the rhythm of the town.

Instinctively, you glanced up, your eyes landing on Joel as he stepped out alongside Tommy. They were deep in conversation, their breath forming clouds in the cold morning air. You couldn’t make out the words from this distance, but then something caught your attention—Joel’s laugh. It was rare, almost unexpected, the sound soft but carrying across the quiet street. It lingered briefly in the air before fading, like something you almost didn’t catch but somehow couldn’t ignore.

Your eyes lingered on Joel longer than you intended. He looked much the same—his shoulders squared, his expression as unreadable as ever. But something was different in the way he stood next to Tommy. There was a subtle ease to him, a rare sense of relaxation in the way he moved, the tension that usually clung to him seemed to soften, if only slightly. The bandage still wrapped around his hand was a quiet reminder of the last time you’d been alone together, stirring a mix of emotions inside you—uncertainty, regret, and something you couldn’t quite name.

And then he caught your eye.

For a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze. His gaze locked onto yours, and for a split second, you saw his eyes flicker over you, a subtle once-over that made your breath hitch. His expression remained unreadable, but the way his eyes lingered left you feeling exposed. Embarrassment surged through you as you realized you were still in your pajamas, the thin fabric showing more skin than you would’ve liked. Flustered, you quickly looked away, turning your attention back to your coffee, hoping its warmth might somehow hide the flush creeping up your neck.

It was too much to stay outside any longer, the cold biting at your skin and the weight of Joel’s gaze unsettling you. You were already on your way back inside when Tommy noticed you, his eyes catching the awkward exchange.

As you scurried toward your door, fumbling with the stubborn knob once again, Tommy couldn’t resist. “Everything alright over there?” he called, a teasing lilt in his voice. You felt the heat rise to your face, hastily ducking inside before you had to answer, hoping the door would shut fast enough to hide your embarrassment.

From across the street, Tommy’s laughter rang out, likely at the clumsy spectacle you’d made of yourself. What you didn’t see, as you hurried inside, was the faint hint of a smile pulling at Joel’s lips—a rare flicker of amusement that softened his hardened expression. He watched you disappear, his gaze lingering on the door long after it had shut, as if your rushed retreat had left something behind, something only he could recognize.

•••

The knock on the door interrupted you as you sat reading, pulling you from the pages just as you were starting to lose yourself in them. With a sigh, you set the book aside and opened the door to find Tommy standing there, his usual grin plastered across his face, leaning casually against the frame.

“Hey, kid,” he greeted warmly, his eyes darting to the door handle before letting out a laugh. “Still fighting with this old thing, huh? I thought this morning might’ve been its final battle.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. You loved this about Tommy—the way he could make you laugh, no matter what. He had this duality about him, able to take command on patrols, protect the town, and then switch to being a total clown at the drop of a hat. It was a rare skill, and you appreciated it more than you let on.

You thought back to that one time, when you’d come back from a patrol, shaken up after a close call. The adrenaline had barely worn off, and you couldn’t get your mind to settle. Not long after you made it home, Tommy had shown up with a deck of cards, a grin on his face, and simply said, “Heard you need to learn how to lose at poker.” The next couple of hours were spent with him playfully mocking your terrible hand and telling stories that had you laughing until your stomach hurt. He never once asked about what had happened on patrol, and somehow, that made it better. He had this way of knowing exactly what you needed, even when you didn’t.

“Anyway,” Tommy continued, snapping you back to the present as he straightened up, “You’re coming over tonight. Maria’s cooking up a storm, and we’re not taking no for an answer.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s the occasion?”

Tommy shrugged, grinning as usual. “Do I need an occasion to hang out with my favorite people?”

“Uh-huh,” you said, not entirely convinced. “Who else is coming?”

“Just the usual suspects,” Tommy replied, throwing in a playful wink. “You, Joel, and Ellie. Figured we could all use a night to unwind. Besides, we’ll finally get to hear some of those patrol stories now that you two aren’t at each other’s throats anymore.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Right. Because we’re such great storytellers.”

Tommy laughed. “Hey, if nothing else, it’ll be entertaining to watch you try.”

You forced out a chuckle, though it felt hollow, the irony of his words twisting in your gut. The lies you’d fed Tommy were beginning to catch up with you, knotting something tight and uncomfortable in your chest. Just like last week, when he’d casually asked how patrol with Joel had gone, and you’d plastered on a smile, insisting everything was fine—because that was easier than admitting the truth. But now, the thought of spending an entire evening with Joel, pretending like nothing had changed, made your stomach twist. You hadn’t corrected Tommy then, and now you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep up the charade.

Tommy must have caught the flicker of hesitation in your expression because he waved a hand dismissively before you could even form a protest. “No excuses, alright? Six-thirty sharp. Be there. Gotta run!”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you standing there with a knot tightening in your stomach. The prospect of dinner with Joel hung heavy in the air, a weight you couldn’t quite shake as the reality of spending the evening with him settled uncomfortably on your mind.

•••

That night, a low hum of anxiety thrummed in your chest, your mind racing through every possible scenario of how dinner might unfold. Would Joel sit in stony silence, barely acknowledging your presence? Would his gaze linger too long, sharp with frustration, making you wonder if you’d said or done something wrong again? Or maybe he’d be short with you, his words clipped and cold, each sentence feeling like a subtle reprimand. You imagined accidentally dropping a fork, the clatter echoing louder than it should, and him shooting you that look—the one that made you feel small, like you didn’t belong. The air always felt thick with him there, heavy with unspoken tension. You couldn’t stop replaying his words in your mind, the way his eyes had cut through you, the frustration lacing his voice. You knew he thought you were a burden, and now every little thing felt magnified—every move, every word, overthought and picked apart, terrified that one misstep would only confirm what he already seemed to believe.

For the past week, you’d been silently relieved that you hadn’t crossed paths with him, grateful for the distance. But deep down, you knew that seeing him again was inevitable, not just tonight at dinner, but eventually.

You stood in front of your closet, fingers trailing over the hangers as you searched for something that felt right. After a moment of hesitation, you pulled out a soft, knitted sweater—the pale pink one Maria had once said brought out the warmth in your skin. It was thick enough to fend off the evening chill, hugging you in a way that felt both comforting and flattering. The sleeves draped past your wrists, brushing your fingertips like a quiet, reassuring touch you hadn’t realized you craved. You paired it with a well-worn pair of jeans, something familiar and easy.

As you got ready, the sweet scent of apple-cinnamon pie drifted up from the kitchen, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. It was a soothing contrast to the nerves building in your chest. Standing in front of the mirror, you left your hair down, letting it fall naturally in loose waves, framing your face. There was a simplicity to it all that made you feel put together—nothing overdone, but just enough to feel like yourself.

Pie in hand, you braved the cold night air, the chill biting at your cheeks until they flushed pink. Your boots crunched softly through the snow as you made your way across the street to Tommy and Maria’s. The faint glow from their windows spilled out into the darkness, a warm, inviting light that seemed to pull you in, offering a welcome contrast to the cold night pressing against you.

You paused at the door for a moment, taking a deep breath before stepping inside.

“There she is!” Tommy’s voice rang out, cheerful as ever, breaking the crisp silence that followed you in from the cold. The comforting aroma of roasted chicken and warm spices greeted you immediately, wrapping around you like a blanket, a stark contrast to the biting air outside.

Maria looked up from the table she was setting, her smile as warm as the scents filling the room. “Hey, glad you could make it,” she said, her voice easy and inviting, making you feel at home in an instant.

Ellie popped up from her seat with an exaggerated grin, waving you over. “About time! Thought you’d frozen out there or something.” Her teasing tone, paired with the glint of amusement in her eyes, pulled a soft smile from you, easing some of the tension lodged in your chest.

But then, your gaze drifted almost instinctively to the table, where Joel sat. Your steps faltered for a brief moment when you saw him. He looked different tonight—refined, even. His usually disheveled hair was slicked back, neater than you’d ever seen it, and he had traded his familiar, worn-out jacket for a crisp button-up shirt. The fabric stretched taut across his broad shoulders, making him seem even more imposing. It threw you off balance, and for a heartbeat, you didn’t quite know what to do with yourself.

His eyes flicked up, catching yours for just a second. The look he gave you was unreadable, as if he was holding back something he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—say. He nodded, barely perceptible, a silent acknowledgment of your arrival. The tension from the past week hung heavy in the air, thick and unspoken, settling between you like an invisible wall. But tonight, there was something different about him. A softness, a deliberate effort, though you couldn’t quite pin down why.

You hesitated, your familiar unease creeping back in, knotting in your stomach. It was like Joel could sense it. His gaze lingered, just long enough to make you question everything, the silence between you filled with things you both refused to say.

“You brought pie?” Maria’s smile widened as she took the dish from you, her eyes bright with appreciation. “You didn’t have to, but thank you. It smells divine.”

You managed a small laugh, though Joel’s presence still weighed on your thoughts. “Figured it’d make up for my lousy company,” you teased lightly, trying to shift your focus.

Maria chuckled, giving your arm a light pat as she placed the pie on the counter. “Oh, stop it. We’re just glad you’re here.”

You gave Maria a small smile, though your nerves still fluttered beneath the surface. As you glanced back at the table, you realized everyone had already taken their seats—except for you. The only empty spot left was next to Joel. Your stomach twisted at the sight, and you couldn’t tell if it was deliberate or just an unfortunate coincidence.

Joel’s eyes were back on his plate, as if the brief exchange between you hadn’t even happened. But the tension between you hummed in the air, undeniable, even if no one else seemed to notice. As you reluctantly moved toward the empty seat beside him, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his presence, the quiet weight of it pressing against your thoughts. Sitting down, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too, or if you were just stuck in your own head, overthinking every glance, every silence.

•••

Dinner was awkward, the kind of awkward that lingered like a thick fog, clinging to every corner of the room despite the efforts to keep the conversation light and flowing. The tension seemed to wrap itself around the table, settling between you and Joel like an invisible barrier, palpable even in the spaces where no one spoke.

Tommy, ever perceptive, had picked up on it quickly. His brow furrowed in confusion as he glanced your way, his expression silently asking, I thought you and Joel were fine now? The lie you had told him after that patrol—the one where you said everything was “just fine”—seemed to hover in the air, taunting you, its weight pressing down on the space between you and Joel.

And yet, no matter how hard you tried to focus on the clatter of forks or Maria’s cheerful voice, you couldn’t escape the feeling that everyone could sense it. The tension hummed beneath the surface, thick and suffocating, binding you to Joel in a way that neither of you seemed ready to face.

“Tell us about your hand, Joel,” Tommy said, his voice deliberately light, as if trying to sweep away the thick tension clinging to the room. There was a playful note to his tone, an attempt to soften the atmosphere. “Bet there’s a funny story there.”

Your eyes drifted to Joel’s bandaged hand, watching as he flexed it slightly before lifting his fork to his mouth. The memory of you stitching him up flickered in your mind, and the tension between you felt as raw as it had that day.

Joel barely glanced up, his jaw tight, his focus still pinned on the plate in front of him. “It’s nothing, Tommy,” he muttered, the gruffness in his voice like a wall shutting down any further inquiry. His words were flat, dismissive, a quick brush-off. “Just a scratch.”

Tommy, still blissfully unaware of the deeper currents beneath the surface, pressed on with a grin. “But it happened during patrol, didn’t it?” He threw a playful glance your way, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “And I heard Sunshine here patched you up. Woman of many talents, huh?”

You forced a small smile at the nickname Tommy had given you, trying to match his lightheartedness, but the unease settled deeper in your chest. Tommy always meant well, but he didn’t see the cracks beneath the surface. His playful tone smoothed over something jagged, but it wasn’t enough to shake the heaviness between you and Joel.

Maria, though—she wasn’t fooled. She always had a way of sensing the undercurrents, and tonight was no exception. Her eyes caught yours across the table, a flicker of understanding passing between you. It was the kind of look that said she knew more than anyone else in the room and wouldn’t push, but she was there if you needed her.

You busied yourself with passing plates, focusing on the small, routine tasks as a distraction from the tension that had settled deep in your chest. Ellie, bless her, filled the silence with her usual bright energy, recounting some story about an old man who’d mistaken her for a boy during patrol.

“… and I swear, he didn’t believe me until I had to practically spell it out for him!” Ellie’s voice rang through the room, her laughter contagious. Tommy chuckled, shaking his head, and Maria smiled softly as she listened.

But even Ellie’s infectious spirit couldn’t cut through the knot that had formed inside you. Every word, every glance felt like it was being scrutinized, held under the weight of Joel’s silent watch. You hated it—the way his presence lingered, how the memory of his harsh words still held you captive, turning you into a shell of who you were around the others. It grated at you, that all it took was a few biting words from him to undo everything, to make you doubt yourself.

You kept your focus on the plates, nodding occasionally at Ellie’s story, but your mind was elsewhere. You could feel Joel across the table, the tension between you like a live wire, sparking every time his eyes drifted your way, even if just for a second. It was like the room had split in two—one half filled with light conversation and Ellie’s laughter, and the other weighed down by the unspoken strain between you and Joel.

As Ellie continued her stories, you reached for your glass, only to realize it was nearly empty, and without thinking, your hand hesitated. Before you could pull away, Joel’s hand quietly reached across the table, refilling your glass without a word. The gesture was simple, almost unremarkable, but it stopped you cold. His rough fingers brushed the rim of the glass, and the unexpected softness in the midst of all the tension sent a jolt through you.

For a moment, you froze, your mind racing. Why did he do that? It wasn’t the kind of thing you’d expect from him—especially after the way he’d acted toward you lately. You thought he couldn’t stand you, that he saw you as nothing more than a burden. The words he’d once said echoed in your mind, tightening your chest. You had backed off, kept your distance, because he made it painfully clear he wanted nothing to do with you.

And yet… this. This small, quiet gesture. Was it just habit? Politeness? Or did he feel bad for how he’d treated you? The questions swirled in your head, and you couldn’t quite shake the confusion.

“Thanks,” you mumbled softly, your voice barely audible. Joel gave the faintest nod, never meeting your eyes as he returned to his meal, as if nothing had happened. But you couldn’t let it go. That brief touch, that moment of quiet consideration—it lingered, making you question everything. Did he regret the way he’d treated you? Or was it just you, overthinking as usual, grasping for meaning where there was none?

•••

Dinner came and went, the awkwardness that had settled over the room earlier slowly ebbing away. After that small interaction with Joel, you found yourself subconsciously loosening up. The knot of tension in your chest slowly unraveled, and you began to relax, slipping into your usual self without even realizing it. You laughed at Ellie’s stories, joined in on Tommy’s playful banter, and let yourself ease into the flow of the evening, the weight of Joel’s presence not as heavy as before.

Joel, as usual, stayed mostly silent, his focus on his plate. He only chimed in when Ellie made some snarky comment about their latest patrol, and even then, his words were short, gruff responses. But his silence didn’t feel as suffocating now—it was just… Joel being Joel. You couldn’t help but glance at him occasionally, wondering if that small act earlier had meant anything to him. But he remained distant, his expression unreadable, and you tried not to let your thoughts linger too long.

Still, the evening felt lighter, easier. For the first time in a long while, you found yourself almost enjoying the company, allowing yourself to be present in the moment. The tension that had once felt unbearable had faded into the background, at least for now.

When it came time for dessert, you brought out the pie, your hands a little unsteady as you tried to focus on the simple act of serving it. The warm, sweet aroma of apples and cinnamon filled the room, carrying with it a sense of nostalgia that momentarily eased the tension in your chest. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you as you approached the table, their conversations quieting in anticipation. But as you carried the pie to the table, still hot from the oven, you misjudged the thickness of the towel in your hands. The heat seared through the fabric, and a sharp, instinctive “Shit!” escaped your lips as pain shot through your fingers.

Before you could even react, Joel was there, reaching out without hesitation. His hand wrapped around the dish, and for a second, you were sure he’d burn himself too. But he barely flinched as he steadied it, his fingers brushing yours just as he took the pie from your grip. His touch, rough but steady, sent a jolt through you that had nothing to do with the heat.

“Careful,” Joel muttered under his breath, his voice low and rough, as he set the pie down on the table with a practiced ease, barely acknowledging the burn that would have scalded most.

You stood frozen, staring at him, wondering if he felt the sting—or anything at all. His hand lingered on the dish a moment longer than necessary, and you caught the subtle tension in his jaw, the slight clenching that made you think maybe he did feel the heat but wasn’t about to admit it.

The pain in your own fingers faded, overtaken by the weight of his presence. The unexpected gentleness of his touch still buzzed through you, unsettling in its intimacy. Something about the moment—something beyond the heat—left you feeling off balance.

You looked up at him, startled by the ease with which he’d helped, by the gentle steadiness of his hand on yours. His face remained as unreadable as ever, but for the briefest moment, you felt something shift. It was subtle, barely there, but it was enough to make your heart race, to make you question everything you thought you knew about him.

You just gulped, the words thank you struggling to leave your mouth. To the others, it was nothing more than a simple slip of the hands—an almost-accident, easily shrugged off—but between you and Joel, it was something else. What exactly, you weren’t sure, but you didn’t like the way it left you feeling. That brief touch, the way he’d steadied the pie without a second thought, unsettled you. It was too intimate, too confusing, and you hated how it lingered in your mind.

As you resumed passing out plates, Ellie’s exaggerated enthusiasm over the dessert barely registered. Your mind kept drifting back to Joel, who sat quietly, his eyes fixed on his empty plate. When Tommy offered him a slice, he waved it off, muttering something about being too full.

•••

After dinner, you and Ellie gathered in the living room. Maria was in the kitchen, despite your repeated offers to help, and Tommy and Joel had disappeared into another part of the house, likely fixing something.

Ellie leaned back on the couch, stretching out like she hadn’t a care in the world. Meanwhile, your shoulders tensed under her gaze—you knew she was about to pry.

“Sooo,” she began, drawing out the word in a way that told you this was her attempt at subtlety. “What’s up with you and Joel?”

You felt your heart skip. Of course, she had noticed. Ellie noticed everything. You tried to brush it off, running a hand through your hair to buy yourself some time. “What do you mean?”

Ellie raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with your attempt to deflect. “Oh, come on. You two can barely be in the same room without it getting… awkward. So, what’s the deal? What happened?”

The word awkward echoed in your mind, and somehow, it still felt too simplistic to capture whatever this was between you and Joel. It wasn’t just awkwardness—it was tension, unspoken and unresolved. You shifted in your seat, unsure of how to put it into words. “I don’t know,” you said softly, your voice hesitant. “He said some things, I said some things… it’s complicated.”

Even as you said it, the weight of that truth lingered in the air between you. Complicated didn’t begin to cover it.

Ellie gave you a knowing nod, as if she understood more than she was letting on. “Complicated,” she echoed, her tone almost amused. “Yeah, I get that. But you know… you and Joel? You’re more alike than you think.”

You blinked at her, caught off guard by the comparison. “Alike?” you repeated, the word feeling foreign when applied to you and Joel. “Should I be offended?” you added with a playful smirk, trying to lighten the moment.

Ellie rolled her eyes but smiled. “Sure, when I first met him, he was a total asshole. And I mean asshole with a capital ‘A.’”

“Sounds about right,” you said, your tone light, but inside, something stirred.

Ellie grinned, but her expression softened as she continued, her voice lowering. “But that’s just… how he is. He builds walls, you know? Keeps people out.” She played with her fingers, her usual confidence faltering for a moment. “He’s been through a lot. Lost people. I know we all have, but… I think he just deals with it differently.”

Her words settled over you, heavy and unshakable. You hadn’t known much about Joel’s past—just bits and pieces from Tommy’s passing remarks or whispers around town. But now, as Ellie spoke, there was a deeper layer to it, something that made your chest tighten with a strange, unfamiliar ache.

“Lost people?” you asked softly, a strange feeling coiling deep in your stomach.

Ellie’s expression shifted, a flicker of sadness clouding her eyes. She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor as if weighing whether to continue. After a brief pause, she let out a soft sigh, the sound heavy with memories. “Yeah…” She glanced at you again, her voice quieter now. “Before we got here… there was someone else with us.” Another pause, as if the name still carried weight. “Her name was Tess.”

The name hit you harder than you expected, solid and heavy. You’d never heard about Tess, but from the way Ellie said her name, you knew Tess wasn’t just anyone. She had been important—more than important.

You swallowed, your voice hesitant as the question slipped out. “Were they… close?”

Ellie paused, glancing away, her brows furrowing like she was picking through memories, unsure of how much to say. “Yeah, they were close. I think so. It was… complicated, but you could tell she meant a lot to him.” She sighed again, her gaze distant, caught up in a world of memories that didn’t belong to you. “When we lost her, it messed him up. I mean, more than usual.”

The mention of Tess left a bitter taste in your mouth, tightening the knot in your chest. You wondered why it even mattered—why the thought of her knowing him, of softening his rough edges, bothered you at all. It unsettled you, and the fact that you were questioning it only made things worse. You didn’t care, or at least, you shouldn’t. So why the hell were you thinking about it?

Ellie’s voice grew quieter, more introspective. “It’s like… Joel builds these walls around himself. High ones. To keep people out, to keep from getting hurt again. He couldn’t stand me a few months ago, and now it’s like… he worries if I’m gone for too long or if I’m not where he can see me.” She smiled, the kind of smile that was both wistful and knowing. “You just have to keep trying to see it… what’s underneath.”

Her words lingered in the air, tugging at something deep inside you. You weren’t sure if you were ready to try—or if you even wanted to. The thought of breaking through those walls, of seeing what lay beneath, left you more conflicted than ever. Why would you want to with someone who had made it painfully clear he couldn’t stand you? But after the small gestures tonight, you couldn’t help but wonder if that was still true.

The weight of Ellie’s words settled in your chest like a stone. The image of Joel she painted wasn’t just the gruff, distant man you knew; it was someone who had been hurt, someone who had lost so much that he didn’t know how to let anyone in anymore. Maybe that’s why he was the way he was with you—maybe it wasn’t even about you at all. Maybe it was about Tess. About whatever scars she’d left behind.

You sat there in silence for a moment, your thoughts churning with everything Ellie had said. The awkwardness between you and Joel felt different now, less like anger and more like a shadow of something neither of you had the words to explain.

Ellie looked at you, her expression softening even more. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but… Joel can say and do things he doesn’t mean. And, well, I actually like you, so if you two could figure it out, that’d be awesome.”

You couldn’t help but smile at her words, a faint warmth spreading through your chest. “Yeah,” you murmured, the smile lingering a moment longer. I wish we could too, you thought, casting a quick glance toward Joel. He had just come back inside with Tommy and was now standing by the door, talking quietly. You watched him for a moment, noticing how his gaze flickered your way now and then. If only it were that simple.

The evening came to an end, and after saying your goodbyes, you slipped into your house, your mind swirling with thoughts. Ellie’s words replayed over and over, He’s lost people... Her voice echoed in your head, pulling you into a whirlwind of questions that spun relentlessly. Joel never shared much about his past—especially not with you—but Ellie had unknowingly cracked open a door, offering you a fleeting glimpse into the shadows he carried.

Now, for the first time, you found yourself wondering what it might be like to know him beyond the gruff exterior, beyond the walls he’d built so high and guarded so fiercely. The idea unsettled you, the weight of it lingering longer than you expected, tugging at a curiosity you weren’t sure you wanted to explore.

•••

A week later, you found yourself returning from another long night shift with Maria. Patrol had dragged on, leaving you bone-tired, your limbs heavy with exhaustion as you finally made your way home in the late afternoon. The snow had mostly melted, clinging only in stubborn patches, and the biting cold had eased. The air had shifted, carrying with it the faint warmth of the approaching spring. The sharp edge of winter had softened, replaced by a mild breeze that whispered of change. Yet, despite the gentler weather, the fatigue weighed you down, every step toward home feeling heavier than the last.

As you trudged up the steps to your front porch, exhaustion draped over you like a heavy blanket, your mind was already set on the hot shower waiting inside. But something felt… off. The door opened too easily.

You paused, confusion furrowing your brow. Turning back, you pushed it again—this time slower, more deliberate. It moved smoothly on its hinges, without the familiar stubborn resistance you’d grown so used to. Gone was the creak and the nightly battle just to get inside.

Curious, you pushed it open and closed a few more times, realization dawning on you. It had been fixed.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “Tommy,” you muttered softly to yourself, shaking your head with a mix of amusement and gratitude. He must’ve finally taken pity on you after seeing you struggle with it the other day on the porch.

A warm shower and a much-needed nap later, you found yourself heading to the famous Jackson pub—something you and Tommy did regularly, with Maria occasionally tagging along. That evening, as the sky deepened into a cool twilight, you made your way through the brisk air toward the bar.

The moment you stepped inside, the warmth of the room enveloped you, the familiar hum of conversation and bursts of laughter offering a welcome reprieve from the cold outside. Memories of this place rushed back to you, woven into the fabric of your time in Jackson. This was where you’d celebrated your last birthday—Tommy insisting on toasting you, and the whole pub joining in with a boisterous, off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.” You remembered how embarrassed you’d felt but couldn’t help the warmth that settled in your chest when Maria brought out a cake she’d somehow managed to make despite all the supply shortages.

And then there was the night after one of your toughest patrols, when Maria had dragged you in here for “just one drink” to unwind. You’d ended up staying for hours, swapping stories with Tommy and Maria while the pub filled with laughter and the comforting sound of clinking glasses, the stress of the day melting away.

You spotted Tommy and Maria easily, sitting at a small table by the window. Tommy was already nursing a glass of whiskey, his grin widening when he saw you. Maria leaned in beside him, chatting quietly, her soft laughter mixing with the sounds of the bar. The glow from the dim lights above bathed the room in a cozy warmth, making it feel both alive and familiar—a place full of memories and moments that felt like home.

“Hey,” you greeted, sliding into the seat next to Tommy with a grin. “How’s it going? Long day?”

Tommy glanced up from his drink, giving you a welcoming nod. “Always is. Had to sort out some supply issues earlier, but we got it under control. Maria’s been on my case about takin’ a break, so… here I am.” He gestured around the pub with a wry smile.

Maria chuckled from across the table. “If by ‘taking a break,’ you mean half-listening to me while checking in with half the town, sure.”

“Hey now,” Tommy shot back, holding his hands up defensively. “I’m right here, aren’t I?”

You laughed and shook your head. “Well, at least you’re both here, so that’s something. Speaking of which, thanks for fixing my door, by the way. I didn’t even hear you come by. You’re officially off the hook for at least one favor.”

Tommy looked at you, confused, his glass halfway to his mouth. He lowered it and furrowed his brow. “Fix your door? What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

You blinked, surprised. “The front door—remember? It used to stick all the time. You said you’d get to it eventually.”

“Yeah, I remember. But I didn’t fix it,” Tommy said, chuckling as he leaned back in his chair. “Trust me, if I’d finally gotten around to fixing that door, I’d make sure you knew. I’d probably make a whole show of it, to be honest. That thing’s been givin’ you hell for months.”

Now you were the one confused. “Wait, seriously? You didn’t fix it?”

“Nope,” he said with a grin, shrugging. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a mystery handyman.”

A wave of confusion swept over you. If it wasn’t Tommy, then… who? You shook your head, a small laugh bubbling up despite the strange, nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

Maria, who had been listening quietly, raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “Maybe you’ve got yourself a secret admirer,” she joked, though a flicker of genuine curiosity sparked in her eyes.

“Yeah, or a fucking stalker,” Tommy chimed in with a grin.

“Tommy!” Maria scolded, swatting him lightly on the arm.

He laughed, unbothered. “Or maybe you were just drunk and forgot you fixed it yourself.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head with a smirk. “Very funny,” you said, though the joking didn’t entirely settle the strange feeling gnawing at you. Even as the conversation drifted to other topics, the thought lingered, tugging at the edges of your mind. Who had fixed the door? And why wouldn’t they say anything?

As you made your way home later that night, the streets quiet under the soft cover of darkness, your thoughts kept circling back to the door—how easily it had opened, how it had been fixed without a word, without explanation. A gentle breeze stirred the air, the last remnants of winter whispering through the night, but it wasn’t enough to chill you. You felt light on your feet, a little tipsy from the drinks and the easy company of the evening, but even that couldn’t shake the strange feeling gnawing at you.

When you finally reached your porch, you hesitated, turning the knob once more. The door opened with a soft click, smooth and effortless, as if it had never been broken at all. You stood there for a moment, the faint breeze brushing against your skin, staring at the door as if it might somehow reveal its secrets.

A quiet mystery settled over you, but for now, it remained unsolved. With a sigh, you stepped inside, the warmth of your home embracing you as you closed the door behind you. Maybe you’d never know who had fixed it. Or maybe… you already did.

You just weren’t ready to admit it yet.

•••

The next morning, as you groggily made your way toward the front door, still half-lost in the remnants of sleep, something unusual caught your eye and halted your steps. You blinked, trying to shake off the haze of early morning sluggishness. You had woken up with a mental list of things to tackle—maybe a trip to the market for supplies, finally tackling that patch of overgrown weeds in the garden, or even sorting through the clutter slowly piling up in the house. But all those plans slipped from your mind as you stood there, staring in disbelief.

The snow that had once piled up in your front yard—left untouched and heavy for weeks—was now neatly pushed aside, creating a clear path through the garden. It wasn’t just a quick shovel job either; it was precise, deliberate. You frowned, stepping closer to the window to get a better look.

“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath. You hadn’t even thought about shoveling the snow—not with everything else weighing you down lately.

You pressed your hand against the cold windowpane, peering outside. There were no footprints, no signs of who had been there. The remnants of snow were perfectly undisturbed except for the careful path that had been made. It was as if someone had come and gone without a trace, but with deliberate care.

First the door, now this.

Your eyes scanned the rest of the garden, and that’s when you noticed something else. The pile of firewood stacked by the side of your house—it had grown. You hadn’t even realized it had been running low, but now fresh logs were neatly stacked, perfectly arranged. It wasn’t just a casual pile; it was deliberate, almost too neat to be random. The firewood you had struggled to keep up with all winter had somehow been replenished overnight, quietly and without a word.

You stood at the top of your porch steps, hesitating, your gaze sweeping the street. You half-expected to catch a glimpse of someone lingering nearby, the person responsible for these quiet, thoughtful gestures. But the street was empty, bathed in the soft morning light spilling across the snow-dusted town.

For a brief moment, you wondered if this was Tommy, playing one of his pranks on you. He would be the type to mess with you like this. But no—Tommy wouldn’t have been able to resist bragging about it, he was much too proud to do something this thoughtful and remain anonymous.

Suspicion crawled up your spine again, and your thoughts immediately landed on one person.

Joel.

Yesterday, the mysteriously fixed door. Today, the snow cleared. And now, the firewood. It couldn’t all be coincidence, could it? You chewed the inside of your cheek, weighing the possibility.

The idea that Joel—the man who had barely spoken to you in weeks, the one who had kept his distance—might be behind this felt almost… absurd. But at the same time, you couldn’t shake the thought.

You stood there for a moment longer, staring out at the empty street, your mind racing. The thought of Joel quietly looking out for you, going out of his way without even telling you, left you feeling strangely unsettled. It didn’t make sense, yet a part of you knew—he was the only person it could be.

As you stepped outside, the faint breeze brushing against your cheeks, your eyes instinctively scanned the street, and there he was.

Joel stood by the stables, his back to you, deep in conversation with Tommy. His arms were crossed over his chest, his posture rigid, as though he carried the weight of a world unseen. For a moment, you stood still, rooted to the spot, watching him, your thoughts spinning.

Could it really be him?

You couldn’t help but remember the sharpness in his voice the last time you had clashed—the coldness in his eyes when he’d called you a burden. His words had sliced through you like ice, leaving behind a wound that still stung. It was a moment you hadn’t been able to shake, no matter how hard you tried. That Joel, the one who had made you feel small and unwanted, couldn’t be the same person quietly taking care of you now. Could he? And if so, why?

And yet, there was this. The fixed door. The neatly cleared snow. The replenished firewood. These were acts of quiet kindness, thoughtful gestures that didn’t align with the distant, sharp-edged Joel you remembered. They didn’t make sense—not with the man who had gone out of his way to keep you at arm’s length.

Your gaze lingered on him, the questions swirling in your mind. What was he trying to tell you? Or was he even trying at all? The small, invisible acts felt like whispers of a truth you weren’t quite ready to face. Something about Joel didn’t add up—and that unsettled you more than anything else.

•••

Later that day, you made your way to the stables, seeking the quiet solace that always came from being around your horse—a ritual that had become your sanctuary on days off from patrol. The stable was your refuge, a place where the weight of everything outside seemed to lift, where your mind could finally quiet. The familiar scent of hay filled the air, mixed with the earthy warmth of the animals and the soft rhythm of their breathing. It was calming, grounding.

As you entered, your horse whinnied softly in recognition, his large brown eyes locking onto yours with a familiar sense of trust. You smiled, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly as you approached him. Running your fingers through the rough texture of his mane, you began brushing it with gentle, practiced strokes. The repetition was soothing, and though it was a routine, it felt like something more—a quiet, unspoken connection that tethered you to something steady amidst the chaos of life.

You were so lost in the quiet rhythm of brushing your horse, in the familiar warmth and stillness of the stable, that you didn’t notice someone else had entered. It wasn’t until a voice, deep and familiar, broke through the calm that you realized you weren’t alone.

“Hey.”

The sound startled you, and you turned quickly, your breath catching in your throat. Joel stood a few feet away, his posture relaxed but his expression unreadable. It wasn’t just his presence that surprised you—it was that he was talking to you at all.

“Hey,” you replied, your tone more guarded than you intended. Instinctively, your walls went up, the wariness creeping in like a defense mechanism. This was Joel, after all, and every interaction with him carried a weight, an undercurrent of tension, with so many unsaid things lingering between you, like ghosts refusing to be laid to rest.

The silence that followed felt thick, hanging in the air as you stood there, bracing yourself for whatever came next. With Joel, you never knew if his words would cut, or if he’d just turn and leave, like so many times before.

But something was different this time. Instead of the familiar tension that usually thickened the air between you, there was a quiet understanding, a silence that wasn’t heavy or uncomfortable. It was… calm. The kind of calm that settled over you both as you went about your tasks, tending to your horses in a shared silence that, for once, felt like enough. The sharpness that usually lingered between you was absent, and for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel the urge to fill the space with awkward conversation or unspoken explanations.

Curiosity tugged at you, and you glanced over at Joel. He was focused on his horse, his hands moving with a practiced care that mirrored your own—a surprising gentleness in the way he brushed the coat, checked the reins, and tended to his mount. It was so natural for him, almost second nature, and watching him like this, in the quiet of the stable, was different. The weight he always seemed to carry, the burden you often felt in his presence, wasn’t as visible here. There was something almost peaceful about seeing him in this light—away from the guarded walls, the harsh edges.

Before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out. “How’s your hand?”

Your voice was softer than you intended, the question carrying more weight than you meant for it to. You held your breath, unsure how he’d respond. Joel glanced over, his eyes meeting yours, lingering there for a moment longer than usual, something unspoken passing between you. Then, almost absentmindedly, he flexed his hand, as if testing its strength.

The bandage was gone now, replaced by a pale scar tracing its way across his palm, a quiet reminder of that day. He lifted his hand slightly, giving you a clearer view of the mark, and for a brief second, you both just stared at it—the silence between you no longer tense, but strangely reflective.

“It’s better,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, but with a softness you weren’t used to hearing from him. There was no edge, no coldness—just a simple, honest reply.

You nodded, your gaze lingering on the scar for a beat longer before you turned back to your horse. “That’s good,” you murmured, and somehow, it was. Knowing that he was healing, that the wound had closed, left you feeling unexpectedly lighter, though you couldn’t quite pin down why.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable like before; something had shifted, subtle but there. Joel went back to packing up his things with his usual quiet efficiency, moving as if nothing had happened. But you found yourself watching him from the corner of your eye, your mind swirling with questions—questions you weren’t sure you were ready to ask.

Just as he was about to leave, his figure slipping into the shadows at the far end of the stable, something inside you stirred—a pull, an instinct you couldn’t shake. Your heart beat a little faster, a sense of urgency you couldn’t explain. You hesitated, the words on the tip of your tongue, unsure if you should let them fall. But the moment was there, hanging in the air, and part of you knew if you didn’t reach out now, it might slip away entirely.

“Hey,” you called out, your voice cutting through the stillness, louder than you intended. Joel stopped in his tracks, turning slowly to face you. His eyes found yours, steady but questioning, waiting for what you had to say.

For a moment, you hesitated, your heart hammering in your chest. You didn’t know why this mattered so much, but it did. You needed to know. The words felt heavier than they should, as if each one carried a weight far beyond the simplicity of the question itself.

“Did you… fix my door?”

Your voice softened, almost uncertain, but the question hung in the air between you. Joel’s expression didn’t shift, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something you couldn’t quite read, yet it felt all too familiar.

There was a beat of silence, the air between you suddenly thick with unspoken tension. Joel didn’t answer right away; he held your gaze, his eyes dark and searching, as though he were measuring the significance of something so small, so seemingly inconsequential. The moment stretched out, loaded with anticipation, making you acutely aware of everything around you—the ground beneath your feet, the faint whinny of your horse in the distance.

After what felt like an eternity, he gave the slightest nod, his posture relaxed but his presence charged with an intensity that unsettled you. “Yeah, I fixed it,” he said, his tone casual, almost dismissive, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. Yet even as he spoke, his eyes remained locked on yours, revealing a depth that contradicted his easy words. It felt like a quiet admission—like this small act was far more than just fixing a door.

It made sense now, knowing he’d seen you struggling with it that day, his gaze lingering as you wrestled with the stubborn knob, frustration clear in your movements. He hadn’t said a word, but the fact that he’d gone out of his way to help—it tugged at something deep inside you.

His attempt to downplay it only sharpened the contrast between the gesture and the unspoken understanding between you, a bridge between two people who had spent so long pushing each other away. That tiny thread of connection, fragile but undeniable, hung in the air like a promise of something deeper.

You swallowed hard, the tightness in your throat making it difficult to speak, but you pushed the words out. “And... you cleared the snow in front of my house?” As the realization sank in, a faint heat crept up your neck, and suddenly, you struggled to meet his gaze, unsure why the simple question made you feel so exposed. The silence stretched between you for a moment, thick with something unspoken, until he gave the slightest nod.

The acknowledgment sent a jolt through you, though you tried to keep your expression neutral. “And the firewood... you filled the bin?” you added, your voice quieter now, feeling even more aware of his presence than before.

Your voice barely rose above a whisper now, each question adding to the tension building between you, the weight of the realization pressing against your chest. Joel said nothing, but the intensity of his gaze spoke volumes, his silence holding more meaning than words ever could.

There was no grand declaration, no apology, no explanation—just that quiet, wordless acknowledgment. It had been him. Every time. He had been looking out for you, in his own silent, stubborn way, without ever needing to tell you.

“You didn’t have to do that. I don’t... I don’t need your help.” The words came out sharper than you meant, laced with the same defiance you’d thrown at him after that first run-in with the raider. You remembered the tension, the way you’d stubbornly insisted you could handle it, and how he had been just as unwavering, silently reminding you that you couldn’t. Now, as the words hung between you, that same feeling flickered to life—pride mixed with frustration, though this time it felt more complicated.

Now, standing here in the thick, loaded silence, those old wounds hovered between you, threatening to open again. You wanted to reject his kindness, to hold on to that stubborn pride that had become a defense mechanism after all the hurt you’d carried. But a part of you—small, buried, but growing—wanted to accept it, wanted to let yourself lean into the warmth of what he was offering.

Joel’s gaze softened, his rough voice breaking the silence. “I know.” There was something different in his tone this time, something almost gentle, and it made your heart clench in a way you weren’t prepared for.

He looked down, shifting uncomfortably as if he wasn’t used to these moments, these conversations that brushed too close to vulnerability. “I shouldn’t have said… those things.” His words were gruff, awkward, but sincere, and you could tell it wasn’t easy for him to admit.

His hands were stuffed into his pockets, his shoulders hunched ever so slightly, and for the first time, you didn’t see Joel Miller as the man you had sparred with, or the one who had saved you. Instead, you saw him as someone carrying the weight of his own regret—regret for the words he had said, and the way he had treated you.

“I’m not good with words,” he added, his voice rough, and you realized that this—this awkward, halting admission—was as close to an apology as Joel was capable of. It wasn’t grand, but it was real, and it hit you harder than you’d expected. You thought about what Ellie had said—that Joel kept himself walled off, a fortress built to survive, to keep from getting hurt again.

Your eyes held his, the tension between you shifting ever so slightly, as though this small, almost imperceptible gesture was his way of trying to close the distance between you—a distance shaped by the sharp words and cold walls that once stood in your way.

As he turned to leave, something tugged at you. “Joel,” you called softly, your voice almost catching in your throat. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder, waiting.

You swallowed, unsure of what to say, but not wanting to let him go without acknowledging the moment. “Thank you,” you murmured, the words simple but heavy with everything left unsaid.

His eyes met yours, just for a beat, and though he said nothing, the flicker of understanding in his gaze told you he’d heard more than just your words. With a small nod, he turned and walked away, leaving behind the faint echo of something unresolved, but no longer as distant.

You stood there, the warmth of the hay and the soft rustling of the horses grounding you in the quiet aftermath of his departure.

•••

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