#small town girl x tz

[puck-luck]

Note: welcome to beaquinn hammock hookup! I'm formatting this on my phone bc I already put my computer in my bag, so I apologize if it looks wonky :)

Warnings: fingering, public & outdoor sex, handjob

WC: 2225

SMUT UNDER THE CUT! (I don't have my normal graphic for that since, yet again, I'm on my phone.) Minors, do NOT interact. Thanks!

Bea feels remarkably like a cat who is napping in a sunlit window. The moonlight doesn’t actually warm her all that much, but the red wine in her stomach and Quinn’s body heat does. They’re stargazing, but Bea has curled up into Quinn’s side and started to breathe him in. It would probably be expensive and unrealistic– try impossible– to bottle him up like a perfume, but with her nose pressed into the side of his chest, she would like nothing more.

Not only is he keeping her warm and smelling good, but he’s also so fun to touch. Quinn’s bicep is acting like a pillow for Bea, her knee is thrown over his leg, and her hand is on his stomach. Bea could fall asleep right here, on the ground, so long as Quinn is touching her.

Her fingers are a little bit cold, though. It’s the middle of summer, but since the sun has set, there’s a slight chill in the air. She’s already wearing Quinn’s Palm Angels Creative Services sweatshirt, which is big on Quinn and massive on Bea, but she’s cold.

There is a solution– the human hand-warmer beside her.

Just as Bea is snaking her hand under Quinn’s t-shirt and flattening her palm over his happy trail, she’s wrenched out of the moment by Honey’s cross voice.

“Stop that,” Honey chides.

She’s probably talking to Jack or Cole, or even Trevor, so Bea doesn’t pay her any mind. She continues her motion, finding the slight dip of Quinn’s v-line and tracing it.

“Seriously, Bea, stop it or go,” Honey adds, indignant.

Now it’s clear that she’s directing her complaints at Bea. Ugh. She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t have Quinn underneath her, with these lovehandles that she just wants to bite and pinch and love on.

Quinn shifts underneath her and catches Bea’s hand, halting her movements. “We’ll go to bed,” Quinn decides for them, holding Bea’s hand and dragging her up to a seated position. “C’mon, Bea.”

Bea groans, scrunching up her face. Moving is so hard. She raises her arms petulantly and blinks up at Quinn, doe-eyed.

He chuckles and shakes his head at Bea, smiling down and gathering her up in his arms. “Needy girl, did all that wine stop your legs from working?” He teases good-naturedly.

Bea’s stomach flutters. “I would just rather cuddle you,” Bea replies. She snuggles closer to Quinn and buries her nose in his chest, inhaling deeply and obviously and making Quinn laugh.

“Seemed like you wanted more than a cuddle, baby,” Quinn says knowingly. “How are you feeling?”

“Feeling like I want my boyfriend to touch me,” Bea sings, flattening her palms on Quinn’s chest and dragging them down his torso seductively once he sets her down, her feet against the ground so she's standing, but there's still very little space between them. His nostrils flare a little bit at his title, which is still fresh enough that it evokes a reaction from Quinn.

Jack and Honey can share looks all they want, but Bea and Quinn should be allowed to soak up the honeymoon phase as long as they’d like. It’ll all end at the end of August anyway, so what’s a month of mushy, over-the-top PDA?

“Oh, yeah?” Quinn asks. “What should your boyfriend do to you? He’s not going to fuck you in the hammock, F-Y-I.”

Bea frowns and digs her fingers into Quinn’s waistband, inching them down. “Why not?”

Quinn looks at her, unimpressed. “Because the hammock will flip over and we’ll fall out if I fuck you the way I want to fuck you.”

Bea hums. That sounds enticing. “Maybe we should sneak into Honey’s room,” Bea jokes. She wiggles her eyebrows and laughs. “You can fuck me to your heart’s content.”

Quinn looks off to the side, back toward the group, chuckling with Bea. “I think if we fuck in Honey’s bed, then she and Trevor will fuck in our bed.”

“Hm, good point,” Bea says. “We don’t want that. Not Trevor, at least.”

“Exactly.” Quinn pecks her forehead. “But, the sooner you get in the hammock, the sooner I can make you come on my fingers. Does that sound okay?”

“Better than okay,” Bea agrees. She hops into the hammock and tries to keep the swinging fabric steady for Quinn. Once he collapses on top of Bea’s body, she kisses his temple. “Once you make me come, I’ll get my hand on you, too.”

“So generous,” Quinn murmurs. He seals his mouth over hers and coats her tongue with his taste.

He tastes just the same as she does, probably. Her tastebuds are coated with red wine and Quinn’s kisses are slow, tinged with sensuality. Bea could kiss him all day and all night, if she’s being honest. Given how little time they have, she never wants to part from Quinn.

The pads of his fingers inch between her legs, rubbing Bea’s core over her shorts. “You wanna take these off?” He asks.

Bea nods. “Mhm,” she agrees. “I kind of like the idea of being exposed like this.”

Quinn groans, swooping in to kiss her again. “Fuck, I love you,” he tells Bea.

He’s been saying that a lot lately. It’s not like she told him to stop, but she also hasn’t said it back. It makes her… anxious, maybe, to hear Quinn say that he loves her? Not always in a bad way– in moments like this, it makes her giggle and remember that they’re a great match, but other times it just reminds her that things are going to be really difficult at the end of August. The real reason that Bea doesn’t stop Quinn from saying he loves her, though, is because he always says it so earnestly. He truly means it and she doesn’t want to stop him from saying what he means. She doesn’t want to silence him.

Luckily, he’s kissing her again, so she doesn’t have to reply. He usually does that. He’ll smother her lips before she can think of a response to his statement. Bea suspects that he knows that she’s not quite there yet and that’s why he doesn’t give her a chance to hesitate.

He’s so… good. If Bea was to make him in the Sims, she’d almost certainly put “Good” as one of his three personality traits.

She loses her shorts and Quinn shifts her panties to the side, baring Bea’s pussy to the summer air. He intertwines their legs, able to press his rapidly fattening length against the top part of her thigh. As one of his hands slips between her folds, prodding at her entrance, his other cups the back of her neck and keeps their lips slotted together.

His tongue fills her mouth again as two of his fingers bluntly push into her heat. He’s only just started to thrust them in and out when–

“Hey,” Honey’s soft voice hisses, sounding like she’s already grinding her teeth together and grimacing at the idea of interrupting.

Bea barely holds back a snort when Quinn flinches away from her. This isn’t the first time Honey has interrupted her in the middle of something– after all, they did live together for a year. There were only so many times that Honey was willing to be sexiled from the house that she was paying to own.

Quinn’s face goes from a ‘deer-in-headlights” expression to one that is more calm. He turns back to Bea, looking down at her. “Do you want a blanket?”

Bea sits up, leaning on her elbows to do so. She looks over the edge of the hammock at Honey. “You can just drop it there,” she says. Then, she grins, seeking to make Honey just a bit more uncomfortable with her next words. She always makes the funniest face when she doesn’t want to hear something about Bea’s sex life. “Quinn’ll come get it in a second. His hands are a little busy right now.” For good measure, she clenches down on his fingers, which surprises Quinn and makes him blush.

The blanket hits the ground with a muted thump. “I didn’t need to know that.” Honey deadpans before turning on her heel and walking away. “Have a good night!” She wishes in false cheer.

Bea thinks quick on her feet. “Just trying to cross something off my Rice Purity Test,” she calls after Honey, laughing to herself. Honey flips her off without looking back, which effectively ends their conversation. Bea lifts her arms and curls them around Quinn’s neck, bringing him back down to kiss her lips.

“Are you actually?” Quinn asks between kisses. “For the Rice Purity Test?”

“Nah,” Bea says. “I think my score is low enough. Plus, I’ve had sex outside before. It just wasn’t quite like this.” She tilts her head up and pecks his lips again. “But, I have crossed a few items off because of you. Kissing for more than two hours consecutively? That was all you, Q.”

“What’s your score?” Quinn inquires, sounding interested.

“Uh, 40, last I checked,” Bea says. “Definitely not too shabby, but not too slutty.”

Quinn has begun moving his fingers again, bringing waves of pleasure with his movements. “Definitely not slutty.”

“What’s yours?” Bea asks.

“42, but I guess I’m knocking off ‘public sex’ and ‘outdoor sex’ right now,” Quinn teases. “So we’re the same. Not slutty at all.”

Bea giggles. “Hmm, if you’re good, I’ll give you the $5 bill in my wallet and we can both get down to 39?”

Quinn snorts out a laugh into her mouth and brings his thumb to her clit. “Quiet, you. You get to come free of charge today.”

“Oh, thank you, Quinn Hughes,” Bea simpers before locking lips with Quinn and keeping him close.

Their kisses are as sloppy as his crude thrusts, sounding similar as well. Their lips smack quietly as they come together and part, breathing into each others’ mouths before diving in for another round. Quinn’s fingers move in and out of Bea at a leisurely pace, savoring her slick and working in tandem with his circling thumb.

It’s only once Bea shoves her hand into Quinn’s shorts that he starts to speed up. It’s a race against each other, with Bea stripping Quinn’s cock until his hips are twisting away from her grip and Quinn pulsing his fingertips against Bea’s g-spot in a way that has her whimpering against his tongue.

Quinn pushes a third finger past Bea’s entrance, doing everything he can to bring her to the peak before he comes in her hand. His effort is for naught– when Bea twists her fingers in his hair and tugs slightly, causing that burning ache in Quinn’s scalp that he likes so much while he eats her out, he shudders on top of her and begins to spill in her hand.

Bea catches what she can, doing her best to make sure there will be no cumstain on Quinn’s shorts when they rise and greet the others in the morning.

When he finishes quivering under her touch, Bea draws her hand from his shorts and brings her hand to her mouth.

Quinn draws back and, eyes hooded, watches her lick his cum from her palm and fingers. He looks slightly more drunk than he was originally, intoxicated by the view in front of him.

Bea smirks as she sucks, taking her time with Quinn’s cum.

Quinn grips the back of her neck and draws Bea forward, trapping her hand between their bodies and crashing his lips against her own. He’s greedy and insatiable, pressing his hips and softening cock against her thigh as he thrusts his fingers inside of her.

“Wish I could get my mouth on you,” Quinn tells her quietly, but rushed like the world will end if he doesn’t say it. “I’d suck your clit ‘til you’re coming all over my face, baby. Nothing in the world tastes better than you.”

“Shit,” Bea replies, blinking hard at his words. Her hips jump under his touch, thighs shaking with his insistent bullying of her inner walls. “Y’re gonna make me come, Q.”

“The whole point,” Quinn says with a little laugh. “I want you to. Come on my fingers, Sweet Bea. Make a mess for me, give me something to lick up just like you did.”

Bea moans into his mouth when he kisses her a final time, the seal inside of Bea snapping and allowing endless shocks to overtake her body. He fingers her through her climax, laying kiss after kiss on her lips.

When she comes down, he withdraws his fingers and makes good on his promise. Quinn overexaggerates his satisfied hums and even rubs his stomach like her cum is the tastiest thing in the world, which has Bea throwing her head back in laughter and popping him good-naturedly on the head. She also tells him that he’s acting weird, which is when he chills out a bit.

Bea smiles fondly at Quinn as he cleans his fingers, fisting his t-shirt and pulling him closer, although her tugging really only results in rocking the hammock. They’re quick to fall asleep, with Quinn replacing Bea’s shorts and venturing out to get the blanket Honey left them. It keeps them nice and warm, legs still intertwined, for the entire night.

[puck-luck]

this was born out of a text exchange between me and cappy where i rewatched the "coming home" youtube video and quinn had the audacity to bend over the edge of the table like a SLUT. my message about that moment was "I HATE him for putting his leg up on the edge like this (and you know what? Bea would fuck him on the pool table fs)". Cappy replied: "also - circling back to the fucking on the pool table. yes i do think that should be included in bea’s book. love that both girls fuck their men on the pool table". then I discussed how Bea is going to ask how it was for Honey because position-wise, she wasn't super comfy "And then honey’s going to be like “bruh” and then bea will be like “aw that’s so cute of us, we fucked our guys in the same place 😊 we’re basically semen sisters” and honey is going to be so affronted". So that's what inspired this. I started having visions when I was supposed to work on my grad school essay, so I needed to write it down to get it out of my mind.

HERE! is the beaquinn pool table sex. if you want to know what's happening with honeytrev at the same time as this, you can reread days 30-33 in Chapter 5 of stg. LOVE YOU! say it back. ENJOY!

[5.1K WORDS]

Bea almost doesn’t want to leave Quinn’s bed when she hears the front door creak open, signaling the brothers’s return from Las Vegas. It’s warm in here and the pillow smells like Quinn. Her t-shirt will have to do. It’s Quinn’s old yellow Michigan t-shirt, which falls big on her but not big enough to cover her behind. The hardwood floor is cold as she makes her way out of bed and throws the sheets back into place, tiptoeing down the hall and the stairs without making the floor creak too much. Bea undoes the messy braid on the back of her head, knowing how Quinn likes it when her hair is loose for him to play with. She shakes out her hair as she creeps down the stairs, the whispers of the brothers getting louder with each step.

“Jack, the door–” Luke hisses just before the front door bangs shut.

Bea stifles a giggle by pressing her fingers over her lips, still hiding in the shadows of the staircase. 

The boys stand in almost identical poses, shoulders tense and heads ducked. They’re waiting for one of their housemates to wake up and get mad at them for making so much noise. They’re lucky– Cole’s been dead to the world since about 10:30 and Trevor went to bed around 11 after he talked with Honey. Bea doesn’t know exactly what happened, since Honey is still so unsure about this Trevor thing, with good reason, but she knows that Honey had to remind him to think before he speaks. Bea is so glad she doesn’t have that problem– Quinn loves to think before he speaks. The other boys are less thoughtful, but she’s never had to chew them out for saying something stupid.

“Close one, eh?” Jack whispers, although he’s bad at whispering, so his voice just seems softer than normal.

Bea steps out of the shadows, staying close to the wall like it’ll camouflage her bright yellow shirt. 

“Bea,” Quinn breathes out, noticing her immediately. He sets his suitcase down next to him, a smile growing on his face when he recognizes her outfit.

“You’re late,” Bea whispers, matching his grin. “You said 1:30.”

“Sorry,” Quinn says, but he doesn’t seem all that sorry.

“There was a crash on 77,” Luke adds. “Pretty bad. Probably better that it happened in the middle of the night, since there weren’t as many cars on the road.”

Bea hums. “That’s sad.”

“Have you been up this whole time?” Jack asks. “It’s late.”

Bea shakes her head. “Slept a little bit.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack grins. “Whose bed?”

Stupid. Bea snorts, taking a few more steps until she’s in front of him. She lifts her hand and squishes his cheeks between her fingers. “Not yours,” she says. “G’night, Jacky.”

He makes a kissing noise at her, then steps back and bumps into the table in the hall. “Oops,” he mumbles. “Night, Bea.”

Luke echoes a goodnight and pats Bea on the back, holding both his and Quinn’s suitcases in his hands. The brothers squeeze past her, leaving Quinn and Bea in the dark alone.

She grins at him, bouncing a little bit on her tiptoes out of excitement. She’s missed him. Quinn smiles back, his eyes glinting in the darkness. He’s the first to step forward, sweeping her up into his arms in a tight hug. He buries his face in her neck, letting his arms push her shirt up so that he can touch the smooth expanse of her back. Bea wraps her arms over his shoulders and plays with his hair, breathing him in. He smells a little bit like airport, but the scent of his sandalwood shampoo is stronger than ever. 

“You shower this morning?” Bea asks, pinching the close-cut strands on the back of his head between her fingers. 

“God, I knew you were going to comment on that,” Quinn groans, pulling away from her. His hands rest on Bea’s waist, pinkies brushing the band of her cheeky underwear. “I was on a plane for like five hours, babe.”

Bea’s stomach twists at the pet name, her cheeks turning a little red and her mouth widening somehow further. She admires Quinn for a moment, eyes cataloging how his face looks sharper with his stubble only just growing back. Her eyes pass over the scar on his cheek. Honey only just noticed it the other night. It’s one of Bea’s favorite things about his face– tied for first with, well, everything else. 

She realizes that she’s gone too long without replying, mostly because the edges of Quinn’s lips are tilting upward in an amused way.

“Hey, winner,” Bea greets, tilting her head to kiss him hello. “Missed you.”

Quinn breathes out a tiny laugh, kissing her again like a reply. “I missed you, too. Was thinking about you the whole time.”

Bea faux-gasps. “You were thinking about me, but you didn’t even thank me in your speech?”

Quinn chuckles, a little louder this time. His thumb runs along her hip, petting the skin there. It makes Bea’s sides feel warm, like the friction is sending shocks through her body. “Oh, come on. How would that have sounded?”

“‘And thank you to Bea McLean, the best person I’ve ever met’...?” Bea teases, blinking at Quinn. “Obviously. Sounds pretty good to me.”

Quinn shakes his head, still smiling fondly. He rolls his eyes a little bit, but he concedes. “I’ll work it in next time.”

“I’m expecting it. First back-to-back Norris winner since Nicklas Lindstrom, yeah?”

“Lidstrom, baby,” Quinn corrects. He pulls Bea close again, hugging her for the second time. His hands rub up and down her back again and Bea swears that she can feel his fingerprints as he moves. “You tired?”

“I slept a little. Are you tired?”

“Had a coffee at the airport ‘cause I’m stupid,” Quinn replies. His voice turns sarcastic, overly dramatic and trying to get her sympathy. “And the boys were draining me, they’re so annoying.”

Bea pats his chest. “You love them,” she reminds him.

Quinn’s easy to break. “Yeah,” he agrees. “They’re pretty great.” He pauses, eyes flickering over her face akin to how she surveyed him earlier. “Wanna go watch a movie?”

“Movie will put me to sleep. We can play a round of pool, if you want. Keep your winning streak going,” Bea teases. 

“You just want to bend over in front of me,” Quinn bites back, laughing. His hands go to her behind, covering Bea’s cheeks with his palms. “Distract me with your panties.”

“It would be more distracting if I wasn’t wearing them,” Bea points out, wiggling back into Quinn’s touch. 

“I think you’re already distracting enough in my Michigan shirt,” Quinn says. “C’mon. Let’s go downstairs. You can fill me in on the past couple days while you lose.”

He’s got that playful tone in his voice again, the one that Bea loves. It’s so domestic, the way that she and Quinn talk to each other. They’ve got a vibe about them, something that fits like a puzzle piece, but Bea is getting too far ahead of herself. It’s not even July. They’re just having fun, by her own design. So what if he calls her ‘baby’ and it makes her stomach flip-flop every time?

They’re still trying to be quiet as they head down to the basement, making sure to close the door behind them. Quinn racks the balls and Bea chooses her usual stick– she only knows which one it is because it’s got a chip about ⅓ of the way down the shaft– and starts to tell him what he missed. 

“Honey tried to ban Trevor from the store because he’s bad at being a person,” Bea starts. “I don’t know the drama, but apparently he doesn’t think.”

“Have they fucked yet?” Quinn asks, rounding the table and stationing himself to break the rack. Bea never breaks when they play. She’s not very good at hitting one ball, much less strategically breaking up a group of fifteen. “Or are they still stuck on him fingering her in the back room?”

“They’re still stuck. She likes him so much, though, she just won’t admit it,” Bea continues. She looks at the table. Quinn made one of the stripes in off of his break– 14 maybe– so he’s trying to pick his second ball now.

“She’ll get there. It’s kind of like a tree falling, isn’t it,” Quinn says. He lines up the 11-ball with the pocket and knocks it in, then purposefully bumps off the wall in a meaningless shot so that Bea has a chance. “Takes a while, but once she’s down, she’s down.”

Hmm. “I’ve never thought of it like that,” Bea tells him. “That’s smart, Q. You’re right.” She eyes the 5-ball, since it’s kind of in the way of all of the ones she wants to get to. Might as well move it. Bea crosses the table and shoots it off to the other side of the table. A problem for later.

“You can’t try to lose on purpose,” Quinn chides.

“I’m not trying to lose on purpose, I just wanted to get that one out of the way,” Bea argues back. 

Quinn rolls his eyes and sighs. “You should’ve shot at the 7.”

Bea side eyes him. “Don’t tell me what I should’ve done. Mansplainer.”

Quinn shrugs. “Just trying to help.” He focuses on his next shot. “What’d you do after we left?”

“Worked. I dragged Honey here to watch the Awards, we played Uno– I won, by the way, and I’ll school you next time we play–” Quinn interrupts her with a laugh, narrowly missing a pocket when the ball bounces off the corner edge. “I called you after you won, and then we broke out the hot tub earlier today.”

That catches Quinn’s interest. “Oh, yeah?” He asks. “You took a dip? Did Cole try anything stupid?”

Bea hears the insinuation immediately. “No, Cole and I didn’t hook up while you were gone,” she says with a tinge of fake exasperation in her voice. “I told you over the phone on Thursday, I only have sex with men who have won the James Norris trophy.”

Quinn laughs aloud, throwing his head back. “How long is that going to last?” He teases. “Just so I can know when I’m back to graciously sharing you with the other boys.”

Bea groans. When they’re alone, Quinn always flaunts how he was the first and how he’s her favorite. He gets a kick out of acting like he’s special and Bea pretends to hate it. He is special, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I can still go up to Jack’s bed now, you know.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Bea leans over to shoot at one of her solids. It bounces off a wall and changes directions. “That’s all that happened this weekend, really. Tell me about Vegas. Lose any money?”

“Tons,” Quinn confirms, but the cheeky grin on his face tells her that he’s stretching the truth. He starts to talk about how he and his brothers snuck Luke into the casino with a well-placed bribe to the doorman and autographs for his kids. The stories from the weekend pile up as Quinn and Bea mill around the table, taking shots and sinking them in Quinn’s case, missing them in Bea’s. He tells her about the people he saw, the things he did, the interviews he had, that he got an offer to be on the cover of NHL 25 but he’s going to hold out until they let him bring Jack and Luke with him, and that he’s happy he got to see his mom and dad. He officially tells Bea that they’re coming for Fourth of July, although that surprise had already been spoiled by Trevor on Thursday. 

Quinn wins– of course. Bea wasn’t going to win this game unless he intentionally threw it, like her first time playing him. They’re past the intentional throws now. Bea goes to update the board– honor code is highly valued in this house– and Quinn pockets the rest of the balls so that everything is nice and clean for tomorrow. There’s no sense in leaving them out. She can hear Quinn sneaking up behind her.

“You look good in my shirt, sweetheart,” Quinn murmurs, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and kissing Bea’s shoulder. “I gotta get you in Michigan gear more often.”

“You know, if they ever play Carolina again, you’ll have to pry my UNC gear from my cold, dead body,” Bea says, reaching a hand around and threading her fingers through Quinn’s hair again.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I pried the clothes off this body,” Quinn says, self-satisfied smirk evident in his voice. He turns Bea in his grip so that she’s facing him. He kisses her, more than a greeting peck this time. “You tired yet?”

Once again, Bea can see right through his question. “Not a chance. I’ve been waiting for my winner to get home.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Quinn praises, voice low. He captures Bea’s lips again, moving against her in the comfortable way that they’ve adopted in the weeks since they’ve been seeing each other. 

Bea lets Quinn lead this time, his hands guiding her closer. He’s got a palm under her shirt, resting on the small of her back, and the other cradles her face gently, like something precious. Bea knows that it’s a casual thing, but she likes to lose herself in moments like this. Quinn is just so… all-consuming. He’s like a really loud and unexpected clap of thunder, one that rumbles on for longer than you expect. His touch makes Bea jump, sometimes.

Her hands explore him a bit, like she doesn’t get to touch him all the time. The difference is that Bea finds something new every time and she never tires of getting her hands on Quinn. She knows that he tends to be insecure when it comes to his build, which comes from years of being an awkward teen with a nose that seemed too big for his face and acne that riddled his forehead, but Bea can’t imagine Quinn as anything other than perfect.

He’d be slightly more perfect if he had a bedroom to himself. 

“I feel bad kicking Luke out,” Bea whispers to Quinn when they break for air. “You guys got in so late. He’s probably asleep.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Quinn replies. He brings his hands to the backs of Bea’s thighs and lifts her up, guiding her legs around his waist. “We don’t need a bed.”

Bea makes a face. “We stay fuckin’ in the bed, Q.” Lord knows she’s not against having sex in an odd place– the back of Griffin’s patrol car, for one– but she and Quinn haven’t really branched out yet. “I didn’t know you were so adventurous.”

“What can I say,” Quinn teases. “You bring something out in me. Let’s try something new.” He nips at her bottom lip, then drags his tongue against the area he bit. “It’ll be fun.”

Bea giggles. He gets so flirty and touchy, sometimes. “What are you thinking, Crazy?” She teases him right back with the nickname, bringing her index finger to the curve of his nose. It really is the perfect size and shape– so appealing. 

She’s distracted by a memory, from the second time they hooked up. Quinn had told her that he didn’t get to do everything he wanted the first time, and when she asked what he meant, he’d licked his first two fingers and slid the wet digits against the fabric of her underwear. She’d gotten much more wet when he made his way between her legs with his mouth, kissing and licking over her folds and entrance as the fabric molded to her anatomy. It was only then that he’d removed the panties and gotten his mouth on her properly– the vision often comes to her when she’s trying to sleep at home, alone. His nose had been so nice then, bumping against her clit as he’d ravished her.

Bea’s stomach grows a little warmer at the reminder. 

“I want you right here,” Quinn says, breaking her from the spell. He sits Bea down on the edge of the pool table, the cool wood of the edges pressing against her thighs while the felt of the table scrapes against the hem of her shirt. He stands between her legs and places a hand behind her head, kissing her and leaning forward so that she’ll lay back. Once Bea is laying down, flat underneath Quinn, he pushes her shirt up and takes it off. 

The felt of the table feels weird under her bare skin, but it’s not bad. The bite of the ridge of the table is worse against her thighs, but Bea doesn’t speak up about it because Quinn’s removing his shirt.

The moonlight from outside makes him seem paler than he is, but it creates a beautiful series of shadows across his body that emphasize his muscles. His arms seem like they’re bulging more, his chest has more definition, and his jawline– oh, his jawline. Bea didn’t realize just how much his long hair hid that from her.

“I like your haircut,” Bea says, not realizing how silly and belated it sounds when she’s almost entirely naked on the pool table below him. 

Quinn chuckles, smiling at her. One side of his lips lifts higher than the other, which is how she knows that he’s blushing, even when the moonlight hides it. “Thanks, baby,” he says softly, leaning down again to find her lips. His cock, still trapped by his pants, fits perfectly against the place where she wants him most. 

She grinds up against him, drawing a low moan from the back of Quinn’s throat. He placates her with kiss after kiss down her neck and between her tits, as far down as he can go while he keeps his pelvis in line with her own. He’s fiddling with his zipper with one hand, kneading Bea’s right breast with his left hand. The skin of his fingertips is a little dry, but his thumb catches her nipple just right and Bea keens, her vision getting a little darker.

“Missed me that much, hm?” Quinn teases in his low voice. “Two days I’m gone, baby, and you’re this needy? What am I going to do with you when I’m gone for a week, or two?”

Bea reaches to his hair and brings his lips to hers, to silence him. She’s beyond talking and beyond teasing. She wants him inside, like, yesterday. 

“Relax, I’m coming,” Quinn assures Bea, mumbling his words against her lips. He finally takes his hand from her breast to shove his pants and underwear down, stepping out of them so he can move better. He drags his tip through her folds, her wetness gathering along his skin. “Did you mean it?” He asks. “What you said on the phone?”

Bea pauses, wracking her brain. She said a lot of things on the phone to Quinn. She meant them all. She’s about to say yes, just so he can get on with it, but then she spots the way he’s biting his lower lip and his eyes have turned hungry. They’re trained on the place where he’s nudging his tip against her clit, slit bubbling out precum and dripping on the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“What part?” Bea asks, captivated by the look on Quinn’s face. 

His eyes rise to hers and he looks positively intoxicated by whatever he’s thinking. Bea’s skin crawls a little, but not in a bad way. In an excited way– whatever Quinn’s referring to, he wants badly. Bea wants to see him give into that.

“That you’d reward me for winning,” he prompts, eyes darting from her gaze to her lips, which have parted in recognition. “By letting me fuck you bare.” His jaw clenches a bit once he says it, but Bea reads him. He’s not sure what she’ll say and he seems cautious to show his deeper thoughts on that, but his caution is betraying him anyway. Bea knows Quinn. She speaks his language, reads his tics, and understands him. He wants this.

“Norris winners get to come inside me,” Bea says, repeating the exact words that she whispered into the speaker while he stroked himself in the Las Vegas hotel bathroom. It was his tipping point, and now she understands why. “Since you won, you get to feel all of me.” Her throat seems drier than before when she swallows. Bea’s never had that before– she’s thought about it, hence why she brought it up to Quinn in the first place. It’s why she gets the shot every three months instead of relying on condoms– in case, one day, there was a man that she wanted in the most intimate way. That day is today. “Fuck me, Quinn.”

His mouth is insistent when it joins hers, tongue dragging over her own and filling the space between her lips. “Baby,” Quinn groans. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Preferably not right now,” Bea jokes, lifting her hips to remind him of the task at hand. 

Quinn laughs at the joke, smiling into his next kiss. “You’re so perfect,” he says. “Can’t believe I met you.”

Bea feels his words on her heart like a prick of a rose’s thorn. A little bit of herself seeps out, flooding her chest and making her eyebrows furrow with the sudden rush of emotion. “Quinn,” Bea says, feeling like she’s whining a little bit.

“Okay, okay, I won’t say it anymore,” he says, returning his focus to the space between her legs. He wastes another few seconds, entranced by his tip going through her folds, before he lines himself up and starts to shift forward. He moans quietly at the feeling, just expelling the breath from his lungs.

Bea’s surprised by the feeling too– at least, she thinks Quinn’s feeling some sort of surprise. He’s certainly relishing in the experience, trying to catalog how she feels around him with the way his eyes have drifted shut and his mouth has fallen open. She closes her eyes to do the same– and finds that it’s not that different, all in all. She just feels closer to him.

“Please, move,” Bea whispers, resting her hand on Quinn’s bicep, giving it a squeeze to prompt him. Well, that, and she wanted to feel the muscle beneath it. The moonlight had her wondering if it was really that much more defined. 

“Gimme a sec,” Quinn grits out, taking a breath. “You just feel so–” He exhales a sharp breath. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Another thorn to the chest– Bea has to breathe in deep to steel herself. This doesn’t feel like just fucking anymore.

She’s able to put that aside when Quinn starts to drag himself out of her heat, then push back in. His hair is tickling her nose with the way that his head has fallen forward in pleasure, so Bea pushes it out of the way with her palm. Quinn’s forehead has started to bead with sweat, but only barely. His eyes catch hers.

His eye contact has always made the hair on her arms stand up, increasing her pleasure tenfold. He’s so attentive to her needs, crowding into her space and touching her tits and sides in the way that makes her feel like a lighting rod gearing up for a strike. 

Quinn breaks first. “Bea,” he murmurs, dipping his head to mouth against her neck. He leaves a wet spot there, which dries in the cool, early morning air. His hand moves from her side to her thigh, spreading her legs further so that he can inch closer. He seems determined to be as close to her as he can, touching her in every way. 

“I know,” Bea replies. “Harder, Quinn. Take it. Make me come. Need you to feel my pussy when it comes on your bare cock.”

His moan is choked but loud when she says that. Quinn’s hips start to move the way she’s used to– harder, faster, determined. He’s louder like this, or maybe it’s the silence of the basement and the night that surrounds them playing tricks on Bea’s mind. It’s just– his breath is warmer and she feels like she can feel him moving in her bones. This is more.

Quinn brings his thumb to her mouth, which Bea takes greedily. She knows his moves– he wants her to get him all wet so that he can touch her somewhere she needs. She swirls her tongue around the digit, leaving as much saliva as she can on his thumb before he pulls it from her mouth with a pop. 

His hand drifts to her boobs again, finding one of her nipples and pinching it with his slick finger. He tugs a little, which prompts Bea’s spine to arch like her body is begging him to do it again. Quinn does, but he switches nipples, wiggling his hand between their bodies and taking hold of her. He kisses her again, distracting her from the mixture of pain and pleasure. All the while, he’s bucking into her desperately, displacing her on the pool table. 

Her thigh starts to spasm under his hand, twitching because she’s close. Bea wraps her arms around Quinn’s shoulders, a mirror image of the hug she gave him at the beginning of their night. He’s not the only one who wants to be close.

“Fuck, Quinn, keep going,” Bea pleads, shifting as best she can to remove the pressure of the edge of the pool table from her body. It’s a dull ache, distracting her from Quinn’s cock and the way it moves in her cunt. His tip meets the cartilage of her cervix relentlessly, turning her vision spotty with the sensation. It feels so wet with him unprotected inside of her, leaking and mixing with her own slick. 

He shifts so that he’s hovering just a few inches above her body, hands going from her thigh and her breast to both of her hips. He grips her skin, biting his lower lip to stifle his grunts. His eyes have grown focused, narrowing the way they do when he evaluates a shot on this very table or when he tries to dance between the boys on the hockey rink outside to score. He pulls her back into him, all while thrusting his hips forward, and Bea’s falling into an unfamiliar space where only Quinn has ever placed her. 

“Fuck,” Bea whines, reaching for Quinn and coming up with nothing, so she clutches at the pocket of the pool table instead. She holds the wood between her fingers, sure that she’ll either warp the table or break her fingers from the force of her grip. “‘M coming, Q.”

“Good girl,” Quinn says through his teeth, his voice gravelly. “Let me feel it.”

Bea lets out a short cry, legs still shaking beneath Quinn. The bruising pain of the edge of the table is nothing now, not when there’s a chill making its way from the depths of her stomach to the tight coil in her stomach. 

“So perfect,” Quinn says again, praising Bea as she starts to come undone on his cock.

“You,” Bea corrects, breathless and reaching for Quinn again. She finds his forearm this time, circling her fingers around his wrist. She squeezes, trying to get her point across. He can say it all he wants, but she’s going to make sure she says it back, because he is. 

Her touch sends Quinn over the edge, which only intensifies the aftershocks of her own orgasm. Bea keens lowly in the back of her throat as Quinn’s jaw drops once again, eyes falling shut as his seed flows from his cock and paints her walls. The sensation surprises Bea, much like her original reaction to his raw form, and she constricts against him by accident. That spurs Quinn on, making him choke and plaster himself against her body as his cock releases the last of his cum.

His hips twitch inside of her after he’s done and Quinn has to clear his throat and shake his head to come back to himself. Bea pets his hair through it, focused on the feeling of his freshly cut ends between her fingers. 

“You should know that I really liked that,” Quinn says first.

Bea giggles, tugging his hair. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

Quinn bites the side of Bea’s neck to chastise her for teasing him. “You think you’re so funny.”

“I think I’m about to leak all over the pool table in your rented house if you don’t get me to a bathroom soon,” Bea replies. “Chop chop, babydoll.”

Quinn groans with the effort, but he lifts Bea from the pool table and awkwardly walks toward the basement’s bathroom, settling her on the already-lifted toilet seat– perks of living with a bunch of fucking boys, Bea thinks– and then he starts to wash his hands.

“Tired yet?” Quinn asks for a third time, looking over at Bea and grinning as he continues to rub the suds all over his hands and wrists. “Wanna watch a movie?”

Bea makes a face. “Are you trying to wash me off or something? Damn, Q, it’s been twenty seconds,” she replies instead, pretending to be offended and hurt. She doesn’t actually want to start watching a movie at 3 a.m. and Quinn should feel similarly. She wants to go to bed with him.

Quinn looks down at her vagina, very obviously, and quirks an eyebrow. “I mean, I just came in you, so I feel like that’s hard to wash away.” He rinses his hands and towels them off. “So no movie?”

“Oh my God, get out of the bathroom so I can pee,” Bea exclaims, starting to laugh a bit. “You’re so weird. No movie.”

“Episode of Love Island?” Quinn asks. “Any drama I missed between Leah and Rob?”

Bea points an accusing finger at him. “I knew you enjoyed my trashy shows,” she says. “And all this time you’ve been grumbling about them.”

Quinn shrugs. “No one will believe you,” he whispers conspiratorially. 

Bea purses her lips at him. “Well, good, because that’s my thing with Cole.” Quinn acts like he’s wounded, so Bea sticks her tongue out at him. “Not everything can be about you, Q.”

“I’ll get over it,” Quinn says. “You still like me best.”

Bea matches his previous whisper. “And no one will ever believe you.”

Quinn leaves the bathroom laughing. Bea hopes he goes upstairs to get one of the good blankets for them to share when they inevitably fall asleep on the couch after Quinn turns on a movie that Bea does not see the point in watching.

The background noise does help her sleep, though, and she thinks Quinn knows that.

sigh i love beaquinn they're so dreamy best couple ever can't believe they break up at the end of the summer OOPS SORRY SPOILERS (y'all already know that, i haven't been keeping that under wraps)

[puck-luck]

baby boy hughes (1) | beaquinn

saturday, july 13, 2024 12:17 A.M.

“If you had a baby right now, what would you name it?” Bea asks.

Quinn snuffles out a little laugh. “‘It,’” he repeats. He blinks his eyes open, looking at Bea the way he does only in bed together, late at night or early in the morning. It’s the most special look ever and no one has seen it– not Honey, not Quinn’s brothers, not anyone. Bea kind of wants to shout out from the rooftops that Quinn likes to look at her like she’s an angel, but it sounds crazy and she doesn’t really want to share it. She wants his fond little regard to stay special.

“Sorry,” Bea apologizes. “Not ‘it.’”

Quinn smiles. “It’s okay, baby. I know what you meant. I’m just teasing.”

Bea pats his chest and he catches her hand, holding her wrist so her palm is pressed against his skin, fingers splayed over his heart. 

“If I had a baby boy right now, I’d name him after Luke,” Quinn says. “We have a system– I name my son after Luke, Luke names his after Jack, and Jack names his after me. Then the other brother will be the godfather. So Jack would be the godfather of my son, and I would be the godfather for Luke’s, and Luke would be Jack’s son’s godfather.”

“Sounds like you guys have thought this out,” Bea says. 

“We had to,” Quinn says. “I want to name my son after my brothers, but if Jack was my son’s middle name, Jack would throw a tantrum. He always wants to be the number one pick. Going first in the draft really sent his ego through the roof.”

“But you would rather use Luke as a first name,” Bea says.

“Yeah,” Quinn agrees. “Luke is really special to me. I love them both, but Luke looks up to me a lot and always has. Sometimes I feel like I can’t fulfill his expectations of me. Sometimes I feel like I don’t treat him as well as I should. Ever since I was a kid, I was trying to be the best role model for Luke. He was like my first kid, in a way. He wanted to be just like me, the same way I wanted to be just like Dad.”

saturday, march 1, 2031 10:42 P.M.

“Is he here yet?” Quinn asks frantically, dropping the two duffelbags in his hands on the chair in the corner of the hospital room. “Did I miss it?”

“Do you see a baby in this room?” Bea snaps. “Seventeen hours later and this gremlin won’t get out of me.” She directs her cutting tone towards her stomach. “Get out! Get out!” 

“Sweet Bea, don’t yell at the baby,” Quinn chides softly, grabbing the water from Bea’s bedside table and bringing the straw to her lips. “You don’t want to get off on the wrong foot.”

Bea takes a sip of the water, then raises her hands to tuck a few strands of hair back into her braided pigtails. “I am going to lord this behavior over my child’s head for as long as I want,” Bea replies, tone grave. “He is taking his time, so much so that I have not eaten in twelve hours, because that’s how long I’ve been in active labor. Our doctor said that he would probably be here around seven and you managed to play an entire hockey game in the time since seven.” She tilts her head towards Quinn’s and glares menacingly. “I want him out.”

Quinn leans forward and plants a kiss on her lips. “I can’t take him out for you, babe. He’ll come when he comes. Do you want to try walking around a bit, see if you can loosen up?”

Bea narrows her eyes. “Conveniently, I already did that. I spent the entire second intermission and third period pacing around this room and all I got out of it was one lousy centimeter.”

“Okay, Crab-Bea,” Quinn says with a chuckle. His use of the nickname is warranted. Bea is being crabby. Seventeen hours of labor will do that to you. “Do you want some good news?”

“I’m dying for some.”

“Jack and Luke got special permission to fly out a day early and Mom and Dad are already on the way too,” Quinn says, kissing Bea’s cheek. “So you get to see Luke’s reaction in person.”

“If the baby even comes by then,” Bea grumbles. “You never know, he might still be in there by the time the ‘Hughes Bowl’ is over.” Her voice adopts a mocking tone when she quotes the media-given name to the Canucks/Devils game, eyes rolling. She really loves the Hughes Bowl, but not when there’s a baby stubbornly camping out in her uterus.

“He’ll be here by then,” Quinn assures her. “I bet he’ll be here by midnight. Now, scoot forward. Let me give you a back massage. It’s the least I can do.”

Bea scoots forward as best she can, providing Quinn enough room to climb onto the bed and situate Bea between his thighs. “The least you can do is right,” Bea agrees. “It’s your fault we’re in this mess.”

Quinn laughs. His hands fit over Bea’s shoulders and his thumbs dig into the tense space at the top of her spine. He massages the area and Bea feels herself relax immediately. The skin on her neck rises when Quinn fits his lips next to her earlobe and reminds her, “You were there too. I seem to remember you begging for your husband to fill you up.”

sunday, march 2, 2031 2:15 P.M.

A knock sounds at the door. Quinn peeks his head in the room, finding Bea on the bed with their little boy on her chest. “Are you ready for some guests?” he asks, grinning at Bea. 

She’s in a much better mood than she was last night, having finally birthed their first child and gotten some food  in her system. Little Luke is fed, changed, and is having a nap on her chest. One of his hands is balled up in the spaghetti strap of Bea’s tank top, holding her close. He’s been cuddling with Bea for over an hour and a half now, so he should be waking up any minute. Bea nods, biting her bottom lip and beaming at Quinn, trying not to jostle the baby too much.

Quinn retreats from the doorway and pushes the door open, letting his family walk in ahead of him. Ellen is first, eyes already teary, and she presses a hand to her mouth when she sees Bea with the baby on her chest. The hormones catch up with Bea and she tears up too, her lower lip pouting slightly even as she smiles.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Ellen murmurs, coming to Bea’s bedside and touching her hairline daintily, brushing a kiss on her forehead. “You did it.”

Not for the first time in this whole process, Bea wishes her mom was here. Her entire family is trying to plan a trip out to Vancouver over the next few months, staggering their arrivals so that Bea always has someone helping her with the baby until Quinn’s season ends, but she would love it if her mom was able to be here right now. They’d called the McLeans earlier to introduce little Luke to his Mimi and Poppop, but it wasn’t the same. Having Ellen’s presence isn’t the same either, but it’s just as comforting– Bea has always been accepted as one of the Hugheses, even before she and Quinn were officially together.

“It took him long enough,” Bea jokes, both laughing and welling up further at the same time. God, the post-partum rollercoaster of emotions is no joke. “It was eighteen hours of labor before I reached ten centimeters.”

“The first one is always the hardest,” Ellen tells Bea, cradling her face in both hands and kissing her forehead again before her attention turns to the tiny little human nestled against Bea’s skin. Ellen’s smile softens and her head tilts. “Oh, Bea, he’s beautiful.”

“Do you want to hold him?” Bea asks, already bringing her hand to the back of little Luke’s head and gently changing his position so that she can hand him off. She has to pry his fingers off of her shirt, which unsettles the boy and makes him twitch, although he stays asleep. 

“You gotta wash your hands first,” Quinn interjects, tugging his mom away and guiding her towards the sink in the room. 

Jim claps Bea’s shoulder and squeezes. “Good job, Bea. We’re so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Jim,” Bea replies. She tilts Luke’s body so that Jim can look down at him. “I thought you’d walk in here with a stick or something.”

Jim lets out a little chuckle, speaking under his breath like he’s sharing a secret with Bea. “Between you and me, it’s in the back of the car. You’ve got the number one pick of the 2049 draft in your hands there.” He winks and heads to the chair in the corner of the room, making himself comfortable and lacing his hands over his stomach.

Jack sits at the foot of Bea’s bed. “I brought the little guy a present,” he says, holding up a small gift bag. “Go ahead and open it.” He balances the gift bag precariously on Bea’s knees, his eyes darting to Ellen as she comes back to Bea’s side and carefully takes the baby in her arms, cooing and shushing him gently as he reacts to the transition and lets out a short wail.

Bea reaches for the present and pulls at the wrapping inside. A tiny black beanie falls on her lap when she pulls the tissue from the bag and Bea has a feeling she’s going to start laughing as soon as she turns it over. Her eyes go to Quinn as she picks up the beanie and flips it in her palm. She looks down and finds the Devils logo branded on the cuff of the article and releases a honk of laughter. 

“We thought he could wear it to the game tomorrow,” Luke adds with a crooked grin, standing at the end of Bea’s bed and patting her shin over the covers. “Show his support for the winning team, right?”

Bea holds up the beanie for Quinn to see and continues giggling as his face morphs into an angry frown. “Absolutely not,” Quinn says. “He’s already got gear for the ‘winning team.’ Boes got him a Canucks onesie that looks like Fin.”

“Yeah, and I don’t know if we’re going to the game,” Bea says. “I’m probably going to have to stay home with him. He’s less than a day old, Jack.”

“What’s his name?” Jim asks, tapping at his phone. His reading glasses are balanced precariously on the tip of his nose. “I want to add his birthday to my calendar.”

Bea and Quinn share a look. Bea presses her lips together and raises an eyebrow quickly, signaling for Quinn to go ahead.

“His name is Luke,” Quinn reveals, his face glowing with pride. “Luke Charles Hughes.”

Bea almost starts crying again when Uncle Luke’s eyebrows knit together and he whips his head from Bea to Quinn, then back to Bea. He looks at the baby in his mother’s arms, then back to Quinn. “What?” he asks. “Are you serious?”

Ellen clicks her tongue, her face crumpling a bit at the reveal. She touches baby Luke’s face, then wipes her thumb beneath her eyes. 

“We had a deal,” Quinn says with a laugh. 

Luke takes about two strides across the room and crashes into his oldest brother, wrapping him in a hug. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it, are you kidding? He’s actually named Luke?” Luke releases Quinn and makes his way to Bea, his arms surrounding her tightly and robbing her of some of her breath.

“Yes, actually,” Bea says when he pulls away. “Luke, after you, and Charles, after Honey.”

“That’s awesome, guys,” Jack says. He pinches the soft spot under Bea’s knee between his thumb and forefinger. “Really. That’s so great.”

Luke touches Bea’s arm. “I can hold him, right?”

Bea laughs. “Yeah, bud, you can hold him,” she tells Luke. “He’s going to look so tiny when you do, I want a picture.”

Quinn pulls Luke to the sink before he can reach Ellen, who has stood and is now bouncing the baby slightly. When she turns to look out the window in the room, Bea can see baby Luke’s squinty eyes blinking open and peering out at the room around him, only the top half of his head visible since he’s mostly resting on Ellen’s shoulder and unable to hold his head up on his own, being only 14 hours old.

Luke is gentle when he takes his nephew and cradles him in his palms for the first time. “He’s so little,” Luke marvels. 

“Seven pounds, ten ounces,” Quinn brags. “21 inches tall.”

“We gotta get this guy bulking,” Jack jokes with a big grin, standing up and looking at the boy in Luke’s arms. He touches baby Luke’s little foot through the onesie, gently moving the appendage back and forth and whispering a quiet, “Hi, Little Lukey.”

Quinn grins next to his brothers, hand on Luke’s shoulder and smiling down at his first son. 

Bea’s careful to stay quiet as she reaches for her phone– so she doesn’t break the moment– and snaps a picture of the brothers together, all of their attentions rapt on the newest member of their family.

[puck-luck]

STAND-ALONES

just visiting | 2.5K | fem!reader & tz enjoy a one night stand in a bar bathroom

let it slip | 0.8K | fem!reader calls tz by a new name in bed... and he doesn't hate it

give him six | 4.1K | tz takes his anger and frustration out on his girlfriend after a long game

a lesson in control | 3.8K | fem!reader breaks the rules and daddy dom!tz reminds her who is in charge.

the fine print of fun | 4.1K | tz and fem!reader debate whether "friend" is the appropriate thing to call each other, since all they do is have sex.

4+1: free use | 4K | 4 times tz used your body to get himself off, and 1 time you did the same.

INEXPERIENCED!READER [COMPLETED]

first time butterflies | 3K | first blowjob

s(we)e(t) dreams | 1.1K | thigh riding

learning curves | 3.8K | conversation about experience and handjob

good vibrations | 3K | high!sex, first time using a vibrator AND squirting

last resort | 1.2K | face-sitting

finish line | 3.8K | everything.

NEW BEGINNINGS

masterlist

ASKS & BLURBS

thigh riding

thigh biting

choking

tz receiving praise

mr. yapper

making reader cry (sexually)

cockwarming

face slapping

[puck-luck]

baby boy hughes (3) | beaquinn

friday, october 14, 2033 11:14 P.M.

It’s been rushed hands and breathy whispers under the sheets for the past forty minutes. It’s rare that Bea and Quinn get to share a moment like this, now that they’ve got two kids and Quinn’s fifteenth season with the Canucks is getting into the swing of things. But– it’s his 34th birthday today, and they’ve made it a point to never let a birthday go by without a little… ‘appreciation’ for their spouse.

The boys had made that seem impossible in the early stages of the night. Luke had fought sleep for a while after Bea put him down at seven, getting up from his “big-boy bed” four times before Quinn convinced him to stay down after one last bedtime story. Patrick had gone down in his room at 7:30, but he’d fought that as well. He’d wailed and called for ‘Mama’ for the better part of ten minutes, which almost broke Bea’s heart. Her crying babies are her weakness. Patrick is so young, too. He only just attached “Mama” to Bea. Before now, it was a couple of easy syllables that he could babble and now it's her name. She’d still held fast, though; Bea and Quinn are big supporters of the “cry it out” mindset. If Patrick or Luke are still crying after 15 minutes, though, Bea will go into their room and cuddle them. There have been a couple of times that Quinn has fallen asleep in Luke’s toddler bed when Luke refuses Bea and Bea has had to tiptoe in and wake and extract him from the room without disturbing their firstborn.

Not tonight. The boys had to go to bed at a reasonable time. Bea was itching to share a dessert with Quinn and give him his inappropriate presents (underwear with her face on it and a new boudoir book to replace the one she had made for him ahead of their wedding) before doing, arguably, what they do best.

You wouldn’t have known it was Quinn’s birthday if all you had seen was how he’s been showering Bea with attention ever since they hit the sheets. He’d locked their bedroom door when they stumbled in, a barely noticeable buzz in their veins from the one glass of wine they’d each gulped down over the chocolate dessert once the boys went to bed. He’d undressed Bea in a flurry and laid her on the bed gently before spreading her thighs and licking into her like she was his true dessert. Bea lost track of time once his lips and tongue found her core, coming undone from Quinn’s mouth twice before he’d pulled away and come up to kiss her. Knowing they probably didn’t have much time before one of the kids woke up and bothered them– as they are known to do whenever Bea and Quinn try to engage in anything nefarious, like they have a sixth sense or something– Quinn had slid into Bea and fucked her, nice and slow, until he’d come inside of her with a low groan. He’d rubbed her clit, still buried inside, until she’d seized up and climaxed a third time.

Now, he’s laying behind Bea, his breath coming out in soft pants over her neck. His fingers are tracing the stretch marks that run from Bea’s abdomen to her hips. It used to make Bea squirm when he did this, after Luke was born. She hated them and almost started a fight with Quinn once about how he was always touching them, the part of her body that made Bea most insecure, and he’d blinked in surprise and kissed each one while explaining how gorgeous they were, since each one was a reminder of the baby that they’d made with their love. It was so sweet that Bea almost got sick to her stomach, but she never complained about the stretch marks again. They’ve multiplied since she was pregnant with Patrick, and she’s actually grown to like them too.

It’s been all of three minutes since Quinn came, then Bea followed, and it’s a good thing they finished when they did. There’s a little voice floating through the baby monitor in Patrick’s room, which they installed two weeks ago when they started trying to transition him into his own bedroom, and he’s crying again.

“Start the clock,” Quinn whispers, breathing a laugh into Bea’s skin. His eyes are closed and his chest is rising and falling steadily, like he’s already tuckered out. If only it was as easy for the boys to sleep– Bea would live a much less hectic life.

“Do you think we woke him up,” Bea whispers back, her own voice just tired enough that it can’t inflect like a question should. 

“No way, we’re really good at staying quiet now,” Quinn replies. He purses his lips against Bea’s neck, leaving a couple of kisses in the same spot because he doesn’t want to move. His hand comes up to cup Bea’s boob, holding the weight of it for a minute before returning to her side. “You’re still really good at this.” 

“Barely did anything,” Bea notes. Her eyelids are heavy, but her ears are still perked up and listening for Patrick to settle down. 

Quinn hums, a non-answer that satisfies both of them, and they drift between sleep and drowsiness. Bea never really falls asleep and neither does Quinn apparently, because after what feels like only a few minutes, he’s rolling away from Bea. “Gonna go get Peej,” Quinn murmurs. He kisses Bea’s cheek and goes off to find a pair of sweatpants before slipping from the bedroom.

Bea takes the few minutes she has to sit up, shoulders against the headboard, and throw on a shirt and sleepshorts. The shirt is baggy and one of Quinn’s, so old and threadbare and stained with breastmilk and spit-up (no matter how many times Bea tries to wash it) that she might as well throw it away. It’s been a hard transition to get Patrick into his own room– he’s clingier than Luke ever was to either parent, and Patrick much prefers Bea over Quinn. They joke now that it’s probably because Quinn missed the birth– Patrick somehow knows and holds it against him.

Quinn’s footsteps are almost silent as he comes back into their room. Patrick is sniffling around a pacifier, sitting tall in Quinn’s arms and looking for Bea. His eyes are teary but bright when he sees her and he leans forward in Quinn’s arms to reach for her, so much so that Quinn has to adjust his grip and put a hand on Patrick’s chest to keep him from falling out of Quinn’s arms.

Bea takes the boy when Quinn nears the bed and he snuggles against her chest, settling right between her boobs and curling up. It’s comical– both the positioning and how he’s too big to scrunch up like he did as a newborn, but he tries. His paci is bobbing in his mouth and he’s making little sucking noises that are half-annoying and half-precious to Bea.

Quinn comes back into bed and rests his head on Bea’s clavicle, slinging his arm over her stomach. He closes his eyes.

Bea pets Patrick’s back and breathes evenly, feeling him match her movements and start to drift off on his own, without a feeding. She’s grateful. She does not want to have a baby biting her nipple right now.

Patrick’s chubby hand pats Quinn’s head absentmindedly, ruffling the hair that covers his forehead. 

Quinn snuffles out a soft laugh and shifts away, sitting up beside Bea and putting his head next to hers. She leans on him and him on her. Quinn returns the touch to Patrick’s hair, patchy and spotty as it is. It’ll fill out soon. Quinn turns his head and nudges Bea’s cheek with his nose. “I love you,” he says quietly.

“I love you too,” Bea automatically replies at the same volume. She turns and meets Quinn halfway, sharing a chaste kiss. Bea watches Patrick fall asleep for a few minutes, waiting for his eyes to close and his mouth to go slack. The pacifier will drop from his tiny lips any second now.

“He’s getting so big,” Quinn observes. He runs his hand down Patrick’s back and covers Bea’s hand with his palm. Bea hums in agreement, then Quinn speaks again after a brief pause. “I hope we just made another one. I miss having a little guy around.”

Bea sighs and rolls her eyes. “You’re insatiable.”

“You’re irresistible,” Quinn chirps back with a goofy smile. “And that pregnant glow?” He holds a hand to his chest. “God, baby, it’s a wonder I’ve restrained myself this long.”

Bea laughs. “Shut up,” she says. “Stop speaking things into existence. I’m still getting adjusted to two.”

sunday, june 4, 2034 2:02 P.M.

The past week has been a really nice escape in the wake of everything that happened. Mimi and Poppop flew up to Vancouver last Sunday, the day after the news broke, and returned to Charlotte with Luke and Patrick on the plane. Bea was hesitant to let her parents take her three year old and 14-month-old to Charlotte for a week, but it’s not like she can fly from Vancouver to Charlotte with them. She hasn’t been allowed to do that since April, since international flights don’t allow pregnant women over 28 weeks to board. Bea is at a healthy 35-weeks when the road trip starts. The drive is 43 hours, funnily enough, and Bea makes a point to point it out to Quinn.

She and Quinn get to have a whole week to themselves. They spend the majority of those days in the car, sure, but they spend each night in a new hotel, in a new city, and mostly in a new state. They spend two nights in Montana because it’s such a large place and it’s so pretty, but Bea is grateful to eventually get through the midwest. They stop in Nashville on the sixth day to get lunch and walk around for a bit. It’s Bea’s favorite road city of Quinn’s, although she hasn’t gotten to travel with him as much as she’d like. This week makes up for it.

One night on the road trip, Bea spends the whole night asleep on one side. Usually she tosses and turns. When she wakes, Bea's ear hurts from being pressed against the pillow all night. Quinn can tell that she's uncomfortable, because Bea has never been good at hiding her emotions, and he asks her what's wrong.

With some effort– and a bit of help from Quinn– Bea rolls over and finds herself face to face with her husband. Bea's ear still stings, even though it's free now.

"I miss sleeping on my stomach," Bea laments. Her tone is far too dramatic for the situation at hand, something as trivial as her sleeping position. The admission brings a rush of emotion up her throat and Bea has to swallow back a lump of tears. She continues, lip jutting out miserably, "But if I sleep on my stomach, I'm going to crush the baby." Her mouth wobbles.

Quinn's eyebrows curve down with sympathy written all over his features. His hands come to Bea's cheeks and he kisses the tiny tear that slipped from the corner of her eye. "You are so lovely," Quinn marvels quietly. He draws back and runs his fingers gently over Bea's cheek, his eyes raking over her features like he's never seen her before. She cries a little more.

On the seventh day, as they drive the four and a half hours from Knoxville to Charlotte, Bea isn’t sure how to feel. The closer they get to North Carolina, the closer she is to her babies after she hasn’t seen them for days. She’s got Caleb puttering around in her belly, kicking her insides when Quinn sings along with the radio and pressing on her bladder when he thinks she’s been sitting in the car for too long, but she misses Patrick and Luke. She can’t wait to see them. She’s excited for that, but she’s dreading the whole reason that they’re going to Litchton early this summer. Bea does not want to attend Earl’s funeral. 

Quinn was at home when Bea got the call from Honey last Saturday. Bea had had a hard time stifling her tears in front of the boys, who were just trying to play with their magnetic blocks on the floor. Quinn got out of the shower and Bea waved him over and buried her face in his chest to cry just a little bit before pulling herself together and disappearing into the kitchen to make lunch. By the time she called them into the dining room to eat the mac-n-cheese she prepared, Quinn had booked flights for her parents and started calling hotels to make reservations. His season was over, thank God, so he was free to travel with Bea the whole way to Litchton. She’d cried a little more over that, and then some more in their bed when it really set in that the grumpy old man with a heart of gold who had taken care of her and Honey while they were in their twenties had died. She knew it was coming, of course. He was old and frail and he had had a few bad falls in recent months that didn’t bode well for his health. Still– the fact that he was gone broke her heart. He wouldn’t even get to meet her newest baby. Caleb wouldn’t even know the man who had considered himself Luke and Patrick’s third grandfather.

The boys didn’t come to the funeral. Bea and Quinn left them with Mimi and Poppop, thinking that it might be too difficult to keep them under control while their own emotions were so high. Bea and Quinn sat in a pew with Honey and Trevor and took in the mass and the beautiful eulogy that Earl and Vera’s son gave. After the funeral, they’d gone to the reception in a car together and mingled with the townies. The mood was incredibly subdued, as was to be expected, but everyone seemed delighted to see Bea and put their hands on her belly, which helped lift her mood a little bit. The beautiful thing about funerals in a tiny town is that you all mourn together, yes, but in the end, the reception is a celebration. You get to see old friends and talk to people you’ve never met and share memories of the person that you’re both missing. Bea admits that she misses small town life sometimes when she’s in Vancouver. There’s just no community like the one in Litchton.

Bea is most happy to see her knitting ladies. They’re all still intact, although Earl’s death has her realizing that this could be the last time she sees all of them together. They surround Vera and protect her from vulture-like attendees that are bothering her too much, but they part like a sea for Bea and Quinn. 

The ladies dote on Quinn, touching his beard and his jacket and the collar of his shirt. They coo over Bea equally as much, cupping her face and offering to drag a chair across the room so that she can sit down and get off of her feet. It’s Vera, sweet and tiny-looking Vera in her black dress and old-school flat-brim hat, who asks about the name for their third son.

“Caleb,” Bea reveals with a smile. She and Quinn had decided on that name pretty much right after the doctor had told them the gender of the baby. After two surprises, they were ready for something certain. They’d been perusing the baby-name-books for weeks, pointing out their favorites and narrowing it down to two for a boy: Caleb or Jacob. “He looks more like a Caleb,” Quinn said after the pivotal, gender-revealing scan. Bea agreed.

“Just Caleb?” Scarlett asks. “This little blessing doesn’t have a middle name or nothin’?”

“We haven’t chosen a middle name yet,” Quinn says. His voice is a little choked up and Bea wraps her arm around his bicep, hugging it to her chest. She touches her lips to his shoulder, hoping that the lipstick won’t stain his suit jacket. She doesn’t expect what he says next. “We would be honored, Vera, if you’d allow us to use Earl’s name.”

Bea gasps and feels her eyes well up with tears. She hadn’t even thought of that and Quinn has totally bulldozed her to make this executive decision, but Bea can’t even be mad because it’s perfect. Caleb Earl. Caleb Earl Hughes. It actually rolls off the tongue. It’s like this was meant to happen– without Earl’s passing, they never would have thought to use his name. He was an eternal figure in their lives, one of Bea’s favorite people in the world, but he hadn’t come up during their baby name debates. No middle name had fit right, until now, and Bea is just shocked that they didn’t think of this before.

“Oh, my,” Vera breathes out. She presses the crumpled-up tissue in her hand to each of the corners of her eyes. “You two are fixin’ to make me bawl when I’ve been holding it together so well.” She sniffs and takes Quinn’s hand, squeezing it. “It would be an honor for me if you would use his name.”

sunday, july 9, 2034 7:54 A.M.

Bea hears her shouting toddlers coming down the hall of the maternity ward well before they reach her door. Quinn left to go get them from Honey and Trevor’s about an hour ago– he’d dropped Honey off and exchanged her for his boys, who had certainly done a number on Trevor since they’d woken up around 5:30, wondering why they were in a random, mysterious new bedroom. The answer is: well, you two were asleep when Mama woke up to some gnarly contractions at 1 A.M. You couldn’t just stay at home alone. Trevor had braved the sleeping boys– he was actually more than happy to take care of them while Honey joined Bea and Quinn, finally, in the delivery room. She was a lot braver this time around, but that could partially be attributed to their setting and their doctor: St. John’s Hospital in Litchton, with resident Emma-Kate between Bea’s stirruped ankles.

“Nope, Luke, she’s in here!” Bea hears Quinn call from outside the door. Luke must have gotten excited and kept sprinting down the hall, happy to be free in such a bright building. Time in hospitals is weird, but Bea can’t imagine that the staff are happy to have an energetic three year old roaming their halls before 8 A.M.

Quinn turns the knob on Bea’s door, pushing the door open and holding it so that Luke can wiggle under his arm and enter. 

“Mommy!” Luke exclaims. He’s got a stuffed bear in his hand. He toddles over to her bedside and grabs the sheets, trying to pull himself up, but he’s still too little. 

Bea, although she’s not really supposed to be overexerting herself after delivering a ten pound baby, reaches over the side of the bed and pulls him up. 

Luke sits at her feet and holds the teddy bear up in front of his face with both hands. “Look!”

“Oh, how cute!” Bea exclaims, pinching the bear’s paws. “Did you buy that for your baby brother?”

Luke falters for a second, like he’s suddenly realizing that the toy in his hands isn’t necessarily his toy. 

“I know that baby Caleb got you a present,” Bea bargains, incentivizing her biggest ‘little man.’ That’s what Jim always calls her boys. It feels truer with every day that passes.

‘Baby Caleb’ got both Luke and Patrick a present. For Luke, he got a brand new Luke Hughes jersey from the Devils’ online store, branded with the ‘A’ that Luke has deserved for a long time now. It’s perfect, since Luke has been obsessed with hockey even more now that he has started playing. 

For Patrick, ‘Caleb’ bought a set of wooden, velcro fruits and vegetables that he can practice cutting with a similarly fake wooden knife. Bea used to have one of these playsets when she was a kid and she loved it– she thinks Patrick will love it too, considering how much he loves to sit in his high chair and watch her whip up some food throughout the day.

Luke’s eyes light up at the mention of his own present and he starts looking around the room. He sits up on his knees and shuffles along the pink knit blanket at the base of Bea’s bed, leaning his head over the edge like the present is hiding on the floor and he missed it. 

Quinn passes Patrick to Bea while Luke looks around. He kisses the crown of Bea’s head after he does, then crosses the room to check in on the swaddled figure in the clear bassinet. 

Patrick snuggles into Bea’s neck as soon as he’s in her arms, wiggling happily. He’s improved a lot since six months, not nearly as clingy with Bea now, but he still loves on her as often as she’ll allow. Considering how independent Luke is, Bea lets Patrick cuddle with her and sneak contact naps as often as he wants, even though he’s more than a year old.

“Hi, PJ,” Bea murmurs, turning and kissing his rosy, chunky cheek. “Did you miss Mama?”

“Mommy, where’s my present?” Luke interrupts, sitting back on his heels and pouting at Bea. 

“Lukey, be patient,” Quinn scolds. “Do you want to meet your little brother?”

“No, Daddy, I want my present,” Luke insists. 

Quinn fixes him with a glare, cradling the newborn in his arms. He walks over to the bed and nods his head at Bea’s side. “Sit next to Mommy,” he tells Luke. “Then you can get your present after.”

Luke dutifully shuffles into Bea’s side, leaning into her waist and stretching his legs out along her own. Bea sets Patrick down on her other side after a little detangling, then holds her hands out to take the small, pink baby from Quinn.

“Baby,” Patrick observes, touching Caleb’s cheek once he’s securely in Bea’s arms. Bea stifles an “aww.” He says it like ‘bee-bee.’

“Be gentle,” Bea tells him. “He’s brand new, sweetie. He’s not strong like you yet.”

Patrick’s mouth forms an ‘o’ and he pulls his finger back, clapping his hands together quietly.

“Put your hands out, Lu,” Bea instructs her other son.

Quinn has crossed to the other side of the bed, blocking Luke in. Once Bea puts Caleb along his arms, Quinn will very covertly support Caleb’s head while Luke holds him. It gives off the illusion that Luke is doing all the work– their independent eldest child– while still keeping their youngest safe. Bea is not ashamed to admit that, sometimes, the best part of being a parent is making up a little white lie to make your child feel better. 

Luke holds Caleb for all of two seconds before the newborn’s face contorts in his sleep. That startles Luke and he pushes Caleb away, curling his lip. “I don’t like him,” Luke decides.

Bea turns her head to hide the smile she’s biting back. She kind of expected this, but she really thought Patrick would be the one to refuse his younger sibling. Luke is supposed to have practice sharing his parents and toys and life with a little brother, whereas Patrick has only ever had to deal with an older brother, yet he’s holding his hands out to Bea and bouncing in place.

“Hold baby,” Patrick repeats over and over again, opening and closing his palms impatiently. Bea helps him on her own while Quinn lifts Luke from the bed and sets him on the floor, promising that his present is somewhere in this room and he can open it if he finds it. That’ll keep him occupied for at least a few minutes.

While Patrick holds Caleb, and Bea and Quinn make eye contact and grin at each other, Bea suddenly realizes that they’re now outnumbered.

[puck-luck]

new beginnings | august 19 - 25 (+ epilogue)

hey! whoever thought this day would come! before the chapter, i just wanted to say some thank yous to you all. i am so grateful to each person who has read this series! it was such an undertaking, being over 300K and all, but we did it! we're at the end! i would not have been able to do this without y'all's support and love for characters like honey, bea, the litchton townies, and our boys (who kind of took on a life of their own throughout this story). i want to give a special shoutout to the person who first submitted this idea of tz going feral for a small town girl. you started something that has literally changed my life– before this, i had never completed a book. i would always get bored towards the end and let it die. but now, we've finished it! i'll also give a special shoutout to all the people who helped me out while reading this– looking at pics on pinterest, reading the rough drafts, even just talking about it with me... your influence helped me immensely. i will specifically mention two: cappy and mattias anon, who have left comment after comment and put up with my texts that make everything about stg. they are the real troopers.

i will not wax any more poetics. here it is: the final chapter (+ epilogue) of stg!

85:90 – TREVOR

“Trevvy, baby,” Honey whispers. She traces his nose with a featherlight touch until Trevor wakes. She’s laying in bed next to him, wearing the t-shirt Bea made of him, and Trevor turns into her chest.

It’s so warm there. Trevor groans as the soreness from yesterday seeps back into his bones. He didn’t know that farming would be so much hard work. He’s more sore than he was after his first NTDP practice, which is saying something. 

“I can’t believe I thought I’d be a construction worker if I wasn’t in hockey,” Trevor complains into the space between Honey’s boobs.

She hums and cards her fingers through his hair, planting a kiss on the crown of his head. “I know, baby. You’re built to play hockey and be pretty, not carry heavy things and use your hands.”

Trevor frowns. “I’m okay at using my hands,” he whines. She loves to insult him, even though she’s been known to fall apart on his fingers. He pushes his fingers past Honey’s waistband and goes to prove his point.

“Trevor, we don’t have time,” Honey chastises. 

“Honey,” Trevor patronizes. “We’re not even doing anything today. All we have to do is go to the fruit stand. We have time for me to finger you.”

“You slept ‘til lunch,” Honey says. “I want to get up, I’ve been so bored.”

“I’ll fix it,” Trevor tells her. He kisses her chest, then realizes that he’s kissing the picture of himself on her chest, and pulls back. He picks himself up and moves.

“You just realize that you kissed yourself?” Honey asks.

Trevor looks at her out of the side of his eyes before laying a kiss on the curve of her jaw. “Don’t be mean,” he says.

“Just teasing you, needy boy,” Honey replies. 

She rolls onto her back as Trevor pushes her into the mattress and traps her. His kisses become more consistent, landing in time with her pulse. Trevor won’t even pretend like he’s not the needy boy she claims. “We’ve only got a week, Honey,” Trevor says. “Not even. I wanna fuck you every day to make up for all the time I’ll be away.”

Honey sighs. “Don’t remind me, T.”

“‘ll make you forget,” Trevor mumbles, biting into Honey’s neck and lathing his tongue over the smooth skin. 

“Make me lunch after, too?” Honey asks.

“Mhm,” Trevor agrees. He snaps the band of Honey’s shorts against her hip. “I hate these shorts. We should burn them.”

Honey frowns and wiggles underneath Trevor. “I love them. They’re my favorite.”

“They’re Thomas’ old boxers,” Trevor replies. He pushes them down Honey’s legs, baring her lower half. Once the boxers are around her ankles, Trevor removes them and tosses them far, far away. “Don’t think I didn’t pick that up when you told me they belonged to an old boyfriend. You’ve only had one other than me and I hate him.”

“They’re comfortable and they’re barely even his,” Honey fights back. “I’ve had them for six years. They were brand new when I borrowed them.”

“‘Borrowed,’” Trevor parrots back. “Forever?”

“A fitting price to pay,” Honey says. “You jealous I’m wearing another man’s boxers?”

“Yes,” Trevor admits earnestly. “I want you to wear my boxers to sleep.”

“What will you wear?”

“Nothing.”

Honey snorts. “Lucky me.”

Trevor circles her clit with the pads of his fingers, moving methodically. He breathes in deep, nose nestled in Honey’s neck. “You smell good.”

Honey sighs lightly, humming out a thanks. She lifts her leg and wraps it over Trevor’s hip.

He replaces his fingertips with his thumb and continues circling, swiping the pad of his middle finger through her slick. Her chest rises and falls against his and Honey’s arms circle Trevor’s shoulders. He smiles into her skin and changes the angle of his hand. The heel of his palm covers her swollen bundle of nerves and his first knuckle disappears into her core, suddenly surrounded by warmth and her tight walls.

The sun is shining into Honey’s room, which casts a nice light on her body. Trevor just wishes that she wasn’t wearing a shirt with his face on it. His t-shirt self is staring at him and it’s making him uncomfortable. 

“You need to take your shirt off,” Trevor says.

“No,” Honey drawls. “So unfair. You already told me to take my shorts off because you didn’t like those. You can’t make me take my shirt off because you don’t like it either. Plus, you said that you’d be the naked one, not me.”

“We should both be naked.”

“We can both get naked after you make me come,” Honey bargains. She nudges Trevor’s chin and kisses his lips when he lifts his face. She pecks again and grins. “I’ll spit in your mouth, if you want.”

Trevor flinches back, shocked to his core. “What?” he demands. 

Honey cackles, throwing her head back into the pillow. “Gotcha. You really fell for that.”

“Fuck off,” Trevor groans. “I didn’t know you were that kinky, Honey.” He fits his finger all the way inside of her and curls it, tickling the gummy walls that squeeze him so well.

She clicks her tongue. “There are a lot of things I like that you don’t know about.”

That piques Trevor’s interest. “Tell me,” he says. 

“Not today,” Honey laughs. “I’ve got to keep some secrets to keep you on your toes.”

Trevor whines. “Not fair.”

“I’m thinking I’ll reveal them to you when you’re all the way in Anaheim and I’m still here,” Honey continues. Her hands run down Trevor’s back, then back up his spine. 

He shivers and brings his ring finger to her entrance, taking his time as he fucks into her hole. The two digits flex and twist inside of her, trying to coax the secrets from her mouth now rather than later. 

“That way you’ll get so frustrated over not being able to touch me,” Honey says. “And you’ll regret being so far away, won’t you?”

“When I play in Raleigh, I am going to keep you up all night,” Trevor threatens in a low voice.

“That’s assuming I come,” Honey tells him.

That’s what she said. Trevor lifts his head and eyes his girlfriend.

She hits his shoulder. “Do not fucking say that’s what she said right now, I know you want to.”

Trevor chuckles and lazily connects his lips with Honey’s instead. His fingers scissor inside of her, stretching her entrance until he can push a third past the rim. 

They make out as the minutes tick by. Honey isn’t as concerned with being “late” anymore, it seems. Trevor was right; they’re not doing anything today. He doesn’t know what she was talking about– the fruit stand will be open until the sun goes down. 

Joan told him all about her schedule while they worked on the farm yesterday. She sets up the stand when the store opens at 7, then she packs up once the sun sets. It’s a long day for her, but she gets her best sales on Mondays because of the stand, so she doesn’t mind. Plus, she gets to catch up with people in town and lounge, reading books or completing sudokus while her husband continues to work at the farm. It’s practically a day off work, in Joan’s eyes.

She truly put Trevor to work. He was there for about three hours, picking blackberries and grapes off the vines, lugging cantaloupes from their place resting against the ground to the back of Joan’s wagon that she’d offered to Trevor. He plucked limes, lemons, and peaches from their respective trees. He refused to touch the strawberry plants, lest he saw Honey last night, so Joan had worked on that section of the farm. She’d also picked pears. 

It was nice to hang out on the farm and get to know the lady. She tried to give him some money for his work, but Trevor had waved her off. She’d let him and Earl take that ugly couch from her back porch for free. It was a fair trade. 

Now, the couch sits above Earl’s garage. He’d been surprisingly nimble and strong for an old man. Trevor had gotten winded walking up the stairs before Earl did, but he was on the back end of the couch, so most of the weight was on him anyway. Gravity, and all that. Trevor refuses to be beaten by an old man. 

When he’d complained about being winded while Earl was breathing evenly, Honey had laughed and scratched his back. She told him not to worry, that Earl had lots of experience with manual labor– forty years of it at least– and Trevor shouldn’t feel put out that he was more out of shape than an elderly man. He realized only after that Honey didn’t know why he was hanging out with Earl, but she didn’t ask. If she had, he would’ve told her that he was helping at the hardware store. The lie probably wouldn’t have been believable. Trevor doesn’t even know if the hardware store is open on the weekends– it probably isn’t. Nothing is.

His bicep aches a bit as his fingers work inside of Honey. Her tongue is dainty as it licks into Trevor’s mouth, then retreats, teasing him. He’s still sore, but he’s determined to make Honey come on his fingers. Her hips have started moving against his palm, grinding on his fingers. Trevor lets her.

“Look at you, taking what you need,” Trevor says. He bites his bottom lip and rakes his eyes over Honey’s figure. She’s still in his shirt, so he can’t see the flesh on her chest, but he can see the way her tits heave under the fabric. He can see the way her nipples protrude and rub against the cotton. His eyes land on her neck, watching the column flex and bob as she gasps and speeds up, frantically fucking herself on his fingers. 

A spark passes behind Trevor’s eyes. 

She likes it when I touch her there, Trevor remembers. He hasn’t touched Honey’s neck while they were fucking… ever? Has he? No specific moments come to mind.

She might want to withhold her kinks from him until he’s far away, too far away to touch her– which he knows she’s doing so that she can hear him whine and lament being so far away, because she wants to hear him ramble on about missing her– but Trevor knows this one. 

His fingers squeeze Honey’s waist, pressing into the soft skin before leaving it. His hand traces up her front sensually. Finally, Trevor curls his fingers around her throat. 

Honey’s resulting hum is high-pitched, but confused. Her eyelids lift in a flash, pupils fixing on Trevor’s face, and he would be concerned if not for the frenzied movement that is starting to send an ache through his wrist. 

“I know you like that,” Trevor whispers. He noses Honey’s cheek. “I remember the sound you made when I first kissed you and put my hand right here.” He moves his entire hand quickly, like a pinch, squeezing Honey’s neck for a second then letting go. “I bet you like getting all breathless, huh?”

Honey takes a huge breath in through her nose, head rolling back and revealing all of her throat to Trevor.

A smile crosses his face. “That’s my girl,” Trevor coos. “Come, baby.” He tightens his grip for a few seconds longer, watching Honey tremble. “Come all over my fingers and then we can start our day.”

“Tighter,” Honey breathes out. “Not for too long.”

“Okay,” Trevor agrees, his voice practically inaudible. He obeys, his fingertips curling into her windpipe. The rush of accomplishment doesn’t pass through Trevor because he completes the action of choking Honey, but rather because of the way she relaxes into the touch and lets it happen. Her eyes close again and her face is impassive and serene, mouth open in a quiet moan. That is a huge win for Trevor. When she bears down on his fingers and they overlap each other uncomfortably, Trevor feels the same rush he gets after he scores an OT goal. Honey probably wouldn’t appreciate a celly from him after she finishes coming, but the instinct is there. Trevor loosens his grip on her neck and lets her go, kissing the places where his fingertips were.

Honey snuggles into his side when he draws his fingers, covered in her come, out of her body. The moment is nice and comfortable, but only for a second before Trevor wipes his fingers on his own face adorning her shirt.

“Trevor,” Honey scoffs, rolling away from him and sitting on the edge of the bed. She holds the hem of her shirt away from her body and looks down at it. “You ruined your pretty face, Princess Diana.”

“I think you like that shirt more than you like me,” Trevor tells her.

“Hmm, probably.” Honey stands and walks to her laundry hamper, pulling the shirt over her head like she’s unwrapping a present.

Trevor faux-gasps. “You’re supposed to say, ‘No, Trevor, I love you so much more.’”

“And you are supposed to refrain from wiping cum on my clothes.” Honey plants her hands on her hips. 

Trevor makes himself comfortable on the bed and lays a hand on his stomach, the other cradling the back of his head. He licks his lips. She’s nakey.

Honey rolls her eyes. “This is the problem with you wanting me to be naked all the time,” she scolds. “We will never get anything done.”

“We could get a few things done, I bet,” Trevor replies, snickering when he says it.

Honey doesn’t even crack a smile. She’s back to business. “Would you put some big boy clothes on and wash your hands while I shower?” she asks. “Then you can make me that lunch that you promised.”

Trevor pouts, his bottom lip jutting out as far as he can push it. 

Honey shakes her head fondly and turns away, entering the bathroom and closing the door behind her. 

Trevor lounges in bed for an extra two minutes before swinging his legs forward and getting up. He dresses himself in some short Ducks-branded shorts and a plain black t-shirt. Instead of barging into Honey’s bathroom and and washing his hands there– after peeking behind her shower curtain, of course– Trevor goes downstairs and washes his hands in the kitchen sink. It’s then that he opens her fridge and surveys the options there. There’s plenty for him to cook with, but he’s not confident he’ll prepare any of it particularly well. He’s been known to burn things. Jamie used to get on him about that all the time when they lived together. It’s actually why they climbed onto the roof to eat dinner the first time, so that they could escape the burning smell in the kitchen from Trevor’s charred chicken dinner.

He settles on quesadillas. Honey has chicken that he can throw in a tortilla with cheese, plus some peppers that he can cut up and throw in the saucepan if she doesn’t want to eat them raw. It’ll be a nice meal. 

Trevor burns the first quesadilla. It isn’t a surprise. He’ll eat that one. Honestly, Trevor doesn’t mind the burnt food. He’s gotten used to eating overcooked food.

Honey leaves the shower as he’s finishing up her quesadilla and throwing it on a plate. She comes downstairs and hugs him, standing behind him and gliding her hands underneath his shirt to touch his stomach. 

“Do you want me to sauté these peppers?” Trevor asks.

Honey raises her head and pops up on her tiptoes, looking over his shoulder at the pile of sliced peppers on a plate. “No,” she decides. She pecks the back of Trevor’s neck. “I’ll get some ranch.”

Trevor automatically feels colder when she removes herself from his personal space to grab a half-used bottle of ranch from her fridge. He moves each plate to Honey’s coffee table, taking two trips so he doesn’t accidentally drop any food on the floor. 

Honey sits on the couch, pulling a blanket around her shoulders and crossing her legs. Trevor sits next to her and they start to eat their lunch together. Honey doesn’t have a TV in her living room– come to think of it, Trevor doesn’t think she has a TV at all. He’s never watched television in this house. Anyway– if Honey did have a TV, he’d put something on in the background. Instead, he listens to the rustle of the wind in the trees and the chirping of the birds.

You can’t hear the traffic from Honey’s house. You can’t even hear her neighbors, not that there are any close enough to walk over and ask for a cup of sugar. They’d have to drive. 

“Do you like being alone?” Trevor asks. The question is blunt as it falls from his mouth and Trevor realizes that it sounds rude. He doesn’t mean to say it like that and goes to apologize.

Honey shrugs. “Yeah,” she says. 

“Why?” He’s surprised she didn’t give him a second look for how his first question came out, so Trevor makes a concentrated effort to make this one sound more curious.

She waves a green pepper slice in the air. “It’s nice. I’m not really, like, alone. You know that. I’ve got my friends from Litchton, I’ve got Bea, I’ve got myself, I’m good.”

“I don’t know if I could do it,” Trevor says.

“Being alone?” Honey clarifies. “Hm. I think you could. You just haven’t had the experience with it. I struggled a lot my first few months in Litchton. So did Bea. We were used to a huge city. Charlotte has almost a million people and Litchton has two thousand. Until I moved here, I’d never been in a community that small. Even Myers Park had… 3,500 kids, I think.”

“Myers Park?”

“My high school.” Honey pops the rest of the pepper in her mouth and chews after dipping it in ranch. “I think you’re just used to a big city, babe. It’s, what, 25 miles from Anaheim to LA?”

“Yeah, close enough,” Trevor replies. “26.”

Honey glares at him for a moment. “‘Close enough,’” she mocks. “I was right on the money. Anyway, LA has millions of people and so many things to do. You’re used to that. I think you adapted well to living in Litchton this summer, but you also had six friends here. If it had just been you and– who’s your Bea?”

Trevor shrugs. “Jack, probably. We’re not as close as you two, but he and I are probably the closest.”

Honey laughs. “Okay, imagine you and Jack move to Litchton, just you two. I’m not even here. It’s just you and Jack.” She picks up another pepper. “What do you do?”

“I kill myself within a week,” Trevor deadpans. 

Honey squints at him, pursing her lips judgmentally.

Trevor leans into her space, draping himself over her lap. “I’m kidding,” he tells her. “But I still don’t know if I’d be able to do it.”

Honey brushes his hair out with her fingers. “I guess not. You’re too extroverted. My LA boy.”

“You still hate that I live in California?” Trevor teases.

Honey hums, affirming that she does while she nods. 

“I’ll convince you to like it when you visit.”

“If I visit,” Honey replies. “The hatred for Cali runs deep in my bones, Trevor.”

Trevor rolls his eyes and sits up again, polishing off the rest of his quesadilla. He always eats faster than Honey does. “Are we going to the fruit stand now?”

“Yurr,” Honey confirms. She holds up her quesadilla. “Can I take this in your car?”

Trevor nods. He goes upstairs to grab his keys, wallet, and Honey’s bag. While he was gone, Honey had moved all of their dishes to the sink. 

“I’ll do them later,” she tells Trevor when she joins him by the door.

The drive into town is quiet. Trevor’s hair is getting too long. Honey likes when the windows are down, so they’re down, but the wind is whipping his hair into his face and distracting Trevor from the road. He needs to schedule a hair appointment when he goes back to Bedford to hang out with his family before preseason starts.

They walk hand in hand to the fruit stand. There’s some commotion near the church, which is just visible from the grocery store, and Trevor watches the scene from the corner of his eye. There is a large group of people mingling at the steps of the front entrance– the entrance that Bea never uses, since the parking lot is behind the church, so they just enter through the back door. The front of the church is much more regal than the back. Picturesque.

Honey shops around, handing Trevor piece of fruit after piece of fruit. He bags them all, until the strap over his shoulder is heavy and the mesh fabric is bursting. Trevor tells Honey that they can’t fit anymore, which she frowns at, but concedes. She gives one last longing look at the blackberry cartons before they go to pay Joan.

Joan makes small talk with the duo, telling Honey about how hard Trevor worked the previous day and how helpful it was. 

“I wish I could bring him on every week,” Joan says. “Normally, my husband helps me, but he was able to start prepping the fields for our winter vegetables. We’re seeding tomorrow.”

“It’s a shame he had the idea so late in the summer,” Honey replies.

“I’m sore as can be, Joan,” Trevor complains. “I don’t know if I could do it every week.”

“Well, we’ll see how you feel on Sunday. Would you like to come help me out again? I’d appreciate it.” Joan has a soft smile on her face while she waits for Trevor to respond. He almost feels bad, but there’s no reason for him to. He can’t help that his time is up and he has to decline.

“We’re actually headed out this Saturday,” Trevor says. “So this is the last time you’ll see me for a while.”

Joan’s smile fades. “Well, isn’t that a shame. We’ve enjoyed having you in Litchton this summer, Trevor.”

Trevor’s heart thumps. That’s so nice– Joan expressing that the people in Litchton have accepted him as one of their own and liked having him here. “I’ll be back when I can.”

“No one who comes to Litchton can go very far for very long,” Joan confirms. “I tried when I was y’all’s age, but we all come back eventually.”

“Mr. California,” Honey adds jokingly.

Trevor’s retort disappears when he’s distracted by a cheer near the church. He turns his head, as do the other two, and they watch as a bride and groom burst through the door. The crowd raises their hands and whoops as they descend the steps and the groom dips his bride, kissing her.

Joan chuckles. “The new Mr. and Mrs. Wyatt Hensley,” she says. “Aren’t they just darlin’? Lila’s dress is gorgeous.”

“I didn’t know their wedding was on a Monday,” Honey says. “I guess that makes sense. Didn’t Wyatt’s parents have to come from Texas?”

“Oklahoma,” Joan corrects.

Trevor is still watching the happy couple. The woman looks like Honey. Well, they have the same hair.

“So close,” Honey sighs. “I’m always one off today. Alright– I’ll see you next week, Joan.” She bumps Trevor’s arm. “You gonna say goodbye?”

“We should do that,” Trevor tells her, staring as Wyatt and Lila parade through the group of people towards a car parked on the street.

Honey follows his gaze. “Do what?” she asks.

“Get married,” Trevor explains. The silence that follows is jarring. He turns to Honey to find her staring at him, expression nothing short of aghast. “What?”

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, shaking her head. “Say goodbye to Joan, baby.”

“Oh, yeah,” Trevor says. He looks at Joan and holds his hand out for her to shake. “It was nice to meet you, Joan. Thank you for all the fruit all summer.”

“Thank you for all of the entertainment,” Joan replies. “I’m disappointed I won’t see how this conversation plays out. Have a safe trip home, Trevor.”

“Bye, Joan.” He moves Honey’s bag to his other shoulder and takes her hand. They start to walk toward the car. “So that’s a no to getting married?” he asks after they’ve walked a few hundred feet.

Honey takes another deep breath and holds it briefly before exhaling loudly. “We met three months ago, Trevor. We are not getting married anytime soon.”

Trevor frowns. “Darn.” 

Honey scoffs, starting to laugh. “God, you’re weird. This is why I’m always telling you to think before you speak.”

Trevor exaggerates an eye roll, starting to laugh to himself. It really was a crazy thing to say. “So you don’t want to marry me?” he demands, pretending to be upset. “So you hate me.”

Honey laughs louder. “Stop,” she tells him. “We are not having this conversation now. Plus, we’re too young to get married. Maybe if you were a military guy and I was a ‘ring-by-spring’ girl, we could talk about that, but I’m not getting married for at least four more years. How ‘bout you see if you can stand me that long before you ask again?”

Trevor grumbles under his breath, but really, he’s pleased. Four years, and then he can propose? No problem– with the way hockey season passes, the years will go by in a flash. He’s pretty certain they’ll make it.

86:90 – HONEY

They’re two hours from closing time when Honey decides that she can no longer ignore Bea’s attitude. The girl seems to be in a funk and Honey has a feeling that she knows why. Bea hasn’t been willing to listen to Honey’s opinion before now, but things could be different now that she’s moping around like a wet cat. 

Her attitude isn’t actually all that bad. Aside from not wanting to do any actual work and showing up two hours late, Bea’s been mostly normal. The only difference is that she’s quiet and lazier than usual. 

Honey finds her laying on the beanbag chairs in the cozier section of their store. There’s no one in the Nook right now and Ada is sitting behind the cash register, doing a crossword. Honey is free to lay with Bea until they hear the twinkle of the bell attached to the front door. 

“What’s wrong?” Honey asks. She sits on the bag next to Bea, looking down at the girl.

Bea shifts her eyes to the side, not bothering to move her head to look at Honey. “You know what’s wrong,” she answers.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Honey reaches over and fixes Bea’s shirt sleeve.

The girl throws her arm over her face and hides in the crook of her elbow. “I don’t know.”

Honey nods to herself and slides down the beanbag chair until she’s reclining. Her head rests against the bottom shelf of the bookcase and her feet are planted against the ground, knees toward the sky. She reaches her hand above her head and pulls a random book from the shelves, setting it against her thighs and opening it. She reads 38 pages of the historical fiction novel, set in 1580s England, before Bea speaks again.

“I feel like a stupid moron-idiot,” Bea nearly growls. The ‘t’ on ‘idiot’ is sharp coming from her mouth. She throws her arms down by her sides and Honey has to press her lips together to prevent a laugh from escaping. Bea looks like she just got petrificus totalus’ed. “I don’t like it here!”

“Okay, well, you’re not a stupid moron-idiot,” Honey tells her. “I’d say so if you were.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bea snaps. She narrows her eyes at Honey in annoyance. She sighs. “It’s just like… what the hell am I doing, you know?”

Honey prompts Bea to go on with a single hummed note. She closes the book she was reading.

Bea lifts her hands and talks with them while she explains– or tries to. “I don’t, like, ugh. Obviously, I know this isn’t– but I feel like…” she pauses, her fingers curling into half-formed fists. She whines in the back of her throat, frustrated. “This is so fucking stupid. I can’t even fucking explain myself.”

“Watch your language,” Honey murmurs, throwing a look over at Ada. The old woman hasn’t looked up yet, but if Bea continues to lean into this frustration, she’ll only start to swear more often and at a higher volume. 

Bea covers her face with flat palms and scrubs them up and down her skin. “I have never been the person to care, you know? Yeah, I go out with people, I have my fun, I have my friends, but I don’t ca-a-are,” she exaggerates the last word and shakes her hands out in front of her in time with it. Honey imagines she’s holding Christmas bells and has to stifle another giggle. 

This is serious. Not the time for an intrusive imagination.

“And now I’m out here caring! What is with that?” Bea exclaims.

“Well, I think it’s a good sign,” Honey says. “At least we know you have the capacity for romantic feelings now.”

Bea huffs indignantly. “We’ve always known that,” she sneers.

“Having a crush and actually loving someone are two different things,” Honey points out.

“Fuck off,” Bea replies.

Honey allows herself to giggle this time and shrugs. “I don’t know, Bea. I mean, it’s the first time you’ve felt like this. Do you really want to give it up?”

“No, I’m not sure, Honey, and that’s the fucking problem!”

The words explode out of Bea’s mouth and Honey physically draws her head back in surprise. “Wow,” she says.

Bea covers her face again. “I’m sorry. That was unnecessary. I’m just…”

“Frustrated,” Honey supplies. Bea shakes her head. “Confused?”

“Annoyed,” Bea corrects. She rolls her eyes, most likely at herself, and goes boneless on the beanbag. “I am practically at war with myself and it’s making me angry. So I would say that I’m more annoyed than frustrated or confused.”

“What are you fighting over?” Honey asks.

“I need to break up with him but I don’t want to break up with him,” Bea states. “That’s literally it.”

“Okay, so don’t break up with him if you don’t want to,” Honey says. “You guys can work through it. Quinn would be ecstatic to be all domestic and partner-y with you outside of the summer.”

Bea groans out loud. “I know,” she drawls. “But you don’t get it. I don’t expect you to, and I can’t explain it well, but I need to break up with him.”

“Why?”

“He’s not in my future,” Bea says. 

Honey blinks. It’s a simple and cryptic statement. Since when could Bea tell the future?

“It’s not fortune-telling, it’s logic,” Bea continues once she sees the look on Honey’s face. “I don’t see this ending positively if we continue dating outside of Litchton. He’ll go to hockey, I’ll stay here, our communication will diminish because he’s busy, I’ll get touchy and bitchy because I want attention, and then it all blows up and we break up and it’s a thousand times worse than ending it here.”

“How do you know that will happen?” Honey asks. “It sounds like a bunch of what-ifs to me.”

“I’m not emotionally mature enough for a relationship where my boyfriend ignores me eight or nine months of the year and then is all over me for the other three. The whiplash will be insane. If he played in Raleigh, or we lived closer to Vancouver, it would be different.”

It once again hits Honey that Bea has thought this through and won’t change her mind. She says everything so resolutely and has an answer for each of Honey’s remarks. Honey’s words can’t penetrate the iron armor of Bea’s decision and Bea’s explanations can’t seem to wade through the foggy confusion in Honey’s mind. They’re so different.

“I don’t know,” Bea resigns with a shrug. “Our lives are so different and he’s so far away. I think it would have been nice, and Quinn is damn near perfect, but my future isn’t with Quinn.” She shakes her head, breathing a laugh out of her nose in a self-deprecating way. “Is your future with Trevor?”

“Yes,” Honey decides. She means it.

Bea blinks and recoils in surprise, much like Honey did when Bea raised her voice. “Your future is with Trevor,” she repeats. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Honey replies. She thinks about how he genuinely suggested getting married yesterday, which was absurd, but didn’t feel wrong. When she was with Thomas, she knew that there was going to be someone after him. He wasn’t the end-all, be-all. Her gut is telling her that there’s nothing after Trevor. “Yeah. He’s– yes. My future is with Trevor.”

Bea looks at Honey until a prickle of discomfort starts to rise on Honey’s neck. She breathes out in relief when Bea looks away. She couldn’t read the look in Bea’s eyes, which increased the discomfort tenfold. Honey did not like what she saw. 

And she doesn’t think Bea’s eventual reaction matches the stare.

“Good for you,” Bea says. Her words seem shallow, brimming with surface-level congratulations. The layer of joy for Honey seems very thin. Honey doubts it’s because Bea disagrees with Honey’s decision. She thinks it’s because Bea still doesn’t know how to feel about her own.

The bell rings and Honey hears Ada greet a customer. She doesn’t want to leave Bea like this, but one of them has to work, and Bea doesn’t seem up for it. Honey understands that feeling better now.

She takes Bea’s hand and squeezes it tightly, then lets go. 

The encounter with her best friend stays on her mind long after they’ve closed the store. She invites Bea to come back to her place for dinner, which the girl accepts, but then they end up talking a little bit more and not making dinner at all. 

It’s hard to talk about this. Bea tries to explain her stance a little bit more, but she can’t find the words and Honey finds it harder and harder to read her mind with each suggestion that Bea turns down. Honey is doing her best to fill in the gaps, but for the first time in their lives, she and Bea are not even close to being on the same page. Usually, they can find some middle ground. This time, Honey feels like they’re throwing paper airplanes at each other over a canyon.

Bea leaves her house without eating dinner, after standing up and shaking out her body in an almost-violent wave that has Honey furrowing her eyebrows. “It seems like this is going against every instinct you have,” Honey wants to say, but Bea says “It’s now or never” and leaves before Honey can get the words out. 

Overall, it hasn’t been a great day. She feels drained right alongside Bea, trying to share the load as best she can without fully understanding Bea’s plight. It’s terrible.

So when Trevor shows up at Honey’s door half an hour after Bea leaves, his presence is a welcome distraction from the weight on her shoulders.

There’s still weight. Of course there is. The difference is that this replacement weight is physical– Honey is being crushed under the weight of her boyfriend as she tries to read her book in the dying summer light. She wants to finish this one before she goes back and borrows the one she started this afternoon while sitting with Bea. Honey isn’t usually one for period pieces– that’s Bea’s thing– but this one seemed cool.

Trevor might be sleeping, for all Honey knows. She’s twirling a strand of his hair around her fingers, other hand holding her book in the air, and Trevor is breathing evenly in her ear. His mouth is pressed against her jaw and their legs are intertwined. His arms are wrapped around her middle, hips squarely in line with hers. 

He’d sat on the counter while Honey made her own dinner, refusing his offer to cook for her since she already has a bad taste in her mouth from Bea’s problems. He had stolen some of her food off of the plate while she ate, talking all about how, today, he and the guys had to break down the makeshift rink they built for the summer. He and Quinn had done most of the work building the rink and he and Quinn had done most of the work tearing it down. The most Luke, Jack, and Cole did was stack the wood for a bonfire. Trevor knows that Earl won’t take it back.

His impression of the elderly man had been surprisingly spot-on. “Boy, you better not’a come up in here tryin’ to return old wood,” Trevor had mocked in a thick southern accent. “I’m not a bank! I don’t give out loans.”

Trevor had done the dishes this time after Honey was finished eating. She’d reclined on the couch while he did so, head resting on the throw pillow propped against the arm of the couch, and cracked her book open.

When Trevor joined her, he’d crawled under her arms and kissed her lips before tucking his head to the side. That’s how they got to where they are now. Honey only has about fifty pages left of her book, but she has a feeling she won’t make it to the end. Her boyfriend, in the last five pages or so that she’s read, has started nuzzling her neck. 

“You’re distracting me,” Honey says. She turns to the next page, then back because she realized that she skimmed the last paragraph and didn’t actually read it. It’s further proof that Trevor is taking her attention away from the book in her hands.

“I’m bored,” Trevor mumbles against Honey’s skin. “Let’s make out.”

Honey pretends to think about it for a minute, humming and looking up to the ceiling. 

Trevor does his best to convince her, kissing and licking up her neck until he makes it to her lips. “Puh-lease,” he begs in a sarcastic voice, pouting at Honey. He looks like a puppy asking for human food and Honey laughs.

She sets her bookmark between the pages and closes the book, stretching to place it on the coffee table. Trevor doesn’t let her move much. Honey cocks her head to the side, matching Trevor’s pout. She cradles his face.

Trevor’s pout breaks into a smile and he leans forward, catching her bottom lip and claiming it. The kiss starts soft and insistent, barely demanding anything from Honey at all. Between kisses, he touches her sides and sends sparks up her body. Her lips part and Trevor’s tongue explores Honey’s mouth. She breaks from him and laughs when he tries to roll his ‘R’ like he’s in Spanish class, but inside her mouth. He must have thought it would make a fun movement of their tongues, but Honey has to push him away for all of five minutes while she catches her breath.

He can’t kiss her again for another ten without more giggles spewing from Honey’s body. 

Trevor nips at Honey’s bottom lip playfully, then her own teeth tug gently on his lower lip in return. 

Honey is pliant beneath Trevor, the kiss both intimate and lazy and filthy and plundering. She could stay in his arms, pressed into the cushions of her comfy couch and lost in the drugging sweetness of his kisses, forever. The rest of the world fell away when she was kissing him, until Honey’s front door swings open and hits the wall next to it.

The couple separates, although Trevor is still laying on top of Honey. He lifts himself up just enough to look over the back of the couch, at the person attached to the pair of stomping feet approaching them. Honey doesn’t have to look to know who it is. She recognizes Bea’s footsteps well.

“Get out,” Bea announces in a grave, serious, and stern voice.

She really did it, then, Honey thinks to herself, equal parts impressed and sad for Bea. It’s no wonder she doesn’t want Trevor here, especially not on top of Honey and making out with her like a bad reminder.

Honey places her hands on Trevor’s chest and starts to push him off, but has to shift her focus when Trevor starts to fight back, like he always does.

“What stick got shoved up your ass today?” Trevor snaps. 

“Get out,” Bea repeats.

“Trevor,” Honey jumps in, tapping his collarbone insistently.

Trevor eyes fall, not so far as to find Honey, but just to Bea’s midsection. “What is that?” he asks. “You brought a toy with you? Is that the stupid cow that Quinn wouldn’t let Jack cuddle when he found it earlier?”

Honey grinds her teeth together and covers Trevor’s mouth with both of her hands. “Shut up,” she hisses. 

His words have done enough damage. Bea pulls the coffee table out of the way and steps up to the couch, whacking Trevor with Moo-Moo and the flat of her other hand over and over, trying to make solid contact with his twisting body. He’s laughing, because clearly he thinks this is a joke, but Honey doesn’t find it funny at all. Neither does Bea, whose eyes are red, puffy and seething with ire and a fresh layer of mist.

“I hate you,” she tells him with absolute conviction. “You have absolutely no empathy for anyone ever and if you paid attention for more than two seconds, you’d realize that today is not the day to be a cunt to me, Trevor!”

“You’re fucking insane,” Trevor responds, curling up into a ball and hiding behind Honey as she sits up.

Honey catches Bea’s hands and holds them tightly. “Stop,” Honey says. “Stop. I know you’re upset, but stop it.”

“He started it,” Bea deflects tearfully.

“Baby, you told him to get out instead of asking him to leave,” Honey replies, tilting her head knowingly at Bea.

The girl’s bottom lip wobbles and her chest starts to lurch. “I don’t want him here,” she says through gulping breaths. “I need you to stay with me. Alone.”

Trevor has noticed Bea’s state and reacts with the appropriate awkwardness. “Shit,” he acknowledges. 

Bea squeezes her eyes shut and sobs, curling in on herself.

Honey stands and wraps her in a hug, one arm wrapped around Bea’s ribcage and other hand cradling the back of her head. Bea cries into her shoulder, arms locked around Honey’s body. She’s still clutching Moo-Moo’s ear between her fingers, a nervous habit that Honey hasn’t seen since they were in their tweens. 

“Trev, sweetheart, you should go,” Honey says softly. “Please.”

He rises from the couch and touches the base of Honey’s spine. “Sorry, Bea,” he tries. Honey can see that he wants to pat her on the arm, but she shakes her head and he refrains. “I hope you’re okay.”

It’s a really awkward goodbye from Trevor, understandably so, and Honey feels terrible as Bea continues to cry. Honey gets her upstairs and into her bed, which they’ve shared for plenty of Honey’s freakouts, but it feels so much different this time.

Honey positions Moo-Moo so that he’s right under Bea’s nose and his fur is touching her lips. She brushes Bea’s hair out of her face and wipes a little bit of the mascara off of her eyelids. “I’m sorry you had to do this,” Honey whispers. “It sucks.”

Bea hiccups. “It’s for the best,” she manages shakily. “I’d be ten times worse if this happened after… everything I tried to explain earlier.”

Long distance, Quinn’s laser-focus on hockey, Bea’s self-admitted need for attention, the way all of those things will compound until they hate each other and breakup in a much bigger blowout. Those are the bits Honey understood. It’s how Bea got from one point to the other, with all of those assumptions, that Honey didn’t quite get. 

“He thought I would change my mind because you and Trevor are staying together,” Bea adds in a miserable voice. 

Honey feels a flare of anger rise up in her throat. They’ve experienced this before– people always assume that she and Bea do the same thing, together, all the time. They’re best friends, but they’re not clones of each other. It’s their shared pet peeve– which doesn’t actually disprove the statement that they’re the same.

“He said he’d buy me an apartment in Vancouver.” A fresh round of sobs leaves Bea and she wipes them on the top of Moo-Moo’s head. “It’s like– I can’t uproot my life just for him,” she says desperately, as if she has to explain it to Honey. She feels the same way Bea does. Moving across the country with her boyfriend of three months (unofficially) would be a mistake. “He didn’t get it. He didn’t get it.”

Honey closes her eyes and touches her forehead to Bea’s. 

“I explained it to him at the beginning of the summer and he agreed,” Bea reminds herself more than Honey. “And I can’t, I can’t–”

“I know,” Honey murmurs. “Shh, it’s okay.”

Bea heaves in Honey’s arms and soaks her spare pillow with tears. Honey watches her, stroking her cheek and her arm and wiping her running nose with tissue after tissue. It’s hard. Bea used to do the same thing for her, countless times over, and Honey feels dreadful. Bea shouldn’t ever look like this or feel like this. Honey would do anything to change it.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats.

Bea takes a shaky breath, then another. “It felt like he didn’t understand me,” Bea explains in a far-away voice with a mournful frown. “I thought he knew.”

“Oh, sweet girl,” Honey sighs. “He was just hoping something would change.”

“Then he didn’t listen when I told him nothing would,” Bea sniffs. She averts her gaze from Honey’s eyes, down to the space between them. She sniffs again. “Is that Puppy?”

Honey looks down. Her monkey is between them, left on the middle of the bed when Trevor made a scene of returning him to his rightful owner. He did not return the Ducks shirt that magically appeared in her dresser drawer in Charlotte. “Yeah.”

Bea scrunches her face in confusion and breathes out either a laugh or a fresh set of tears– but she’s cried dry, so nothing appears. “Did he become sentient and walk here?” she implores, disbelieving. 

Honey almost laughs in relief at the change in subject. She knows Bea well enough to know that she’s deflecting and moving on because she doesn’t want to cry over her breakup anymore. They’ll come back to it another day, when she’s processed it a bit more. “Trevor and I went to see my parents.”

Bea is silent, mouth open in pure betrayal. “What the hell else have you been keeping from me?” she wails dramatically. “Are you moving to Cali?”

“No,” Honey exclaims. She laughs out loud. “I am not moving to California.”

“Good, ‘cause the West Coast is not the best coast,” Bea asserts stubbornly. 

“Have you eaten?” Honey asks.

Bea’s expression immediately turns into a scowl. She hates when Honey asks that, taking it as a personal attack and an insinuation that she can’t take care of herself. “No.”

At least she’s honest. “Stay right there,” Honey says. “I’m going to go make you something quick. You need to eat.” She kicks off the covers and shoves her feet into her slippers, padding across the floor.

“Make me a water bottle too,” Bea bosses in a grumble. “I feel like a raisin.”

She’ll be okay. Honey is sure of it. Even if Bea isn’t, Honey will be around.

87:90 – TREVOR

i’m sorry i attacked u. that was mean. can i come over later to apologize for real? Bea asks through text message. 

Trevor can’t shake the image of Bea crying in Honey’s arms from his mind. He still feels guilty about how he had provoked her and completely misread the room. It’s their thing, making fun of each other and being each other’s number one hater. Trevor hadn’t known that Bea would be so touchy yesterday.

Honey is coming over at 7 to help me pack

i know. i’ll drive her there and u can drive her to work toma

You won’t stay over?

Bea doesn’t respond to that one– not for another few hours. She texts once Trevor is finishing up his last load of laundry. He’s choosing which clothes he’ll keep out for the next few days when his phone vibrates.

i’ll explain later.

It’s a resolute answer that confuses Trevor. He moves his laundry into a massive pile on his bed so that he actually gets it done before he goes to bed, then leaves the room. He’ll do it when Honey gets here. He wants to prolong their time together, so he’ll fold and she’ll pack. She likes organizational things like that. Three weeks ago, the same day she accidentally called him her boyfriend, Trevor watched Honey take all of her books off of her bookshelves and reorder them accordingly. He doesn’t know her system. He does know, however, that she was very content with the repetitive action. There was a little smile on her face the whole time.

Trevor walks downstairs and finds the main level empty. He goes down the next flight and finds the boys. None of them have even started to pack, which is annoying because they still have to clean the rental house on Friday. At this rate, it’ll fall to Trevor to clean because all the guys are trying to locate their things. Cole will be trying to save his clothes from being stolen by the Hughes brothers, who just scoop up all the laundry as if it’s theirs. Trevor supposes that’s what happens when they share the Michigan house– he wouldn’t be surprised if the spare bedroom had been turned into a joint-closet in the time since he’s visited.

Luke and Cole are playing ping-pong and yelling at each other. Jack and Quinn are laying across the two couches, each with a book in their hand. Trevor almost wants to tease them for coexisting so peacefully, but he plops down on the recliner instead. He snatches the remote and turns the TV on, enduring Quinn’s side eye as he disturbs the quiet surrounding the seating area. 

“The girls are coming over in a bit,” Trevor announces to the group. 

He doesn’t miss how Jack’s eyes lift towards Quinn. Or how Quinn shifts on the couch. Or how the ping pong ball goes clattering to the floor and Cole sings, “Another point for me.”

“Honey’s going to help me pack,” Trevor adds. “You guys should really start packing, too.”

“Don’t be a killjoy, Z. We’ll get to it,” Jack says. “We’re enjoying the time we have left.”

Trevor pauses, gawking at the irony of the words. “You’re the one who didn’t want to come here in the first place,” he points out.

Jack just shrugs and flicks to the next page in his book. He adjusts the baseball cap on his head. “I changed my mind.”

“So you want to come back next year?” Trevor asks.

Jack curls his lip. “No. Not for the whole summer. I’d like to spend my free time in the house I own, thanks.” He reaches his leg toward the other sofa blindly and kicks Quinn. “Right, Q-Ball?”

“Yeah,” Quinn says shortly.

Trevor hasn’t heard his voice sound as curt as this in a long time. He leaves it alone, turning back to face the television and focusing on the episode of The Office that seemed to magically appear, as if this TV has memorized Jack’s watching habits. 

Luke and Cole sit on the big couch after their game of ping-pong ends. Luke puts his arms over the back of it, stretching his long limbs out over Quinn’s shoulders. Cole kicks his feet up on the coffee table and laughs at most of the jokes coming from the television over the next two episodes.

The day passed by quickly with all the laundry Trevor did. It doesn’t surprise him when he hears the front door open in the distance and two pairs of footsteps crossing the floor above them. 

“Hello?” Honey calls, stopping halfway down the basement steps and waving. “Nobody greets their guests at the door anymore?”

Trevor’s face splits with a smile and he laughs. He stands and walks toward Honey. Cole immediately takes his seat in the recliner.

“Hey, baby,” Trevor says. He climbs the first few steps and kisses Honey briefly. “You ready to pack up some laundry?”

“Is it ready to pack or is it in a pile on your bed?” Honey responds.

Trevor doesn’t answer, just looking at Honey knowingly.

She rolls her eyes and pats his chest firmly. “You’re the worst. I’ll go start folding while you talk to Bea.” Honey looks around Trevor’s body. “You okay, Q?”

Quinn hums. Trevor catches the tail end of a shrug when he looks in the boy’s direction. 

“Ask me how I am,” Cole chirps.

Honey’s thoughtful bite of her lower lip after Quinn’s response disappears after Cole’s input. She chuckles. “How are you, Cole?”

“Never better,” Cole brags. “Just won another game of ping-pong against the big guy.”

“By two points,” Luke jumps in. “It wasn’t that impressive. We were neck-in-neck for ages.”

“Well, you’ll get him next time, Lukey. Good job, Cole.” Honey slides her hand into Trevor’s. “C’mon, Trev. We’ve got chores to do.”

“Will you guys be here for long?” Jack asks. “Tell Bea to come down.”

“She has stuff to do tonight,” Honey lies. She tries to keep her face impassive, but Trevor knows that Bea never has anything to do unless she’s hanging out with Quinn. 

The fact that Quinn hasn’t moved at all from the couch since Bea got here is suspicious. 

Oh my God, they broke up, Trevor realizes suddenly. Oh my God. He stares at Quinn. The dark circles under his eyes make sense now.

“Come on, Trev.” Honey tugs his hand and leads him upstairs. Trevor is still looking at Quinn, scrutinizing him until Honey drags Trevor out of sight.

“What happened?” Trevor asks. He pads after Honey, entering the kitchen.

“Talk to Bea,” Honey replies. She brings a hand to Trevor’s jaw and kisses him softly on the lips. “I have to go do the laundry you left for me while you do. You’re a terrible boyfriend.”

“I’m not,” Trevor whines. “I wanted to fold them together.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” Honey tells him, only a slight air of sarcasm in her voice. “But you have to make up with Bea. I’ll meet you upstairs when you’re done. It shouldn’t take long.”

Trevor doesn’t dare sigh out loud, not when Bea or Honey could hear him. He agreed to this, but the thing is, Bea doesn’t need to apologize to him. It wasn’t a big deal. Now that Trevor thinks she and Quinn broke up, he thinks that he should be apologizing. Not that he will. Unless he feels like it in the moment.

He turns away from the stairs and looks for Bea, scanning the room. She’s nowhere to be found. Surely Honey would’ve brought him in here because this is where Bea is. Maybe she chickened out and couldn’t stand to be in the house, so she left.

“Over here,” she says, lifting her arm into the air. She’s laying on the couch in the living room, the one that they rarely ever use. 

Trevor rounds the couch and finds Bea laying there in a tank top and jean shorts, very reminiscent of Honey’s style. He supposes it makes sense– she probably stayed the night with Honey last night. Her hair is up in a bun, also like Honey. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Bea echos. She rolls partially off of the sofa and reaches for her bag in a half-assed way, waving her arm four times before snagging one of the handles and pulling it into her space. “I brought you a treat.”

Trevor sits on the ottoman near the fireplace. “Oh, yeah? What kind of treat?”

“Peanut butter chocolate chip cookies.” Bea pulls a tupperware out of the bag and underhand-tosses it to Trevor. “I need the container back when you guys leave. It’s from the Nook.”

“I’ll wash it tonight and give it to Honey so she can bring it back to work tomorrow,” Trevor says. “You didn’t have to make me cookies.”

“Well, I’m bad at apologies, so I wanted to make a gesture,” Bea says. 

Trevor feels sheepish all of a sudden. “You don’t have to apologize either,” he tells her with a grimace. “I didn’t realize you were having a bad day and I probably shouldn’t have poked the bear.”

Bea talks over him as he stumbles through the last part of his statement. “I do have to apologize. It seems like you’re going to be around for a long time, Trevor, and I don’t want us to be at odds.” 

A blossom of pride blooms in Trevor’s chest when Bea admits to him being around for a long time– absolutely he’ll be around for a long time. His relationship with Honey won’t be ending anytime soon. 

“It wasn’t cool of me to hit you and yell at you,” Bea continues. “You definitely weren’t nice, but I wasn’t any better.”

“That’s kind of what we do, though,” Trevor says. “Bicker.”

“Not like that.” Bea shakes her head. “I should’ve had more control over myself, so I’m sorry. I know you didn’t really mean to make a bad day worse.”

“What happened?” Trevor asks. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Bea takes a deep breath and looks away from Trevor. She stares at the ceiling and a thick silence settles between them. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Bea glares at him out of the side of her eye. That’s back to normal. “Obviously I’m going to tell you Trevor, but I am once again asking you to wait two seconds.”

Trevor looks at his fingernails and picks at his cuticles. “It’s been two seconds,” he grumbles. 

“You are so lucky that Honey is patient with you, I would be swinging on you in a second if I was her,” Bea argues back.

“Right back at’cha,” Trevor bites.

Bea pauses. She eyes him, then looks back to the ceiling. “We broke up,” Bea says with a shrug. “It didn’t go like I wanted it to. It didn’t go like Quinn wanted it to. It was a bad day.”

Trevor doesn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

Bea looks at him, an incredulous squint adorning her face. Then, she snorts and laughs. “Okay,” she says. “Don’t go getting all sappy on me, Trevor.”

“Breakups suck,” Trevor says with a shrug. He’s not being sappy. He’s relating to Bea.

“I might’ve yelled at you for your shit empathy yesterday, but you really don’t have to do all that,” Bea snickers. “I don’t really want you to feel for me, Trevor. I’m happy with our relationship as is. You fight with me like Cece and Trix do.”

“Are you saying I’m a girl?” Trevor asks, making a joke of her sentence. It’s pretty nice, actually, to be compared to one of Bea’s siblings. It makes sense, considering how they fight. It’s how Trevor fights with Griffin and Ava.

Bea taps her chin and purses her lips. “Well, if the glass slipper fits.”

Trevor makes a face at Bea and stands up. “You think you’re funny.”

“I know I am.” She sticks her tongue out at Trevor and sits up, grabbing her bag and hoisting herself off of the comfy furniture. 

“Are you leaving?” Trevor asks when Bea follows him to the steps, toward the front of the house.

“Yep,” Bea confirms. “I can’t very well… stay the night, or anything.” She laughs self-deprecatingly and shifts her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though. We’re supposed to get dinner altogether. Did Honey tell you that yet?”

“No,” Trevor says.

“Well, we are. Tell the boys. We’re going to Mexico and having tacos and margs.” Bea opens the door and slips through. “Have fun with Honey.”

Trevor nods and heads upstairs, walking down the hallway into his bedroom. When he pushes the door open, the pile of laundry on his bed has shrunk drastically, thanks to Honey’s dutiful work. 

“How many loads did you do?” Honey asks as soon as he walks inside. 

“Like three,” Trevor says. “Three and a half.”

“I can’t believe you brought that many clothes for one summer,” Honey says. “I don’t know if I have enough clothes for three and a half loads. Maybe if I was doing my delicates and whites and colors separate.”

Trevor hums and takes his spot next to Honey. When she bends forward to grab another shirt to fold, he slaps her ass playfully. She stole a pair of his boxers, to Trevor’s delight. 

Honey rolls her eyes. “Can we get your laundry done before you start getting distracted by my body?”

Trevor scrunches up his face and pretends to cry, wrapping his arms around Honey’s shoulders and burying his face in her hair. 

“Stop being dramatic,” Honey chastizes. “Pick up a shirt and fold it or I’m going to make you do this all by yourself.”

Trevor is quick to get a move on after that. He fully believes Honey will make him do the chores all by himself. It’s not that he’s incapable, but he wants to do it together. It’s embarrassing how much Trevor likes the idea of folding laundry together, like they share a house and do their laundry together. Maybe next summer they will. Trevor could move in with Honey if she lets him. If she says no, Earl offered the apartment above his garage on Sunday, which might be the closest Trevor will ever come to hearing Earl outright tell Trevor that he likes him. 

He’s two for two. Both Earl and Honey did everything they could to remain grumpy and detached when it comes to Trevor, and look at how that changed. He’s just impressively charismatic.

When Honey asks what Trevor is smiling about, and he repeats his thoughts to her, she snaps a t-shirt at his thigh. 

She loves him. Definitely.

88:90 – HONEY

“Would you get us another round, Luce?” Honey asks, looking up at the dark-haired girl who has worked at Mexico since her family bought the building in her childhood. She clasps her hands together in praying fashion. “Then we’ll be done. I promise.”

“Scout’s honor, Luce,” Bea vows with a big smile. 

“You guys have already been overserved,” Lucía replies with a frown. “You know I don’t care, but my dad worries.”

“Quinn is driving,” Bea says. “Don’t worry. Tell Carlos that he doesn’t have to worry about us and that his Mole Poblano is perfect. He should never change the recipe.”

Lucía laughs. “Yeah, he’ll love that. You know how to work the system. So we’ve got beers for the boys now? Or are y’all still pounding margs like the girls?”

“I’m stickin’ with a marg, dude,” Cole declares. He runs his tongue over the salt rim and smacks his lips, smiling widely at their waitress. 

The Hughes boys decide to switch it up to a beer, as does Trevor. A nice, refreshing beer with a little lime doesn’t seem bad to Honey right now, but she’ll probably have to drink beer at the surprise party. Earl was in charge of the drinks and swore he’d buy enough for everyone they invited, but Honey isn’t certain he knows just how much beer the town can drink during a party. Luckily, Sarah is bringing her trailer-bar in case Earl underestimates things. At least there will be one experienced drinker and party-planner in Trevor’s backyard.

Bea orders another strawberry margarita, Cole orders a normal lime one, and Honey orders a mango-flavored marg, but her mind is elsewhere. The ladies swore on Tuesday that they have planned enough parties in their time to set this one up without Honey’s supervision. 

There are so many things that could go wrong. The alcohol was supposed to take the edge off. Honey wishes she was at the house and she’d left the dinner to Bea. That was the original plan, before the breakup happened on Tuesday. Now, Bea isn’t really that comfortable without Honey acting as a buffer between her and the boys. There’s definitely an awkwardness between her and Quinn, although they’re both trying to ignore it. Honey has seen Quinn watching Bea. Bea isn’t oblivious, either.

Other than the glances between Bea and Quinn, the dinner has been pretty good. The boys seem to believe that it’s their last hoo-rah together and they’re making the most of it. When she’s not worried about how things are going at the rental house, Honey is laughing at Jack’s stupid jokes or at the other boys’ comebacks and quips.

‘One more round’ turns into two before they leave. It’s normal for a Mexico trip to end in a few more drinks than expected, especially as the weekend approaches. By the time they’re walking out the door, the sun has started setting, and Sarah has texted Honey that everyone is ready for them to come back.

She and Bea are holding in their excitement well on the drive back to the house, sharing looks with each other and trying not to spill the secret at the last second.

“What the hell,” Quinn wonders under his breath, sounding confused as he pulls into the driveway and sees that there are more than a few cars parked in front of the house. 

The crowd of people in front of the house should be a dead giveaway to what’s going on. There are tons of familiar faces in the crowd, an impressive group considering Honey only had this idea on Tuesday morning while the ladies were in their knitting circle. 

Bea is bouncing in her seat, jumping out of the car as Quinn puts it into park. Honey exits after her and grins, hoping to find excitement and surprise on her friends’ faces. 

“Surprise!” shouts the crowd around the front of the house. 

“Welcome to your going away party!” Vera adds. She’s right at the front of the crowd with the other ladies, holding gift bags with the boys’ hockey numbers on them. “Come and get your presents.”

They’re all sufficiently buzzed, but Honey is glad to see that they can all pass a sobriety test; the boys don’t stumble or stagger at all on their way towards their respective present-presenter.

It’s really cute how Cole hugs Vera and Trevor accepts a kiss on the cheek from Scarlett. Luke hugs Gillian with one arm and looks over her shoulder at Emma-Kate while he does, sending her a playfully inquisitive look that Honey assumes has to do with the gift. Quinn accepts his bag from Sacha and Jack thanks Rosalind for his. It’s sweet– the ladies had dropped their current projects to create something for each boy, having only two days to craft a knitted item. She knows what each of them are and it’s a wonder that the ladies’ hands aren’t sore and laden with blisters and calluses. 

Vera knitted a sweater for Cole, her favorite of the boys. She asked Honey to see what colors Cole’s hockey team is, so she ended up knitting a navy sweater with red cuffs and a red hem to try and stay on theme as best she could. It was so precious.

Trevor got a sweater too, although his is a cable-knit conglomeration of all of the leftover half-skeins Scarlett has amassed over the past year. The colors change without warning and don’t follow a specific pattern, but Trevor is delighted with it. Honey snorts when he pulls it on over his clothes then and there. Of course he does, even though the temperature is in the high 70s. It’s warm and he’s out here wearing a sweater– maybe if they’re still out partying at two in the morning, it’ll pay off. 

The Hughes boys got beanies, since half of the pictures that came up when Honey looked them up for the ladies featured them walking through hockey arenas in suits and knitted toques. Quinn’s is dark green with a blue brim and Honey notices his tiny, quirked smile as he examines it. He hugs Sacha and thanks her again before tucking the hat into the pocket of his shorts.

Jack and Luke’s beanies nearly match, since each lady except Scarlett tried to match each boys’ team colors. They’re both black and white, although Jack’s is striped and Luke’s is a solid black with a firetruck red rim. There’s a patch on the brim of Luke’s that he seems particularly amused by. It’s black with white letters and a red heart– Honey can’t read what it says– but Emma-Kate is snickering to herself with her tongue poking between her teeth. It must have been her idea. Luke’s eyes tilt up to look up at her and he chuckles, shaking his head. Jack pulls his beanie on, just like Trevor did with his sweater, and Luke places his back in the gift bag. 

The party lingers in the front for a little while longer, with the boys talking to people in the crowd as Honey and Bea (and Earl) walk around the house into the backyard. It looks gorgeous– there are ladders leaning against the side of the house, which Honey assumed were used to hang the fairy lights that are twinkling along the balcony of the house. There are also poles sticking up in the yard, right at the edge of the concrete pad that the boys used as their rink, which allow fairy lights to freefall against the sky like a canopy of stars. 

Honey is glad that she dressed up today in her black, ribbed tank top and long, red boho skirt. There’s music playing through a speaker that Sarah brought with her and Honey wants to dance. The cicadas are out and singing along with the music, trying to screech over the lyrics. 

Bea also dressed up. She’s wearing a white bodysuit that ties in the back with a ruffly, dandelion-colored gingham skirt. She did her hair during her lunch break at the Nook, curling the strands into loose waves that make her look like she belongs on the beach. They need to get a picture.

Earl is stoking the bonfire in the pit that the boys made at the beginning of the summer, so the girls bother him to take their photo for a couple of minutes before he relents. They pose under the lights and hug each other, giggling when Bea turns her head and smushes her lips into Honey’s cheek. 

It’s then that the boys manage to migrate into the backyard. While other guests are heading towards the snack and drink table, or the bonfire, the guys are barreling into Honey and Bea’s photos. Jack grabs Bea’s waist and throws her over his shoulder, sticking his tongue out at the camera. Earl snaps a picture as Bea shrieks and laughs.

After minutes of wrangling, and convincing the boys to really smile, they get a couple of decent pictures together. Luke’s arm is thrown over Honey’s shoulder and Trevor’s arm is around her waist, holding her so tightly that their hips are touching.

Earl eventually gives up and hands the phone back to Bea, saying he’s not a photographer and he expects to be paid if they want any more pictures. Honey thinks he just wants to get back to the fire, which is every man’s happy place, it seems. There’s definitely a dichotomy here. So many of the men and husbands that came along to this party are mingling around the fire with their beer bottles in hand, while the women are all around. It makes Honey laugh, to be honest.

Trevor sticks by her side the whole night. Honey tells him that he can go hang out with Cole or dance around with Jack, but Trevor wraps his index finger around her pinkie and takes a sip from his beer instead. 

They talk with the ladies and with Joan, then with the guys from the Scruffy’s band. Honey challenges Andrew, the bass player, to a game of pool in the basement of the rental house. She still doesn’t win against him– maybe 2025 will be the year that she finally hustles Andrew. Arn, the lead singer of the band, takes her place and promises to “show her how it’s done,” which makes Honey roll her eyes and “hardy-har” at him. She and Trevor go back outside and join Bea around the bonfire.

The party started pretty late for most residents of Litchton. Honey and Bea didn’t meet up with the guys until after the Nook closed for the night, then they’d had about four drinks over two-ish hours, and then they came to the party. A lot of the older people from town, like Ada, have left the going away party with a final well-wish and a wave. Ada even offered to open the store tomorrow morning, so that Bea doesn’t have to leave early if she doesn’t want to. Bea had laughed and said she wouldn’t say no to that, but that she’ll have to make up for all the late starts during the school year.

They started with maybe fifty people, and that’s a generous estimate, but now they’re down to twenty or so. Sarah and Ethan are packing up the trailer bar for the night, but there’s plenty of beer leftover. Tyler ran out to go relieve the babysitter, while Jessie wanted to hang around a bit and talk to some of her old high school acquaintances that Honey has gotten to know over the years. Those four have probably been the oldest people at the party in the last half-hour.

Luke and Emma-Kate are chatting under the covered porch, feet in the hot tub. Jack and Cole are on the dance floor with a couple of Emma-Kate’s NC State friends. Honey doesn’t know how she convinced them to take a road trip to bumfuck western North Carolina during the first week of classes, but she has a feeling that the cute hockey stars might’ve played a factor. 

Both Bea and Quinn are seated around the fire with the townies. Lucía and her older brother Diego made it to the party and are sitting between Bea and Quinn, talking to the person to their side. Diego has a blunt between his fingers and keeps throwing looks at Griffin and his cop-buddy Joshua, who are also sitting around the fire. Diego is arching his eyebrow like The Rock towards the pair every couple minutes and making Griffin laugh to the point that he can’t even look in Diego’s direction anymore.

“You okay, sweet girl?” Honey asks, touching Bea’s shoulder. She’s staring into the fire and lifting her eyes to survey the group every once in a while or to look at Luce when they’re having a conversation.  

Bea puckers her lips at Honey and blows her a kiss. “Yeah, I’m good.” She pouts at Honey and continues to explain, “Coming down from the buzz, so I’m like hungover and drunk at the same time. I think I prefer morning hangovers. It’s also sad that the guys are leaving.” 

Trevor chuckles next to Bea and places his hand on the back of her folding chair. “You’re missing me already?”

Bea rolls her eyes. She knocks her head against his hand. “Not you, you take away my Honey time.”

“Here, Hon, you can have my chair,” Griffin offers, standing up and bringing the chair over to where they’re standing. 

“No, Griff, I’m okay standing and you had it first,” Honey says, waving him off. She doesn’t really want to sit, especially not if she’s taking Griffin’s chair. She’s just checking with Bea, and then she and Trevor are going to dance. Honey’s phone is connected to the speaker now, so all of her favorite music is playing. 

Griffin shakes his head and plants the chair next to Bea. “I’m going to grab another beer and use the bathroom anyway, don’t worry about it.”

“Griffin,” Bea sing-songs. “I know you’re trying to be gentlemanly–”

At that, Trevor’s hand slides around Honey’s hip possessively. 

“–but stop trying to force your chivalry on my best friend,” Bea finishes. A grin passes over her face after she ends her sentence.

Griffin laughs. He taps Bea’s forehead and she bites at Griffin’s finger when he pulls away. He leaves the circle and Bea shoots the hairband around her wrist at his retreating back.

Honey catches Quinn watching them, but he averts his eyes quickly when he sees that Honey is watching him. 

She feels like her stomach is sinking into the dirt. Honey tilts her head to the side, taking in Quinn’s shrunken posture, and sighs.

Trevor sinks into the chair Griffin left behind and pulls Honey onto his lap. She goes willingly, but leans forward and rests her elbows on the arm of Bea’s chair. 

“Are you going to talk to him?” Honey asks under her breath. “You’re both miserable.”

“I can’t,” Bea deflects in a low voice, matching Honey’s tone. She looks at Quinn and looks away just as quickly, biting the inside of her cheek.

Honey presses her lips together and blinks at Bea.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Bea complains, rolling her shoulder up and grimacing in blatant discomfort. “I feel bad, but it’s not…”

“Bea, you have to talk to him,” Honey tells her gently. “He’s not gone yet and you love him.”

Bea looks at her hands and rubs her thumb over the lines on her palm.

“He loves you,” Honey prods. She touches Bea’s elbow. “Finish the summer on a good note.”

“We’re broken up,” Bea reiterates to Honey, an unnecessary reminder of something Honey knows all too well. She was there with Bea before and after it happened. She knows.

“And that’s fine,” Honey says. “But neither of you want to be. You can’t just ignore him.”

Bea takes a deep breath and peeks at Quinn. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispers, still gazing in his direction. 

As if Quinn can feel the eyes on him, Honey sees him glance up and make eye contact with Bea. The corners of his lips turn up slightly in a reassuring smile before he looks away. 

She does the same. 

Honey tucks a lock of hair behind Bea’s ear. “You can do this.”

Trevor’s hands squeeze Honey’s hips and she gets the hint– he’s a little needy for attention. He managed to wait until the end of her and Bea’s conversation, which she’s happy about. It’s the bare minimum, and yet Trevor is impatient and bounces between one thing and another within minutes. He’s so sweet, and he gets rather restless quickly.

She wants to dance anyway. It’s time. Honey stands and pats Bea’s shoulder before she and Trevor approach the makeshift dance floor. She holds his hand and leads him there.

“You’re really good at crisis management,” Trevor says, turning Honey around so that they’re face to face. He puts his hands on her hips and holds her close. 

“I’ve had lots of practice,” Honey replies. She twines her arms around Trevor’s neck and knocks her nose against his. “Five years of it.”

Trevor hums and frowns, leaning in and stealing Honey’s lips a few times. “I hate remembering that,” he drawls. He pecks her lips again. “But you are very good at it. I like that you take care of people so well.”

Honey feels her cheeks go red and she shakes her head, looking over his shoulder at Jack and his brunette. 

Trevor kisses over Honey’s neck and her shoulder. They sway to the music, staying close and breathing in time with each other. 

Honey rests her temple against Trevor’s cheek. She laughs and corrects him when his hands fall from her hips to her ass. She can feel him smiling in a cheeky way after she tells him to move his hands back to a respectable place, although he obeys in an instant. 

A few minutes later, Trevor taps Honey’s waist with his thumb. “They’re dancing.”

Honey is confused for a minute, then her eyebrows lift towards her hairline. “Bea and Quinn?”

“Mhm,” Trevor hums. He spins them around in place so that Honey can creepily watch Bea and Quinn dancing behind them. 

Bea’s got a hand on Quinn’s shoulder, her other hand held in his out to her right side. They’ve got a relaxed-ballroom dance stance instead of the closer hold that Trevor and Honey have on each other. Quinn’s hand is on Bea’s waist and they seem to be talking, albeit in stilted conversation, as they move. 

Quinn’s fingers are tense, partially lifted off of Bea’s waist, like he’s not sure if he can touch her. They relax when Bea steps closer and lets her forearm rest on his bicep, faces close enough that they can probably feel each others’ breath. They look… happy to be like this, but hesitant.

Honey understands why Bea is so choked up every time she has to be near Quinn. After all, Honey doesn’t want Trevor to leave, but it’s inevitable. The same is true for Bea and Quinn. The summer and their time in Litchton was always going to end. Distance is a just a cruel snip of fate.

Honey gulps as they turn, catching the look in Bea’s glassy eyes, fastened on Quinn’s face. She’s biting her lower lip while she studies him. It’s like Quinn is telling her something, but she can’t hear him without remembering what it’s like to kiss him. She’s tormented by how much she likes him and taunted by the fact that it could never work.

Honey loses them in her sight as she and Trevor spin on the floor. Honey takes a sharp inhale and blinks, coming back to herself. 

“I don’t want to miss you in the fall,” Honey says suddenly, as if jolted awake. 

“What?” Trevor asks, thoroughly confused.

“When Bea and Quinn broke up, she said it made the most sense? I don’t think it makes sense for us,” Honey stammers, shaking her head. 

“What are you talking about?” Trevor asks.

Of course he’s confused, since they already decided that they’d be staying together after Trevor leaves, but Honey has to say what’s on her mind regardless. She distantly recognizes the song that has started to play– “A year from now, we’ll all be gone…”

“I never wanted to see Thomas again after we broke up, but I never want to be without you,” Honey says. “We can’t break up.”

“Honey, we’re not breaking up,” Trevor agrees. 

She understands what he meant now– when he came to the Nook for the first time, Trevor told her that he liked her name because it was like he got to call her something special, something sweet. It rubbed her the wrong way then, but hearing his tender tone now makes Honey want to weep. Her name only sounds right, like this, when he says it. “I’m in this. You’re stuck with me. God help you.”

His sincere words break a dam in Honey’s ribs, causing her to giggle. “You’re not going to make me beg?” She jabs back, grateful that he didn’t take her hurried words in a more serious, concerned, worried way. 

Trevor leans down to mouth over her pulse point. “Oh, every day of your life. Know how much you like it, gotta keep my girlfriend happy,” he mumbles along her skin. 

Honey lets out a contented sigh. She hugs Trevor closer. “Knew you were good for something.”

“That’s why you decided to keep me around, hm?” Trevor teases with a smile at the curve of her jaw. “The sex?”

“One of the reasons,” Honey teases back.

“Yeah? What are the others?” Trevor asks. He’s goading her into giving him compliments, but Honey is more than willing to comply.

Honey pulls him up to meet her lips. “I love you,” she says after the kiss.

Trevor grins, his chipped tooth that Honey is so fond of catching her eye. “I love you, too,” he replies and kisses her again.

“Holy shit, what did you two just say?” Cole demands suddenly from next to them. He’s dancing with Emma-Kate’s redheaded friend, to whom he bids goodbye with a squeeze of her hand and a wink. He turns back to Honey and Trevor. “When did this happen?”

“When did what happen,” Trevor asks, narrowing his eyes at Cole.

“The I Love You,” Cole explains, nodding between them pointedly. “Was that the first time?”

Honey blinks. She frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’ve been betting on it for weeks,” Cole says. “If that’s the first time you’ve said I Love You, then Jack loses the bet and Quinn wins.”

Trevor scoffs. “That’s kind of funny. I wondered what those numbers on the back of the whiteboard were for.”

Honey’s jaw drops. The numbers that she noticed last week… they hadn’t meant anything to Honey, just doodles of something she assumed was hockey related. Now she gets it— it was their over/under on their relationship.

“He knows when we said I Love You for the first time,” Honey snaps incredulously, sucking her teeth. She looks out on the floor to find Jack. “He was in the room when I yelled about it to Bea.”

“Oh, cheater,” Cole complains, throwing a glance at Jack as well. He catches their gaze, then quickly pulls his brunette towards the hot tub with Luke and Emma-Kate. “That’s not fair. I thought you’d wait until the end of this year. Damn.” He whacks himself on the head gently. “I should’ve known, after all the sex dreams you had, Z. You said it first, didn’t you?”

Trevor is quick to change the subject. “So do we get a share of the money since you were betting on us?”

Honey turns to Trevor, on a completely separate page. “You had sex dreams about me?”

Trevor flushes red. 

“Oh yeah,” Cole laughs. “Why do you think he wanted to fuck you so bad on the boat on the Fourth of July?”

Honey cackles, throwing her head back. She smushes Trevor’s cheeks between her thumb and forefinger. “You’re such a boy. Sex dreams…”

Trevor groans in the back of his throat and takes Honey’s hand. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Honey laughs again at his bizarre slang. Even though it’s a relatively common phrase, she somehow never expected to hear Trevor say it.

They go upstairs to his room, deserting the party and getting ready for bed. Trevor does his best to keep his hands on Honey as they change into their pajamas, brush their teeth, wash their faces, and climb into bed. Honey left her phone downstairs to keep playing the music, but she’s sure Bea will grab it when the party wraps up. She can still hear the music playing and some people chatting outside, their voices floating up over Trevor’s balcony and seeping through the sliding glass door, muffled to something intelligible.

They lay there, Honey pulled halfway onto Trevor’s chest so that she can listen to his heartbeat, for a while before dozing off. Honey almost falls asleep in Trevor’s arms, hearing him drone on and on about something that she stopped listening to a long time ago, when Quinn opens Trevor’s door without knocking. He’s lucky that they’re not in a compromising position. Honey is lucky that he’s not catching them in a compromising position– that would be humiliating.

“Honey,” Quinn says breathlessly. He stares at her and runs his fingers through his hair.

Honey sits up from where she was tucked against Trevor’s body. “What?” She asks. She's never seen Quinn like this, all flushed and frantic.

“It’s Bea, I don't know what to do,” Quinn tells her, tugging at his t-shirt anxiously. “Can you come?”

The fact that Honey is just in one of Trevor's big shirts and her panties doesn’t matter anymore. She has left Trevor’s side in a flash and goes down the hall ahead of Quinn, throwing his bedroom door open and not caring that it bangs off the wall. Bea is sitting in Quinn’s bed, wrapped in the sheets, face buried in her hands. 

“What happened?” Honey behests in a sharp voice, talking to Quinn while approaching the bed and brushing Bea’s hair with her fingers. 

“Just–” Quinn starts, but Bea’s voice leaks through the cracks of her fingers and Honey tunes the man out automatically, wanting to hear Bea’s side.

“It’s just not fair,” Bea whimpers. “How can it be like this and it still won’t work?”

“It can work,” Quinn insists. “Bea, I told you, we don’t have to–”

Bea’s shoulders start to shake and Honey wraps her arms around her. She narrows her eyes at Quinn. “You’re upsetting her,” she says. “You knew what you were getting into from the jump.”

“But I–” Quinn argues.

“No,” Honey states. She flashes him a look. “Quinn.”

“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” he says in a softer voice, directing his words at Bea. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

Bea lifts her head and eyes Quinn. It takes a moment, but she nods. 

“Are you sure?” Honey asks, wiping a tear off of Bea’s cheek. 

“We have to talk,” Bea says. “We… we have to talk.”

Honey nods slowly. “Okay,” she says tentatively. “Let’s go to Trev’s room.”

Still wrapped in Quinn’s sheet, they walk down the hall and go into Trevor’s bathroom. Honey gives Bea the shirt that she was wearing so that she can cover up, then goes back into Trevor’s room to grab a new one. She returns to Bea only seconds later and locks the bathroom door behind them.

“What happened?” Honey asks again after sitting in complete silence on the ledge of the jacuzzi for five minutes.

Bea takes a deep breath and scrubs her hands over her face. “Breakup sex,” she explains. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“But you wanted to,” Honey checks. “It wasn’t, like–”

Bea’s eyes grow wide. “God, no! No, Quinn wouldn’t do that. It was consensual for both of us and it was good sex, just sad, and I was overwhelmed afterward.”

Honey pinches her lips together, evaluating Bea. After a beat, she says, “You told him.”

Bea chews on a hangnail and avoids Honey’s eyes.

“Bea, look at me,” Honey says, then waits for her to do so. “You told him that you love him.”

Bea holds eye contact, then surveys the tile floor of the bathroom. Her voice is quiet when she speaks. “I shouldn’t have.”

Honey takes in a breath. “Bea…”

“Do you want to look into therapists with me tomorrow?” Bea asks, laughing lightly. She’s still got a sheen of tears in her eyes, but her question is genuine.

Honey lets a silence fall between them again, holding eye contact with Bea. She doesn’t know what to think, really. Honey thinks that Bea should go for it with Quinn, since they both care so much and are so happy when they’re together. They should see if they can make it. It’s the unknown and the chance that something could go wrong that Bea is afraid of, and Honey gets that. She feels the same way, but Bea is so dedicated to the things she cares about. If she wanted to commit to Quinn, they would make it, and if they don’t, at least they tried.

“I’ll see if Dr. Harris does online appointments,” Honey eventually agrees, referring to the therapist she used to see in Charlotte after Thomas leaked her nudes to the public. “We need to get these commitment issues in check, Bea. I want you to be happy. I want you to be able to be with Quinn, if that’s what you want.”

Bea’s smile is rueful. “That won’t happen,” Bea repeats for the umpteenth time. “If the Quinn thing wasn’t over before, it definitely is now. Crying after your ex-boyfriend just came inside you isn’t a very appealing thing.”

Honey covers her face. She’s at a loss for words. “Alright.”

Bea lets out a chuckle, but it trails off. “I don’t know what I’m going to say to him tomorrow.”

“Try not to have breakup sex again,” Honey suggests.

“Well, yes,” Bea agrees. “That… that probably wasn’t one of my better ideas. He’s just– I mean, you know how you kept thinking that you wanted Trevor, and then took it back, and the cycle kept repeating? Right at the beginning of the summer?”

Honey cringes. That seems so stupid, now. She was overthinking so much and it made her so anxious. “Yeah.”

“I just can’t stay away from Q,” Bea sighs. She forms the words slowly in her mouth. “I… love him.”

“I know,” Honey affirms. She offers a small smile at Bea, which the girl returns. “I’m here for you.”

“Wanna have a sleepover?” Bea asks, sounding almost like when they were children trying to scheme their parents into letting them spend more time together.

“Do we have to choreograph a dance to convince Trevor?” Honey teases.

“I think if you bat your eyelashes at him, he’ll agree.” Bea smiles and wipes her eyes one final time, some enthusiasm returning to her body.

Honey huffs out a laugh. “I’ll see what I can do,” she promises, standing and leaving the bathroom to ask Trevor for a sleepover.

Like Bea said, batting her eyelashes worked– plus a pouted bottom lip and a giggly “please.” All three of them sleep in Trevor’s king-sized bed that night, which might be the funniest thing Honey and Bea have ever done.

89:90 – TREVOR

Trevor’s final task of the day is to clean out the fridge. They split the house up into different areas for cleaning, although Jack is going to do the final run-though since he’s the neatest of all of them. Cole cleaned his room and the basement, Luke cleaned the bunk-bed room and the living room and balconies, Jack took his room and the hallways and stairwells and did a sweep of the outside, and Quinn had to do his room and the bathrooms. Trevor was left with his room, the kitchen, and the dining room. It was fair enough. 

Looking into the fridge, though, Trevor is intimidated by his final task. It’s no secret that the boys love to eat. They’re all in their early 20s, with Quinn finally turning 25 just next month and entering those frightening mid-20s where his frontal lobe will fully develop. Luke is a moose, the youngest of them and yet able to put away the most food, but the state of the fridge reflects all of their hunger and diet. 

Even though they’re leaving tomorrow, the fridge is still stuffed with food. There’s eggs and greek yogurt and a bunch of different kinds of cheese. They’ve got two gallons of milk on one of the shelves, one unopened and one half-drunk, which they’ve been throwing in protein shakes and fruity smoothies all summer. There are a couple of BlenderBottles near the milk, storing drinks that the guys never quite finished, and Trevor wilts at the idea of cleaning them out, not knowing how long they’ve been in there. 

Quinn has a bunch of uneaten meals he prepped last weekend, with quinoa and brown rise and whatever kind of meat he threw into the bowl that day. There’s chicken and turkey stuffed away in massive ziplock bags for the guys to take out and throw onto a sandwich or into a wrap whenever they feel like. There’s a tupperware of lean ground beef from when Luke made tacos a few days ago, which he’s been slowly picking at. They have stacks of boxes of cold cuts for sandwiches, none of which they’ll be able to finish. It’s a waste. Trevor realizes that they should’ve started thinking about how much food they have last week– and trying to eat it all until there’s nothing left by the end of the week– but they didn’t. Plus, they’ve got all the leftover food from the party last night, and a bunch of loose cans and bottles of beer on the next shelf, taking up space.

The boxes for veggies and fruits are no better. Quinn bought a bunch of vegetables for his salads and bowls– carrots, celery, cucumber, peppers, spinach, kale, lettuce, avocado… it’s a nightmare. Trevor doesn’t even know how they all fit into the bin. The next one with their fruit for smoothies is no better, packed to the brim, and there’s a thing of hummus sitting atop the carton of blueberries. It doesn’t belong there, but Trevor guesses that there was just no room anywhere else.

The shelves on the doors house a bunch of items that he can probably leave in the rental house for the owners to decide their fate. It’s a bunch of sauces, vingaigrettes and salad dressings, a jar of pickles and a couple of jars of jam, ketchup, mustard, and mayo. In a plastic cup, they’ve got a bunch of packets of soy sauce that came with the Chinese food they ordered months ago, and Trevor isn’t even sure you’re supposed to refrigerate soy sauce packets. He’s pretty sure those could’ve stayed in the pantry.

He wishes he could throw the meat and the fruit in the freezer, although that would only keep it fresh for so long, but the freezer is equally stuffed with items. Trevor won’t mess with any of that– the owners can eat the frozen pizzas or the frozen chicken and he doesn’t have to worry about that. It might be nice to come back to a relatively full freezer, knowing that you won’t have to go and buy more stuff anytime soon. Plus, the frozen food won’t go bad. It’ll be fine.

He kind of wishes that Honey had told him about the surprise party, although he loved how surprising it was. He wore his sweater from Scarlett this morning until it got too hot to wear in the August heat. If he’d known, he could’ve asked her to tell the people to use the items in their fridge. He’s sure that the ladies could’ve whipped something up with the random and nutritious items in their kitchen. At their base, the food doesn’t make for “party food,” but Trevor has faith in the ladies. They’ve attended decades of church potlucks and homecomings and can make something out of nothing, like grandmother magic. 

Ugh. But now he has to clean.

His only consolation is that Honey and Bea are coming over for dinner tonight, so they’ll be able to put away two more servings of food than if it was just the boys in the house. Unfortunately, Bea won’t be able to help Trevor toss food in the trash since she’s supposed to have a big conversation with Quinn– they’re still not going to stay together when the boys leave, to Trevor’s knowledge– but Honey will be around to help. He gets to spend more time with his girlfriend doing domestic things. This must be where the phrase ‘domestic bliss’ comes from.

He’s not looking forward to the months that he’ll endure without seeing Honey in person. His game schedule came out a little while ago, back in July, and he’s been trying to pinpoint which games Honey might want to come to. At the very earliest, he could see her at the end of October, when he plays in Jersey for the first time this season. He thinks that she, and Bea if she wants to come, might get a kick out of seeing Trevor and Jack and Luke on the ice together. Quinn comes to California in the first week of November, so maybe she’d want to come to that. She could come to Montréal with him in early December to face off with Cole, but Trevor doesn’t know if Honey has a passport. He needs to ask before he gets tickets for her. He’ll definitely see her over Christmas, since he promised to see her parents again over the holidays, and he’d love to spend New Year’s together. The Devils play in California on the last day of the year, so they could spend that time together. At the very latest, Trevor will see her January 12th when he plays in Raleigh for the first time this season.

If it takes that long to see Honey, they would spend about five months apart. Trevor detests that. He sees what his teammates mean now when they talk about how it’s hard to be apart from their girlfriends and wives and families.

They play the Canes again in March, but in Anaheim. Trevor will certainly ask Honey to come out for that one. Who knows, she might become a die-hard Canes fan now that she has a reason to pay attention to hockey. Her parents are big NC State fans, having both gone there– and wanting their daughter to continue the tradition– so the family has a stake in Raleigh. If Honey doesn’t learn to love the Ducks for her boyfriend, because of her hatred of California, then she ought to become a fan of her hometown team. 

Who knows? Maybe, a couple of years down the line, if Honey isn’t willing to move to California with Trevor… he’ll try to broker a deal with the Canes and get a trade. He’ll be a free agent again in 2026. Anything is possible.

Trevor closes the fridge and takes a lap around the kitchen. Once he makes it back in front of the refrigerator, there’s nothing left to do but open the doors. 

He takes another lap.

He rolls his neck back, trying to crack it the next time he makes it in front of the fridge. He jumps up and down and stretches his body, focusing on his arms and shoulders. Trevor isn’t exactly sure why he’s so intimidated by the idea of cleaning out this fridge, but he is. He lets out three quick, harsh breaths, and sets his hands on the door handles.

“Why are you so weird?”

Trevor jumps, his shoulders flying up towards his earlobes. “Jesus,” he curses. “You can’t fucking sneak up on me like that, Bea.”

She’s got a perturbed look on her face, looking at him judgmentally. Her hair is in two messy braids on either side of her face, sunglasses sat atop her head and keeping her flyaways out of her face. She squints at him. The judgment is whatever, but Trevor is more concerned with the fact that she’s alone.

“Where’s my girlfriend?” he asks.

“Our girlfriend,” Bea corrects snarkily.

“You’re not dating her,” Trevor sneers. He goes a bit farther than he’s supposed to without thinking. “You’re not dating anyone.”

Bea rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue. “She’s upstairs, talking to Quinn before I go up there and talk to him myself.”

“Oh.”

“‘Oh,’” Bea mocks. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning out the fridge,” Trevor answers her. 

Bea makes a face. “Why?”

“Because we leave tomorrow?” Trevor sasses in the same tone.

“Don’t get rid of this shit,” Bea tells him. “I’ll take the milk and bring it to the Nook for our shitty coffee maker. Ada will take your ripe fruit, or Honey will. I’ll put the deli meat in the fridge at the Nook too, I forget to make lunch all the time and I always need to improvise with the nothingness we have. Sarah will take the rest of the unopened cheese so she can pair it with wines at tastings. Earl will take just about all of the meat you have.”

She says it so simply and Trevor stares at her. 

Bea starts to laugh. “You didn’t think about the people around you? Did you think you’d be able to throw all of this food away and get away with it? Honey would’ve killed you for wasting so much.”

Trevor scowls and looks away from the girl, focusing his attention on the refrigerator again. 

“Come on, Trevor, don’t be a pouty baby,” Bea giggles. “At least you don’t have to be the shame of Litchton, throwing away all of your groceries like the spoiled, rich, professional athlete you are.”

“You’re kind of a bitch,” Trevor tells her. 

Bea shrugs. “I don’t have to take the food if you don’t want me to.”

His scowl turns into a glower. “You can’t take it back now.”

Bea smirks to herself and watches as Trevor opens the fridge and starts to sort through all of the old protein shakes and fruit smoothies that need to be removed. Trevor sees her perk up in the corner of his eye and she steps forward, reaching past him and grabbing a slender aluminum can and sets it on the counter. “You might want to keep that for yourself.” She’s got a stupid little smile on her face.

Trevor shoos her away and snatches the bottle back, moving it to the counter on the other side of the fridge. He sneaks a peek at it when Bea has dropped onto the couch in the living room and thrown her feet up on the freshly-cleaned table. He rolls his eyes– it’s the can of Reddi-Whip Cole bought last week after Vera gave him a peach cobbler for his help with inventory on Tuesday. Bea thinks she’s hilarious.

“He’s ready for you,” Honey’s voice says, floating down the hallway. Bea jumps up from the couch and goes down the hall, seeming to stop in front of Honey so that she can add, “Don’t have breakup sex with him again.”

Trevor snorts and closes the fridge door on his head as best he can to hide his laughter. Honey nudges his knee forward until it buckles once she nears Trevor, a reproachful frown on her face. “Don’t laugh at her. Things are hard.”

That’s what she said. Trevor sucks on his teeth and makes eye contact with Honey, trying not to laugh even more. 

She moves like she’s about to bop him in the balls, so Trevor instinctively covers his junk with his hands and distances himself from Honey. She scoffs a laugh and takes his spot in front of the fridge. “What are we making for dinner?”

Trevor takes it as an invitation and plasters himself to Honey’s back, pressing his soft cock against her behind. “I dunno,” he says, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I know what dessert is, though.”

Honey makes a surprised sound that comes out more like a squawk, mouth dropping open and body squirming in Trevor’s arms. “You horny motherfucker,” she rebukes.

Trevor tightens his grip and laughs under his breath, weaseling his way closer to Honey and kissing her neck. “It’ll be fun. C’mon, sweet girl, I leave tomorrow. I need to have you in my bed after dinner.”

She rolls her eyes but goes lax in Trevor’s grip. “Well, when you put it that way,” she concedes sarcastically. Her hand comes up to Trevor’s hair, scratching his scalp, and he hums into her pulse point, leaving peck after peck on the beating vein. “Let’s get this fridge fixed and make some dinner, then we can do… something sweet.”

Trevor is too busy hearing the consent from Honey to fuck all night to hear the lightbulb going off above her head. He’s smiling into her shoulder.

Honey is good at organizing– Trevor has said it before, but he has to repeat it now. She manages the refrigerator so well, creating sections for each person that will receive the food. Honey says that she’ll borrow Earl’s truck tomorrow and his big cooler to store the food, trucking a load to the Nook while the boys pack the cars. She promises that she’ll be back by the time Trevor leaves, not that he’d leave without putting off the goodbye as long as he can. 

He really has to leave by 11, since that’s when checkout is, but Trevor might have to get lunch with Honey if Cole allows him to. He’s flying out of D.C. pretty late, around 9 o’clock, and it’s about a six and a half hour drive. Surely he’d be okay with grabbing lunch. It’ll be tight, but they can make it with time to spare. In his heart, Trevor knows that lunch is unlikely, but he’s trying to convince himself that it can work logistically. 

Honey gives him all of the used dishes to clean while she handles the food, until there’s nothing left for Trevor to do but help. Even then, she hands him leftovers to dig into and finish off before she trusts him with sorting items in her system. Trevor doesn’t mind– he’s not as bottomless as Luke, but he can put away a good chunk of a buffet.

Bea and Quinn join Honey and Trevor downstairs as they finish sorting food. Trevor manages to read the room this time and he shares a look with Honey. There’s a thick tension between Bea and Quinn, but they’re shouldering their way through it. Trevor catches both of them casually touching each other as the foursome moves around the kitchen to prepare dinner. There’s a hand on the small of Bea’s back to squeeze behind her and a hand on Quinn’s bicep when Bea leans past him to grab a knife from the block to chop up a cucumber for the salad. They must’ve come to some conclusion– or a middle-ground that worked better for them than the original breakup on Tuesday.

The boys wander into the kitchen at different intervals. By the time dinner is served, they’re all cramped together in the tiny space and chatting like this isn’t the last time they’ll have a night like this for… who knows how long.

It’s bittersweet. While Trevor is having the time of his life eating pounds and pounds of food with his best friends, his girlfriend, and Bea, he’s also anxious to go upstairs. Honey is in no rush to leave the table. 

They sit there for hours, long after the food has gone cold. They continue eating this whole time and manage to get rid of a lot of the food Trevor was stressing about. Honey holds his hand on top of the table and strokes the back of his fingers with her thumb. 

The guys and Bea leave Honey and Trevor to clean up the kitchen again after cooking and eating– “The kitchen was your realm, dude, why should we have to clean up your shit?” was their argument– and they go downstairs to watch a movie in the basement. 

Honey sits on the counter and kicks her feet, watching Trevor dry the dishes and put them away. When he’s done, and about to grab a beer from their supply, Honey beckons Trevor over. “C’mere, Trev,” she requests, leaning forward to kiss him when he steps between her legs. Her hands fist in the hem of his shirt, tugging. “You should take this off.”

Trevor’s stomach swoops. “Yeah?” He lets his hand trail along the neckline Honey’s tank top, caressing the soft skin of her breasts. 

“I had a funny idea,” Honey divulges sneakily. 

“Mm, that sounds fun,” Trevor hums. He slides his left hand down to palm Honey’s tit and gives it a squeeze.

She laughs. “I didn’t even tell you what it is yet,” she says.

“All I know is that you want me to take my shirt off and we’re kissing,” Trevor says. “No matter what your idea is, it’ll be fun.”

Honey mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘horndog’ before taking things into her own hands and pulling Trevor’s shirt up and over his head. Her hands brush over his bare skin, fingers dancing along the tattoo on his ribs before her thumb brushes his nipple. One of her hands leaves him, but Trevor is shivering from the gentle touch on his chest.

Her tongue is flat against his and Trevor moans before there’s a hissing sound and something cool touches Trevor’s stomach.

He pulls back from Honey and looks down, starting to laugh breathlessly when he sees the dollop of whipped cream on his sternum. “That is a funny idea,” Trevor says. “But I think you already had your chance to cover me in whipped cream.”

“So long ago,” Honey points out. She juts out her bottom lip and blinks innocently at Trevor. “You don’t want me to put a little cream on the tip of your dick and lick it off?”

Trevor is bombarded by an image of Honey on her knees, cheeks hollowed and lips wrapped around his cock. He struggles to wade through it and make it back to reality. “That’s… after my turn,” he stammers.

Honey pouts deepens, but Trevor will not fall for this. When Honey first licked whipped cream off of his body on Cole’s dare, the images of that plagued Trevor for days. He thought of all the ways he could get her back and now that he has the chance, he wants to make it even. He takes the can of whip from her hand and takes the appendage with his other, helping Honey off the counter and leading her upstairs.

“Get strippin’, Charlotte,” Trevor jokingly commands once he has his bedroom door locked behind them. He leans back against the wood and sprays a mouthful of whipped cream onto his tongue, swallowing the sweet treat as he watches her bite her tongue and drag her tank top up her body. She pops the button of her daisy dukes and lets them drop to the floor, stepping out of them and marching over to Trevor.

She kisses him against the door, her fingertips digging into his waistband like they did all of those weeks ago. “Don’t call me that,” she tells him after kissing him stupid. 

Trevor’s head is hazy from the movement of her lips, so he nods an agreement before she even finishes talking. 

Honey walks backward, pulling Trevor forward by the fabric around his abdomen, and kisses him over and over. 

Trevor can smell vanilla, Honey’s signature scent, on her skin and can almost taste cherries on her lips. He shakes the can of whipped cream absently, his palm splayed over the tattoo above Honey’s behind. He should cover that in whipped cream. 

It’s tempting, but he has something else he’d rather cover in the delicate white dessert. Her nipple piercings have been healed for years, and she once licked this stuff off of his nipples, and he wants to repay the favor. It’s his first order of business, actually. 

He goes down with Honey when she settles onto the bed, laying on her back. Trevor parts her lips with his tongue and nibbles on her bottom lip, making sure there’s not a part of her mouth that he hasn’t explored before he pulls away and tries to decide what pattern he wants to draw on Honey’s body.

He must take too long, since Honey opens her mouth and resumes her normal sassy, borderline bratty bossiness. “Maybe we should do my idea first, since you can’t seem to think of anyth–”

Trevor leans over her and sprays a mouthful of whip onto her tongue. “Quiet, you.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Honey replies, a little muffled. She swallows and licks some whip off of her upper lip. 

Trevor takes to decorating her body before she can tell him to hurry up again. He draws two arches over her breasts, then laughs to himself and connects the arches to make a heart, the base of which reaches her belly button. He draws two eyes on the heart– two dollops of the white substance on her nipples– and a curved line that is the heart’s smile. He adds two little legs to the heart and sprays a line above Honey’s waistband, creating a ground for the heart to stand on. 

Honey watches him with a tiny smile on her face, fond and sweet. “You’re a goof,” she eventually says when Trevor places the can on his nightstand. 

“I’m an artist,” Trevor corrects. He carefully makes his way on top of Honey, trying not to ruin his masterpiece before he can lick it away. He decides to start with the heart’s smile, sucking up the treat there as a precursor to the more erotic zones he decided to cover. 

Honey laughs when he moves to the heart’s legs, bracketing the pudge on her stomach that he likes to rest his head on so much when she sits on the couch and reads a book. “That tickles,” she tells Trevor. 

He digs his fingers into her sides at that, making her squirm and giggle. All the while, he continues licking the cream away.

His tongue trails along her hips, dangerously close to her pussy, cleaning up the line that he placed there. Honey’s breath gets a bit deeper when he laps at her skin so far south, yet too north for her liking. He can tell that she’s feeling it, understanding how sexy it was when she did this to him at the beginning of the summer, just because of the way her squirming morphs into something more subtle and needy. 

He ignores the twitch of her hips upward, just placing a hand on her hip and holding her down with gentle pressure. He goes back up to the body of the heart, kissing just below Honey’s belly button before licking up the left side of the heart. He goes up her torso, around her boobs, forcing himself not to indulge in the dots on her tits just yet, and back down to where he started. 

Slowly, achingly slow, Trevor kisses the middle of Honey’s stomach, up the line between her boobs, and to her clavicle. His thumbs rise from her waist and hip to her ribs, pressing into the thin skin mere millimeters from the curves of her breasts. 

“Gonna fuck you after I finish cleaning you up,” Trevor tells her. 

“Hm, you’d better,” Honey muses. “Feels like I’m about to explode, Trev.”

“Imagine how I felt after you left me hanging,” Trevor teases. 

“You rubbed yourself raw, didn’t you?” Honey asks.

Trevor laughs and nips at her neck. “Mean.”

“But true?”

“Mean,” Trevor repeats.

“Definitely true.”

He doesn’t respond, although she’s on the right track. If the boys hadn’t been on stakeout after the dare, he probably would’ve jerked it until his dick fell off. That’s how hot it was when she dropped to her knees and made her way up his body. Instead of answering Honey, Trevor hovers with his mouth just above one of her nipples. He flicks his tongue and takes off the top of the dollop of whipped cream, avoiding contact with Honey’s peaks. He does the same thing to the other, waiting to hear Honey open her mouth to tell him what to do before he covers her nipple with his mouth and damn near bites down, sucking and licking all the whipped cream off of her sensitive skin until there’s nothing but sweetened saliva cooling against her piercings. Even after cleaning both of her nipples off until they’re pristine again, Trevor alternates between them, showering them with attention and hearing Honey grow louder and louder each time he bites down.

“Trev, get your cock inside me,” Honey requests, twirling his hair around her fingers and stroking his neck. She stifles a snort, although Trevor hears it anyway. “Put your cream inside me.”

Trevor muffles his own laughter in her neck. “Good one,” he tells Honey sarcastically. “Very sexy.”

Honey giggles and scratches her nails down Trevor’s back. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“Totally.” Trevor nods in an overexaggerated way. He throws himself down on the bed next to Honey, laying on his back and lifting his hips to pull his sweats and underwear down. 

Honey rolls onto her side and pushes herself up onto her elbows, kissing the side of Trevor’s face before throwing her leg over his lap and straddling him. 

“Ooh,” Trevor muses, bringing his hands to Honey’s behind and palming her asscheeks. “You gonna ride me?”

“Just for the first round,” Honey replies. “Then I’m laying down and you get to do all the work.”

Trevor’s retort fails to sound from his mouth when Honey rolls her hips against his, her wet folds molding around the length of Trevor’s cock. His eyes probably grow bigger from the spark that ignites in his belly when her entrance drags along the ridges of his shaft. 

“You look pretty like this,” Honey compliments. She plants her hands on his stomach and grinds down again. “Under me.”

“You look prettier under me,” Trevor one-ups her, digging his fingers into her ass and spreading the cheeks. He bucks his hips up and makes sure his cockhead brushes her swollen clit. “But I love how you look on top.”

“You like seeing my boobs bounce.”

Trevor grins, showing his teeth to Honey. 

She laughs and hovers above him, wrapping a hand around Trevor’s cock and lining him up with her core. She lowers herself, biting her bottom lip and letting out a sigh as she fills herself. 

Trevor loves the weight of her body settling against him. It makes him feel even more surrounded by Honey, even more under her thumb. When she’s on top of him, the gravity of their position makes him feel so much better. Her insides are hot and gummy and Trevor can feel her slick pooling around his base once she starts to move. 

Her eye contact is insane, making Trevor squirm against the mattress. Her eyes almost affect him more than the grip her pussy has on his cock– evaluating Trevor, scrutinizing him, watching his every move. Trevor’s heartbeat only increases as she rocks her hips and milks the precum from his member. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Trevor mumbles.

Honey lets a sweet smile pass over her face and she tilts her head. “Aren’t you a sweetheart,” she says, pinching his sides gently before leaning forward to kiss him. 

Trevor’s hands travel from her ass to her waist, her back, and her tits. He moves her hair out of her face and touches her jaw as she sucks on his bottom lip. 

“I love you,” Honey breathes into Trevor’s mouth. 

A blurt of precum travels up Trevor’s cock and leaks into Honey’s insides. He has a physical reaction to her words– he’s so down bad, but God, he wouldn’t change anything. “I love you too.”

“I’m sad you have to go,” Honey says.

“I wish I could stay with you all the time,” Trevor replies. 

“I’m glad you came.”

Trevor groans when she clenches down on his length and starts to bounce faster. “Fuck,” he grits out. “That’s what she said.”

Honey closes her eyes and rests her forehead against Trevor’s. “If I weren’t so close to coming, I’d be so mad at you for ruining this moment.”

Trevor chuckles and lifts his chin so that their lips align. He thrusts his hips up in time with Honey’s movements, trying to match her rhythm as best he can. He soaks up the sounds that Honey makes, muffled and longing for more. She’s so tight and Trevor can feel how badly she wants him to fill her up.

He doesn’t make her wait long– once her tongue fills his mouth rather than his tongue entering hers, Trevor feels his balls tighten and he can’t hold back any longer. His cum spurts from his slit, cock twitching inside Honey as his pleasure explodes inside of her. 

Honey’s hips slow and she perches atop him. Her thumb sweeps across his lower lip, cleaning it of her saliva. She smirks at Trevor and removes herself from his lap, laying against the pillows and reaching for the can of whipped cream on the nightstand. 

Trevor watches her with curious, but confused eyes. She didn’t come yet. What is she doing? He picks up his head in surprise when she turns the can of whip on herself, spraying a bit of the cream onto her pubic mound.

Honey sets the can aside and grins at Trevor, proud of herself for her idea. “Dessert?” she asks.

Trevor laughs out loud and rolls onto his stomach, between her legs, and presses a kiss to her clit before licking all of the whipped cream away. He’ll get to the other kind shortly.

90:90 – HONEY

Honey sits on the edge of the tailgate of Earl’s truck, legs swinging beneath her. The polaroids in her pocket are a dead weight, burning a hole against her side. She’s nervous to give them to Trevor, so she decided to wait until the last minute, which is approaching any second. She’s just waiting for the boys to return from their final sweep of the house, making sure they didn’t forget to pack anything, which Honey is sure they did. There’s got to be something in that massive house that one of the boys forgot. 

Bea sits next to her. She twiddles her thumbs. They’ve already done the food-drops that Honey promised yesterday, stuffing fridges full of the boys’ food. They had to use both of their bodyweights to close the fridge in the Nook, since it was filled to the brim. 

The boys have packed up both of the cars. The Hughes boys are taking the big car to Charlotte and flying out from that airport, checking their many bags and landing in Detroit sometime this afternoon. Cole and Trevor are driving to D.C. tonight, where Cole will fly out, and then Trevor will drive the rest of the way to his hometown in New York tomorrow. He’ll spend about a week there, hanging out with his family, before he heads back to Anaheim. 

They stayed up late last night, talking and making out until two in the morning. Honey just didn’t want the night to end, since it meant that Trevor would be leaving when they wake up. They showered together this morning, having one last round before Trevor goes. He’s a horndog, but Honey is just as bad. She’s about to be without her boyfriend consistently for nine months and now that she’s got sex back– and she’s enjoying it very much– it’s not fun to give up. 

The front door opens and Jack leads the way out. He has a plastic bag in hand, which holds a bit of leftover laundry. Honey bets he’s going to try and stuff it in his backpack, which really can’t fit anything else without the seams ripping. Cole has a pair of rollerskates draped over the back his neck, the laces acting like a loose scarf. 

Honey swallows hard, feeling a lump in her throat grow. It was so nice to have them here this summer. She got really close to each of the boys and she’s sad to see them go, devastated that a summer like this probably won’t ever happen again for them. Of course, Trevor plans to come back next year, but the Hughes boys will stay in Michigan and Cole might do the same. She hopes that he will come to visit, but Honey knows that Quinn won’t unless he and Bea get back together, and if Quinn won’t, then the other brothers won’t visit. It’s sad. 

Bea hops down from the tailgate and Honey follows suit. The air is heavy as the boys approach.

“So this is it,” Cole says. He’s smiling, but there’s a twinge of sadness written into the smile. He reaches for Bea and pulls her into a hug, then pulls Honey into the mix. He squeezes them tight, an arm wrapped around each of their shoulders while the girls hug his waist. “You guys are the best. If you ever want to visit Montréal…”

Honey pulls away and tweaks Cole’s cheek. “Thanks, Coley. You’re always welcome back, you know. If hockey doesn’t work out for you, I think Vera would hire you on the spot, even if Earl thinks you’re too little to work in hardware.”

Cole puffs out his chest and kisses Bea’s cheek before she reluctantly lets go of him. “Earl would be lucky to have a spring chicken like me on board.” He grows more serious. “But really,” he says. “This was a great summer. I’m glad we met you both. I don’t think we would’ve made it a month without you.”

“I don’t think you could’ve made it a week,” Honey replies and squeezes his hand one more time before he heads over to Trevor’s car, opening the trunk without all of the bags spilling out and tucking his skates away.

Luke comes up to Honey next, bending down to encircle his arms around her waist and tuck his face into the crook of her neck while he hugs her. “You have to come see us when we’re in Raleigh,” Luke says, his voice bordering on distress. 

Honey pets through Luke’s hair, relishing in the way the curls feel against her fingers. “Just send me a text and I’ll be on my way,” Honey promises. 

Luke tightens his arms around Honey’s waist. “I never had a big sister, but if I did, I think she’d be a lot like you.”

Honey just about bursts into tears on the spot. “Oh, Lukey,” she simpers miserably before hiding her face in his shoulder. “I would have loved to have a little brother like you.”

Luke exhales shakily and pulls back. He sniffs like he’s welling up, but there isn’t any mist in his eyes, unlike Honey, who is nearly spilling over. He kisses the top of Honey’s head and pats her shoulder with a clumsy hand before Jack switches places with him.

His goodbye hug is energetic, sweeping Honey off of her feet and spinning her around. “Stop crying,” he tells her. “It’s not like we’re dying. You’ll see us again, especially if you keep this idiot around.” He jerks his head in Trevor’s direction and grins widely at Honey. 

“Hey,” Trevor complains just for the principle of being annoyed, since Honey can tell there is no heat behind it. 

She chuckles and fixes Jack’s baseball cap. “I expect you’ll be texting me?”

“Every time I miss you,” Jack replies. 

“So as soon as you get in the car,” Honey teases. She tucks a strand of hair behind Jack’s ear and presses a loud smooch on his cheek. “I’ll miss you too, J.”

“We play the Canes like four times before January,” Jack says. “Once before Thanksgiving and once after Christmas. You’ll be in town for both, right?”

“‘Course I will. I never go anywhere,” Honey says. “Send me some tickets so I don’t have to pay for them and I’ll go to the game for you guys.”

“Cheap-ass,” Jack accuses. He pulls Honey in a second time and rocks back and forth on his feet, swinging them from side to side. “Thanks for being my buddy this summer.”

“You guys are all thanking me and Bea like we did anything at all,” Honey says with a crooked smile. “All we were was nice to you.”

“You didn’t have to be,” Jack tells her. He squishes her cheek. “But you were. I’ll call you soon, okay?”

“Text me when you land in Michigan.” Honey offers her pinkie to Jack and he takes it with his. He kisses the tip of his thumb and tells Honey to do the same. She complies, then she lets him go. 

It seems like she and Bea have the same idea, leaving their respective boys for their last goodbye. Trevor and Bea go around the side of the truck, talking quietly, and Quinn leans against the end of the tailgate with Honey. 

They stand in silence for a few moments, aware of each others’ presence but not feeling any pressure to speak– until Quinn does.

“I’m jealous that you guys have chosen to stay together,” Quinn says quietly.

Honey sighs and takes Quinn’s right hand in both of hers. “I’m sorry that y’all aren’t.”

Quinn inhales and presses his lips together. He looks down at the ground and scuffs his shoe against the gravel in the driveway. He forces a smile onto his face and lifts Honey’s hand in his to kiss the back of it. 

Honey takes one arm and wraps it around Quinn’s waist, resting her head on his shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger, Quinn,” Honey murmurs.

Quinn nods. “Love you, Honey.”

“Love you too, Quinn. You’re a really great guy. I’m glad you were Bea’s first boyfriend.” Honey pats his side and distances herself from him. “Have a safe drive.”

“Next summer, you guys should come to Michigan,” Quinn offers. “We’d love to show you our town, since you showed us yours. You can stay as long as Ada will let you.”

Honey nods. “I’ll let you know closer to that date,” Honey informs him. “But I’m sure that would be nice. You have my number. Like I told Jack, you can text or call any time you want.”

“Not sure if Bea would like that,” Quinn responds with a shrug. “But I’ll keep it in mind. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

Honey chuckles. “I know too much about you to never see you again.”

Quinn has a funny look on his face, somewhere between bemused and sorrowful. He nods and pulls Honey in for a long hug, nose pressed against her hair. They stay like that until Trevor breaks it up. 

“Alright, alright,” he says with a haughty, macho tone. “Break it up. Get off my girlfriend, Hughes.” He pulls them apart with play force.

Bea stands behind him, laughing quietly. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she’s definitely been crying. She’s a sensitive girl, which Honey loves about her. 

Quinn notices almost immediately and goes to her, taking Bea’s hand. “Let’s get this over with,” Honey hears Quinn say. It makes Bea huff out a little laugh and they go to the side of the truck again, where Bea just was with Trevor.

Trevor touches Honey’s waist and pulls her close, their lower halves touching. “I love you,” he says earnestly. He peppers kisses over Honey’s face until she’s giggling and trying to get away from him. 

She squeals and puts her hand between their faces. “Stop,” she laughs. “I love you too. It won’t be too long before we see each other, you know. I don’t think you’ll make it a month without asking me to fly out because you miss me.”

“I’m going to injure myself on purpose so I can come back here and have you take care of me,” Trevor jokes.

Honey slaps his shoulder. “Don’t joke about that, I don’t want you to get hurt,” she says. “It would make me sad.”

Trevor’s smile softens. “Well, I wouldn’t want to make you sad.” He looks at Honey for an extra beat, then cradles her face in his hands and kisses her gently.

It’s really sweet. They’ve never really kissed like this, soft, chaste, and savoring it. Honey fists the fabric of Trevor’s t-shirt in her hands, focusing on his taste and how he moves. Yeah, they probably will see each other in a month, but she will probably forget how he kisses by then. It’ll be like new when she goes to California– ugh, she has to go to California of all places to see her boyfriend because he has an intense job– and Honey can’t wait.

When his hand goes to her butt and gropes her asscheek, she breaks their kiss. 

“Come on, one last feel,” Trevor requests. He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face because he knows that Honey will let him. 

“I have something better for you, you freak,” Honey tells him. She shoves her hand into her pocket and curls her fingers around the polaroids, fishing them out and pushing the stack into Trevor’s chest. 

He’s excited at the prospect of getting a gift, delight written on his face. He covers Honey’s hand, which covers the polaroids, and takes a peek at the first picture in the stack. His mouth automatically drops open and his face goes slack. He stares at the picture, looks at Honey, and doubles back down on the picture.

Honey feels a creeping shiver pass between her shoulderblades, whispering doubt into the back of her mind. You’ve given these pictures to him and it’s the start of the end, the voice purrs. Honey pushes it back, watching Trevor’s reaction instead. He’s terrible at hiding things on his face and Honey believes that if he’s going to abuse the boudoir pictures she just gave him, she’ll be able to see it in his expression.

“Holy shit, Hon,” Trevor says. He shoves the pictures back into her hands. “I can’t take these. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

It’s not the reaction Honey expected. She furrows her eyebrows together and asks genuinely, “Do you not… like them?”

Trevor’s eyes are wide. “No, God, no, you look so good and I like them, like, a lot, but because of what happened with Thomas–”

“Oh,” Honey says. “It’s– I wanted to show you that I trust you,” she explains. She pushes the pictures back at him. “I made them for you, I want you to have them.”

“I don’t,” Trevor struggles to say what he means, it seems. He looks at the pictures again, unable to help it, and lifts his eyes to the sky. He hides the pictures against his chest. “I don’t need them, if that’s what you think.”

“No.” Honey puts her hands on Trevor’s lovehandles and kisses him. “I want you to take them. They’re yours. Please take them.”

Trevor grinds his teeth, but weighs her words in his mind. After a moment, he shoves the pictures in his shorts pocket and wraps his arms around her shoulders. “You’re so special to me, Honey.”

“You’re overwhelming,” Honey replies, unable to find a word to describe how she feels about Trevor except for ‘overwhelming.’ He is. It’s not a bad thing, not at all. Honey adores Trevor.

Trevor’s mouth touches Honey’s forehead and stays there. She burrows her nose against his clavicle and breathes in deep. 

Trevor’s car horn sounds twice by Cole’s hand.

Trevor takes a deep breath and sighs. “I have to go,” he whispers.

Honey loosens her grip around his middle and kisses him one more time. “I’ll see you soon.”

It feels momentous when Trevor lets go of her and steps away. She’s not crying, but she feels like she could start any second. 

Bea joins Honey at the top of the driveway. Trevor’s car leads, honking far too jubilantly for the sadness weaving between Honey and Bea’s bodies like a cat brushing against their legs. The Hughes boys’ car follows after, and then they’re gone. Honey still feels their presence like a ghost, even as she and Bea push up the tailgate of Earl’s truck and head out themselves.

EPILOGUE – TREVOR

He thinks about her all the time. California is warm, but Trevor finds himself wearing Scarlett’s mismatched sweater more days than he doesn’t. It’s comfortable, and for a while, it smells like Litchton. He sits on his ugly couch, the one that Colangelo and McTavish make fun of, and watches the sunset through the windows of his house. It becomes a familiar routine. It’s usually too late to call Honey once he gets back from games since she’s three hours ahead, so Trevor finds other ways to express the things he wants to say to her. He’d text them, but that’s too brazen– he wants to speak to Honey and then let the words disappear forever. 

So, he sends letters. Out of sight, out of mind– once the letter leaves Trevor’s hand and makes its way into his mail carrier’s bag, the words are gone. It’s intimate and Honey has told Trevor many times over how much she likes receiving his letters, so much more than if she received the same thoughts over the phone. She always sends something back in a colorful envelope and Trevor traces her handwriting when he really misses her. 

With her permission, he’d included her in his summer dump on Instagram. He saw a few comments wondering who she and the other girl were, “the other girl” being Bea, but he never saw anything mean. He’d have exhausted all of his resources to hunt down any cyberbully who decided to take out their own insecurity on his girlfriend. He’d reported back his findings dutifully, telling Honey that everyone thought she was so pretty and out of his league. Honey had agreed.

Trevor had dutifully reported on summer dumps two other times: when Jack included the picture that Earl took of them at the going away party, Bea slung over his shoulder, and when Quinn quietly included a picture of Bea asleep on the couch in the basement, her hand wrapped loosely around his first two fingers. Her face was mostly obscured, but Trevor wasn’t sure if he should say something or not, so he’d asked Honey. Her face had gotten stormy– which was pretty cute, if Trevor is allowed to say that– but the picture had stayed up. Trevor is sure Honey and Bea handled it and he has a feeling that Bea might’ve felt a semblance of nostalgia when he’d screenshotted and sent the photo to her when she asked. They’re still broken up and not talking, but Trevor doesn’t know how long they can hold out. Honey says that Bea misses Quinn badly, but she’s still too stubborn to do anything. Trevor knows that Quinn is too stubborn to go against Bea’s wishes.

About a month into the season, Trevor wears the sweater to a game. Honey still hasn’t made it out to visit yet and Trevor is getting restless. He has a great game– greater than great– so it’s no surprise that he’s pulled for media after he showers and gets dressed, pulling the sweater on once again. 

Aly, the rinkside reporter, pulls him aside for a more one-on-one chat. Trevor expects that it’ll get clipped and thrown on the Ducks’ socials. They get all the way through the interview before she asks about his fashion choice. “This sweater is clearly handmade, so chic,” she adds on the side. “Where did you get it?”

“A friend made it for me,” Trevor replies. “This summer. It was a going away present, actually.”

“Well, it was a real good luck charm here tonight. You got your first career hat trick– do you think this luck will continue for you for the rest of the season?”

Trevor nods, only half-listening. He just caught a whiff of bonfire from the sweater, a scent memory that is accompanied by the creaking trees that shaded his balcony from wandering eyes. They didn’t make enough use of it. “I hope so,” he tells Aly. 

“It’s a wonderful start, given the rut you fell into last season after your injury. What are you doing differently?”

Trevor tries not to balk at the blatant mention of his broken ankle, the Jamie trade, and his struggles to come back from those events. He rubs his right eye with a closed fist and forces a tight smile on his face, speaking more honestly than he normally allows himself to. “I told my girlfriend that every goal I score this season is for her, so I have to score a lot. Keep me on her mind, you know?”

Aly chuckles. “You’ve got to find motivation somewhere,” she says good-naturedly. “Thanks, Trevor.”

“Yeah, thanks, Aly,” he replies. He walks back into the locker room, ready to grab his bag and his keys and book it out of the arena so that he can crash on his bed, when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He slips it out, catching his favorite contact name on the screen. He can hear the eye roll as if she’s talking to him, right next to his ear.

🍯:

Don’t fucking bring me into thisI don’t want crowds of famous Trevor Zegras’ hockey groupies in Litchton when you come back next summer

Then, a few minutes later:

Nice sweater ;)

THANK YOU FOR READING!!! I LOVE YOU!!!! XO, ANDY P.S. See you in Beaquinn's book ;)

[puck-luck]

the "slut summer" conversation | beaquinn

notes: no actual smut, but there are references to sex (specifically, beaquinn's first time and squirting). use of generally degrading words for women (slut, whore) but they are not used as insults. this takes place on DAY 7 of stg (chapter 1). now you know how bea originally brings up her "slut summer" to quinn. enjoy! thank you once again to captain (@captainlexaproluvr) for the request ;)

WC: 2,193

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“Said she wanted five guys, she ain’t talking ‘bout burgers,” Trevor says under his breath, shooting Bea a glare. He’s awfully slut-shamey for someone who wants to have sex with Honey so bad.

Bea pays him no mind. She smiles and replies sweetly, “My pussy already got murdered, Trev. I didn’t need five guys.” The fact that she wants four– and already checked one off the list– is irrelevant. She actually needs to have that talk with Quinn today, to get ahead of things. She doesn’t want him to feel blindsided when she flirts with Jack, Luke, or Cole. As much as she’s dreading it, Bea knows it has to be done. 

“No way Quinn ‘murdered’ your pussy, Bea,” Jack jumps in, air quotes around the word. “The dude doesn’t fuck.”

Bea laughs. “I assure you, he fucks.”

Speak of the Devil– Quinn appears at the bottom of the stairs, making his way into the kitchen. “Yeah, I fuck,” he says. He comes over to Bea first, smoothing a hand over her hair and dropping a kiss on the top of her head before he heads toward the kitchen. He shoulders past Trevor to get to the fridge.

Oh, she wishes he hadn’t kissed the top of her head like that. She might’ve miscalculated. He might be attached already. 

“Well, fuck your way to church,” Jack says. “Bea’s making everyone go with her.”

Quinn’s eyes flicker over to Bea again, an amused smile on his face. He shrugs. “Okay,” he says. “It’s not like there’s anything else for us to do on a Sunday morning in this place. Everything is probably closed.”

“It’s true, everything is closed on Sundays except the grocery store and the gas station,” Bea verifies with a nod. She’s not quite sure how Quinn managed to peg the town in less than a week, but it probably wasn’t very difficult. Litchton is sleepy and small and isolated– of course everything is closed on Sundays. She adds, “And the church, of course.”

Trevor finds his way to the fridge. 

“Why can’t we just stay here?” Jack asks.

“Because it’ll be fun,” Trevor replies, turning and clapping Jack on the shoulder. He even squeezes Jack’s muscles just to be a pest. “It’s our chance to become one with the community, Jacky.”

Well, that and he’s probably wondering if a certain girl will be there. Bea can’t blame him for assuming. The church is a huge thing in this town, it just so happens that Honey is one of the few people in the area that only go when they’re asked to. She has a really complicated relationship with God– Bea knows that better than anyone. “Yeah, Jacky, it’ll be good for you. Why don’t you two head upstairs to change?” She looks over to Quinn, who is grabbing a glass from one of the upper shelves of the cabinets. His t-shirt is riding up, revealing the soft skin of his abdomen. Ugh. Bea can’t believe she has to have this conversation. She hopes, if nothing else, that she doesn’t cry. Quinn can even yell at her– Bea just doesn’t want to cry. “I want to chit-chat with Quinn for a second.”

Trevor and Jack race upstairs, always competing. Bea can hear them pushing each other until they reach the landing, then slamming their bedroom doors shut.

Bea stands and walks over to the counter, taking a seat on one of the stools. 

Quinn is filling his glass with water, but he meets her eyes when he’s done and smiles. “Good morning, Bea.”

“Good morning, Quinn,” Bea plays along. She’s not sure how to do this. She’s never had to tell someone that she wants to hook up with his two brothers and one of his closest friends before. If only there was a good line that everyone knows– an ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ for Slut Summers. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Sure,” Quinn replies, taking a swig of his water. “What’s up?”

“It’s about last night,” Bea says, trying to tiptoe around the subject without digging herself too far into a hole. If she doesn’t bring it up now, she’ll be leading him on. Or, honestly, maybe not– maybe Quinn was looking for a one night stand. If that was the case, why would he kiss her on the head when he came downstairs this morning?

Quinn pulls his eyebrows together, his face growing more serious. “What about last night? It was okay, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, my God, no, you were great,” Bea says. “I wasn’t lying when I said you fuck.”

Quinn’s serious expression softens. “Okay,” he says. “Then what is it?”

“I had a lot of fun,” Bea tells him. “I just– well, I need to be upfront with you.”

Quinn takes another sip of his water and gestures for her to continue.

Bea takes a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about this summer, okay? I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want, especially when it comes to you guys, and I’ve decided that I’m not looking for anything, like, serious right now.”

The corners of Quinn’s lips turn up. “Okay, so you’re looking for hookups,” he says. “That’s actually what I was going to ask you. I was a little disappointed when you weren’t in bed this morning, I wanted to talk to you about what I want, too.”

“Oh?” Bea asks. That’s promising– he’s smiling about the fact that she wants to hook up, and he was already planning to ask her about it. “Um, I mean– it’s complicated, what I want, so maybe you should go first.”

Because then she can know what he wants and act accordingly… it’s a path that’ll save her from taking the wrong step before things even really start. Bea’s playing it graciously, but really, the offer to let Quinn go first is very selfish. She doesn’t like being selfish, but she really doesn’t want to hurt his feelings right after they slept together and had a great time doing so.

“That’s really kind of you,” Quinn says with a chuckle. “Very thoughtful, Bea. But… you started this thing. I want you to get whatever it is off your mind.”

Damn him for being so logical. Maybe she should’ve stayed in bed and let him talk first, so that she could have an out. There’s so much pressure here, being the one to reveal the dynamic that they want, especially when hers is so… abnormal.

“Okay,” Bea says slowly, trying to find the best words to string together without sounding like a total whore. She doesn’t want Quinn to think she’s disgusting– she’s not sure why he would, or why she cares so much, but she would probably curl up into a ball and die if he started judging her. “Um, for me, this summer is about… experiencing things… with different people.” She speaks slowly, watching his reaction, but his face is impassive. “I don’t want to put all of my eggs in one basket, if you… get what I’m saying.” She presses her lips together in a line and waits.

Quinn raises an eyebrow. When he speaks, he sounds a little surprised, but not angry. “So you want to… see other people?”

Bea nods tentatively. 

“Anyone you have in mind?” Quinn asks. 

Bea’s pretty sure he’s already figured out the people that she wants to see. She bares her teeth to him in an awkward smile, bracing herself for the anger. If it’s coming, it’s coming now.

Quinn sets his glass down on the counter and crosses his arms over his chest, bending down so his elbows rest on the counter. “Like who?” he asks.

Bea licks over her bottom lip and bites it, grimacing slightly. “Litchton isn’t a big town, and there aren’t many attractive men here that I haven’t already considered,” she says. “So… when Honey told me there was a group of guys living here this summer… I thought it might be interesting to… partake.” 

Quinn nods along with her words, but doesn’t speak, seeming to sense that she’s not done.

“And it’s not that I’m not very interested in you, Quinn. You’re– well, you’ve got a magic cock and I am very happy that you were the first one, but I would feel like I missed out if I didn’t explore my options in the house. How many chances does a girl get to have a Slut Summer with a houseful of attractive athletes?” Maybe she goes too far with that last sentence.

“And you want… all of us?” Quinn asks after a beat of silence.

“Not Trevor,” Bea says. “I’m not exactly interested in, uh… all of that.”

She’s lucky, because Quinn laughs softly instead of frowning at her negative perception of one of his best friends. He stands tall and lets his arms fall to his sides, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Okay,” Quinn says. “But I don’t want to know anything about what you do with Jack and Luke. They’re my brothers. I don’t want to think about them like that. I already know too much. As long as you keep us separate, it’s fine with me.”

“Really?” Bea asks. “You’re not… angry?”

“Why would I be angry?” Quinn asks. “It’s not like I have a claim on you. We hooked up last night, but that’s it. We had fun. I’m not going to stop you from exploring your options.” He pauses. “Although, I would like to hook up again.”

“Me too,” Bea agrees quickly. “I want– yes, I want to keep hooking up with you. It was really good, Q. I literally thought I was going to squirt or something when I was on top.”

Quinn’s eyes brighten. “Oh, yeah?” He grins crookedly. “Tell me more about that.”

Bea blushes and pushes her index finger against her nose, covering her mouth slightly. “Maybe not right now,” she says. “But I’d be happy to… try and make that happen later, if you want.” She shrugs, pinching her lips together to try and stop a smile from growing on her face. She’s just found something Quinn seems to like. She wants to use that to her advantage.

Quinn nods, looking thoughtful. “I think we could make something like that happen.”

Bea laughs, which makes Quinn laugh, and it takes them a moment to collect themselves. Bea feels loose and relieved, glad that Quinn isn’t screaming at her or judging her or kicking her out of the house and banning her from ever returning.

After they calm down, Bea leans forward a bit. “So, what were you thinking? This morning, I mean. What were you going to ask me?”

“I was going to ask if you were looking for anything serious,” Quinn replies, a little smile still gracing his face. “Without saying too much, I, uh, got out of a relationship recently. She and I were together for a long time and I wanted to let you know that I don’t think I’m ready to, y’know, rush into anything.” 

Well, if that’s not interesting. She’s not going to push, but Bea wants to know more immediately. She loves gossip, loves knowing people’s business, but she’s sure she’ll get plenty of openings to ask Quinn about this relationship over the summer, if he’s willing to share. 

“I want to keep hooking up with you,” Quinn continues. “Because I am ‘very interested’ in you, too. You’re the most interesting thing going on around here, Bea. I think we could be really good friends.”

Bea grins. “I think so, too. You might be hyping me up too much, though. I’m not that interesting.”

Quinn snorts out a laugh. “Whatever you say.”

A quick silence passes between them. Footsteps start to sound overhead– one of the boys must be done changing. 

“Look, I’m really glad you’re not upset,” Bea tells Quinn quickly, before they’re interrupted. “I didn’t want to mess things up so soon.”

“Don’t worry about me, baby,” Quinn teases, using the same tone on the word ‘baby’ as he did the night before. He’s teasing her, messing with her like they know each other well enough to do so. It’s refreshing. “I think if this had happened when I was younger, I wouldn’t have taken it so well. I probably would’ve… I don’t know, agreed? But I would’ve been miserable the whole time?” He laughs, although Bea doesn’t find that very funny, and continues, “But it’s just a summer, right? I don’t mind sharing you with the other guys. I’m just glad you told me. It would be a different story if you started having your Slut Summer without telling any of us.”

“Yeah,” Bea replies, smiling wide. Quinn gets it. He understands. Bea feels a little silly– she was worried for nothing. She nods, hearing someone’s feet pound against the steps, making their way back to the kitchen. “It’s just a summer. Let’s have fun.”

Quinn returns her smile and goes back to his food, just in time for Jack to enter the room at a sprint. He looks around wildly, then raises a fist. “Dude, let’s fucking go, I win!”

––––––––––

i love u forever beaquinn but u guys were so stupid for saying you'd be "casual" and "good friends"

[puck-luck]

baby boy hughes (2) | beaquinn

saturday, august 21, 2032 10:34 A.M.

August is fun for a few reasons– first, it’s the last month of summer. Second, Bea and Quinn have made it a tradition to rent out a bungalow in Litchton every August so that they can spend time with Honey and Trevor. Third, Bea and Honey’s hockey-playing husbands have started a summer hockey camp in Litchton during the month of August. This year, it’s been Trevor and Quinn and their two teams of fifteen, practicing and learning the game and having weekly scrimmages.

That’s where they are now. Bea and Honey are sitting on the bleachers, watching a gaggle of elementary schoolers crowd around the puck to try and get a touch. Both Quinn and Trevor are calling for them to spread out, but the kids either can’t hear them or they would rather be the one to win the puck despite their coach’s shout.

“Oh, motherf–” Honey cuts herself off, but covers Luke’s ears. He’s sitting on her lap, playing with Honey’s wallet– he likes the zipper. Pennies keep dropping from the compartment, but Honey said she’d pick them up later. She looks at Bea. “Do you have a tampon? Or a pad?”

“Um, I don’t know. I’ll check my purse.” Bea unzips the bag and rifles around. “I thought you weren’t getting periods anymore. You told me the shot was finally working for you for real. No side effects.”

“It did, when I was still getting it,” Honey explains. “We switched BCs. I’m on the pill now instead of the shot.”

“Why’d you switch?” Bea can’t find a tampon. She starts to look again.

“We figured the pill would be easiest to get off of if we wanted to start trying,” Honey replies with a shrug. “We’ve been married for three years. Trev’s ready for a baby. I think we should wait a little longer. We’re trying to find a compromise, and the pill is what we’re at so far.”

“You didn’t tell me you were thinking about it,” Bea says. 

“I’m not sure yet. I like that it’s just me and Trevor right now. I’d still feel a bit like a teen mom if I got pregnant right now.”

“You’re turning thirty this year,” Bea laughs. “And I don’t have anything. I really thought I did. We can duck out to go to Food Lion and grab some before the game is over.”

“Okay, but you have to check me when I stand up,” Honey says. She shifts Luke in her arms as she stands up, making him drop the wallet. 

Luke lets out an indignant shout and starts wiggling in Honey’s arms. “Relax, bud, I’ll get my wallet,” Honey tells him. “Don’t throw a tantrum.” She bends over at the waist so that Bea can get a good look at her jeans, which are unblemished for the time being.

Bea pats Honey’s behind. “You’re good. Let’s go. I’ll drive if you put the guy in his carseat.”

“No way. I saw how he fought you on that at Mexico the other day. I’m not his mom.” Honey passes Luke to Bea, tucking her wallet into her purse. Luke is pouting, but he’s not screaming. Bea can work with pouting.

The fight to get into the carseat is just as frustrating as the time at Mexico that Honey is referring to. Luckily, Luke’s got a ministick in the backseat that he can use like a drumstick, adding a nice ambiance to the car ride. He’s reluctant to let the stick go when they get to Food Lion, so Bea carries him into the store with the stick in hand. 

Honey grabs a pack of tampons and heads to the bathroom. Bea considers grabbing a pack of her own, expecting that her own period ought to be coming soon. It’s been a minute since Bea had her period– it must have been around her birthday. Maybe it was before. She hesitates for a second, then goes to pull her phone of out of her back pocket. Luke tries to grab it, but she manages to hold it out of his reach. She navigates into her period tracking app.

Your period is 34 days late.

Bea’s jaw drops and she stares at her phone. That means her period was supposed to start soon after her birthday and didn’t. In her mind, she echoes Honey’s sentiment from earlier: “Motherfucker.”

Honey comes back from the bathroom and grins. “All good. Let’s go check out.”

“I think we have to buy something else,” Bea says. She hands her phone to Honey and watches the girl’s eyes grow wide. 

They take the pregnancy test in the Food Lion bathroom, the same one that Honey had just used. She holds Luke while Bea paces back and forth in front of the sink. It’s the second-longest three minutes of her life– the first was, of course, when she did something similar in her own bathroom nine months before Luke was born.

When it’s positive, Honey hugs Bea and squishes Luke between their bodies. They buy one more thing before leaving the store: a Best Big Brother shirt for Luke that’s as ugly as most grocery store shirts are, but Bea likes it. She wrestles it over Luke’s head before she belts him into the carseat to drive back to the rink. 

Bea hopes that Quinn will read the shirt and understand its meaning this time. When she’d learned that she was pregnant with Luke, she’d shelled out for a “Daddy 43” Canucks jersey that had taken two weeks to get to their apartment, which meant that Bea had had to wait two weeks to tell Quinn that she was pregnant. He hadn’t gotten the hint right away. Bea remembers how he’d said “Oh, this is sick, baby. Way to plan ahead.” and Bea had to say, “Quinn, no–”

Hopefully, he’ll read the shirt and get it this time. She’s got an hour until he’s off the ice for the day, so she’ll just have to see then.

wednesday, september 22, 2032 6:52 P.M.

“How’s my best girl feeling?” Quinn asks when he gets home. 

Bea’s got a lasagna going in the oven, so she’s been playing with Luke in his high chair while that cooks. She’s sitting at the table with a stack of kid’s books to her right and two superheroes in her hands. Luke is banging his Batman along his high chair tray and shouting gibberish.

Today marked ten weeks since Bea’s birthday, which is the day that she’s now certain is when Quinn knocked her up. Just like last pregnancy, ten weeks in, she’s not feeling good. Two years ago, she was able to lounge around all day and park herself in front of the toilet when need be. This year, she’s got an 18-month-old toddler running around. He does not want to be contained in the bathroom all day, no matter what Bea does to make the trips fun. She bought bathroom crayons and told him that he could draw on the walls. Luke didn’t care. He’s getting harder and harder to entertain as he grows.

Bea blinks at Quinn, able to feel the dark circles under her eyes and green tinge on her cheeks. She hasn’t stood up from the table since she and Luke sat down, knowing that she’ll probably only make it as far as the kitchen sink before she throws up again. “I hate you,” she says.

Quinn laughs. He picks Luke up and frees him from the high chair, kissing his chubby cheek before setting him down on the floor. 

Luke toddles away, probably up to no good, but at least Quinn is here now. He can run off and be the savior if Luke gets into trouble.

“You do not,” Quinn tells Bea, brushing her hair out of her face and greeting her with a kiss. He leans against the table, standing next to Bea. “I’m sorry you’re feeling sick, sweetheart.”

“I think I threw up every hour,” Bea complains. She pouts at Quinn from her seat at the table, putting Luke’s toys aside. “And Luke didn’t want to hang out with me. After lunch, I was putting him down for his nap, and I had to throw up in his little trash can because his diaper was rank, and do you know what he said to me?”

She despises the way Quinn’s lips quirk up, already stifling a laugh. He thinks their son is the funniest kid ever. “What did he say?” Quinn asks.

Bea puts on her best toddler voice. “Ew, Mama,” she quotes. “All done bleughhh.”

Quinn snorts and claps a hand over his mouth, shoulders shuddering. “He did not.”

“He did! He told me to go away once I got him in the crib, too.” Bea crosses her arms over her chest and leans back in the chair. “It’s not like I can help it.”

“He doesn’t mean it,” Quinn assures her. “Luke’s not even two. He just doesn’t understand.”

Bea sighs and rolls her head back on her shoulders. “Can you put Luke down for bed tonight?” she asks. “I want to take a long bath.”

“Sure, Bea,” Quinn says. “I’ll rub your shoulders tonight too, if you want.”

He knows how horny she gets when he’s touching her, especially now that she’s pregnant. All of her senses are heightened and Quinn is taking full advantage of it. “You’re playing with fire, Hughes,” Bea tells him.

Luke comes speeding down the hallway, neon orange plastic puck in one hand. He’s dragging the stick that Quinn accidentally left in the laundry room behind him with his other hand, dangerously close to catching the blade on the base of the lamp in the front hallway. “Dada, play,” Luke requests, knocking Quinn’s thigh with the puck until Quinn takes it from him. Luke’s transitioning the stick to his other hand and swinging it like a weapon because he has no spatial awareness, so Quinn picks him up and wrestles the stick from his grip. He trades the puck back to placate the toddler.

Quinn leans down and kisses the top of Bea’s head. “Think about it. It would be so nice to have all of that tension just… melt away,” he teases. He thumbs over her lip and winks, then disappears down the hallway with Luke.

Bea lays her arms on the table and uses them to cushion her forehead. She takes a deep breath. She can hear her boys starting up a game of floor-hockey in Luke’s room and allows herself to relax. Quinn has effectively tagged in for the night, which Bea is happy about. She needs a few minutes to herself.

The oven beeps. Great timing– just when she’s free, the lasagna is ready.

wednesday, april 6, 2033 12:10 P.M.

Bea runs through her mental-checklist for the umpteenth time:

Honey has Luke. Check. 

She got very pale when Bea asked her to be in the delivery room and stammered out that she’d really prefer to be on Luke duty instead. It’s fine. Trixie said she’d sub in.

Trixie is grabbing a smoothie for Bea. Check.

The doctors said it would be fine for Bea to get some natural sugar in her system after the birth.

Quinn is going to call after practice. Check.

She’ll tell him that she’s in labor then. Check.

They’ll decide on a name then. Check.

He’s got a game tonight, then he can probably fly back tomorrow. She can also manage until their Florida roadie is over in three days. The playoffs are another story, but that’s in a few weeks. She has time to figure that out. 

Bea can probably convince her mom to come to Vancouver and watch the new baby while she takes Luke to a playoff game. It’s the first year since he was born that they’re in the race for the Cup and he’s really excited to see Quinn play. He’s always excited to see Quinn play, but Bea thinks that Quinn has managed to explain to Luke that they playoffs are special, and that’s what’s got him so excited. 

There are so many moving parts. Bea kind of wishes that she and Quinn had waited another month or two to get pregnant, right before the start of his season, so that he would be home for this birth.

She hopes practice is over soon. Honey, Trixie, and Bea had waited two hours before coming to the hospital because Bea had insisted it was fine. Luke took eighteen hours total, so she assumed Baby #2 could wait until after lunch.

She was wrong.

Baby #2 is coming much faster than Luke did.

Bea’s not actually sure she can hold him in until after Quinn calls. The contractions are getting very close together and, last the nurse checked, she was at eight centimeters. 

She’s standing now, using the bed as an anchor. Bea’s trying to bend forward at the waist to get a stretch in, but it’s making her lightheaded. Last time this happened, Quinn was standing beside her and rubbing her back, whispering in her ear and reminding her to breathe. Now, Quinn’s about four thousand miles away and in the middle of practice. 

They weren’t even expecting Baby #2 to come today. It’s a stroke of luck that Bea has people with her– Trixie happened to take an extra week off to hang out with Bea before the baby came. Honey’s only in town because Trevor played Seattle on Thursday and she wanted to come up to Vancouver for the weekend. He– because Bea’s pretty certain that it’s a he again– was scheduled to come on Monday. He’s a bit early and she’s not complaining, per se, because she loves her baby already, but he couldn’t wait until his dad gets home?

The nurse knocks on the door and enters, bringing Trixie with her. “Hi, Mrs. Hughes,” the nurse says softly. She touches Bea’s shoulder. “I need you to get on the bed so I can check how dilated you are.”

“I feel like I have to shit,” Bea grits out, lifting her head to eye the woman. “Does that tell you anything? I read somewhere that needing to shit means that you’re ready to push.”

The nurse considers her words. “It’s not uncommon. Let’s just check you first, then I’ll let you know if we’re ready to push.”

Bea maneuvers her way onto the bed and breathes shakily. The contractions hurt, even with the epidural. She’d come to the hospital thinking she’d be brave and try to go all natural, but she was not strong enough for that.

The nurse reaches out and measures Bea’s dilation, nodding to herself when she pulls her hand away and disposes of her glove. “I’m going to get the doctor,” she tells Bea. “I think you’re ready. Try not to push until I get back, okay?”

Bea nods and agrees, but her heart is pumping out of her chest. Once the nurse leaves, Bea covers her face with her hands and whines. She feels completely distraught. This wasn’t supposed to happen until Monday. They don’t even have a name. They have options, but they haven’t decided. They wanted to wait until the baby was born to learn the gender and choose a name.

Trixie helps her sit up and ties Bea’s hair into a knot. “I know it hurts, but we’re almost there,” she murmurs. “We’re so close to adding to your little family, Bea-girl.”

“It’s not that,” Bea cries from behind her hands. She sniffs and squeezes her eyes shut. “I want Quinn.”

“Oh, darling,” Trixie comforts, sharing a frown with Bea. She leans into Bea and gathers her up in a hug. 

“He should be here,” Bea continues. “I can’t do it.”

“I don’t think you have a choice,” Trixie says. “I’m sorry, Bea. I’m here. I’ll help you however I can.”

Bea feels a wave of hot tears fall over her cheeks and she sobs out loud. She hates Florida. She hates hockey. It’s not fair that she’s doing this without her husband, not when she knows he would want to be here just as bad as she wants him to be here.

She barely has time to think about that once the doctor enters the room. It’s the same doctor who helped deliver Luke, so she knows her, but Bea doesn’t want her to be here. Bea can feel Trixie stroking her hair and holding her hand and reminding her to breathe between pushes, but Bea would rather hear a different, deeper voice instead. At one point, Bea can hear her phone ringing, and it’s Quinn’s ringtone, but no one responds to her when she begs for them to answer it. They’re too focused on the baby, which she gets, but she needs to talk to Quinn. She needs him.

She’s exhausted by the time she’s done pushing. It’s only after her doctor lays the baby on Bea’s chest, after she delivers the placenta, and after everyone but Trixie and the nurse from before leaves the room that Bea is able to ask for Quinn again. She’s still crying a little bit. So is the baby on her chest and Bea is touching him reverently. Not only was she right about him being a boy, but she feels oddly comforted by the wailing. The baby knows that something is missing too. He wants his dad just as bad as Bea does. 

“Call Quinn,” Bea repeats again, looking over at Trixie. She’s about to grab Bea’s phone from the table.

Trixie lets out a little chuckle. “Okay, Miss Impatient. I’m getting there.” She taps around on Bea’s phone, then hands it over as it starts to ring. 

Bea holds the phone up so that both she and the baby are in the shot. He’s still gross from the birth, but the nurse is flittering around the room and straightening things out. When they first got to the hospital, Bea was very clear about wanting to have skin-to-skin time with the baby for at least thirty minutes, unless there was a medical emergency. He can get all wiped down and cleaned up when she’s ready. The goop isn’t hurting him.

Quinn is quick to pick up and Bea starts crying again as soon as his face fills the screen.

“Oh my God,” Quinn says first. He covers his mouth and adds, “Holy shit.”

“I had the baby,” Bea explains, her voice shaky.

“I can see that,” Quinn replies. He seems caught between surprise and laughter at her obvious statement. “Are you okay? Is– are they okay?”

“Everyone’s fine, I’m fine, he’s fine. I just miss you,” Bea laments with a sniff. She wants to wipe under her nose, but both of her hands are covered in baby-goop from touching the little guy, and she really doesn’t want that on her face. “I want you here.”

“Oh, sweet Bea,” Quinn exhales. He scrubs his hand over his scuff. “Who’s with you, baby? You’re not on your own, are you?”

“Trixie,” Bea says, turning the camera toward her sister, who is folding a blanket. She waves to Quinn. “Honey’s with Luke.”

“That’s good,” Quinn acknowledges. “Okay, yeah, that’s good. You’re not on your own. I’m so sorry I missed it, Bea.”

“You couldn’t help it,” Bea replies. Her rational thought is coming back, but her sentence only brings a fresh wave of tears. 

“I know, but I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?” Quinn asks. He waits for Bea to nod, nodding along with her. “What’s the baby like, sweetheart? You said we had another boy?”

“Mhm,” Bea hums. She tilts the phone down to capture his face. He’s not really screaming, but he’s mouthing along her skin like he’s searching for her nipple. Bea recognizes the newborn tic and wonders if it’s a thing every newborn does or if it’s something just her boys have done. 

“He looks hungry,” Quinn laughs.

“I know, one sec,” Bea sets her phone down and pulls at her shirt, freeing one of her breasts and adjusting so the baby can latch on. The nurse has wandered closer, in case Bea needs help, but she’s got the muscle-memory down. Bea picks up the phone again. She doesn’t miss how Quinn quirks an eyebrow at the reveal of her skin. “We need to pick a name.”

“Do you have a favorite? Between the three?” Quinn asks.

Honestly, Bea doesn’t. Between Noah, Logan, and Patrick, she doesn’t care. She knows that ‘Jack’ is going to be the middle name– they decided that a long time ago, before Luke was even born. Even if their second baby was a girl, her middle name would be Jack. Bea thinks that could be pretty cute, with the right combination. She’s always loved the name Noah and Logan was Quinn’s favorite suggestion of his own. They’d decided on Patrick together, since Luke had a family name from the Hughes side and Bea thought it was only fair if they considered a family name from the McLean side. Patrick for Trixie was a lot better than Cecil for Cece.

Bea shakes her head. “They’re all good names.”

Quinn agrees. “Well, take a little time, get to know the guy, and let me know what you choose. I’m happy with whatever you pick, baby. You did all the heavy lifting, so I think it’s fair that you get to choose your favorite name.” He pauses, smiling when Bea frowns at him. He concedes a bit, knowing that Bea is against an executive decision. She wants to choose together. “Between you and me, I think ‘PJ’ has a nice ring to it. ‘NJ’ might not work if we think about how annoying his uncles would be.”

His comment draws a laugh from Bea. “Good point.”

Quinn stays quiet for a moment, just watching Bea through the screen. He licks his lips, then presses them together. “I am sorry that I couldn’t be there. As soon as I’m off the phone, I’m going to go find Coach and see how fast I can get home.”

Bea takes a deep breath. “Well, now I kind of want to let you go so that you get here faster,” she says, her voice teetering on the edge of joking. 

Quinn sees right through it. She might be trying to joke, but he can tell that she really does want him there. “Then I’m on my way,” he says, easy as can be. “I love you. I’ll text you as soon as I know the plan, okay? I’m going to try to be there by tonight.”

Bea relaxes into the pillows. He probably will charter the team plane himself if it gets him here faster. Quinn has proven time and time again that he would move mountains for his family. “I love you.”

“See you soon, baby. And actual baby,” he adds belatedly, winking at Bea through the screen. “Send me a picture of him as soon as you can, okay?”

“As soon as we get off the phone,” Bea promises. 

She hesitates to hang up and so does Quinn, which makes them laugh. Quinn is the first to go, but he’s also the first to text. 

It’s your choice, but I’m leaning towards Patrick. It’s the best way to thank Trixie for helping my best girl through today❤️ see you soon sweetheart

Bea smiles at the text and puts her phone down on the bed beside her hip. She looks down at the boy in her arms, still greedily gulping down his first meal. Bea touches the fine, sparse hair on his head and traces his wrinkly, pink cheek. Patrick Jack, she says to herself. She feels a tear of pure joy form in the corner of her eye and looks up to the ceiling before it can fall on his perfect little face. 

[puck-luck]

baby girl hughes | beaquinn

saturday, july 13, 2024 12:19 A.M.

“…he was like my first kid, in a way. He wanted to be just like me, the same way I wanted to be just like Dad.”

Bea wants to shrink Quinn down and put him in her shirt pocket, right next to her heart, and keep him there forever. He’s got a stoney exterior, guarded and dark eyes deterring most people from seeking out information like this, but Bea soaks it up like a sponge. He’s sweet and misunderstood because no one has asked him these things. He didn’t get to share this side of himself with anyone until Bea, it seems. 

He probably talked about this stuff with Liv, though, Bea’s doubt points out, causing her to push her tongue against the roof of her mouth as a distraction from her thoughts.

“What about for a girl?” Bea asks. “What would you name her?”

Quinn blushes a little. “It’s kind of silly,” he says.

Bea repeats his own words from earlier. “I don’t care if you sound silly.”

“I always liked the name Daphne,” Quinn says. “At first, it was because I liked Daphne in Scooby-Doo, but then I thought that when my wife gave birth to the baby, I’d go down to the gift shop in the hospital and buy her a little stuffed duck.” His voice grows quieter. “Because of Daffy Duck. And she’s my little Daphne Duckling.” Quinn hides his face in Bea’s arm, the tips of his ears burning red. 

“Q,” Bea sighs, feeling like her heart is bursting out of her chest. She wants to cry a bit, just because he’s so sweet and thoughtful. He cares so much. She crowds into his space, kissing over his cheek and squeezing his love handles, nudging her knee between his. “You’re so cute.”

“Shut up,” Quinn groans, blushing even more somehow. Bea continues to press kisses over his face. She covers every section of skin with her lips, wishing she could lather her lips in bright red lipstick and smear her mark all over Quinn’s face.

Eventually, he pins her hands to the bed and bites her neck, making her shriek in laughter, and that’s that. Liv and baby talk is put behind them, securely cemented in the past, and Quinn never brings either conversation up again. Bea is grateful that she doesn’t have a constant reminder of his ex-girlfriend or his desire to settle down and find a wife. They’re just having fun– the pressure of being Quinn’s wife and having his babies, and living up to the prior expectations of his model girlfriend is too much for Bea. It’s just a summer fling– something that is getting harder and harder to remember with each kiss Quinn gives her.

sunday, october 14, 2035 7:58 P.M.

It’s Quinn’s birthday and for once, everyone is in town. His parents came up to Vancouver to have a big backyard party with their eldest son and his family before the weather turns too cold. Bea’s family is in town for a separate, equally as exciting reason; Bea has framed the party as Quinn’s birthday party, but one of her presents to him is the fact that they’re about to find out the gender of their fourth (and hopefully final) baby. The stars aligned and brought Trevor to Vancouver for a game yesterday evening, which means that Honey came to Vancouver with four-and-a-half month old Hayden in her arms, and Jack and Luke had a game at noon in Seattle, so they were able to drive up for the tail end of this party too. Everyone that Quinn loves is here. 

They enjoyed lunch together in the backyard. They sat on the patio and ate salad with grilled chicken or salmon, thrown together by Quinn because, as much as Bea tries, she’s still not great at cooking meat without butchering it to make sure it’s cooked all the way through. They even have a meat thermometer to help rectify that problem, but Bea gets very paranoid, so she doesn’t trust the device.

Jack and Luke rolled up about two hours ago, having sped up from Seattle in a rented car as soon as their game ended and they’d received permission to go from their coach. They’d been the center of attention for a while, but Bea knows that Quinn doesn’t mind. He’d been the first– well, third– to hug his brothers. The only people that beat him to it were his two younger and quicker sons, Luke and Patrick, each of whom are obsessed with their uncles. They don’t see them nearly enough, so their presence is a sweet treat. Quinn only beat Caleb because he’s still shaky on his feet and opted for crawling.

Little Luke ran to Big Luke first and jumped on him, already talking about his new hockey team, since he moved age groups after last year. He’s asking Big Luke if he can come to a game soon and Luke is promising that he’ll try to come if he can, but he’s not sure because of his hockey team. Jack sweeps up Patrick with a “What’s up, PJ?” He tosses Patrick up into the air and catches him, then ruffles his hair and sets him on his shoulders. Caleb also goes to Jack, pulling himself up into a standing position on his pant leg, and babbling while he reaches up to be carried. 

Now, dinner has passed, and Bea is ready to bring out Quinn’s birthday cake. She baked it herself, but made Honey frost it after reading the little card that Bea’s obstetrician had written after her appointment on Friday.

All of the previous times they’ve been pregnant, Bea and Quinn have either waited to find out the gender or let the OB tell them in the room where Bea is getting her ultrasound. Bea wanted to have a little flair this time, since she’d given up on flair when she’d told Quinn about the pregnancy. With Luke, she’d gotten that ‘Daddy 43’ jersey and he hadn’t understood the meaning until she told him. With Patrick, Luke had worn his ‘Best Big Brother’ shirt that Bea bought in the Food Lion during Quinn’s scrimmage. Quinn hadn’t even read the shirt when Bea asked him what he thought about it– he said “I like the color.” For Caleb, she’d tried the same method again, throwing the ‘Best Big Brother’ shirt on Patrick. Quinn had thought that Bea had just grabbed the shirt from the dresser and hadn’t given it a second thought. It was normal for her boys to share clothes, so he hadn’t made a big deal of it. Bea had actually yelled at him, “Oh my God, Quinn, a shirt is never just a shirt!” and whacked his shoulder. 

This time, Bea decided to give up on the subtlety. She'd handed him the pregnancy test and that was it.

She carries the cake to the patio carefully, candles already flickering and lit. Patrick trails at her side, his fist bunched up in her cute party pants. He rarely leaves Bea’s side, even though she thought he’d outgrow the clinginess by the time he reached his second birthday, but she was wrong. It’s nice to have a little buddy, since she knows that he’ll outgrow her one day and probably get all angsty and mean like most teenage boys are. She remembers those days, of dealing with boys who were dicks, and she’s glad she doesn’t have to do that anymore. Quinn is the greatest husband she could ever ask for, even though it took them a little while longer than it should’ve to get to that point. If they hadn’t wasted those years before Honey and Trevor’s wedding… well, it doesn’t matter. Bea is happy with how things turned out. It had to be this way for her to end up in this exact moment.

Quinn grins at her and passes Caleb to Ellen, who accepts the baby easily. Everyone starts to sing– led by Little Luke, who is louder than everyone else on the patio– and Bea places the cake in front of Quinn. He reads the simple ‘Happy Birthday Daddy!’ that Luke and Patrick helped write in their messy handwriting after Honey was done icing the cake. Bea had to guide Patrick’s hand to write the “Happy” and it was so hard that she gave up after that word. She wrote “Birthday” and Luke wrote “Daddy.” Caleb watched from his high chair.

Bea stands beside Quinn, picking Patrick up and putting him on her hip. Quinn’s arm wraps around her waist and he pulls her close, palm flat against the fabric of her clothes. Luke joins and sits by Quinn’s side, kneeling up in his chair so that he can be the one to blow the candles out instead of the person who is actually celebrating their birthday. Quinn doesn’t mind– he actually encourages Luke to blow out the candles.

“Okay, before you cut the cake,” Bea says to Quinn, handing him the knife in her hands. “I have a surprise for you.”

Quinn knits his eyebrows together. “Oh, you do?” he asks.

Bea can feel the guests around them go still, holding their breath. She bets Honey is pressing her tongue between her teeth and bottom lip, waiting for everyone to know the gender just like she does. Bea’s mom has her camera going already, having never stopped the video after Quinn blew out the candles. 

“So you know how I’m almost twenty weeks?” Bea questions, knowing that Quinn knows as well as she does how far along they are in this pregnancy.

Quinn’s eyes flicker around the patio, surveying the guests for a hint. His eyes narrow when he reaches Honey and she just shrugs, feigning innocence in a very poor way. She’s still terrible at lying, even though she’s been trying to improve at it since she and Bea started sneaking around in high school. 

“Yeah,” Quinn says slowly, suspicious. 

“Well, I thought while everyone was here, you might want to find out if you’re having a boy or a girl,” Bea says. “Although you don’t have much of a choice now. The icing is already inside the cake.”

Quinn’s suspicion disappears. He elbows Luke, who is getting impatient for cake and trying to reach for the knife in Quinn’s hands. “So– this is a gender reveal cake?”

“Consider it another present,” Bea tells him. She smiles wide. “C’mon, Q, cut the cake. Are we having another little boy or a baby girl?”

“What do you think, Luke?” Quinn asks the boy beside him, poising the knife over the cake. “Do you want a brother or a sister?”

“I don’t care, I want cake,” Luke replies. 

Quinn presses his lips together to stop from laughing. Luke has only gotten funnier with age, even though he’s being rude. 

“Lukey, that’s not nice,” Bea chastizes. “Now you have to wait even longer for your piece.”

Luke huffs and pouts, turning his back on Bea and crossing his arms over his chest. Big Luke reaches out and waves him over, inviting the boy to come sit on his lap while they wait.

Quinn carefully cuts the cake, making a neat triangle. He pauses there, looking up at Bea. They share a look, sending a telepathic message to each other containing excitement and complacency. Boy or girl– it doesn't matter. Quinn knows as well as Bea that this is probably their last baby, unless they create an oopsie baby a few years down the line. Hopefully, that won’t happen. Four is going to be a lot, but it’ll be great.

Quinn puts the knife beneath the first slice and sets a plate down, carefully pulling the slice from the baked circle. Everyone holds their breath, except Honey, who already knows, and the babies, who don’t understand what is happening. 

The icing is pink and Bea squeals, bouncing up and down. Patrick starts to laugh because of the movement, the belly-laugh like music to Bea’s ears. Quinn plates the slice and stands, holding the plate above his head for everyone to see, just in case they hadn’t already. With his hand still raised, Quinn tilts his head and captures Bea’s lips in a sweet, celebratory kiss.

Finally, Bea’s got a little girl to play dress-up with and Quinn has a daughter to spoil. Not that they don’t spoil their other kids or play with them– but a girl is something new.

thursday, february 21, 2036 9:43 P.M.

“Good news, the boys are asleep and Mom is all set up in the guest room,” Quinn announces when he enters the hospital room. Bea is reclining in the bed and thumbing through a book while Daphne suckles on her nipple. 

“How’s Luke feeling about Baby Sister’s birthday being the week before his?” Bea asks. She sets her book aside and focuses on her husband. She feels perfectly at peace. They’ve been planning this birth for months, ever since Bea’s due date was set during the February break. Quinn withdrew from all All-Star consideration, despite the fact that the team wanted him to make an appearance at something since he’s their longest-tenured captain and the People’s Princess, practically.

“It’s not his favorite thing in the world, but he’ll get over it. I promised that we’d never make them do a joint birthday and he seemed to like that.” Quinn produces a bag from behind his back and comes up next to the bed. 

Bea scoots over, cradling Daphne’s neck and trying not to jostle her too much as she makes room for Quinn to sit next to her.

“From me,” Quinn says. “The boys are going shopping with Mom before they come to visit tomorrow. I hope Caleb buys a massive pack of diapers so we don’t have to pay for those before Luke’s birthday. Maybe I’ll text Mom and tell her to try and steer him that way.”

“He shouldn’t be too hard to convince,” Bea replies. She leans her temple against Quinn’s shoulder, getting comfortable. 

This is probably the only time in their lives that they’ll get to be alone with Daphne. She’s their fourth child in just under five years– Bea didn’t mean to do four-in-four, but it’s kind of funny that it happened that way. She’ll text Honey later and send that GIF of Sookie from Gilmore Girls telling Lorelai about when Jackson wanted to do four-in-four. 

Daphne Grace Hughes hasn’t met her older brothers yet. For right now, she’s like Bea and Quinn’s only baby. She doesn’t know that there is a whirlwind waiting for her at home– a lavender nursery that the boys helped paint and sweet canvases from each brother in their own art style. Since they’re so young, the art is pretty abstract. Bea will probably hang them in her own bedroom when Daphne decides she doesn’t want them anymore.

She’s already planning her next project– she wants to paint her children’s hands and press their handprints to a canvas, immortalizing how big they were when their family became complete. 

Her venture after that is to start looking for kindergartens for Luke. She fell slightly behind because of the pregnancy, but she expects that she’ll be able to get him in somewhere. There are so many options: public, private, charter, Catholic… it’s endless. She’ll employ the WAGs that already have kids in school to help her out once she makes it to another game.

Quinn sets the gift on Bea’s lap, just past where Daphne lays. Milk has started to run down her chin and she’s not drinking so much anymore, so Bea expects that she’s done. Her eyelids are getting all fluttery and milk-drunk.

“Daph, let’s see what Daddy got you,” Bea whispers gently, removing her daughter from her tit and rubbing her back to spark a burp. “Don’t sleep yet.”

Daphne’s fighting sleep, something that Bea and Quinn have no idea will become her trademark move, and Bea turns her so that she can sit on her lap and rest her head against Bea’s chest. Bea holds her chin with her thumb and finger, so that she doesn’t wiggle away and somehow get hurt in her first three hours of living.

Quinn pulls a stuffed duck from the little bag, pretending to waddle it along Bea’s thighs toward Daphne. “Quack, quack.” His voice is low and, while tinged with a fond hint of baby-talk, completely serious. He nuzzles the duck against Daphne’s little hands, her chunky tummy, and finally boops her nose with the beak. “A little ducky for my Daffy.”

Like the first time Bea heard him speak about this dream of his eleven and a half years ago, she wishes she could shrink him down and put him in her pocket, next to her heart, forever. She likes Quinn as he is, though. Her big strong husband is playing sweetly with their newborn girl, even though she has no idea what’s going on and can’t even see anything in front of her. She won’t really be able to see until the end of July, and even then, she won’t have object permanence. 

But it’s the sweetest little thing. Quinn leans down to kiss Daphne’s head, softly so he doesn’t disturb her, and works the soft fur of the plushie’s wing between her fingers. She clamps down on it, demonstrating her reflex to grab things, and she holds on. Quinn’s hand leaves the duck and curls over the meat of Bea’s thigh. He kisses her temple hard and wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her back so that she’s able to rest against his chest. 

“I love you,” Bea murmurs. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, taking in Quinn’s familiar and comforting scent as it surrounds her.

“This is the happiest I’ve ever been,” Quinn says. “Not just because of her. Like, I love her, and the boys, you know that… but it’s because of you. I didn’t– after I met you, I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else. And now we’re here. And I love you.”

Bea smiles and falls asleep, resting against him.

[puck-luck]

this is soooooooo cool!!! congratulations!!! i love how unique this is with the casino theme!!!! can i please request trevor with hearts and the number seven "i'll give you a reason to stay in bed"

Thank you for requesting!! This one is not as smutty as the rest (or at all, really) because I've been missing HoneyTrev and I wanted to give it some HoneyTrev vibes. Hope you enjoyyyy

warnings: flashing, allusions to oral fem!receiving, established dynamic WC: 789

“Don’t go,” Trevor whines, wrapping his arms around your middle as best he can. You’re already halfway out of bed, so Trevor is just stopping you from standing at this point. “You don’t even have to be up yet, babe.”

“Trevor,” you scoff. You pry his arms off of you, but he uses the distraction to pull himself closer and drape himself over your lap. 

He looks up at you, pursing his lips until you roll your eyes and cover his mouth with your hand. 

“Baby, I have to go,” you say again. “I have work.”

“You don’t have work until, like, eight.”

“I have to open the store and I slept over last night. I have to go home so that I can get ready for work.”

“You look pretty now.”

Another eye roll. “Trevor.”

“Please,” he begs, drawing out the word and batting his eyelashes up at you. “It’ll be fun, baby.”

“How will it be fun,” you question, raising an eyebrow and bringing your hand to his hair. You fluff the strands in the front, revealing his forehead to you. You draw your thumb over his eyebrow, fixing the hair. 

Trevor turns his head and kisses your hip. “I can think of something.”

“You can think of a lot of things,” you reply. “Doesn’t mean it’s worth it.”

Trevor drops his jaw in an overexaggerated way. “How dare you.”

“Trevor,” you reply, singing his name slightly to signal that your patience is running thin. “I need to go.”

“Let me give you a reason to stay in bed,” Trevor says, burying his face into your clothes. You can feel him kiss over your skin, although it’s covered by your pajamas and the contact feels a little blocked. “I’ll make you come.”

You laugh aloud, clutching his hair in your hands and pulling him back. “You just want to get your mouth on me.”

“Well, it’s good for both of us,” Trevor tells you, grinning. “You get off to start your day, I get you off to start the day…” 

You let out a mix between a hum and a chuckle. You bring your hand to the back of his neck and pull him up to give him a kiss. “You are relentless.”

“Love you,” Trevor replies with a soft grin, then pecks your lips. “That’s a no?”

“Mm, you know me so well.” You kiss him again. “I’ll make it up to you later, but I’ve got to sneak out before the boys find out that I slept in your bed again.”

“It wasn’t that bad last time,” Trevor reasons, tilting his head at you. 

“It wasn’t that bad because we were so high the night before that they didn’t even question my need to sleep over.” You match his tone, then finally stand from the bed. “You’re also lucky that I didn’t share the bed with one of them. Jack would’ve cuddled me all night. You know how he gets when he’s under the influence.”

“I don’t want him touching you.”

“You’re just jealous of anyone who gets to touch me.”

“Haven’t I touched you well enough that you don’t need to talk to anyone else ever again?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re the most annoying person they’ve ever met?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You need that reminder.” You bend down to kiss him once more, then turn to leave the room. “Fuck you later, baby. Gonna walk me to the door?”

“No thanks, I like my bed,” Trevor says. “I don’t need to find a reason to stay in bed.”

“Let me give you a reason to get out of bed,” you say, stopping at the door. Just before you open it, you lift the bottom hem of your shirt. When your tits come into view, Trevor brightens. “There’s two. C’mon. You gotta lock the door behind me.”

You turn and open the door, stepping out into the hallway, and it’s only a few seconds before Trevor plants himself securely behind you and wiggles his big hands up the front of your shirt to take your tits in his hands. He keeps them there the whole walk to the door, even though you step on his toes four times on purpose. He doesn’t let go at all– it’s like he superglued his hands to your tits. 

Man behavior… You admit that you’re still thinking about it when you’re getting dressed for work and purposefully choose a tank that shows off your chest, knowing that Trevor will find some way to pop in or request an OOTD while you’re working. He’s obsessed with you like that– might as well give him something to think about to make you fall back into bed with him tonight.

[puck-luck]

new beginnings | july 29 - august 4

note to the masses: this is a big week for honeytrev. don't let the fact that it's the shortest chapter yet (19.4k) fool you. enjoy ;) always looking forward to hearing y'all's feedback

----------

64:90 – HONEY

If Trevor has noticed that Honey is weirdly silent today, he hasn’t mentioned it. Part of that is probably based on the fact that they’ve been hanging out with the group all day, so Trevor is doing the thing that she asked him to do a couple of weeks ago– leave her alone and not make it so obvious that they’re together.

Honey’s staring is obvious. She’s been elbowed by Bea twice, with a hiss from the girl to “stop looking at him so much!” Honey has also been poked by Quinn, who will pointedly look from her to Trevor, then back to her, and shake his head. 

She can’t help it. There’s a lot on her mind and Honey feels a little bit like she’s losing control of herself. She’s become completely aware of herself in the wake of what happened yesterday, but she’s not… freaking out. Yet.

Honey hasn’t told Bea what happened. She knows she should, but she can’t say it out loud. How embarrassing is it to say that after she’d gotten thoroughly fucked, and Trevor had tucked her head into the crook of his neck, she’d caught a whiff of the sweat on his skin and kissed it, all before clocking the way she’d thought God, this is so great. He’s so great. I love…?

‘I love’ is as far as she’d gotten because she’d cut herself off, realizing how that sentence was about to end. 

That is too far. Here’s why: (1) Honey doesn’t even like Trevor like that. (2) She’s only known Trevor for two months. (3) Trevor is leaving at the end of the summer. (4) Trevor has no plans to come back, which means that barring some psycho coincidence, Honey will never see him again after August 25th. She does not think that about Trevor. She will not think that about Trevor.

Now, they’ve ventured out on their own. It’s a Monday, so Trevor and Honey are at the fruit stand, like always. She’s resolutely trying to ignore her thoughts and her feelings– actually, she’s trying to push them away… and failing.

Honey has one slight problem when it comes to Trevor, other than the one that she’s been lamenting for the past twenty-nine hours. The problem right now is that Trevor is very pretty. 

It starts with his hair. Honey has been looking at it a lot more since those interviewers asked Trevor about his routine and how he gets his hair the way that it is. He’s lucky. All he does is run his fingers through the hair, almost compulsively, and it falls perfectly. Honey has to tame her hair, but Trevor has it easy. She hopes that their kids get his hair.

That. What is that? Honey demands of herself, wishing she could reach up and slap herself across the face. Unfortunately, Trevor would have a problem with that. He would be very confused and Honey would not be able to explain herself. She doesn’t even want to try. They aren’t even dating– do you know how crazy she’d look if she started spouting shit like “I love you” and “I hope our babies get your hair?” She wrenches her eyes from Trevor’s profile and focuses on the pile of melons in front of her.

Their fruit stand shopping today is like Bea’s favorite term for when she and Honey hang out and do nothing together– ‘parallel play.’ Honey is silent, looking at the fruit in front of her. Trevor is silent, looking at the fruit in front of him.

It’s difficult to keep her eyes from his profile for long. Honey sneaks a glance and catches a glimpse of the ridge on Trevor’s nose. It’s such a straight and strong nose, very Greek, except for the curve at the top. That’s got some Romanness to it. Honey loves that nose. The few times that they’ve actually slept over together, Honey will wake when Trevor twitches in his sleep and she takes the time to admire his profile then, too. Ugh, now that she thinks about it, it’s that kind of indulgence that got her here.

Sweet, perfect Trevor. Patient, caring Trevor. He has no idea what’s going through Honey’s head. He has no clue that she’s over here thinking about how much she likes him, and then reminding herself that she can’t like him. 

Honey is starting to come around to Bea’s thinking, now that she’s feeling… what she assumes Bea is feeling, too, even though she hasn’t said it back to Quinn yet. She doesn’t fight it when he says it– Honey absolutely would fight it if Trevor said ‘I love you.’ 

Like, there’s no way, right? They’ve known each other for two months. Two months. Sixty days. No one should be allowed to love anyone, here. It was absurd when Quinn said it and it’s still absurd when Honey thinks it. 

But then, she looks at Trevor again, and her mind quiets. She likes to look at him, she likes to be with him, he smells nice, he’s kind when he speaks, and he’s good in bed. What more could she ask for?

Thomas used to be like that, too. 

At the thought, Honey stalls. She feels a bit sick to her stomach. It’s true– Thomas used to be just as amazing as Trevor is. She thought about their babies, once upon a time. Wanting to tear herself away from the thought of Thomas, before it ruins her day even further, Honey turns back to Trevor. She’s about to reach for his hand, but they’re full.

He holds two baskets in his hands, pursing his lips and alternating the baskets like he’s weighing them. Honey doesn't even know what is in the baskets– his fingers are covering the contents. She’s staring at the shadows that his eyelashes cast on his face.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Trevor says. He looks up and turns to her, soft smile on his face when they make eye contact. “What do you think, Hon?”

I like the way you say my name, Honey thinks. She blinks, feeling her face flush. She absolutely cannot look at Trevor’s eyes anymore– he’ll recognize the look on her face and think something about it, and then he’ll say something about it, and then she’ll have to explain herself, and there are no words to describe what’s going on in her mind.

She finally looks at the baskets in his hands. Raspberries or blueberries. “I don’t know,” she supplies uselessly. “They’re both good.”

Trevor shifts them in his hands so he’s holding both between his fingers. “Okay. Both it is.” He digs his wallet out of his pocket and hands it off to Honey. “Can you get my card out?”

Honey swallows hard, feeling discomfort crawl up the back of her throat. He’s so comfortable with her. He just hands his stuff over like it’s nothing, like they share everything with each other. “Yeah, sure.” She plucks the wallet from his fingers and flicks through the pockets.

“Do you want me to get you some peaches?” Trevor offers, sliding the baskets of berries into her mesh bag, which he's been carrying over his shoulder ever since they got out of the car.

A possessive feeling washes over Honey. That’s her bag that he’s carrying. She wants to remind him that she doesn’t need his help– the other half of her, the part hidden deep in her chest, wants to leave everything as is. Everything is going so great with Trevor. But, for some fucking reason, Honey just can’t give into the desire at the pit of her heart.

“No, I'm okay,” she says.

That catches Trevor’s attention. He catches her eye. “You love peaches. You were telling me last night that you'd run out.”

Honey feels slightly trapped. She did say that. Shit. “I mean, we can look at the peaches,” she mumbles, ducking her head.

Trevor furrows his eyebrows, although Honey is too busy staring at the cracks in the sidewalk and misses it. “Honey, are you okay?” He asks.

Honey sighs and rolls her eyes. “I'm fine. Let’s just look at the peaches.” She shoulders past Trevor and picks up one of the better looking fruits. 

Trevor’s fingers prod at hers like he wants to hold her hand. “Baby,” he says. “What's wrong?”

Honey snatches her hand back and snaps, “Don’t call me that.”

The look on Trevor’s face stings a lot more than Honey wants to admit. He physically recoils, like she’s slapped him, and the deepest pits of Honey’s chest are screaming at her to take it back. She wants to. She wishes she could rewind five seconds and let him take her hand, to avoid the look on his face if nothing else, but Honey can never seem to avoid sabotaging herself.

Honey can’t believe she loves Trevor. It’s not that he’s not lovable– evidently, she feels as though he’s very lovable. It’s just that... isn’t she past this? She went into this summer so certain that she’s not looking for what Trevor is giving her, and now she’s fallen headfirst for it. This is against every plan she had for herself over the past five years. The plan was to avoid feeling the way Thomas made her feel, and now Trevor has Honey’s heart in the palms of his hands, and everything is out of Honey’s control. She can’t even control her own feelings.

She’s blindsided. It crept up on her and now she’s reeling from the fact that she loves Trevor, without making a conscious decision to love him at all.

God, you get fucked on the pool table one time, and your whole life changes. What is in the water at that damn rental house?

Honey wants to scream in frustration. She wants to throw this peach at Trevor’s head because it’s his fault that she feels like this. He had to be fucking perfect. She wants to start bawling and wrap her arms around his neck and hide and be comforted by the way he smells. There are a hundred different things she’s feeling, none of which she wants to be feeling, and her brain is short-circuiting.

Trevor rubs over the back of his neck, his eyes meeting Honey’s sporadically and never for more than a second. He’s taken a step back from her and Honey thinks that he looks a little… afraid. “Did I do something?” He asks. He clears his throat, then clarifies, “To upset you?”

Honey’s brain goes with the third option. She wells up and rubs the heels of her hands over her eyes, having long since dropped the peach back in the pile. “No,” she admits miserably. “I’m being stupid. I just– everything seems like a lot right now. Too much.”

“You’re not being stupid. What’s too much?” Trevor asks. “Other than everything. If you could narrow it down.”

“This,” Honey tells him tearfully, gesturing between them. “It’s a lot.”

His lips press together in a thin line before he speaks. “Good or bad?” Trevor pushes, closing the space between himself and Honey. 

She wants to grab his shirt and tug him even closer, but her arms only rise to cross over her stomach in a tense hug. She shrugs, her chin wobbling a bit. “Both,” Honey whispers. Her eyes burn and she sniffs, looking towards the brick wall of the grocery store.

Trevor nods, calculating his next move. She can see the wheels turning in his head. “Why don’t we go home?”

Home, Honey repeats in her head. How can he call her place home? How can she love him?

Trevor talks on. “We can sit in silence and I’ll just cuddle you a bit, if that’ll help.”

Honey’s lower lip juts out. Sitting in silence and cuddling is what got her into this mess. “I don’t know,” she replies, voice cracking embarrassingly. It registers that Joan is not-so secretly watching this whole event unfold. Honey swipes her thumbs beneath her eyes and covers her mouth with one of her hands.

“Sweetheart,” Trevor tries, but he shuts his mouth abruptly when an indignant whine leaves Honey. That’s no better than ‘baby,’ even though her stomach usually flutters when he uses both terms. Trevor takes a deep breath and shifts her bag to his other shoulder, reaching for the car keys. He holds them out to her wordlessly, so Honey takes them.

She starts the car while she waits for him to pay for her fruit. A sinking feeling creeps over her when it computes that he’s paying for her, again. He’s taking care of her. Again.

It’s another minute after Trevor returns to the car before he speaks. “Can I just sit with you?” Trevor asks. “I just– I want to be there if you need me.”

Honey hides her face in her hands. She doesn’t know how to respond. 

Yes, of course, please sit with me, I do need you there. No, I don’t want you to see me like this. You deserve someone who doesn’t have to fight an internal battle just to love you. 

The thoughts joust in her head. “I don’t want to decide.” She sounds pitiful. “I don’t want anything. But I don’t not want anything. I don’t know.”

“Let’s just drive around for a bit,” Trevor suggests. “We’ll go down the parkway. You don’t have to decide yet. We can ignore everything for a minute. Is that... better?”

Honey shrugs. She really feels helpless and unsure. Not even ignorance is an appealing feeling. This has been eating at her since yesterday and it’s just about consumed her entirely. “I guess?” She asks.

Trevor holds eye contact with her and quirks his lips in a dissatisfied, but well-meaning smile. He looks sympathetic. “Let’s just get you home. I think you might feel better if you’re in your bed.” He starts the car and drives out of town, toward her house. 

The drive is silent. When they get to Honey’s house, she heads upstairs and he puts her fruit haul away. Trevor has started to learn what her system is, after doing this a couple of times, and it’s another thing that reminds Honey how much she likes him.

She goes upstairs and burrows in her bed, already feeling comforted by the warmth of the covers and the soft pillows around her. 

Trevor climbs the stairs to her room and peeks his head in the door, laughing fondly at the sight of Honey. She pouts at him, then Trevor walks across the floor and leans down to kiss Honey’s forehead. “I’m going to go,” Trevor tells her, speaking under his breath. He presses another kiss above her eyebrow. “It doesn’t seem like it’s helping… to have me nearby. I think I’m making you more anxious. Can you promise me something? Before I go?”

Honey nods.

“You’ll call me.” Trevor smooths Honey’s hair behind her ear. His eyes are a clear and earnest green, shining with admiration.  “If you need anything, promise you’ll call me?”

Honey nods a second time, trying to lift the corners of her mouth in a convincing way. 

“Whatever you want,” Trevor continues, bumping the tip of his nose against Honey’s cheekbone like a gentle, tender headbutt. “Even if it’s not me. If you need Bea, then you give me a call and I’ll drag her out of Quinn’s bed for you. I’ll drop her off on your doorstep, wearing nothing but his bedsheet. Does that sound okay with you?”

Honey tries and fails to hold back a laugh, imagining how annoyed Bea would feel and how silly she’d look. All in all, it would make a hilarious scene in a movie. Honey might just take Trevor up on that. Still giggling a bit, she nods a third time– it’s a much more confident movement this time.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” Trevor asks with a tiny smile on his face, proud of himself for drawing a laugh from Honey. He cups Honey’s cheek and meets her lips in a chaste kiss.

His final kiss feels a lot like ‘I love you.’

Honey wishes she hadn’t thought that. Now she can’t even promise to see him tomorrow. She pulls the covers over her head and listens to Trevor chuckle before he descends from the loft and leaves her alone.

65:90 – TREVOR

Trevor barely slept last night. He was tossing and turning, checking his phone every few minutes in case Honey needed him. He wanted to burn the world down when she’d gone quiet and hugged herself. She had looked so small and insecure and Trevor never wants to see her like that again. He wants to take all of her problems and bury them deep in the dirt, where no one will ever find them.

But there was nothing that he could do. So he left.

He didn’t want to. For a minute, Trevor had stood at the bottom of the loft stairs and thought about staying. He could’ve sat on her couch silently until she appeared, venturing out for dinner or something, and then they could’ve talked about it. 

After taking pause, Trevor had shaken his head and moved along. Honey probably would not have liked to walk down the stairs and be surprised by Trevor, who she had told to leave a few hours earlier. So, he left the house and drove down the parkway for a little while on his own, trying to decipher what very little Honey had said.

Trevor doesn’t feel any better about it, even after running through every possible scenario in his mind. He’s not quite sure what upset her, or what caused the regression and confusion, but it seems like going away from her was the best option. She’s not upset anymore.

On the other hand, she’s not exactly talking to him. It’s not an intentional ‘I’m-ignoring-you-and-I-hate-you’ silence, but Trevor feels disjointed nonetheless. He’s adhering to her ‘Let’s-not-make-this-obvious’ rule although he’d like nothing more than to throw his arm over her shoulder and walk alongside her under the fluorescent, jarring white lights of this Target in Winston-Salem. 

That’s how Bea and Quinn are standing. His arm is over her shoulder and her elbow is bent so that she can hold his hand, even though the angle is awkward for her. They didn’t even amend their position when a fan came up to Jack and asked for a picture with him, which he declined, but it did stroke his ego a bit. That’s good, because now he’s in a good mood. Trevor was surprised that Bea and Quinn didn’t inch apart when the boys were recognized– Honey certainly would have sprung away from him. 

He understands, though. Honey’s whole life was derailed by some photos and some gossip. It’s not like he can offer her the most private existence, but he thinks he can keep her mostly away from prying eyes if that’s what she wants. She doesn’t have to jump away from him. 

Surely they won’t hide their relationship forever, right? Eventually, Trevor will be allowed to flaunt her and show Honey off like she deserves. 

It’ll be really awkward if Trevor is the only one doing the first dance at their wedding reception because she doesn’t want to be seen by the public. There are very few things that Trevor won’t budge on, but a big party after the wedding with all of their friends is one of those things. 

“Litchton should have a Target,” Bea says, running her hands over a rack of dresses. “I miss the vibe in stores like this.”

Inviting the boys to Target had been Bea’s idea, according to Quinn. It’s not that Honey didn’t want them to come, but Trevor knows that this is a thing that she and Bea do together. They’ve gone to Target together on this day every year since leaving Charlotte because it’s the anniversary of when they finished apartment shopping. They’re very sentimental over things like this– the girls have all these little traditions that they allow the boys to experience. It’s nice. Trevor enjoys being around them.

He wishes he could be closer to Honey, though. She’s looking through the racks of clothes and she’s got a little crease between her eyebrows.

“Wouldn’t be Litchton if there was a Target,” Honey replies, eyes flickering up to look at Bea in the mirror. “You don’t like the Food Lion?”

“You know the Food Lion has a different vibe than this,” Bea laughs.

Honey scoffs out a laugh and begins to rifle through the hangers again. She shakes her head as she laughs, then the frown returns to her face as she evaluates the clothes. 

It would be so nice to stand behind her and wrap his arms around her middle. Trevor doesn’t care about the clothes. He just wants to hug his pretty girlfriend and get rid of that line between her brows.

Trevor pulls his phone out of his pocket and composes a message. 

You want a coffee? He texts Honey. I can go grab one for you.

She doesn’t check her phone right away. It’s a few minutes until she does, after Bea and Quinn went to go look at makeup and Jack and Luke went to look at the beer. Cole is looking through a stack of t-shirts and Honey finishes up with the rack of clothes she was on. Trevor is standing next to Cole, at a safe distance away from Honey, but he’s watching her.

The corners of her mouth twitch upward when she reads the text. 

No, but you’re sweet.

Trevor is quick to reply, hoping to catch her before she slides the phone back into her pocket. 

Taste sweet too. Will I see you later? ;)

The wink is to make her laugh. It works, but only barely– instead of laughing the way that she probably wants to at Trevor’s comedic props, she side-eyes him and types a very short reply:

LOL.

Then, she puts her phone away and disappears around the back of the aisle.

Trevor turns to Cole.

He holds up a pink t-shirt with a unicorn and a rainbow on the front. “Do you think this would look good on me?” Cole asks.

“Yeah. I’ve always said that you seem like the kind of guy to wear a crop top,” Trevor says. “The pink with the unicorns and the rainbows would really work for you.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll get a matching one for Honey,” Cole says with a nod to himself. “Do you know what size she is?”

Trevor blinks in surprise, then has to school his reaction. Cole asked his question so nonchalantly that he was probably just wondering aloud. 

“I don’t know. Maybe just get her a medium to be safe. Take a receipt when you buy it so that she can return it if she hates it. You know she’ll probably hate it,” Trevor tells him.

“Yeah, I know. But she’ll like it ‘cause it’s our thing, like how Bea and I watch the same dating show because it’s good and funny. Honey and I will have the same shirt.”

“What if she returns it?”

“Meh, she won’t,” Cole replies with a shrug. “She actually likes us a lot more than she says. I don’t think it was Bea’s idea to invite us to come to Target.”

Trevor furrows his brow. “You don’t?”

Cole shakes his head. “Quinn and Bea take credit for a lot of things, but I saw the texts on Quinn’s phone. Honey said, like, ‘If you guys want to come you can’ and that was it. I’m glad, too. It’s been a while since I was in a Target like this. I feel like we’re back at NTDP shootin’ the shit and being annoying kids.”

“Yeah, we’re like a real friend group,” Trevor laughs, speaking somewhat sarcastically. Of course they’re a real friend group. They’re together for the entire summer. “Imagine that.”

Cole shrugs again. “I just think it’s nice. I miss Michigan and being home for the summer, but this is really nice. I think we should come back next year.”

“I don’t know if Jack will let us kidnap him again,” Trevor says. 

“He won’t have a choice. Quinn will want to see Bea again and I think all of us will want to see both of the girls. If Jack doesn’t come, though, maybe the girls can come to Michigan.” Cole balls the shirt, and Honey’s matching one, up in his fist. “Let’s go find the dudes.”

As they continue shopping, Trevor mulls this over in his mind: he’s not the only one who wants to come back to Litchton and continue to hang out with these girls. Cole and the other boys, Quinn by name, have been thinking about it too. Trevor might just call a rental house family meeting and broach the subject.

66:90 – HONEY

“Let’s go outside,” Trevor proposes. He pinches Honey’s bare sides with his spindly fingers and kisses over the curve of her breast. “We can go look at the stars.”

“Trevor, dear, you’re the one laying on top of me,” Honey points out, teasing him with the pet name and tweaking his nose between her knuckles. “I couldn’t get up if I tried.”

“Well, you’re also under the covers, so I’m not the only thing keeping you here.” Trevor catches one nipple between his teeth and bites, then switches to the other and repeats the same action, then rolls to Honey’s side and reaches for the t-shirt that he’d dropped off the side of the bed before he and Honey had made good use of their nakedness. He pulls the t-shirt over her head and squeezes her hips before he throws the covers off of both of them and goes to find his own clothes.

Honey tucks the covers underneath her armpits. “I feel like I’m in a movie,” Honey says. “I’m one of those one night stands who wears your sheets like a strapless dress.”

“You’re not quite a one night stand,” Trevor replies with a laugh. He pulls a shirt over his head and ruffles his hair once it springs free. “But if it makes you happy, then you can keep pretending, baby.”

Honey doesn’t correct him this time– she probably never will again. After a day or so of freaking out over the whole “I love you” thought, Honey decided that it was a nonissue. So long as she never admits it or allows herself to think that again, everything will be fine. Therefore, Trevor is still allowed to call Honey ‘baby’ and ‘sweetheart.’ 

Honey swings her legs over the edge of the bed and leaves her hookup-bedsheet-dress on Trevor’s mattress. His t-shirt falls over her hips, but she still needs shorts. She reaches past Trevor and digs through his underwear drawer to find a pair of cute boxers, which she’ll steal for a while.

Trevor sidles up behind her and wraps his arms around her middle. “You don’t really think you’re a one night stand for me, do you?”

He kisses her cheek right as she shakes her head and says, “No, Trev. You know I don’t think that.”

“I don’t know much of what you think at all,” Trevor says, pouting slightly. “I know we’re hooking up. I know that I think you’re my girlfriend. I don’t know where you stand, Hon.”

Honey rolls her head back onto Trevor’s shoulder. “Do we have to talk about it now?” 

“I just want some confirmation that you like me,” Trevor teases. He kisses down Honey’s neck and blows cool air over her clavicle. “Since every time I show you affection, you laugh at me.”

“Trevor,” Honey complains. “That’s just not true.”

“Okay, fine, last time when I said you liked me, you kissed me. But I want to hear you say it,” Trevor whines. He squeezes Honey a little tighter. “Tell me!”

Honey giggles and wiggles away from Trevor. “Absolutely not.” She sneaks to the door and listens to the hallway, waiting for any noise from the boys. She’d gotten into Trevor’s room without any trouble, but getting out is another story. 

“Anyone out there?” Trevor asks. 

“I don’t think so, but you’ll have to go first.” Honey puts her hand out, which Trevor takes. He kisses the back of her hand when he nears the door, then swoops in to take Honey’s lips. 

“Meet you in the car?”

“Yeah, give me three minutes.” Honey puckers her lips and pecks Trevor’s mouth. “Then I’ll join you.”

“And you’ll tell me that you like me?” Trevor asks. “While I chauffeur you around and find a pretty place to look at the stars?”

“In your dreams,” Honey says. 

“We do a lot more than talk about how much we like each other in my dreams,” Trevor replies. “Unfortunately you and I already did the other stuff in real life, so I’m just waiting on those three words.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Honey tells him. If only he knew just what she was thinking– Trevor would be over the moon. She likes him so much that she dared to discover that she loves Trevor, in this bizarre turn of events. Maybe Trevor’s asking Honey if she likes him because he, somehow, has figured out that she’s in love with him. Ughhhhhh.

Trevor slips from the bedroom first, giving himself a head start. Honey primps her hair in the mirror above his dresser while she waits her three minutes, which gives Trevor enough time to start the car and get the AC running before she joins him.

They escape from the house without running into the guys, although Honey can hear them talking in the distance. They probably look out the window once Trevor starts driving down the road that leads up to the house, but Honey shields her face from the window so they can’t see her even if they tried to be big snoops. 

Cole especially has a problem with snooping– he texted Honey from Quinn’s phone yesterday. She’s not sure if he read all of their messages, but she’d glad that they hadn’t been chatting about Honey and Trevor’s relationship that day. It would have been very weird for Cole to read messages about Honey and Trevor being together and all mushy when they regularly refer to themselves as 'Zegras Haters.'

It takes them all of ten minutes to drive to the reservoir where they spend their lake days. Trevor parks in the same lot where they always park, but instead of going down towards the boat piers, Trevor slings his arm over Honey’s shoulders and walks toward the swimming piers. 

It’s dark out and night has fully fallen, so the piers have been closed for ages. There’s no one around. 

“How romantic is this?” Trevor bumps Honey’s hip with his own. “This date is so much better than dinner.”

“This is a date?” Honey asks. “But we already fucked. Why am I buying the cow when I already got the milk for free?”

“Because you’re a wonderful farmer who enjoys animal life,” Trevor says. He drags Honey down when he sits, his feet dangling over the edge of the pier. “I think you’re a very benevolent owner. I am never afraid of you sacrificing me to make burger patties on a whim.”

“You’d make a very tasty burger,” Honey assures Trevor, patting his cheek kindly and settling down against his side. Her feet dangle over the water as well.

Trevor leans over to kiss her and Honey redirects him, clasping his hand with both of hers and looking out onto the water.

“It’s nice out here,” Honey says. “It’s still. The water is.”

Trevor lets out a half-chuckle, smiling with a dipped head. “It is nice out here.” He leans against Honey, pressing his thigh against hers. “But I think it’s the company that makes it nice, not the weather. If it started raining right now, I’d still want to be here with you.”

Honey awws internally. He’s a sweet boy– so sweet that it rots her gut and makes her heart thump. He’s got a rocky exterior, although Honey managed to penetrate that within seconds, even despite her better efforts to keep Trevor at an arm’s length. He’s so good to her.

“I have to tell you something,” Honey says suddenly. 

“Oh, yeah?” Trevor asks, quirking his eyebrows. “Sharing a big secret with me?”

“Mm, huge,” Honey says. She grins at Trevor and pinches his chin between her thumb and index finger. “Come closer, I can’t say it out loud.”

Trevor’s smile widens. He shuffles closer, leaning in so he’s about two millimeters from Honey’s lips. “What’s up, baby?” Trevor whispers. “What’s the big secret?”

“I…” Honey trails off, touching Trevor’s waist. 

“You…?” Trevor questions, tilting his head and eying Honey’s lips.

“I like…” Honey continues to tease him, balling her fingers in the fabric of Trevor’s shirt. 

Trevor wiggles his eyebrows. “You like… me? Is this the big reveal?”

“I like… the idea of going for a swim,” Honey announces with a big shove.

“Hey!” Trevor goes flying off the edge of the pier and swallows a mouthful of water while exclaiming at Honey. He splutters when he resurfaces, shaking his hair out of his face like a dog.

Honey’s laughing aloud, clutching her stomach. “Oh my God, the look on your face, Trev,” she giggles.

“Oh, you’re funny,” Trevor says. “You’re very funny, Hon.”

In a flash, he fixes his fingers around her ankle and tugs her into the water with him. Honey is submerged in cold, nighttime water. Her clothes are saturated with the water immediately and Honey can feel her socks, and her shoes, grow heavy.

“Trevor!” Honey shouts. 

Trevor swims closer and wraps his arms around Honey, treading water and keeping them afloat. “What, baby? You said you liked the idea of a swim. I wasn’t going to be the only one in the water.” Trevor finishes his sentence with a kiss, palming Honey’s ass over his soaked boxers.

Honey frowns. “Trevor,” she complains. “Ugh, you’re so mean to me. You got my shoes all wet.”

“You started it,” Trevor tells her. He nuzzles against Honey’s neck and kisses up to her mouth. 

“Ugh, but now I have to put my shoes in the dryer,” Honey says. “Maybe I’ll use the dryer at the Nook so that I don’t break my own, but I bet Ada would get mad at me.”

“I don’t know how Ada could get mad at your pretty face,” Trevor murmurs. 

“I don’t think she cares about how pretty I am,” Honey replies. She kisses him briefly, then swims back to the pier and pulls herself up. “Neither will you when I drip all over the interior of your car.”

“Nah, you’re always pretty to me,” Trevor says, paddling after her. “I think I’d think you’re pretty even when you’re deathly ill.”

“I hope you never see me when I’m deathly ill,” Honey scolds, cutting her eyes at Trevor. “I’m notoriously grumpy when I’m sick. Bea hates it.”

“Bea doesn’t like you as much as I do.” Trevor pulls himself onto the pier as well, then whips off his shirt and wrings it out. “That’s just a fact.”

“I don’t know, Trev. She’s known me longer.”

“Not quite as intimately,” Trevor says. He pulls Honey closer, looping his wet shirt over her shoulders and dragging her forward. He bends down and kisses her. “Wanna sneak back into the house and spend the night with me?”

“Maybe we go straight to my house instead?” Honey asks.

“I don’t have clothes there,” Trevor points out.

Honey eyes Trevor. “You don’t need clothes at my house, Trev.”

“Oh!” He exclaims. His teeth glint under the moonlight, smile wolfish. “If you want me naked, just say so.”

“I will claim no such thing.”

Trevor hums. “You don’t have to say it out loud. I know the truth. You need more milk from your cow.”

Honey laughs. “That sounds so gross when you say it like that,” she groans.

Trevor draws Honey’s t-shirt up as much as he can before she shoves it back down, covering her stomach and the underboob that Trevor exposed. She glares at him, but all Trevor does is grin. 

With his hair all wet and stringy like that, and his nose dripping with water droplets, and his skin glimmering under the moonlight, Honey can’t do anything but take back her glare and kiss him again.

67:90 – TREVOR

“When do you guys leave?” Honey asks, reaching into the communal pile of laundry and coming up with a t-shirt. “Whose is this?”

“Mine,” Luke says.

“We leave tomorrow,” Quinn adds. 

Honey folds the shirt and hands it to Luke to put in his pile. She frowns. “What about–”

“We’re not leaving until after the softball game, don’t worry,” Bea assures Honey. “I already signed the boys up to play, anyway, so we can’t miss it. Earl wouldn’t be happy with us if we left early and took three of his players.”

“I’m surprised you’re going to Michigan with the guys,” Trevor tells Bea offhandedly, folding some of Cole’s socks into a little ball and launching them at the boy. “Are you ready to hang out with Ellen and Jim while the boys are on the shoot?”

“I don’t think I’ll be hanging out with them that much,” Bea laughs. “Q said I could come to the shoot if I wanted.”

“Big Jim will take you golfing, probably,” Cole says. “He’s finally got someone he can beat.”

“He’ll be sorely disappointed when I turn him down,” Bea replies. “I’d rather tan at the pool.”

“You can do whatever you want at the house,” Quinn says directly to Bea. “Don’t let Mom and Dad pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do.” He pats Bea’s behind before grabbing another article of clothing from the pile.

Doing communal laundry has become a once a week thing. It’s easier for them to do laundry together than to each do laundry for themselves– plus, this way, there are at least five people doing the folding. The pile of clothes disappears much quicker when they’re all helping out, rather than when Trevor would do his laundry alone.

“What’s the schedule like for the shoot?” Honey asks.

Jack shrugs. “We’ll be there all day, probably. We have to do a lot of media so they can stagger the release. Then Quinn and Bea are coming back on Monday so that Bea can go to work–” He pointedly side-eyes Honey, who shrugs with one shoulder and smiles to herself. Trevor presumes she made a big deal out of Bea missing a week of work to hang out in Michigan, not that it truly matters. “And Luke and I will hang out at the house with Mom and Dad until next Thursday.”

“We’ll be without you for a whole week?” Honey laments sarcastically, grabbing Jack’s left hand with both of her own and holding it close to her chest, like she’s clutching at her pearls. “Whatever will we do!”

Jack pulls his hand free and sneers at Honey. “Fuck off.”

“He’s excited to go home,” Cole says, grinning widely and reaching over to punch Jack’s arm. “Jack might never come back, actually. You know it was a big fight to get him here in the first place.”

“I’ll come back,” Jack groans, lips tilted down like they always are when people start to poke fun at him. “It wasn’t that big a deal when we first got here.”

“We had to triple-belt you in the backseat,” Trevor says. He snorts out a laugh and grabs a pair of Jack’s underwear from the pile– they’d all decided separately that they’d do their intimates on their own time, but Jack seems to have missed the memo. Well, that, or he just doesn’t care.

“You didn’t have to,” Jack grumbles. “You just did it to piss me off. It’s like how you made me take the first shift driving, even though I’d just woken up.”

“Technically, it wasn’t the first shift,” Trevor corrects. “After all, Coley and I had to drive down to N.J. to pick you up.”

Jack’s face stiffens and sours. “I don’t want to hear about your technicalities,” he says.

Trevor shrugs, smug because Jack can’t manage to form a proper reply… likely because Trevor stated only facts and Jack can’t be delusional when faced with facts.

“It’s okay, Jacky. I’m not so emotionally repressed that I can’t admit when I’ll miss someone,” Honey tells him in a sickeningly sweet voice, petting over Jack’s shoulder. “I’ll say it enough for the both of us. We’ll miss you so much while you’re gone for one whole week. I mean, what’s Trevor going to do without you?”

To seal her joke, Trevor makes a kissy face at Jack. 

Jack doesn’t take the joke well, even though everyone else is chuckling at the unfolding events. He curls his lip at Trevor, looking judgmental and offended. 

The conversation lulls after that. The pile is down to the last ten items– all pairs of Jack’s underpants– and everyone disperses.

Cole and Bea disappear upstairs to make some bowls of ice cream for the group, Honey and Luke head off to the foosball table to compete in something new for a change, and Quinn sits down in the middle of the sofa and kicks his legs up on the coffee table in front of him. He whistles as he sits, the opposite of intimidating, so Trevor decides to join him. Jack is still folding his own laundry.

“Hey, man,” Trevor says, knocking Quinn with his elbow as he hops over the back of the couch and settles down on the cushion next to Quinn.

Quinn side-eyes him. “Hey.”

“What’s up?”

“Why are you talking to me,” Quinn replies in a monotone voice.

Trevor rolls his eyes. Can’t he talk to his friend without a fight? “Because you’re so approachable,” he tells Quinn sarcastically. “No, really. I was going to ask you about going to Mich.”

“What about going to Michigan?” Quinn asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Are you excited to go back?” Trevor asks. His questions start easy– he doesn’t want Quinn to refuse to answer him right away. He gives himself four questions before Quinn frowns and leaves the couch.

Quinn looks at Trevor. “Yeah. Michigan is fun.”

Well, he’s responding, but he’s giving Trevor absolutely nothing to work with. Trevor might as well cut to the chase now and evict Quinn from the couch with his questions.

He will refrain– Trevor wants to get full use of all four of his questions.

“Did Jim get the boat ready for y’all?” Trevor asks. 

“Y’all,” Quinn repeats with a scoff. “Careful, Z. You’re starting to sound like Honey.”

“Not Honey,” Trevor says with a look over his shoulder. He wants to make sure no one is listening in. “I’m just picking up the colloquialisms of the locals.”

Quinn’s eyes widen and he laughs. “The colloquialisms? We’ve gotta get you out of here. You’re starting to sound smart. That’s against nature.”

Trevor rolls his eyes. He’s smart. He reads books. It’s not Litchton’s fault that he seems intelligent. “Well, did he?”

“He’s been keeping the boat warm all summer,” Quinn says. “Just because we aren’t there doesn’t mean Jim and Ellen can’t enjoy the water. They’re still doing all the normal shit, just without us.”

“Bro, you’re so dry,” Trevor complains. “I’m just trying to talk with you.”

“No, Trevor, you’re trying to butter me up so I don’t walk away when you ask me about Bea. Go ahead and ask. I know you want to.”

How does he know? Is he a psychic? A mind reader? Does Trevor hate Quinn– possibly. He gets closer and closer to saying yes every day. Just when they make headway… they stop.

Fine. Three questions is enough for Trevor.

“Why did you invite her?” Trevor asks, trying not to sound as blunt as the question is. 

“To Michigan,” Quinn clarifies. “Why did I invite her to Michigan?”

“Yeah,” Trevor says.

Quinn starts to laugh, loud. “Because she’s my girlfriend, Trevor. Yeah, I’m going to take her home with me and my brothers.”

Trevor checks over his shoulders. Honey is watching him, one eyebrow raised. Everyone else is minding their business– everyone else being Luke, as Jack has gone upstairs to put his laundry away and Bea and Cole have not returned yet.

“Yeah, but, like, you’re breaking up,” Trevor says. “Why would you take her home if you’re breaking up?”

“God, you guys are all obsessed with me and Bea breaking up,” Quinn groans. “It’s not the end of the world. We’re on the same page– her and me. That’s it. We’re the only people who need to know about our relationship.”

“That’s fine, I just don’t get it,” Trevor concedes, frowning at Quinn. “I’m asking because I want you to explain it to me.”

“I don’t know why you need to know so bad,” Quinn deflects.

Trevor shakes his head in frustration and leans in close. “My girlfriend cares a whole lot about Bea’s happiness,” Trevor hisses lowly. “So, yeah, I need as much information as I can get. For her.”

“Don’t act like you’re asking this for Honey,” Quinn says. “You’re nosy, bro. You’re asking this for yourself.”

Trevor pauses, staring at Quinn. “Look, I know I get on your nerves, man. I get that you would hang with any of the other guys over me,” he informs Quinn in his lowest, deadliest voice. “But we’re still buddies. We’ve known each other forever. I’m allowed to ask about your life. So, really, Quinn. Why did you invite Bea to the lake house?”

Quinn’s eyes drift over to the aforementioned girl, who is now bounding down the stairs with two bowls of ice cream in her hands. She beelines for Honey, handing over the bowl in her left hand, and begins eating one of the scoops in her own bowl. Her eyes are rapt on the foosball table and Quinn’s are stuck on her. He smiles slightly and Trevor thinks that he’s forgotten about the question.

“We just want to spend as much time together as we can before I go,” Quinn replies.

Trevor looks over his shoulder, following Quinn’s gaze. Bea has turned to them and sticks her tongue out at Quinn, a bit of ice cream still coating the muscle. She smiles wide.

Next to Bea, Honey’s got a look of determination on her face that is unrivaled by any of the competitive men in the house. Her lips are pressed together, teeth gnawing at the inside of her cheeks, and her knuckles are nearly white against the rods that control her foosball team.

God, she’s gorgeous. They spent nearly twenty-four hours together yesterday– and into this morning– and Trevor still hasn’t quite gotten his fill of her. They should go upstairs. They should go upstairs, to Trevor’s bed, and never leave it. They’ll teleport back to Anaheim together and Trevor will only teleport out of bed to go to the rink for practices and games, otherwise he’ll be stuck to Honey’s side like gorilla glue.

Quinn’s words make a lot of sense. It’s the first of August. They’ve only got twenty-four days left together. Why wouldn’t Bea go to Michigan with the boys? 

“Yeah,” Trevor breathes out. He nods, but it’s mostly to himself. “I get it.”

When Luke gives up on foosball and runs to take his own laundry upstairs, Trevor gets up from the couch and joins Honey. 

“Are you free tonight?” Trevor mumbles, tugging on her belt loop discreetly as he adjusts the pronged scoring unit on the end of the table. He straightens out the goalie so that he’s standing tall.

“Are you trying to come over?” Honey replies.

“I thought we’d try again on the whole ‘I like you’ thing,” Trevor teases. “No lake this time. Just you, me, and my tongue on your pretty pussy. How many times do you think I can make you come before you say that you like me?”

Honey blanches and looks around the basement. “Someone could hear you, Trevor.”

Trevor looks down. “Do you think we could tell them sometime?” He’s fiddling with the foosball players now, rounding the other side of the table and taking two of the rods in his hands. He’s sheepish when he continues and as quiet as he can be without anyone other than Honey hearing him. Cole has finally returned downstairs, as has Jack. “I want– I miss touching you.” 

Honey makes a soft noise in the back of her throat. “We can… talk about it. Later. Saturday. When everyone’s gone.”

“Cole won’t be gone,” Trevor points out, but he’s smiling. Honey is willing to have a conversation about going public– that’s a good sign.

Honey stares at him with a reproachful eye. 

“I’ll dispose of him,” Trevor amends, trying to hide his smile from the girl. He doesn’t want her to know how excited he is that they’re moving forward in their relationship. If he can just get her to admit that she has feelings for him, then they’ll be golden.

“Good,” Honey tells him curtly. “Now drop the ball– I’m gonna kick your butt. Whoever loses has to pay Griffin for the weed we’ll consume while the Hugheses are gone.”

68:90 – HONEY

“Stop heckling me!” Jack snaps. His head turns towards the bleachers so quickly that he might have given himself whiplash. He points the end of the bat at Bea and Honey, glaring ferociously. “How do you expect me to bat when you’re yelling constantly?”

“Aren’t you an athlete?” Honey calls back. “You can’t handle a little heckling from the audience?”

“My audience is always behind the glass!”

“Stop making excuses!” Bea shouts, shaking her fist above her head. “Hit the ball!”

“Yeah, hit the ball!” Cole echos from second base. 

“You guys should be ejected,” Jack grumbles with a scowl. 

“We’ve been coming to these games a lot longer than you have, Jack,” Honey tells him. “You’re just some eye candy for the ladies. Right, ladies?”

Scarlett hoots next to Honey, clapping enthusiastically. 

Litchton’s annual softball game usually goes one of two ways: not enough people sign up to play and they dissolve the game after three innings or…

Well, they’re in the fifth inning now and the concession stand– Sarah and her husband’s traveling bar cart from the wine shop– is almost out of alcohol. Honey, Bea, and the ladies practically monopolized the shooters that Sarah brought. The seven of them had finished all thirty of the shooters by the time the third inning ended. It’s not as crazy as it sounds, to be fair. It was only four shots each, plus an extra for Honey and Bea. The founding ladies of Litchton had claimed that they were too old to take the remaining shots… even though they had been the ones to choose the stronger drink before the game started. They could’ve had wine or beer, but Scarlett had moseyed behind her daughter’s cart and nabbed the entire pack of tiny vodka bottles for the price of “Sarah, I put clothes on your back and food on your plate for the first two decades of your life, these drinks cost less than that did!”

A lot of the game’s success can be attributed to the boys. It’s not that the other players aren’t good, it’s just that they know each other too well to be competitive. 

Earl can’t run anymore, so he’s the permanent pitcher. He stands on the mound and trash-talks every person who comes to the plate, especially the people in town that he’s known their whole lives. The best part is that he always knows exactly what to say to piss those people off and break their focus.

Some of the outsiders– specifically Quinn, Trevor, and Cole– are able to escape Earl’s teasing. They brush it off easily. Quinn handles the jibes about Bea well, chuckling and shaking his head before choking up on the bat. When he hits the ball to the back corner of the field, where Sacha’s husband stands every year despite needing a cane in the winter months, Quinn blows Bea a kiss as he jogs through the bases. Earl doesn’t bring Bea up after that.

Cole escapes because he’s Vera’s favorite– Honey is nearly certain that she’d told Earl something that morning, banning him from talking bad to her Sweetie. Honey can hear it now, imagining Vera taking out her curlers and eying Earl in her vanity mirror, saying, “Now, I better not hear you talk bad to that young man on the field today. He has been nothing but kind and sweet to us, helpin’ with inventory and unloadin’ things for the store. You oughta treat him with some respect.” There’s no confirmation that Vera actually said anything to Earl, but the man only grunts with a stink-eye when Cole comes up to bat. Vera claps and hollers each time he hits the ball and Cole runs through the bases like Rocky, arms raised above his head.

Honey will admit that she was nervous when Trevor came up to bat. Earl knows about her and Trevor– the same way that, apparently, he knows about Bea and Quinn. Her heart was racing when Earl opened his mouth, but all he’s been doing is spouting trash-talk about Trevor’s appearance: his tattoos, his hair that’s too long (well, Earl is an army man and a boomer, so…), his short shorts, and that stupid athletic brace he’s wearing around his ankle. She’s glad that Earl isn’t saying anything, but she also knows that he could. Honey didn’t ask him to keep her relationship hush-hush. All she’d done was say that she didn’t know if Trevor really felt… all that way about her.

Maybe her hesitation had been enough of a sign for Earl to keep quiet. Honey has always liked him and he’s always liked her, in his grumpy old-man grandfather-figure way.

Jack and Luke are a different story. Luke blushes too easily and always greets Earl sheepishly, ever since he’d been called out for chopping his own wood instead of buying some at the hardware store. That makes him an easy target. Jack is too darn cocky for his own good, which is perfect for Earl. With the help of the girls on the sideline, who find it hilarious to giggle about Jack until he’s pouting and shouting in their direction, Earl is able to get under his skin and strike him out. It’s been that way for the last three innings. Jack hasn’t had a good hit since the ladies on the bleachers stopped drinking.

He’s winding up and glaring at Earl again, probably ready to claim that he didn’t hit the ball because the sun was in his eyes, when Bea lays herself down along the bleachers and puts her head on Honey’s lap.

“What are you going to do while I’m gone?” Bea asks conversationally.

Honey brings her hand to Bea’s hair and traces it absentmindedly, leaning back on her other palm and lifting her face to bathe her features in the sunlight. It feels nice, like a physical touch, but that’s probably only because Honey is tipsy. “Look at your picture and cry, probably,” Honey teases. “Because I’ll miss you so much.”

Bea’s lips curl into a soft smile, her eyes glinting with affection. “I love it when you’re sweet to me,” she decides. “Sometimes I really think you’re tired of me by now.”

Honey snorts. “I don’t think I could get tired of you, Buzz. If I could, I think we’d know it by now.”

“Where are you going?” Rosalind asks Bea, leaning forward and patting her knee. “You didn’t tell us anything about a vacation when we were knitting this week.”

“It’s a recent thing,” Bea says, waving her off. “I didn’t know I was going on Tuesday. The brothers and I are leaving for Michigan tonight, they have a couple of appointments for their jobs and they wanted to visit their parents. Quinn asked if I wanted to come, so I said yes. We’re heading out after the game.”

“Are you flying?” Sacha asks. “It’s a bit late to be flying, sweetheart. You oughta be on your way if you’re driving down to Charlotte.”

Bea plasters a big smile onto her face. “We are driving,” she says. She pulls her lips back into a grimace, but there’s still a hint of excitement in her expression. “It’s a little over 9 hours and we’re leaving after the game. The boys are going to drive about three hours each and then Q and I will split it on the way back.”

Perhaps Honey and Bea don’t talk enough, or Honey doesn’t ask the right questions, because she had no idea that they’d be driving. Bea’s going to be exhausted on Tuesday when she gets back to work and for once, it won’t be because she was up too late in bed with her boyfriend. 

“That’s a long drive,” Honey says. “Are you going to be okay coming to work after that?”

Bea laughs. “Baby-Honey,” she says as if she can’t believe Honey’s concern. “I’ll be fine. Q and I planned the road trip perfectly. We’ll be back at, like, 7:30 on Monday. We’ll get a full night of sleep and everything.”

Honey wants to sass “Oh, you will?” because she knows that Bea and Quinn have never been very committed to a full night’s sleep, but she won’t say that in front of the ladies. Instead, she just nods and watches Luke switch places with Jack– he’d struck out yet again. 

“Oh! You girls might tell me,” Gillian says suddenly. “All Emma-Kate said was that her date was ‘good.’ She won’t say anything else! Where did they go? What did they do? Was Luke kind to her?”

“He is a sweetheart,” Bea tells Gillian. She sits up from Honey’s lap, turning to face the elderly woman. Her back is to the game now, but Honey is still watching. Earl has already made Luke turn bright pink and he swings and misses the first pitch.

“C’mon, Lukey, you’re better than that!” Honey calls, cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice.

Luke glances her way, but doesn’t interact. 

“Stop heckling!” Jack shouts again, from the dugout this time. “Don’t make me come over there and eject you myself!”

Honey sticks her tongue out at Jack before returning to the conversation around her.

“...then they got ice cream at Sweet Scoop, duh, and they hung out at the rental house for a while. I think they watched a movie,” Bea tells Gillian.

Gillian quirks an eyebrow. “They hung out at the house? I know what you kids mean by that these days. My Emma-Kate is too young for that sort of thing.”

Honey titters, pressing a hand to her lips to cover her mouth. Emma-Kate has been in college for two years and even before that, when she would hang out with Honey and Bea while she visited Litchton in the summers, she was very interested in the romantic lives that the girls lived. She was enthralled with Bea’s ability to date guys casually and feel so confident in herself and she was captivated by the way Honey felt perfectly fine without male attention. Emma-Kate has been capable of making her own romantic and sexual decisions for a long time– at least, it feels that way. She’s 20 years old now, but she’s been asking questions since she was 15. Honey is pretty sure that Emma-Kate has ventured into that world by now.

“All we know is that they held hands after getting ice cream,” Honey tells Gillian. “I didn’t see him kiss her and Luke is a gentleman. He probably wasn’t doing all of that with Emma-Kate, especially not the first time he met her. They’re both smarter than that.”

“Okay, I wouldn’t say it’s about being smart,” Bea jumps in, turning her head and frowning at Honey.

Honey rolls her eyes. Of course Bea takes issue with her words, even though Honey has never insulted Bea’s intelligence. She’s a very smart girl. So what if she sleeps with people– Quinn– the first time she meets them? “This isn’t a slight at you,” Honey tells her. “I’m just saying that Emma-Kate and Luke probably didn’t rush into it.”

“Probably not,” Bea agrees. She looks at Gillian. “He might’ve kissed her goodnight when he dropped her off, but I wasn’t there, so I can’t tell you.”

Gillian continues chatting, as do the ladies around them, but Honey and Bea fix their attention on the softball game. Luke managed to hit a single, so he’s on the first base. Cole is on third. Quinn and Trevor are on the field this inning, but they’re due to switch soon. Trevor is in center field and Quinn is on first base, playfully blocking Luke from stealing 2nd base. Jessie’s husband Tyler strikes out, which is the final out of the inning, and then they switch.

Thus starts the sixth inning. They’ve been at the game for what feels like forever, since the morning. It takes time to choose the teams and the positions and, in the many years that they’ve been doing this, no one has made a move to make teams beforehand. Every year, the town swears they will and every year, they forget. It’s been long enough that Honey is starting to wish she was out there– she used to play softball, way back when. She could show these guys a thing or two.

“Actually, I have something I want to ask you ladies about,” Bea says suddenly, swiveling around to straddle the bench and face everyone. 

Honey turns to her, intrigued. She eventually turns all the way around so that she, Bea, and the ladies are forming a circle. Her back is to the game, but she can hear Earl chirping Trevor for his white crew socks, now riddled with dirt. 

“I’m not asking this because of anything,” Bea clarifies seriously. “So don’t go assuming and don’t go talking to anyone else about it.” She points a finger at each of the ladies, waiting for them to nod before she continues. “How long did it take for your husbands to say ‘I love you?’ Or did they even say it first? How did you feel about it?” 

Honey feels like her blood actually runs cold. Obviously, Bea is asking this because of the things that Quinn has been saying for a few weeks. After deciding the whole ‘I love you’ thing was a nonissue, Honey hadn’t even told Bea about her thoughts. 

But she knows now, because as soon as Bea finished asking that question, she made eye contact with Honey to come to a silent understanding about her question– which Honey understood the implications of without making eye contact with the girl. When Bea looked over, though, she caught the way Honey’s eyes widened, her cheeks flushed, and her body tensed up. It wasn’t a voluntary reaction, but Bea caught it nonetheless. Since she can read Honey as well as Honey can read Bea, she seems to immediately know what Honey’s reaction signifies.

Bea narrows her eyes at Honey and parts her lips as if to say something, but she snaps her mouth shut and furrows her brow even tighter for just a moment before turning back to the women, who have started talking.

“I don’t think I have a good answer for you, since Earl and I were married after two months of dating. He says he knew since the moment he saw me, but I don’t think we actually said we loved each other until the wedding. He just wanted to take care of me in case he died during the War,” Vera says with a laugh. “It was a very controversial relationship at the time. We were the talk of the town.”

“I remember that!” Rosalind says. “We all thought you were crazy for marrying him. I don’t care if you both grew up in Litchton, you were crazy for marrying a man so soon! Especially not that grump, he’s been the same since he came into this world.”

“He’s a man of few words, not a grump,” Vera corrects.

Honey stifles a smile, dipping her head and looking at her knees. Earl is a grump. Vera’s been using the same statement to defend him for fifty years.

“Did you say it back?” Bea asks.

Vera nods. “It was our wedding. I mean, I felt like I loved him after that first dance at Scruffy’s. God created us for each other and He decided to put me and Earl together at that exact moment. God chose Earl to walk alongside me and help me grow, and when you meet that person, you know. It’s not just fate, you know, it’s God’s grace.”

She means well and Honey knows that Bea can understand what she’s saying, even take it to heart. The problem is that Honey doesn’t believe in the power that Vera, Bea, and the other ladies do. Nothing brought Trevor to her– it all just happened. By chance, he came here. By chance, he ran into her at the fruit stand. She’s not sure why Trevor chose her– not when Bea is right there and so much easier to deal with than Honey is– but he did. And he continues to do so. 

Honey’s chest grows a little tighter. 

The ladies are nodding solemnly. Bea hums, but her eyes slide over to Honey. She’s always been really good about this– steering the conversation away from religion when Honey grows too uncomfortable. It reminds her of the past. 

She used to believe. She really did. Honey went to church with her parents and knew Bible stories, even verses. She would pray. All of that changed when the rest of her life turned upside-down. Before she came to Litchton, Honey felt like she was crying out into a void, with nothing but her own voice echoing back at her. Her calls for guidance went unanswered and the silence was suffocating… and Honey’s belief was completely shaken. 

In the first year, Bea tried to reassure Honey with the typical phrases: “God has a plan,” “Everything according to His will,” and so on. They’d gotten into a screaming match one night in Honey’s house, in the dead of winter, and Honey had finally broken. It’s one of her worst moments, one of those things that happen that you immediately regret. She doesn’t even remember what she said– something about how she told God she needed him and he was radio-silent, unwilling to take away her pain– but Honey remembers the look on Bea’s face and the way she’d dissolved into tears, hugging Honey and apologizing for the hurt, unable to let go. Bea always cries during a fight, and even when she has to confront someone in a calm setting, but that was different. Bea never tried to sway Honey about that again, and Honey has never tried to convince Bea that she’s right.

Honey wishes things were as simple as divine intervention. Maybe then, she’d be able to give Trevor all the things he wants without questioning herself. It’s just… more complicated than that.

“What about you all?” Bea asks, looking around. “You didn’t get married after two months. You didn’t know right away, did you?”

Scarlett laughs. “God, no. Sammy didn’t catch my eye until we’d grown up and gone to college and gotten our jobs back here. I’d known him my whole life, but I never thought for a second that I’d love him. Our dating was very casual, you know, because I had to see my options.”

Bea nods very seriously, which makes Honey want to laugh. Scarlett and Bea are two peas in a pod, just born in different generations.

“I think once we started going steady, I started to fall in love with him. He said it first, but it was about… golly, I can barely remember. Six months, maybe? We’d been together for a little while, and he was always slower than me and I sure as hell wasn’t going to say it first, so I think it was about six months. That was a good day,” Scarlett says. “And I did say it back to him, after he’d finally grown the balls to do so.”

“I think William told me he loved me around six months, too,” Sacha adds. “It wasn’t a big deal. We were talking on the phone after dinner one night because he was on a work trip in Philadelphia and I was in Charlotte still, working as a secretary, and he said it when we said goodbye. Casual as can be. I said it back and then I hung up and then I realized what happened and I called Vera– ‘cause she was the only married one of us at the time– and we talked about it all night long.”

“Oh, that was so fun,” Vera says. “I felt like we were gigglin’ at a sleepover and Ma was about to come in the room and tell us to be quiet, or else.”

“Ma loved that ‘or else,’” Rosalind laughs. “That’s what I had to say to Doug. We’d been datin’ for almost a year and he still hadn’t said it, so one day I put my fork down at dinner and I said, ‘Doug. Do you love me?’ and he said ‘Yes, ma’am,’ ‘cause you know Doug is all proper and respectful like that given how his mama was, and I said, ‘Well, you better say it more or else I’m leavin’ you for someone who will!’”

Honey laughs at the way Rosalind delivers the lines, looking out at the field and catching Doug’s position at shortstop. He’s one of their regular customers at The Reading Nook, now that he’s retired from his job as a dentist and found himself with too much time on his hands. He’s always reading James Patterson books. They keep having to order new ones so that he doesn’t run out or reread the same one twice. 

“And he’s said it every day since,” Rosalind finishes with a grandiose smile.

All eyes turn expectantly to Gillian. 

“I’m not retelling that story again for y’all to laugh at me,” Gillian complains. “You’ve beaten that thing like a dead horse.”

That is definitely not the saying, but Honey isn’t going to correct her.

“C’mon Gilly,” Vera says. “It’s not that bad. We only laugh because you’re still embarrassed over it.”

“What happened?” Bea asks, lips splitting into a smile. “Is it bad?”

“No,” Gillian replies. “It’s not bad. I just happened to say it first. And Art was asleep, so I got away with it. The girls will never let me live it down.”

“Because you packed up all your stuff and high-tailed it over to my apartment to hide from him!” Sacha laughs. “You came all the way to Charlotte just to escape three little words that your boyfriend didn’t hear you say.”

“But he could have,” Gillian argues. “And he would probably think I was crazy!”

That piques Honey’s interest. “Why would he think you’re crazy?” She asks.

Gillian sulks, snapping her mouth shut.

“They’d only been datin’ a month,” Scarlett reveals, patting Gillian’s back and rubbing it. “But it’s fine, because we all trip up and we all make mistakes and you’re still together to this day.”

“Because he didn’t hear me,” Gillian insists. “I’ve never been so lucky that construction tires that man out. His head hits the pillow and he’s done for the day. We hadn’t been dating long enough for me to know that. I was just going into his room to say goodnight– I was staying over because the kitchen in my apartment had caught fire in the middle of the night and I was scared it was going to happen again, I wasn’t sleeping in the same bed with him like you girls do nowadays– and I said, ‘See you tomorrow, Art. Sleep well. I love you,’ like some damn fool!”

“I’m surprised you didn’t wake him up with all that noise you made, running away,” Vera says. “But you’ve always been very lucky, so it’s alright.” She turns to Bea. “I know you said no assuming, so I’m just asking you a question.” She raises an eyebrow. “Is this about a certain young man who comes to church with you every Sunday?”

Bea smiles, then zips her lips, locks them, and throws away the key. 

The ladies cajole about it, saying that that’s not fair, they told their stories so Bea ought to too… but Honey is elsewhere. She chuckles to herself to save face and make sure the ladies don’t notice that she’s stuck in her own head. 

She watches Trevor on the field– they must be in the next inning by now, since he’s back in the center of the grass– and can’t seem to string anything together into a coherent thought. Her head is full of fuzz and fog, thoughts crowded so closely together that she can’t distinguish a single letter, word, picture, or idea. 

Bea bumps Honey’s shoulder. “You okay?” she asks quietly. 

“Yeah,” Honey answers. “I was… caught off guard by that.”

“Because…?” Bea trails off, her eyes flickering over to Trevor.

Honey shakes her head. “Nothing happened with him,” she says. “I don’t know.” She grows quieter, although Honey knows all of the ladies at least suspect that she and Trevor are an item. “Even if it did, he’s… he lives in California.”

Bea exhales at her words, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, she touches Honey’s knee. “Yeah. That’s about where I’m at, too.” There’s a pause, then her lips quirk into a smile. “With a few notable differences.”

Like the fact that he’s already said it, Honey thinks to herself, but she doesn’t say it out loud. She knows that’s what Bea is thinking. They continue to look out at Trevor, who’s standing in the field with his hands folded on top of his head, elbows pointed out from his body. He’s standing very casually. The other team is a group of high schoolers, middle-aged dads, and Jack and Luke. Trevor seems very assured that nothing will reach him.

The crack of the bat says otherwise. Trevor’s arms drop to his sides and he seems to wake up, looking skyward. Honey and Bea jerk their attention towards the space between first and home base, where Jack is running. He points at them as he passes, shouting, “See what happens when you’re not heckling?”

69:90 – TREVOR

There is a lawn mower running in Honey’s backyard. It wakes him up. Trevor knows it’s not Honey who’s driving it because he’s got his arm wrapped around her waist and his lips are smushed against the back of her shoulderblade. There’s a bit of drool pooling in the corner of his mouth, probably cooling against Honey’s skin, but Trevor can’t be bothered to move. Honey is warm against his front and he likes that they’re both naked in bed. 

“Who’s that,” Trevor questions, although the slurred and sleepy words fall flat when they leave his mouth.

“It’s Griff,” Honey replies. Her voice is as thick as Trevor’s and, to his dismay, she starts to shuffle out of his arms. “He told me he was coming today.”

“No,” Trevor drawls, elongating the word and rolling flat onto his stomach as he occupies the space where Honey was. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I have to go pay the guy, Trev. He doesn’t mow my grass or supply me with weed for free, I’m not Bea,” Honey says. She sits on the edge of the bed for a second, legs curved over the side of the mattress. She takes a big deep breath before she stands, like she’s bracing herself for the day.

Trevor cracks an eye open and watches Honey pull on those old boxers she loves, then a tiny white tank top that does nothing to hide her nipples. He moans into the pillow, annoyed that their day is apparently starting and that Honey is planning to go talk to a man in such scant clothing. If this guy is her weed dealer, he’ll probably look at her tits, too. “Put on your robe or something,” Trevor complains. “I don’t want this guy to see your tits.”

“Griffin doesn’t care about my tits, babe.” Honey scratches gently over Trevor’s back, soothing him with her nails. 

Trevor moans more softly this time, muffled against the pillow. He can feel his cock stir against the mattress, just from Honey’s touch. “Just come back quick, I wanna go back to sleep. Can I put my cock inside you while we sleep? You’re so warm.”

“Mmm… let me think about that. Probably not this morning,” Honey says. “Stay here while I talk to Griffin, okay?”

Trevor pushes himself up onto his elbows. “Wait, is this the same Griffin who’s the cop?”

“That’s the one!” Honey replies cheerfully. She leaves Trevor alone in the bed, traipsing down from the loft with quiet steps. 

Trevor buries his face back in the pillow, Honey’s pillow, and wraps his arms around it. It smells like her– all vanilla and laundry detergent. She washed her sheets on Thursday. She’s almost militant with her bedsheet schedule; she washes them on the 1st and the 15th of every month, normally. She’s had to wash them more often since Trevor has been around, given that her sheets usually get sweaty and wet when he’s around. 

Not that he’s bragging. It’s merely a fact. 

He dozes off while Honey is gone, only coming back to full consciousness once the bed dips and Honey tucks Trevor’s hair behind his ear. “I’m going to have to douse one of my shirts in perfume for you before you leave, aren’t I,” Honey teases softly. “I wasn’t even gone ten minutes and you’re holding onto my pillow for dear life, Trev.”

“Missed you,” Trevor sighs. He stretches, holding onto Honey’s pillow with one hand as he rolls onto his back and spreads his arms to the side. “Cuddle me.”

“So needy,” Honey laughs. She pulls the tank top over her head and tosses it to the foot of the bed, then discards her boxers. Trevor bites his lower lip as he takes her in, then Honey climbs back into bed and curls up into his arms. “What do you want to do today?”

“I want to go back to bed for now,” Trevor replies. The clock on Honey’s nightstand says that it’s not even 8:00. “We can sleep ‘til whenever, but I don’t want to leave this bed until, like, ten.” He kisses over Honey’s face, even as she giggles and tries to push him away. “And then we can do whatever you want.”

Honey groans. “Ugh, I don’t know if I can fall asleep again. Usually, once I’m up, I just get up.”

“Well, that’s okay, we can go make breakfast if you want,” Trevor offers.

“No,” Honey says, pressing her palm against Trevor’s bare chest. “No-no. We’ll take a little nap because it’s what you want to do, and then we’ll smoke a little bit because it’s what I want to do. Griffin brought the goods over this morning. The mowed lawn was just a perk.”

Trevor snuffles out a laugh. “Do you think it’s weird that you get drugs from a cop?”

Honey frowns. “No. Griffin can’t smoke it, and it’s not like they can burn it, and the old guys don’t know how to get rid of it. They just let Griff take care of it. It’s not like there’s a lot of weed running rampant in Litchton, so this is a luxury.” Honey puckers her lips and waits for Trevor to kiss her before continuing. “Plus, we have texts from him about selling the weed. So if he ever arrested us, we could literally prove that he was the dealer. He’d be caught up in it too.”

“You’re evil,” Trevor tells Honey, although he doesn’t mean it. “Blackmailing a cop.”

“We’re not blackmailing, it’s a mutual understanding,” Honey says with an eyeroll. “He’s a friend. Hey–”

“Hey,” Trevor interrupts, grinning stupidly when Honey cuts her eyes at him.

“–Speaking of friends, do you think Cole is going to be lonely without you at the house today?” 

“I think he’s okay,” Trevor says with a laugh. “When I left last night, he was in the hot tub with a beer. He’s probably doing just fine. He lives alone most of the time, so an empty house is probably very refreshing.”

“Hmm, I’ll believe you,” Honey decides. She narrows her eyes suspiciously at Trevor for a moment, then cuddles even closer to Trevor. She plants a kiss securely between his pecs, along his sternum– right over his heart– and rests her head there. She closes her eyes.

Trevor pulls her closer and falls back asleep.

The next time they wake, Honey’s head is tucked into Trevor’s neck and she’s laying with her leg over his hip. Her tits are pressed up against Trevor’s torso and, really, how can he be blamed for having half of a hard-on whenever she’s around? She’s making little noises against his neck. They’re not quite snores, but that’s the closest comparison. Her arms are wrapped tightly around his waist, preventing Trevor from going anywhere. Not that he would.

With a look at the clock, Trevor can see that it’s past 9:00. He reaches over to the nightstand and finds his phone, which he hasn’t opened since he got to Honey’s house last night. He’d actually turned it off– if Cole needed anything, he’d have to call 911 or one of the Hughes boys. As Trevor turns the phone back on, the messages start to roll in.

And they keep. Coming.

Message after message comes in. Trevor watches them appear, watches the tiny red bubble at the corner of his message app grow and grow. At first, he’s concerned that something happened. He waits for the messages to stop popping up, then enters the app to check the damage. 

His mind goes in a number of directions– something happened at home, something happened to his family, someone died, he got traded out of nowhere, he’s going to have to move to another city and cut his time in Litchton short…

Save for four texts, which are from his mom, Jamie, and Cole, every message is from Bea.

One hundred and twenty six messages.

All from Bea.

Trevor presses his lips together in a thin line, clicking on her messages and scrolling to the top.

As he reads through the barrage of messages, Trevor feels like he’s seeing red. Every message is from Bea’s stream of consciousness– he’d be fine if Bea had sent over a hundred messages about “oh the car broke down,” “we have a popped tire,” “i think we have to stop for a hotel because xyz happened”... but all of them… every single one… is a complaint, question, or thought about the car ride.

To name a few:

Jack won’t vacate the front seat :( I can’t even hold hands with Quinn so unfair

We’re on potty stop #3 and it’s only been 2 hours THIS IS SHIT

We r never going to make it to Mich

omg Luke just started driving and I think I am afraid for my life

Why does Jack skip every song on the playlist after like 1 min…

Trevor they are SO LOUD I can’t even fall asleep how do u deal with these fuckers

Also why aren’t you replying :( 

I know you’re with Honey, u guys should save me from this :((

Quinn fell asleep I’m bored

Ohio is the worst state in the world to drive thru

I don’t like the merge lanes

Ok now Jack is driving and NOW I’m scared for my life… if I don’t text you that we made it, assume that we didn’t.

ok we made it TTYL give Honey a kiss for me

Those are just a few. The rest of the messages are similar or the same– and Trevor knows that being on road trips with the Hughes brothers is hard, especially when it’s your first one and it’s nine hours long– but this is not what he wanted when he and Bea exchanged phone numbers.

“What are you reading?” Honey murmurs, lifting her head and craning her neck to see his phone. 

Trevor is doing his very best to stay calm, but he feels a lot like a pot of water that’s about to boil over. He knows that his reaction is irrational and over the top, but Bea sent him more than one hundred messages overnight. He thought he was getting traded. He thought someone died. He thought that he’d have to leave Litchton– leave Honey– to deal with whatever big news had overtaken his phone. Instead, he had gotten worked up and anxious about nothing. It was just Bea. Just Bea! 

Bea, who is Honey’s best friend but a constant thorn in Trevor’s side. He can’t deny that she’s a nice person, or a good friend, but she seems to derive some sick sense of pleasure from annoying him and it’s too much. He didn’t sign up for this. He doesn’t want to be Bea’s middleman. He doesn’t want to be the person she texts when she’s annoyed with the brothers, just because he’s known them his whole life. He doesn’t want to have to hand over his phone to her when Quinn is away so that they can call.

Trevor shoves the phone into Honey’s hands. “I know she’s your best friend, but I can’t fucking do this,” he tells Honey. He detangles himself from Honey’s grip and leaves the bed, finding his own boxers and a pair of sweatpants. “This shit can’t be happening. I don’t care enough about what Bea is thinking to tolerate a hundred and twenty-six messages about nothing of importance.”

Honey raises her eyebrows in surprise, holding Trevor’s phone delicately in her hand. She blinks at him, then brings the phone to eye level and begins to scroll. Her brows are pursed as she starts reading, but occasionally she’ll smile or laugh or roll her eyes in reaction to a text. 

Trevor just stands there, breathing hard and trying to hold onto his temper. The silence is awkward, and Trevor feels silly about his stance. Honey is laying comfortably on the bed, toying with her hair with one hand and moving through the texts with the other. The covers are sliding down her body and Trevor can nearly see one of her piercings, just a breeze or a shift away from being revealed, and that is doing nothing to aid his continued frustration. He is determined to hang onto this irritation, but it’s getting harder with each passing minute.

Finally, Honey removes the phone from her eyeline and looks at Trevor with an amused smile on her face. “Not liking my best friend is a dealbreaker, you know,” Honey says.

Trevor almost immediately deflates. “I like Bea just fine,” he groans, rolling his head back and running his hands through his hair. “I just hate it when she blows up my phone.”

“Baby, how often does she blow up your phone?” Honey asks, starting to laugh. “I’m sure she was only texting you because she wasn’t going to say these things out loud with all of the brothers in the car. She hates confrontation.”

“But I’m the only one with her number, so she only ever texts me, and she’s not shy about it because she doesn’t care if she’s annoying me,” Trevor explains, feeling childish even though it’s true. “And I hate it.”

“Why are you the only one with her number?” Honey scrunches her nose up in confusion. She sits up and reaches for her tank top at the foot of the bed. 

“You’ll have to ask her,” Trevor says. He’s momentarily distracted by Honey’s chest and the way her breasts move when she pulls the shirt on. “It’s stupid. Like, she won’t give her number to Quinn because then Jack will want it. If Jack wants it, Cole wants it. If all of them have it, then Luke feels left out. I was her middleman at the beginning of the summer, but like… it’s not like she has to organize hookups now.” His voice turns to a grumble and Trevor looks down at the ground, a little embarrassed by his complaint. “She could give her number to Quinn, at least. He could keep it a secret from Jack.”

“Quinn doesn’t have Bea’s phone number,” Honey repeats, her voice flat and full of doubt. She scoffs. “They’re dating.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Trevor says. He crosses back over to the bed and sits across from Honey, crossing his legs like he used to in kindergarten. 

Honey blinks at Trevor, thinking hard. She purses her lips. 

Trevor would pay buckets of money to know what she’s thinking right now. “I guess it’s not that big a deal,” he says after a minute. He leans over and presses a kiss to her lips, pretending like her pursed-thinking was an invitation.

She bats him away. Again, she picks up his phone and goes to unlock it, but she stops short at the wallpaper. 

Oh, yeah. He’d forgotten about that.

“When did you take this picture?” Honey asks, voice controlled and neutral. There’s no way to know which way this will go.

It’s an image of the trail where they did their first hike, after they’d gotten to the peak and she’d started to let down the guarded, exterior walls that kept her safe. It was the first day that she’d really told him about herself– that her favorite movie was 13 Going on 30 solely because of the scene where Billy Joel’s “Vienna” plays, that she’d gotten the job at The Reading Nook because Ada had known her since she was a kid exploring Litchton on her own, that she didn’t talk to her parents anymore and she left Charlotte because of “something that happened” (which Trevor now knows), and that she learned how to play pool from a bunch of the dads in town. In the picture, she’s a few yards ahead of him, surrounded by greenery. She’s standing on a tree branch, one they’d crossed to get over a ditch, and her hair is tied into a knot at the base of her neck.

“On our hike,” Trevor answers. “When Ada made you hang out with me because you were mean to me when Jamie left.”

Honey looks up at the ceiling and sighs. “Oh, Jamie. I miss that guy.”

Trevor goes to agree, but he remembers that Jamie kissed Honey before Trevor did, so he doesn’t. Instead, he narrows his eyes. “Do you?” He asks.

Honey pays him no mind, except for rolling her eyes and holding up her index finger to silence Trevor. She clicks around on the phone, then holds it up to her ear.

“What are you doing?” Trevor asks, leaning in so he can hear the phone ringing.

Honey shushes him and pushes him away. “Hi, Bumblebea,” Honey says sweetly. As she continues, her tone turns on its head. She snaps, “Stop texting my boyfriend. You’re getting on our nerves. You can text me all you want, but he’s tired of it.”

She continues on, ranting about how Bea is perfectly capable of giving Quinn her contact information, even if it means Jack, Cole, and Luke start texting her regularly. Trevor, though, doesn’t hear any of it. Honey called him her boyfriend.

He’s going to fuck her so good tonight.

Why wait ‘til tonight? He thinks.

Trevor touches Honey’s thigh, but she bats him away again and points a threatening finger in his direction. Even the glare on her face isn’t enough to deter him– he wants to be good, he does. He wants to be patient and put off the kissing and touching and fucking until she’s off the phone, but Honey said Trevor was her boyfriend and she has never said that before. 

He’s more insistent this time as he shuffles forward and fills the space between her neck and her shoulder with a messy kiss. His hands are on her waist and Honey leans back against the headboard, bringing her free hand to Trevor’s hair and yanks him away. 

She flashes him a warning glare and continues talking, telling Bea off through the receiver.

Trevor sits back on his heels, but he lasts all of a minute before his eyes drift to Honey’s naked bottom half. If he could just spread her legs a little bit, he could get right between them and… well, be a good boyfriend.

Honey closes her eyes and sighs, listening to something Bea is saying on the other end. Trevor seizes his opportunity, spreading her inner thighs enough to make room for his head. His thumb spreads her folds once and he nearly gets his tongue on her clit before Honey bops him on the head like a whack-a-mole.

“Ow!” Trevor exclaims, retreating and kneeling back on his heels like a scolded puppy. He holds the back of his head, wincing.

“Would you behave? I am on the phone!” Honey hisses. She sounds more like a mother being bothered by her child than a girlfriend receiving head from her boyfriend.

Trevor pouts, making his eyes nice and big as he continues to rub the back of his head. 

“No, I don’t know, Bea. He just tried to fucking eat me out while I’m on the phone with you,” Honey snaps, practically snarling into the phone. Her eyes don’t leave Trevor, keeping him in place.

Trevor is close enough that he can hear Bea’s laughter through the speaker. “Probably because you called him your boyfriend, silly,” Bea exclaims.

Honey’s eyes widen. “No, I didn’t,” she says, disbelief written all across her features. Trevor nods and leans in, but Honey places her hand on his chest and keeps him in place. 

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Is Trevor drooling all over you right now? More than normal?”

Trevor’s hands are on Honey’s thighs, palming the skin there and stroking it lightly with his thumb. He’s staring at her, eyes fixed on her pretty mouth. That’s the mouth that just confirmed that they’re boyfriend-girlfriend. Trevor thinks he might paint a picture of it and hang the picture up in his apartment back in California, so that he can look at her lips every day. He’s going to need something to look at if she’s still in Litchton during the season, but he might be able to convince her to visit once a month…

“Not– more than normal,” Honey replies, but her voice is a little shaky and high, like it is when she starts to lie. She’s bad at lying.

Trevor rolls his eyes and takes her free hand from his chest, bringing it to the back of his head. He pouts at her, patting her palm over the place where she smacked him. Honey’s fingers tighten in his locks like a reflex, scratching his scalp in a satisfying massage. Trevor sighs, then leans forward to kiss Honey’s neck again. Boyfriend. Girlfriend. He likes that.

“You definitely called him your boyfriend. Trevor can vouch, I wasn’t the only one who heard that. Ask him.”

“I did not call him that,” Honey insists. She glances to Trevor for confirmation.

He does not give her the answer she wants to hear. He’s too giddy with excitement, feeling like he could jump as high as the moon. His smile, and the kiss that he slathers onto her collarbone, are answer enough for Honey. 

Her hand drops and she ends the call, cutting Bea off in the middle of a sentence. It’s only a moment before the phone starts to buzz again, but they both ignore it. 

Trevor even tosses it across the room, not caring if the screen cracks and breaks. Honey is his girlfriend and he’s her boyfriend. Trevor kisses over her neck again, humming against her skin. He’s just about to say… something, although he’s not sure what, since his head is full of excitement and too overjoyed to properly think, but Honey speaks instead.

“Wait,” Honey says, her throat sounding tight. Her voice seems a little strangled. “Stop.”

Wait. Stop.

The joy falls to the back of Trevor’s mind immediately, and his thoughts flood with something else. Wait. Stop. He pulls away, really pulls away, and sits all the way on the foot of the bed. 

Honey pulls the blankets over herself and covers her face with her hands. She takes a deep breath and swallows hard, then scrubs her hands over her face. She continues to cover her mouth, but Trevor can see how her eyes are somehow dazed and moving with thoughts, like she can physically see everything going through her head, and she’s unable to focus on one thing.

Normally, Trevor is okay with handling Honey’s anxiety. She can calm down from a touch or a soft question, but… he doesn’t know what to say. Wait and stop, said in that choked voice, echo through his brain. Over and over. Wait. Stop.

Honey’s eyes finally fix on a point in front of her, slightly to Trevor’s right. She stares at one spot on the floor, near her dresser on the opposite wall. She takes a shaky breath, still covering her mouth with her hands, and closes her eyes. Her eyebrows draw together, creating that wrinkle that Trevor always wants to kiss away, and she shakes her head.

Trevor feels like there’s cement in his throat, drying quickly and unable to swallow. 

He doesn’t know how long they sit like that.

But it’s a long time.

“I don’t like that word,” Honey says quietly, after all that time has passed, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her hands leave her mouth and cross her chest, hugging herself. Trevor can see goosebumps on her arms. She turns her head and one shoulder moves upward, kind of like a shrug. “It’s… it’s what you are, but I don’t like that word.”

The edges of her lips turn down and Honey meets Trevor’s eyes. She steals a glance at his expression, then her gaze falls to his hands. They’re clasped in his lap. He’s squeezing his thumb to try and ground himself. She looks like a cornered animal, like one of those scared dogs in the shelter. 

Trevor just– he doesn’t know what to do.

The confirmation is there. She’s not denying what she said. Honey admits that Trevor is her boyfriend, but there’s no pleasure in hearing her say it this time. In saying it, she seems to lump him in the same category as him. The other one. The one who ruined everything.

“I’m never going to do that to you,” Trevor breathes. His voice grows a little louder. While Trevor was serious before, now his tone is grave. He continues, and it’s more than a promise or a swear– he’s pledging. “I will never try to hurt you. He and I, we’re not– we’re not the same. I might, y’know, be stupid and make you upset but I’d never– not on purpose. And nothing like that.”

Honey sniffs and nods. “I know,” she says. “I–” She cuts herself off and shakes her head, taking a deep breath to center herself. She raises her hands and wipes under her eyes, removing the line of moisture from her waterline. When she speaks again, Honey’s voice is much stronger. “I know you’re not him.” She presses her lips together.

Trevor waits for more, but nothing comes. Instead, Honey meets his eyes and she wells up again. Her frown turns into a pout and she holds out her arms.

Trevor collapses into them and falls back on the pillows, keeping her close to his chest. He kisses over her face, on all the teardrops that managed to escape. He’s so– so happy. His heart is bursting at the seams and he really wishes he could tell her how much he loves her, but that’s probably a bit much for her right now. Calling him her boyfriend and having to reply to a declaration of love? She’d start convulsing and breaking into sparks like a malfunctioning robot. But he does– he does. He’s relieved, and happy, and he’s holding Honey in his arms, and it’s okay.

Boyfriend and girlfriend. August 3rd might just be the best day of Trevor Zegras’ whole life. Honey is his– she said so.

After he’s done peppering her face with kisses, he holds her tight. He listens to her breath and strokes her hair, letting her take all the time she needs to process the change.

“You asked on Thursday if we could tell them,” Honey says eventually.

“Mhm,” Trevor hums, confirming that he remembers.

“I don’t, um.” Honey’s voice falls to nearly a whisper. “I don’t think I’m ready for everyone to know just yet.”

The only thing about her sentence that disappoints Trevor is the way Honey says it– like he’s going to be angry with her. God, he’s elated that they’re even together. If Honey isn’t ready to tell, then they don’t have to. Trevor can’t imagine telling her no, or fighting her on this, after she took such a big leap today. 

“That’s okay,” Trevor says. “We don’t have to tell them yet.”

“Just give me a couple of weeks,” Honey says. “I think I can–”

“No rush,” Trevor interrupts. He kisses the top of her head. “Take your time. Just don’t change your mind about today. I really, really want to be your boyfriend.”

Honey blushes and hides her face in his chest. “Fine,” she mumbles, voice muffled by his skin. “I’ll consider keeping you around.”

Trevor laughs and kisses her again. He really hopes she’s up for that Very Good Fucking he’s planning to give her tonight, maybe after a romantic dinner that he cooks just for her. Plans for the day be damned– all Trevor wants is to be with his beautiful, thoughtful, brave, sexy girlfriend, no matter what they do.

70:90 – HONEY

“No, put your hands on my boobs,” Cole commands with a huff, grabbing Honey’s wrists and pulling her into place. “This is supposed to be weird, Honey. I want you to touch my tits.”

Honey bites down on her lower lip to stifle a laugh. She presses her face between his shoulderblades. 

This morning, Cole had gifted her a pink shirt with a unicorn and a rainbow on the front, then produced a matching one for himself. Since then, they’ve been taking pictures in the shirts. Honey knew she should’ve been more suspicious when Trevor texted that Cole was asking for Honey to bring her polaroid over. 

“Why are you laughing?” Cole demands, whining a bit. “The picture is supposed to be serious.”

It’s a version of a prom pose, but Honey is standing behind Cole. As per Cole’s request, her hands are on his pecs. His hands are on top of hers, keeping them in place. They’re standing sideways, so that Trevor can capture an over-the-shoulder gaze from the pair. He’s sitting on the couch, so the angle is low and looks up at them, making them seem taller.

“You are so strange,” Honey tells him. 

“Smile for the camera,” Cole replies pointedly. “No teeth.” He straightens his spine and rolls his shoulders back, smiling so that his dimple deepens. 

“Yeah, c’mon Honey, give us a smile,” Trevor quips from behind the camera. 

She plasters on a fake smile, but her glare is still deadly. 

Trevor snaps the picture anyway. 

Cole snatches the developing polaroid from Trevor, bouncing with excitement. “Hey, this is nice,” Cole says once the picture is clear enough. He hands the photo over to Honey and grins. “What do you think?”

She has to stifle a laugh again. Trevor managed to capture a moment that is steeped in absurdity. Cole stands tall, smiling thoughtfully. He’s proud, eyes glinting. His stance is secure, as is his grasp on Honey’s hands.

Honey, by contrast, is clearly not in the mood. Her lips are pressed together in a tolerant line, although her gaze is annoyed. She looks like she’s just putting up with Cole– to be fair, they’ve been doing these poses for the better part of an hour, and this is one of the saner ones. They did the Titanic pose (Honey was Jack), one where Cole lifted Honey onto his shoulder and knelt down on one knee, then another where Honey was perched on Cole’s knee, a back-to-back smoulder, one where Honey had to dip Cole like they were ballroom dancing, and a number of others. She’s probably almost out of film.

“I like the pictures, Co, but can we stop doing this?” Honey asks. “I’m not, like, a huge photo person.”

“Okay,” Cole agrees easily. He gestures toward the stack of photos in front of Trevor. “Choose your favorites. You can keep them.” He wiggles his eyebrows and pretends to wipe tears from his eyes, continuing in a fake-weak voice. “To remember me by.” He recovers quickly and claps Honey on the shoudler. “I’ll take the rest. I’m going to go take a dump.”

As he walks toward the stairs, Honey turns to Trevor and makes a face. “He’s so–”

“We like to say that he’s expressive,” Trevor interrupts with a smile. “He’s very good at overexaggerating his feelings for comedy.”

Honey laughs. “That’s– yeah, that’s actually a good way of saying it.”

Trevor reaches forward and picks a photo out of the pile. It’s the one of them standing back-to-back, giving intimidating glares to the camera. Their lips are puckered “like they’re in Zoolander,” as per Cole’s instructions. “I think this one is my favorite,” Trevor says. He hands the picture to Honey. “You should keep it.”

Honey takes the picture and studies it. Her eyes flicker up to Trevor, who is unabashedly watching her. “Oh my God,” she groans when she catches him, rolling her eyes and dropping her arms to her sides. She’s trying to sound serious, but there’s a smile trying to fight onto her face. “Stop.”

“Sorry,” Trevor apologizes, shit-eating grin on his face. “Can’t help it.”

“Fix your face,” Honey tells him, still trying to prevent herself from laughing. He’s positively helpless when it comes to Honey. He’s been staring at her every chance he gets since yesterday, when she’d accidentally called him her boyfriend. 

“Cole’s going to be in the bathroom for ages,” Trevor says, reaching out and looping his fingers through Honey’s belt loops. “He’s taking a shit, it’ll be a while. C’mere.” He pulls Honey onto his lap and kisses her, sliding his tongue into her mouth and making a soft noise of content.

Honey returns the kiss, shifting on Trevor’s lap so that her knees bracket his thighs. She brings her hands up to cradle his jaw, thumbs caressing his cheeks gently. When she pulls away, she complains, “You guys always tell me things that I do not need to know. Cole’s bathroom habits are one of those things.”

“Do you want to know about my bathroom habits?” Trevor asks, knowing that it’s going to bother her based on the way he’s chuckling.

“No,” Honey decides, squishing Trevor’s cheeks between her hands. “I am very against learning your bathroom habits. In fact, I would prefer to be blissfully unaware of all of your trips to the toilet.” Honey smiles and pecks Trevor’s lips. “This should be our last conversation about it until there’s, like, a medical emergency.”

Trevor laughs and leans up to peck Honey’s lips in return. “Okay, baby. Whatever you want.”

They kiss again, and Trevor pushes his hips up against Honey’s core. It makes her giggle against his mouth– he’s not satisfied after the previous evening? He didn’t get his fill after drawing five orgasms from Honey throughout the night, using everything he could to bring her over the edge? Honey couldn’t even walk by the end of the night, and her legs were a little bit sore this morning. She’d stretched after getting out of bed, trying to regain total control of her limbs. 

When Trevor pulls away, his head falls back onto the couch cushions. He admires Honey, pure content on his face. His hands slide to her behind, fingers sliding into the back pockets of her jean shorts and staying there.

Honey smooths his hair out of his face and returns his smile. Her eyes are hooded and she tilts her head to the side as she looks at him. As much as she hates the word, there’s still a thrill that runs up her spine when she remembers that Trevor is her boyfriend and how delighted he was when she’d stood by what she said.

“Can I take a picture of you?” Trevor asks sweetly, blinking up at Honey. “You look so pretty.” He reaches up and touches a bruise at the base of her neck, which she’d explained away to Cole in a terrible, stammering ramble. Luckily, he’d bought it. “Especially with this,” Trevor adds.

Honey tenses slightly, shrugging her shoulder and displacing Trevor’s hand. “I don’t know,” she says. “That’s kind of… y’know.”

She doesn’t really have the words to explain it, but Trevor’s request sends a shiver up her spine, the same way she shivers whenever she thinks about the misuse of her image in the past. She tries not to remember how it felt to have her photos, and videos that she and Thomas took, spread throughout the community that surrounded her. Trevor’s community is much larger than that, given that he’s famous, and all. Maybe without the hickey, she’d let him. I mean, it’s small… and from this angle, you can’t really see it. She could. Honey is trying not to let all of her fear consume her because, really, Trevor isn’t like Thomas.

Trevor doesn’t let her hesitation bother him. “That’s okay,” he says, bringing his hand further to touch her cheek. “I don’t mind. I’ll just take a picture of you in my mind, if that’s okay.” He pinches her behind, nonverbally telling her that he’s teasing. Trevor even winks.

Honey laughs. “It’s not that I don’t want you to,” she tells him, bringing her arms to his shoulders and twining them around his neck. She plays with her fingers behind his head, pinching the skin as she tries to explain herself. “I like that you want to take pictures of me because you think I’m pretty, but there is the whole ‘Thomas’ element.”

Trevor nods along, understanding as always. 

“I’ll let you take a picture if you pinky-promise to burn it when we break up,” Honey decides, pulling a hand back and sticking her littlest finger out.

Trevor’s jaw drops. “When we break up?” he scoffs. “What are you planning? I’m not pinky-promising you until you take that back.”

“Oh my God,” Honey laughs, rolling her eyes and turning her head to the side. She sticks her tongue into her cheek and looks back at Trevor. “If we break up,” she amends, overexaggerating the opening word. 

“I still don’t like it, but that’s better than ‘when,’” Trevor teases, finding Honey’s pinky and looping his own around it. He kisses the intertwined fingers and then puckers his lips for her to meet, only briefly. “I promise to burn the picture in the very unlikely event that you break up with me. Because I…” He holds up a finger before Honey can interject. “Do not have any plans to break up with you for the rest of our lives.”

Honey laughs again. “Would it kill you to be subtle?”

“Uh, yeah,” Trevor jeers. “I’ve got the world’s best girlfriend, I’ve got to make sure she knows how I feel about her.” He sticks his tongue out at Honey and grins, kissing her again.

“I hate you,” Honey tells him between kisses.

“Oh, I bet,” Trevor replies, voice dripping with sarcasm. He takes hold of the camera at his side. “Gimme a big smile, baby.”

Refusing to give him what he really wants, just to reinforce that Honey does in fact “hate” Trevor (probably one of the bigger lies she’s told him, if she’s being realistic), Honey looks down at him with the tiniest quirk of her lips. She’s certain that her eyes are not nearly as unimpressed and menacing as she wants them to be, rather, tinged with the affection that she can’t hold back for the boy. Her lips curl further into an amused, knowing smile and her cheeks flush, almost aching with soreness from how often she’s been laughing and grinning when Trevor is around. 

Trevor takes a minute to snap the picture and Honey is pretty sure she knows why. He wants to get it just right, so that he can remember this moment exactly as it is. Her look, and this picture, is the kind of thing that is worth the suspension of time, to him. He’s so… good to Honey. There’s a connection between them that can’t be defined. It’s quiet and persistent and irresistible, no matter how hard Honey tried in the beginning of the summer. She’s fallen for him harder than she thought she would for any person, given her history. And he– well, he’s not ashamed about telling her how much he feels for her.

“I’m going to put this in my wallet,” Trevor announces once the polaroid has printed, flapping it in the air and blowing on the image.

Honey catches his hand. “Don’t do that,” she complains. “This is a modern polaroid camera, not an old one. It’ll develop just fine without waving the picture around.”

“But it’s more fun this way,” Trevor replies.

“But you might ruin the picture this way, and you’re not carrying a warped picture of me around in your wallet,” Honey insists, wrenching the photo from Trevor’s grip and setting it down on the table in front of them. 

“Let’s do one of us kissing.” Trevor changes the subject, lighting up at the idea. He wiggles his eyebrows. “I’ll keep that one in my nightstand.”

Honey draws her eyebrows together in faux-offense. “Right next to the lotion and the tissues? I don’t think so.”

Trevor heaves out a sigh. “Fine, I’ll just have to rely on my memory.” He drops the act immediately and starts to smile again, pulling Honey forward at the waist and catching her lips. 

They kiss for all of one second before Cole starts to bound down the basement steps again and Honey has to scramble to the side, smoothing a hand through her hair. She makes herself comfortable on the couch and kicks her feet up, while Trevor grabs the remote and turns on the television.

“Oh, sick, what should we watch?” Cole asks, rounding the couch and stepping over Honey’s legs so that he can plop down between the pair. He ruffles Trevor’s hair with his right hand, then extends his arms over the back of the couch behind both Honey and Trevor. He makes himself right at home and seems none the wiser that Honey was just on Trevor’s lap, lips locked and tongues meeting. “I just started watching Arrested Development again. You good with that, Hon?”

“Mhm,” Honey agrees, covering her lips with her thumb and staring at the TV.

“Cool.” Cole wrestles the remote from Trevor’s hand. “Gimme that,” he says, just before wrenching it away and navigating through the pop-up keyboard on the screen. He leans forward, squinting at the TV and choosing letters carefully.

Honey sneaks a peek at Trevor and finds him already looking. He winks and she has to hold back a giggle, knowing that Cole will press her for more information if she starts to laugh. She looks back at the screen and pinches at her bottom lip, still feeling the phantom touch of Trevor’s mouth. He’ll probably be a gentleman and walk her to the door when she leaves, although Cole might try to join them. If they’re alone, Honey will be sure to steal another kiss to tide her over until the next time they see each other.

[puck-luck]

new beginnings | may 27 - june 2

note: before i start this, i just want to warn y'all that it's 24.4k. if you want to read this in one sitting, i recommend locking in.

please hit me up in my inbox to give me feedback! or your thoughts! or speculation on what's coming next! i want you guys to talk to me all the time and tell me every thought you have. if i could send each of you the google document and force you to leave comments, i would.

also, i think by the time this fic is finished, it might be long enough to be a novel. should we all work together to get it published?

1:90 – TREVOR

“Do we really think it’s a good idea to spend the summer down here instead of the Michigan house?” Jack asks. “We own that one, after all.”

“Everyone knows about the Michigan house,” Trevor points out.

Cole, who had plotted this with Trevor after last summer’s debacle, sighs. “We can’t keep having the same conversation. We decided that we would train at the Checkers’ rink when we can get down to Charlotte and use the cement slab as our own rink in the yard of the rental house in the meantime. So that’s not your problem. So, what is, Jack? You’re gonna miss the girls?”

Jack fixes Cole with a cutting glare. “Fuck off.”

“You know, there are girls in North Carolina,” Cole says, a grin dimpling his cheeks. “Sweet, southern belles, even.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “I can’t wait for the rest of the goons to get here. We’ll put it to a fucking vote and I’ll get to go home.”

“If you want to go home so bad, why don’t you?” Trevor asks. “We’re not forcing you to be here.”

“You triple-belted me in the backseat,” Jack argues. “You’re taking me away from Michigan and you can’t even let me have shotgun.”

“Talk, talk, talk,” Trevor mocks. “You have hands. And fingers. You’re not helpless.”

Jack huffs from his spot in the back, stubbornly turning his head to the right to watch the trees pass. Cole does the same from the passenger seat, tapping his fingers along the pane of the window.

There are twenty miles, an hour total, still on the GPS. Trevor hasn’t seen a town since they stopped at the gas station at the bottom of the mountain, the closest city being Winston-Salem almost an hour and a half ago, barely more than sparse houses and fields in the time since. They’re driving along a stream now and the latest exit off this small, two lane highway said “Love Valley.” Trevor snickers at the sign and goes to point it out to Jack, but Jack beats him to it.

“Don’t, Z.”

“It’s funny, dude.”

“It’s not, though.”

Cole cranks the volume up, drowning out the continuing argument that floats forward from the backseat. 

They drive on and Trevor thinks about it– everything. They have three unobscured months in Litchton, the only people knowing about their whereabouts are their families and coaches. The goons, as Jack referred to them, would be joining them sometime in the next day or two. Quinn and Luke had to wrap up some loose ends at home (Quinn, closing up his apartment for the summer; Luke, visiting some college friends as their semester comes to an end.

Litchton was the safest bet and Krebs had mentioned North Carolina to Trevor in passing the one time they caught up throughout the year, heaving heard from Leschyshyn that the mountain towns of his home state were notoriously quiet and drama-free and that their inhabitants, although lovers of gossip, kept to themselves. 

After those girls had snuck into the Michigan house at the end of the summer and started showing up wherever the boys went in the evenings, Trevor just wanted a summer off. He wanted time with his friends the way they used to have it, just working out together and drinking until they dropped, swimming and parading around the town like normal guys in their early twenties. 

In Litchton, they could pretend to be guys that were home for the summer, ready to start some corporate finance or everyday-tie job. It was a look into what could’ve been, had they not dedicated their lives to their sport. 

For three months, he gets to be Trevor Zegras, the kid who complained about his name being last on the roster in every class growing up and the kid who worked in his mom’s store after school. But he’s also Trevor Zegras, NHL superstar, ninth overall pick, owner of the best Michigan goal in the United States, so he might toss his name around in Litchton this summer. Just to see if it gets him anything.

If it doesn’t, his good looks certainly will. What’s flirting with a few old ladies on the street? It’ll be the highlight of their year.

Trevor misses the driveway the first time the car passes it. It’s hidden by brush and along a curve. The GPS reroutes them– but they have to drive an extra fifteen minutes along this road before they can turn around. 

They drive into a small town, a strip of eclectic stores littering the main road. There’s a small grocery store with a fruit stand out front that Cole points to.

“We could pick up some food while we’re out here,” Cole suggests. Upon hearing Jack’s mouth open in the backseat, he continues, “Just so we don’t have to come back later.”

Jack slouches against the backseat, huffing about being cut off at the opportunity to express his discomfort. 

“Jacky, will you relax? We’re going to have fun this summer.” Trevor tells him, turning into the parking lot and choosing a spot close to the entrance. 

Cole laughs when Jack unbuckles his three seatbelts in the wrong order and has to untangle them. Trevor flips the mirror down and fudges his hair, fluffing the ends. He had gotten it cut just before they left for this trip, so the edges were still even and sharp. 

Jack is the first to exit the car, practically throwing himself onto the pavement with his excitement to leave the vehicle behind, if only briefly. They’d been driving for hours. Cole flew into New York from Montréal, so Trevor had to pick him up from the airport. They picked Jack up in Jersey in the early morning and started driving south. 

Trevor can’t blame Jack for his annoyance. They’ve been in the car with him for ten long hours and they forced the first stretch of driving on him, having spent about two hours in the car before getting him. He had just woken up and had to drive four hours through the traffic of Philly and into Baltimore. He napped while Cole drove down through most of Virginia, and then woke up grumpy anyway when Trevor took over to take on North Carolina. 

It’s been a long fucking day.

They shop together, but they bicker quietly. After years of friendship, their arguments seem more like brotherly spats. The knowing smiles from the women in the grocery store prove that they’ve heard encounters like this before, likely in their own homes. 

Eventually, Trevor rolls his eyes and goes to sit in the car. He leaves Cole and Jack to pay for the groceries. Upon leaving the store, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and pulls up Instagram, hoping to catch up on the posts that he had missed on the long drive.

Walking past the fruit stand out front, Trevor bumps into someone and he stumbles back.

“I’m sorry,” Trevor apologizes, reaching out and steadying the girl with a touch to her elbow. “I didn’t see you.”

“Hard to see me when you’re on your phone,” she replies with a tilted smile. 

Trevor lets out a little laugh at her reply, barely a breath. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

She nods with an approving hum and turns back to the stand, picking up a peach and turning it over in her hand. 

Trevor turns and walks to the car, climbing into the vehicle and settling behind the wheel. He watches the sliding door for his friends, but his eyes drift back to the girl.

She’s tied a red bandana in her hair and she slips peaches into her mesh bag. She talks to the vendor, using her hands to speak. She’s pretty, he realizes, far prettier than the girls he knows from California. The vendor hands her a basket of strawberries, which she takes carefully, inspecting the red berries by twisting the basket’s handle from side to side, spinning it. Trevor can see her profile this way– the slope of her nose, smooth. Her eyelashes, long. Her lips, pink and pursed into a little smile. Her stance is tilted, one hand on her hips.

Trevor is back outside the car before he can think. He approaches her as she pays for her fruit, standing behind her when she turns around.

She jumps when she sees him. “You’re still here?” She asks.

“No, but I’m back,” Trevor replies, realizing just how lame he sounds. “My friends and I are staying here for the summer and I just wanted to introduce myself.”

When he falls silent after explaining himself, she looks at him expectantly. He can see the bottoms of her teeth as her lips part. “So introduce yourself.” She gestures for him to go on.

“I’m Trevor,” he says, sticking his hand out. “My friends call me Z.”

Her eyes drop to his hand briefly. She considers it before reaching up and taking his hand, shaking it. “Why?” She asks.

“My last name starts with a Z,” Trevor supplies. “Zegras.” The smile he gives her is strained, expecting her eyes to light up in recognition. They do, but it’s not in the way he expects.

“You’re Greek?” She asks, her interest piqued. 

“Yeah,” Trevor replies. “But not, like… Greek. I’m from New York, but I live in California now.”

At the mention of California, her face stiffens. She hums disapprovingly. “Got sick of the West Coast, I take it? Is that why you’re back east this summer?”

Trevor flounders for a moment. “I love California, but the guys and I always spend our summers together. Usually we’re in Michigan.”

“So y’all travel all around, huh?” She asks. She doesn’t sound impressed, which makes Trevor nervous. In fact, she sounds almost disdainful, but the look on her face appears as though she’s holding back a laugh. Whether that is at his expense, he doesn’t know.

“We’re very lucky,” Trevor confirms, nodding tightly. “Most of our travel is for work, though. We all work in the same industry and it involves a lot of, um, business trips.”

“Business trips?” She asks, letting the laugh overtake her this time as she looks him up and down. “You?”

Trevor looks down at his own outfit, the basketball shorts and loose t-shirt. They’re two of the few clothes he owns that are not branded with the Ducks logo. He scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “We’ve been driving a while and I wanted to be comfortable.”

“You certainly look comfortable,” She agrees with a nod, her grin knowing and wide.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Trevor says with a similar grin, shuffling forward just a step now that he’s got her smiling and laughing.

It’s then that Cole and Jack exit the grocery store, each with a hefty load of grocery bags on their arms. They’re laughing, so it appears Cole has managed to cheer up the sullen Jack in Trevor’s absence. Trevor watches the girl’s eyes leave his, drawn to the movement and volume of his two friends. He curses them in his mind, watching as they find him and decide to approach.

“I thought you were warming up the car, Z,” Jack accuses, his eyes flickering between Trevor and the girl. “D’you get distracted?”

Trevor bites his tongue before forcing a smile on his face. He turns back to the girl. “These are the some of the friends I mentioned, Jack and Cole. The other ones, Jack’s brothers, aren’t here yet.” Trevor knows he’s overexplaining, but he can’t help it. Something about this girl has him awkward and tongue-tied, yet his tongue can’t stop forming words and pushing them out.

“Yeah, your business partners.” She rubs a hand over her face, smoothing out the half-smile that was clearly keeping a laugh at bay. “Are they also from California?”

Cole snorts. “Business partners?” He repeats. “From California? No way. You’d never catch me dead in Anaheim, unless we’re playing there. Believe me, I’d be on the quickest flight back.”

“I just said we all worked in the same industry,” Trevor corrects, throwing on his most charming smile to try and salvage the situation. He wasn’t lying, but this girl might think he is, and that would be disastrous. He doesn’t know why, but it would be. He wants her to think highly of him and now he’s made two bad first impressions.

The second one is his friends’ fault, of course.

And she does think he’s lying– Trevor can tell by the way she looks him up and down, then Cole, then Jack. Her eyes squint imperceptibly at Cole’s mention of “playing” in Anaheim, rather than working. It was a statement that could have extended the conversation, but this girl seems to decide that she is uninterested.

She nods sarcastically, then scoffs quietly. “I have to go,” she says. “It was nice to meet you, Trevor. Have fun in Litchton this summer, boys.”

“Oh, we will,” Jack assures her. Trevor hates how his eyes rake over her, combing through each detail of her skin, her clothes, and her hair.

“Nice meeting you!” Cole calls after her as she walks away.

Both boys turn to Trevor, equally annoying smiles on their faces. 

“Shut up,” he hisses before they can say anything. 

“Who was that?” Cole asks.

“I didn’t get her name,” Trevor growls through gritted teeth. “She was just about to tell me and then the two of you showed up.”

“Boo-hoo,” Jack teases. “So you won’t be the first to bed a girl this summer, for… how many summers in a row is it now, Coley?”

Cole’s laughter breaks his face, but Trevor interrupts before he can speak.

“It’s not even a real competition, Jack. You only act like it is because you fuck the same girl every summer as soon as we get to the lake house. It’s trashy.”

“Being a winner isn’t trashy, Trev. In fact, maybe I should go follow after the girl you were just chatting up. I’ll show her how a real man flirts.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Trevor feels a flare of anger well up inside of him when Jack insinuates taking this girl for himself. It should be anger about questioning Trevor’s manhood, but it is not. “Get in the car.”

He stalks off, starting the car this time and situating himself behind the wheel. Jack vies for the passenger seat unsuccessfully, souring his mood yet again. Despite Cole’s smaller stature, Jack is the one left in the backseat with the bags of groceries around him. Soon, Trevor’s shirt joins him after a misguided throw to the trunk of the car where their luggage resides.

When they arrive at the house, Jack only carries the groceries inside. He claims he’s been stilted all day and Trevor can’t really do much to prove otherwise. Cole carries in his and Jack’s luggage into the home– a rental that Trevor paid good money to book for the entire summer. 

“I get the best room!” Trevor yells after them. “I paid for it! I want the ensuite bathroom!”

“Go fuck yourself,” Jack replies. He’ll leave the room for Trevor to take anyway. 

The three boys had planned this ahead of time. They would be in Litchton the whole summer, so they will take the three bedrooms that have king beds. Quinn and Luke will take the queen beds in the other bedroom, and the various guests throughout the summer will take the bunk beds in the basement. From the pictures alone, Trevor realizes that the house could sleep more than ten people. If they can find ten people, maybe they could throw a party. 

and invite that girl, Trevor thinks.

He’s taken aback by the thought and its suddenness. He doesn’t even know her name or if he’ll see her again– so why is he thinking of her?

Trevor shakes the thought and grabs his bags from the back of the car. He used an extra practice bag from the bottom of his closet in Anaheim to pack his clothes for the summer, so he has a free hand to open the door that Cole closed behind him. 

He finds the big bedroom easily and drops his bag in the closet, not bothering to unpack. He looks out the sliding door onto his porch, the wrap-around that encircles the entire back of the house. His porch holds two rocking chairs and a wooden bench. The house is built out of wood– almost overwhelmingly so– and the decorations match. His bedframe, his dresser, his bedside table, his small desk, the fan, even the blinds on the window… all of them are made of wood. 

His bathroom has double sinks and a granite countertop. The handles are gold in color, but likely not in material. The spout of the sink is more like a water spigot that one might find outdoors, but it’s classy. When Trevor enters his bathroom, he’s in awe of the jacuzzi tub and shower on the other side of the room. 

The tub and shower are both built from dark marble, bespeckled with lines of darker ore. The tub has wooden cabinets beneath the feet of marble on either side of the tub, which holds towels and toiletries on the right and left respectively. The tub has jets and a handheld spout that’s detachable. Trevor considers them. He can think of a use for both.

The shower is spacious with an overhead spout, wide and fancy. It has ledges for toiletries, as well as a seat in the corner. The door is glass and there is a hook for towels next to the opening. The shower stands from ceiling to floor, completely confined. Despite the windows to the side of it, the occupant of the shower would be completely hidden from sight, once the glass door steams up. 

Trevor explores the house further, but doesn’t take up residence anywhere. Cole and Jack seem to have put the groceries away while he found his room and looked around. Now, they’re nowhere to be found. They’ve likely taken up residence in their bedrooms for the night, tired from their eleven hour drive.

Lord knows Jack needs sleep before he braves this vacation. He always gets grumpy when he’s tired, part of the reason why he naps prior to every game. 

Trevor is glad that all of the boys can make it up for the summer. He can’t wait to get things started.

2:90 – HONEY

She wakes with the sunrise, as she does every Tuesday. It’s her first day of the week at the bookstore and she has to open. The Reading Nook is always closed on Mondays and she is one of three workers– the owner, Ada and her best friend since childhood, Bea. Ada opens the store on Thursday, whereas Bea opens it on Friday. Every other day of the week, the responsibility falls on her.

She makes her coffee and drinks it on her couch, looking out the window towards the mountains in the distance. It’s clear today and she can see the rows of mountains clearly– ten rows back. Once, her father had told her that if you could count ten rows back, you were looking at the mountains across state lines. If you could count ten mountains, then you could count all the way to Tennessee. 

She believed him, until she realized that the sun always rises behind those mountains. She faces east. Tennessee is to the west.

Still, the memory comes with fondness. It was before she moved away from home to pursue a life of quietness in the mountains, her favorite place in the world. Those days are long in the past. She has no interest in returning to them, given how far she’s come. The only person from her hometown that was welcomed into this new life was Bea and she has proven time and time again that she is deserving of that role.

Not only did they grow up together, but she got her nickname because of her friendship with Bea. As children, a long-forgotten teacher had made a comment about the two being attached at the hip, stuck together like glue. She had corrected herself with a laugh, evidently feeling clever when she said: “No, more like a bee to honey, right, girls?” From that day on, she had only gone by Honey and Bea had shortened her name from Beatrice to keep the analogy. 

She drives to The Reading Nook and unlocks the store, wiping the counter and sweeping the main room while she waits for her regular patrons to enter the store.

On Tuesdays, the “founding” women of Litchton convene in the bookstore and knit. Some days, Honey joins them. Others, she just wishes to sit and read at their table, listening in on the gossip of the week. The women are not so much founders as the grandmothers who lived in Litchton since their birth, having married and worked and raised families here. They are true Appalachian women– driven by superstition and fantastical solutions, lovers of a good story, and wonderful bakers who only crave to share their gift. They are churchgoers, often multiple times a week, and headstrong believers in their chosen politician. These are the attributes that Honey does not share with the women– she was an outsider, although she has been welcomed into the Litchton society since moving here. She attended church when the ladies asked her to, usually for the rare wedding or baptism. Rarer for a funeral, luckily. Honey does not feel any particular way about politics, at least not out loud, and she’s lucky that the ladies try to reserve that topic for the debates of their husbands over dinner parties, not the knitting circle on early Tuesday mornings.

Sacha is the first to arrive to the bookstore that morning, armed with blueberry muffins in a tupperware that Honey will have to wash in the little sink in the back while the women are knitting. Sacha has left one too many tupperwares and bowls in The Reading Nook and Honey won’t allow her to leave another behind. 

Honey plates the muffins for Sacha while the elderly woman secures the long table in the store for her friends. It does not take long for Scarlett, Gillian, Vera, and Rosalind to join. The women each knit their own project, waking up over coffee and muffins before the gossip starts.

It begins with Vera’s son’s divorce, something she had been dreading since he proposed to his soon-to-be ex-wife while they were still students at NC State. They had moved to Raleigh permanently, an action that Vera believes started this whole thing. When her son left home, and his wife finally revealed that she didn’t want children, Vera knew it was over. Or so she said. Honey thinks that she’s just butthurt about her son fleeing the nest… ten years ago. She wonders, briefly, if her own mother feels this way about her.

Honey shakes herself out of her thoughts as soon as Scarlett introduces the next topic, the topic that Honey knew was coming since the night before.

“Did you see those young men at the store yesterday? I know you always do your shopping on Monday evenings, Rosalind.” Scarlett tilts her head like she’s conspiring with Rosalind, like Rosalind has been holding information from the group.

Rosalind nods, eyes glinting behind her wired glasses. “They were such handsome boys. Lord, I tell you, if I were a young lady nowadays…”

She trails off and Honey stifles a laugh, looking down at the counter. She can feel the ladies’ eyes on her, no doubt hoping that the mention of boys piques her interest. Honey knows how these ladies were in their day– boy crazy but also efficient, looking for the perfect match and settling for no less. All of them prevailed, although from their complaints, you would never know their husbands were the loves of their lives.

“Ladies, you know this conversation would be better suited for Bea,” Honey teases. 

“Bea is too forthcoming, you are still somewhat of a mystery.” Gillian lifts an eyebrow. 

“Where is Miss Bea?” Vera asks. “Wasn’t she supposed to be here half an hour ago?”

Honey doesn’t stifle her laugh this time. “Miss Vera!” She exclaims. “It is a Tuesday morning. You know Bea has no interest in showing up to work for at least another hour.”

Vera shakes her head. “You and Ada have got to stop allowing her to show up so late.”

Sacha laughs. “As if they could stop her if they tried!”

All of the women, and Honey, laugh at the joke. It’s well established in Litchton that Bea is the tardy sort, whereas everyone else prefers to be early or on time. Bea has the attitude of a city girl, to quote the old ladies, but the work ethic and priorities of a Litchton woman. She likes her men, she likes her job, but she loves a nice lay-in.

“Besides,” Honey tells the women, hesitating with a coy smile before dropping the bomb of information: “I’ve already met those men.”

The effect is instantaneous. All of them drop their knitting onto their laps and gasp. Gillian clutches at her chest, always the most dramatic of the quintet. 

“My darling,” Rosalind marvels.

“Well?” Scarlett questions. “How? When? Tell us everything.”

Honey moves from behind the counter to an empty seat at their table. She sits next to Sacha, the woman taking her hand and holding it tightly. 

“You ladies seem to forget that I go to the fruit stand outside the store on Monday evenings,” Honey begins. “Which is where I ran into them. Literally, too– one of them had his nose buried in his phone and bumped into me. He could’ve knocked me over!”

“You should have fallen so that he could have helped you up,” Rosalind suggests. The women murmur in agreement.

Honey rolls her eyes. “I did not. He apologized, I told him that he only bumped into me because he was caught up in his phone, and he said he would be more careful next time.”

“Next time,” Gillian repeats, nodding. “So he wishes to see you again?”

“Turns out, ‘next time’ was about five minutes later, when I went to leave the stand and he was right behind me!” Honey reveals, purposefully lacing incredulity into her voice. She places a finger on her lips and widens her eyes, playing into the dramatics of the ladies as if to say “What do you think of that?”

The women gasp in time. 

“Which one was it?” Scarlett asks.

“I only saw the other two for a moment, so I don’t think I could describe them well enough to you,” Honey says. “The one I spoke to is named Trevor.” She pauses to roll her eyes before adding sarcastically, “But his friends call him Z.”

Scarlett and Rosalind nod and look to each other. 

“It must have been the one who left earlier than the other two,” Scarlett says. “With those awful tattoos.”

Honey bites back a giggle. Once a southern mother, always a southern mother. “He did have tattoos,” she confirms.

“You two would get along,” Vera suggests, not so subtly casting a glance at the leafy vines that crawl up Honey’s arm.

Honey goes quiet, glaring at Vera. She has worked to try and get the ladies to stop commenting on her body and habits over the past few years, but the ladies are stubborn and traditional in most senses.

“How long will they be here? Or were they just stopping through?” Gillian asks.

“They’ll be here all summer, so I’m sure we’ll get our fill of them.” With that, Honey effectively ends her role in the conversation. She returns to the counter and opens her book, pretending to read it.

She knew the ladies would have caught wind of the men’s arrival by now and would want to discuss it. She knew that the ladies would be interested in setting her up with one of these new arrivals. They were cute, she’d give them that. At a glance, any of the three could have been nice company at a brewery, but Honey wasn’t looking. She was perfectly content with finding herself and making her own life, even if it meant that she wasn’t finding a husband like most women in Litchton wanted her to do.

The other thing was this: Trevor hadn’t made the best first impression. He bumped into her, then startled her, then told her some story about business partners or colleagues that definitely was not true, and he was from California. He’s a yuppie, a hipster who probably enjoys the bustle of Los Angeles and can’t handle the slow, satisfying life of a small town. To her estimate, Trevor has got a week before he leaves Litchton for something more glamorous and fast-paced.

The ladies relay the news to Bea when she finally shows up for her shift, a travel mug of coffee in hand from which she sips throughout each tantalizing detail of Scarlett’s retelling. Upon Honey’s information, Bea’s eyes flicker knowingly toward the counter and Honey just shrugs. Bea’s eyes then narrow, accompanying a questioning tilt of her head. Honey shakes her head at that, and Bea lets it go.

“Well, I heard the reason that Mr. Mayes wasn’t at church last week wasn’t his hip acting up,” Bea says to the ladies when it’s her turn. That starts a whole new tangent for the knitting club, one that will keep them occupied and in their seats for a number of minutes. It gives Honey the time to slip into the back and cut up one of the peaches that she brought from home to snack on during work. 

The ladies leave The Reading Nook about an hour after Bea’s arrival, leaving the store empty except for the two girls and floaters looking for their next novel.

Bea leans against the counter with a smug smile, blinking innocently at Honey. 

“What do you really think about them?” She asks.

“I think they’re trouble,” Honey says. “They didn’t seem on the same page about their jobs, they don’t know anything about living in a small town, they travel a lot, and I think I saw one of them carrying a 48-pack of beer.”

“Are they cute?”

Honey fixes Bea with a stare that could put a stop to anyone else’s questions. Unfortunately, Bea is immune to Honey’s intimidation tactics and her sarcastic jabs. She sees right through them. Honey’s silence is another thing she sees through.

“Interesting.” She draws herself up to her full height. 

“I think you would find them cute,” Honey says.

Bea hums. “You can’t backtrack now. You said enough without saying anything at all.” She crosses her arms over her chest then leans back down onto the counter. “So, tell me, Honeybear,” she muses. Fortunately, she changes the topic. “Did you get my strawberries from the stand, or were you too enthralled by the pretty boy in front of you?”

“He wasn’t pretty.”

“Sure he wasn’t.”

Honey scoffs, then leaves to the back to grab the basket of strawberries. She does so carefully, not touching the strawberries in case she breaks out in hives like she did last time. Bea swears that more exposure to the fruit would “cure” her allergy, but Honey only picks up the baskets to humor her. Honey doesn’t think she’s missing out on much, being allergic to strawberries. It’s her peaches that she would miss, and the blackberry pie that Ada makes when her vines turn ripe. That’s something to look forward to– blackberry season is starting and Ada could show up with a pie any day now.

The day continues slowly, with Ada making an appearance to close down the shop with the girls and help unpack a new shipment of books. After they’re done, Honey and Bea head to their respective homes.

Honey curls up with her book in her bed and listens to some music before the soft noise of the background and the comfort of her blanket draws her to her sleep.

3:90 – TREVOR

They have to go to the hardware store today. 

Yesterday, the boys wasted the day, sleeping later than they have in weeks. They ate a late breakfast, which turned into their lunch. They played pool on the pool table, ping and beer pong on the foldable table, and sunbathed out on the porch. Cole watched lazily as Trevor and Jack tried to outline half of a rink in chalk on the cement slab. They never finished the other half of the rink.

Today, they have to go get some wood and tools to make the rink into a 3D structure so the pucks don’t go flying into the woods when they shoot them. Trevor and Cole are the ones who are supposed to go to the store– Jack has decided to stay behind and wait for Quinn and Luke if they show up while the other boys are at the store. 

A convenient excuse, even though the goons are planning to show up today. Trevor expects the brothers to try and weasel their way out of working on the rink, claiming that they’re too tired from travel or they need more time to unpack. The thing is, the boys are flying into Charlotte and renting a car for the summer so that there will be two at the house, so they’re only driving for like an hour compared to Trevor’s eleven. They have no right to be complaining, but they will likely enact a vote and outweigh Cole and Trevor because if the Hughes are anything, it’s lazy and loyal to each others’ laziness.

They’re very driven, but only when they choose to work. When it comes to hockey, they’ll work all day. When it comes to creating the hockey rink or putting together equipment, they would much rather watch. Jim spoiled them that way– he was always the builder of the family and the boys were left to go do whatever they wanted as long as they weren’t annoying their father.

Trevor and Cole put off the trip as long as they can, hoping that maybe the Hughes brothers will show up early and they can force them to go to the store before they can even get out of the car. 

When the clock hits two, Trevor decides that the waiting is useless. They could’ve done so much during the day instead of sitting around waiting, but no. He was lucky enough to sit around and do nothing all day and watch stupid daytime TV with Cole while Jack read his texts with his brothers out loud.

The hardware store would be heaven compared to this.

He leaves without Cole at first, driving slowly down the driveway until he sees Cole’s figure run out of the house and after the car. Trevor can imagine what he’s saying as he yells after the vehicle– something about not being left with Jack in case the other Hugheses show up, something about how Trevor is a dick. 

They follow the one road on the mountain up to the strip where all the stores are. The hardware store is just a few doors down from the grocery store, so they park in the same parking lot.

Cole and Trevor walk side by side, Cole’s eyes on his phone as they walk while Trevor takes in the brick walkway beneath them. Names are etched on some of the bricks– Jude Doyle, Frederick Lawson, Ansley Hood… Grandma. Trevor has seen stuff like this before, but there’s something different about these names being etched on the bricks of this small town. Everyone probably knew these people, or knew someone who knew them, when they died. It’s so personal.

When they reach the hardware store, Trevor holds the door open for a man leaving. They give each other a curt nod, just a passing glance. Trevor sees absolutely no recognition in his eyes and comments on it. Cole doesn’t care, and says so. Trevor punches his shoulder.

“Welcome in,” the elderly woman at the counter greets. “What are you boys looking for?”

“Hi,” Cole replies, a charming smile on his face. “Could you point me towards the power tools? I can find my way from there.”

The woman smiles and points toward the back of the store. “They’re on the left, sweetie.” She turns to Trevor. “And what about you?”

“We’ll be needing some plywood,” Trevor says. “We’re building a little roller rink.”

“Oh, how fun!” The lady, named Vera if her nametag has any truth to it, claps her hands. “How much do you need, dear?”

“How much have you got?” Trevor asks. 

Vera waves her hand. “I don’t know. I’ll call Earl, he’ll send you off with what you need.” She turns and takes a breath before shouting the man’s name. Trevor’s heard that shout before– his grandmother used to do the same thing with his grandfather. 

The balding, age-spotted man appears at the door to the back of the shop. “I done told ya I have my hearing aids in, woman,” Earl grumbles to his wife, fond and mean and familiar in the way that only a couple who has been married for fifty years can be. 

Vera smacks Earl’s arm as he ambles by her. Earl pulls his arm away and puts another foot between them. 

“What do you need, young man?” Earl asks.

“Lots of wood,” Trevor says. “A couple of sheets of plywood and some 2x4s, maybe?”

“Boy, you do not think I have all’a that laying around.” Earl fixes Trevor with a stink-eye. 

“Don’t you tell him that!” Vera chimes in. “I know you’ve got plenty of wood out back because you bought all of it and never finished our damn basement.”

“I’m going to finish it!”

“Earl, you’ve been saying that for thirty years, you ain’t never finishing the basement.”

Trevor wants to laugh at the absurdity of this conversation. He wants to laugh at this domestic argument and how unreal it is that it’s unfolding in front of him. Instead, he clears his throat. “Excuse me,” he interrupts gently. “I don’t know if I want thirty year old wood for this. We’ll be hitting pucks off the boards all day and I’d like to keep the pucks inside the rink, please.”

“You’re a hockey boy?” Earl questions with a raised brow. When Trevor nods, he lets out a grunt. Trevor can’t tell what that means. Nonetheless, he waves Trevor to follow him into the back.

Trevor squeezes past Vera– she pinches his butt, he thinks– and catches a glimpse of her knitting under the counter when he walks by. She’s knitting something green. It’s too bundled up for him to tell what it is, though. Maybe he’ll ask later.

When he enters the back room, Earl gestures around. “Take your pick of the wood and make a pile over there–” he points to the corner– “and you can drive around back and we can put the wood in your truck there.”

“Oh, I didn’t drive a truck down,” Trevor says before he can help it. Earl makes a face. “But my friend and I can carry the piles ourselves to the car, don’t worry about that.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Earl gripes, shuffling away to sit at a bench with a circular saw and a half finished product on the table. 

Trevor sifts through the wood, all neatly arranged into piles of similar sizes– but labeled completely wrong. Trevor thinks that Earl might’ve refused to follow Vera’s labels when she first put them up in the shop, but realized that they’re more helpful than harmful. He’s just petty enough of an old man to ignore the labels, but follow the categorization.

Trevor ends up with a pile of ten sheets of plywood– four that are as long as lunch tables, and six that are just squares. Those will go behind the goals, while the long ones will go around the sides of the slab. He picks up a couple of 2x4s, just in case he needs them, and throws them on the pile with a clatter.

“I’m going to go grab my buddy,” Trevor says to Earl.

Earl grunts, but doesn’t budge. He also doesn’t look up from his station.

Cole is chatting up Vera when Trevor rejoins them. He’s leaning over the edge of the counter, asking about Vera’s knitting and her grandchildren. He’s got a bag of goodies next to him– powertools and nails, Trevor assumes. 

“Coley, come help me,” Trevor interrupts.

“No manners, this guy,” Cole says to Vera, scoffing and pointing his thumb at Trevor with a shake of his head. 

“Well, don’t keep the bear waiting,” Vera replies. Trevor watches her pinch Cole’s ass as he passes, but Cole just laughs and bats her hand away.

Fucking annoying. Always so good with the grandparents.

“The bear?” Trevor asks once Vera is out of earshot. “Is that me?”

Cole smirks. “We’ve got nicknames.”

Earl looks up when they reenter the back. He lets out a laugh, just a short bark. “This is your friend who’s going to help you carry all that wood?”

As the smirk falls off Cole’s face, Trevor picks it up.

“I can carry some wood,” Cole insists. “Probably all of it. I’m stronger than Z is, anyway.”

Earl’s gaze slides over to Trevor. “Z,” he repeats. “I hope you don’t stick with that one.”

Trevor laughs. “You sound like–” he cuts himself off. He never did learn her name, anyway. What’s it to this old man, who he sounds like?

Cole picks up on it though. “Like who, Z?” He asks with a tilt of his head.

Trevor glares at him. 

“I don’t give a rat’s ass who I sound like and I don’t want to hear your smug little bickering,” Earl admonishes. “Get your wood and get outta my shop.”

Trevor laughs in Cole’s face, then pushes him over towards the pile of wood. “Go on, strong man.”

Cole makes like he’s going to throw a punch at Trevor– Trevor doesn’t flinch, because he hasn’t fallen for that since their first stint on the US team– and puffs up his chest before deciding to pick up the long pieces of wood.

“Compensating for something?” Trevor asks.

“Go fuck yourself,” Cole replies cheerfully, turning on his heel and swinging the wood around with him, hoping to hit Trevor in the stomach. Trevor jumps away.

He picks up the rest of the wood and follows Cole out of the shop, bidding Earl a quiet farewell.

Earl grunts.

Trevor nods to himself, not surprised by the response. Vera is much more sad to see them go, gushing over how strong they are and telling them to come back soon. 

“What’s your nickname?” Trevor asks suddenly, as they load the wood into the back of the car.

Cole grins, crooked and smug. “Sweetie.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Oh, I assure you, I’m not. I’m a real hit with the ladies.”

“Yeah, you’re a real fucking hit with the married seventy year olds,” Trevor scoffs. “Don’t fucking talk to me, dude.”

Cole laughs, tossing his head back. He looks over Trevor’s shoulder. “Hey, isn’t that your girl?”

Trevor spins around. “Where?” He asks, looking to his left and right. 

When Cole starts cackling behind him, Trevor takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, dude.”

“Bear, you wouldn’t know what to do without me.” Cole pats Trevor on the chest before rounding the car, settling in the passenger seat.

“Fucking passenger princess,” Trevor seethes. 

“You wish you were me.”

“I fucking don’t.”

“The more fucks you say, the more fucks you give.”

“Fuck off.”

They drive back to the house in silence, Trevor’s knuckles white as he deliberates driving off the mountain and taking Cole with him. There are pros, certainly, the top one being that Cole would no longer be part of this vacation. The cons, unfortunately, outweigh the pros: without Cole, Trevor would be alone with the Hughes brothers all summer, except for the occasional visiting savior.

Quinn and Luke have arrived by the time the duo returns to the mountain house. They brought with them another SUV, this one only slightly bigger than Trevor’s vehicle. It’s got a third row of seats, but it’s cramped– they’ll definitely have to take both cars down to Charlotte when they go to practice. Because of the limited trunk space in Quinn’s rental car, Trevor’s car will likely end up being the gear car. 

Which is lucky, because who wouldn’t want to spend three hours total in the car with smelly gear while the other car gets to have fun and smell nice?

On second thought, the time alone might be good for Trevor. He loves his friends, he really does, but it’s hard to be around them for so long. He’s lucky that they’re all on different teams, that they keep up when they can, and that it’s not constant. Jack can’t escape his brothers, especially not Luke, but Trevor can escape all three of them.

He spends the evening building the outdoor rink, mostly alone. Quinn helps a little bit, mostly chalking up the lines on the remaining half of the slab. He holds the wood for Trevor while he screws some nails into the pieces to keep them in place. They work mostly in silence, as they often do. Trevor is itching to talk with Quinn, see how he is, but he knows that Quinn is a man of few words. He also knows that Quinn is quick to say that Trevor talks too much. They’re at the point in their relationship where Trevor lets Quinn dictate how much they speak.

Luke tries to cook dinner, he does. Trevor can’t fault him for trying. Jack had to jump in to save them from burnt steaks and soggy vegetables, and even if he can’t salvage everything, he does a pretty good job. Luke apologizes and does the dishes. He’s quiet for the rest of the night, falling asleep on the couch during the movie they picked out, and Quinn wakes Luke like a good big brother and shoos him to bed. 

It’s more calm than the lake house, Trevor thinks. They’re not really doing anything differently, are they? And yet, here they are, sitting together in calm silence. They’re drinking bottled beer and laughing over the same jokes they’ve heard a million times, reminiscing about summers past and what they’ll do this summer. Quinn wishes for a lake. Jack tells him they’ll find one.

Trevor goes to bed when the movie ends, frogs croaking past his bedroom window in the depths of the night.

4:90 – HONEY

It’s a Thursday, so Honey gets to sleep in until nine. Sleeping in until nine means that she really wakes up at eight, because she just can’t sleep in late after working at the bookstore for five years now. She sits on her couch on Thursday mornings and reads. She does the crossword in the Litchton Local, the newspaper that comes out weekly on Wednesdays. 

There’s an immeasurable stillness in the mountains.

Honey noticed it the first time she came up to this house as a child. Everything moves, like the bugs outside and the leaves on the trees, but everything is so still. Like it’s being held in place by something bigger. She knows the feeling well, but it’s comforting here. 

At home, it was uniforms and piano lessons after school. She loves piano, even still, but there was something so crushing about the weight of her perfect posture on that bench when there was all the pressure of beauty breathing down her neck.

Home, Honey thinks again, and laughs. 

In the mountains, all of the beauty of the world is there and present and taking up space– but it’s not forced. It’s not the idealized version of everything. It just is.

And everything is so green, especially on a rainy day like this. Honey thinks there’s something sacred about the greenness of the mountains, but it’s the melancholic side of divine that leaves you waiting for another whisper or breath in the wind that never comes.

She used to have a piano that she could play in the mornings. She toted it to the antique store down the road when she made the mountain home hers. Sometimes, she wonders why she did that and regrets it, staring at the dents on the floor where its legs used to stand.

But then she remembers that she’s thinking about the past again and she shakes herself out of it. Five years later, but it’s hard to forget all of the things you grew up knowing.

Honey picks Bea up on the way to work, relishing in the girl’s consistent lateness because it allows her the chance to catch up with her friend. They see each other every day, yes, but the bookstore isn’t suited for some topics.

Such as Bea’s current woes:

“I’ve run out of dating app men,” she complains.

Honey bites back a smile. “Did you run out, or did you just swipe left on all of them?” She asks knowingly.

Bea cuts her eyes at Honey. “All the ones I swiped left on are ugly,” she says. “I can promise you that.”

“Is anyone good-looking in Litchton, Bea?”

Bea’s silence speaks for itself.

Honey laughs, her hair whipping around her face in the breeze from the rolled-down windows of her car.

“If I had known you were dragging me to the Ugly Capital of the World, I wouldn’t have come with you,” Bea announces, like it matters. She’s a liar. She wouldn’t have let Honey leave their hometown without her, no matter where she was going.

“You couldn’t turn it down, you had to come,” Honey replies. “Especially since they asked you to be Mayor.”

Bea gasps, affronted. She stares at Honey, her jaw hanging open. “Are you mad at me? Be honest.” She pouts, her voice whiny.

“Oh my God,” Honey groans, rolling her eyes. “No, I’m not mad at you.”

“Okay, well, stop being a cunt, please,” Bea sasses. If Honey were more annoyed, she’d reach out and slap Bea’s arm for the attitude. “We have to go to work and I need to put all my focus into pretending to like you.”

“Yeah, because it’s so hard to like me,” Honey says. Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, monotone and grating. 

“Yeah, it is, you suck.” Bea flips her hair over her shoulder, digging through her bag to find her Walmart lip gloss. She smears the cherry flavored gloss over her lips and puckers up, batting her eyelashes at Honey exaggeratedly. “Gimme a kiss.”

“No.” Honey pulls up to The Reading Nook and parks on the street in front of the building, parallel parking with the practiced ease of someone who’s been dealing with nothing but parallel parking (except in the grocery store and church parking lots) for the last five years.

“Ugh, one day you’ll kiss me,” Bea mutters, staring forlornly out the window. 

Honey rolls her eyes. “Bea, we’ve already kissed. You weren’t that good and I didn’t like your lip gloss then, either.”

Bea cringes. “That was like ten years ago, Hon. Things have changed since then. Number one, I’m not in middle school. Number two, I’ve had boyfriends and I’ve had sex since then. Number three, you know it wouldn’t mean anything. I want you to try my lip gloss so bad, come on.”

Honey stares. Bea’s got a stupid smile on her face, teasing and annoying. They hold each other’s eyes for too long before Honey speaks. 

“You’re insufferable, did you know that?”

Bea nods. “You are so easy to work up.”

Bea and Honey exit the car at the same time and enter the store through the front, the bell jingling behind them. Ada greets them from behind the counter, teasing Bea for being late again and threatening to cut her pay. She never will, never. Bea is too good with the kids, too happy to talk to mothers, and just dry enough to understand the miserly old man that walks through the door looking for a new World War I book. 

In the back, Ada has a bowl of biscuits and jam that Honey reheats and eats over the counter before she starts her day. 

She’s supposed to reshelve some books from their Borrow Before You Buy section, the part of the store that acts as the town’s public library. It’s a small task. The pile of books that were returned yesterday is less than a hundred. A good portion of the books are little kid chapter books, the kind you could finish in an hour as an adult because the font is so big and there are full-page pictures twice a chapter. 

Bea has to read to the kids at noon– some of the mothers bring snacks, like the end of a youth soccer game. It’s like a potluck lunch and the kids love Bea. Most weeks, it’s just her, but since it’s summer, she’s starting to bring in guest readers. Honey refuses to do it every time. Well, that’s not true– she acts as guest reader once a summer, right before school starts. It’s her one moment of the year. 

As she’s restocking the books, Honey hears the bell twinkle with each new customer that walks in. She’s grown used to the noise over the years, so it doesn’t draw her eye anymore.

What does draw her eye, however, is the blunt tap on her shoulder. When she turns around, Bea is blinking innocently at her– no doubt the offending hand in this scenario– with Trevor by her side.

“I was just talking to Trevor here, Honey,” Bea says. “And he was wondering if we had any books that a man his age might like. I thought maybe you should talk to him.”

Honey glares at Bea, purposefully obvious about it so that Trevor sees. What does she know about book recommendations for a man in his twenties? He probably wants some shit sports biography, or worse– he’s embracing his inner old man and he’s ready to venture into the world of World War I non-fiction. Either way, book recommendations are Bea’s thing, not Honey’s. She just stocks the books, builds the shelves, and bonds with the old ladies who come in on Tuesdays.

Bea shrugs with a coy little smile– Honey wishes she could slap it off of her face– and disappears behind the stacks. Honey can tell that she’s still listening from a few feet away, always nosy and overly interested in Honey’s exploits. If she can’t indulge in her own, she’s happy to butt in on Honey’s.

“Trevor,” Honey says, crossing her arms over her chest. She didn’t wear a bra today. She doesn’t trust him not to look. She also doesn’t trust her nipples not to peak in the cold air. 

“Is Honey your real name?” Trevor asks. 

She balks at him. “What is it with you and my name?”

Honey expects Trevor to back down, to act timid and normal and earnest like he did at the fruit stand on Monday. She expects him to apologize, yet again, for another inadvertent mistake that Trevor seemed unable to avoid. It’s because he doesn’t think– he just says the words as they come to mind, hoping that the sentence comes out fully formed and making sense.

And yet, he doesn’t.

“Just wanted to know what name I’ll be saying when I’m telling you to come,” is what Trevor answers. 

Honey gathers her wit quickly, scrambling to find a response to Trevor’s bold statement. She wants something clever, something to turn him down, something to tell him that he’s a cocky prick for saying such a thing while she’s at work, but she comes up with none of the above. Instead, she settles for: “It’s a nickname.”

A smirk tugs at Trevor’s lips and Honey wants to reach out and strangle him. He’s smirking because he thinks he bested her– bested her– and that he’s got the upper hand.

“What kind of book are you looking for, Trevor?” Honey changes the subject, trying to get back on task. She turns, continues restocking the Borrow Before You Buy shelves. 

“I’m not sure, Honey,” he replies, really milking his use of her name. “What kind of books do you think I’d like?”

She glances at him, looks him up and down. She tamps down a smile and says in a curt, monotone voice. “Guides on how to make the best of your business trip.”

Trevor laughs at that, more of a shake of his shoulders than a real laugh. “You’re funny, Honey.”

Honey raises her eyebrows and waits for him to continue.

“Hey, that rhymed. Maybe a book of poetry? I need to study my craft if I’m going to be waxing poems about you.”

He’s bold, she thinks. He’s really bold, much more sure of himself than he was on Monday. He’s much more confident, a sharp 180º from where he was the other day.

“Why don’t you keep your waxes to yourself?” Honey asks.

“How can I?”

She turns to him, planting a hand on her hip. “Don’t you have something to do today other than bother me at my bookstore? You don’t even know me. Why are you here?”

“I’m here to get a book. I’m not trying to bother you, I’m just trying to make conversation.” Trevor shoves his hands in his pockets and has the decency to look ashamed, even if it’s just for a split second and just to see if Honey will crumble. She knows his type. She’s seen them before.

“You’re flirting with me,” Honey accuses. “Not making conversation.” She puts air quotes around the last two words.

Trevor smiles. “You caught me,” he says simply, no shame evident in his voice. The smile stays on his lips as he and Honey look at each other. He raises his eyebrows and she takes it as a challenge.

“I’m not interested, Trevor.”

“I could show you a good time, Honey.”

“In Litchton?”

“Don’t you hear how good it sounds when I say your name? It’s like we’ve been hooking up for ages and I’ve got a special little name for you.”

“A name that everyone else uses.”

“It’s special to me.”

“How about a self-help book?”

Trevor clutches at his chest, jaw dropping in fake-misery. “You think I need help?”

“If you’re not going to buy a book, then you need to leave me alone.” Honey places the last book in her stack on the shelf and looks at Trevor expectantly. The silence sits between them, suspended for a moment.

“Do you have any books about space?” He asks. 

Honey notices that his voice is softer, a little more genuine. She examines his features, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She waits for the joke about not wanting space from her, needing her in his orbit, or whatever. It doesn’t come. She scans his figure one last time, realizing that her brow is furrowed and she’s chewing on the inside of her bottom lip as she does so. She smoothens her expression, hoping Trevor didn’t pick up on her calculating stare.

“How do you feel about creative nonfiction?” Honey asks.

Trevor scrunches his nose.

“Memoirs, personal histories, stuff like that,” Honey supplies. She softens her voice to match his tone. She almost feels a little shy. “We only have one book about space that I’ve read and it’s creative nonfiction, but it’s really good.” Quieter, then: “I liked it.”

Trevor nods, a little hesitant. This is the Trevor she met on Monday. “Okay.”

“Follow me.” Honey leads him to the nonfiction section, to the rows of books whose authors bear a last name that starts with ‘D.’ She runs her fingers along the titles of the books at the height of her chest while scanning the upper shelves. “It’s there,” she says, pointing to the row just out of her reach. “It’s by ‘Dean.’” She looks down, around her on the floor. “Where’s my step ladder…?”

“I can reach it,” Trevor says, stepping forward. He places a hand on the small of Honey’s back and reaches up, fingers hesitating as he searches for the right book. When he finds the spine bearing Dean’s name, he bounces up on his tiptoes for just a second to slide the book from its position on the shelf. 

Honey has never been more aware of a hand in her life. His touch is light, just a passing glance really, but it weighs on her. It’s like she’s standing in quicksand and she waited too long to try and get out.

He’s so close to her when he stands flat on his feet again. He’s got the book in one hand and his other still rests on Honey’s back.

She steps away.

His eyes follow her, but instead of saying anything, he just flips the book over in his hand. He reads the back cover and as he does so, Honey puts more space between them. She takes a breath, trying to stay quiet, and grounds herself.

“Is it really any good?” Trevor asks. “Do I have to buy it?”

“Yes, and, um.” Honey throws a look over her shoulder. She lost track of Bea while she and Trevor went to find this book. Fuck, her nosey best friend could be anywhere. “You can borrow it. We just usually give people a week or so to bring it back, and if you don’t, we track you down.”

“Track me down?” Trevor asks, chuckling. 

“Yeah.” Honey nods. “Small town. Everybody knows everybody, or knows somebody who knows everybody.”

“Stalking me, Honey?” Trevor teases.

“We’ve met twice, and both times it was because you came up to me. If anyone is the stalker here, it’s you.”

Trevor turns the book over in his hand again, looking down to avoid Honey’s gaze. “Leaving Orbit, huh?” He bites his lip and takes in the sight of Honey in front of him. He taps the book with his other hand. “I’ll let you know if it’s any good.”

“I know it’s good. I read it.”

“Baby, if you knew good, you’d be all over me.”

Honey scoffs. “Alright, fun’s over. Get out of here, Trevor.” She shoos him away, practically pushing him out of the shop. She sticks her tongue out at him through the glass after closing the door behind him. She watches him laugh, run his hands through his hair, and turn away.

‘Zegras’ is written in bold letters across his back, the number 11 in the center of his t-shirt. The detail catches Honey’s eye as she watches him walk away, down the street towards a car with a New York license plate that looks far too perfect and expensive to belong in Litchton. She bites the inside of her lip again, pondering. If anyone asks, she doesn’t care, but Trevor’s different than anyone she’s ever met. She wonders why.

But no, she doesn’t care.

Bea does.

“He plays hockey,” Bea announces, revealing herself. “He’s good, too. NHL. He was a top ten pick when he was drafted.”

Honey just nods. Twice. That’s all she needs. They’re small movements and she’s still chewing on her lip.

“What did he get?”

Honey clears her throat. “Just the, uh, Dean book about space.”

Honey can practically hear the face Bea makes behind her back. “You think he’ll enjoy that?” Bea asks. “It’s really personal.”

“It was the only book I could think of,” Honey replies with a shrug. She finally turns around to face Bea. “You’ve got to stop spying on me. I know you listened to our whole conversation.”

Bea pouts and stomps her foot, the sound echoing along the stacks around them. “How could I not?” She demands. “‘Just wanted to know what name I’ll be saying when I’m telling you to come?’ Honey, girl. Be serious.”

“Bea, you know I’m not looking for that right now.”

“You’re never fucking looking for that,” Bea hisses, pinching Honey’s wrist until she flinches away. “It’s falling into your lap and you’re pushing it out the door! What’s wrong with you?”

Honey glares at her with a tilted head. 

Bea relents. “One of these days, I’m going to kick your ass,” she threatens. “You can’t be a spinstery old maid forever, Honeybear. They’re only here for the summer. Maybe you should embrace it.”

“He’ll be gone within the week.”

Bea sighs. “Whatever you say.”

5:90 – TREVOR

“We need to throw a party,” Trevor says over breakfast.

“Why?” Luke asks, voice scratchy from lack of use. He yawns and runs his fingers through his hair, further messing up his already messy curls. He’s not wearing a shirt– none of them are– and Trevor is astounded by how pale Luke is. 

“We need to get you outside more,” Trevor mumbles, then clears his throat and continues speaking. “It’s like a housewarming thing.”

Unimpressed, Cole rolls his eyes. “Who do you want to invite?” He asks.

Trevor pauses, side-eying his friend. “Nobody,” he deflects. 

Quinn snorts, the spoon he’s using for his cereal clinking against the side of his bowl. “Not much of a party.”

“He wants to invite the girl that he met the other day,” Jack says, butting into the conversation. 

Luke frowns. “What girl?”

“Some townie that he met at the fruit stand when we went to the grocery store,” Jack explains. “He doesn’t know her name.”

“Her name is Honey, actually,” Trevor interrupts. 

The table stills. Each of the boys’ eyes turn towards Trevor and he suddenly feels like an ant under a child’s magnifying glass, boiling under the glare.

Cole pushes up an invisible pair of glasses and raises a finger, pursing his lips. “Actually,” he mocks, then drops the tone. “How do you know her name, Z?”

Trevor shrugs noncommittally. “I ran into her when I went into town yesterday.”

“Oh, when you were supposed to pick up laundry detergent and you came back with a book instead?” Cole asks. “That makes sense, much more sense than what Luke said.”

Trevor blanches. “What did Luke say?”

Jack snickers.

Trevor turns to Luke. “What did you say?”

Quinn smiles and hides his face, taking a large mouthful of his cereal to leave Luke hanging if he asked for help.

Luke flushes. “I mean, you know… that maybe you confused the two.”

“How the fuck would I confuse laundry detergent with a book?” Trevor snaps. “They’re two completely different things, fuckface.”

Luke throws his hands up in surrender. “We were just thinking of reasons why you might’ve come back without the one thing we needed.”

Trevor looks around the table. “You guys are such assholes.”

“Bro, you’re the one that forgot laundry detergent because you were too busy chatting up some chick,” Jack defends the group. “Now we can’t even do our laundry.”

“If it’s so fucking important to you, go get the detergent yourself!”

A smile breaks out on Jack’s face. “Maybe I will,” he says, his voice shit-eating. “I might need to grab a book for myself, too.”

Trevor’s anger increases tenfold, for no fucking reason. “The fuck you do,” he snaps. “You don’t even know how to read.”

Jack’s face twists, his emotions finally aligning with Trevor’s own. “Fuck you, dude. You know I can read, I just don’t like to.”

Trevor scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I just want to have a party,” he mutters, stabbing at his eggs with his fork. 

The boys fall into silence, finishing their breakfasts. Trevor pouts, frustrated that the boys weren’t immediately on board with his idea for a party. 

If they were in Michigan, the Hughes brothers would have the front door of the house unlocked past 10pm. The people they know from the golf course, from the lake, from the pickleball courts would all be pouring through the doorway and into the party. Everyone knows that on Saturday nights, the Hughes brothers invite people over and they have a big bonfire. Apparently, that only applies in Michigan.

Trevor leaves the breakfast table first, to jeers from the other boys about being pouty and bitchy for not getting his way. Trevor knows that he’s going to invite Honey and her friend– Bee? Bea? B?– over tomorrow night no matter what the goons say. There’s not much to do in Litchton, he knows that, so he doesn’t want to leave the girls out. Otherwise, they might just sit at home all night. Trevor can’t have that.

Obviously, that’s his only motive. He would never have any other reason to invite Honey and Bea over to the house at night. Never.

Maybe one other reason.

But that’s irrelevant. 

He spends the morning outside, using the extra wood from Earl to build a fire pit in the half-circle clearing near the edge of the forest. When they were younger, Trevor’s sister might’ve thought this area was where the fairies lived, and maybe she would have built them a house. He wonders briefly if Honey was the same way when she was a child, when she was growing up in rural Litchton with nothing else to do but imagine.

Come to think of it, he doesn’t know if Honey grew up here. She seems so intimately integrated into the town that she has to be from here, has to have grown up here. She must know all the town secrets and all the town gossip and fuck, Trevor wants to know all of that and more. 

He can’t explain the feeling he has about Honey. He’s just… drawn to her. It doesn’t make sense– he doesn’t know her. He’s barely met her. She did not exist in his life a week ago and yet, she’s popping up in his thoughts like they’ve known each other for years. Like they’ve been inseparable for years. When he thinks about it, he decides that Honey is like one of the girls he would have met in elementary school in Bedford. Honey is one of the girls that he would have grown up with, one of the neighbor girls from down the street with whom he rode his bike on hot summer days. 

She’s got a hometown charm feel to her. Trevor has to see her again.

He finishes building the wooden part of the fire pit before realizing how stupid it was to build the pit out of wood. A lightbulb seems to go off in his head, though, because it’s an excuse to go see her, to invite her to his party. He can go to the hardware store on the way, pick up some stone and gravel to line the wood, protect it from catching flame. He can pick up some firewood from the grocery store for their first fire and pick up the laundry detergent he forgot yesterday. Jack won’t be so annoying then.

Trevor doesn’t bother telling the boys where he’s going– he just gets in the car and drives away. 

It takes all of fifteen minutes to make his way to the bookstore. It’s still early, so he doesn’t even know if it’s open yet. Trevor and the boys are so used to waking up early for hockey that they’ve been up for about two hours and the whole day is still ahead of them.

When Trevor pulls at the front door of The Reading Nook, it doesn’t swing open the way it did yesterday. He knows the doors are easy on their hinges, considering how easily Honey slammed the door behind him yesterday, but today, the wood is barely budging. He knocks on the door, loud. 

Honey’s friend’s head peeks out from behind a stack, confusion written all over her expression. Trevor waves at her, gesturing at the door. She laughs, then approaches the door. She points down at the ‘Closed’ sign hanging near the handle.

Trevor tilts his head, unimpressed. “I have to talk to you,” he says through the glass.

Bea unlocks the door and opens it with a snorted laugh. “What’s up, Trevor? Honey’s not here yet.”

“I have a proposition for you.”

Bea steps aside and lets him into the store. “You want her.”

Trevor sputters at her honesty. “I don’t know her.”

“You want her,” Bea repeats with a nod and a knowing smile. “And you want to know how to get her.”

“Well, yes,” Trevor says. “But also, no. I wanted to invite you– both, you both– to a party tomorrow night.”

Bea smiles. She crosses her arms over her chest. “You want my best friend and all I get is some measly party? Come on, Trevor. What’s in it for me?”

Trevor thinks for a minute. “What do you want?”

Bea laughs. She pokes her tongue into her cheek and looks expectantly at Trevor.

“Whoa,” Trevor says, taking a step back. “That’s really… forward, but–”

“I don’t want you, Trevor,” Bea scoffs. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “So self-centered, Honey was right about that. But, I’ll help you get her and I’ll make sure we make it to your party if you give me what I do want.”

Trevor hums, narrowing his eyes. “What do you want?”

Bea smiles, devilish and conniving. “The dating pool up here is pretty dry, and I hear you’ve got a few friends.”

Trevor nods.

Bea blinks at him. “Do you have any pictures of these friends? I would’ve looked you up, but Honey and I swore off Instagram years ago.”

That makes sense. That’s why he couldn’t find Honey when he looked her up last night– not that he had much to go off of. Still, “Honey Litchton NC” didn’t reveal many results.

Trevor fumbles with his phone, showing her a picture of the group from last summer. He watches her fingers pinch and zoom in on the picture, on each individual. She keeps her expression neutral, a poker face that impresses Trevor. She hums, thoughts racing behind her eyes too quick for Trevor to understand them. 

“We’ll come to your party,” Bea says simply, handing the phone back to Trevor. She snatches it back at the last second. “Wait,” she says, and clicks around for a second. 

Trevor waits, then she hands the phone back. On the screen is a contact page for ‘Bea McLean.’ 

“It’s pronounced like McLane,” Bea tells Trevor. “Since you’re so obsessed with names.”

“Okay,” Trevor cuts her off with a sarcastic nod. 

Bea laughs. “Don’t get sassy with me, I have all the power here.”

“Yeah, but I have your number,” Trevor flaunts.

“I could just block you, easily,” Bea points out. “Then where would you be?”

Wisely, Trevor bites his tongue. After a deep breath, he asks, “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Now get out, Honey’s supposed to get here soon and I don’t want her seeing you. She’s annoyingly on time. She’ll know we’re in cahoots.” Bea, much like her best friend did yesterday, pushes Trevor to the door and shoves him through it. She slams it behind him, flipping the sign so it says ‘Open’ instead, and waving Trevor off with a blown kiss.

she’s a flirt, Trevor thinks. those guys will not survive her for a second.

He doesn’t know which boy she has her eye on, but it doesn’t matter. Quinn’s too quiet for her, Luke is too awkward, Jack is too cocky, and Cole is too… short. 

Trevor snorts at the insult, laughing to himself. He heads to the grocery store, where he parked, and purchases two gallon bottles of laundry detergent and a Sharpie. He writes “JACK” on one and puts them both in the trunk of the car. Then, he walks to the hardware store. 

“Bear!” Vera greets from behind the counter, joints creaking as she moves from her chair behind the counter to give Trevor a hug. 

“Oh, Vera, you don’t have to come all the way over here,” Trevor says awkwardly, but hugs the woman back nonetheless.

“Of course I did!” Vera exclaims. “You look so handsome, young man.”

Trevor blushes, shying away from Vera’s examining fingers. She squints at the logo on his chest, one of his shirts from Anaheim. 

“I live in Anaheim,” Trevor explains to the woman, catching her hands in his and holding them securely in front of her body before letting go. “Do you have any stone that I could secure a fire pit with?”

“Yes, baby!” Vera claps and leads him to a section of the store that’s, somehow, even more peculiar than Earl’s workshop. There’s bags of gravel, sure, but it looks like fish food compared to some of the other bags and miscellaneous stones on the shelves. “Pick whatever you’d like. I’ll give you a discount for being so darn cute.”

Trevor chuckles. “I bet you give that to all your customers,” he teases.

“I had a local girl put it in the computer for me after we met you and Sweetie on Wednesday,” Vera teases back, batting her eyelashes. Her cheeks are red with blush, too much blush. “His discount is a little more because I see you’ve changed the body God gave you.”

Trevor follows her eyes to his tattoos. He rubs his opposite hand over them sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am.” He tries to smile charmingly. “Maybe I should’ve sent him to do the shopping today, since you like Sweetie so much.” He throws a wink into the mix to punctuate his sentence.

Vera laughs, a twinkling sound.

“Plus, it’d be cheaper for me,” Trevor says, like it’s a scandalous secret.

“I know that’s right!” Vera claps again, waves a hand at Trevor like she’s slapping her knee. She walks off, back to the counter, leaving Trevor to shop for his stones. 

He shops through the stones for about half an hour, choosing his favorites. He settles on a midsize gray stone, one that he can stack and seal with cement. He buys the quick drying cement as well, and carries it all to his car. Vera carries the quick dry cement and giggles when Trevor easily shifts the stones in his grasp when she complains about the bucket being too heavy for an old lady. He picks up the bucket and shifts the stones again, knowing he can carry more than this if he needed to. He swears he hears Vera sigh dreamily behind him as he packs the car up.

Like he said, what’s flirting with a few old ladies?

When he bids her goodbye with a kiss on the cheek, Trevor makes eye contact with Honey in the bookstore window. He grins at her and winks to her for good measure. He thanks Vera for her help while he escorts her back to the store, just for the sake of Honey seeing how selfless he can be. He’s not self-centered, no matter what she told Bea. 

Vera insists that Trevor and “his band of boys” join her and Earl at church that Sunday morning, pledging to introduce them to the other members of the community. Trevor agrees, thinking that being on Vera’s good side might get him even closer to Honey.

Trevor drives back to his home for the summer to find that the boys are playing in the rink he built.

Come to think of it, he’s making a lot of improvements to this property, and the only one who has actually helped is Quinn.

Not self-centered at all.

He deserves a party.

“We’re having a party,” Trevor calls out, carrying his stones toward the fire pit. He dumps his supplies on the ground. “And I invited two girls.” He wipes the dirt and dust from his fingers. “Someone else needs to finish this fire pit because I’m tired of building your shit. C’mon, Quinn.”

He leads the way inside, to grab a beer from the fridge, and Quinn follows after kicking off his skates, eager to avoid the work. The other brothers and Cole are left dumbfounded on the concrete. Jack makes eye contact with the cement mix first, and he smiles. 

They always did love a little project, and maybe they can hide a drawing of a dick in the cement for the owners to find at the end of the summer.

6:90 – HONEY

“Where are we going?” Honey asks. 

Bea has barely crossed over the threshold of Honey’s home before the question falls from her lips. Bea’s been cagey about it all day– just explaining that “we have plans” and that “you’ll enjoy them.” Honey loves her, sure, but this is absurd. She feels like she’s being kidnapped. 

“More like when are we going,” Bea corrects. “Let’s get you an outfit.”

Honey stumbles back, Bea pushing her out of the way. She closes the door behind her friend, following Bea as she stomps up the stairs to Honey’s bedroom. Bea knows Honey’s place as well as she knows her own, a little townhouse off of the main street in town. Honey’s lucky to live a little farther from city center, closer to the magic of the mountains. 

“What kind of plans do we have, at least?” Honey presses. She looks at Bea’s outfit– a jean skirt that falls like an old Poodle skirt and a white bandeau top. It’s sort of see-through– Honey can see the shadow and outline of Bea’s nipples through the skimpy top. “I don’t want to dress like you,” Honey says.

Bea scoffs and turns to Honey. “My plan tonight is to get laid, your plan tonight is to accompany me while I evaluate my prey.” 

Honey pretends to gag. “I hate when you say that.”

“Maybe you’ll find someone to flirt with,” Bea says. 

“So, where are we going tonight? Statesville? Winston?” Honey asks again, hoping Bea will relent since she now knows the purpose of their adventure. 

“Dude, I’m not telling you,” Bea laughs. 

She reaches Honey’s closet and throws the curtain open. She strolls into the closet, looking through Honey’s clothes. 

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Honey asks, looking down at her athletic shorts and little tank top.

Bea turns around and surveys Honey. “The shirt is fine.” She returns to her task. “Nice tits.”

Honey looks down. It’s a revealing top and she’s not wearing a bra, because it’s a Saturday and she didn’t know they had plans until Bea told her this afternoon. “Maybe not, then.”

Bea glares at Honey out of her peripheral. “But that’s your favorite tank.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to get hit on if I wear this shirt.”

“You’re going to get hit on anyway. Keep the shirt.”

“No, I won’t, because my bitch face will keep most of the guys away.”

“Most of the guys. Which is the whole thing. Those ones will come to me.”

“Ew, you’re going to have a threesome tonight?”

“A threesome?” Bea spins around. “God, no! One at a time for me, thanks. I’m just going to fuck the other ones.”

“Other than who?” Honey asks. “I’m not fucking anyone tonight.”

Bea rolls her eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“Trust me, I do.”

“Whatever.” She digs through the closet, finding a long-buried white tennis skirt, the back pleats of the skirt puffy. Honey would never wear something like that, but Bea would– it’s probably Bea’s skirt in the first place. 

“I’m not wearing that,” Honey states.

Bea wrestles her into it– seriously. She tackles Honey onto the bed and literally redresses her, the absurdity of the situation so bizarre that it completely bypasses both girls’ minds. Honey fights Bea the whole time, but Bea comes out on top. She gets her way, Honey wears the skirt, but she’s not happy about it.

“Do I, at least, get to drive?” Honey asks.

“Oh, I was going to force you,” Bea laughs. “You don’t expect me to drive you home, do you? I’ll be… indisposed.”

Honey scowls the rest of the time they spend getting ready– Bea does Honey’s hair and forces Honey to put on some light makeup, just a bit of mascara, eyeliner, and some lipgloss. 

The only problem with Bea and Honey’s relationship is that Bea likes to go out, likes to meet people, likes to have a wild time, whereas Honey prefers to stay in. She’d rather watch a documentary or read a book or be present in nature than packed into a club dancefloor like a sardine in a larger can. Not that that matters to Bea.

By the time they get in the car, Bea is jumping off the walls trying to keep her secret destination to herself. Honey keeps trying to push, hoping for the right moment, but Bea won’t reveal her plans. All she does is direct Honey to the main road and type away at her phone, sending text after text to an unknown recipient, an unknown recipient that Honey is sure they’ll be meeting up with later.

They drive further into the mountains, to Honey’s surprise. They don’t head towards Winston or Statesville. They drive up, farther from town, farther from their neighbors. Near the top of the mountain, the houses are miles apart.

Perfect for a party.

Perfect for a party… thrown by boys in their twenties.

It clicks in Honey’s mind as Bea tells her to turn into the hidden driveway along the curve. “You’re not,” Honey says.

Bea laughs. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to catch on. I thought for sure you would’ve clocked me when we turned left instead of right.”

“Bea,” Honey scolds, her voice sharp. They’re on the driveway now, safe from the curves of the road, and Honey stops the car. She turns to her best friend. “You can’t be serious.”

For all of her audacity, Bea manages to understand the gravity of the situation at hand. It finally clicks in her head, why Honey isn’t happy with her plans, and why she’s even unhappier that she was dragged out here without knowing what she was walking into. She can’t just drop Bea off and leave– she would be abandoning her best friend in a house of strange boys all evening. Bea might be outgoing, but she hasn’t been hurt like Honey.

“It’s not going to be like that,” Bea reassures Honey gently, grabbing Honey’s hand with both of hers. “I promise, they’re not like that.”

“You don’t know them, Bea,” Honey explains. 

“You don’t either,” Bea points out. “And this time, we’re together. The second they do something– I mean it, the second– we’ll leave. I’ll go with you. Fuckery be damned.”

Honey grimaces, rolling her shoulders to try and relieve some of the tension. She takes a deep breath, then squints at Bea. “Are you really going to fuck all of them?” She asks.

Bea grins, knowing that she’s convinced Honey to at least try and hang out with the boys. She’s smug, getting her way once again. She winks at Honey, coy. “Just the ones you don’t want,” she simpers, giggling. “You get your pick of the litter.”

“I don’t want to fuck any of them. I don’t know how many times we have to go over this.”

“So, you don’t want Trevor? ‘Cuz I was thinking–”

“Don’t fuck Trevor,” Honey groans. 

“Why not?” Bea teases.

“You’re better than that, Buzzy,” Honey scoffs with a shake of her head. “He’s weird and a flirt and annoying.”

“I’m weird,” Bea says. “And a flirt. And annoying.” She puckers her lips and blows kisses at Honey as she shifts the car into drive and begins to creep down the driveway again. “Maybe it’s a match made in heaven, me and Trevor.”

“You don’t want him,” Honey growls, her voice short. 

Bea shrugs and faces forward in her seat, her hands tapping her thighs. Whether it’s from nerves or excitement, Honey can’t tell. If she had to guess, though, it would be excitement. Bea is the least anxious person that Honey knows, the kind of person who can talk to anyone or anything no matter the situation.

While they might be athletes, they’ve never met anyone like Bea. Honey never has, not since she met her best friend all those years ago. They’re fucked– and she’s irresistible.

Honey and Bea pull up to the house and park under the cover, right next to the front door. This house was a point of contention when it was being built the first year Honey moved to Litchton. It was her first introduction to the gossip of the founding ladies. Scarlett and Gillian had felt particularly perturbed by the building– a five bed, four bathroom house complete with a hot tub and a game room and two stories of wraparound porches. 

And it’s all made of the same wood, the same stain, the same ugly pattern. Honey cringes when she thinks about the number of trees that were cut down to make this house match. She’d think the same thing if it was made entirely out of the same stone. 

Bea knocks on the door as Honey wipes her sweat from her palms. It takes a minute, but then Honey hears the scrambling of feet and the shouting between one man and his group of buddies, who are just giggling as they do what they can to cut him off from the door. Honey can see it through the thin windows bordering the door, how they rush up the stairs and down the hall. She can also see how they’re holding Trevor back as much as they can.

The brunet from the first day opens the door with a charming smile. “Hi,” he greets. “Can I help you?”

“Jack, you motherfucker–”

Honey bites back a laugh as Trevor curses and struggles, still in the grasp of the shorter boy from the first day and one of the newcomers– another brunet, a taller one. She looks at him carefully– the curl of his hair at the nape of his neck, partially hidden under a baseball cap, the curve of his eyebrows, and the slope of his lips give him away. He must be one of Jack’s brothers. 

“We were invited to come over tonight,” Bea replies.

No matter how many times she hears it, Honey is always impressed by the way Bea turns on her charm and makes the people around her melt. It worked on her, too, when they first became friends all those years ago, and then less and less when Bea moved into Honey’s place when they first came to Litchton together and shared a bed for almost a year before Bea found her own townhouse. Then, her charm just got annoying, like a younger sibling who tags along with you everywhere because Mom said they had to.

It’s better for them when Bea and Honey have their time apart. Honey, especially, needs her time alone.

Jack’s eyes finally find Honey behind Bea and he grins. “That’s right,” he says, tapping his forehead like he just remembered. Honey can tell that all he’s doing is messing with Trevor, though. “The party! You must be the girls that Z invited. Hi, Honey.”

“Hi, Jack,” Honey replies, short and sweet. She turns on her customer service voice just for this. She finds Cole next to Trevor and smiles when her eyes slide over the imprisoned boy, as passive as she can be. “Hi, Cole.”

“Hey, Honey,” Cole says with an easy smile. Honey wants to snort and laugh– he’s got a smile that could get him into or out of anything. She wonders briefly if he’s childish and impish, still, even in their adult age, just because he’s got the smile to match.

Jack steps aside and lets the girls enter the house. He closes the door behind them and Honey has a sneaking suspicion that if she turned to glance at him, he’d be staring at one of their backsides. She doesn’t look. It’s not worth the joke that she could make if she caught him.

Bea nudges Honey and points up.

Honey tilts her head, and– “A chandelier made of moose antlers. Wow,” she marvels. She makes a face at Bea, then continues. “That’s really… something.”

“Isn’t it sick?” Cole asks, finally dropping Trevor’s arm and joining the girls where they stand. He spreads his arms out from his sides and spins in a slow circle. When he makes a full turn, he looks at both girls and wiggles his eyebrows. “Want a tour?”

The girls agree and Cole takes them throughout the house, leaving the other boys behind. From their pounding feet, Honey figures they’re headed downstairs, while Cole takes them upstairs. He shows them the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the common areas, the hallways, the outlet in his room that doesn’t work, and much more. They go back downstairs and get the same treatment– Cole even opens the fridge and helps himself to a beverage before offering anything to the girls. They see the kitchen, the living room, the den, the dining room and patio. Cole shows them the wraparound porch and its chairs. Honey takes in the view– it’s just as good as the one from her living room. 

Finally, finally, they make their way down to the basement. It’s a smaller room, minimized by a covered porch and larger patio with a hot tub. The basement is clearly the man cave, the game room, or whatever you want to call it. There’s a pool table, a large TV, a ping pong table, a foosball table… everything a boy could want. 

As evidenced by the two boys sitting on the couches near the pool table, while the other two wield sticks and study the position of the balls on the table.

Honey finds Trevor on the couch with Jack. His eyes found her first as she walked down the stairs and he hasn’t stopped staring. Neither has she, to be fair.

“Pool,” Bea notices. She looks at Honey and Honey shakes her head. Bea nods. “Honey and I are next,” she announces anyway.

“Oh, yeah?” Jack asks with a little laugh. “Are you any good?”

“I’m okay,” Bea says. She pauses, lets a smirk on her face grow as she looks over to Honey. “Honey’s worse.”

The boys turn to Honey. “Are you?” Trevor asks. 

“I wager she could still beat you, Z,” says the only boy that Honey had not seen when they arrived at the house earlier. He’s got dark hair, but it’s also hidden under a backwards cap. The only difference between him and his brothers, assuming he is one of the brothers that Trevor mentioned on Monday, is that he’s smaller, more sullen. The telltale sign is that his comment is offhanded, delivered with the calm venom of an older brother who knows exactly where to bite. He doesn’t even look at Trevor as he lines up his shot and sinks the ball.

Honey likes him immediately.

When she looks over, she notices that Bea likes him too. Her lips are pursed in thought, only the minutest pout on her mouth. There’s a tiny smile pulling at her cheek and her eyes are twinkling under the bright lights, but they would be hazardous in a club.

It’s a game they’ve played before. Bea sucks at pool– she always has, but… when you suck at pool, either the person you’re playing with will laugh at you or they’ll try to give you tips. The night usually ends with Bea sinking the 8 ball with a little bit of help from her gentleman caller and a celebratory, “thank you” kiss. 

Honey, however, loves pool. She wasn’t always great at pool, but found that, like almost everything, the more she practiced, the better she became. When Bea’s celebratory kisses turned into rushed hookups in the Winston-Salem dive bar bathrooms, Honey got her fair share of tips and tricks from the other men around. Usually, she would try to shack up with the alcoholic middle aged men who had nothing better to do than sip on their beer and play pool after dinner with their wives. It was rare that they flirted with Honey and she liked it that way.

The game goes like this: Bea finds a group of men that puff up their chest at the idea of beating a woman at pool, she “lets them win” against her (as if she would’ve won in the first place), and then it’s Honey’s turn. Honey, of course, feints a few shots and lets the men get comfortable before coming from behind and beating them. Usually, her win results in two drinks for her and her friend.

Today, the drinks won’t be her bargaining chip.

“What would you wager?” Honey asks the boy who last spoke. “If it were a real bet.”

His stormy eyes look her up and down while Jack’s brother, the tall one, paces around the table to find his best shot. “Money, normally,” he drawls. “But I’d rather not lose my money betting on you if you’re worse than her.” He nods to Bea, who takes the chance to blatantly look him up and down.

“How about this,” Bea proposes, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. “I’ll play the winner of this game and then we’ll see if Honey can beat Trevor. If I win, I get whatever I want, obviously. If Honey wins…”

Honey meets Bea’s eyes. She nods, knowing that Bea is thinking back to the night when they visited ECU their junior year of high school and witnessed a rugby party in the flesh. It’s their usual punishment when their outings feature a house party and a pool table.

“...Trevor has to do a Zulu Run,” Bea finishes. 

Honey finds Trevor again and smiles, overexaggerated and sickly sweet. 

“What’s a Zulu Run?” Trevor asks, looking to the other boys and finding nothing but confusion. On the girls’ faces, he just sees plotted mayhem. 

“It’s fun, don’t worry,” Honey reassures him. “You only have to do it if you lose. Which, I mean, if I’m worse than Bea, then you should be fine.”

Honey sits on the loveseat across from Trevor and Jack, while Bea sits down next to Jack. Her knee presses against his, subtly, just enough that you can’t tell if it’s deliberate or just a lack of room on the couch and Honey presses her hand to her lips to hide a smile.

“So you’re Jack,” Bea says, interrupting the conversation that he and Trevor had been in when the girls walked down the stairs. 

Honey watches as Bea makes her eyes look wide and soft, very flirtatious and fairy-like. She’s got the perfect complexion for it– the light dusting of freckles over her skin, the ounce of baby fat still left in her cheeks and all the right places along her body, her expression just the right amount of interested but not desperate.

For a brief moment, Honey wishes she was more like Bea.

“You’ve heard of me?” Jack asks with a little smirk.

Bea scoffs and waves him off. “Don’t flatter yourself. Honey didn’t even tell me your name.”

Jack’s bright eyes turn to Honey. “Oh, yeah?” He tilts his chin up in challenge. “What is it with you and names? You wouldn’t tell Trevor yours, you haven’t properly introduced me to…”

“Bea,” Bea supplies.

Honey shakes her head fondly at her best friend’s eagerness. Honey bites her tongue to keep her comments at bay, and instead plasters a tight smile on her face. “I didn’t realize I would be seeing you all again,” Honey says, forcing politeness into her voice. “And I’m not the one who’s weird about names.”

Jack and Trevor share a look. Jack hides a snort poorly.

“What?” Honey asks, her eyebrows raised and her mouth in a straight, unimpressed line. 

Jack smirks and Trevor shakes his head. Jack speaks anyway. “I don’t know how you would have avoided us,” Jack says. “Considering.”

“Considering…?” Bea asks, leaning around Jack to look at Trevor. Honey catches Trevor’s panicked glance and can guess what Jack’s alluding to. She jumps in, hoping to switch the subject.

“Nothing to consider,” Honey and Trevor say at the same time. Trevor sounds rushed, Honey sounds indifferent. Both of their jaws drop and they stare at each other, Honey affronted and Trevor surprised. 

Cole, who had been sitting on the stool-saddles near the pool table, steps over the back of the couch and weasels his way between Trevor and Jack. “Creepy,” he says. “You’re like the twins from the Shining.”

Trevor cringes. “You know, I don’t think we are.”

Honey just hums, picking up her drink and taking a sip. She clears her throat and turns back to Jack. “So those are your brothers?” She nods over to the pool table, where the shorter boy is lining up the 8-ball with the corner pocket. “Trevor said you had family coming.” 

Honey doesn’t miss the smirk and blush on Trevor’s face when she says his name, even as he dips his head and takes a gulp of his beer to cover it up.

Jack smiles, a genuine smile. It’s easy to tell the difference with him, when he’s really smiling or if he’s smiling because he thinks he’s supposed to. 

“Yeah, the goons.” Jack looks over his shoulder and grins as his taller brother loses his game of pool. “C’mon, Rusty, you brought that pool stick all this way and your game still sucks?”

The taller boy glares at Jack and sulks, re-racking his stick. He walks over and stands awkwardly behind the couch, but flicks Jack on the back of the head and Honey giggles before she can help it.

She looks down at her lap after letting out the little laugh and misses the way Trevor’s eyes light up and train on her. 

“Luke, you fucker,” Jack swears, flinching at the impact of Luke’s flick. Jack frowns, his eyebrows furrowed as he rubs the back of his head. “He’s my little brother.”

“Little brother,” Honey repeats. “And you’re just going to let him flick you like that?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Very funny, Honey. Obviously I’m not going to let him get away with it.” He reaches around and half-asses a punch to Luke’s dick, just hard enough that it expels an “oof” from the younger boy and he doubles over a little bit.

The other boy interrupts. “Quit it,” he says. He glares at his brothers, then his eyes fix on Bea. “Your turn.”

Bea stands and smiles, a smug little smirk reserved for her conspiratory looks with Honey that signifies that she’s getting what she wanted. She joins the man by the rack of sticks and clasps her hands behind her back, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Which stick should I use?”

Jack looks a little put out by the loss of Bea at his side, and casts a glare toward his other brother. “And that’s Quinn,” he says curtly. “Pool master, or whatever.”

“So he’s the best in the house?” Honey asks.

“We’ll tally scores at the end of the summer,” Luke jumps in as Quinn says, “Absolutely.”

Jack scowls. “You just think that because you’re older. Remember, Quinn: first is the worst. Second is the best.”

Trevor snorts and takes another sip of his beer. 

He’s unnaturally quiet, Honey thinks. Trying to be cool in front of his friends, maybe.

“I take it you’re the second child,” Honey says. “That makes sense.”

“That makes sense?” Jack asks, repeating her statement like he can’t believe she dared to say that. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Honey looks over at Bea, who presses her lips together and raises her eyebrows. Daring Honey.

Honey rolls her head back, stretching the muscles of her neck. “You…” She starts, trailing off because she’s not sure how to finish the sentence without sounding mean. She scratches her eyebrow and scrunches her nose. “You like attention,” she decides, trying to keep her voice as free of judgment as possible. 

“Do I?” Jack asks, sounding unimpressed.

Honey shrugs. “You– I mean. Jack, you asked. You opened the door for us because you knew it would annoy Trevor, probably because you knew it would bother him that you were opening the door for m– us, instead of him. You flirt and smile when Bea sits next to you but you lean back and manspread when she gets up like you don’t want us to notice that you’re sitting without a girl at your side. You call your little brother a “fucker” and retaliate because you can, honestly escalating the situation from a flick to a punch to the dick. You act annoyed because your older brother is beating you at pool already this summer and it only just started, plus he took the girl from your side. It’s, uh… yeah. You like attention.”

Everyone but Jack starts to laugh.

“Stand up,” Cole says to Honey.

She does, her arms resting by her side awkwardly, her fingers twitching as she waits for him to do something.

Cole looks around the room and swears under his breath. “I didn’t think this through, one second,” he mutters, and disappears upstairs. 

Honey continues to stand there. She pats her hands against her thighs and looks around the room, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, but especially not Bea. If she makes eye contact with Bea, she’s going to burst out laughing. 

Trevor is still snickering, hiding his face in his shirt. Honey can still see the little crinkles by his eyes.

“She clocked you, man,” Quinn says with a shrug before pulling out a pool stick and standing it next to Bea. It comes up to the tip of her shoulder, Quinn’s chest. He nods in satisfaction and hands the stick over. Honey lets out a relieved breath of air at his approval, and then stifles a second when she watches Bea’s fingers brush over Quinn’s on the stick, her eyes lingering on his for just a second too long.

It’s too easy for her. 

Cole comes bounding down the stairs with a plastic soccer trophy in his hand. “Found this when I was snooping,” he says, approaching Honey and holding it out. He stands directly in front of her, makes eye contact with her, and stares into her eyes. “Thank you,” he says with a sincere nod. “For taking Jack down a peg. He needed that. We all needed that.”

And he hands the trophy off to Honey with a handshake, like she’s graduating from high school and he’s the principal handing her a diploma. He takes the handshake and pulls her into a hug, the trophy crushed awkwardly between them. 

When he pulls away, Cole puts both hands on Honey’s arms and stares into her eyes again. “If you’re going to do that again, please don’t do it to me.”

Quinn breaks the rack with a crack of his stick, standing at a slight angle, and Honey sits back down, cradling her trophy in her hands.

Cole engages Honey in conversation for a few minutes, with Luke jumping in here and there. Jack turns on the TV and pouts. As much as she tries not to notice it, Trevor just stays quiet and sips his beer and sneaks glances at Honey out of the corner of his eye. 

Eventually, the conversation dies out and the group turns their attention to the television, which is streaming some hockey game that Honey doesn’t have an interest in. The boys are chitchatting away, throwing out names and positions and yelling at the TV when a call doesn’t go their way– Honey can’t tell who’s cheering for what team, but she can also tell that Jack and Luke don’t like the team in white… at all. Trevor seems to prefer them over the team in red. Cole doesn’t seem to care. He’s just laughing, still, at Jack. Jack just sulks, but he seems to cheer up once the team in red scores, late in the first period.

“You all really like hockey, huh?” Bea asks between turns. Quinn has sunken a ball almost every turn, but Bea has only sunken one. Honey grins at her, then glances at the pool table and back to Bea. Bea sticks her tongue out at Honey, playful and easy. If Quinn’s the kind of guy that Honey thinks he is, it’s only a matter of time before he starts teaching Bea some tricks to tighten up the game. 

Cole laughs. “Yeah, I mean, I’d hope so.”

“What do you mean?” Bea asks, batting her eyelashes innocently, like she didn’t read all of Trevor’s Wikipedia page before coming here. 

“We play,” Luke says with a shrug.

Honey and Bea lock eyes and Honey plays along with her game. She tilts her head and blinks, as if this is the first time she’s hearing it. “Are you any good?”

Quinn snorts and shakes his head as Bea leans over to line up a shot and Honey notices his hand on her waist when he points at a different ball, explaining that that would be the better shot for her. Bea sinks the recommended ball and jumps up with a cheer, smiling brightly at Quinn and standing just a little closer than she would if she wanted to be just friends.

“We’re alright,” Trevor says, the first words he’s said to Honey since she walked through the door. He stands. “Does anyone want another beer?”

The boys’ voices ring out in a chorus of yesses, whereas Honey stays mostly quiet. Bea agrees to another drink as well, which is when Trevor turns to Honey. “You’re sure you don’t want another drink? I’m already getting them for everyone.”

“I’m sure, but thank you,” Honey says. 

“Why don’t you go and help him carry the drinks,” Bea suggests from her post next to Quinn. 

Honey glares at her, but stands. She leaves her trophy on her seat, saving it. “Fine,” she replies, hoping the edge in her voice is only detectable to her best friend. She follows Trevor up the stairs to the kitchen, like an antisocial cat who has FOMO, but only when it comes to their owner. She crinkles her nose in disgust when she realizes that that’s how she looks, not that Trevor would notice or care. Actually, he would probably be elated if she compared herself to a cat following him around.

Trevor opens the fridge and sifts around, the bottles of beer clinking. The beer takes up most of the bottom shelf, unsurprisingly.

“Do you think you have enough?” Honey asks, unable to help herself when Trevor passes her a third bottle, each a different brand of beer, to carry. 

“Q and J like Michelob, Luke is a Miller guy, Coley likes Budweiser, and I’m more of a Modelo drinker.” Trevor’s head is buried in the back of the fridge, rifling through a pack of Millers that seem to be running low. “We’ve had to go to the store three times since that first day because we keep running out of the one beer that someone wants.”

He retreats from the refrigerator and turns to Honey. He’s got two beers in his hand. He holds them up and asks, “Which one do you think Bea wants?”

Honey weighs her choices, but ultimately chooses the Michelob. Bea will use it as a jumping point for her conversation with Quinn– it’s a no-brainer. As annoying as Bea’s boy-craziness is, Honey is always going to be her wingwoman and helper when she can.

“Cool,” Trevor says and returns the other beer to the shelf. He turns back to Honey and takes two of the beers she was carrying, leaving her with just two, the Budweiser and the Modelo.

“I thought you were a Modelo drinker,” Honey says.

“I am,” Trevor replies, heading towards the stairs. 

Honey follows. “Then why am I holding your beer?”

“Because I want you to hand it to me.”

Honey snorts out a laugh. “Okay.”

When they return downstairs, they distribute the beer. Honey hands Cole his Budweiser and waits for Trevor to finish handing out the beers to the Hughes brothers and her friend. Bea has finally managed to get Quinn to do the work for her, with him leaning behind her and guiding her arms over the cue, pointing out where she should be looking and where to hit the ball. There are no other balls on the table except the 8 ball, which makes Honey chuckle. There’s no way Bea sunk all of hers– Quinn had to have “mistakenly” knocked a few in for her.

Trevor returns to the sitting area and Honey stands, offering him the Modelo in her hand. On purpose, she realizes, Trevor closes his hand over her own to take the beer from her and thanks her with a smile, his eyes far too kind to be harmless and friendly. 

Honey shakes her head with a look, then frowns when Trevor plops his happy ass right down on the other side of her loveseat. She shakes her head again and chooses to watch the end of the pool game, sitting on one of the stool-saddles near the table. She claps when Bea finally sinks the 8 ball after her third whiff. The ball only sinks because Quinn leaned over Bea again and did it for her, working together to finish the game.

“I win!” Bea squeals in delight, jumping in celebration in front of Quinn.

He lets out a little chuckle, the most awkwardly and quietly endearing laugh that Honey has ever heard. “You won,” he agrees. “With my help.”

Bea tilts her chin up and smiles at Quinn, proud of herself. “So we both win,” she says. “That means we both get whatever we want.”

Honey bites her tongue and ducks her head, waiting for what’s coming next. She wants to turn around and look out the window, even though you can’t see anything in the dark mountainside now that the sun has set. The thing is, she also wants to see the boys’ reactions to what Bea is going to say next.

Quinn smiles, a little tiny smile. His focus is only on Bea, who has inched her way closer to him somehow. There’s not much more room between them. “Whatever you want,” he repeats. “What do you want, Bea?”

Honey watches Quinn’s face, but she’s torn. She also wants to watch Jack.

“You know that tour Cole took us on when Honey and I first got here?” Bea asks, reaching out and smoothing out the turned-up fabric of Quinn’s sleeve.

“Yeah,” Quinn replies, a little confused.

Bea rests her hand on his arm, slowly making her way down so she can wrap her hand around his fingers. She watches herself do it, then looks up at Quinn through her lashes. “I don’t think I saw your bedroom,” she says. “Would you care to show me?”

Quinn’s lips part in surprise and Honey watches his eyes search Bea’s own for… insincerity, maybe? 

At the same time, Jack chokes on a sip of his beer. Honey’s eyes fly to him and Cole pats his back as Jack coughs it out. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jack says, clapping his hand against his chest and coughing one last time.

Bea smiles at him, oozing confidence and a little showmanship, as Quinn leads her to the stairs. He lets her climb them first and Honey giggles when Quinn sneaks a glance at Bea’s ass and visibly relaxes before hurrying to catch up with her and get his hands on her hips. Bea’s twinkling laughter grows softer and softer as she bounds up the stairs, her footfalls growing heavier as Quinn closes in on her.

“Well shit, Jack,” Cole says. “I guess you’re not the first to fall into bed with a girl this summer. The streak is finally over.”

“You don’t know that,” Jack says, pushing Cole’s hand off of his shoulder. He turns to face Honey, looking hopeful and a little desperate. “Wanna help me keep my streak up?”

A loud honking laugh escapes Honey. “Absolutely fucking not,” she replies, still laughing. She shakes her head at Jack, then notices the small, but mightily proud smile on Trevor’s lips. 

Choosing not to focus on that smile, a smile that she’s inadvertently becoming very fond of because she’s never seen him smile at his friends the way Trevor is smiling at her, Honey hops up from her stool and starts to gather the balls from the pockets of the table. She racks them, then grabs her cue and waves Trevor over. “I believe we had a game to play.”

“You had a game to lose,” Trevor corrects, standing and approaching Honey. He grabs his own stick, the one Quinn abandoned on the edge of the table when Bea proposed her bedroom shenanigans. 

“Hmm,” Honey voices, raising her eyebrows and exaggerating a grimace. “Consider me scared. Your break, Trevor.”

“When I win,” Trevor says. “I want to buy you dinner.” He lines up the cue ball and shoots, the colorful triangle of balls destroyed in a single swoop. One of the solids finds its way into a pocket and Trevor smirks.

“What a boring prize,” Honey muses. “But if you insist on those terms, then I agree.” She sticks out her hand to shake his. “And when I win…”

She leans down and eyes a line of three balls. The striped nine is farthest from the hole, but Honey wants to prove a point, so she angles her stick down at a steep slope and pushes– noticing Trevor’s mouth flattening into a line when her ball jumps over the other two and tips into the hole. She stands back up to her full height, tilting her head to the side. She cocks her hip and positions her hand against it, holding the cue up on her other side.

“I’m really going to enjoy your Zulu Run, Trevor.”

Cole whistles lowly from the couch. “I need to find you another trophy, girl.”

Honey shoots him a wink.

They play on. Trevor takes it easy– plays the safe route. With each easy fall into the pocket, he fistpumps to celebrate. Honey can only imagine how insufferable he is at the bowling alley. 

She shows him up, not even daring to let him pull ahead in their race and convince himself that he has a chance. She sinks the final black ball into the right-center pocket, bending herself all the way over the table to give him a good view of the girl who’s beating him. Her hips are high on the other side of the table, balancing up on her tip toes, facing the seating area. She doesn’t even look at the ball when she hits it, no, she’s looking up at Trevor with a tilted smile and mocking, bragging eyes. 

His eyes evaluate her– eyes, to lips, to chest, to ass. To the boys, making sure they aren’t looking, aren’t gawking at the round globes of Honey’s ass that are presented before them. Back to her ass. Her ass.

Honey stands, slowly, making sure Trevor memorizes the curve of her waist when she does. Her eyes drop to his pants, a smirk growing in time with his bulge, and she rests her hands on the edge of the table. She pulls her shoulders back, broadening her chest. 

It’s just a dominant stance. All Honey enjoys about this is the fact that his resolve and dignity crumble at the mere sight of a pretty girl bent before him. She likes knowing that he’s weak for her, but that she’ll never do anything about it.

She’s not looking for that.

“A Zulu Run,” Honey explains, clearing her throat to rid her voice of its sultry tinges. She shakes her hair back, over her shoulders. Trevor’s eyes darken at the sight of her throat. She smiles, but continues. “Is when you have to strip, sing a song, and streak around the house until the song is over.” She throws a glance over her shoulder at the other boys. “Usually your friends get to pick your song.”

Jack perks up at that. Honey turns and hops up on the ledge of the pool table, knowing that Trevor’s eyes have fallen to her behind. Jack looks at Honey with delight in his eyes, seeming to forgive her in an instant for psychoanalyzing him earlier in the night. His eyes slide to Trevor and the look in them seems more akin to yearning for vengeance.

“So, boys,” Honey drawls. “What’ll it be?”

They scramble over each other to reach her, shouting song suggestions as they fly into their head. Honey can’t hear anything they’re saying, so she laughs until they fall silent. Cole’s hand presses into the side of her thigh, she looks down at it in disgust, then back up at him. It falls to the edge of the table, noticeable space between her and the appendage. 

“How about this,” Honey decides. She sneaks a glance at Trevor, gloating as she lets her eyes roam all over his body. She takes in his arms, his thighs under his shorts, the way his shirt falls over his shoulders. “Trevor looks pretty fit. Why don’t we all pick a song?” She winks at him. “Make him run for, oh, eleven minutes or so?”

A flicker of recognition passes through Trevor’s gaze, but it’s quickly replaced by disbelief. He doesn’t know how she would know– weren’t they subtle about it? She lets out a breath of a laugh at the look– no, Trevor, you weren’t subtle, she thinks. but it’s cute that you think you are.

She realizes what she was thinking in a split second and shakes herself out of it, snapping her face forward and crossing her legs knee-over-knee. 

“But only his friends get to pick, so I guess I’m out.” Honey hops down from her perch and breaks through the boys, settling herself on the loveseat with her trophy, laying out to take up as much space as she could. She picks up the remote from the table and places her other hand behind her head, navigating to the Roku menu screen. “Do we have Spotify on this thing?”

Luke, Jack, and Cole each pick a song and Cole helps Honey connect to the outdoor speakers. He re-presents her with her trophy with a flourish and a bow, playful and lame. The boys push Trevor out to the patio with a whoop, pulling at his clothes even as Trevor fights them. 

Honey follows at a distance and watches through the glass door. She looks away when Trevor sheds his underwear and waits for Luke’s countdown to end before looking back up. She doesn’t want to see it. That’s just too far. She gets an eyeful of his ass as he rounds the corner of the house, though. 

As Trevor starts his third song, Cole’s cheesy Taylor Swift pick (“You can’t outrun my music now, bitch!”), Jack joins Honey at the door. 

“I think I’m going to head home,” Honey tells him, rubbing over the skin on her arms. 

Jack nods at her, shrugging easily. “I’ll walk you out.” 

Honey leads him up the stairs, hearing Trevor’s whoops grow louder as he finishes the second verse of the song. She knows he catches them walking up the stairs because his singing falters for a moment. His steps speed up. So do Honey’s. 

She walks briskly to the front door, bordering on a speedwalk, with Jack behind her. She swings her keys over her finger and wrenches the front door open. Jack catches it before it hits the wall. 

“What about Bea?” He asks, calling after Honey and making her pause. 

“She’ll find her way home,” Honey replies and steps off again. She has to get out of here before Trevor races up the stairs to stop her from being alone with Jack and she gets an eyeful of his– junk.

“Honey!” Jack calls again. 

She lurches to a stop and cringes, turning to face the boy. 

"Honey, I don't think I'm going to flirt with you anymore."

Honey takes a breath, walking back and reaching up to pat Jack's cheek, just forceful enough that it'll sting for a moment after she walks away. It's not quite a hit, but it's definitely not a love tap. "That doesn't hold the power that you think it does," she tells him with a nod and a close-lipped smile. She goes to leave, but Jack stops her by grabbing her hand.

"Trevor likes you, you know. He was quiet tonight, but he likes you. He's reading that book you gave him and everything," Jack says in earnest, his blues boring into Honey's own eyes. 

Honey picks up on the unsaid words. He's trying, take it easy on him, he might be annoying but he's good, and he likes you. You should like him too, and all of that.

The edges of Honey's smile soften and she gently pulls her hand from Jack's. "It's nice to know he can read," she replies, deflecting. Whatever Trevor feels for her, not that he can really feel anything because he doesn't know her like that, doesn't matter. She's not looking for that right now. "Thanks for hosting us, Jack. I'm sorry for what I... said."

"It's okay." Jack shrugs. "Thanks for coming."

"Goodnight," Honey bids him, and starts to walk away.

"Come back," Jack says, and Honey whips around and finds him looking like the words surprised him when he heard himself speak. He clears his throat. "Friday. Um, it's— it's National Chocolate Ice Cream Day and National Donut Day." He scuffs the tip of his shoe against the ground. "Really... important holiday."

Honey can't do anything but laugh. "I'll bring the donuts."

She walks to her car and ignores the chirping of bullfrogs echoing in her ears as she drives down the mountain to her home, alone.

7:90 – TREVOR

Jack glares at Trevor when he walks down to the kitchen early the next morning. As Trevor rubs the sleep out of his eyes with a yawn, Jack shifts under the frozen pack of peas that rests precariously on his shoulderblades. Trevor had barely touched him last night, he was just being dramatic. So he had a bit of soreness on his back from where Trevor pushed him against the wall and asked him what the hell he was doing, who cares? He went upstairs with Trevor’s girl. Alone. 

“Bea’s taking you to church with her this morning for laying a finger on me,” Jack growls out when Trevor looks at him and laughs.

“No shit,” Trevor replies, snorting.

“It’s true,” comes the female voice from the couch. Bea leans forward, her tube top skewed and tilted enough to draw a wandering eye. Trevor rolls his. “You shouldn’t get violent, not on my watch.”

“You weren’t even with me last night, Bea,” Trevor says sweetly, tilting his head down to dismiss her. “You didn’t see me do shit. How can you prove it was me and not Luke?”

“Luke put a video of it on his private story, then showed me,” Bea snickers in the same tone. “So you’re taking me home and helping me choose my best church outfit to hide these hickeys, and then you’ll join me at the service. It’ll be good for your reputation in town.”

“I don’t really care about my reputation in town,” Trevor laughs.

“Honey cares about your reputation in town,” Bea clarifies, a tight, ‘there’s no room for discussion here’ smile on her face. She pointedly looks him up and down. “Little Bear.”

Trevor scowls at her condescending tone and use of the nickname. How dare she flaunt her inner circle-ness to Trevor. 

“I was going to go to church anyway,” Trevor boasts. “Vera told me to bring all of the boys.”

“Well, you’re the only one resorting to violence–” Jack begins, seething, before Bea cuts him off.

“No, this is a good idea,” she says, waving her hand to quiet him. “We should all go to church.”

Jack scoffs. “I don’t think we need to go,” he says. “Sounds like you’ve got an ulterior motive.”

“I don’t want the town to think y’all are reclusive party folk who have no interest in the happenings of Litchton,” Bea snaps. “You’d be surprised how quickly the old grannies will turn on you.”

“And you get to walk into church with five guys on your arm,” Jack says, still scowling. This time, his attention is focused on Bea, not the man who physically hurt him the night before. 

“Said she wanted five guys, she ain’t talking ‘bout burgers,” Trevor deadpans, a disgusted look thrown Bea’s way.

She’s unperturbed by it, probably from many years of Honey– Honey.– throwing her similar looks. All Bea does is smile and reply, “My pussy already got murdered, Trev. I didn’t need five guys.”

“No way Quinn ‘murdered’ your pussy, Bea,” Jack jumps in, air quotes around the word. “The dude doesn’t fuck.”

Bea laughs. “I assure you, he fucks.”

“Yeah, I fuck,” Quinn agrees, descending the stairs. He veers to the couch first and drops a kiss on Bea’s head in greeting.

“Well, fuck your way to church,” Jack says. “Bea’s making everyone go with her.” Jack looks at Quinn expectantly, maybe waiting for pushback.

Quinn shrugs. “Okay,” he says. “It’s not like there’s anything else for us to do on a Sunday morning in this place. Everything is probably closed.”

“It’s true, everything is closed on Sundays except the grocery store and the gas station,” Bea says with a nod. “And the church, of course.”

Jack scowls and removes his pack of peas from his back. Trevor takes his opportunity to approach the fridge, conveniently behind Jack. “Why can’t we just stay here?”

“Because it’ll be fun,” Trevor replies, trying to exude optimism now that he’s not the only boy being forced to attend church and wash themselves of their sins. He turns and purposefully claps his hand down on Jack’s shoulder, hard. Jack howls in pain. Trevor squeezes just to watch him tense up. “It’s our chance to become one with the community, Jacky.”

Bea smiles, voice dripping with cheerfulness. “Yeah, Jacky, it’ll be good for you. Why don’t you two head upstairs and change?” Her eyes fix on Quinn, whose shirt rides up as he grabs a glass from the upper shelves of the cabinets. “I want to chit-chat with Quinn for a second.”

Trevor and Jack make a face, but scramble towards the stairs. They push and shove each other all the way up– Trevor is particularly satisfied when Jack bumps into the wall and groans– then split off into their respective rooms. Trevor treats it like a race– whoever finishes changing first wins.

Jack is already back downstairs by the time Trevor returns. Cole is there, and Luke, and both of them seem to be dressed for the service too. None of the boys have the best church clothes, but it’s a small town with farmers. Surely not everyone will be in their Sunday best every Sunday. Quinn is noticeably missing, but Bea is standing by the door with a smile on her face. Her lips look a little more red than they did before Trevor went upstairs. He narrows his eyes at her.

“You, and you,” Bea says, pointing at Jack and Trevor. “Come with me. Trevor, grab your car keys. You’re driving.”

“What about Luke and Cole?” Trevor asks, picking up his keys from their spot on the hook next to the door and trailing behind Bea. Jack trails behind Trevor, still grumbling and pretending like his shoulders hurt for dramatic effect. Trevor ought to show him some real pain next time.

The three people climb into the car, Trevor behind the wheel and Bea in the passenger seat. Jack, once again, finds himself relegated to the backseat. He straps himself in and Trevor catches his murderous glare in the rearview mirror.

“Quinn’s going to drive them,” Bea explains. “They’ll meet us at the church.”

“Whipped,” Jack coughs out. He does a terrible job of masking the word. 

Trevor rolls his eyes, just like Bea. She opens her mouth to say something, sass him, but thinks better of it.

They drive on in silence, the occasional sigh or grunt from Jack as he shifts in his seat. Trevor glares at him again in the mirror and Jack hits him with a fake smile before looking out the window to watch the trees whip by.

Bea directs them to the main strip of shops, then tells them to take a left onto one of the sidestreets near The Reading Nook. They pull up to a big brick house, separated down the middle by a massive staircase. Bea climbs the stairs and turns to the left again, unlocking and pushing her front door open.

She leads the boys into her living room, which is decorated exactly how Trevor expected it to be. The couch is white with pink pillows and a white shag rug beneath it. Her furniture is odd, thrifted and worn in. None of it matches, although Trevor suspects that her theme was “Barbie girl aesthetic.” It’s messy, and comfortable, and Trevor almost envies how she lives. His apartment in Anaheim is sparse– when you’re on the road so much and as busy with your job as Trevor is, you really only need a place to eat and sleep. His decorations reflect that.

Trevor sprawls out on the couch, leaving Jack standing awkwardly next to the coffee table. Bea disappears down the hall and enters her bedroom, her closet door creaking open.

“Jack, come here, will you?” Bea asks. 

Jack’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, but he starts down the hallway nonetheless. 

Trevor snoops in his absence, Jack’s presence no longer a threat to his comfort. He drags himself off of the couch and stands, advancing towards the shelves of knickknacks on the wall near the television.

Bea has got a number of books on her shelves, overtaking two of the four rows. The other rows are sparse and far more interesting– there are picture frames spread along the rows, six frames that depict Bea’s life and what she loves.

Four of the pictures feature Honey. The other two are groups of people that Trevor assumes are Bea’s family, her extended family on each of her parents’ sides. He can ignore those easily, not caring about about Bea to scan each of her cousins’ faces. The pictures with Honey are a different story.

There’s a picture of the two when they were ten, or eleven, riding their bikes down an asphalt street lined with suburban houses. Bea’s bike is pink with streamers and flowers and a little basket. Honey’s is dark green and sporty, similar to Trevor’s own bicycle from childhood. Honey’s smile is wry, whereas Bea’s is glowing.

The second, from a birthday party. It’s Honey’s birthday and they’re four, from the looks of the lit candle on her cake. Honey’s smile is wide, much wider than the previous image. Her hair is messy and her tongue is stained green, probably from a lollipop or a Jolly Rancher. Her arms are wrapped around Bea’s neck and she’s pulled her friend close, their cheeks pressing together. Bea’s expression is a little different. Only one of her eyes is squeezed shut, the one closer to Honey. Her lips are pursed like a duck and her little fingers are raised in a peace sign.

Trevor chuckles. If his mom had been the one taking the picture, she would’ve said “What a ham” about the girls’ goofiness.

In the next picture, they’re older. They’re sixteen, probably. Bea’s wearing these short jean shorts and a bikini top and Honey wears a matching top under some long, gray sweatpants. She rolled the waistband up and her back is mostly to the camera, Bea lifted off the ground in a swooping hug. Bea’s legs are kicked up behind her like she’s experiencing a really good, Princess Diaries kind of kiss and her face is frozen in laughter. Honey’s is the same. Trevor’s heart clenches at the smile on her face and the way her hair blows out behind her.

Finally, there’s a selfie of the two of them in a handmade frame. It’s from a high angle and Trevor can’t tell if it’s a .5 picture or a regular one. Honey’s eyebrow is raised and she wears an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression, goofy enough to tug at Trevor’s smile. Bea’s mouth is open and she has a hand pinching Honey’s chin, while the other is raised to take the picture. Behind them is the Welcome to Litchton sign that Trevor passes each time he goes into town. 

Trevor’s eyes glide down to the handmade frame, the written message along the top and bottom borders.

“New Beginnings!” and smaller, in the corner, a more personalized message. Trevor thinks that she wrote the message in a thin Sharpie– it’s too pristine still, after years. “There’s no one I would rather have join me in Litchton than you. Thank you for always being the Bea to my Honey! Honeybea 4ever <3”.

Trevor reaches out and takes the frame in his hand, inspecting it. He turns it over. More script, also in a Sharpie: “2019”, it reads. He replaces the item, making sure it’s back in the exact right spot. 

“Bea, hurry up!” Trevor calls, returning to the couch.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” she replies, leading Jack out of her bedroom. She’s clasping a necklace as she walks, then holds out her wrist and a bracelet for Jack to clasp. “We can go now.”

They leave the apartment and climb back into the car, Jack beating Bea out for the passenger seat this time. He’s smug about it too, grinning to himself while he buckles up. Trevor opens the back door for Bea and helps her into the car with a guiding hand in hers. When Jack realizes that he fumbled the chance to look like a gentleman, his face returns to its scowl. 

“If you’re not careful, your face will get stuck like that,” Trevor warns when he finally sits behind the wheel again. He shifts the car into drive and pulls out of the parking space.

Bea directs them to the church and Trevor pulls into the parking lot next to Quinn’s car, which is still running. They’ve got about five minutes before the service begins and Bea chastises the three boys for not going inside and reserving seats early. 

“There’s only a few instances where the whole town goes out to do something,” Bea complains as they walk inside. “Church is one of them. We’re never going to find a spot for all six of us.”

“No Honey?” Trevor asks, taken aback. He expected her to join them, especially since the ‘whole town’ is here.

Bea casts Trevor a look and snickers into her palm. “You’re sweet, Trevor,” she says and Trevor rolls his eyes at her saccharine tone. “But Honey decided a long time ago that she had enough religion in her life growing up. She and God know where they stand.”

Trevor reaches the door to the church first and holds it open for the group, letting them file in. He’s grateful that they’re in the church now, because all of the other boys are either too respectful of the space and what it represents or too awkward in a silent building to make fun of Trevor for seeking out Honey. Or they don’t want to get on Bea’s bad side and act a fool in church and suffer her wrath.

They file into one of the back pews, Bea sandwiched between Quinn and Luke. Trevor sits on the other side, right at the aisle. 

For an hour, he stays quiet and moves and speaks with the congregation. He counts the number of times that Cole tases Jack’s side, sticking his fingers between his ribs to cause him to flinch and make noise in the reverent area. He does this five times throughout the mass before Bea leans forward and threatens to cut his hands off herself. 

For an hour, Trevor stares forward and lets his mind wander to Honey, and all the thoughts he has about her. She’s a mystery and she’s quiet like Quinn, but confident in a way that Quinn never achieved. She knows exactly who she is and won’t budge for anyone, won’t change herself or act in any special ways around certain people. 

Trevor admires it– he’s spent his whole life performing for people, in a way. Hockey is his life and always has been, but sometimes it’s tiring to realize that all of his friends are people he met on ice. To think that he can be surrounded by his teammates and the fans in any arena and still feel lonely– it’s the kind of thing that leaves Trevor wondering if this career was a good idea. 

In another world, he’s playing in a beer league in a town like this, with a girl like Honey on his arm. 

The thought leaves him feeling heavy, weighed down. It ruminates in his mind, even after the service is over. It sours his mood completely and Trevor wishes he was back at the house so he could take a shower or something and stop the prickling feelings from taking over his skin.

In the parking lot, the group chats about nothing. Trevor doesn’t listen. Bea introduces the boys to come of the townsfolk and Trevor smiles and shakes the men’s hands, hugs the ladies or send a special look their way. Vera and Earl honk as they drive past the group, Vera blowing a kiss towards Trevor and Cole through the passenger window. Cole catches it and sticks it to his cheek, then sends one back. It makes Vera laugh.

Trevor tunes back into the conversation as the boys discuss plans for the upcoming week– Jack edges away from Trevor before he mentions that he invited Honey over that coming Friday and that Bea should come too. 

“Well, you’ll rarely find a Honey without its Bea,” Bea teases. She claps. “Okay. I’ll see you guys then. Quinn, take me home?”

Quinn nods and puts his hand on the small of her back to direct her to the car. Bea pauses and waves Trevor over, shooing the other boys away. Quinn stays, his hand still on Bea’s body.

“There’s a fruit stand outside the grocery store on Mondays,” Bea says.

“I know, I’ve been,” Trevor interrupts.

Bea quiets him with a click of her tongue. She chooses her words carefully, her eyes hard. “Go tomorrow at, like, six,” she suggests, a faux-nonchalant shrug lifting her shoulders. “You might find something that you like there. I recommend buying the strawberries. They make a lovely gift, Trevor.”

Trevor frowns, confused. “I don’t like strawberries,” he replies.

Bea closes her eyes and processes his words for a moment, a tight smile on her lips. “They make a lovely gift, Trevor,” she repeats.

“Sick,” Trevor says, his voice hard. He doesn’t understand what she’s saying. “I’m not buying strawberries for you, Bea. I don’t know you enough to give you gifts.”

Bea stomps her foot. “Good fucking God, Trevor. Quinn, can you explain this shit to him?” She asks, then walks off to the car. She takes Quinn’s keys from his hand and gets behind the driver’s seat herself. 

Quinn watches her walk away, then turns to Trevor. “She’s telling you that you’ll run into Honey, you fucking idiot, and that you should buy her strawberries.” 

He leaves Trevor standing there, eyes wide.

Yeah, he’s definitely heading to the fruit stand tomorrow and buying strawberries.

He concocts his plan on the drive home, silent compared to the other three boys, that are laughing and flopping around the backseat with every turn in a game of Jell-O. They’re not wearing their seatbelts. When they get too loud, Trevor envisions ejecting them from the backseat, leaving them sailing down the mountain, falling through the air.

He holes himself up in his room to nap when they get home, too excited to see Honey to let the time pass organically. It’s like time travel, this way. Trevor will wake up and be two hours closer to seeing her, to getting another chance to win her over. This time, with a gift.

In the afternoon, he laces up his blades and skates with the boys. Quinn has come back by now, not spending much time at Bea’s apartment after church, according to Luke. They all skate and shoot for a couple of hours, playing a game of pickup with an extra player to sub in and out. When that ends, they run some drills. Luke and Quinn play defense, like always, with Trevor, Cole, and Jack recreating their legendary line from USNTDP. It works out perfectly, and each boy pushes himself like they’re playing a real game. It’s the brotherly competition that fuels them– and when the drills start to fall into disarray from hits and other penalties that would certainly be called out in a game, they head off to shower.

The night ends slowly, fizzling out compared to the way it ended the night before. The boys lounge in the game room, sprawling out on the couches and snacking and sipping their beer. Trevor isn’t made to perform another Zulu Run, no one picks up a pool cue, and they watch shitty TV movies on the Spanish channel instead of English. They make up the dialogue as they go and Trevor is the first to go to sleep. He makes it to midnight, but then he forces himself to go to bed. 

He’s got a big day ahead of him… after 5 p.m., anyway.

–end–of–chapter–one–

[puck-luck]

New Beginnings Masterlist

Welcome to Litchton, North Carolina! Population: 2, 358 "North Carolina's own little slice of Heaven."

Trevor Zegras wants a boring, drama-free summer with his friends. He and his friends rent a house in Litchton for thirteen weeks and find themselves fascinated by the town and its inhabitants. After a chance meeting their first day in town, Trevor finds himself enchanted by a mysterious and beautiful townie named Honey. He'll do anything he can to win her over– and he will win her over, even if she acts like she couldn't care less about his existence.

As for Honey, she's got a past she'd rather not rehash. She's spent the past five years in Litchton, living in her parents' old vacation house. She's inserted herself into the community and made a home here, the only place where she's ever felt like she can truly be herself. The appearance of five new boys in Litchton throws everything awry, especially Trevor's persistent efforts to win Honey over.

(note: all this graphic does is depict Honey and Bea as i(!!!!!!) see them. if you want to envision yourself as honey, go for it! if you want bea to look like your best friend, good! i never actually describe their features in the fic, so use your imagination!)

MASTERLIST:

may 27 - june 2 (24.4k)

june 3 - june 9 (20.9k)

june 10 - june 16 (24.6k)

june 17 - june 23 (24.2k)

june 24 - june 30 (24.1k)

july 1 - july 7 (26.7k)

july 8 - july 14 (29.5k)

july 15 - july 21 (20.8k)

july 22 - july 28 (22.1k)

july 29 - august 4 (19.4k)

august 5 - august 11 (19.5K)

august 12 - august 18 (20.1K)

august 19 - august 25 (+ epilogue) (24.2K)

OTHER NEED-TO-KNOWS:

this is how i envision the boys' home for the summer. this is how i envision honey's place. this & this are how i envision bea's place. this is the zillow listing i used as inspiration for trixie's house.

BEAQUINN ADD-ONS:

pool table sex after the nhl awards

hammock hookup during national "get out of the dog house" day

the "slut summer" conversation

parent!beaquinn MASTERLIST

[puck-luck]

Y'all... he's wearing birkenclogs. Honey's influenced him... stg is coming true...

Oh, and the other classic things— omg his crotch in those pants, his bare torso, his thighs and pretty hair...

[puck-luck]

Honey moaning how much she hates Trevor into his mouth and digging her nails into his back while he’s fucking her and he’s absolutely loving it ‼️

"I hate you," Honey pants, shaking the hair out of her face. She rocks her hips, bouncing on Trevor's (unfortunately very satisfying) length. Her hands are flush against Trevor's chest, her nails biting into his skin. Her thumbnail scrapes his nipple and he hisses, his pelvis stuttering beneath her.

"Big talk for a girl who pushed me down and took my cock before I could even say a word," Trevor quips, one of his hands steadying Honey while the other tweaks her nipple in retaliation.

She whimpers, but bounces more harshly. Her knees are practically screaming in pain from the position, but she continues to work up and down over Trevor's cock. She's so close, she can't let her sore joints stop her from reaching the orgasm that is just out of reach.

"It's the only thing you're good for," Honey says, but the end of her statement twists with a moan as Trevor snaps his hips, pushing his cock even further into her.

"The only thing?" Trevor asks, a smug smile pulling at his lips. "I seem to remember you begging for my fingers last week. And my tongue two days ago, come to think of it."

Honey scratches down his chest, grinding down on his cock in circular motions when the tip of his dick prods at her sweet spot. "Sex is the only thing you're good for, doesn't matter what type of hookup it is."

Trevor lifts a hand and brings it down on her asscheek, the slap filling the room and sending a jolt through Honey. She bounces on his cock, first from the contact, and then over and over again as she continues to chase that feeling deep inside of her belly.

Without sliding out of her, Trevor rolls them over. He throws Honey's knee over his shoulder and crowds her space, lewd noises echoing between them with each snap of his hips.

Her hands scramble for purchase on his shoulders, nails digging into the skin. The marks will spark some chirps from the guys, that's for sure, but they still don't know that the chick Trevor keeps pulling is Honey, and that secret is more delicious than the ache of her hands marking him.

"But you like this best, don't you?" Trevor asks, leaning down to lather his tongue over her breast. "My big cock, filling you up and fucking you until I come inside you."

He's smug, but he's right, and Honey kind of wants to hit him for it. She won't give him the satisfaction of agreeing. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in, their teeth clashing in a messy, heated kiss.

"I hate you," Honey repeats, nibbling Trevor's bottom lip after she says so. She bites down gently and tugs. She arches her back, rolling her hips down to meet each of Trevor's thrusts.

Trevor bends down to leave a line of kisses along Honey's neck and clavicles, sucking a hickey under her ear. He laughs, a breathless little chuckle that settles on Honey's chest and makes a home there.

"If you hate me so much, why are you still letting me fuck you?"

[puck-luck]

new beginnings | august 5 - 11

note: this is chapter 11 of 13 (plus an epilogue). we are in the final stretch! this chapter is 19.5K.

----------

71:90 – TREVOR

“And another grüner veltliner for the lady,” Sarah spouts with a fond chuckle, topping off Honey’s glass. 

Honey’s smile is dopey and her cheeks are growing pink from the wine. “Thank you, Sarah,” she says, sounding a whole lot like she does when she exaggeratedly flirts with Trevor. 

Trevor squints at Honey.

Sarah notices first and starts to laugh. “God, Trevor, you might need to be cut off,” she laughs. Trevor turns his eyes on her. She laughs harder. “Don’t look at your bartender like that, especially not if you want to keep daydrinking on a Monday afternoon.”

“He’s just mad ‘cause I’m being sweet to you,” Honey says, propping her chin on her palm and blinking at Sarah like a cat about to nap. “He doesn’t know how to share. Very jealous.”

“She’s a married woman,” Trevor grumbles, frowning at Honey.

Honey waves her hand at Trevor, just a flick of the wrist. “She has the wine, Trev. Be sweet.”

“Don’t wanna,” he pouts. 

Sarah snorts out a laugh and ruffles Trevor’s hair. “Can I get you anything else, bud? You’re not going to let your girlfriend drink alone, are you?”

“I’ll take–” Honey waves her glass in front of Trevor’s nose enticingly, but the smell of the wine stings his nose. “Not that. I don’t like that,” Trevor says, pushing her glass away. He tried it earlier. It tastes like pepper and celery and seeds. He doesn’t know how it’s her favorite. “Uh, something red. Fruity.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Honey laughs. 

Trevor fixes her with an unimpressed look. She remembered this morning that he and Jack were once two participants in a very poorly-executed threesome (not for lack of trying on Trevor’s part) and she’s been milking it ever since. Her chirps were funny the first time, just because Honey has never really chirped Trevor. They’ve always been more serious digs, not chirps, that come from her mouth. But now she’s chirping and it was funny and cute at first… but now it’s getting under Trevor’s skin.

Sarah walks away after nodding in assent to Trevor, signaling that she’ll be back with his order soon. 

Trevor’s look turns into a pout. “You’re so mean to me,” he complains, faking a pout. “I never should’ve told you about that threesome. We were 17, it was such a long time ago.”

“Your 17 was so much different than my 17,” Honey says with a laugh. She says it so casually, even taking a sip from her glass of wine. Trevor’s stomach turns thinking about that– how he was so carefree and happy when Honey was going through the worst time of her life. She clears her throat after swallowing her drink and says, “Hey, if you had to choose another one of the guys to have a threesome with me, who would it be?”

Trevor immediately balks. “None of them,” he replies, defensive. “Absolutely not.”

Honey laughs again. “Good answer,” she says. “You passed the test.” She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t let you have a threesome with Bea, either.”

“Have you?” Trevor asks. There’s something about the way she says it that makes him suspicious.

“No,” Honey says with a wave of her hand. “Bea didn’t actually start hooking up with people until we were eighteen, and I stopped having sex after the whole Thomas thing. If I couldn’t trust my partner, then why would I trust a random person, you know? We kissed once, though.”

“You and Bea? Like, recently?” Trevor raises his eyebrows in surprise.

Honey scrunches her nose at Trevor. “No, not recently,” she says. “Although she wishes she could pull the make-out trick at bars for free stuff. No, it was in middle school. It was a boy-girl party thing.” Honey grins. “I bet you loved the idea of two girls kissing when you were in middle school, Trev.”

Middle school, high school, rookie year… even now it’s not unappealing. He doesn’t seem to do a good job of keeping his face still and impassive. 

“I knew it,” Honey accuses, pointing at him with her index finger. “You’re such a boy.”

It’s then that Sarah returns with a new glass for Trevor, taking the empty one from their table. “This is your last one, both of you.”

“What? Why?” Honey whines. Before Sarah can reply, she turns to Trevor. “This is your fault, you weren’t nice to Sarah.”

“It’s not Trevor’s fault, Honey,” Sarah says with a smile. “You guys asked me to cut you off at 4:30 so you could go get fruit.”

Honey groans. “So not fair. Push it back to 5.”

“Babe, you’re going to be hungover for work tomorrow if you keep drinking. I’m trying to give you time to come down from this,” Sarah reasons.

“Thanks, Sarah, we understand,” Trevor jumps in, digging his hand into his pocket to find his wallet. “We’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“Yeah, you’d better be,” she teases, looking around the patio. There are only two other tables taken and neither occupants have been there for very long. “I was super worried about running out of table space.”

Honey is sulking. She crosses her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes at Sarah. “You shouldn’t turn away your patrons.”

Sarah stifles a laugh. “I think I’ll live.” She leaves the table, heading inside, and Trevor laughs when Honey sticks her tongue out at Sarah’s retreating back.

“Look who’s being mean now,” Trevor says. 

“She took the wine away,” Honey returns.

“You asked her to.”

“I didn’t think she’d do it!”

“Well, baby, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Honey groans. 

“But,” Trevor says enticingly. “Now we get to go to the fruit stand!”

Honey takes her glass and drinks, swallowing a mouthful before she eyes Trevor out of the side of her vision. “Who’s going to drive?”

“Drive?” Trevor asks. “To the fruit stand? We don’t need to drive. We can walk.”

“Okay, then after that,” Honey says. “Who’s going to drive us home? I’m in no state. You’re in no state, plus I wouldn’t let you drunk-drive me on the mountain roads anyway. You don’t know them well enough to even try.”

“We’ll call an Uber,” Trevor says, defaulting back to his go-to when he gets a little too tipsy on a night out.

Honey bursts into laughter. “In Litchton? Babydoll. There’s not even a taxi service in town.”

Now it’s Trevor’s turn to groan. “Well, why don’t we call Earl?”

“No, we can’t call Earl, he told me and Bea that if we ever called him again for a ride while we were drunk, he’ll make us pay for his mechanic bill. He’s had a check engine light on for like, three years, so we’re trying to wait him out.” Honey swirls the wine in her glass, then watches the legs drip down to join the settling liquid. 

“I can pay for his mechanic bill,” Trevor insists. “Hello, professional athlete over here? My contract is almost six million per year?”

Honey’s jaw drops. “Holy shit, Trev,” she says. “You’re… rich. I mean, I thought you were, but I didn’t think you were rich-rich. Six million, that’s… that’s a lot.”

“That’s just my contract,” Trevor explains, backpedaling. “I don’t actually make that much. I have to pay agent fees and trainer fees and stuff like that. I only take home, I don’t know, between two and three million.”

“Oh, only,” Honey parrots back sarcastically. “That’s more than I make…” she trails off, thinking hard. “That’s more than I’ve made ever. And you make that in a year? What’s your biweekly direct deposit like?”

Trevor blushes. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” This is one of those things that makes him vastly different from the rest of the world. That’s not to say that he doesn’t love his job and all the things it affords him; Trevor actually can’t imagine living a “normal” life with a “normal” salary. Still… being called rich… it just makes him feel weird.

Honey continues to remind Trevor why she’s the world’s greatest person, because she’s quick to drop the subject. “What about our other resident threesome enjoyer?” she asks. “Could he drive us?”

Trevor furrows his brow. “Who?”

Honey chuckles at Trevor, giggling like they’re sharing a joke. She picks up her glass and sips.

Trevor laughs too, awkwardly, and picks up his own glass. He looks out toward the Appalachian mountains in the distance. There are pink flowers sprouting in the window-boxes along the edge of the patio, creeping up into eyeline. It’s so pretty here. He avoids Honey’s eyes.

“Cole, baby,” Honey says after a brief silence. “We could call Cole. He could drive us.”

“When did he– oh, yeah,” Trevor starts, then remembers. When Quinn blueballed Bea, both Jack and Cole went upstairs with her. He feels kind of stupid for forgetting. He definitely should have remembered this before Honey explained her joke– then, he wouldn’t have laughed so awkwardly and made it obvious that he had no idea what she’s talking about. Trevor hums in surprise, then stops. “Wait. But we’re on a date,” he says.

Honey nods and shrugs. “For all he knows, we’re just hanging out,” she says.

“But he’ll get sad that we didn’t invite him,” Trevor tells Honey. “And, like, they know we’re friends, but they don’t know we’re close enough friends to hang out just us.”

“Tell him we ran into each other in town,” Honey suggests. “It’s Cole. I don’t think he’ll care that much.”

Trevor stares at Honey. “He’s the most dramatic person I know.”

“More than Jack?”

“Yes, baby, more than Jack,” Trevor says seriously. 

Honey scoffs. “Ugh. Can we just call him? I’m sure it won’t be that big a deal.” She tilts her head back and finishes her glass of wine. “Tell him I’ll buy him a bottle of liquor at the liquor store tomorrow after work if he picks us up.”

She’s not going to budge on this, which Trevor realizes. “Alright, Hon,” he concedes. “Once I finish my drink, we’ll go buy some fruit, and then I’ll call Cole.” He lifts his glass, which is still about half full, to his lips and drinks.

Honey stands. “I’m going to go to the bathroom.” She touches Trevor’s cheek, her fingers a little more clumsy than normal. She jokes, “Chug, Trev, chug!” and heads inside.

Trevor is left alone, sipping on the remaining wine. Honey’s right, it would be easy to call Cole and ask him for a ride. It’s probably their best option. He has the car since Honey picked Trevor up from the house this morning and, to be fair, Cole was still asleep. That kind of throws their “we met in town” story out the window… which Trevor doesn’t love. As willing as Cole is to overlook trivial details, and as easily he transitions from one moment to the next, this might be too far. If Honey doesn’t want the boys to know because she’s not ready, then it might not be a good idea for Cole to pick them up.

But she’s so insistent. Maybe it’s because she’s drunk and, hell, Trevor is drunk too, but this just doesn’t seem… right.

Trevor takes a big deep breath before finishing his wine. Good timing, too. Honey has exited the bathroom and is now waving goodbye to Sarah, even blowing a kiss before she accidentally stumbles into one of the plush chairs in the interior of Wild Bloom. She’s laughing when she exits the building, eyes lighting up when she sees that Trevor succeeded in finishing his glass, just like she’d asked.

“Let’s go get some fruit!” Honey bounces onto her tiptoes as Trevor rises. She produces his card and hands it back to Trevor. “I’m thinking maybe not grapes? We’ve probably had enough.”

Trevor breathes out a little laugh. She’s so funny today– except for the overdone threesome stuff. Honey always has jokes, but she’s being very vocal today. Trevor might have to blame the alcohol.

Honey gasps suddenly, as Trevor stands and gets ready to leave the bar. 

“What?” Trevor asks. 

Honey is fumbling for her phone, dialing a number and holding the device to her ear. She reaches for Trevor’s hand and holds it, walking with him across the patio. She chews her bottom lip while she waits for the person to answer. When they do, she brightens again. “Hi, Bea!” She exclaims.

Trevor almost bursts out laughing. She’s acting like she would if Bea called her by surprise. 

“Can you do me a favor?” Honey asks. “You remember how you owe me because I’m always opening the store for you when you’re sleeping over with Quinn?”

Trevor smiles at the ground, kicking a piece of gravel in the alley where they walk.

“I need you to pick me up and open the store with me tomorrow,” Honey says. “Why? Because I’m drunk… and I’m not driving back to my house tonight. Is that good enough?” She pauses, waiting for Bea’s response to end. “Don’t call me irresponsible for getting drunk on a weekday, you’re just crabby because you’ve been in the car for almost six hours.” Another pause. “No, I can’t get Trevor to come get me, who do you think I’m with?” Honey looks to Trevor and makes a face at him, feigning annoyance at the words of her best friend. “We’re going to call Cole. Yes, Cole.”

Trevor still doesn’t feel any better about that.

“No, babe, I gotta go. We’re almost at the fruit stand. I’ll talk to you about this tomorrow. Unless you want to sleep over tonight?” Honey grins at Bea’s response. “Really? You’re not tired of that guy yet? Impressive.” She laughs. “Okay, bye. Love you.” Honey hangs up and puts her phone away, then lifts Trevor’s arm to bring it over her shoulders. She wraps her arm around his waist. 

They walk the rest of the way to the fruit stand like that, leaning on each other. Honey can’t seem to help herself, running her fingertips over the fuzzy surface of the peaches. Trevor’s not carrying her bag this time because, although he tried to keep it, Honey stole it from his shoulder. Instead, he’s able to watch her move in her own way. Her movements are practiced, like muscle memory, and it reminds Trevor of how she looked the first day they met. He has a sense of deja-vu when Honey tucks her hair behind her ears and plants one hand on her hip, pursing her lips as she looks at the fruit. 

“Hey, how did you know I was Greek?” Trevor asks suddenly, remembering how Honey’s eyes had illuminated when he told her his last name for the first time.

Honey looks over at him, drawing her eyebrows together.

“When we first met,” Trevor supplies. “Right here. I told you my name and you said ‘You’re Greek?’ all excited. You weren’t quite as excited after I told you I lived in Cali.”

Honey stares at him a moment longer, then she recalls the moment herself. “Oh!” She tilts her head to the side and hums, thinking. “Um, your nose? You’ve got a very Greek nose. And then I read an etymology book a while back, specifically about surnames around the world, and the Z and the -as in your name kind of gave it away.”

She’s so smart. Trevor likes her so much.

Honey breaks into a smile. “How cute of you, thinking about when we first met,” she teases. “What was your first impression of me?”

Trevor blushes, remembering exactly what he’d realized as he’d sat in the front seat of the car and looked at her from afar. “Uh, that you’re a lot prettier than the girls I know in California.” He scuffs the toe of his shoe against the concrete. “That I wanted– well, that I wanted your attention and I wanted you to like me.”

“I could tell,” Honey says, biting her bottom lip to curb the even-larger smile on her face. “You were trying really hard, Trev. It was… interesting.”

“I was interesting,” Trevor repeats. He squints at Honey and nudges her arm. “That’s all you thought about me?”

“I didn’t like you,” Honey laughs. “You bumped into me, nose in your phone, then you barely apologized, and then you came back a few minutes later and just started talking about shit, obviously lying to me about some of the details of your life. It was weird.”

Trevor tries not to pout at that. He had felt lame talking to Honey, but he didn’t realize that she’d actually found him off-putting. “You didn’t think I was cute or anything?”

Honey pauses, raising her eyebrows at him. “You’re very handsome, Trevor,” she says. She nods at him, blinking up at him in fake earnest. Trevor nearly rolls his eyes. Honey continues, “You were dressed like a bum, though.”

“I’d been in the car for eleven hours!” Trevor defends himself. 

Honey reaches over and pats his cheek. “Okay, sweetheart,” she says. “Don’t dwell on it. You’ve got me now, don’t’cha?”

Trevor grins. “Yeah.” He bends down and kisses her mouth. “I guess I’ll go call Cole.”

“Thanks,” Honey says. “I’ll be here.”

Trevor nods and walks away, just about a hundred feet. He leans against the brick wall of the grocery store and scrolls to find Cole’s contact. When he finds their shared messages, he clicks along until his phone is ringing and ready. 

Cole picks up in two rings. “Where are you?” he asks. “You’ve been gone all day. No note? Honestly, Z, you’re trying to kill me.”

“You were asleep when I left,” Trevor replies. 

“How did you leave? The car is here.” 

“Honey picked me up.” Trevor braces himself for impact, but Cole is quiet. “She had to run to Winston to pick up something, didn’t want to go alone, and I thought it might be nice to go see one of the girls I hooked up with who lives in Winston.”

Cole is quiet for a second longer, then he hums. “Okay. So… what, you want me to come out? Why are you calling me?”

Oh, now Trevor feels worse. Cole is going to hate that they went drinking without him, leaving him alone in the house. But, like… it was a date… Trevor should be allowed to go out with his girlfriend without a third wheel. “Um… well…”

Cole sighs into the speaker. “What,” he repeats impatiently.

“Honey and I went to Wild Bloom after we got back,” Trevor says. “Remember the wine bar that we went to with Ellen and Jim?”

Cole is eerily silent. 

“We’re a little drunk and we need you to pick us up from the grocery store,” Trevor admits sheepishly. “We, uh, we can’t drive like this.”

The silence stretches on.

“You’re calling me for a ride,” Cole says. “After you left me at home, alone, all day.”

Trevor presses his lips together. It really does sound bad. “Yeah.” At least Cole isn’t focusing on the fact that Trevor and Honey have been hanging out all day, one-on-one.

“Fuck you, dude. I’m on the way, but fuck you.” Cole promptly hangs up.

Trevor pulls the phone back from his ear and stares at the screen. He cringes, going through the conversation again in his head. He hates making the guys– but especially Cole– mad. Cole is his happy friend. When he gets angry… oh, when he gets angry… the mere thought sends a shiver up Trevor’s spine. The horrors of angry Cole…

He shakes his head and returns to Honey. “You ready, baby?” He asks, trying to sound upbeat.

Honey clocks him immediately. “What’s wrong?”

Trevor sighs. He wanted to pay at least before talking about this with Honey. “Cole’s mad,” he says. “I knew he would be. We should’ve invited him to drink.”

“I’m sure he’ll be over it by tomorrow,” Honey tells Trevor. “Cole never holds onto things for very long.” She tries to give Trevor a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t offer the same reprieve that it normally would. Trevor hates upsetting his friends.

“Let’s just pay, okay?” Trevor replies. He pulls his wallet out and hands it to Joan, who is quick to complete the payment and shoo them along. There are a couple of other people at the stand now, so it’s getting crowded. It’s not a huge stand. Regardless of how quickly she waves them off, Joan is sure to tell Honey and Trevor that she’ll see them next week.

Honey holds Trevor’s pinkie in hers silently for about five minutes as they walk around the grocery store, buying a case of beer for Cole. A big one– Honey said she’d pay for it, but Trevor refused, and they went for the 48-pack to really try and make it up to Cole. Honey lets go of Trevor’s pinkie once they’ve purchased the beer, insisting on holding it. She gets tired of holding the case and passes it off to Trevor within three minutes, frowning exaggeratedly until Trevor relents and takes the heavy item from her. 

Cole pulls up in front of the grocery store a few minutes later. He doesn’t say anything as Honey and Trevor climb into the car, except a brief thanks to Honey for the beer. His hands stay on the steering wheel and his eyes are set on the road in front of them. He doesn’t involve himself in conversation and the car ride slowly drifts into something stilted and tense. 

Trevor doesn’t walk Honey to the door, nor does he put her fruit away for her. He doesn’t kiss her goodnight and barely says more than a goodbye.

Cole still doesn’t speak when they drive back to the house. He doesn’t talk to Trevor when they go inside. He goes downstairs, puts on a show, and ignores Trevor when he sits on the couch next to Cole. 

The day went from really, really good to… this. Tomorrow will be better. Trevor wishes Honey was here.

72:90 – HONEY

Having Bea back is excellent, although Honey could live without the teasing over her relationship status. Fine, she called Trevor her boyfriend by accident and then made it official, but that doesn’t mean that Bea has to poke fun at Honey. It’s really not as funny as she thinks it is.

Their shift is long today, which Honey doesn’t mind. It’s National Night Out. On the first Tuesday of every August, the shops along Main Street stay open until well after dark and the citizens of Litchton are free to roam and mingle with their fellow townies. There’s a bouncy house in the grocery store parking lot for the kids, snow cone machines and carts for root beer floats lining the curb, and plenty of other games along the three-block section of road that closes down every year for the event. It’s one of Honey’s favorite days of the entire year.

She spent most of her afternoon setting up the outdoor booth that she and Bea will man after hours. Ada is planning on paying them for an entire day’s worth to extend the store’s hours– like she always does– even though Bea and Honey insisted that it wasn’t that serious and they would be fine taking their normal hourly pay. Honey still doesn’t think that sitting for five hours in the nice summer weather is worth a day’s pay, but Bea had eventually shushed her and said “This is not a thing that we should fight!”

The booth is all set up now and the ladies left the store around noon, so Honey is running out of things to do. The Reading Nook is an awesome place to work because there’s so much downtime, but Bea is currently sitting behind the cash register in Honey’s usual place, so she can’t sit and read like she normally does. Instead, Honey is curating a stack of books that they can throw on sale during NNO. She’ll probably take her break when she’s done– they get an extended break today because they’re working a fourteen-and-a-half hour day.

“Bea, can you pull up these titles and see the prices for me? I’m thinking 20% off,” Honey calls from one of the stacks, balancing a stack of books in her arms and pulling another from the shelf. 

“Mmm, if you put them on the counter for me,” Bea replies. “I don’t want to yell back and forth.”

“But then I have to walk back and forth to you,” Honey complains. She peeks her head around the stack and glares at Bea.

“Babe, if we’re having a lazy-off, you know I’m going to win,” Bea says. She closes her own book, one with a red cover and a dragon-looking beast on the front, and stares at Honey. She holds eye contact for a minute and then shrugs. 

Honey rolls her eyes and drops the first stack of books on the counter for Bea to flick through. She’s right– Honey prefers to be up and moving, whereas Bea is content with anything, even if it means staying in one spot for longer than an hour. 

She spends the better part of the next hour walking around the store and pulling books. Eventually, Ada stops Honey and asks if she’s trying to sell out the whole store. She takes the final stack from Honey’s arms and sends her out of the store to take her break.

At first, Honey isn’t sure what to do. She already ate lunch at the store when the ladies left. She doesn’t really need a coffee, although she wouldn’t hate to have one. She could grab one. Maybe that’s something to do towards the end of her break. Honey will wander a bit first.

The air in Litchton is nice in the midst of the afternoon, if only a little heavy. There will probably be a thunderstorm later tonight. If it doesn’t happen tonight, then tomorrow will certainly be full of rain and humidity. That kind of ruins Honey’s plans for after work tomorrow– she and Trevor were supposed to head out on a hike. If the ground is all muddy and wet, then she doesn’t really want to do that. Trevor can just come over and hang out in her bed instead. She’ll do the crossword in the Litchton Local, which she’s been neglecting lately because she’s been a bit too tired to wake up so early on Thursday mornings like she normally does. Honey blames Trevor. He’s been keeping her up late.

Honey is approaching the hardware store, ready to go inside and bother Earl, when her phone rings.

It’s… Trixie. Bea’s oldest sister.

Honey blinks at the screen, then slides her finger across the surface to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hey, H,” Trixie greets. “How’s it going? It’s been a minute since I checked in with you.”

“...Good,” Honey replies. Trixie is correct– the last time they talked was on Trixie’s birthday in January. Bea talks to her sister more often than Honey does, for obvious reasons. Honey’s a little confused why she’s getting a call now. “What’s up, Trix?”

“I can’t call my baby sister’s bestie and see how she is?” Trixie asks, laughing.

Honey looks into the distance like she’s staring into the face of a camera. She loves Trixie, and Cece for that matter, but she’s not close enough with either sister to talk to them regularly. Sure, they check in once in a while, but Trixie had already graduated from college– early, by the way, because she’s an overachiever– and moved to the coast before Honey and Bea moved to Litchton. She’s five years older than them and a great older sister figure, but Honey is grown up. She doesn’t really need advice from an older, wiser sister anymore. She didn’t even tell Trixie about Thomas when all of that happened; it was too embarrassing. Honey is pretty sure she knows now, given that Bea and Cece know all the hairy details, but Trixie has never outright talked about it. 

“You can, but I have a feeling you aren’t,” Honey answers. “You always text before you call and this time you called out of nowhere.”

“Well, Bea told me you were on break so I couldn’t call her and kill two birds with one stone,” Trixie says. “So I figured you had no good reason to ignore my call.”

So Trixie was talking to Bea just before this– if Honey is going by her gut, this will have something to do with the recent company they’ve had in Litchton. 

“Yeah, I’m just walking around Main Street.” Honey’s passing Bold Brews now, so she might as well get that coffee. “Hey, what coffee should I get during break?”

“I’ve been into matcha lately,” Trixie says. “It’s more tea than coffee, but it hits the spot when all the case briefs start blurring together.”

Oh, yeah– another reason why she’s an overachiever. Trixie is a lawyer. 

“Okay, give me a second.” Honey pulls the phone away from her ear and greets Joel, Bea’s ex who is actually working today, ordering a ‘Velvet Mist’ to go. It’s their matcha, with a shot of espresso, a bit of vanilla, and splash of rosewater, and it’s actually not all that bad. Honey doesn’t normally order it, usually going for the ‘Midnight Rider’ instead, but she likes a change every once in a while. The last time she ordered the ‘Velvet Mist’ was when it debuted on the menu a year and a half ago. After she pays and walks to the end of the counter to wait for her drink, Honey brings the phone back up to her ear. “So what are you calling about, Trix? Actually.”

“Ugh, fine,” Trixie relents. “You’re so stubborn. Next time we talk, at least pretend to enjoy the small talk. I miss you sometimes, you know.”

Honey accepts her drink from the other barista– she doesn’t actually know her name, which is surprising for a town like Litchton– and waves goodbye. She takes a sip from the straw and lets the taste mull over for a second. After a moment, Honey decides that it’s fine. She takes another sip. “Miss you too, Trix,” she parrots with an eye roll.

“I heard my two favorite country bumpkins got boyfriends this summer,” Trixie says. “And I was wondering if you guys would all like to come to the beach and stay with me this weekend. I want to meet your boys.”

Honey takes another sip. “Mm, where did you hear that?” She asks.

“Well, Cece told me about Quinn and when I called Bea just now, she was deflecting and being evasive and saying it wasn’t going to last past the end of the summer…”

Sounds about right, Honey thinks.

“...and then, as a last ditch effort to distract me, she told me about your boyfriend,” Trixie finishes, her tone salacious.

“She seems to have left out that my relationship is supposed to be a secret,” Honey says sarcastically. “In her effort to stop you from focusing on hers.”

Trixie scoffs. “You’re too young to have secrets. Who cares if you’re dating some guy?”

“Believe me, the boys would care.” Honey plops down on the bench outside of city hall and brings the phone to the other side of her head. She thinks about how Cole was silent and put off in the car yesterday, just like Trevor had said he would be. “They care about everything.”

“Okay, so frame it like this,” Trixie proposes. “It’s a free beach weekend. Just a group of friends going to Bea’s sister’s house and enjoying the sand, salt, and sun.”

Trevor would probably like being at the beach again, like he’s in California. The Hughes boys might like the open water– they had been whining about a “real” lake. They could experience the real ocean instead, which Honey thinks is better than a lake. Cole might… well, a beach trip might make him forget about being forgotten.

Ugh, it really does sound bad when Honey says it like that.

“I’ll talk to the guys,” Honey says after a brief pause, in which Trixie waits on the other end of the call with baited breath. “I’ll text you in like an hour, okay?”

“Sick, I’ll start preparing the guest room for you and Bea and the living room for the guys,” Trixie says. “Oh, this is going to be so fun! I can’t wait to see you, H. Hey, for revenge, don’t tell Bea until after the guys say yes. That’s what she gets for trying to keep secrets from me.”

That’s something Honey can agree with. It’s also revenge for revealing her secret to Trixie without warning Honey first. “Okay, sounds good. No promises! The guys might not want to come.”

“It’s a free beach weekend. They’ll come. Bye, Honey-bun! Love you.”

Before Honey can say it back, Trixie has hung up. Honey pulls the phone away and snorts out a laugh, shaking her head. She takes a second to drink her beverage before composing a text to Trevor.

Would Cole forgive you if I secured us all a free weekend trip to the beach? Honey asks.

Within minutes, Trevor is replying. He might try to kiss me on the mouth, Trevor says.

Wouldn’t be the first time. So Beach Trip is a go? Ask Q.

That reply comes a bit after. He wants to know how soon we can go.

Thursday?

Thursday works. Have you talked to Ada already??? What about work on Fri

I’ll talk to her now. Plan on Thursday night to drive down. See you tn for NNO?

YYES

Honey rolls her eyes at his joke and hearts the message, then puts her phone away. She’ll have to pick out a couple of books that Trevor might like for the sale. She can convince him to buy them and it’ll give him an excuse to hang out at the booth– Bea will probably sneak off with Quinn to get a snowcone or play a round of cornhole, so Honey needs someone to keep her company.

She texts Trixie on the way back to the Nook, confirming that the boys are down. She’s sure to include that there are five of them, all relatively rowdy and annoying, so Trixie should hide anything expensive before they get there. 

Back at the Nook, Honey rests her elbows on the counter and faces Bea. “So you told your sister about my boyfriend to avoid talking about your own boyfriend, huh?” Honey asks knowingly.

Bea glares at her. “You know how they get about boys.”

Honey laughs. “Which means you thought it would be better to throw me under the bus? Trixie didn’t fall for it, Buzzy.”

Bea groans, deflating. She shoves her bookmark into her book and tucks it underneath the counter, on the shelf next to Honey’s book. Bea then crosses her arms over her chest. “Damn, I was hoping she’d be too excited for you and she’d forget about me.”

“Well, she didn’t,” Honey says. “And you know what that means?”

“What?” Bea asks, a tinge of exasperation in her voice. Honey revels in it. She should be annoyed. Payback for spilling Honey’s business to her family– not that it really matters. Honey was going to tell Trixie and Cece eventually, probably around Thanksgiving when they get together next.

Honey leans forward and raises a finger to tap the tip of Bea’s nose. “You bought yourself a beach weekend in Topsail. Your boyfriend already agreed to go.”

“You coerced him,” Bea accuses.

“I didn’t coerce him, I just… conveniently left out a few details,” Honey replies. She grins at Bea, who is scowling. “You’re paying for gas.”

“I’m going to make sure Trixie interrogates Trevor just as much as she interrogates Quinn,” Bea threatens. “Just you wait.”

Honey shrugs. “This all could’ve been avoided if you’d kept your mouth shut.”

Bea sticks her tongue out at Honey petulatntly.

Honey laughs and reaches out to try and pinch Bea’s tongue between her fingers, just to be an annoyance, but Bea flinches away. Instead, Honey tweaks her nose and pretends to steal it like she used to do to Luca in her babysitting days. Honey waves the “stolen nose” triumphantly over her head as she walks back to the stacks, ready to pick out her next few books, and Bea overexaggerates an annoyed huff at the desk. 

She might pretend like she’s annoyed, but she’ll enjoy the time in Topsail. Honey knows that she will.

73:90 – TREVOR

The hike up the mountain today is a stark contrast from the hike that Honey and Trevor first took together. For one, Honey isn’t sprinting up the mountain. Trevor isn’t chasing her, trying to catch up and ignoring the dull ache in his ankle with every other step. They’re walking up a trail named Cedar Hollow Path with which Honey seems very familiar, the sun is starting to set, and they’re hand-in-hand. It’s the picture of romance.

According to Honey, they’re less than five minutes from the peak of the mountain. They’ll stop for a break, then they’ll head back down. It’ll take about 45 minutes to get back down to the car, and then another 30 in the car. 

Honey’s phone is connected to Trevor’s mini speaker, which is clipped onto his backpack. He’d told her to play whatever she wanted and she’d thrown on her hiking playlist. Trevor doesn’t recognize some of the songs, but he likes them– what he likes more is that he gets to see the kind of music that Honey likes. It feels like a peek into her soul.

He loves this, being around her in what can only be described as her natural habitat. Each gust of wind and each patch of golden light that filters through the trees reminds Trevor of the girl by his side. 

The song they’re listening to now is warm like the sun. Trevor can’t say that he knows it, although he probably should. The voice of the man singing is familiar and the guitar plays an acoustic melody that makes Trevor bob his head to the beat. It’s one of those songs that could’ve been written last week or fifty years ago and Trevor wouldn’t be surprised either way. Everything seems slower while it plays and Trevor is all the more aware of each step that they take, and the way that Honey swings their hands between their bodies. Her crew socks are bunched up around the top of her hiking shoes, which are a lot more practical than Trevor���s sneakers. 

At the end of the song, a harmonica comes in, and Trevor looks out at the view cresting over the horizon. There’s a neat clearing in the trees and the sun is off to their left, so they’re not blinded by the brightness that is unfiltered by the woods around them. Trevor takes in the ridges and valleys of the mountains, which seem to be bathing in the sunshower. He looks at the way the light brightens Honey’s tan, summer skin.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to be in the mountains again without thinking about you,” Trevor thinks aloud, breaking the silence. He squeezes Honey’s hand when he’s done speaking.

Honey’s lips quirk up at the corners, taking a full deep breath before she tears her eyes from the view and turns to Trevor. She squeezes his hand back. “I’m really glad you came here,” she says softly. She technically changed the subject, but Trevor can’t imagine another reply working any better than this one did.

Trevor’s expression smooths out and matches Honey’s. He leans in and presses his lips to her mouth. 

Honey pulls away. “Let’s snack, then we’ll head back down,” she decides. Her voice has returned to its normal slightly-bossy tone, which Trevor finds amusing. She’s so matter-of-fact all the time and she’s not shy about it. 

Trevor follows her to a boulder and takes a seat with his thighs brushing hers. He swings his backpack around his shoulders and doesn’t protest when Honey snatches it from his grasp, looking in the big pocket and digging around for the tiny bag that she’d stuffed inside so that she wouldn’t have to carry anything this time. “What’s the good of having a boyfriend if he doesn’t carry all your stuff?” Honey had asked and Trevor had pretended to be annoyed, just to appease her and make her smug about getting one over on him. He would have carried it anyway, but she likes that she managed to get him to do it without actually asking him to.

She grins devilishly at him when she pulls her back out and unzips it, finding her snack and drawing it out.

Trevor groans. “You can’t be serious.”

Honey turns the banana over in her hands. “What do you mean?” She peels it from the bottom, holding the stem in her fist like it’s a handle. “Potassium means that your muscles won’t cramp as much. We’re hiking, I think it’s important that I don’t get a cramp.” She takes a bite of the fruit, sure to hold eye contact with Trevor the whole time.

“You are not as funny as you think you are,” Trevor tells her. He takes his backpack from her lap and finds his own snack– a peanut butter protein bar. 

Honey shrugs. She tilts her head down slightly, blinking her eyes innocently, and slides the banana into her mouth just enough for Trevor to get the picture before biting into the fruit and chewing proudly. 

Trevor has to look out at the mountains on the horizon or else Honey will keep up this behavior, dissatisfied with her performance until he’s got a hard-on. His protein bar tastes like cardboard in his mouth, but Trevor chews it resolutely, probably more forcefully than he needs to, to keep his mind from wandering.

“So Ada is letting us take off work on Friday,” Honey says after she’s done with her banana. She throws the peel onto Trevor’s lap when she is finished with it. “Which means we can leave on Thursday after work. It’s almost a five hour drive, but there will be five of us in the car, so we only have to do an hour each. Ish. That’ll be nice, I think.”

“I think Jack and Luke are going to fly into Wilmington and drive up on Thursday night. Can you send me the address so I can send it to them?” Trevor replies.

Honey waves him off. “I have Jack’s number, I’ll just text him. Cut out the middleman.” Honey rests her chin on her hand and makes a face at Trevor. “I know you said you’re bone-tired of being the middleman.”

Trevor rolls his eyes at her joke. “Tired of being Bea’s middleman,” he corrects. He pops the last bit of protein bar in his mouth and tucks his trash into the side pocket of his backpack. “I’d be your middleman any day of the week.”

“How sweet of you,” Honey deadpans, laughing to herself. She rises from the boulder and pulls Trevor up when he extends his hands. 

He stands right in her space and rests his hands on her hips before she can step away. He pecks her lips once, then twice. He thumbs over the skin of her waist, which is pleasantly bare due to the heat and humidity of the day. Honey is wearing a tiny sports bra and those biker shorts she loves so much, leaving very little to Trevor’s imagination. He wants to bite her stomach and leave a hickey there.

“And then we’ll leave on Sunday,” Honey adds belatedly. Her fingertip brushes the middle of his stomach, like their minds are connected. Trevor had forgone his shirt when he saw that she’d done the same. “Because Bea said you guys wanted to go to the rink on Monday. Gotta get one last practice in at Bojangles.”

“Do you want to come?” Trevor asks. He wants her to come. Last time they went, she got into a fight with Bea. Honey should have a good experience at the rink. Plus, maybe this time she’ll agree to road head.

“Monday is the 12th,” Honey replies.

Before, when she changed the subject after Trevor said something, it was fine. He felt like her non-answer was a perfectly good response. This non-answer is more on topic, yet… somehow worse. He’s confused. Does Honey have work or something on the 12th? Is it some book holiday that Trevor knows nothing about? “So?”

Honey scrunches up her nose. “The 12th is my parents’ anniversary,” she says. “Chris and Steph are celebrating the big 3-0 this year.”

Trevor’s not sure what to do with that information. “Is that a weird day for you? Do you want to stay home? I don’t mind if you do,” he tells Honey. He takes her hand and they start down the path from which they came.

Honey bites her lower lip, chewing on it for a second. Trevor gives her the space to think, instead focusing on the song that plays through his speakers. This one, he recognizes. It’s by that guy– Jack something. The one who always makes Trevor think of Curious George. The song is Banana Pancakes.

Lots of banana references seem to be appearing in Trevor’s life lately.

“I was thinking more like… I might want to see them,” Honey reveals after a few minutes of silence. She’s hesitant to admit it, Trevor can tell. “And, well, if we’re already in Charlotte… do you think you’d, I don’t know, want to meet them?”

Trevor chokes on his own spit in surprise, although he keeps himself from coughing. Of all the things he expected Honey to say, an invitation to meet her parents was not one of those things. 

“You can say no,” Honey says in a rush, like she’s covering up her tracks. “Really, you can. I was just– ugh– I don’t really want to go alone and I love Bea, but she already knows my parents, if that makes sense? Like, she has a history with them, so it would be really easy for all of us to rely on her to guide the conversation, and that’s just not fair. If I’m going to see my parents, then I should be the one to talk to them.”

Trevor still doesn’t know what to say. Meeting Honey’s parents? The parents she doesn’t talk to? That’s… a lot.

But she’s still not done talking. Her voice grows quieter, so quiet that Trevor has to strain to hear her. “I think it would keep me calm if I could hold your hand, too,” Honey mumbles.

Well, if that doesn’t damn Trevor. The second she utters those words, he’s hopeless to say no to her. Trevor’s not the kind of guy who meets the parents, considering the fact that all of his other relationships have been fairly casual and low-key, but he’s going to have to meet Honey’s parents at some point. He wasn’t exactly sure when, but it was somewhere in the distant future… or so he thought.

“Of course I’ll go with you,” Trevor tells Honey. “It’ll be cool to meet your parents. I mean, it might be awkward, but I’d like to meet the people who made you.”

Honey makes a face and recoils slightly. “Don’t say it like that.”

Trevor laughs. “I thought you liked your parents,” he says. “Even though you don’t talk to them. So why are you cringing at the thought of them?”

“I like my parents a normal amount,” Honey says. “Which means that I don’t want to think about them ‘making me’ ever. How would you feel if I talked about how your parents made you? And your brother, and your sister? Those two were made while you were alive, Trevor. You could’ve been in the next room over.”

“That’s too far,” Trevor interjects, scowling at Honey. “You don’t get to flaunt your only-child-ness in that context.”

“Who says I’m an only child?” Honey asks, grinning at Trevor. 

Immediately, he comes up short. Has Honey ever outright said she’s an only child? Trevor asks himself. Or is he assuming something else about her, yet again? This is like when he assumed she was from Litchton all over again…

“I’m kidding, Trev. Yes, I’m an only child, you got that one right,” Honey assures him. “But there’s something I was thinking about last night that might come up when I see my parents.”

“What’s that?” Trevor asks, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“They know I go by Honey, obviously. I’ve been using that name since I was in kindergarten.” Honey lets go of Trevor’s hand to walk in front of him, since the path is narrowing too much to walk side-by-side.

“Wait, Honey’s not your real name?” Trevor teases, pretending to be aghast. “All this time, I thought that was on your birth certificate. I thought your parents were just really into beekeeping or something.”

“Hardy har,” Honey jibes sarcastically. “No, Trev. You know that’s not my real name.”

Which is true, Trevor does know that Honey isn’t her real name. He doesn’t actually know Honey’s real name, since she never uses it, but he has a feeling he’s about to find out.

“I was overthinking last night and started tweaking about, like–” Honey adopts a mocking, low voice. “What if my parents feel just as awkward as I do and they call me ‘Charlotte?’ I don’t think it’s out of the realm of possibility.”

“Your name is Charlotte?” Trevor demands, his voice sprouting an edge as a result of his surprise. “That doesn’t fit you at all.”

“Oh-kay,” Honey replies that in the same tone, looking over at Trevor and curling her lip. She shakes her head and flips her hand up in exasperation. “It’s not like I chose it, Trevor. Also, that’s not what you say when someone tells you their name. Have you ever met a person before in your life?”

“I’ve met many people and most of them enjoy my company, but thank you for the advice,” Trevor says. “Still, though, you know what I mean. Charlotte isn’t your vibe.”

“What do you think my name should’ve been, then?” Honey challenges. 

“I don’t know,” Trevor replies. “Ava or Lauren, maybe. You look like an Ava.”

He can’t see her, but Trevor has a feeling that she’s huffing and rolling her eyes.

“But, like, your name is Honey. Honey fits. That makes sense. I don’t know why they named you Charlotte, especially since you were living in Charlotte anyway. Doesn’t that get tiresome? That’s like if my parents named me Bedford– which is a terrible name, by the way,” Trevor continues on, rambling a bit and spewing whatever comes to his mind, speaking to the back of Honey’s head.

Honey turns around and walks backwards down the trail, tilting her head at Trevor and nodding exaggeratedly. Her eyes are comically wide. She holds her hands up as if she’s saying ‘Yeah, Trev, that’s exactly it.’

“They named you Charlotte because you lived in Charlotte?” Trevor asks, seeking clarification.

“Yeah, it was very creative,” Honey replies, turning back around and leading the way. Her ponytail bounces. “Charlotte was also my mom’s favorite character in Sex and the City.”

Trevor hums at that, but doesn’t reply. They continue down the slope, weaving through trees and avoiding mud puddles from the rain the right before. All the while, Honey’s music plays on. 

A thought pops into Trevor’s head and he makes the joke before realizing that it’s funny. “Double homicide to Charlotte, H. First you forsake your name and then you move away? You really have something against Charlottes, huh?”

Honey steps walking and hangs her head, her chest shaking with quiet laughter. She takes takes a breath and sighs aloud, “Ohhh my God.” She turns back to Trevor and takes his hand, clasping it in both of her own. “You have got to start thinking before you speak if I’m going to bring you home to my parents, Trev. I don’t think they want you insulting the name of their city or the name that they picked for their daughter.”

She kisses his mouth, then they walk the rest of the trail in silence, hand-in-hand.

74:90 – HONEY

Taking one car to Topsail might’ve been this summer’s biggest mistake.

Really, it made the most sense. They took Quinn’s car with its three rows of seats and Honey was happy to relegate herself to the way-way back after her turn behind the wheel. Her duffelbag is on the seat next to her, containing four different outfits for the next three days, pajamas, toiletries, bathing suits, her slippers and birkenclogs, and a beach towel in case Trixie didn’t have enough at her place. The rest of the bags are in the back of the car, behind Honey’s seat. 

Right now, Cole is behind the wheel. He’s actually not a bad driver, even though he’d complained about having to drive at all. He says he’s more of a passenger– which Bea had agreed with– but that excuse hadn’t worked for either of them. For Cole, it hadn’t worked because no one wanted to drive for more than their fair share. For Bea, Quinn had offered to take her place… but Honey had chimed in and explained that Bea is the person who is most familiar with Trixie’s home. It only makes sense that she takes the last driving shift– which is already shorter than the rest anyway– and is the one to pull into her sister’s driveway.

Bea had huffed about it, but she’d been outvoted. Honey thought it was only fair that she drive, Trevor agrees with anything Honey says, and Cole had been adamant that if he had to drive, then Bea had to drive too.

On the bright side, they’re more than halfway through the drive. They’re in the Siler City to Raleigh leg of the trip, which means that they’re still in civilization. The final stretch of the drive is along backroads, but Honey likes it. It’s like there’s a Litchton-style small-town-vibe on both coasts.

What she likes less is that she’s been trying to nap in the back for a little while now and Bea is starting to get annoyed with the music in the car.

They created a Spotify blend with all of their accounts. It had taken thirty minutes to get the blend set up, since Bea is against giving her phone number to anyone but Honey and Trevor. First, everyone needed to join the blend. Then, Honey had to send the blend to Bea. Then, all they had to do was hit play on Cole’s phone, since he was the one who started the blend in the first place. There were only three steps. It still took way longer than it should have.

“You can’t just skip every song that you don’t like,” Trevor fights from the seat just in front of Honey, trying to reach around the passenger seat and grab the phone from Bea’s hands. “It’s not fair to the rest of us who do like those songs.”

“No one wants to listen to ‘Devil in a New Dress’ by Kayne West, Trevor!” Bea exclaims. She leans forward and rests her head against the dashboard, out of Trevor’s reach. The phone stays between her knees, well away from everyone else in the car. “Isn’t he still, like, a terrible fucking person?”

“Your precious Taylor Swift is flying all over the world without a care about how it’s affecting the environment,” Trevor shoots back. “What is it all of her fans say when people bring that up? ‘Separate the art from the artist?’”

“Do we have to have the Taylor Swift vs. Kanye debate,” Cole tries to interrupt, sounding just as fed up as Honey. 

“My precious Taylor Swift?” Bea demands, speaking over Cole. “Don't sit on your high horse and act like you hate her when I saw you singing ‘You Belong With Me’ in the mirror earlier!”

Trevor opens his mouth and closes it a few times, not having a good comeback ready.

“Kanye West is an anti-Semite who said on record that slavery was a choice,” Bea continues. “Trevor, out of the four friends that have been living with you all summer, three are Jewish.”

“Not actively practicing,” Quinn points out. 

Honey thinks this is novel. It’s the first time he’s ever said anything to contradict Bea– at least, to her face. There was that one time in the car when Honey called him out for not committing and he’d said “I’m committed,” as if he wasn’t the problem.

“You’re Jewish by matrilineal descent!” Bea scoffs. “That’s, like, the whole thing with being ethnically Jewish. Do you think Kanye West gives a fuck if you’re practicing Judaism or not? He would absolutely have something against you and I don’t want to listen to a person who spreads hate!”

“Didn’t you play ‘Call Me Maybe’ two hours ago?” Trevor asks. “Isn’t Carly Rae a shit person too? Wasn’t she racist towards CupcakKe?”

Bea pauses, relenting slightly. “Okay, I don’t actually know who CupcakKe is and I’ve never heard that Carly Rae Jepson stuff, so… T-B-D on that argument until I can do some light googling. But, still, Trevor– you should not be giving your attention to Kanye.”

“Bea, I am going to be completely honest with you right now, I don’t think this is the hill you want to die on,” Trevor says, still arguing. “I feel like there are more pressing issues in the world than a singer’s beliefs.”

“He’s insanely influential, Trevor! People listen to his shit for entertainment, but there’s a very real possibility that they’ll take his word as Gospel because he’s a ‘good artist’ or whatever–”

“Can we all shut up?” Honey snaps. “It’s not this fucking serious.”

“It is this serious,” Bea tries, but stops speaking when Honey buries her face in the back of Trevor’s chair and lets out a muffled scream.

“You two are the most insufferable people ever,” Honey spits out. “No one wants to listen to you bicker like children. I don’t like Kanye West either, but you’re both being stupid and stubborn and we still have two hours left in the car. I will break the back window and throw myself onto the highway if I have to listen to any more of your bullshit. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Trevor mumbles. He looks over his shoulder and frowns at Honey, like she’ll commiserate with him at the sheer sight of his sad face. She won’t, because he deserved it. It’s partially his fault that she’s raising her voice at all. 

“Yes,” Bea groans. Honey can hear her rolling her eyes. 

“Yes, Honey,” Cole echoes. He actually sounds the saddest of them all and he wasn’t even in the fight.

Honey has to suppress a smile at his agreement. She doesn’t want to diminish her successful scolding by bursting into laughter. “Good,” she says, trying to hold her voice steady. “Now, if you don’t mind, I am trying to take a nap.” She promptly turns in her seat and tries to curl up as best she can without unbuckling her seatbelt. 

There’s five songs of silence by Honey’s count, and then a slow country duet begins to play. 

Within thirty seconds, just as Honey is deciding that she likes the song, Bea announces, “Well, this is too slow. We can’t listen to this. We’ll be put to sleep.”

“That’s the whole point,” Honey jumps in before she can skip the track. She opens one eye and squints at Bea. “Plus, I thought you hated when people– Jack– skip through songs instead of letting them play though.”

Bea scowls. “You suck. I’m not going to let you sleep in the guest room with me.”

“I suck ‘cause I’m right?” Honey laughs. “As if Trixie would let you kick me out of the guest room anyway. She likes me better because I didn’t cut off Felicity’s hair over a stupid birthday party invitation.”

“That’s not fair,” Bea complains. “Everyone got an invitation except me.”

“What happened?” Quinn asks, his growing smile looking slightly askew and crooked on his face. “Who’s Felicity?”

“Trixie’s American Girl doll, who she loved,” Honey explains. “Like, her most prized possession, and on her eleventh birthday she hand-wrote cute invitations for all of her friends and Bea was pissed that she didn’t get one–”

“Again, not fair, because you got one and you were only invited to the party because my parents let me choose a friend to hang out with that day,” Bea interrupts.

“The party was at your house! You lived there, you didn’t need a special invitation,” Honey exclaims, then turns back to Quinn. “So Bea, five years old and pissed off, sneaks into Trixie’s room and chops off all of Felicity’s hair, and puts it in a gift basket for Trixie to unwrap at the party!”

Quinn’s eyes grow wide and he starts to laugh out loud, eyes darting over to Bea.

“So Trixie unwraps it and starts crying over her favorite doll being ruined and that kills the vibe of the party, and then–”

“No–” Bea growls, turning in her seat and waving a finger at Honey.

“–Then, Bea lies about it to her mom and dad and gets away with it for a whole month, until her mom finds the scissors in Bea’s sock drawer, which had been missing since the Felicity incident,” Honey continues, entirely unafraid of Bea’s threat. “And Trixie didn’t speak to Bea for, like, two weeks and Felicity was never the same after coming back from the Doll Hospital.”

“The scissors were a plant by Cece because I put them back when I was done and she overreacted,” Bea justifies. “Felicity came back just fine, practically brand new–”

“She overreacted,” Honey repeats, gobsmacked that Bea still maintains that she didn’t do anything wrong. “You destroyed her $90 doll on her birthday!”

“I was five,” Bea says.

“You did all of that over a piece of paper written in sparkly gel pen!”

“That’s it?” Cole demands. “Bea, dude, I’ll write you an invitation to a party in sparkly gel pen right now just so you can let this go.”

“I’m not the one who brought it up,” Bea defends herself. “Honey’s the one who can’t let it go.”

“Who knew you were such a monster, baby,” Quinn joins in, reaching forward to pinch the skin on the back of Bea’s elbow.

Bea jerks her arm away. “Ugh, whatever,” she grumbles. She turns toward the window and pouts, glaring into the settling dusk. Honey isn’t worried about knocking her down a few pegs– she’ll be over it by the time the next Miley Cyrus song rolls around.

Honey actually falls asleep when Cole and Trevor switch spots after getting gas in Raleigh. Cole sings along with as many songs as he can– he actually does a rather impressive Dolly Parton– and Bea eventually joins in.

The post-debate liveliness in the car is a good sign for the weekend ahead. Honey’s really excited for Jack and Luke to drive up, too, just to reunite the group. Jack’s text announcing his ETA came in just before Honey fell asleep and they’re slated to make it to Trixie’s house about an hour after the Litchton car does. 

Honey’s already planning the full beach day tomorrow. She’s going to bury Jack in the sand in the shape of a mermaid’s tail. It’s what he deserves.

75:90 – TREVOR

Trevor wakes to soft voices drifting in from the kitchen. The layout of Bea’s sister’s house is pretty open, which is great for the lighting in the place, but not great for those who like to sleep in. She lives alone, so she’s only got one guest room and that’s where the girls are sleeping. Trevor and the rest of the boys are in the living room. 

Quinn and Jack are sharing the pull-out couch, Luke is reclining in the plush chair, and Trevor and Cole are sharing the blow-up mattress. The coffee table is pushed against the wall underneath the TV.

Trevor recognizes Honey’s voice after he’s done blinking the sleep from his eyes. It’s the same soft tone she uses when she apologizes for waking him up as she gets out of bed. Trevor stretches, then shifts out from under the blanket he’s sharing with Cole. He rolls onto the floor in order to minimize his chance of waking Cole and picks himself up, tiptoeing into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Trixie greets as Trevor walks into the room. She holds a mug of coffee near her chin and raises her eyebrows, which are dark, like her hair. She looks just like Bea, but her hair is nearly black. Trevor wonders if it’s dyed. “Which one are you again?”

Trevor breathes out a little laugh and sidles up behind Honey, kissing her bare shoulder. “G’morning.”

“Mm, that one,” Trixie hums. “You want a coffee, Trevor?” 

She’s turning and pouring a mug before Trevor can decline. Trevor looks at the clock on the microwave and sees that it’s not even seven yet, which is typical Honey behavior. He’s been trying hard all summer to keep her in bed until a reasonable eight o’clock, but she loves her routine and she’s actually very chipper in the morning. 

“You’re up early,” Honey comments, sipping from her own mug. 

“Someone woke me up.” Trevor smiles.

“We weren’t talking that loud,” Honey replies. She looks over at Trixie. “Were we?”

Trixie scoffs. “God, no. I don’t reach above twenty decibels until I hit morning traffic. It’s a pretty steep jump after that.” She sets the steaming mug in front of Trevor and leans against the counter.

“Why are you up so early?” Trevor asks. “I know why she’s up, but why are you?” He points his thumb at Honey when he references her, then wraps his hand around the handle of his mug.

Trixie’s lips quirk up. “Not all of us have summers off from work.” She sounds amused. “I have to head to the office in a little bit. I have meetings today, so I’m having a cup of coffee and heading out.”

“She’s a lawyer,” Honey supplies, answering Trevor’s question before he asks. “Real estate law.”

Trevor doesn’t know anything about real estate law. “That’s cool,” he says, shrugging. 

Trixie hums in the back of her throat and narrows her eyes. “I don’t know about ‘cool,’” she teases. “But it works for me.”

“Anyway, I was telling Trixie that I was going to go to the store before everyone wakes up,” Honey says to Trevor. “Do you want to come?”

“We can’t eat the food in the fridge?” Trevor asks.

“I didn’t go shopping for seven people,” Trixie says. She sips from her coffee, inspects the mug, and downs the rest of the liquid inside. “Plus, some of that shit is old. I need to clean out. You guys need to buy your own stuff. I can only provide so much to your traveling band of vagabonds.” She sets her mug in the sink and rinses it out, but leaves it sitting there. “Alright.”

“Alright,” Honey parrots.

“I’m going to throw on my good clothes and then I’m off,” Trixie says. She rounds the counter and presses a kiss to the side of Honey’s head, squishing her cheeks. “Don’t set my house on fire while I’m gone.”

“Are there any dolls lying around that we should know about?” Trevor jokes, thinking about the Bea story from yesterday.

Luckily, Trixie’s shoulders jump with a laugh. “Nah, those are in the safe. I had to lock them and the scissors away just in case. That’s funny, Trevor.” She flicks the back of his head as she walks away, which stings a bit, but Trevor figures it’s just as affectionate as the kiss she gave Honey.

Trevor waits for her to walk out of earshot, then turns to Honey. “She doesn’t actually still have dolls, though, right? Because that would be kind of creepy,” he admits. 

Honey rolls her eyes and reaches over to pat Trevor’s hand. “No, I don’t think Trixie has any dolls in this place. She kind of outgrew that when she hit middle school, bud.”

Trevor deflates at the nickname. 

“Don’t make that face,” Honey chides quietly. She tosses a look over her shoulder, towards where the rest of the guys are sleeping. “You know I can’t talk to you like that right now.”

“I know,” Trevor sighs. “What about at the store, though?”

Honey smiles into her coffee. “Yes, you can be all… you… at the grocery store.”

“Sick.” Trevor celebrates getting permission to act like a boyfriend with a fist pump. “Let me get dressed and we can go.”

Honey hums and finishes off her coffee. She takes Trevor’s mug, which he had no intentions of finishing anyway, and takes it with her to the guest bedroom. 

Trixie sneaks out the front door with a wave to Trevor a few minutes later. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a nice blouse, which is pretty impressive. Trevor likes his walk-up suits, but he doesn’t really think he could wear them for an entire day of work. They’re too stuffy.

Honey follows not far behind. She’s in a pretty sundress and her birkenclogs and Trevor can see the strings of her bikini rise up and loop around the back of her neck. She takes the keys to the smaller car that Jack and Luke drove up from Wilmington last night and waves Trevor forward, shutting the door quietly behind them.

The drive to the grocery store is practically a straight line. They turn out of Trixie’s driveway onto the main road, then turn into the parking lot of another Food Lion, like the one in Litchton. It must be a North Carolina thing. Trevor had never seen a grocery store called “Food Lion” until he got here.

Honey grabs the cart from the collection area when they walk in the store, then allows Trevor to bump her out of the way and take the reigns. He’s on good behavior for a while, dutifully rolling the cart beside Honey and waiting patiently while she tries to decide between fusili or orecchiette noodles for a homemade mac’n’cheese that she wants to put together for Trixie. Apparently, macaroni noodles aren’t good enough because mac’n’cheese is Trixie’s favorite side dish and has been since she was a child.

The grocery store isn’t very full, given that it’s 7:30 in the morning on a Friday, and the barren hallways are too tempting. Trevor starts to drifts around corners, pop wheelies, and races down aisles far ahead of Honey. When he accidentally bumps into her in the chip aisle, she shoots him a glare that would melt ice, and sends him off to go find hamburger patties for Quinn to grill later tonight.

He takes the grocery cart with him. She might be able to discourage him from performing his NASCAR tricks while she’s around, but what Honey doesn’t see won’t hurt her. Trevor’s not going to let one accidental collision ruin his fun.

He coasts down to the ground beef, staring at his options. Would Quinn rather have pre-made patties, or would he like to form the patties himself? He is weird like that. Maybe smash burgers would be fun…

Trevor reaches for the meat that he thinks would work best, dropping it in the cart. As he walks toward the slices of cheese, a guy with a Giants hat accidentally cuts him off.

“Sorry, man,” the guy laughs, gesturing for Trevor to go ahead. He uses the carton of chocolate milk in his hand to wave Trevor forward.

“No, dude, don’t worry about it,” Trevor replies, letting the guy go ahead of him. “It’s all good. Can’t hold anything against a fellow Giants fan.”

“Oh, you’re a New York guy?” The guy reaches for a pack of string cheese, the ones that mix mozzarella and cheddar in a fun swirl. That’s not a bad idea. Trevor might pick up a pack of those for himself. “Excited for the big centennial next year?”

“It’s gonna be awesome,” Trevor says. “I hope we make the playoffs.”

“Hey, me too,” he tells Trevor with a chuckle. He looks at Trevor for a second, then blinks. “Wait, aren’t you–”

Trevor allows a smile to take over his face, hoping that it doesn’t look as forced as it feels. He forgot how awkward it is to be recognized in public, especially when you’re doing something as mundane as grocery shopping. “Yeah.” He extends his hand. “Trevor. It’s nice to meet you, dude.”

“Tommy,” the guy returns, grasping Trevor’s hand firmly. “What are you doing all the way out here, man? Don’t you play for Anaheim?”

“My girlfriend and our friends are spending the weekend at the beach during the off-season, actually. We just got in last night.” Trevor nods along with his own statement. He waves his hand at the contents of the cart. “She wakes up early, so I thought I’d tag along with the grocery shopping.”

“Good man,” Tommy praises. He holds up the cheese and chocolate milk. “I got sent out on my own. Pregnancy cravings from the wife.”

“Good man yourself,” Trevor laughs.

“Where’d you drive in from, if you don’t mind me asking?” Tommy asks. “Long road trip from Cali?”

“Nah, I’m not built for that shit,” Trevor jokes. “Why do you think the league has jets now? No, my girlfriend lives near Winston-Salem. Tiny town. Litchton, actually, I don’t know if you’ve heard of it.”

“I have, actually. Been there once, too– I used to know someone who lives up there.” Tommy shifts his items into one hand and reaches for his phone. “Hey, would you mind if we get a picture?”

Trevor’s about to comply, but he sees Honey exit from the chip aisle with her arms full. He raises a hand to wave her over. “Hon,” Trevor calls. “Over here. Check it out, a Giants fan all the way down south. Tommy and I were just about to take a picture–”

“Is that what you go by now? Tommy?” Honey asks. Her eyes were sparkling when she first spotted Trevor, but now they’ve turned sullen and guarded and she’s stopped walking forward. 

Trevor takes in her body language, how she’s tersely holding the chips in front of her body like a barrier. Her shoulders are pulled back and her jaw is set tightly. Trevor suddenly stands to his full height. 

This must be Thomas.

He’s sandwiched between them, having turned to Honey when Trevor’s eyes slid over his shoulder and lit up at the sight of his girlfriend. Thomas is looking between them, although he mostly stares at the girl down the corridor to his right.

At least he has the decency to look like he’s seen a ghost.

“Oh my God, Honey,” Thomas grimaces. 

“You’re Thomas,” Trevor says aloud, repeating his internal monologue. His voice is hard. “You’re that Thomas.”

“Ruined any lives lately?” Honey snaps, her eyes narrowed and fierce. 

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Thomas tries. “Really, I am. It was, well, you know how it was. We were kids and I was hopped up on all this shit, but I’m clean now and I found Jesus again and–”

“I ‘really’ don’t give a fuck,” Honey interrupts, mocking him. Her movements are becoming exaggerated, the way they do when she’s barely containing her rage. 

“I’m going to have to turn you down for that picture,” Trevor says, jerking the cart back and starting to push it towards Honey. He pauses and looks Thomas dead in the eyes. “I know you have quite the reputation when it comes to photos.”

Trevor pushes past the man, feeling sick and seeing red. He was nice to this guy. He was having a good conversation with him. Fuck– they talked about his wife. He’s got a pregnant wife at home. That makes Trevor want to throw up.

Honey is still standing her ground and staring at her ex-boyfriend, refusing to be the first to break eye contact. Trevor has to take her arm and pull her away.

Without speaking, they head straight for the cash register. Honey is stewing and grinding her teeth, so Trevor sends her out to the car. The teenage cashier was starting to send him panicked looks, evidently thinking that Honey’s glare was directed at her. When he steps outside, groceries in hand, Honey has parked the car right in front of the store. The flashers are on and Trevor appreciates not having to walk all the way to the vehicle, but he is a little apprehensive about Honey driving.

It’s a straight line. It can’t be that bad.

Trevor keeps an eye on her, though. He’s obvious about it. He faces her during the first half of the ride, counting the times Honey’s jaw clenches and unclenches, and plans to continue his count for the rest of the ride. He loses track as soon as Honey speaks.

“Stop looking at me,” Honey says.

Trevor won’t. He’s not sure what she’s thinking and he won’t stop searching her face until he knows. “No.”

“Okay, then stop looking at me like that,” Honey amends. “I can see you trying to figure me out. I don’t want to talk about it right now. Just give me a minute to process it, dude–”

“Don’t call me dude,” Trevor interrupts with a frown. It’s like when she calls him ‘Z,’ or earlier, when she called him ‘bud.’ He’s not her friend. He’s her boyfriend. He deserves more than ‘dude,’ especially because he’s only looking at her like this because he cares and he’s worried.

“–and then I’ll tell you how I’m feeling,” Honey finishes. She tosses a glance at Trevor, eyebrows pinched together. “Also, it’s a force of habit. I’m not calling you ‘dude’ to be a bitch. Stop acting like I am.”

Trevor doesn’t think he’s acting like that, but that’s an argument for another time. Tensions are high right now. He should’ve thought about that a second ago– again, with the ‘thinking before he speaks’ idea. Maybe Honey has a point.

She flicks the turn signal on and creeps into Trixie’s driveway. Honey throws the car into park and pulls the key from the ignition. She sits back in her seat borderline-agressively and huffs. Trevor would laugh at the way she crosses her arms over her chest if it weren’t for the situation at hand. She lets out a deep breath. “Five fucking years,” she curses. Her attention turns to Trevor. “I hate him. Even after five fucking years.”

Trevor nods. “I think he deserves that.”

Honey inhales, nodding and chewing on the inside of her cheek. She’s more angry than upset and Trevor can’t help but feel like that might be better than a freak-out. He also isn’t one to label things, but… her anger is a good sign, to him. Honey’s not drowning in the debris that Thomas left. She’s practically surfing on it, running on adrenaline and fury. That’ll fade eventually, but Trevor thinks that this might be a step forward rather than two steps back.

To be determined.

She takes a few more breaths, her face slowly becoming less tense with each exhale. After a minute, the wrinkle between her eyebrows has faded and her mouth is in a straight line rather than a frown.

Trevor reaches out and cups Honey’s face. He doesn’t know what to say, so he just musters up a sympathetic smile. 

Honey holds eye contact, then her lips quirk up and her lashes flutter in a little eye roll. “I need to talk to Bea,” she says. She leans into his touch. “She was there. No offense, but she’ll get it more than you do.”

Trevor breathes out a laugh. “I think you’re right.”

Honey leans over the center console and kisses Trevor’s lips in a fleeting, yet sweet, pass. “Can you take the boys to the beach so they don’t hear? I think we might scream and yell a bit.”

“Anything you want,” Trevor agrees. He pauses. “But… you’ll talk to me after, right?”

Honey kisses him again, gently. “Yeah. I’ll talk to you after. I just… I want to get my mind wrapped around this first. I might have to sleep on it.” She looks at that clock, then jokes, “Even though it’s not even nine in the morning yet.”

“Maybe you’ll take a midday nap,” Trevor replies with a wink.

Honey snorts. “Be patient, Trev.”

Trevor draws back and releases his hold on Honey’s cheek. He changes the subject. “You go on up. I’ll put the groceries away, then I’ll round up the boys.”

Honey thanks him, then exits the car. She leaves the keys with him and heads up the stairs, disappearing from Trevor’s sight.

He’ll do as he promised, taking the groceries up for Honey and leaving the house with the boys within thirty minutes of their arrival. They had to pack a cooler, to be fair, and that always takes a little time. 

By the time Honey and Bea make it down to the beach around midday, the boys are ravenous. Honey and Bea come bearing sandwiches and they eat in a circle, sitting on their towels, like it’s a picnic.

After lunch, Cole digs a hole. Bea and Quinn head into the water, bobbing in the waves. At the same time, Honey buries Jack in the sand with help from Luke, giving him a mermaid tail and a seashell bra. Trevor sits on his towel and watches the group, feigning nonchalance, but he’s really watching Honey.

Thomas doesn’t seem to plague her mind, but Trevor doesn’t really know. She’s giggling with the group and yelling at Cole to stop throwing sand near them, which Trevor takes as a good sign.

He guesses he’ll find out what she really thinks tomorrow. He can wait that long.

76:90 – HONEY

Honey had told herself that the two cocktails at dinner would be her last drinks of the night. The boys have a kind of routine on their beach days– they pack as many drinks as the cooler can fit and they crush them. Honey, Bea, and Trixie had done their best to keep up, and it had resulted in quite a buzz.

There had been time to come down, too– Honey left the beach around 3:30 because she’d gotten sleepy. She’d showered and taken a nap, then woken up before dinner to see Bea napping in bed next to her. The guys had been in the same state when she went into the living room. Luke was the only one awake and he was watching golf on low volume, his eyes glazed over. Honey thinks he might be so zoned out that he’s dead to the world.

After dinner, though, everyone had been reinvigorated. The boys had cracked open new beers and Trixie had produced a box of seltzers from her minifridge in the garage. She and Bea are party girls, as is Cece, so it must be a McLean thing. They’d been adamant that the group played a few drinking games before winding down for the night. 

They’d played Flip Cup first– dividing into two teams of four and pounding drinks up and down the length of Trixie’s dining table. Bea and Trixie had captained the teams and drafted their picks because the boys thought it was most fair. Bea’s first pick was, unsurprisingly, Quinn. Trixie had picked Jack. At first, Honey had thought it was because of his frat-boy energy.

The more drunk everyone got, the more Honey noticed that Jack and Trixie were flirting. By the time they moved onto Stack Cup, Jack and Trixie were standing next to each other and Trixie was shrieking each time Jack nearly lapped her. When he finally did and she’d had to chug the Bitch Cup, Trixie had pulled Bea’s signature pout.

Honey was not surprised when they disappeared into Trixie’s bedroom, presumably, less than an hour later. Neither was anyone else, apparently. Cole had snorted and said that Bea and Jack were two peas in a pod, since they both collected siblings like it was nothing. Everyone laughed at that, then they’d split into smaller groups. Cole and Trevor started playing Ride The Bus with a stack of cards they found in Trixie’s junk drawer, Quinn and Luke had settled on the couch to watch TV, and Honey and Bea took a girl’s trip to the bathroom.

Bea finds a fresh thing of moisturizer while she’s digging through Trixie’s bathroom cabinet and goes to smell it, catching a strong whiff of eucalyptus. She gags, stomach lurching… and pushes Honey out of the way while she’s pulling up her sweatpants so that she can vomit into the toilet.

Typical. 

Honey braids Bea’s hair back messily while she yacks, then helps pat her face with a cold towel when she’s done. They decide to go to bed, even though Bea says that she’s fine. Honey thinks she needs to rest after throwing up the many, many drinks she had today, so she and Bea throw on their pajamas– a fun matching nightgown set that they always bring on their trips outside of Litchton– and cuddle up in bed. Honey is glad she made Bea brush her teeth before they left the bathroom, even if their faces aren’t close enough for her to smell Bea’s breath.

“You didn’t talk to Trevor,” Bea mumbles. She’s got her arm thrown over her face, eyes buried in the crook of her elbow. “You said you would today.”

Honey gets a flashback to the previous morning– how Bea had been aghast and furious that Thomas was in the same town as them, how she’d been elated that Honey had called Thomas out and been mean to him at the store, and how she’d pretended like it took all of her energy to praise Trevor for reacting the way he did. Honey knows that Bea likes Trevor deep down, even if she treats him like an annoying brother.

Honey groans, shifting under the covers. “I don’t want to get up.”

“You have to talk to him,” Bea replies. Her voice is monotone and tired. “You promised you would. You know how he gets when he’s worried.”

She’s right, unfortunately. It takes a lot out of Honey to sit up, especially with the last of the booze that is coursing through her veins. She feels a bit like an old man, grunting through a stretch, but she finally swings her legs over the side of the bed and begins to make her way to the door.

It bangs open before she reaches for the handle.

“Bea!” Jack exclaims, shouldering into the bedroom in nothing but his sweatpants and underwear– Honey can see the Nike lettering peeking out from under the gray waistband slung low on his hips. “New PR!”

Bea’s arm falls from her face and she squints at Jack with one eye. “What?” she asks groggily.

“I beat my time!” Jack catches Honey’s wrist as she passes him and raises her hand to give himself a high-five.

Honey fails to hold back a laugh, producing a stifled snort. Just as Jack jumps onto the bed and crosses his legs, getting comfortable, Honey slips away.

She walks as quietly as she can past Trixie’s room, finding her way to the end of the hallway and slipping through the glass door to the balcony. It’s there that she finds Trixie in her bathrobe, looking up at the stars and twirling a strand of hair between her fingers.

“Hey,” Honey greets quietly. “I heard Jack broke his record.”

Trixie chuckles. “Yeah, he told me. I think it’s cute how excited he was.”

“How long was it?” Honey asks.

“I don’t know, twenty minutes, maybe? From the time we got naked to the time it was over?” Trixie shrugs. “It wasn’t bad. He’s definitely good looking enough to get away with that.”

“One night stand?”

Trixie nods. “Definitely, one night stand. I’m not looking to do anything more than hook up with a guy who’s five years younger than me.” She drops her hand and slaps her knees. “Do you need the balcony?”

“Yeah, I need to talk to Trevor about something,” Honey says. “Do you remember Thomas?”

Trixie makes a face. There’s Honey’s confirmation that Cece and Bea did have a tell-all with Trix when Honey and Thomas broke up. “Yeah, I remember that dipshit. He should’ve gone to jail for what he did to you.”

“We saw him at the store yesterday,” Honey tells her. “Me and Trev.”

“Shit.” Trixie’s eyes are wide. “Are you okay?”

“Surprisingly, yeah,” Honey replies with a bit of a laugh. “I was mad when I saw him. Even after we left, I wasn’t upset. It was just like, ‘Oh, here’s the bitch that changed my life. I hope I never see him again after this’ and then I was fine.” She shrugs. “Bea and I talked about it. I’m not happy with what he did, obviously, but I’m past it.”

Trixie smiles and stands, bringing Honey in for a hug. “I’m happy for you.” She squeezes Honey tight, then lets her go, palms on Honey’s elbows. “You are such an impressive and resilient person.”

Honey doesn’t know quite what to say to Trixie. She thinks that if she opens her mouth to talk, her voice will break. That was so nice.

Trixie pats Honey’s arm one last time and heads toward the sliding glass door. “Goodnight, Hon. Have a good talk with Trevor.”

“Do you like him?” Honey blurts out as Trixie steps through the door. “For me?”

Trixie turns back and nods. “I do.” She slides the door shut and disappears down the hallway.

Honey smiles to herself, feeling a blush creep over her cheeks. She shakes it away, pulling her phone out and texting Trevor to meet her on the balcony. She hopes he’s awake.

He sends her a “!!!!” within seconds and Honey hears his feet padding down the hallway a minute later. 

“Hey,” Trevor whispers as he closes the door behind him. He crosses the balcony and wraps his arms around Honey’s waist. He buries his face in Honey’s neck and kisses her, biting lightly over her pulse point. “I hated not being able to touch you all day. Y’looked so good in your pretty bikini, baby.”

Honey sighs and relaxes into Trevor’s touch, breathing in the traces of his cologne. It’s mostly worn off by now, but if she closes her eyes, she can still take it in. Honey wraps her arms around Trevor’s neck and holds him close.

Trevor is the first to pull away. “You okay?” he asks. “You seem… pretty okay, all things considered.”

“I am, actually,” Honey murmurs, bringing her hand to Trevor’s hair and stroking the strands along his temple. She can feel Trevor’s gaze on her face, never straying. “I think I’m really moving on. Not just fake-moving on like I’ve been doing for the past couple years.”

A smile creeps over Trevor’s face. “That’s awesome, babe.”

“I think you’ve been helping,” Honey admits quietly. “More than I wanted you to in the first place.”

“Yeah, baby, you hated me,” Trevor teases. He nudges Honey’s nose with his, then kisses her. “You didn’t think I’d be any good to you this summer.”

“That’s not true,” Honey fights back, frowning. “I thought it would be nice to have people to hang out with.”

“Hmm, I bet you meant the other guys,” Trevor continues in the same tone. He brings his hands to Honey’s hips and walks her back as he kisses her, only stopping when he’s got her pressed up against the wall. He starts to kiss down her neck, bringing his hands to her bare thighs and pushing at the hem of her nightgown.

“I gave you one week before you went back home,” Honey says. She raises a leg and tries to wrap it over Trevor’s hip. She slips at first, but then Trevor grips the fat of her thigh and holds her leg in place. 

“Well, I’m still here,” Trevor replies. His right hand slips between Honey’s legs and traces her folds before shifting her underwear to the side and diving in. “And you know I’m not leaving.”

“But you are, though,” Honey chokes out. She’s reeling from the way he just shoved two of his fingers into her cunt.

Trevor hums. “Okay, physically,” he says. “But I’m not leaving you. You’re stuck with me.”

“I fail to see how that’s a good thing,” Honey jokes, but she’s lost the fighting edge in her voice. It’s so obvious that Trevor is affecting her, considering the way her breath has grown weary and how she’s biting her lower lip.

Trevor laughs anyway. “I can show you,” he says. 

He kisses Honey, sliding his tongue into her mouth. Her eyes drift all the way shut and she fists the neckline of his t-shirt. He tastes like the drinks that he’s been consuming all day, but with an overt layer of minty toothpaste. His lips are soft and Honey likes how he smiles between kisses.

“Is that a good enough reason?” Trevor asks softly, trailing his lips down to Honey’s jaw and sucking softly. It’s not enough to leave a mark, but she can feel his tongue massaging her skin and his teeth scraping over the area when he’s done.

“No, I already knew you were good at that,” Honey says. She feels a little stuck in her head, waiting for Trevor to do more.

His thumb presses against her clit and starts to circle. “I guess I have to up my game.” Trevor fits his teeth around Honey’s collarbone and nibbles. “You want me to talk about how pretty you are, baby?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.” Honey cards her fingers through Trevor’s hair and sighs.

He snuffles out another laugh. “You are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Trevor tells Honey. 

“Thing?”

Trevor actually chuckles. “Not thing. You know that’s just a saying.” He adopts a southern accent. “Prettiest ‘thang’ I’ve ever seen.”

“You are so goofy.”

Trevor twists his fingers inside of Honey and makes her choke on a breath. “Don’t be mean, Hon. Let me talk.”

“Then talk,” Honey bites.

“Attention seeker.”

“Now you’re being mean.”

“If I was mean, I’d stop fingering you and head back inside.”

Honey rolls her eyes. She grinds down on Trevor’s fingers and pulls him up for another kiss.

“You’re so beautiful,” Trevor continues, jumping back into the bit. He noses against Honey’s cheek. “Honestly, Honey, you steal my breath. It’s unreal. I think about how pretty you are all the time.”

“Jerking off?” Honey gasps out. Her stomach is starting to turn from the pleasure.

“Mm.” Trevor smiles against her neck. “Sometimes. You turn me on, baby, but your looks aren’t the only thing I like about you. I’m determined to stay around for other reasons, you know.”

Honey hums, prompting him to continue. She is a bit of a glutton for praise– but who isn’t? She likes when people like her. She likes when Trevor likes her.

“Like how loyal you are to your friends,” Trevor says. “I couldn’t handle Bea for as long as you have, but you know that.”

“You handle Jack,” Honey points out. “That’s the same.”

“Fair point,” Trevor surmises. “I’m so… taken with how you act, babe.”

“Trevor,” Honey warns. She’s getting closer to the edge. His fingers are dancing inside of her, unrelenting, and his words aren’t helping. She still wants him to talk more, though.

“Do you know how proud I am that you stood your ground with Thomas at the store?” Trevor murmurs, moving his hand from Honey’s thigh to thumb over her nipple. 

“Oh my God,” Honey moans out when he pokes the spongy spot inside of her. She jumps, then whimpers, pulling his face back up so that she can bit his neck.

“It was amazing,” Trevor praises. “You’re so brave. I love how fiery you were when you saw him and how well you’ve bounced back from it over the past day and a half.”

Honey’s hips jerk into his touch. Her mouth drops open and eyes roll back. She knocks her head against the wall, but the sting doesn’t actually hurt. She barely feels it. Honey snaps, her resolve crumbling as Trevor’s fingers thrust into her at what feels like lightning speed. Her hands clutch at Trevor’s bicep and the back of his neck, fingernails digging into his skin and leaving red crescent-moons behind. “I love you,” Honey whines. She’s praising Trevor and his unique ability to give her everything she’s craved in a partner, especially since Thomas destroyed her confidence the way he did. 

Trevor’s hips roll against Honey’s hip like they’re controlled by an external force. His fingers continue to fill her just right. He draws his lip into his mouth and his stunning, shining eyes lock in on her expression. “I love you,” he repeats, natural and easy like nothing else.

Flickers of recognition pass through his pupils. “Oh, fuck, I love you,” he repeats again, conscious and strangled and desperate and true.

Honey melts into his gasp, her chest heaving with a sob as her climax rearranges the atoms in her eyesight. Honey’s admission, which is slowly dawning on her, has taken all the tension from her body and sent it out into the universe like a flood.

Trevor’s trying to kiss her again.

Honey gulps and wiggles away from him.

Trevor doesn’t seem to notice how she’s inching towards the sliding door. His hands slip off of her hips for one second and Honey is gone.

That was not supposed to happen. The whole “I love you” thing was supposed to be a nonissue. That’s what she told herself when she thought it– and now that she’s said it… Honey’s head cannot stop racing with thoughts.

You know what? Maybe Trevor didn’t hear her.

Okay, that’s stupid. He replied. Twice. 

Maybe he didn’t realize it either.

No, that’s why he repeated it. 

This is terrible. This should’ve happened a year from now over some stupid, sentimental, and dry candlelit dinner that Trevor tried to cook in his California apartment. This should’ve happened while Honey was trying to stomach the food without being mean and make sure that the candles didn’t light the flowers on fire, and she would’ve distracted him by telling him that she loves him.

Honey hasn’t thought about this at all. It– ugh– it was a dream she had a few nights ago. It should be noted that she woke with a start, sitting up, and nearly had a heart attack when Trevor’s arm had tightened around her waist to keep her in place.

She bursts through her bedroom door, interrupting Jack and Bea’s conversation. Honey slams the door shut behind her and plasters herself to the cool wood. She can hold the door shut if Trevor tries to barge in.

Bea blinks at Honey. “You okay?”

“I told him I love him,” Honey announces. She fumbles for the doorhandle and turns the lock.

“I thought you were going to talk to him about Thomas,” Bea says incredulously.

“Yeah, I was, but then we started…” Honey tilts her head and makes a high-pitched humming noise in the back of her throat as an insinuation, then opens her mouth again. “And it just slipped out.”

“During?” Bea demands. “During?”

“Yes, during!” 

“I’m sorry,” Jack cuts in, sitting forward on the bed. “I’m lost. Who are we talking about?”

“Trevor!” Honey and Bea exclaim at the same time, both rounding on Jack in identical fashion. 

He flinches back and holds his hands up in surrender. “Geez, sorry, I didn’t know.” It takes a moment, but their shared word registers. “Wait, I’m sorry, you’re in love with Trevor?”

“What are you going to do?” Bea asks, waving a hand at Jack to silence him. 

“Hide out in here for the rest of the weekend, probably,” Honey answers. She might’ve reached a pitch that only dogs can hear, but Bea and Jack seem to be faring well enough.

“Okay, not to interrupt again, but you know Trevor’s been fucking random girls all summer, right?” Jack continues.

“Oh my God, no, he hasn’t,” Honey says. The jig is up now and she doesn’t have time for Jack’s well-meaning warnings and confused comments. She has bigger problems.

“Yes, he has,” Jack insists. “He’s on Raya, dude. We’ve been talking about it for weeks. He’s very open about it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bea scoffs. She faces Jack and puts her hand on his shoulder, looking deep into his eyes. “Jack, I love you dearly–”

Honey groans and covers her face with her hands.

“Sorry, Hon, I didn’t mean to trigger you.” Bea raises half of a hand-heart for Honey. “But, J, Trevor and Honey have been fucking for months. The Raya hookups were a cover.”

“What?” Jack looks at Honey, mouth open in surprise. He turns back to Bea. “And you knew? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Of course I didn’t tell you, no one knows!”

“What about Quinn?” Jack asks.

Bea relents. “Okay, Quinn knows. But Luke and Cole don’t know, so you have to shut up about it.”

Jack’s face turns from offended to slack and pale. “Oh, I’m not good at keeping secrets,” he says. Honey knows that– he’s said it before.

“I’ll give you two hundred dollars to keep your mouth shut,” Bea bargains.

Jack purses his lips. “Well, now, that’s an interesting point,” he muses. 

“Hey, hi,” Honey urges, waving her hand at the duo on the bed. “Can we get back to my problem now?”

“Honey, I wouldn’t, like, call it a problem, necessarily?” Bea says, but she’s stammering a little when she says it.

Honey scoffs and widens her eyes, feeling like she’s going crazy. “You haven’t said it back to Quinn!”

“You haven’t said it back to Quinn?” Jack demands. He covers his face with his hands. “Oh my God, I should’ve just gone to bed after hooking up with Trixie. This is so much drama.”

“It’s not drama!” Bea exclaims. “Did Trevor say it back?”

“Yes!” Honey reveals, shrugging. She raises a hand and gestures into the air. “So what?”

“So what?” Bea repeats. “You have nothing to worry about. He said he loves you, you said you love him.”

“Other way around,” Honey corrects.

Bea stares at Honey for a beat, then starts to laugh. “Semantics! Dude, who cares? You’re in love! I bet he’s on the other side of the door, waiting for you to let him in so he can say it again.”

“I am, actually,” comes Trevor’s muffled voice. Honey feels one of his fingers poke her heel from the crack under the door. “Can you let me in?”

Honey resists the urge to stomp on his finger. She groans, tilting her head back and crumpling her face. She doesn’t want to face Trevor right now, for two reasons. One: she’s not over saying “I love you.” and two, it’s embarrassing. She ran away from him. She whines, slightly annoyed with herself, as she turns to the door and unlocks it. She turns the handle and Trevor crashes into the room in a similar manner as Honey did.

He kicks the door shut and brings his palms to Honey’s jaw, cradling her face in his hands. He kisses her hard. He stays there, then pulls away.

“Jack’s here,” Honey says.

“Hi, Z,” Jack supplies. 

“I don’t care,” Trevor tells Honey. He lays kiss after kiss against her lips. He speaks between pecks. “I love you.” Peck. “Don’t run away.” Peck. “You said what I was getting ready to say, baby.” Peck. “I’m so glad you feel the same. I love you.”

Honey hums against his lips. “I love you, too,” she mumbles quietly. “I just–”

“Let me enjoy this for a second,” Trevor says, stopping her short. “Fuck, you make me happy.”

Honey relaxes with a little whimper, feeling a little wounded by how lovely he is. He’s so nice to her, even as wishy-washy as she’s been. He said he wasn’t going anywhere, even if he’s physically leaving at the end of the summer, and Honey is the one who’s constantly changing things up on Trevor. Ugh, how annoying. 

Jack hoots from the bed, interrupting their moment. Bea, at least, had the decency to stay silent with a big grin on her face.

Trevor pulls away from Honey and glares at Jack. “Dude, get out.”

“You should be thanking me, bro,” Jack says as he stands from the bed. “I’m the one who told Honey that you like her in the first place.”

“Not to be like that, either,” Bea jumps in. “But this is technically my bedroom, and I’m a little sleepy, so I think you guys might have to wrap it up. You can consummate your love when we get back to Litchton, if that’s okay with you.”

“Well, it’s not okay with me.” Trevor rolls his eyes. His hands are still on Honey, but resting on her waist instead of cupping her cheeks. “This is kind of a big deal for us.”

“And I so get that, Trev,” Bea continues, inflecting her voice like Alexis from Schitt’s Creek. “But, also, I’m not leaving so you can have sex in the bed that I’m sleeping in after you’re done. That’s like, not…”

Honey dips her forehead and laughs. She pats Trevor’s chest and pushes him back towards the door. “It’s okay, Trev. It’s late.”

Trevor holds onto her hand and brings it to his lips, pouting. Jack catches Trevor’s shirt and tugs him towards the door.

Honey can barely contain a coy smile. “I love you,” she mouths as Jack drags him away. She brings a hand to her mouth and blows a kiss in his direction.

Trevor smiles as wide as Honey has ever seen and allows himself to be pulled from the room, barely catching the handle and closing the door behind him.

Bea jumps from the bed onto Honey’s back and screeches in her ear. She hugs Honey in a partial headlock, arms locked on Honey until she can’t breathe.

“Okay, get off of me,” Honey chokes out, slamming Bea into the mattress. 

“This is so exciting,” Bea squeals. She hits Honey’s shoulder with each word. “Honey! This is so wonderful!”

“Can we just go to bed?” Honey asks, feeling her skin crawl a bit. Yes, everything is fine on paper, but another shoe has got to be on the precipice of dropping. 

“Yes, but I’m cuddling you all night to celebrate,” Bea agrees. She grabs Honey’s shoulders and shakes her until Honey feels like her eyes are about to pop out of her head. “Honey!”

“Shut up,” Honey groans. She buries herself under the covers, pulling the sheets over her head and disappearing into a lump.

“Are you so excited at least?” Bea aks, wrapping her arms around Honey’s middle and pressing her cheek into Honey’s back. 

Honey smiles into the pillow. “It’s exciting,” she admits.

Bea squeals again and squeezes Honey’s waist like a belt that’s too tight.

“Alright, that’s enough, stop it with the Heimlich,” Honey scolds, pinching Bea’s forearm. Her grip slackens after a moment. “You already threw up tonight, I don’t want to either.”

“Do you think you’re going to?”

Honey’s not sure. It is a little nauseating to have said what she said to Trevor, even if he received it well. She said it back again and she wants to keep saying it back, but it’s still weird. She’ll either throw up from being excited or from being so surprised that she told Trevor how she feels.

She buries her face in the pillow and screams.

77:90 – TREVOR

Trevor has been riding on a high since last night. He’d been hesitant to tell Honey how he felt, how he loved her, but after running into Thomas and seeing how she’d handled that so well, Trevor had thought that there was no better time than the present.

He’d been trying to build up to it. He was praising the girl and trying to fill her head with a bunch of pretty– and genuine– compliments so that she didn’t freak out when he uttered those three words.

She’d said it first. Honey had beat him to the punch by about one second, which surprised Trevor. Her statement hadn’t really computed in his brain until after he’d said his piece, which is when he’d felt so surprised that all he could do was repeat himself. 

It wasn’t surprising that Honey bolted after the fact. She’d been in an abject state of denial after calling Trevor her boyfriend by mistake the week prior, so it made sense that she was surprised and confused and frustrated with herself when she’d accidentally said “I love you.” Trevor knows Honey well enough to assume that she hadn’t meant to tell him that. He’d bet money on it.

It feels like a quick turnaround on paper, Trevor thinks. He’s never actually said “I love you” to anyone other than his family members and his closest friends, so he doesn’t know what the “right” time is. He’s known Honey for two and a half months now, but like she always says, mountain time passes differently. It feels more like he’s known her for five or six months. Quite frankly, Trevor has had feelings for Honey since he saw her outside of the grocery store on his first day in Litchton. He’s liked her since then and he can’t really pinpoint the moment that his admiration for Honey evolved into love, but it happened, and now they’re here. 

They’re one step closer to telling everyone, too. Jack knows, which isn’t ideal since everyone knows that the boy can’t keep a secret, but Trevor’s okay with that. Sure, he threatened Jack and made sure he wasn’t going to tell Cole or Luke, but he only did that to protect what Honey wants. She might be in love with Trevor, but that doesn’t mean she’s ready for everyone to know.

Which is why Trevor is managing to contain himself during their last trip to the beach this morning. Bea is skipping church because she’s on vacation, so everyone is together under the ocean sun for the last time this summer. 

Honey looks practically edible in her red swimsuit. She reminds him of the classic Baywatch, the original series that Trevor would sometimes catch replays of when he was young. Yasmine Bleeth might’ve been Trevor’s first awakening, the one who made him realize that girls are pretty. Honey is yet another reminder and Trevor is having trouble keeping his eyes away from her.

She’s standing at the edge of the water with Cole. Occasionally, one of them will pick up a rock or a shell and skip it against the waves. One of Cole’s shells hits Luke, who is bobbing in the waves and tossing a football with Jack. Honey laughs with her whole body, bending at the waist.

“Eyes off, Trevor,” Bea murmurs, reaching out to slap at Trevor’s arm. 

She’s lying next to him on her towel, back bared to the sky. The tie behind her back is undone to prevent an uneven tan, but Trevor thinks she has bigger problems to worry about. Quinn’s head is resting on the small of her back and his arm is wrapped around her body, palm flat on her hip. Talk about an uneven tan, Trevor thinks.

“Why?” he questions. “It’s not like anyone up here doesn’t know about it.”

Bea groans. “Because you’re being obvious. I know that you’re in love, or whatever, but Luke and Cole don’t know anything.”

“She looks hot,” Trevor argues. “Maybe I’m just ogling her because she’s sexy. Cole and Luke can’t argue with that.”

“Do you really want Cole and Luke to ask you why you’re looking at Honey like that?” Bea points out. “You’ll have to tell them she’s hot and then they’ll look at Honey like she’s hot.”

“And they’d be right to think that,” Trixie adds in a disinterested voice. She’s preoccupied with the stack of papers in one hand and the legal pad balanced on her knee. She waves her hair out of her face and looks at Trevor, tilting her head down to that she can meet his eyes above the rims of her sunglasses. “You’re lucky that she decided to date you.”

“I know,” Trevor replies, feeling like he has to defend himself against the sisters. He doesn’t take advantage of being Honey’s boyfriend, nor does he take her for granted. He knows that their relationship is still pretty fragile and new, even if they love each other. 

Bea hums, squinting at him. She seems to decide to take his word for it, because she changes the subject. “I gave Jack $200 to keep his mouth shut.”

“That’s terrible,” Quinn mumbles. He picks his head up and turns to face the back of Bea’s head. “You don’t have to pay Jack to keep their secret.”

Bea shrugs. “I don’t mind. I’d rather pay him to stay silent than just have blind faith in him.”

Quinn snorts and kisses down Bea’s spine. “I think the world is lucky that you’re not in a position of power,” he comments. “If you’re so willing to resort to bribery.”

“What has Ada been teaching you at that store, Bea?” Trixie jumps in. “I hope you’re not bribing customers or your suppliers. I’d get so fired for bribing people.”

“We’re not allowed to bribe people either,” Quinn adds. “Although I bet Z would if he could. Anaheim sucks.”

“I would not,” Trevor refutes. He’s still fighting with the group and defending himself. They start laughing like it’s all some big joke, but his feathers are still ruffled. Trevor huffs and turns away from them, looking back at Honey and Cole. 

Cole has Honey thrown over his shoulder and he’s marching into the waves. She’s shrieking and Cole stumbles over the sandbar and sends them both tumbling into the waves. Honey surfaces with a sputter and pushes Cole into a wave, jumping onto him and holding him underwater. Luke and Jack get involved not long after.

The rest of the day passes far faster than Trevor would like. They eat cold cut sandwiches as a group for lunch. Jack gets far too sunburnt, despite Honey and Bea’s better efforts to convince him to wear sunscreen. He claimed he didn’t need it since he tans well, but his pink skin is proof that he doesn’t tan as well as he thinks he does.

In the afternoon, Trixie runs up to the house and gets a volleyball. They play beach volleyball without a net, instead drawing a line in the sand that marks the barriers of the game. They don’t keep track of who’s winning or who’s on what team. The game isn’t serious and there’s a boatload of cheating– Bea pushes Luke over while his head it turned towards the sky, despite being on the same team, and they all laugh about it. Jack puts Honey on his shoulders so she can block a hit from Trixie. The ball ends up hitting her straight in the chest and knocks the wind out of her. When they finally head up to the house in the early evening, Honey’s still got an imprint of the ball on her skin. She calls it her battle scar and compares it to the mark on Quinn’s cheek. Quinn tells Honey that hers will fade.

For dinner, they eat the burgers that Trevor had bought when they ran into Thomas. Trixie whips up a salad to go with the meal and they all eat at her dining room table.

After dinner, they pack and divide into cars. Honey, Bea, and Quinn take Quinn’s rental car back. Trevor, Jack, Luke, and Cole are relegated to the other car. They speed home, losing Quinn’s car within the second hour, once they pass Raleigh. Cole falls asleep halfway through the drive and doesn’t wake up until they get back to Litchton. 

One of Honey’s favorite songs starts to play from Trevor’s liked songs as they turn onto the main road. He closes his eyes and leans back against the headrest. Jack has the windows rolled down and the air smells clearer up here. 

Trevor can’t imagine driving down this mountain in two weeks, knowing that he won’t be back until next year.