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sinful-sonnet · 2 months ago

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Whiskey & Wildflowers

Chapter 6

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W/C: 12.6k

Content Warnings: *Explicit, minors DNI. smoking, pet names, smut, unprotected piv, daddy kink lowkey, smoking, f & m orgasm, fluff, aftercare, parental estrangement, emotional strain, phone sex (?) non edited

Summary: After seeking refuge at Joel’s house to escape family tensions, you begin rebuilding your life while navigating complex emotions and relationships. A new job brings stability, and connections within the household grow deeper, with moments of closeness becoming increasingly intense. As you work to find your footing, the bonds around you shift in unexpected ways, setting the stage for personal growth and new challenges.

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“Rollercoaster”

You close your bedroom door behind you, hoping in vain that it will block out the sounds drifting from upstairs. It doesn’t. The muffled moans and low thumps make your stomach twist, and you press your palms flat against the door, willing it to stop. Why now? You bite your lip, a flare of anger and embarrassment rushing through you. It’s bad enough your dad brought Linda here so suddenly—now you have to endure this?

Your eyes dart to your phone on the bedside table. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you grab it, scrolling through your contacts until you see Joel’s name. You hover there for a moment, heart pounding in your chest. Is this a bad idea? Maybe. But you need a distraction—any distraction—from what’s happening above you.

With a shaky breath, you tap the call button. The dial tone rings in your ear once, twice, three times. You’re about to hang up when you hear the low rasp of Joel’s voice.

“Hey,” he answers, his tone softer than you expected. “Everything okay?”

You close your eyes, letting the sound of his voice ground you. “Not really,” you admit, keeping your voice low. You sink onto your bed, curling your free hand into the comforter. “My dad… and Linda…” You swallow hard, not sure how much you want to reveal.

There’s a pause on the other end, then Joel exhales. “Yeah?” he prompts gently, sounding concerned.

Your cheeks burn with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “They’re… you know… doing it—above my room. I can hear everything.” You scrunch your eyes shut, wishing you could erase that last sentence from existence. “I just… can’t deal with this right now.”

Joel lets out a sigh that crackles over the line. “That’s gotta be rough,” he says, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The only sound is the low static of the call and faint noises from upstairs that you’re doing your best to ignore.

Finally, you clear your throat, your heart thumping in your ears. “Joel,” you say, your voice wavering with a mixture of nerves and longing. “I—can we just… talk? Or—”

“Or?” His voice dips, taking on a note of hesitation and something else—interest?

You lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as you gather your courage. “I just… need a distraction,” you admit, your pulse racing faster. “Anything to keep my mind off of what’s happening.”

Joel is quiet for a beat. When he speaks again, there’s a softness in his tone, laced with concern and maybe a spark of the tension you both felt before. “Okay,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Tell me what you need.”

A tiny tremor of relief courses through you. “I want to focus on us for a bit,” you whisper, turning onto your side so you’re facing away from your closed door. You breathe in, centering yourself on the comforting thought of Joel rather than the humiliating noises overhead.

Joel shifts on his end of the line; you can hear it in the subtle rustle of fabric. “I’m listening,” he says, and there’s a quiet intimacy in those words that sends a flush through your cheeks.

You close your eyes and let your free hand drift to your stomach, resting just beneath your shirt. “You remember the last time we were together?” you begin softly, recalling the heated moment in his house when lines blurred. “When you… pinned me against the door?”

Joel inhales sharply. “Yeah,” he murmurs. His voice dips to a husky undertone. “I remember.”

The images of that night flicker in your mind—his firm grip, the fire in his gaze. The way the world shrank to just the two of you. It’s enough to drown out the sounds above—enough to remind you there’s something else waiting, something that feels like an escape from your current reality.

You keep talking, your voice low and measured, weaving little memories of his touch, how his breath felt against your skin. With each word, you imagine you’re back there, heat building between you instead of the awkward tension in your own house. Joel doesn’t interrupt; he listens intently, his steady breathing in your ear.

Eventually, he hums, a quiet, encouraging noise. “Feels good thinking about it?” he asks gently.

“Yes,” you admit, your cheeks burning. “I just… I wish you were here.”

He lets out a slow exhale. “Me too.”

For a moment, you both fall silent, just the sound of each other’s breaths traveling across the line. In that hush, you can almost feel him next to you—the warmth of his body, the way his presence steadies your thoughts.

Joel clears his throat. “I’m right here on the phone, though,” he says in a voice that’s low and intimate, “if you want to keep talking. If it helps.”

You let your eyes close, sinking further into the moment, letting Joel’s quiet reassurance fill the space in your mind. It might not solve everything—your dad, Linda, the complexities that still hang over you—but for right now, it’s enough to have Joel’s presence, even through a phone line.

Your grip on the phone tightens. “Stay with me,” you whisper, the plea laced with all the vulnerability you’ve been feeling for so long.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he answers softly, and in that promise lies a shred of comfort that finally drowns out the unwelcome sounds from above. You focus solely on his voice, letting the tension ease as you slip deeper into the conversation that’s more than a distraction—it’s a reminder of the connection you share, a place that feels like it’s just yours and his, if only for these moments.

You lie back on your bed, phone pressed to your ear, Joel's low voice still filling your mind. Every syllable seems to heighten the warmth building inside you, and as you shift your hips slightly, you can't ignore the need pulsing through you. With a quiet inhale, you ease your hand downward, letting your fingertips rest lightly over the front of your underwear.

You close your eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of Joel's breath on the other end of the line. The rush of blood in your ears nearly drowns out your dad and Linda upstairs—a small, welcome reprieve.

Joel's tone drops, concern threading through it when he hears your soft exhale. "You alright?" he asks gently, though there's an undercurrent of awareness there, too.

Biting your lip, you tilt your head back against the pillow, letting out another shaky breath. "I'm fine," you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation,

"just... keep talking."

He seems to catch the hint in your tone.

His next words come out low, husky.

You barely process what he's saying— some reassurance, something about being with you-because every syllable feels like a slow thrum under your skin.

Your hand moves a fraction, pressing lightly. A quiver runs through you, and a soft, involuntary sound escapes your throat. Embarrassment flickers for a second, but Joel's voice anchors you, warm and calm even as his breath catches.

"Tell me what you want," he murmurs, almost inaudible.

Heat flushes through you, and you swallow hard. "I don't know," you whisper. "I just... need something. Need you."

Joel lets out a quiet, unsteady exhale.

"I'm here," he says simply.

Those two words send a shiver down your spine, and you let your eyes drift shut, focusing on the sensation of your own touch and the steady cadence of Joel's voice. In the hazy quiet, with the world narrowed to just this moment, you let yourself sink into the warmth of wanting him-letting it crowd out everything else.

Your breath hitches, the sound of it catching in your throat audible even over the phone. You press your hand more firmly against yourself, heart thudding at the thought that Joel can hear every shift of your breathing.

He goes quiet for a beat, as though he’s listening intently for your every reaction. His own breathing sounds uneven, and you imagine he’s trying to keep himself composed on the other end of the line. The thought sends another wave of heat rolling through you.

“You still with me?” he asks, his voice low and tinged with that undercurrent of need you’ve grown so familiar with.

“Mhm,” you manage, your voice faint. You swallow, forcing yourself to speak more clearly. “Yeah. Just… feels good.”

A soft exhale comes through the speaker—like relief mixed with desire. “Good,” he murmurs, his tone gentle but charged. “Then let it, darlin’.”

You bite your lip, your eyes sliding shut as your body reacts to his words. Even though he’s only there by voice, it’s enough to steady the anxious hum in your chest, enough to remind you that you’re not alone in this moment. For a few precious minutes, it drowns out everything else: the noises upstairs, the tension at home, the nagging complications that wait beyond this phone call.

Joel’s voice wraps around you again, low and comforting, guiding you further into the warmth of this connection. His breathing staggers once in a while, a subtle sign that he’s right there with you—wanting you just as badly, missing you just as deeply.

And in the background of your mind, you remind yourself that for now, that’s all you need: his presence, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the promise of something better waiting when you finally see each other again.

Joel's breathing shifts on the other end of the line, becoming more ragged by the second. You can hear it-how he's losing that tight control you know he tries to hold onto. It's almost a mirror of your own state: that heady mix of anticipation and need.

"Joel...?" you venture softly, voice trembling with the knowledge of what might be happening there. He inhales sharply, and you can practically feel the tension crackling through the phone.

"I'm here," he rasps, his breath hitching on the last word. There's a moment of silence, punctuated by nothing but the distant hum of the connection and the sound of him exhaling in quiet, uneven spurts. He doesn't say what he's doing, but you sense it-the rhythmic pace of it, the telltale hitch in his voice.

Your own heart pounds, and you press your hand more firmly against yourself.

Even separated by distance, there's an odd intimacy in sharing this charged moment. The background noise of your house fades to static, and all that matters is the low timbre of Joel's voice, the rasp of breath as he gives in to the same pull you feel.

"You feel good, darlin'?" he manages to ask, his words laced with both concern and raw desire.

"Mhm," you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself sink deeper into the warmth coiling in your belly. "You?"

Joel's response is a rough sound halfway between a sigh and a groan.

"Wish I could see you," he breathes, and you imagine him leaning back, eyes closed, wanting this moment every bit as intensely as you do.

A flush spreads through you. "Me too," you admit. There's a pause as you catch your breath. "Tell me... tell me something," you plead, not entirely sure what you need but desperate to keep him talking, to feel him close.

He exhales shakily. "I'm thinking about that night... when I had you against the door." His voice drops into a husky whisper. "How you felt under my hands, how you tasted..."

Your breath stutters at the memory, the vivid recollection overtaking any coherent thought. Your fingers flex in response, pressing just enough to send a spark of pleasure zipping up your spine. Joel's voice falters too, a quiet hitch that tells you he's right there with you.

Neither of you speaks for a moment-just the shared, labored breathing over the phone line, the muffled hush of two people seeking comfort in each other.

At some point, you hear him mutter your name under his breath, soft but urgent, and it sends a delicious jolt through you.

It's intense-almost too intense, knowing he's on the other end, wanting this as badly as you do. You curl onto your side, phone balanced against your ear as your heart pounds. The world outside your door might be messy and complicated, but here and now, it's just you and Joel and the connection that keeps growing despite every obstacle.

Your lips part, and you whisper his name. His ragged exhale is answer enough. In this moment, you focus on each ragged breath, each brush of fabric, each sound that testifies to a need both of you can't deny. It's not perfect-nothing about your situation is -but for now, it's a lifeline neither of you wants to let go of.

Joel’s breathing hitches again, and you can almost hear him wrestling with the urge to stay in control. There’s a pause, then the faint sound of him grabbing his keys or something metallic in the background.

“Darlin’,” he says low into the phone, voice still rough from the moment you’ve been sharing, “I can’t do this like we are. I need to see you. I need to come get you.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. You shift on the bed, pressing the phone tighter against your ear. The tension coursing through your body has you wanting to say yes immediately, but the memory of your dad and Linda upstairs makes you hesitate.

“Joel,” you whisper, unsure if he can sense your uncertainty. “They’re here… I don’t know if I can just walk out.”

He exhales, frustrated. “I’ll park down the street if I have to. But I’m not waiting around, baby. I want you with me tonight. Let me pick you up.”

Even through the phone, you can feel the warmth of his determination, and it nearly wipes out every other worry. Slowly, you exhale, your mind whirling with the risk of sneaking away now, of the complications that might follow if anyone notices.

But then Joel’s voice drops, all sincerity and urgency: “I just want you. No more phone. No more distance.”

Your breath comes out in a shaky rush. Deep down, you know exactly what you want, too. “Okay,” you whisper, the single word filled with every bit of unspoken longing.

He’s immediately in motion, you can hear the jingle of keys, the creak of a door opening. “I’m on my way,” he promises softly, before a click ends the call.

You drop your phone to your side and lie there in the darkness for a few beats, heart pounding, thoughts tumbling. Regardless of what waits for you tomorrow—family tension, questions you can’t answer—for tonight, you can’t deny how much you need the escape Joel’s offering. And, you remind yourself, he needs it too.

With a nervous flutter, you sit up, fishing for your shoes, grabbing a hoodie. Every sound from upstairs sets you on edge, but your resolve is clear: if Joel is willing to take the chance, so are you.

Within minutes, you’re slipping out of your bedroom, careful to stay quiet as you make your way outside. The air is cool and still, stars scattered above. You walk a short distance, heart thudding in your chest, scanning the street until you catch sight of Joel’s truck rolling slowly up the block.

The passenger door opens with a soft click, and there he is—anxious, intense eyes on you, one hand on the steering wheel. You climb in, nerves and excitement tangling in your stomach.

He doesn’t say a word as he pulls away, the tension in the cab thick with anticipation. His free hand finds yours, giving a brief, reassuring squeeze. Everything else—your dad, Linda, the complicated mess of it all—fades into the background. Right now, it’s just Joel, the hum of the engine, and the promise in his voice when he says, “Let’s go,” low and certain.

You breathe out, finally letting yourself feel that surge of relief and desire. Whatever comes next, at least you won’t be alone in it tonight. And judging by the way Joel glances over at you, his gaze heated and intent, neither of you plans on holding back.

Joel’s hands grip the steering wheel a little too tightly as he spots the light on inside his house. “Sarah’s home,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, glancing over at you with an apologetic look.

He drives past the house without slowing, and you notice his jaw tense. It’s clear he’s not prepared for questions—or for Sarah to see you together like this. After a few minutes, Joel turns onto a side street and pulls into a dimly lit, vacant parking lot. He parks and cuts the engine, the silence inside the truck suddenly feeling heavier.

He turns toward you, eyes full of equal parts desire and frustration. “Didn’t expect her back so soon,” he murmurs, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Guess we can’t go inside.” There’s regret in his voice, but the undercurrent of need between you both hasn’t faded at all.

You shift in your seat, the adrenaline from sneaking out still running high. “It’s okay,” you say quietly, forcing a small smile even though your nerves are jangling. “I wasn’t exactly looking forward to running into her, either.” The thought of explaining anything to Sarah tonight makes your stomach twist.

Joel’s lips press into a thin line; he seems torn, like he’s trying to figure out the next move. Finally, he exhales, leaning back against the headrest. “We could…talk here,” he offers, but his voice betrays him—there’s more than just talking on his mind.

The truck’s cab is dark except for the faint glow from a distant streetlamp. You can sense Joel’s focus on you, though, the same tension that crackled between you earlier still palpable. You realize he’s giving you the choice: to stay, to go, to figure out some middle ground.

You meet his gaze, your heartbeat still unsteady. “I don’t mind staying for a bit,” you murmur. It’s an understatement of everything you’re feeling, but you don’t know how else to say you need him just as much.

Joel nods, sliding his hand off the steering wheel and resting it near yours on the seat. The quiet hum of nearby traffic underscores the moment, and you both sit there, weighing your next steps, trying to figure out how to navigate this meeting that neither of you wants to end.

Outside, the night carries on, but in the confines of the truck, it’s like time has slowed. He studies your face, and you can tell he’s battling the same swirl of thoughts you are: the risk of being caught, the complicated feelings, and the undeniable pull that brought you both here.

“Come here,” he finally says, voice soft but insistent. He lifts his arm, making space for you to slide closer if you want. It’s a simple invitation—one that speaks volumes. You hesitate only a second before you move toward him, closing the gap in the quiet, empty lot.

For now, you both ignore the outside world, taking refuge in these fleeting minutes, where it’s just the two of you—no questions, no judgment, and no prying eyes. It won’t solve everything, but it’s enough to feel his warmth, to hear his low voice comforting you in the dark. And for the moment, that’s all either of you needs.

You shift in the passenger seat, feeling your pulse quicken, then make a decisive move: swinging your leg over Joel’s lap and settling yourself there, knees braced against the edges of his seat. He inhales sharply, the soft leather squeaking under your weight.

“D-darlin’?” Joel stammers, his voice a mixture of surprise and rough-edged desire. He automatically brings his hands up, hovering near your waist as though unsure if he should rest them there.

You just look down at him, a playful grin curving your lips. The tension in the truck cab is thick enough to taste, the cool night air streaming faintly through a cracked window doing nothing to quell the heat building between you.

Your eyes lock on Joel’s. For a moment, neither of you moves, your heart pounding in your ears. Then, slowly, he settles his hands at your sides, steadying you.

“You all right?” he asks, swallowing hard, his eyes flicking between yours as though he wants to be absolutely certain.

A soft laugh escapes you. “I’m good,” you whisper, leaning in just enough that he can feel your breath. “Don’t you want me here?”

Joel’s fingers tighten slightly at your waist. “More than I can say,” he murmurs, his voice thick.

A rush of warmth flutters through you at that, and for a moment, the complications and fears fade into the background. Right now, in this vacant parking lot, it’s just you and Joel—no one else.

You slide your hands up, resting them on his shoulders as you lean in closer. His jaw sets for a moment, gaze darting across your face. Then, with a quiet exhale, he lets go of whatever lingering reservations he’s had and pulls you closer still, eyes fixed on yours.

Neither of you knows how long you’ll have before reality intrudes again. But for now, pressed together in the darkness, it feels like enough just to let the moment unfold.

You shift slightly on his lap, and a surge of electricity rushes through you as you feel the unmistakable evidence of his desire. A soft gasp escapes your lips, and Joel's eyes flutter shut for a moment at the contact. The air in the truck seems to tighten around you both, charged with heat and unspoken need.

His hands slide up to your waist, fingers digging in just enough to anchor you in place. When he finally opens his eyes, there's a look there-part longing, part disbelief. As if he can't quite believe this is happening, but can't bring himself to stop it, either.

You let your palms rest on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. Everything about this moment feels magnified: the soft hum of the engine cooling, the faint buzz of a streetlamp in the empty lot, the press of Joel's body under yours.

He inhales, and you see his resolve waver. "This okay?" he asks, voice rougher than usual. You can sense he's giving you a chance to slow down, to reconsider.

But you don't. You lean in, brushing your nose against his, letting your own breath mingle with his. "I want this," you whisper-soft, but certain.

Joel answers with the lightest pressure of his hands guiding you closer, until your foreheads touch. The tension that's been mounting since you climbed into the truck now feels almost unbearable.

But it's not a bad kind of tension; it's the ache of longing, the thrill of surrender.

You shift again, a deliberate test of boundaries, and he gives a quiet groan

-somewhere between pleasure and warning. You catch his gaze, your body humming with anticipation.

In the hush of that parking lot, you both hover at the edge of something that feels impossible to ignore. And for a moment, the world narrows to just this, just the warmth of his lap beneath you, and the quiet promise of what might come next.

Joel's patience breaks in an instant. He grabs you firmly, and before you can catch your breath, he's pushing you down onto the seat, the worn upholstery pressing against your back as he pins you beneath him. His breath is ragged; yours matches, coming in quick, shallow bursts.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he murmurs, voice low and edged with a hunger that sends a fresh rush of heat through you. His eyes lock on yours, pupils blown wide, and for a moment, the only sound is the uneven rasp of both your breaths in the close confines of the truck.

You can feel the tension coiling in his body-held back until this very moment.

Your heart thuds, and you can't help but let a soft gasp escape when his hand settles against your hip, fingertips digging in just enough to hold you in place. He looms over you, gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips like he's deciding just how far to take this.

When he finally leans down, you catch the faintest hint of cologne mixed with the night air. His stubble grazes your jaw as he whispers again, "You okay?" despite the thin thread of restraint that's barely holding him together.

"I'm good," you manage, voice trembling with anticipation. You slide your hand over his shoulder, anchoring yourself to him, silently giving permission.

That's all it takes. Joel's lips descend on yours, the kiss urgent and consuming.

The pressure of his body, the rough warmth of his hands roaming, erases any lingering thought of caution or fear.

In that moment, there's only him-the heady heat between you, the darkness of the parking lot, and the headlong rush toward whatever comes next.

He nips at your earlobe before trailing kisses down your jawline and along your neck, leaving a series of love bites in his wake.

He moves down your body, pushing your shirt up as he kisses and nips at the exposed skin of your stomach and chest.

He lifts your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor of the truck before returning his attention to your now-bare torso. He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes roaming over your body hungrily.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands sliding up your sides and cupping your breasts in his large palms. “So damn perfect…”

Joel leans down, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth as he begins to tease and toy with the sensitive bud. His tongue circles around it, flicking and teasing, before he gently nips at it with his teeth. His hands roam over your body, tracing the curves of your hips and waist as he continues to lavish attention on your chest.

He grins against your skin, enjoying the sound of your gasp as he switches his attention to your other nipple. He gives it the same treatment, his tongue swirling around the hardened bud before he begins to suck on it. His hands move lower, his fingers playing with the waistband of your pants as he continues.

Joel's breaths are shallow as he eases your pants down, inch by inch. His lips haven't left your skin, and each new patch of bare flesh makes his heart pound harder. You arch against the seat, a soft moan escaping when his mouth lingers over your nipple, tongue flicking in slow, deliberate strokes. Every sound you make only seems to spur him on.

His fingers finally manage to free you from the last barrier separating you, and he lifts his head. The warm press of his body shifts, and he pauses to look at you-truly look at you. Half-naked, your pulse racing, you feel the heat of his gaze sweep from your flushed cheeks down to where his hands rest on your hips.

A low groan rumbles in his chest, and the hunger in his eyes makes your stomach flip. The slow rise and fall of his breathing matches the heavy thud of your heart. It's all you can do to stay focused on his face, on the intense need reflected there.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs at last, his voice husky. He slides one hand along your side, anchoring you beneath him, letting you feel the warmth of his palm.

You swallow hard, skin tingling where his fingers roam. "Joel..." you whisper, unsure what you're asking for, only knowing you need more.

He dips down to kiss you again, gentler now-a slow, lingering press of lips that contrasts the urgency coursing through both of you. "I've got you," he murmurs, and despite the heated rush of desire, there's a tenderness threaded through every word.

You shiver at the promise in his voice, bracing a hand on his shoulder as he settles back over you. The truck's interior seems too small to hold this moment, every breath and heartbeat magnified. Though this might be reckless, complicated, and a thousand kinds of dangerous, right now all that matters is how right it feels to have him here, looking at you like you're all he wants in the world.

He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes locked on yours as he gently but firmly pins your wrists above your head. He holds you there, his grip firm but not tight, his gaze burning with intensity.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice low and possessive.

He lowers his head, trailing a path of kisses and bites down your neck and collarbone once more, his free hand tracing a teasing path along your inner thigh.

Joel’s lips trail from your collarbone up to the curve of your neck, each small nip and kiss sending sparks of anticipation through your body. You arch into him, a soft sound escaping your throat, but he just smiles against your skin—a silent acknowledgment of how close you are to begging for more.

His hand drifts upward, fingertips grazing your inner thigh with a featherlight touch. Every slight movement teases you to the brink—close enough to stir a rush of heat, yet never quite landing where you crave it most. The tension coils tighter in your stomach, and you feel yourself pushing against him, wordlessly urging him to go further.

Joel lifts his head for a moment, dark eyes meeting yours. There’s a playful curve to his lips; he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Easy,” he murmurs, voice low, as though he’s savoring every second of your mounting need. He presses another slow kiss below your ear, and you can’t help the breathy whimper that slips free.

“Joel…” His name comes out in a plea, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He responds with a quiet hum, then resumes his path across your skin, each touch deliberate, measured. It’s as if he wants to map every inch of you before finally giving in. Your heart thunders in your chest, and you feel his own pulse racing under your fingertips.

His mouth makes its way back to yours; the kiss starts gentle, but tension lingers beneath it—electric, insistent. When he finally pulls back, he breathes your name, and there’s something in his eyes, equal parts hunger and tenderness, that makes your whole body tremble.

“Patience,” Joel whispers, though his own voice sounds anything but patient. The hand at your thigh inches closer, making you gasp as he keeps you hovering on the edge. Every kiss, every breath, feels like a promise of what’s to come—slow, unhurried, and far too enticing to resist.

Joel keeps his touch featherlight, each pass of his fingers a deliberate tease that leaves you trembling with anticipation. Your breath hitches, and you arch into him, chasing that frustratingly elusive pressure he’s holding just out of reach.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. The smirk on his lips only deepens when you whimper in response, your body all but pleading for more. “You want me so badly, don’t you?”

A needy sound escapes your throat as your eyes meet his. The smug, playful curve of his mouth tells you he’s enjoying every second of your helplessness. He grazes his knuckles along the edge of your underwear, drawing out another shiver that runs the length of your spine.

“God, you’re so damn needy,” he goes on, almost amused by your reactions. “I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already falling apart…”

Your cheeks burn at his words, but you can’t deny they send another pulse of heat right where he’s hovering. He’s right—you can’t remember the last time you felt this on edge, this desperate for someone else's touch. Every nerve in your body feels attuned to his movements, and every time he shifts closer, it's like a spark of electricity arcs between you.

You lift your hips in a silent plea, but Joel only chuckles under his breath, keeping the contact tantalizingly light.

His free hand moves to brace against the seat, caging you beneath him. The dark promise in his gaze makes your heart hammer. You can tell he's savoring this-savoring you-and the knowledge only stokes the ache building in your core.

"Easy," he murmurs, voice low as he leans in to brush a teasing kiss to your lips. "I'm not done having my fun just yet."

His patience might be wearing thin— your pulse thrums wildly, sensing the undercurrent of urgency in him-but he still wants to take his time, to draw out every gasp and moan you have to offer.

And despite the frustration twisting in your stomach, you find yourself clinging to every second of it, letting the tension coil tighter until you're right at the brink.

Above you, Joel's gaze bores into yours, and the corner of his mouth quirks in a knowing smile. Even though he's in control, you can see he's far from unaffected. His breathing is harsh, his eyes half-lidded with want. The need between you crackles in the enclosed cab, drowning out any lingering thoughts of where you are-or what waits outside this moment.

All that matters is his next move, the promise of satisfaction hanging just out of reach. And it's clear Joel intends to make you wait until the last possible second to give you exactly what you're craving.

“Daddy, please”

Joel’s smirk falters for half a second the moment the word “daddy” slips from your lips. Something shifts in his gaze, heat flaring behind his eyes as your plea reverberates in the charged space between you. It’s clear that single word hits him like a spark to dry tinder, testing the very edge of his restraint.

His breath catches, and his hands tighten at your hips in a sudden spasm of want. For a moment, he just stares at you—lips parted, brow furrowed in a turmoil of desire and warring emotions—like he’s deciding whether to give in or keep drawing this out.

Finally, he exhales a slow, ragged breath. “Careful, darlin’,” he rumbles, though his voice shakes with the effort of holding back. “You have no idea what you’re doin’ to me.”

You cling to his shoulders, heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your ears. Every muscle in his body seems coiled, tense with the effort of not losing control right then and there. But you see the flicker in his eyes—that razor-thin edge where playful teasing is about to break into something far more urgent.

He leans down, his breath warm against your ear. “You really want me to lose it?” he asks, voice low and thick. The question sends a tremor through you, and you nod without hesitation, every nerve in your body taut with anticipation.

Joel’s control finally frays. His next kiss is fiercer, hungrier, like he’s answering your dare head-on. The gentleness he showed a moment before is still there, but it’s now threaded with raw intensity. As he presses you further into the seat, you feel the full force of his need—and know that calling him "daddy" was the last nudge he needed to unravel.

Even in this moment of heady passion, there's a current of tenderness in the way he holds you, a silent promise that he won't push you beyond what you want. But from the look in his eyes, you can tell he plans to give you exactly what you're asking for-and then some.

Outside, the world remains quiet, the vacant lot enveloping you both in darkness. In here, the tension you share burns bright as a live wire, impossible to ignore, impossible to resist any longer.

He quickly sheds his clothes, his hands trembling with a mix of anticipation and urgency. He breaks the kiss, his eyes burning with desire as he takes in the sight of you beneath him, flushed and desperate.*

He runs a hand over your thigh, his touch firm and possessive.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he rasps, his voice thick with need.

He takes off your underwear and positions himself at your entrance. He leans down, capturing your lips in another hungry kiss as he slowly, teasingly pushes into you. He groans against your mouth, the feeling of being inside you almost overwhelming him.

“Are you sure about this darlin?” joel asks again

You groan in annoyance.

“God you talk too much…just fuck me already, Miller!!”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With a low growl, he snaps his hips forward, driving himself deep inside you in one swift motion. He sets a relentless pace, his body slamming into yours with an almost brutal force. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place as he takes you hard and fast.

He groans, the sound a mix of pleasure and disbelief. He hadn’t expected to get this close so quickly, but the feeling of you clenching around him is almost too much to handle.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, his thrusts growing more erratic as he struggles to hold back his release. “Fuck I think I’m gonna cum ..darlin…”

And all you’re thinking is really?

He knows he needs to slow down, to focus on your pleasure instead of his own. He adjusts his position, angling his hips so that each thrust hits your sweet spot, determined to bring you to your peak before he loses control.

“Come on, sweetheart” he growls, his voice strained with effort. “I want to feel you come around me…”

you finally feel yourself getting closer to the edge, you bring one of your hands down to rub yourself as Joel continues working his hips

He feels himself getting closer and closer, the sight of you rubbing yourself combined with the feeling of you clenching around him driving him to the brink of madness.

“Fuck…I can’t hold on much longer,” he grits out, his thrusts growing erratic as he fights to maintain control. “I’m so close, baby…”

And there you go, coming hard from just his words of restraint and vulnerability. Your body begins to tremble.

He pulls out of you at the last second, his body trembling with the effort of holding back his release. He grips the edge of the seat tightly, his knuckles white as he watches you come undone beneath him, your body trembling with the force of your orgasm. He lets out a low, guttural moan as he spills onto your stomach, his hot seed splattering against your skin.

He slumps forward, bracing himself against the seat above you as he tries to catch his breath, his chest heaving with exertion.

He chuckles breathlessly, his voice hoarse from the intensity of their encounter.

“That…was incredible,” he pants, still struggling to catch his breath. “You’re incredible…”

Joel clears his throat, cheeks flushed as he grabs his discarded shirt from the floor of the truck. He leans over, gently wiping your stomach with it, his touch far more tender now than it was a few moments ago. You can tell he’s trying not to meet your eyes, still caught in a mix of embarrassment and lingering desire.

“I’m real sorry about the mess, darlin’…” he mutters, the last word trailing off awkwardly. He swallows, glancing at you briefly before looking away again. “I just… figured it was better than in…”

He can’t quite finish the sentence, so he busies himself with blotting the last traces from your skin. There’s a faint warmth in his cheeks—part sheepish, part relieved—and you can’t help but find it strangely endearing given everything that’s just happened.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, heart still pounding as you watch him. Despite the flushed look on his face, there’s a gentleness in how carefully he’s cleaning you up, like he’s determined to take care of every little detail.

“It’s okay,” you finally say, reaching out to touch his arm. You offer him a small, reassuring smile, hoping to ease the tension. “Really.”

Joel glances at you, something soft and grateful flickering in his eyes. He exhales slowly, nodding as he crumples the shirt in his hands. “Guess I got carried away.” A faint, self-conscious grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t seem to help myself when it comes to you.”

A quiet moment settles between you, the air thick with the aftermath—both of the desire and the vulnerability that follows. Outside, the parking lot is dark and silent, the world momentarily distant. You reach for him, fingertips grazing his hand, and he laces his fingers gently with yours.

“Stay like this for a minute?” you murmur, voice hushed. The rush of the moment may have passed, but you’re not ready to let go of the closeness just yet.

Joel nods, his thumb brushing a light circle over your knuckles. He tugs you toward him, letting you nestle against his chest. Even in the cramped space of the truck, it feels safe. Comfortable. For a brief spell, neither of you speaks—content to breathe each other in, aware that reality will intrude soon enough, but not willing to face it just yet.

Joel’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as he takes another slow corner, the streetlamps casting fleeting shadows across his face. Neither of you has spoken much since you pulled yourselves together, but you can feel the tension lingering—an aftershock of what just happened and the weight of what’s waiting back at your house.

He glances over when you whisper, “So this is it?” His expression softens, a mix of concern and something else flickering in his eyes. “Hey,” he murmurs, clearing his throat as he rolls the windows down a crack, letting in a cool night breeze. “I know it’s hard… going back.”

You can’t bring yourself to reply right away. Instead, you stare out the windshield at the empty road stretching ahead, the hum of the tires against asphalt somehow comforting. It feels like you’re both in a holding pattern—neither here nor there.

After a moment, Joel exhales. “We don’t have to head there just yet,” he says, voice quiet, almost tentative. “I could keep drivin’ ’til we figure out what you wanna do.”

A lump forms in your throat, and you wrap your arms around yourself, remembering the warmth of his chest just moments ago. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, swallowing around the ache rising in your chest. “I can’t stay at that house. Not after—after everything.”

Joel nods, his hand flexing on the steering wheel. “I get it,” he says softly. He slows the truck at a stop sign, looking your way. You can see the conflict on his face—part of him wanting to take you somewhere safe, part of him worried about making decisions for both of you.

He takes a breath, forces a small nod, and eases his foot off the brake. The truck lurches forward gently, heading down an unfamiliar street. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, and though his voice wavers, there’s enough determination there to make you believe he’ll try.

The dim glow of the dashboard lights plays across his bare shoulders. Somehow, seeing him like this—shirtless, caught between confidence and uncertainty—makes your heart twist. It’s as though the two of you have crossed a line tonight that you can’t uncross, and neither of you knows exactly where to go from here.

“You can stay at my place,” Joel offers, almost hesitantly. “I mean, I don’t know how Sarah might—” He cuts himself off, lips pressing into a firm line. It’s obvious he’s thinking about all the complications waiting in both of your lives, but especially about Sarah. He doesn’t want to force you back into your dad’s house, though. “Just… an option,” he finishes, voice quieter.

You reach out and place a hand on his arm, feeling the tension still coiled in his muscles. “Thank you,” you say, your tone earnest despite the weight of everything unsaid. “I’m not sure I can face him tonight.”

Joel’s eyes flick to you, and for a split second, you catch a flicker of relief in his gaze. “Then we’ll steer clear,” he murmurs, turning the wheel with one hand and letting the other rest lightly over yours. “At least ’til we… figure out what comes next.”

The truck hums on, street after street rolling by, and neither of you speaks for a while. But his touch on your hand—gentle, reassuring—tells you enough: you don’t have to step foot into that house tonight if you’re not ready, and Joel’s not going to make you face it alone. Not yet, anyway.

Eventually, you lean your head back, letting the tension ease from your body, even if only for the moment. “Thank you,” you repeat, your voice a soft echo in the dark cab of the truck. Joel just nods, giving your hand a comforting squeeze as he keeps on driving, aimlessly, into the quiet of the night.

Joel parks the truck in his driveway, letting the engine idle for a moment before finally switching it off. In the hush that follows, you exhale a shaky breath, heart still pounding from the night’s events. The air around you feels heavy with everything unspoken—your decision not to go home, the uncertain path ahead.

Without a word, Joel slips out of the driver’s seat. In a few swift steps, he’s at your door, opening it gently. A faint chill in the night air rushes into the cab, but the warmth in his gaze makes you feel less exposed than you’d expect.

“You okay?” he asks, one hand braced on the frame of the open door. Even without a shirt on, he somehow manages to look both protective and vulnerable. The porch light casts a soft glow, illuminating the faint worry lines etched across his brow.

You nod, mustering a small smile. “Yeah,” you manage, though your voice quivers slightly.

Joel steps back, giving you space to climb out. As you do, your legs feel shaky, and he notices, sliding his arm around you with quiet concern. You can’t help leaning into him, the familiar warmth of his body a small comfort against the swirl of emotion in your chest.

A soft, relieved exhale leaves his lips when he feels you steady yourself. His free hand finds yours, fingers lacing as he leads you up the driveway. Neither of you speaks as you head toward his front door, the silence surprisingly comforting—like you’re both letting the weight of this new reality settle without rushing it.

Once inside, the house is dim, quiet. Joel takes a beat to hang his keys on a hook near the door. You stand in the entryway, heart thrumming, unsure what to do with yourself. It hits you that you’re in his space now, a place that’s become a refuge but also filled with its own complications. Sarah might be sleeping, but the thought of her still tugs at the back of your mind.

“We can talk,” Joel says gently, turning to face you. His eyes meet yours, and there’s a certain earnestness there, as if he’s aware of all the unasked questions and is just waiting for you to bring them up. “Or… if you just wanna rest, that’s okay too.”

A knot forms in your throat at the kindness in his offer. Stepping closer, you let your fingers brush over his forearm in silent thanks. For now, it’s enough to be here in the quiet, together, without the looming dread of returning to the house you’ve been avoiding.

You nod, a faint sheen of exhaustion creeping over you. “Rest… yeah,” you say quietly. There will be time to figure things out—later. When your head is clearer, when you’re ready to confront the reality beyond these walls.

Joel dips his head in acknowledgment, pressing a fleeting kiss to your forehead. It’s a small moment of gentleness that melts some of the tension from your shoulders. Then, wordlessly, he guides you further inside, leaving the night and all its uncertainties just beyond the door.

Joel leads you to the guest room, guiding you gently by the hand. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts long shadows on the walls, and you’re suddenly aware of how exhausted you feel. But the second he steps aside to let you enter, the reality of why you’re here—what you’re running from—crashes down on you all over again.

You stop short in the doorway, tears pricking your eyes. Shaking your head, you try to speak, but your voice refuses to cooperate. Instead, the tears spill over, and you can’t hold back a quiet sob. You feel foolish, overwhelmed, and somehow still painfully grateful that Joel is here.

“Hey,” he murmurs, concern lacing every syllable. He comes closer, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay.”

You turn to face him, tears streaking your cheeks. “I—I just…” you start, but you can’t finish. Everything—your dad, Linda, the guilt, the uncertainty—presses in on you like a weight you can’t carry.

Joel’s arms wrap around you, drawing you into a steady, reassuring hug. His palm glides up and down your back in soothing circles. “It’s alright,” he repeats, his voice gentle and low. “Take your time.”

For a moment, you stand there, trembling in his hold, letting the tears come. The events of the night have left you raw and fragile, and it feels like you’re still on the edge of shattering. But Joel’s presence, the warmth of his body, grounds you just enough to keep you from falling apart completely.

Eventually, you manage a shaky breath, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. Joel steps back a fraction, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your shoulders slumping under the weight of everything unsaid. “I don’t know why I’m like this.”

He gently touches your chin, guiding your eyes to meet his. “You’ve been through a lot,” he says quietly. “Don’t apologize for feelin’ it.”

His words loosen the knot in your throat just a bit. You nod, trying to steady your breathing, and Joel stays close, not crowding you but letting you know he’s right there if you need him.

Sniffling, you glance around the room, the bed neatly made, the walls decorated with simple, comforting touches. In that instant, you’re struck by how much you want—no, need—a moment of real rest, away from prying eyes and suffocating situations.

“Thank you,” you manage, voice unsteady. “For letting me stay… for everything.”

Joel studies you, a flicker of sadness crossing his features, but he just nods. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says quietly. “Get some rest, alright? I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

You muster a small, watery smile, nodding as he steps out and gently closes the door behind him. The room falls quiet, your breathing the only sound. And for once, despite all the chaos still waiting beyond these walls, you feel a tiny spark of relief: you’re not alone tonight.

•

You settle into the guest bed, your body finally succumbing to a wave of fatigue you can’t hold back any longer. The pillow feels cool against your cheek, and the lingering warmth from Joel’s embrace calms the tension in your shoulders just enough for you to let go. Your eyes drift shut, and almost before you realize it, the weight of the day’s emotions fades into the background. Sleep overtakes you in an instant, heavy and dreamless, granting you a moment’s escape from everything waiting outside that quiet room.

•

You take a few groggy steps into the hallway, still half-asleep and barely registering where you are—until you see Joel at the stove, spatula in hand, the smell of eggs hitting you before your vision fully sharpens. Your eyes dart around, and that’s when you spot Sarah, sitting at the kitchen table with her phone in hand. She slowly looks up, gaze flicking from your bare legs to your flushed face.

You freeze mid-step, suddenly aware you’re wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt and underwear. A jolt of embarrassment snaps you out of your morning daze. Sarah locks eyes with you, then pointedly looks away, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated show of exasperation.

Joel, sensing the tension, turns his head slightly and notices you standing there, looking like a deer in headlights. “Uh—mornin’,” he says, his voice low but careful. He doesn’t stare, instead focusing quickly back on the stove, though the tips of his ears redden.

Sarah sighs dramatically. “Good morning,” she mutters, her tone making it clear she’s not thrilled to see you in such casual attire. She picks up her coffee mug and takes a slow sip, as though she’s forcing herself to stay calm.

Your heart pounds in your chest. Of course she’d be here. This is still her home, after all. You swallow hard, nodding at them both. “Morning,” you manage, trying not to squeak. “I—sorry.”

You’re not sure if you’re apologizing for your appearance, for being there at all, or just for existing in this awkward moment. Sarah rolls her eyes again, tapping a finger on the table. Joel clears his throat, refocusing on the eggs in the pan.

“Bathroom’s down the hall,” he says gently, not meeting your eyes. It’s an out, and you take it with relief, darting away before either of them can say anything else.

As you vanish around the corner, you hear a faint, tense silence settle in the kitchen. Your cheeks burn, and part of you wants to sneak out a window to avoid any more confrontation. But after a moment, you remind yourself: You needed a place to stay. You’re allowed to be here. Even if Sarah’s reaction stings, it’s better than going back to your own house right now.

You close the bathroom door behind you, pressing your back to the cool wood, chest rising and falling as you try to steady your nerves. With one hand, you fumble for the lock. The embarrassment still throbs in your stomach—but for the moment, you have a small corner of privacy where you can breathe before facing them again.

Sarah sets her coffee mug on the table with a little more force than necessary, causing the liquid to slosh near the brim. “Why is she here, Dad?” she asks, her tone sharp and annoyed, eyes cutting over to him.

Joel looks up from the stove, spatula in hand, and exhales slowly. “She needed a place to stay, Sarah. It’s complicated.” His voice is calm, but you can tell he’s choosing his words carefully, trying not to provoke her further.

Sarah folds her arms, leaning back in her chair. “Complicated. Right.” She glances again at the hallway you disappeared into, then back at Joel. “And you thought you’d just bring her here without telling me?”

Joel sets the spatula down, his brow knitting in frustration. “I didn’t know you’d be home so early,” he explains, voice low. “And I didn’t think you’d mind—”

“Obviously, I mind,” Sarah snaps, cutting him off. She rubs her temples, sighing heavily. “I just don’t get why she’s here. With everything that’s happened…is this even a good idea?”

Joel rubs a hand over the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze. “I know it’s a lot,” he says, a note of regret in his tone. “But she’s going through hell at her place. I couldn’t turn her away, not last night.”

Sarah opens her mouth as if to retort, but then her expression falters—just for a moment. You can see the conflict in her eyes, the flash of concern she’s trying to hide. “Well,” she mutters finally, crossing her arms again, “maybe give me a heads-up next time?”

Joel nods, relief tempering the lines of tension on his face. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, I will.”

The air in the kitchen still feels charged, tension lingering despite the surface calm. Sarah picks up her coffee mug again, tapping her fingers restlessly against the handle. She shoots Joel one last pointed look before turning her attention back to her phone, the conversation seemingly at a standstill.

Joel clears his throat and returns to the stove, refocusing on the eggs. But his shoulders are hunched, and you can sense the weight of Sarah’s disapproval pressing on him—even if she doesn’t say another word.

•

You exit the bathroom, carefully closing the door behind you and still feeling a bit unsettled from the awkward exchange in the hallway. Suddenly, Sarah appears, heading down the corridor in your direction. She doesn’t even slow her pace; instead, she cuts you a sideways glance as she passes.

“Maybe you should just move in here while you’re at it,” she mutters, half under her breath, but still loud enough for you to catch every word. The sarcasm drips from her voice, and she doesn’t stop walking until she’s at her bedroom door.

You stand there for a moment, your cheeks heating from embarrassment and a fresh wave of guilt washing over you. Before you can think of a response—an apology, a retort, anything—Sarah slips into her room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

For a second, you just stand in the hallway, staring at the now-closed door. Part of you wants to hurry back into the guest room and avoid any more tense encounters. Another part of you knows you can’t keep hiding forever, no matter how uncomfortable things may be.

Finally, you exhale and take a tentative step toward the kitchen. Joel might not be able to shield you from Sarah’s ire, but at least you won’t have to face the morning’s awkwardness alone. And deep down, you try to remind yourself that you have as much right to be here as anyone—whether Sarah sees it that way or not.

Joel’s quiet voice breaks through the thoughts swirling in your head. You glance up to find him watching you from the doorway to the kitchen, a soft, reassuring look on his face.

“Don’t worry about her, sweetheart,” he says, his tone gentle, as if sensing the turmoil Sarah’s remark left behind.

You shift on your feet, nerves prickling under your skin. A wave of gratitude washes over you at his attempt to comfort you, but part of you still bristles at the tension lingering in the house.

Joel steps closer, one hand resting lightly on the small of your back. “She’ll come around,” he continues softly. “She’s just… not too thrilled with the situation. Doesn’t mean you need to feel bad.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding more to yourself than to him. “Thanks,” you manage, trying to offer a small smile.

He gives a reassuring squeeze, guiding you gently toward the kitchen. “Come have some breakfast,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low. “Let her cool off, okay?”

Your eyes flick down the hall where Sarah disappeared. You know it won’t be that easy, but Joel’s presence soothes at least some of the anxiety knotted in your chest. With a tentative nod, you follow him, hoping that a quiet morning meal might dull the edges of everyone’s frustration.

•

Joel’s phone buzzes, the number on the screen making his stomach twist with unease. He glances at you, then presses it to his ear. You catch fragments of his side of the conversation—pleasant enough at first, a forced casualness in Joel’s voice.

“Hey, man,” Joel says, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Uh, how’ve you been holding up?” He shoots you a quick, uneasy glance, as though trying to gauge how you’re doing.

There’s a pause, long enough that you can imagine your dad’s sharp exhalation on the other end. Then Joel presses his lips together, nodding like he’s hearing some clipped reply.

“I get it,” Joel says, careful. “Sounds like… well, it sounds like things have been rough.”

He’s trying to small-talk, to buy time, but your dad isn’t having it. You hear a sharper tone spill through the receiver—though you can’t make out the exact words—and Joel’s face tightens.

“Joel, I need her. Where is she?” comes your dad’s voice, loud enough for you to catch every syllable. The question crackles through the line, loaded with anger and urgency.

Joel’s gaze flicks to you. You can see him weighing his options in the small, tense silence, torn between what’s right and what’s safe.

After a breath, Joel forces a calm he might not feel. “She’s, uh… she’s taking some time, alright?” he says, keeping his tone as even as he can. “Don’t worry. She’s fine.”

You watch him grip his phone tighter, the tension radiating from him in waves. The truth remains suspended, unsaid: She’s here, she doesn’t want to come home.

“Listen,” he continues, lower now. “She’ll talk to you when she’s ready.”

A bark of frustration from your dad echoes through the earpiece. Joel’s jaw clenches. He glances at you again, brow furrowed, before giving a small shake of his head—as if to warn you not to panic.

“No, she’s not in trouble, she’s just—” Joel says, then stops, letting your dad’s words pound through the speaker. “I understand you’re worried, but look, I’m telling you, she’s okay. That’s all I can say right now.”

His voice almost trembles with effort, fighting to remain composed. Finally, he gives a tight nod to himself and ends the call with a short, “I’ll let her know you called.”

Silence descends in the kitchen, heavy and electric. You can practically feel Joel’s pulse hammering as he sets the phone down on the counter. He exhales a ragged breath and looks at you—eyes full of concern.

“He’s… not too happy,” he says quietly, stating the obvious. “Says he needs you. But I’m guessin’ you’re still not ready to face him?”

You swallow, heart pounding. “No,” you whisper, the word catching in your throat. “Not yet.”

Joel nods, running a hand down his face. “Alright,” he murmurs, voice grim but resolved. “We’ll figure out what to do. Together.”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you glance down to see your dad’s name lighting up the screen. Joel gives you a questioning look, but you shake your head, pressing your lips together before answering. Part of you hopes it might be some sort of apology or an offer to talk things through. But the second you put the phone to your ear, that hope dissolves.

“Hey, kid,” your dad begins, his voice more casual than you expect. “Listen, I need a favor. Linda and I are going out tonight—there’s this fancy spot she’s been dying to try. Could you spot me some money? I’m tapped out right now.”

You’re stunned, eyes going wide. You glance at Joel, who’s hovering nearby, clearly picking up on your reaction. “You… want me to give you money?” you repeat, unable to keep the disbelief out of your voice.

Your dad sighs, sounding almost impatient. “Yeah, I mean, I’ll pay you back. Eventually. It’s just a couple hundred. You know how pricey those places can be…”

A hot wave of anger surges up your spine. Joel notices the way your posture stiffens, and he moves a bit closer, concerned. “You left,” you say, voice trembling. “You completely checked out, came back with Linda like it was no big deal, and now you’re calling me for cash?”

“Kid, calm down,” your dad mumbles, like he’s talking you down from a tantrum. “Don’t make a scene. This is just a favor between family.”

That word—family—tips you over the edge. “Family?” you repeat, bitterness coating every syllable. Your free hand curls into a fist at your side. “You barely acted like family when Mom died. You walked out when I needed you, and now you’re strolling back like nothing happened. And you want money for a date with her?”

There’s silence on the other end, and you can practically sense the annoyance in his exhale. “That’s not fair,” he counters, voice rising. “It’s complicated, and I’m trying here—”

“You’re trying?” you snap, tears of anger burning in your eyes. “Where were you all those nights I was alone, cleaning the house, trying to deal with Mom’s stuff, and then dealing with your absence on top of it? You left me with all that. And now you want my money?”

Your dad lets out a frustrated breath. “Look, we can talk about that another time, okay? I just need—”

“No,” you cut him off, voice shaking with rage. “You don’t get to call and ask for a handout like everything’s fine. Because guess what? It’s not fine. You’re barely a dad anymore. You lost that right the minute you walked out and came back with Linda, acting like our lives are just a pit stop on your way to something better.”

“Kid—”

“Stop calling me that!” you practically shout into the phone, your chest heaving. “Don’t act like we’re in some normal situation. If you want money, go ask Linda. Or pick up more shifts. Or maybe think about someone besides yourself for once.”

He goes silent again, and you can almost feel his anger bristling through the phone. After a long, tense beat, his voice drops, turning cold. “Fine,” he mutters, sounding every bit as spiteful as you feel. “I’ll figure it out on my own.”

“Yeah,” you snap, tears threatening to spill. “You do that.”

You stab the “end call” button, your hand trembling from the surge of adrenaline and emotion. The kitchen is quiet except for your ragged breathing. Joel moves closer, gently prying the phone from your hand and setting it on the counter.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice soft. He can tell you’re on the edge of breaking down. “You alright?”

Your chest aches, and you swipe at an angry tear that slips free. “No,” you admit, voice quavering. “But I’m not giving him a dime.”

Joel nods, his expression a mix of sympathy and frustration on your behalf. Slowly, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in just enough so you feel the reassuring pressure of his presence.

“You don’t owe him anything,” Joel says quietly. “Not after what he’s done.”

You nod, silent tears coursing down your cheeks. For now, you let yourself lean into Joel’s hold, heart hammering, anger still pulsing in your veins. It’s messy and it hurts, but deep down, you can’t help feeling a small jolt of relief: at least you finally said what you’ve been carrying for far too long.

A surge of white-hot anger floods you as you watch your phone skitter across the floor. The clatter echoes in the tense silence, Joel’s startled voice calling after you, but you’re too far gone—too furious to focus on anything but the pounding in your head. You barrel through the front door, letting it slam behind you with a jarring thud.

Outside, the early morning light feels too bright, the air too still. Your hands tremble as you fumble in your pockets, finally pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter. You shove one between your lips, flicking the lighter once, twice, until the small flame ignites. Smoke sears your lungs on the first inhale, sharp and acrid, but it’s exactly what you need in this moment—a jarring counterpoint to the storm raging in your head.

Joel’s footsteps sound behind you, hesitant on the porch, but you don’t turn around. You keep your back to him, gaze fixed on the street beyond, trying to steady your shaking hands. The cigarette crackles softly as you take another drag, the tightness in your chest easing just enough to breathe through the anger.

You can sense Joel hovering nearby, his concern palpable. He doesn’t say anything, though, seeming unsure if pushing you to talk might only worsen the outburst. Instead, he lingers, ready to step in if you need him, but careful not to invade the small space you’ve carved out for yourself.

You pull another lungful of smoke, letting it mingle with the tension still coiled in your gut. At least out here, you can pace, breathe, feel—even if it’s just the biting taste of nicotine on your tongue. Anything to hold off the sting of your dad’s voice in your head and the shattered pieces of your phone call echoing over and over.

For a few moments, you let yourself be angry—really, truly, furious. You deserve that much. And as the cigarette burns down, the tightness in your chest recedes a fraction, leaving just a dull ache of disappointment and betrayal behind.

Eventually, the stub glows close to your fingertips. You toss it aside, grinding it under your shoe in one jerky motion. When you finally turn around, Joel is there, his concern etched into his eyes. He doesn’t say a word, but his silent presence is something—maybe all you can handle right now.

You blow out a final smoky breath, swallowing the surge of emotion that still threatens to choke you. Inside, the phone lies abandoned where it landed. Outside, Joel waits. And the rest of the world spins on, indifferent to the fury roiling within you.

“He’s such an ass, how were you guys even friends”

Joel watches you quietly as you flick the last bit of ash from your cigarette, the anger still radiating off you in waves. At your words, he exhales slowly, shoulders sagging under the weight of his own conflicted feelings.

“I don’t know,” he admits, voice low and strained. “Back then, he wasn’t… like this.” He leans against the porch railing, crossing his arms over his chest. “He changed. Or maybe I never really knew him the way I thought I did.”

You take a shaky breath, running a hand over your face. The morning sun feels too bright on your skin, too at odds with the swirl of bitterness in your chest. “I hate him,” you say, quieter this time, eyes fixed on some distant point in the street. “And I hate that I hate him.”

Joel nods, understanding flickering in his gaze. “You’re allowed to feel however you feel,” he murmurs. “It’s his job to make things right. Or it should be.”

You shift, the cigarette between your fingers still smoldering. “I just… can’t believe he’d expect me to give him money. For her. After everything.” Your voice cracks with the remnants of anger and hurt.

Joel steps closer, gently prying the cigarette from your hand before grinding it out on the porch floor. “He’ll have to deal with his own mistakes,” he says, quieter now. “You don’t owe him a damn thing.”

You swallow hard, tears burning at the back of your eyes. I wish it felt that simple, you think, but you don’t say it out loud. Instead, you lean against Joel, letting him slip an arm around your shoulders. He doesn’t offer solutions or empty platitudes—just a steady presence that grounds you in the here and now.

As the two of you stand on the porch, the morning air still cool against your skin, you try to let the rage bleed away into a more distant ache. It’s hard to know what comes next, but for the moment, Joel’s warmth at your side is enough.

Joel tilts your chin up, his fingers warm against your skin. The world seems to slow as he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. It’s cautious—almost tentative—like he’s checking to see if this is okay, if this is what you need right now.

Your anger and frustration soften, at least for the moment, beneath the tenderness of his touch. You close your eyes, exhaling slowly against his mouth, letting yourself sink into the solace he’s offering. The porch and the whole world beyond it fade into a distant backdrop.

When he finally pulls back, the faint morning light catches in his eyes, and you see a hint of concern there. He’s looking at you as though trying to gauge just how close you are to falling apart again.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks, voice hushed but earnest.

You take a shaky breath, still tasting the memory of his lips on yours. “I don’t know,” you admit honestly, leaning into him just a little. “But that helped.”

A tiny smile plays on Joel’s features, a softness that makes your chest ache with gratitude—and something else you can’t quite name yet. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, anchoring you in the quiet morning stillness, as if promising he won’t let you face this alone.

“Come on,” he says gently, voice carrying a note of resolve. “Let’s get inside. We’ll figure out the rest after we’ve had a moment to breathe.”

Nodding, you allow him to guide you back toward the house, your heart still raw with anger and hurt, but beating a little steadier now—buoyed, if only slightly, by the small kindness of his kiss.

“Let’s figure it out now, I’m tired of saying I’ll figure it out later”

Joel pauses at your words, his hand still resting lightly on your shoulder. For a moment, the morning air feels heavier with the realization that you’re done putting things off. He meets your gaze, his own full of concern and a flicker of uncertainty.

“Alright,” he says quietly, his voice low. “Let’s figure it out now.”

You swallow, steadying yourself as you lean back against the porch railing. The memories of last night, of your dad’s call and the tension with Sarah, all churn in your mind. “I can’t keep living in limbo,” you murmur, wiping your palms nervously on your thighs. “I’m so sick of avoiding him, of wondering where I’m supposed to be.”

Joel nods slowly, shifting his weight. “I get that,” he says. “But what do you want to do?” There’s no judgment in his tone—just an honest question.

Your eyes flick toward the front door, where Sarah is somewhere inside, likely still on edge. You think of your dad, his demands, his absence, and how much it hurt you. “I…can’t go back,” you begin, inhaling a shaky breath. “Not right now. But I can’t stay here forever, either.”

Joel rubs the back of his neck. “I get that,” he repeats softly. “You could stay until you get on your feet, but I know Sarah’s not exactly thrilled.” He blows out a sigh. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck hiding.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling the conflicting pressure of wanting to stand your ground and wanting to avoid another fight. “Then I need to make some decisions,” you say, your voice quivering with pent-up frustration. “A job, a place to stay—something that’s mine, not his.” And not something that drives a wedge between you and Joel, you silently add.

Joel steps closer, gaze earnest. “I can help,” he offers, then quickly amends, “But only if you want me to. We can look around for a place—maybe something cheap, a sublet, or an apartment. Find you some part-time work if you need it.”

You close your eyes, relief and worry warring in your chest. “That—yeah,” you manage, feeling a slight rush of gratitude. “I…I’d like that. At least then I’d have a plan.”

He reaches out, brushing a thumb over your cheek in a hesitant, comforting gesture. “We start today,” he says, and his voice carries a quiet determination. “We won’t put it off anymore.”

Your shoulders ease a fraction at his words, some of the anxiety loosening in your chest. It won’t be easy—none of this has been easy. But with a plan, and Joel’s unwavering support, you can stop merely surviving and finally start living on your own terms.

The next week passes in a blur of tentative steps toward building a new routine. You manage to land a part-time job as a secretary at a small office nearby—three days a week, enough to give you a sense of stability without feeling overwhelmed. Joel often drives you to work, the quiet moments in the truck becoming small pockets of comfort amidst the whirlwind of change.

You’ve been staying in Joel’s guest room, slowly making the space feel more like your own. The tension with Sarah has lessened, and while things aren’t completely back to normal between the two of you, she’s been making an effort. Sometimes she’ll knock on your door and ask if you want to play games, and more often than not, you agree. Those moments are small, but they’re a reminder of the bond you once shared—and maybe still can.

Your dad, however, hasn’t reached out since your heated call. The silence from him leaves a strange ache in your chest, a mix of relief and hurt. You’ve stopped checking your phone obsessively, trying to focus instead on the small victories: waking up in a safe space, earning your own paycheck, rebuilding pieces of yourself one day at a time.

One evening, after a long day at work, you’re sitting at the kitchen table with Joel. Sarah’s upstairs, likely immersed in whatever show or game has caught her attention. Joel pours you a cup of tea, sliding it across the table before settling into the chair across from you.

“You’re doin’ good, darlin’,” he says softly, his voice carrying that familiar warmth. “Proud of you.”

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you feel the sting of tears threatening to rise. “Thanks,” you murmur, wrapping your hands around the warm mug. “I still feel like I’m figuring things out.”

Joel leans back in his chair, his gaze steady. “You’re supposed to,” he says with a small smile. “Nobody’s got it all figured out. But you’re takin’ the steps. That’s what matters.”

You nod, letting his words sink in. The ache of your dad’s absence still lingers, but here, with Joel’s steady presence and the beginnings of a new life taking shape, it feels just a little easier to bear.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the soft hum of the house filling the spaces between you. It’s not perfect, but for now, it’s enough.

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