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goldenseresinretriever · 4 months ago

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You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 20

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw, blindsided by a team he trusted like family has been traded to the San Diego Dogfighters. Across the country from the place he calls home, Bradley feels lost and betrayed. Not to mention the familiar faces and ghosts from his past that he now has to face every day at work. Bradley’s caught between wanting to show his former team the mistake they made in double-crossing him and wondering if it’s time to hang up his skates after one final season. You’re living your dream as the PR representative for the Dogfighters. When Coach Maverick made a bid to bring his godson to the team, you hadn’t batted an eye. Bradley was a good teammate, and a good player. Unfortunately, the Bradley that shows up in San Diego is nothing like your research suggested. He’s moody, irritable, aggressive, and angry, throwing a wrench in all your careful planning. What’s caused such a drastic change in him? And can you figure out how to help him before he makes a mistake you can’t fix?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, dead parents, drunkenness, alcohol consumption, violence, sports violence, blood probably, angst, fluff, eventual smut, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist

That night Jake calls for a team outing and Bradley is surprisingly not begrudging as he agrees to tag along despite the fact that usually he’d point out that he’d rather spend the evening with you. There’s one more game on New Year's Eve but the coaches are cutting the guys some slack since it’s the holidays. That’s how you find yourself glaring at your boyfriend as you line up next to each other and you strongly consider accidentally dropping your bowling ball on his foot.

It’s boys versus girls in neighboring lanes and you and Bradley have been tied for the better part of the game. Sure, Jake’s ahead of him, but this competition between the two of you supersedes the overall game. You’d be playing better but Javy had implemented a rule that dictated that you take a shot if you land a gutter ball and you’re more tipsy than you’d like to admit. Bradley, despite his multiple gutter balls, is built like a brick wall and therefore the shots have had little to no impact on his game. You’re beyond arguing the skewed fairness of the game and you’ve descended into quiet rage. You still lead the girls but that means nothing to you if you can’t beat Bradley and as you watch every pin in the lane next to you clatter to the floor with a satisfying crack you’re wondering how good you’d be at shotput. He turns to you, a cocky smile on his lips that dares you to match him.

Sure you and Bradley have a softer relationship but you both have a natural competitive edge that comes from growing up in the world of sports. Yours manifests more often in the form of your stubbornness but when a game does happen to be on the line you’re determined to win. As you scowl at Bradley you catch sight of Mickey smirking behind him. He knows better than to goad you when you’re in competitive mode. You take a deep breath in a poor attempt at collecting yourself. The alcohol is starting to dull your senses so when you release the ball in your hand it veers left, just barely clipping the furthest pin and saving you from another shot.

“You can still spare,” Bradley remarks and you glare daggers into him as you line up again. The sound of his soft chuckle only makes you frown harder and Mickey calls out from behind him.

“Hit them with the trick shot!” You turn around, your attention now on him as you consider his words. The trick shot in question is something you coined back in college when you and Mickey were out with his team and someone challenged the group to a round of bowling with a catch. Every shot had to be embellished in some kind of ostentatious and ridiculous way. The game had quickly devolved into chaos but you’d patented what went on to become your signature move.

“Trick shot?!” Javy exclaims. “Now we have to see it!” Then there’s a chorus of drunk hockey players chanting at you to show off the trick shot and you roll your eyes before you step back and slide your bowling shoes over the slick floor, testing the resistance. You should be able to pull it off even though it’s been years. You take a deep breath and bring the bowling ball up to your chest as your friends start to cheer. Despite your intoxicated state, in college you mastered being able to keep alcohol from affecting your skating technique so as you push into the spin that’s almost a pirouette letting the weight of the ball steady your center of gravity before you slide forward on your shoes across the slippery ground, extending your arm clutching the ball in a ramrod straight position and releasing the ball. You watch as it takes the speed your spin charged it with and barrels straight down the center of the lane before colliding with a satisfying crack and you smirk as the pins tumble in a wave. Behind you, the guys are going crazy and the girls are cheering. You’re about to turn and rub it in Bradley’s face when he scoops you up from behind, burying his face in your neck as he whispers into your ear.

“That’s my girl,” and you feel your cheeks heat as you lean into his touch before leaning up to whisper back in his ear.

“Afraid you’re going to lose?” His laugh vibrates through his chest against your back.

“Challenge accepted, Honey. What do I get if I win?” You can hear the tease in his voice as it rumbles against the shell of your ear and you suppress a shudder.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” you say, voice saccharine sweet, batting your lashes up at him. “Of course, the same goes if I win.”

“Deal,” Bradley says before turning you in his arms so he can kiss you and you can taste the alcohol on his tongue. You hear wolf whistles from behind you that you’re sure are Javy and Mickey as your cheeks heat slightly. Bradley rolls his eyes and pulls you back so the next people can take their turns, not letting you out of his arms quite yet.

***

You smirk across the packed booth at Bradley where he’s sulking over a beer. You’d moved on to a local karaoke bar you’d been to with Mickey and Bob before after the bowling concluded. Jake won for the boys and you won for the girls, Bradley trailing you by a measly two points. He was currently soothing the loss with alcohol as the others excitedly made their karaoke selections. His ruddy cheeks tell you he’s made up for his lack of shots during bowling and you gaze at him fondly thinking of the last time you saw him drunk. You bring a hand up to rub at your long-since-healed jaw and you catch Bradley’s eye as he flushes deeper at the memory.

“Zam, what are you going to sing?” A drunk Mickey interrupts your moment, thrusting the list at you but Bradley plucks it from his grasp, scrawling down his suggestion as your eyes widen with surprise. He’s drunk enough to let his guard down. You’ve heard him sing before, of course, but that was in the privacy of his car and along with the radio. You never pegged Bradley as a performer when it comes to music but absently you remember the baby grand piano in his living room that you’d written off as merely ostentatious decoration. He gets to his feet without a second glance and takes the list back up to the front, ignoring Mickey’s protests that you haven’t signed up yet. He pushes over to where Jake and Javy are arguing over who’s going first and takes charge of the kiosk as they gape at him. You're all watching Bradley with varying degrees of surprise as the alcohol in his veins fuels this bout of confidence.

He grips the microphone, ascending the small stage next to the bar you danced on the last time you were here as the familiar opening guitar riff of “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” by Meatloaf fills the bar and he fixes a hard gaze on you as you realize what he has in mind and you smile, nodding at him.

“Well, I remember every little thing as if it only happened only yesterday,” your crowd of friends erupt into rowdy cheers as Bradley croons into the microphone. He reaches out to crook a finger at you and you bounce to your feet, reaching him just in time for him to lean down with the microphone so you can join the harmonies.

“Though it's cold and lonely in the deep dark night, I can see paradise by the dashboard light.” He reaches his free hand down to you to help you onto the stage before passing you the microphone.

“Ain't no doubt about it we were doubly blessed, 'cause we were barely seventeen and we were barely dressed.” You sing as he grabs the second microphone. You know it’s an almost nine-minute song but Bradley doesn’t show any signs of slowing as you join the performance, your friends going wild from the table.

Mickey brings you both a glass of water as the spoken interlude takes over and the two of you refresh before the next part of the song. You hand him back the glass just in time for you to take the lead.

“Stop right there! I gotta know right now! Before we go any further! Do you love me?” You meet Bradley’s eyes with a fiery gaze as you crow the lyrics. “Will you love me forever? Do you need me? Will you never leave me? Will you make me so happy for the rest of my life? Will you take me away and will you make me your wife?” You see something shift in his eyes through the alcohol-induced haze as you continue. “Do you love me!? Will you love me forever!? Do you need me!? Will you never leave me!? Will you make me happy for the rest of my life!? Will you take me away and will you make me your wife!? I gotta know right now. Before we go any further, do you love me!? Will you love me forever!?” You step up to him, getting into his face as a part of your performance as your friends lose their minds and the other patrons cheer. Bradley nods softly and it steals your breath as he takes over.

“Let me sleep on it. Baby, baby let me sleep on it. Let me sleep on it and I'll give you an answer in the morning. Let me sleep on it. Baby, baby let me sleep on it. Let me sleep on it and I'll give you an answer in the morning. Let me sleep on it baby, baby let me sleep on it. Let me sleep on it and I'll give you an answer in the morning.” The intensity in his eyes as he falls to his knees is at odds with the words he’s singing and you know he’s promising the opposite of his words as you continue to play your part, tossing the words from earlier back at him in a back and forth.

“Will you love me forever?” You demand.

“Let me sleep on it.” He begs.

“Will you love me forever!” You can’t keep the grin off your face.

Bradley gets off his knees and you feel your heart catch as he crows the next part, his voice blowing you away. “I couldn't take it any longer, Lord I was crazed. And when the feeling came upon me like a tidal wave, I started swearing to my god and on my mother's grave that I would love you to the end of time. I swore that I would love you to the end of time!” Your heart flutters at the sweet words falling from his lips as you watch him with awe and you wonder if this is the Bradley that Logan, Alex, and Wyatt knew in Philadelphia. “So now I'm praying for the end of time to hurry up and arrive 'cause if I gotta spend another minute with you I don't think that I can really survive. I'll never break my promise or forget my vow, but God only knows what I can do right now.” His amber eyes burn into you and you can’t help but simply stand in awe of him. “I'm praying for the end of time, it's all that I can do. Praying for the end of time, so I can end my time with you!” The crowd does wild and you join them before joining Bradley for the last few bars as the song faded away in true 70s fashion. The crowd in the bar roars as Bradley takes you in his arms and kisses you hard, dipping you in front of the crowd and the whoops and cheers echo off the walls. This feels like a beginning, a new chapter and you’re excited to see where it goes as your teammates storm the stage, tackling the two of you with hugs and more cheers. You laugh and you don’t remember the last time your heart felt so light. Looking over at Bradley you can see the same thing expressed in his eyes and you feel like you’re finally home.

***

“It’s PINK,” Bradley says for what must be the fifth time and you nod yet again. He’s gazing at the fabric spread out on the bed.

“Technically it’s salmon,” you point out and he just gapes at you. You shrug, not an ounce of mercy in your eyes. “A deal’s a deal, Brashaw.” You watch the fear grip his features before you push up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re going to look amazing.”

It’s New Year’s Eve and spirits are high at the arena. The boys are playing their last game of the year tonight and the locker room is buzzing. The boys have tomorrow off since the only game on New Year’s Day is the Winter Classic. You’re waiting patiently outside the locker room for Bradley. You hear a crow of pure delight from Javy on the other side of the door and you smirk as you imagine his reaction. A few moments later the door swings open and Javy’s wearing a feral smile as he wraps you in a hug.

“I love you, you know that right? It’s like Christmas all over again!” You roll your eyes as you hug him back. The door swings open again and Bradley appears, his cheeks ruddy and matching the salmon suit that makes him cut a dashing figure. His eyes widen as he sees that you’re dressed in a similar shade, the suit new, and you smile at him shyly.

“I thought we could match,” you say with a shrug and he smiles softly for the first time all night. He’s forgone a tie and his shirt is slightly open, exposing his throat and a sliver of his chest that makes your heart flutter in your chest. His curls are perfectly styled and his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides let you know he’s making an active effort to not run them through his hair. “You look so handsome,” you compliment him as you cross over to wrap your arms around him and his cheeks turn red for a different reason. His relaxes a little under your touch but you can tell he’s still uncomfortable. “I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable,” you whisper so just he can hear, guilt gnawing at your chest slightly even as you’re elated that he complied. After losing at bowling the other day, Bradley was at your mercy to do whatever you wanted. Likely he expected it to be something sexual as the two of you can barely keep your hands off each other these days, but you’d surprised him by asking him to let you choose his suit for their next game. You claimed it was retribution for how much he used to hate your suits, to which he reminded you was no longer his opinion on them.

He wraps his arms around you in return, burying his nose in your neck as he strokes your back gently. “Are you happy?” He asks and it’s genuine. You nod against him.

“Very,” you feel his lips tilt up into a smile against your skin.

“Then I’m okay.” He says and your heart aches. He pulls away and bumps your nose against his, gently. “Shall we go?” You nod, and the locker room door swings open and the other guys start filtering out in their suits. Jake’s eyes soften as he takes in the two of you.

“You guys look adorable,” he compliments, fishing out his phone to snap a picture and Bradley doesn’t argue.

“Oh my god, you guys!” Bugs exclaims as he comes around the corner, hearts in her eyes as she takes in your matching outfits.

“We have to do that sometime.” Jake agrees as he finishes with his pictures. Bugs agrees enthusiastically. “And you need to wear his jersey sometime,” Jake points out to you.

“Oh don’t worry, I have,” you say with a cheeky smile that makes Javy whoop with excitement even as Bradley squeezes your waist. The guys start moving to go get their photos taken before the pre-game press and you lean your head against Bradley’s shoulder. “Good luck, tonight.” You murmur and he leans to press a kiss to the top of your head.

“I have my good luck charm, I’ll be fine.” You giggle at that and he pulls you close.

***

Laughter and music are echoing off the walls of Jake’s house. The living room is full of teammates and their families with a combination of children and animals weaving between legs. After the game, everyone met up here to welcome the new year before they’ll eventually head out to enjoy having New Year's Day off. You’re standing in Bradley’s arms, listening to Bob explain the myth of Alaska having six months of darkness. You glance up and you can tell that Bradley’s far away so you gently tug on his sleeve and lead him out the back door to get some air. Jake’s backyard opens out onto a semi-private beach and you slip your hand into Bradley’s as the two of you make your way across the sand. You ditched your heels by the door ages ago and the sand feels cool under your feet. You can’t help but remember the last two times you and Bradley found yourself on the beach as you’re drawn towards the water.

The water is cold as it laps as your toes and you skirt back as Bradley stares wordlessly out at the sea. “Everything okay?” You ask softly as he turns at your words. There’s something you can’t place in his eyes and you’re about to push him gently for an answer when he drops to one knee and your eyes widen. “Bradley. Bradshaw.” Your voice is shaking as you admonish him. His eyes are soft as he squeezes your joined hands.

“I’m not proposing,” he assures you and you let out a shaky breath, “not yet.” He says with a brazen, boyish grin and it steals the breath from your lungs. “But I do want to make you a promise, because you’re it for me, Honey. There’s no one I’ve ever loved more than I love you and like I told you, you’re my family. I will always stand by you and protect you. You’re my everything, and one day I’m going to ask you to be my wife.” Your eyes are full of tears as this perfect man is once again on his knees for you, offering you the whole world. “There’s nothing in my life that’s more important to me. Not myself, not hockey. I don’t believe in fate, but I feel like our moms masterminded this and sent us to each other. I’ve never been so thankful, that I get to love you in this lifetime. A few months ago I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to live anymore and now I don’t think there’s anything I’d rather do than spend every single day I possibly can with you.” He lets go of your hand then, reaching down to shape the damp sand beside him and you smile through the tears cascading down your cheeks as he makes the little sandman, shaping the body and then scooping up twigs and fragments of shells to adorn it. The surf licks up, dampening his pants where he kneels but he’s undeterred. When he finally dusts off his hands after, he stands taking both your hands in his. “You’re my dream, Honey, and I think it’s going to be the sweetest one I’ve ever had.” You smile at him and as he kisses you, you think he might be right.

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goldenseresinretriever · 4 months ago

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You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 3

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Bradley Bradshaw’s going to pay for this. You glare at your reflection in the mirror, tentatively poking at the discolored and swollen skin on your jaw where Bradley’s fist connected last night. You wince slightly at the pain. You’ll probably have Bugs look at it once you get to work. You glance down at the tube of concealer in your hand, torn between covering up the mark for the sake of your dignity and leaving it exposed to send a message to Bradley. You err on the side of leaving it be as you get ready for your day. You can’t help but wonder if the lavender suit you’re wearing today mixes well with the color on your jaw.

By the time you make it to work, your injury is far from your mind, that is until you pass through the training room on your way to the office and Mickey stops you instantly, his usually carefree smile falling away into barely-concealed fury. “Zam, what happened to your face?” He reaches a gentle hand to skim the bruised skin and you wince slightly at the pain that radiates from the contact. “It wasn’t that guy was it?” The guy in question is a stranger on a dating app that Mickey insisted you give a shot to in an effort to diversify your life beyond work. You shake your head.

“No no, that’s later this week.” He nods, his concern not fading as he scrutinizes your jaw and you’re touched by the fierce protectiveness from your best friend. You wouldn’t expect any less.

“Zam, what the fuck?” Jake comes over now, taking your face gently in his hands and inspecting the bruise. “Who did this to you?”

You hesitate, not wanting to cause a scene. You hadn’t meant to cause a scene like this, not considering how it would look to everyone else not involved. You consider lying but as you look into Jake’s green eyes, you see them dancing with concern and fury, the sheer protectiveness in them, directed at you of all people and it makes your heart squeeze. A few months ago Jake was reserved, hiding in a shell of himself until Bugs pulled him out of it and you’ve watched him grow back into his normal self, full of love and protectiveness that extends to everyone around him, you included.

He and Mickey are still waiting for your answer so you draw your eyes away from Jake’s, avoiding either of their gazes as you murmur, “Bradley…” and you feel Jake’s fingers tighten involuntarily on your cheeks. When you gaze back at him, there’s fury in his eyes.

“Bradley did this?” His voice is ice cold and you suppress a shudder as your eyes flick to Mickey’s matching expression.

“Bradley did what? Fuck, Zam, what happened to you?” Javy joins the three of you and you watch his eyes widen in surprise when he sees the bruise on your jaw. You jerk your chin from Jake’s grasp, suddenly self-conscious about the amount of attention you’re drawing.

“It’s not what you think!” You blurt. “He wasn’t aiming at me, I just stepped in front of him on instinct and I didn’t really think it through and yeah, I got hit.”

“When did this even happen?” Mickey asks brows tight in confusion.

“Last night, Cyclone asked me to pick him up from a bar after the paparazzi found him. He was drunk off his ass and fighting with these three other guys.”

“You should have called one of us to go with you,” Jake says firmly, crossing his arms across his chest in full captain mode. You roll your eyes giving him a tired shrug.

“I didn’t want to bother you. Plus this is my job, remember?”

“The press stuff, yes, but I thought we established that the babysitting was mine.” You return his worried smile with a tired one of your own, nodding in acquiescence.

“I’m gonna have Bugs look at it but I’m sure it’s fine.” Jake nods, satisfied to leave you in her care. You excuse yourself from the boys and head to Bugs’s office to get checked out.

~~~~~

Bugs gives you the all-clear and confirms that it’s just a nasty bruise and nothing to worry about so you go about your regular work for about an hour or two until the door to your office bursts open, hitting the walls and rattling your shelves of tchotchkes. You look up from your work to see Bradley Bradshaw in your doorway, seething. You don’t get paid enough for this.

“You just left my Bronco in that parking lot?! It got fucking towed!” He snaps, stamping across the room to leer over where you’re sitting. You scowl up at him.

“Boo fucking hoo, Bradshaw. If you’re going to go out and get plastered, maybe you shouldn’t drive or at least arrange someone to drive you home.” Normally you’d be poised, and calm, and you definitely wouldn’t be swearing but Bradley sends every bit of your self-control out the nearest window. “Instead I have to come and drag your sorry ass home.”

“No one asked you to do that!”

“They did, actually. Cyclone texted me because you were causing a scene! TMZ published an article, Bradshaw! TM-FUCKING-Z!”

“That’s not my problem.” He scoffs, his face still red as he growls at you.

“Well, your beloved Bronco getting towed isn’t mine.” You growl back, crossing your arms across your chest defensively. “And by the way, if you want to avoid the press, maybe get a less conspicuous ride.” His eyes flash and his open palms meet the surface of your desk in a noise so loud and startling that you flinch back, instinctively, fear running through you before you see the flicker in Bradley’s eyes cutting through the blind rage and he removes his hands instantly, backing up a couple of steps. His shoulders are still rising and falling in anger but he’s forcibly reeling himself in.

Then you watch the confusion spread across his face as he actually takes a good look at you and you feel the urge to squirm under the intensity of his whisky gaze. His brow furrows as he asks, voice softer. “What happened to your face?” You blink up at him, dumbstruck.

“So you don’t remember hitting it?” You ask, the venom in your voice falling short of what you’d intended at the confused concern in his eyes.

“I hit you?!” His voice is full of shock and something else, maybe a hint of regret.

“Well more accurately you were trying to hit another guy and I got in the way because we don’t really need to add battery to the laundry list of problems you’ve been causing.”

“Fuck.” He rasps and you shrug, trying to appear nonchalant even as you’re feeling all kinds of confused by this new Bradley that you’ve never seen. “I’m sorry.”

Now you really have seen it all. Bradley Bradshaw just APOLOGIZED TO YOU.

“It’s fine, it’s not exactly your fault. I wasn’t thinking.” You’re actively uncomfortable now, scrambling for your mask or your anger, anything to cover up this vulnerable feeling, the way he’s looking at you. Like you’re a wounded animal, a wrong he’s trying to right, like you’re HUMAN. You hate it. “Maybe we stop with the bar fights, whaddya say, big guy?” You hate how awkward you sound but you don’t have time to dwell on it as the storm clouds roll back through Bradley’s eyes.

“I told you to stay out of it, Honey.” His voice is hard, the Bradley you’ve just seen disappearing so quickly that you’re not even sure it was there in the first place.

“I told you, no can do, Bradshaw. You keep this up and it’s going to get ugly.”

He tilts his head slightly at the bite in your tone before he smirks. “I think it already has, Honey.” You watch his eyes flick down to your jaw and you clench it, ignoring the pain that flares through the taut skin. The twinkle in his eyes is new and it makes anger lick at your stomach. Before, he was just lashing out taking his anger on you because you were conveniently there, caught in the crossfire, but this? This is casually cruel and aimed right for the kill and you have a zero-tolerance policy for that.

“If you want to quit, Bradshaw then just fucking quit.” Your voice is ice cold as you glare daggers back into rolling brown seas that warn “there be dragons.” If he wants to be cruel, you’re more than capable of meeting him halfway. “There’s a thousand other players waiting for someone to give them their shot if you’re so intent on wasting yours.”

He leans in then, his voice low and rumbling, calm and collected despite the flush of his cheeks. The wildness in his eyes tames for a second, the eye of the storm, as he delivers the kill shot. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” When he says your name you feel a chill run down your spine. It’s been years since someone other than your father called you by it. Ever since you joined the world of hockey, it’s always been Zamboni or Zam, even amongst your colleagues and professional relations. That’s how everyone knows you. “Quitting? Wasting your shot? You’re speaking from experience, right?” Each question punches the air from your lungs as you cower against the back of your chair, nowhere to run as Bradley pries you open like he’s manually pulling the nails out of the coffin in your mind, one by one. “Nothing to say, Honey? That’s what I thought.” He leans back and goes to leave, only pausing in the doorway to look back at where you’re frozen. “Like I said, stay out of it if you know what’s good for you, Honey.”

When the door closes behind him, you try your best to take a shaking breath but it’s like he’s pinned the air in your lungs and it can’t move. Your fingers scramble for your phone, shaking so hard that you can barely unlock the screen and click the contact you need most as your body shuts down. The panic attack pulls you fully into its grasp as you listen to the sound of the line ringing, praying that they pick up. When you finally hear the voice it’s like a light at the end of the tunnel that you’ve lost yourself in. You can’t form the words, but you know they’ll know. They’ll come. They know what you need.

~~~~~

You weren’t always Zamboni. In the grand scheme of things, you’ve spent more of your life NOT being her. However, you’ve locked as much of that time as you could up in a dark corner of your mind. It had been eight years since you’d become Zamboni not necessarily to escape that part of yourself but rather as a direct effect of the alienation that had come with losing that part of yourself. Only one person other than your father truly knew what had happened that turned your world upside down and sent you running from your past. Mickey Garcia had saved you, giving you something to live for that ended up creating the person that you are now.

Hockey was something that you and your mother whispered about in the middle of the night while she told you fantastic stories about her youth at the height of her career. She’d been an Olympic figure skater. She had medals and trophies filling glass cases in your home to prove it but above all the fortune and glory, she loved the sport. She loved being on the ice and had passed down that love to you. You remember her bringing you with her to the local rinks, and watching her move with such grace and poise while you teetered around at the edge of the rink, still finding your footing at such a young age.

You’d grown up, though, and you were every bit your mother’s daughter from the way you looked to the way you skated. When you were on the ice there was nothing you couldn’t do, no move you couldn’t master, just a matter of how many hours you spent on it. Your mother’s Olympic fame opened doors to rinks much later than they should have been, and even when those closed for the night, you’d spend even more hours on the frozen lake behind your house, perfecting every turn and jump.

By the time you were off to college at the University of Wisconsin, you were pretty much a shoo-in for the Olympics. The only reason you hadn’t already competed in one yet was that your mother was indignant that you fully enjoyed your life as a child before being thrust into the international spotlight. It didn’t stop you from topping various other competitions, however, and when you went to college on a figure skating scholarship, you were chomping at the bit to kickstart your Olympic career, however, the next Olympics wouldn’t be for another two years.

You spent every spare moment at the university’s rink, staying late after official practices. The biggest source of your irritation was the University of Wisconsin’s ice hockey team. They shared the rink with the figure skaters and conveniently seemed to have practice whenever you wanted to use the ice. You had complained loudly to your mom over the phone when she gave you a suggestion that would change your life for the better. Even if they weren’t figure skaters, you could learn a thing or two from watching the hockey players move on the ice, so that’s what you did. If they had practice when you wanted to use the ice, you’d plant yourself in the stands and watch them skate. As soon as the ice was cleaned after practice you’d lace up your skates and start applying what you’d observed and you had to hand it to your mom, you were learning new things by watching them. That’s how you met Mickey Garcia. Well, not exactly. One night you were stuck on a particular turn and had been practicing it for so long that you’d lost track of time, the lack of windows in the rink creating a liminal space. The main lights had since been turned on with only the rink lights remaining. You were so focused on what you were doing that it didn’t occur to you to worry about getting locked into the rink that is until your work was interrupted.

“Hey, are you supposed to be in here?” The voice broke through your concentration and you turned to see a familiar face looking back at you from the edge of the rink. You recognized the guy as one of the hockey players even though he was just wearing a hoodie and sweats.

“Are YOU?” You shot back, placing your hands on your hips.

“No, that’s the point.” He said with a rueful grin and a shrug. “I left a binder in the locker room on accident so I got the captain’s keys to let me in. How were you planning to get out?”

“The doors aren’t locked.”

“They are at 1 am.” When you gaped at him as you realized the time he laughed. “Listen, I need to study but I don’t really care where so I can do it here until you’re ready to leave and then I can lock up behind us.” And that’s how you met Mickey Garcia.

You started going to his games and he started coming to your competitions. Some nights he’d give you pointers about your skating and some nights you’d do your best to tend the goal or scrimmage with him if he needed the extra practice. Slowly you became a regular amongst his teammates as well, as Mickey invited you to watch practices up class and even skate with them during warmups. He had you point out certain techniques they could apply to their movement.

Two years flew by and suddenly Olympic qualifiers were almost upon you. You were busier than ever and you spent night after night late at the rink to practice your routine with Mickey to keep you company. Even you knew it was only a matter of showing up on the day for you to qualify, it didn’t keep you from spending every waking moment skating.

By that logic, it wasn’t a surprise that you were skating when you got the call. It was Thanksgiving break. You’d turned down your parents’ incessant invitations to come home for the break, afraid to surrender any time you could spend practicing. You don’t remember much about the day looking back but you don’t want to. You only remember answering the call, expecting to hear your father asking you to reconsider coming home once again. Instead, you only heard his sobs. Your mother had an unexpected heart attack. She died instantly. There was nothing they could do to save her. And you could have been there. You should have been there. You couldn’t remember the last thing she had said to you. You’d talked to her just last night and yet you couldn’t remember.

It wasn’t that you blamed yourself per se, but after that day you could never bring yourself to step on the ice. The Olympic qualifiers came and went as you were frozen in that moment when you’d gotten the phone call. It hadn’t been easy to thaw and return to your life, and in many ways you never truly did, but Mickey had held your hand every step of the way as he brought you to his practices, his games, and slowly you’d come back. You took a leave of absence from school for a semester as you decided what to do next as your skates hung in the back of your closet for good. Figure skating had been your whole life so finding something new seemed daunting and boundless.

~~~~~

You’re shaking and curled in your chair, teetering close to falling to the floor but too frozen to right yourself when Mickey finds you. His arms go around you instantly, grounding you with his touch as you try your best to grasp onto the beat of his heart. He’s saying words into your ear, doing his best to break you out of this state but you don’t hear them. All you can hear is your father’s screams from that day eight years ago. They bounce around your head and get louder and louder until you realize that they aren’t. That’s the sound of you screaming. Your wordless pain has found a voice and it’s heartbreaking as you fall apart in Mickey’s arms. Absently you hear the sound of footsteps drawn by the sound of your screams. Your voice breaks from strain. You’re all screamed out and your breath still feels trapped in your lungs as you heave against Mickey and his words are slowly audible. You hear the gentle reassurances and feel his hands stroking your hair and back, the repetitive motion soothing your shakes until you’re simply still, lying in his arms.

“What was she screaming about?” You hear Bradley’s voice and feel Mickey’s body stiffen against yours protectively.

“What the FUCK did you say to her?” His voice is pure fury, leaving him in a growl you’ve never heard from him. You’ve seen a lot of Mickey Garcia’s various sides, but you’ve never seen him really, truly angry until now.

“Me? Nothing.”

“You fucking liar, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY TO HER?!” Mickey’s shouting and you shudder at the vitriol in his voice as he screams at Bradley. You barely register more footsteps approaching over the commotion.

“She accused me of giving up and I told her she’d know a lot about that given that she just up and quit skating-” Then Mickey’s moving and you think you call out after him as he grabs Bradley by the collar and slams him into the wall. It only really works because the taller man is so startled by Mickey’s sudden attack.

“She didn’t up and quit skating!” Mickey growls into Bradley’s face as you watch his fist swing, connecting with Bradley’s nose, hard as he shouts. “HER MOM DIED, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” You could hear a pin drop or maybe that’s just the sound of Bradley’s blood hitting the tile floor as it drips from his nose until Jake’s pulling Mickey off of Bradley, his face a mask of quiet fury. Javy’s behind him, his eyes on where you’re still curled up in your chair, your cheeks soaked with tears. They’re not the ones you’re watching though. Your eyes are locked onto Bradley’s whisky ones. There’s something unreadable in them but amidst all that you see as much as you feel the regret. Regret and something else. It almost feels like he’s reaching for you with his eyes. You don’t get a chance to read him, however as Dare’s voice, full of fury cuts through the room.

“Bradshaw, go home, you’re done for the day.” Her jaw is set and her eyes are flashing with something unreadable as she jerks her chin to indicate that he should leave now. He nods silently, giving you one last lingering look before he leaves. Mickey is breathing heavily in Jake’s grasp, Bradley’s blood on his knuckles. Dare turns to him, giving him a sympathetic look. “Mickey, let’s chat in my office. Jake, Javy, walk him over.” Jake nods and he and Javy lead Mickey out. Mickey shoots you a look and you mouth THANK YOU to him and he just gives you a grim look as he nods.

“Zam, are you alright?” You don’t notice her come up to you and while she stays respectfully on the other side of your desk, giving you space, you can see the concern in her eyes.

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly. You’re still shaken up. It’s been a long time since you’ve had a panic attack and you’re almost unfamiliar with what to do afterwards. “I’m going to call Bugs over and she can take you home for the day, how does that sound?” Mickey once told you that the greatest strength you can get is from leaning on your friends and right now you know that’s what you need so you leave your pride on the floor and nod. You can’t battle without an army and Bradley Bradshaw just declared war.

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goldenseresinretriever · 4 months ago

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You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 2

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

“Bradley Bradshaw, #86, five-minute major for fighting.” You let out an audible groan as you watch the ref lead Bradley off the ice into the penalty box. Bugs gives you a pained smile as she nudges your shoulder with hers even as you can feel the rage radiating from Cyclone. Bradley’s got drying blood in his mustache from where he took a retaliatory hit from the Florida player after practically throwing him into the boards. Bradley’s been avoiding you the tiff in your office. Clearly, he hasn’t spent the time considering your words since he’s taken the first opportunity possible to ignore your advice. When the line changes you make eye contact with Jake as he swings over the boards, grabbing his water bottle. You watch as he takes a drink, his mouth set in a thin line that has nothing to do with the current 5-2 score in the Dogfighters’s favor, and everything to do with his alternate captain.

You know this has to be hard on Jake too. Even though he was spared Cyclone’s screaming session the other day, you could tell he was aware of the problems and risks that Bradley was presenting. Jake’s the team captain and Bradley is one of his guys, which makes him his responsibility. The biggest problem, however, is that Bradley had been partially right when you argued the other day. Hockey’s a contact sport and fighting is a part of the rules as well as the culture, and it’s hard to argue with the results given that Bradley is currently the third-highest goal scorer on the team.

After finishing his drink, Jake turns on the bench to face you and Bugs, his green eyes hard. “We need to talk.” You and Bugs give him firm nods before he turns back to the game. It seems Cyclone is too busy glaring daggers at the penalty box to notice your exchange. You sigh, as you realize just how much longer your night has gotten.

~~~~~

You just manage to wedge your tiny Bug in the driveway next to Javy’s Landrover. The way he’s parked is the equivalent of manspreading across the space that could easily hold two or maybe even three cars on a good day. You growl in frustration as you do your damnedest not to slam the door in frustration as you get out to survey his handiwork. Your car is a pastel pink convertible bug and it looks comical parked next to the giant SUV, but you sigh and lock it before heading up the short walk to Jake’s front door. The seaside home with beach access was tucked cozily into a sleepy suburban neighborhood. It's not what you’d expect from a bachelor NHL player but the more you’ve gotten to know Jake, the more it makes sense. The main is painfully domestic. This is affirmed by the sight you’re treated to when you open the door that’s been left open in anticipation of your arrival. Jake is at the stove, making pancakes despite the fact that the sun has long since set outside. Bugs and Javy are seated across the counter from him, already digging into their plates.

“Hey, Zam! Thanks for coming!” Jake calls, offering you a smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Congrats on the win!” You answer, dragging a chair from the dining room up next to the counter since there are only two stools. Bugs elbows Javy and he offers you his stool, taking the chair instead and somehow still looking comfortable at the raised countertop. You give Bugs an appreciative look before sliding Javy’s plate over to him and taking a seat.

You fix Jake with a look. “So, what are we going to do about Bradshaw, because I know Cyclone is just ITCHING to fire me over it.” Bugs stiffens next to you and you turn to look at her bewildered expression.

“He can’t fire YOU because of BRADLEY’S behavior! How is that even your fault?!”

“His behavior isn’t, but how the press spins it? That absolutely is. Sports outlets are calling him dangerous and a loose canon. It’s reflecting poorly on the team, not to mention Dare’s and Mav’s leadership, and of course Cyclone’s management.” You shrug as Jake hands you a plate piled high with pancakes.

“You’re not his babysitter though!” She exclaims and you swallow a mouthful of pancake, gesturing at Jake.

“Correct, that’s your man’s problem.” Jake scowls as he flips a pancake. You just raise an eyebrow at him and he growls.

“Look I’ll talk to him first thing tomorrow, alright?”

“Fhank hou!” You chirp brightly through a mouthful of pancake and he rolls his eyes. “Love you, Jake!” You flash a hand heart at him as you go for another bite.

“Love you too, Zam,” he says with a rueful smile and Bugs giggles next to you.

“What about me?” You turn to Javy, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“What about you?”

“Do you love me?” He grins wolfishly at you.

“Well now, Javy, I know better than to love you, I’m not trying to catch anything.” You say dryly.

“Like feelings?” He waggles his eyebrows at you.

“Like chlamydia.” You respond coldly and Bugs chokes on her pancakes beside you as Jake bellows a laugh.

~~~~~

The next morning you’re already elbow-deep in damage control over Bradley’s behavior last night which ended with him getting raucously drunk at a dive bar, when Mickey comes into your office, wordlessly placing a pink can of Monster on your desk. Your hands are instantly off the keyboard and wrapped possessively around the can as you grasp it tightly, cracking the tab in record time to take a long sip.

“Marry me,” you groan as you come up for air.

He laughs, shaking his head. “I told you Zam, if I still haven’t found a trophy wife by the age of forty, the job’s yours.”

“Jokes on you, Mickey, you’d rather be a trophy husband than have a trophy wife.”

“What can I say? I’m a feminist at heart.” You snort, ignoring the way the carbonation burns your nose as he grins, tossing himself into the chair across from your desk.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere?” You ask with no bite, a matching grin gracing your lips as you turn back to the email you’re sending, occasionally bringing the pink can to your lips. He shrugs, settling further into the chair.

“We’re doing individual conditioning for the rest of the morning, I needed a break.” You nod, typing away at your keyboard. The two of you sit in comfortable silence as you finish the email and finally turn back to him.

“Mick, I need a favor.” You slump, resting your cheek against the cool surface of your desk, regarding your best friend’s sideways face.

“Anything,” he says without hesitation.

“What’s the deal with Bradley?” You watch the storm clouds gather over his normally sunny disposition. Despite the tension that now lingers in his slumped form, his voice is light as he says, “No idea.” He shakes his head and you can see his jaw tightens. “That’s just the thing? He’s quiet, kind of a loner, but perfectly nice to everyone on the team. He doesn’t argue with anyone, hell, not even Javy!” He shoves an irritated hand through his hair, his eyes darting around as the tension in his shoulders seeps into his actions.

“So you have no idea why he’s acting out? He was never like this with the Flyers. All the research I’ve done indicates not a single incident that would explain his behavior, I’m drawing a blank here, and you know I never draw blanks when it comes to this stuff.” You’re about to turn and press your forehead against the desk next but you catch the flit of Mickey’s eyes and sit up instead, leaning across the desk to point an accusatory finger at him.

“You know something!” He grimaces and shakes his head but you shake yours back indignantly. “Mickey Garcia, I know you and you know something!” He shakes his head again, lips sealed and you let out a groan of frustration before you purse your lips tightly, sitting back, folding into yourself a little. “Mickey, my job depends on this, please.” Your voice is quieter now, vulnerable, and you hate being vulnerable but Mickey’s seen you at your lowest. He’s earned the right to see you like this.

He sighs, letting the tension run out of his body as he faces you. “Look, this isn’t anything, really, just something I’ve observed,”

“Mickey, I’ll take anything at this point.” He nods slowly, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“I think there’s something going on between him and Mav.” He says slowly and you perk up at that.

“Him and Mav?” Mickey nods.

“Whenever Maverick corrects him or even just tries to suggest something to him, he gets standoffish and weird. I’ve noticed it a couple of times and I don’t know, it could just be a coincidence but he’s not like that with Dare.” He studies his hands as you turn this new information over in your head. “You seem to think that’s something.” He states when you haven’t said anything in a few minutes as you wrestle silently.

“Mav is Bradley’s godfather.” You say, finally. You need another head to help you think this out. You watch Mickey’s eyes widen as he absorbs the new information.

“Fuck, really?” You nod. “You think there’s something going on between them?” You shrug, shaking your head in confusion.

“That’s just the thing though? Maverick specifically asked to trade for Bradley when we were building and negotiating the roster.”

“Damn,” Mickey sits back, rubbing his jaw at the influx of new information.

“I’ll say.” You mutter and the two of you sit in silence a while longer, mulling over the mystery before you until Mickey finally has to leave you with your thoughts and caffeine.

~~~~~

A few nights later you’re wrapping things up after yet another late night. The arena is empty as you make your way to the parking garage, looking forward to going home and putting your feet up while some mindless TV show plays in the background. Of course, that’s not happening as you receive a series of text messages from the last person you want to hear from right now. Well, it’s not a message so much as an order. The first message is a link to a TMZ article posted thirty seconds ago. It’s chronicling the latest in Bradley’s drunken escapades at a dive bar not far from here. The second message makes you audibly groan. “Get him out of there. NOW.” You have half a mind to call Jake and tell him he’s up for babysitting duty but you know that’ll just cause more problems than it will solve. You’d rather leave him and Bugs out of Cyclone’s line of fire. They’ve suffered enough.

You groan again, listening to it bounce off the concrete walls back to you as you lean your head on the cool metal of your car, mourning the loss of your quiet night in. You’re hardly dressed for the bar in your pink suit but at least if the paparazzi are still hanging around they’ll recognize you immediately and back off. Resigned to your fate, you get into your car and put the name of the bar into the navigation.

~~~~~

You pull into the parking lot, glaring at the mass of cameras and reporters lining up outside the building waiting for their prey. Your instinct had been right and as much as you wish you were at home right now, you have to thank Cyclone for calling you. This had the potential to be a dumpster fire if Bradley was left to his own drunken devices. You catch sight of Bradley’s obnoxiously bright blue Ford Bronco in the parking lot and you make a mental note to suggest that he find a less conspicuous mode of transportation if he’s going to insist on self-destructing in public. You take a moment to breathe and check that your ponytail is still flawless as you exit the vehicle, locking it behind you before squaring your shoulders and marching up to the pavement in front of the dive bar, right in front of the cameras.

“Alright people, let’s move, show’s over.” You scan the crowd that’s making no effort to clear out whatsoever. “Anthony! Andrea! Mason! Let’s GO!” You clap your hands once, the crack of skin on skin deafening on the street. You notice the three paparazzi you’d just called out by name start to squirm uncomfortably. It pays to know the enemy by name, they respond much better to threats that way. “Nathan! Louise! Gary! I can do this all night and still have time to call your lawyers the minute the clock strikes nine, let’s get a move on, shall we?” That works and you see the crowd start to move.

You wait, hands on your hips until the last of them disappears into the balmy San Diego night before hauling open the door to the dive bar that’s been painted black to keep out the light and coincidentally also the cameras. The bar is cast in red light from the numerous neon signs that litter the walls advertising various beer brands. Your eyes adjust to the light as your ears sort through the music crackling out of the jukebox in a corner, the murmured conversation of regular customers, and finally settle on the raised voices in the back of the bar. The sound of skin hitting skin swallows up the sound of your heels peeling off the sticky floor as you get closer to the commotion. Bradley’s standing at a pool table, the cue stick looking almost comically small in his huge hands. His shoulders are tense as is his jaw. There’s the beginning of a bruise coloring the edge of said jaw and his lip is split, dried blood smeared on his chin. His eyes are hazy and unfocused from the alcohol he’s clearly been consuming. There are three guys surrounding him who look worse for wear even as they leer at the much larger man.

“Alright boys, we’re done here.” You snip, hands on your hips as the three guys turn to face you. You watch Bradley’s head turn to unsuccessfully focus on you.

“And who do you think you are, Missy?” One of the guys scoffs as he gives you a once-over.

“His PR rep, so unless you’d like this to get a whole lot uglier in the legal department, I’d get out of here if I were you.” You watch their eyes widen in surprise even if some of them look suspicious. “Bradshaw, let’s go.” You jerk your chin at Bradley, but he shakes his head.

“Fuck off, Honey, this isn’t your business.” Bradley glared at you and you could have laughed if you weren’t so pissed off. “Come on boys, let’s finish this.” The men look warily between the two of you and slowly start to back off, clearly taking your threat of legal action seriously. Bradley, however, is having none of this and you move into his path before you can think it through. Bradley’s fist that’s aiming for the man closest to him collides with your jaw and you go down hard, spared from a sticky collision with the floor by the man Bradley was aiming for. Your head is spinning with the force of the blow and you’re very aware of why Bradley’s defenseman because there’s some serious force behind his punch even inebriated. The older man who caught you helps you stand shakily and you blink to try and clear your vision as he asks if you’re alright. You manage a nod, waving him off as you straighten, glaring at Bradley who’s staring at you, bewildered.

“BRADSHAW. OUTSIDE. NOW.” Thankfully, he’s smart enough to drop the pool cue and start heading towards the exit. You march after him, still shaken up from the hit that’s definitely going to leave a nasty bruise. You make a stop at the bar, stopping Bradley from getting too far with a death grip on his bicep that’s too large for its own good. You close out his tab and the bartender gives you a sympathetic look that tells you she’d been watching your little altercation as she passes you a ziploc of ice and points you two towards a side exit and you give her a tired thanks before dragging Bradley behind you. The night air is as sticky as the floor of that bar and you grimace as stray hairs stick to your jaw that’s damp from the makeshift ice pack you’re cradling to it with one hand while you drag Bradley towards your car with the other. You pin the ice pack between your shoulder and chin while you fish your keys out of your pocket, unlocking the car and practically throwing Bradley at the passenger side. “Get in, Bradshaw, and if you throw up in my car I swear to god I’ll kill you myself.” Bradley drapes himself over the top of the car and if you weren’t so damn tired you’d muster up the energy to laugh at how easily he covers the width of it, the man truly is huge.

“There’s no way I’m gonna fit.” You suppress a groan at Bradley’s words.

“Shut up and get in the damn car, Bradshaw.” You put your hand on your hips, wondering exactly how much trouble you’d get in if you just left him here.

“S’not a car.” His brown eyebrows pinch together in imitation of great focus even as his words are slurred, exhibiting exactly how much he’s had to drink. A guy his size doesn’t go down without a fight, not to mention that he smells like a distillery. Your feet hurt. You should be home, in your pajamas with your feet up. Instead, you’re still in your work clothes in a shady parking lot outside a dive bar attempting to wrangle a drunk hockey player into your car so you can take him home. Your patience was already paper thin when you got here, now it’s nonexistent.

“Bradshaw. Car. Now.” You snap. He gives you a dubious look as he yanks roughly on the passenger side door and maybe he has a point because you watch as he gracelessly smacks his obnoxiously large head on the bottom of the canopy that forms the doorframe. You can’t help the bubble of deranged laughter that escapes your mouth. You’re exhausted and seeing Bradley Bradshaw get a little comeuppance for the trouble that he insists on causing you is karma at its finest.

He’s groaning and attempting to fold himself into your bright pink bug which would probably be a tall order when he’s sober, but drunk? It’s an impossible task. You sigh and get into the car, turning it on before slamming the button to retract the canopy. Thankfully, it’s a beautiful night in San Diego as you pull out of the parking lot, the cool air whipping your ponytail around. You glance at the man next to you to see that despite being crammed into the passenger seat like a trick snake in a can, he’s fallen asleep, one cheek smashed against the window, a thin line of drool escaping a corner of his mouth. You chuckle to yourself, and if you pause to take a photo for later at the next streetlight, he’s none the wiser.

~~~~~

Halfway back to your apartment, you realize you have no idea where Bradley lives and you groan, making a turn that’ll take you back to the arena. When you pull into the long-empty parking garage, you lean your head against the steering wheel, praying for patience you’re not sure you still possess after the night you’ve had. Bradley stirs now that the car has stopped moving, blinking against the harsh lights of the parking garage.

“Where are we?” He groans, covering his eyes and you turn to glare at him.

“Work. I don’t know where you live.” He grumbles a low sound, before spitting out an address that you quickly enter into your navigation, scoffing at the luxury apartment complex that it belongs to as you put the car back into drive. Bradley drops his hand as you pull back out into the night air, letting it rest out of the window that he’s rolled down.

Since he’s awake and you’re not in the mood to beat around the bush you casually ask, “What’s the deal with you and Maverick?” You’ve been thinking about it ever since Mickey mentioned it to you. If Bradley and Mav are having issues, you need to talk to Mav about it. Bradley’s quiet, his attention focussed out the window, the breeze whipping his sandy brown curls into a frenzy that’ll be a bitch to tame in the morning. You see the hand in his lap curl into a fist, however, and you swallow, hoping he’s drunk enough to let an answer slip.

“Maverick’s the reason I got traded.” His voice is quiet and the slight slur is almost lost to the wind and sounds of the night but you catch it.

“I know, he asked for you specifically. It was sweet.” You say, prodding gently, fishing for anything he’s willing to give you. Bradley snorts and you turn slightly to see his fist is even tighter and his jaw is set.

“Sweet? Considering I’ve seen him once in my life before now, at my mom’s fucking funeral? I wouldn’t call it sweet.” Your heart lurches. You knew both of Bradley’s parents were dead but you’d assumed he and Mav were close as a byproduct but this was news to you.

You curse the appearance of Bradley’s apartment complex coming into view, desperate to get more information out of him as you pull into the driveway. A doorman rushes over as Bradley opens his door and all but tumbles out of the car like water out of a dam.

“Mr. Bradshaw, sir!” The older man exclaims as he wrestles Bradley to his feet with a surprising amount of strength for his age. “You’ve had too much to drink again, Mr. Bradshaw.” He chastises gently as you come around the car to try and help as he waves you off. “I hope you’re not giving your pretty lady any trouble.” You give him a tired smile before shaking your head.

“Oh I’m not his pretty anything, we work together.” The man nods, giving you a smile.

“Alright then miss, I’ll take him from here, don’t you worry about him.” You glance at his name tag.

“Thank you, Tony.” He gives you another bright smile and waves you off with his free hand.

“You get home safe, miss!” He calls back to you as you get back into your car, watching him lead the much taller drunk hockey player into the building like this is every night for him. Well, it probably is. You turn over Bradley’s revelation in your mind as you drive yourself home to your waiting bed, exhaustion setting in along with the throbbing in your jaw.

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goldenseresinretriever · 4 months ago

Text

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 1

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

“BRADLEY! BRADSHAW!” The flush that started on Cyclone’s neck has crept up to encompass his whole face much like a glass filling with fruit punch. You fight the urge to check your phone for the time. He might actually break his record for the longest screaming session yet and there’s a pool in the staff room riding on it that would definitely cover those new heels you’d been eyeing. Next to you, Dare Mitchell, the head coach of the San Diego Dogfighters as of last month, blatantly checks her watch and if you weren’t already enamored with everything this woman did, you definitely were now.

Cyclone’s still yelling, but the two of you stopped listening a long time ago it seems as Dare stands before looking down at you. “Come on Zam, let’s go.” If you weren’t so good at maintaining a poker face you think your jaw might have dropped. You get to your feet and follow Dare as she marches towards the door of Cyclone’s office and he finally pauses his tirade and you glance at your phone. New record indeed. “I am NOT finished!” He snaps and Dare turns in the doorway to face him coolly.

“Beau you were finished the minute this stopped being a conversation. When you’re ready to resume said conversation, you know where to find us.” She doesn’t wait for him to respond before turning on her heel and walking off down the hallway and you’re right behind her. When the elevator doors finally close behind the two of you, you feel the obligation to say SOMETHING. In your few months in San Diego, you haven’t met a lot of people with the balls to stand up to Beau Simpson. Until recently, the list began and ended with the Dogfighters’s Captain, Jake Seresin. Admittedly it only extended to when Cyclone was threatening his now-girlfriend Bugs, the assistant team physician but it was nice to see that at least someone was willing to do something about the man’s unchecked temper.

Now it included Dragon, the new goalie development coach who also happened to be Cyclone’s daughter. When she’d joined the staff, everyone had been apprehensive at best. One Simpson was already tough enough to handle but she’d surprised everyone by being congenial and even fun. She truly became one of the team, however, the day that she placed a crisp hundred dollar bill into the betting pool against her father’s temper. While Cyclone was a storm with no eye, Dragon was an eye that only seemed to blow into a storm when she stood toe to toe with her father. At least that was the word through the grapevine. Bugs had been going to drop off some paperwork in his office last week and said she’d been able to hear their shouting match from the other end of the hallway. Good for her.

The third entry was the woman standing next to you. Dare Mitchell was NHL royalty. She had been the league’s first female assistant coach and then head coach, going on to coach the Pittsburgh Penguins to no short of five Stanley Cup victories. Her nickname, Dare, stands for Definitive Authority on Rink Education, or Referee Ejection depending on who you ask. The fact that you were working alongside her still had you pinching yourself when you walked into work every morning. There’s definitely been a shift in the energy of the team since she took over the Head Coach title from Maverick after Game 3. This is just one of the many side effects and you can’t say you’re not grateful for the change.

There are unpopular whispers that Maverick asked Cyclone for the demotion himself but you know they're probably true. While Pete Mitchell is a talented hockey player, and he’s spent the years since his retirement coaching rec leagues, he’s not exactly on the level of the NHL. Why would he willingly pass the title to someone else, people ask. Well, it probably begins with the fact that she’s his wife. Dare and Pete Mitchell’s marriage is anything but common knowledge. In fact, the only people on the team that know are you, Bugs, Jake, and Maverick’s girlfriend, Penny. Sure they share a last name but Maverick’s been publically dating Penny Benjamin for the last few decades, so no one would even consider that he’s married to someone else entirely. According to Bugs and Jake, Maverick claims they separated amicably, not feeling the need to finalize a divorce but sometimes you see the way Dare stares at him when he’s not looking and wonder if that’s just his version of events.

“Thanks,” you say, awkwardly breaking the silence as the elevator travels back down to the ground floor. You never know how to talk to Dare, the temptation to make a fool of yourself by accidentally letting slip that you’re her biggest fan is a hazard you have to avoid every time you open your mouth. “Not many people are willing to stand up to Cyclone like that.”

She snorts, “It’s hard to take him seriously when every time I look at him, I just see the snot-nosed kid whose lunch money I used to steal.” You feel like you’ve been hit by a truck as you try to imagine Beau Simpson as a snot-nosed kid while also trying to process that Dare has known him for that long and used to steal his lunch money.

“You’ve known him that long?” You stammer as the elevator jolts to a halt and the two of you step out, walking side by side towards your respective offices.

“Beau and I grew up in the same town. We were never really friends but we were acquainted in the way that you know everyone in a town that small.” She shrugs. “He wasn’t always so full of hot air but maybe that’s why he is now. Needless to say, I have zero tolerance for childish tantrums in the workplace, regardless of who’s throwing them, my players or my colleagues.” You nod in agreement as you reach your office door. “And Zam? I think it might be in your best interest to have a word with Bradley Bradshaw.” The corner of her lips is teasing into the faintest hint of a smirk as you roll your eyes.

“You think?” She chuckles at that, before turning to continue to her own office.

Entering your office, you drop into your desk chair, letting out the frustrated groan you’ve been holding back all morning. You pull up Bradley Bradshaw’s profile on your computer and absently think that you should update the photo you have to his official Dogfighters’s headshot because he’s smiling in this photo and you’re pretty sure in the three months that you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him smile let alone show any expression of joy or even happiness. You jot down a note on your pink sticky note pad to update player photos. Heaving a huge sigh, you open the team portal and put in a request for a meeting with Bradley. One of the coaches will send him your way when he has a moment so in the meantime you read over his profile yet again. When Maverick first entertained the idea of trading for Bradley you hadn’t really batted an eye, even considering him a decent pick, all things considered, but now you wish you’d pushed back that day in the conference room because this man has been the beginning and end of all your problems ever since the season started. Sure you have other problems that you’re juggling. Despite your best efforts, Javy Machado continues to sleep with anything with tits, but right now it’s the least of your worries. You’re more concerned with the fact that Bradley Bradshaw’s almost spent more time in the penalty box this season than the rest of the team combined. He’s been irritable, to say the least, and while he used to play the role of enforcer more often, preferring to retaliate than provoke, ever since coming to San Diego he’s done nothing but pick fights on the ice. To the point that Cyclone’s yelling at you and Dare about it instead of Bradshaw himself. Dare because she’s his coach. You because this is doing disastrous things for the team’s reputation. Just because “fighter” is in the team name doesn’t mean it needs to be taken literally, apparently.

You don’t get it. Maverick asked for Bradley specifically, and he’s his godfather, you’d think Bradley would be ecstatic to be here. After all, his father died when he was just a kid. You’d assume that he and Maverick are close. You wonder if Dare knows anything about it. If things get dire enough you may have to ask her, even if she doesn’t know that you know about her and Maverick. Sighing, you click away from Bradley’s profile as you move on to other work while you wait for him to show, sparing a glance at the clock on the wall before picking up your phone to text the group chat labeled Cyclone Relief Fund. “19 minutes,” followed by a partying emoji. Mama’s getting a new pair of heels.

~~~~~

It’s a little after noon when there’s finally a knock on your door. You call for the knocker to enter and Bradley Bradshaw opens the door, taking a seat across from your desk. You fight an amused chuckle at the way his giant body dwarfs the petite pink armchair across from you. You have a feeling he won’t find it as funny as you do. He’s wearing a black Dogfighters’s tee that’s gripping his muscular arms for dear life over sweats, his curly hair still damp from the showers.

His whisky eyes are studying the space around you with curiosity mixed with thinly veiled disgust. You try to see it through his eyes. The boring white walls have been meticulously covered with adhesive wallpaper in a soft baby pink. Hanging on them is a carefully curated collection of art prints in matching white frames. Floating shelves on the wall are decorated with various tchotchkes in various shades of pink and white. A bright pink shag rug sits under your white wood desk, housing the pink faux leather desk chair you’re seated in and the plush pink armchair that Bradley’s spilling out of.

“Something wrong?” You ask when it’s been too long with him just blatantly ogling your decor.

“This looks like Barbie’s dream house.” He states, unamused, as his eyes come back to you.

“Actually I was going for more of an office or career Barbie than Malibu but it was probably on the vision board too.” You say, turning to your computer as you pull up the folder of articles that Cyclone sent you this morning. “Glad you like it.”

“I don’t.” His voice is flat and you peer up at him over the top of your screen. Your eyebrow twitches with annoyance at his blunt rudeness.

“Well if I ever get a suggestion box, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know, Bradshaw.” You snip as you turn the screen you’re looking at so that Bradley can see it. “So I think you can guess what you’re here to talk about. In the last fifteen games you’ve played, you’ve spent more time in the penalty box than any other player.”

He arches a dark brown eyebrow, “Hockey is a contact sport, honey.” Your eyebrow twitches again at the nickname.

“I’m sure the occasional bump is considered contact but throwing down your gloves to punch your opponent in the nose has very little to do with puck handling don’t you think?” Your voice is civil, and reasonable, as you pull up the video of Bradley’s fist making contact with the face of the Jets’s defenseman. That had handed him a five-minute major penalty for fighting.

“You’re not on the ice. Sometimes they’re asking for it.” You say a silent prayer for patience.

“You realize that you can get suspended for this right? You’re lucky you only have one instigator penalty so far out of all those fighting penalties.”

“I know that, honey. Three instigators earn you a two-game suspension, and it increases after that. I’ve read the rules.” You clench your jaw at how nonchalant he’s being about this. He’s got a smorgasbord of minor penalties, a couple of majors for general fighting, and one blatant instigator penalty. He’s on thin ice, pun intended.

“Regardless of the official NHL rules, what are you going to do if your coaches decide to bench you?” You raise an eyebrow at him and watch as he stiffens. It seems you’re finally a move ahead of him. You like it. “And given that Cyclone just yelled at me and Dare over the state of your performance? I’d say it’s bound to happen sooner rather than later.” His fists clench in his lap, but he doesn’t say anything. You decide to plow ahead while he’s not fighting every word coming out of your mouth.

“While your performance on the ice isn’t my department, how it reflects on the team is. Currently media outlets are describing you as a loose cannon and bordering on a danger to other players. If this keeps up, the team could be forced to bench you indefinitely or even let you go completely.” You purse your lips in a thin line. “I’m doing what I can in terms of damage control but we have to work together here. I can’t promise that you’re working on it if we don’t see any actual change.”

He snorts at that, sitting back as best he can. “You want some advice, honey? Stay out of it. It’s none of your business.” You clench a fist in your lap. WHY DOES HE INSIST ON FIGHTING YOU?

“Actually, it is. This is my JOB, Bradshaw. Just because you don’t feel like doing yours doesn’t mean I’m going to follow suit just because you want me to.” His honey eyes flash with warning but you don’t back down, meeting them with yours, steel in your gaze. “I didn’t get this job by letting people like you walk all over me, Bradshaw and I don’t intend on starting now.” Your fingers fly over the keyboard and you pull up some paparazzi photos from the last few weeks. “You’re getting drunk and causing trouble in public,” you click through photos of an intoxicated Bradley leaving a bar and getting into a shoving match with some guy. You sigh, fighting the urge to pinch your nose as a dull throbbing takes up residence in your temples.

Bradley just gives you a cold look. “What? So a man can’t go to a bar and have a drink anymore?” The throbbing intensifies and you fantasize about launching yourself over your desk and wrapping your perfectly manicured hands around his enormous neck.

“Look,” your voice is pure ice to hide the vitriol threatening to take over, “if you’re not going to change your behavior, at least do me a favor and be a train wreck in private from now on.” You could hear a pin drop as you barely hold back from spitting the words at Bradley. The two of you glare at each other, the white expanse of your desk a no-man’s-land between the wars in your eyes. “You’re free to go.” Your voice is the exact opposite of your face. It’s prim, proper, congenial. It matches the rest of your persona. Your bright butter-yellow suit makes you look like sunshine incarnate even as you burn underneath with the fury of a thousand suns. Bradley’s still glaring at you as he extricates himself from the armchair and stalks out the door without another word, letting the door slam behind him. You want to scream but the walls in the place are far too thin, so you do the next best thing, launching yourself out of your chair not bothering to push it back as you storm out of your office.

***

You barge into Bugs’s office and she looks up from whatever chart she’s currently perusing as you grab a handful of gummy bears from her candy dish and throw yourself into the chair across from her. She raises a single eyebrow at you but doesn’t say anything as you aggressively chew the green confections.

“I’d think you’d be happier since you just won the betting pool but what’s up?” She says finally when it’s obvious that you won’t be volunteering any information.

“Bradley. Bradshaw.” You spit as you pop another gummy bear into your mouth and her eyes soften in

understanding even as her mouth tightens into a tense line. You know she knows what you’re talking about, especially since she’s been the one patching him up. “Cyclone asked me to do something about him because he’s dragging the team through the mud, and you know what he said? He told me to stay out of it! As if this isn’t MY JOB! He doesn’t care about his reputation, he doesn’t care if he doesn’t get to play, I don’t get it! What’s got his panties in such a twist!” You’re fuming as you continue to shred through gummy bears. “This is an amazing opportunity! Why is he so eager to throw it away?”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be here?” Bugs asks, brows furrowed in thought. “He did exclusively play for the Flyers for the last sixteen years.” You shake your head.

“That doesn’t make any sense. The Flyers have been trying to pawn him off to the highest bidder for the better part of the last two seasons.” Bugs’s eyes raise in surprise and you shrug. “He’s getting old and they would much rather have a good draft pick for rookie talent. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks and all that. At least that’s what their manager told me. When Maverick asked them for a trade they practically threw him at us, they couldn’t believe their luck.”

“Maverick asked to trade for Bradley?” She asks, confused. “Isn’t it usually the manager’s job to do that?”

You nod. “Normally, yeah, but Maverick asked for Bradley himself. Apparently, he’s his godson.” Bugs’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Bradley is Mav’s GODSON?!” You nod.

“It makes sense actually, given that he’s Nick Bradshaw’s son and all.” You watch the realization hit Bugs’s face.

“Oh my god, I never put it together.” She whispers. You can’t blame her. Bradshaw is a common enough last name and no one’s first instinct is to tie someone to a tragedy as well known as that of Nick “Goose” Bradshaw.

Nick “Goose” Bradshaw played for the Philadelphia Flyers back in the 80s, at the same time as Maverick. The two were best friends, inseparable on and off the ice. Nick Bradshaw got his nickname, Goose, because he was always sticking his neck out for Maverick and it ended in one of the most infamous hockey tragedies in NHL history.

While hockey is one of the most violent of the contact sports, it’s highly regulated to ensure that fatal injuries don’t occur due to fighting, but every now and then something slips through the cracks and that’s what happened in the case of Goose Bradshaw. Maverick got into an altercation on the ice and when another player tried to get involved, Goose tried to interfere to keep the numbers even, which resulted in him losing his helmet in the fray and being thrown into the boards, hitting his head. While the physician on duty deemed that Goose was fine, he sat out the rest of the game. Two days later he died of a brain hemorrhage, widowing his wife Carole and leaving his two-year-old son, Bradley Bradshaw, fatherless. The Bradshaw family disappeared from the public eye until Bradley caught the media’s attention when he joined the Penn State Nittany Lions in college as a left winger, following in his late father’s footsteps.

“So you’d think he’d be happy to be here, with Maverick.” You muse and Bugs nods, still frowning.

“Family doesn’t always get along, though,” she says with a shrug. You know she’s close with hers and you’re as close as you can be with yours. “But still why would he throw his whole career away like this? It doesn’t make sense.” She’s right, it doesn’t and so you’re left to ponder the enigma that is Bradley Bradshaw.

***

You’re still thinking about it as you get ready to leave for the night. Unsurprisingly, you’re the only one left. The sky has long since darkened outside, but you’re married to your job. You need to do the best you can to keep Cyclone off your back for long enough for Bradley to figure his shit out. You step into the arena proper, the lights are on as the Zamboni drives around, cleaning up the ice after practice so it’ll be perfect tomorrow morning. You gaze at the rink as the machine drives back and forth across the surface and your heart aches. A part of you longs to step back out onto the smooth surface and feel the cool air radiating off the rink kiss your cheeks just one more time. You aren’t sure when the tears filled your eyes but you blink them out as you whisper. “I miss you, Mom. I wish you were here. I wish you could see this. I’m in California now, and it’s so different from home, but you were right. As long as there’s ice, it’s not that different after all.”

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goldenseresinretriever · 4 months ago

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You Catch More Bees With Honey: Prologue

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

“Bradley Bradshaw.” You zone back into the conversation as Maverick offers his suggestion. You sneak a glance at the clock on the wall. Your bones are aching from sitting pin-straight for the last four hours. It’s been thirty minutes since you’ve been actively present in the conversation with the three grown men sitting at the conference table with you. At the head of the table is Tom “Iceman” Kazansky, the owner of the newly formed San Diego Dogfighters. At age 64, he’s aged gracefully since his glory days playing for the Boston Bruins and later, more famously, for the Anaheim Ducks, but not quite as gracefully as the man seated across from him. Pete “Maverick” Mitchell somehow still has the aura of pure charisma that he oozed through his lengthy, thirty-one-year hockey career. After an infamous stint with the Philadelphia Flyers in the eighties, he went on to play for the Anaheim Ducks for a whopping twenty-five years alongside both Iceman and the man sitting next to him. Beau “Cyclone” Simpson’s hockey career both on paper and in practice shows off his intense desire to be the next Iceman, but he seems to have fallen short. He followed Kazansky’s footsteps from Boston to Anaheim, taking a brief detour in Dallas on the way. And yet here he sits, the general manager for the Dogfighters.

The three of you are going through potential players who could be recruited, drafted, or traded for to create the roster for the new team. As the team’s PR representative, you don’t have much of a reason to be here but you’ve made yourself useful. One of your specialties is keeping meticulous records of the pasts and presents of your players and that means you run a killer background check. You’re here to evaluate the potential players based on their personal lives. Nobody wants to hire a PR nightmare, especially when you’re a new franchise.

This extracurricular project isn’t without its perks, however, just an hour ago you pitched the defensive duo of rookie Mickey Garcia and seasoned veteran Reuben Fitch currently signed with the New Jersey Devils. Mickey and you have been friends since you met in college at the University of Wisconsin. Ever since Mickey got drafted to the Devils, you’ve been doing your best at maintaining your friendship long-distance, so when you got a job with the Dogfighters, Mickey was your first call, and after several lengthy conversations, he and Reuben agreed to you offering them as a potential trade prospect. You’d presented your meticulously rehearsed pitch to the three men at this table and they’d agreed that the duo would make a good addition to the Dogfighters.

After your pitch, you’d let yourself relax mentally. It wouldn’t do you any good to relax physically in front of your bosses. You’ve already clocked the looks Cyclone’s been giving you since you showed up on your first day in one of your signature pastel suits. Today you’re wearing one of your personal favorites, a baby pink number. You needed the extra burst of confidence that it always gives you. You know what it takes to be a woman in this business but that doesn’t mean you have to become a man. You flaunt your femininity as much as you pride yourself in your poised and polished appearance. Your suits are colorful enough to draw attention to yourself, but not indecent enough to make that attention bad. You stand out and you’re proud to do so. Men may command the room with their deep voices and raging testosterone tantrums, but you can command one just as well without even speaking a word. Curious attention is still attention and that’s what matters most.

“Bradley Bradshaw? From Philadelphia?” Cyclone sounds dubious as he muses over Maverick’s pick. Then again, he tends to sound dubious whenever it comes to Maverick generally. “He’s getting a little old, isn’t he?” His eyes flick to you, prompting you silently. Your perfectly manicured fingers fly across the keyboard as you speak up.

“Bradley Bradshaw, left winger for the Philadelphia Flyers. He was scouted by them straight out of college, and has been playing for them and their AHL affiliate for a total of sixteen years.”

“He’s never played for any other teams?” Cyclone says, raising an eyebrow. He’s right to be surprised, it’s unusual for any one player to stay with a franchise for so long, let alone their first one. Sure, both Ice and Maverick played for the Ducks for over a decade but they signed to other teams first. They established themselves before they established a home.

“His father, Nick Bradshaw played the same position for the Flyers from 1984 to 1986.” You rattle off as your eyes scan the various articles you have pulled up. “At the same time as Maverick,” your eyes flick up from your screen to where Maverick is shifting uncomfortably.

“You played with his old man?” It’s a statement phrased like a question. Cyclone’s piercing green eyes join yours on Maverick.

“I did. Bradley’s my godson, actually.” You can’t stop your eyebrows from raising at that. That particular tidbit wasn’t in any of the articles you’ve been skimming. You want to scoff at how easily Maverick offers up the information. He’s making his intentions clear from the get-go. This is personal for him. You’d kept your cards as close to your chest as you could when you’d pitched Mickey and Reuben. To make it personal was to tank the pitch in your eyes. You were here to be objective and offer objective suggestions for the team. You wait for Cyclone or Ice to chastise Maverick and when neither of them moves to do so, you feel your brow twitch with irritation. The privilege of being a man. Men are rational, and even an emotional decision is still more reasonable than the most rational statement a woman can make.

“Zam, what else do you have on Bradshaw?” Zam, your nickname, is short for Zamboni. You were given it during your first experience with managing public relations for your college’s hockey team. Your job, much like that of a Zamboni, is to smooth things over, both on and off the ice.

“He’s squeaky clean, sir.” Your eyes are back on the busy screen of your laptop, fingers flying across the keys. “He’s known as an enforcer on the ice, but doesn’t seem to be prone to any kind of violence or erratic behavior off the ice. He’s a team player, and his teammates have nothing but good things to say about him.” You rattle off his stats next, projecting them onto the screen at the head of the table. Other than his age being on the older side, as Cyclone had noted, he isn’t the worst pick in the world by a long shot. You know the importance of having senior members on a team, they form pillars for the rookies to build around and Bradley is the model pillar player. He’s well-rounded and the perfect balance between being well-known, and not an outright celebrity. Bradley Bradshaw is an ideal choice for the Dogfighters.

“Alright Maverick, we’ll give the Flyers a call about Bradshaw first thing tomorrow.” And with that, Bradley Bradshaw is halfway to the San Diego.

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goldenseresinretriever · 4 months ago

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You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 11

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Bradley frowns in the mirror. He glances at his phone and frowns again. If he keeps this up he’s going to be late. The truth of the matter is that he doesn’t want to go. It’s Friday. It’s been a week since getting back from D.C. and it feels like it’s been a million years. He’d gotten used to it, waking up with you in his arms every morning. Every night this past week he’s had to stop himself from asking you to come over. He’d put the ball in your court, though. You’d asked him to pump the brakes so he had, and he’d promised to respect that.

On top of that, he hadn’t seen much of you this week. The two of you have been busy working nonstop since getting home early Friday morning. You’d both headed home half-asleep from the airport before having to be back first thing Saturday for a game versus Vancouver. The most time alone you’d gotten together was that Saturday morning when you’d called him into your office to sign the official paperwork that would make your relationship officially disclosed to the rest of the team. He smiles as he remembers your soft smile, shy as you signed your name next to his. He’d been sorely tempted to take you right then and there on your desk but he knew that was strictly off-limits and questionably unprofessional at best. He’d settled with a simple kiss to your cheek that had your skin heating under his lips in a way that he loves so much.

Saturday’s game was followed by two more home games on Tuesday and Thursday with Carolina and New Jersey respectively. It definitely didn’t help that yesterday’s game had been nationally broadcast which meant you’d been absolutely slammed with work and preparations all week. He also knows you went out last night with Mickey and some of his former New Jersey teammates.

It didn’t make missing you any easier. He doesn’t have time to call you but he does it anyway, putting the phone on speaker as he fixes his hair. It’s been too long since he’s gotten you all to himself and he’s feeling selfish tonight. You pick up on the third ring, your bright voice echoing around the empty bathroom as he smiles to himself, his mood already lifting. “Hi Bradley, what can I do for you?” He chuckles.

“What? I can’t call my girlfriend without wanting something from her?” It’s new, this label you’ve put on things. Actually, neither of you has yet to actually use the label but he likes the way it sounds in his mouth. He hears your breath hitch and he knows he’s caught you by surprise. Suddenly he’s wondering if he’s overstepped when your voice fills the room yet again.

“Your girlfriend?” Your voice is tentative and he wishes you were here so he could wrap you in his arms and chase away all your doubts with his lips.

“I know I didn’t sign an official form to be the guy you occasionally kiss and take spontaneous road trips with, Honey.” He hears you giggle and his smile tugs wider.

“Plus I guess it would be pretty awkward if you introduced me to your parents and I wasn’t your girlfriend.”

“Nah, I would have introduced you anyway. They would have loved you.” He says and sighs deeply as he looks into the mirror again. He doesn’t want to go to this dinner. He wants to invite you over and have your laugh bounce off the walls for real. He wants your warmth to fill every room of the apartment. He wants to sit you on the kitchen island while he cooks for the two of you and then he wants you to spend the night in his bed so your scent will be glued to his sheets until the next time he can coax you there.

“Any fun plans tonight, Bear?” Your sweet voice breaks through his thoughts and his lips twitch at the new nickname.

“Bear?” He hears you giggle again and smiles.

“Yeah, because you’re big and scary when you want to be but you’re also a secret cuddler and give the best hugs.” He can imagine the way your cheeks are heating as you continue to rain compliments on him. “And bears like honey.” You add matter-of-factly. This bear happens to love honey but he knows better than to mention that right now. “So? Any fun plans tonight?” He groans then as he’s reminded that if he doesn’t leave soon he’s going to be late.

“Dinner at Mav’s.” He doesn’t have to say anything for you to know exactly how excited he is for that.

“And how are you feeling about that?” You ask tentatively and he sighs.

“Honestly, Honey? It’s the last place I want to be right now. I’d much rather be having dinner with you.” He can’t help the admission as he lets it slip.

“That makes two of us.” Suddenly he really REALLY doesn’t want to go. “But that being said, I’ve had a migraine and hangover all day after last night.” You let out your own groan and a fond but concerned smile touches Bradley’s lips. He wants nothing more than to wrap you up and spoil you rotten. He can tell you’re exhausted and he wants to be one to take care of you.

“Get some rest, Honey, you’ve had a long week.” You groan again and Bradley hears paper rustling. His brows furrow as you confirm his suspicions.

“I’d love to but I’ve got a literal mountain of paperwork that needs to get done before I can leave. And then I have to go grocery shopping because there’s literally nothing in my fridge.” You let out a frustrated whine and Bradley’s about five seconds away from texting Maverick to cancel so that he can bring you here and dote on you. Unfortunately, his mother’s voice in his head takes that exact moment to remind him that Penny’s making dinner and while Maverick certainly doesn’t deserve his respect, she does.

“Tell you what, Honey.” He hears you hum in response. “Finish up your work and come over. I’ll give Tony my spare key and tell him to let you in. Order some pizza and get comfortable and I’ll be back before you know it.”

You’re silent for a long moment before you ask. “Bear?”

“Yes, Honey?”

“Do you have a tub?” He blinks, surprised by the question as he turns around and looks at the free-standing porcelain tub behind him.

“I do.” He hears some rustling from your end before you ask.

“Can I have a bubble bath?” His laugh echoes off the walls of the bathroom at your simple request.

“Honey, you can have whatever you want.” He replies and he’s surprised to find that he truly means it. He’d lasso the moon for you if you asked and he’s not even sure what you’d want it for in the first place. He hears your squeal of delight on the other end of the call and smiles as he imagines you here, in his space, the thing he’s been dreaming of all week. “Honey, I hate to cut things short, but I need to start heading over to Mav’s. I’ll see you after?”

“No problem, see you soon, Bear!” Your voice is much more cheery than he feels but he can feel your infectious attitude raising his mood. He hears the line disconnect and lets out a heavy sigh.

The promise of you waiting here when he gets back is what drives him to finish getting ready. He makes sure to give Tony the spare key and doesn’t miss the look the older man gives him when he tells him to expect the young woman from last week. His cheeks are still pink when he pulls out of the parking garage.

***

When Bradley finally sees the house he can’t help the disgusted sneer that pulls his lips. The house is huge, to say the least. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised, given Mav’s long and highly decorated career, but all he can think about is the house he grew up in. How the lawn was almost always overgrown while his mother was alive and the paint was almost always peeling off the sides no matter how much he tried to help with the upkeep when he had the time. Mr. Peterson from next door had helped out more often than not but Bradley remembers the feeling of the calluses on his mother’s hands when he held them, first as a small child and then later at the cusp of adulthood as she’d laid in the hospital near the end. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in his mother working, but he knew deep down that that wasn’t the life that she or his father had imagined for her when they got married.

Carole Bradshaw was Nick’s Princess, his Queen. He wanted to give everything in the world to her on a silver platter. And he’d been on the road to doing so. He’d made it all the way to the NHL, and he got to play on the regular roster. Things were looking up. Carole could focus on raising their son instead of struggling to make ends meet, filling the kitchen table with her delicious cooking instead of piles of bills that needed paying. It would have broken his heart to see how her life turned out.

They weren’t poor, not by any means. Bradley knew that as much as he knew that it was mostly due to the person whose driveway he was currently pulling into. Maverick had been nothing but generous when it came to money, but there were simply some things that money couldn’t buy and he didn’t seem to understand that from the limited conversations Bradley had had with him.

Bradley thinks back to Dare’s little bungalow that he’d visited barely a week ago. She’d coached the Pittsburgh Penguins to five Stanley Cup wins and yet she isn’t living in this state of excess. What disgusts him the most is that she should be. All of this should be hers too.

He tries to get his temper under control as he strolls up the walkway to the double doors. He hears barking coming from inside and when he rings the doorbell he does his best to smile back at Penny Benjamin. Penny Benjamin is a confusing situation for him. He knows that none of this is her fault, Mav abandoning his entire past and everyone involved in it, but it’s hard not to blame her when she’s here, living in Maverick’s McMansion with her pseudo-husband and dog. He leans down to scratch the ears of the elderly Labrador. “Bradley, glad you could join us, come on in.” He follows her inside, down hallways lined with photographs from over the years of Maverick, Penny, and a little girl who ranges in age across the various photos. “That’s my daughter, Amelia,” Penny explains when she catches him watching.

“Yours?” He asks before clarifying. “Just yours, I mean?” He can feel his cheeks heating as his mother’s voice chides him for asking such an inappropriate question.

She doesn’t seem ruffled, nodding. “Just mine, from my ex-husband. She’s probably around your age, she was barely a few months old when I met Maverick. He may not be her birth father but he’s the only one she’s ever known.” Bradley hates the bitterness that pools in his stomach at her words. The jealousy that he could have been the child in the pictures on the wall, doted on by his godfather who should have stepped into the role left vacant by the death of his father.

He’s doing his best to reign in his emotions as they reach the dining room, but it all goes to hell the moment he realizes he’s not the only guest at this dinner. Seated across from Maverick is none other than Dare. Bradley has to fight to keep his hands from curling into fists at his sides because the woman at the dining table is nothing like the one he’s seen before. Usually Dare is the picture of confidence without looking cocky. She knows what she’s doing and she’s not afraid to show it. She reminds him of you and the kind of woman that he’s sure you’ll grow up to be. Now that confidence is gone and Bradley’s fighting the urge to throttle the man that he’s sure is responsible. She looks unsure of herself and as uncomfortable as he feels to be here if not more. He immediately moves to take the seat next to her, keeping his eyes off Maverick as he does his best to assess for damage. He knows it’s probably nothing that he can see but he wants to because all he sees is his mother after a long day of carrying a burden that’s not hers to carry anymore. He can’t count the number of times he’s seen that face and it breaks his heart to see it now, on the face of someone who shouldn’t have to suffer but who is anyway. All because one self-centered fool can’t be bothered to get his head out of his ass.

Maybe he does it out of protectiveness, but maybe he does it out of pure spite, but he does it anyway. He wraps his arms around the older woman, the way she had done for him in her kitchen while he fell apart in his arms. He knows it’s nothing in the grand scheme of things, but he intends to make up for the sins of his godfather if he can. Be there for the person who was there for his mother, for him even if he hadn’t been able to fully appreciate it at the time. The way her body tenses under him at first is the only evidence of her surprise at the gesture but she reciprocates the hug and Bradley finds himself engulfed in a scent that stirs in his memory. He can’t draw a concrete image from it but he knows he’s smelt it before like these hugs aren’t something new just something forgotten. When Bradley finally breaks the hug to sit next to Dare, Maverick is looking at them, surprised.

“I didn’t realize the two of you were close.” He says awkwardly. Bradley knows he shouldn’t do it but there’s something so satisfying about seeing Maverick as uncomfortable as he and Dare are so he pushes.

“She’s my godmother, why wouldn’t we be?” Sure this thing with Dare was new but that didn’t negate the fact that she’d been around his whole life. And sure he was stretching the truth a little, but measured on a scale of Maverick’s involvement in his life? Dare was winning the godparent race by a landslide. Maverick’s eyebrows raise with surprise, and Bradley watches the confusion swirl in his eyes. He’s fighting the urge to smirk as he feels fingers brush his own and he laces them. His throat is rough as he feels the callouses on her palm and he wonders at how much her hand reminds him of his mother’s, the soft wrinkles on the back contrasted by the rough patches on the front.

Penny breaks the tension as he comes back into the dining room from the kitchen. “Bradley, can I get you something to drink?” He tears his eyes away from Maverick and stares at Penny for a beat too long before he mutters that water would be fine.

“So, why am I here?” Bradley asks once Penny has retreated to the kitchen.

“Dinner, I thought I told you,” Maverick starts before Bradley shakes his head.

“Not here at your house, here in San Diego.”

“Bradley, why don’t we wait until later to discuss-“

“No, we’re doing this now because I need to know.” He’s tired of dancing around the question that’s been plaguing him for almost six months now. Sure, he didn’t exactly regret the move now, but he wasn’t ready to just move on like nothing happened. “Not only did you uproot me from the team I’ve played for my entire career, but you made me leave my friends and my home. I deserve an actual answer as to why. And don’t you dare say you did it for me because if it was for me, you would have picked up the phone to ask me first instead of going behind my back.” In the back of his mind, he’s proud of how level he’s managed to keep his voice but at least part of that is due to Dare’s hand in his, squeezing tight in solidarity and grounding him.

Maverick shrugs like it’s a no-brainer. “I had the chance to work with you, so I took it. I thought it would be a good experience for us.”

Bradley feels all the fight drain out of him. All the pain that’s been caused and Maverick treats it like it’s nothing. Because to him it is. “What did you think? That I’d come to San Diego and suddenly I’d be ready to come over and drink beers and sing Kumbayah? What have I ever done to suggest that I would be interested in a relationship with you at all, professional OR personal?”

“Bradley, I’m your godfather-“

“BULLSHIT.” Bradley’s voice is raised finally as his emotion gets the best of him. “You may think you’re a god but you are certainly not my father. My father is dead, my DAD is dead, and you had every opportunity to step up and be there when I needed you. When my mom needed you. When WE needed you, but you didn’t.” He’s breathing hard. “That’s the thing that you just don’t seem to get. You don’t get to decide when I need you. You don’t get to be my godfather when it’s convenient for you and you’ve run out of hobbies to pass the time. I have a life! I have goals! None of which involve you. You don’t get access to my life just because of some title my dad thought you were worthy of. Because that’s just a word, you have to earn it.” Dare’s grip on Bradley’s hand is bordering on painful at this point but it feels good. It reminds him that he’s capable of feeling. The physical pain complements the emotional pain that’s threatening to tear the heart from his chest. He’s breathing hard and every part of him wants to leave right now. Except that he doesn’t want to leave Dare here. And he feels terrible about ruining Penny's perfectly good dinner. When it’s clear that Maverick isn’t about to argue any of the points that Bradley’s just made he stands and walks into the kitchen to cool off.

Penny’s filling a glass with water and passes it to him wordlessly and he drinks it, hoping to cool his head. “Sorry to ruin your dinner.” He says awkwardly as he fiddles with the glass. She shakes her head and takes the glass back from him, refilling it as she considers her words.

“You’re hurting Bradley, I would hate for something as simple as a dinner to cause you more pain.” He nods silently.

“My mom would be so disappointed with me right now.” He’s not sure why he admits it but it’s all he can think of as he looks around the kitchen at the plates of sides and cooling casserole dish on the counter.

“Really? Because if I was her I’d be proud of you.” He looks back at Penny, eyes wide with surprise. “You stood up to Pete, and told him your real feelings. You were honest with him even if it hurt you to do it. I don’t think that’s anything to be ashamed of. That’s brave.” She reaches up then and cups his cheek gently, a fond smile on her face. “I’m sorry that I didn’t push him more, to be a part of your life, to be there for you and your mom. I was selfish and I never meant for you to get hurt by that.” Bradley shakes his head.

“You were probably scared that he’d leave you too. It seems like that’s all he’s good for.”

“I was scared then, yes. And now I know that I shouldn’t have been because that’s not Pete, not really. He’s a complicated man and doesn’t always have the best judgment but he’s good under it all, I can tell you that much. It’s completely fair of you to not want him to be a part of your life, but if you ever decide otherwise? We’ll be waiting for you.” Bradley swallows hard, unable to look her in the eye. “Can I pack some dinner up for you, sweetie?”

He nods absentmindedly before adding. “Can you pack some for Dare too, I don’t want to leave her here.” Penny just nods and sets about getting out some Tupperware.

“I don’t blame you.” Bradley blurts out before he loses his nerve. “Just because I’m mad at Maverick doesn’t mean I’m mad at you. We choose who we love, we don’t choose who loves us.” She gives him a soft smile.

“That’s a good insight, Bradley.”

“It’s what my mom used to tell me.” He shrugs even as he feels the tears pressing against the backs of his eyes. Penny finishes boxing up two dinners and Bradley takes the two plastic bags from her as they go back into the dining room. “Aunt Dare, are you ready to go?” The words, although new, feel familiar in his mouth like a warm hug. She looks at him surprised and then her eyes fall on the bags in his hand and then shift to Penny who just smiles.

“We can reschedule for another day.” Dare nods and a silent conversation occurs between the two women as she stands and follows Bradley to the front door. Penny sees them out. Maverick still hasn’t gotten up from the table.

Once the front door closes behind them, Bradley and Dare walk to their cars in silence until they get to them. “Do you have any plans for the evening?” Bradley asks, tentatively. He knows you’re probably still at work since he’s barely spent thirty minutes here. He also knows you’d want him to do this instead of worrying about you. Dare shakes her head, still quiet, considering him. “What do you say we take dinner to your place?” She smiles gently and then wraps her arms around Bradley. He relaxes into her embrace.

“Thank you, Bradley,” she whispers into his hair and his heart clenches at the thickness of her voice. “Dinner sounds lovely.” She says as she lets him go. “I’ll meet you there.”

They get into their cars and Bradley follows Dare back to her place. He frowns to himself when he sees the overgrown yard. She lets them in and he excuses himself to the bathroom while she dishes up Penny’s food. When he gets back, he’s just about to sit down at the kitchen table when a shout from Dare in the kitchen makes him freeze.

“Maverick, get off the counter RIGHT NOW!” He whips around, expecting to see a man but instead, a burst of orange fuzz speeds out of the kitchen in a blur. Bradley follows the blur as it perches on the arm of the sofa, regarding him with yellow eyes. The orange cat is more fur than cat and looks fairly old despite how spry it clearly is. “Maverick Mitchell the Third, you know better to get on the kitchen counter.” Dare comes out of the kitchen, an unamused scowl on her face as she sets her hands on her hips and glares at the cat. “Can’t you see we have a guest?” The cat, Maverick, turns to regard Bradley curiously. “Bradley, that’s Maverick.” She says to Bradley, her scowl melting into a look of fondness. Bradley gives the cat a half-hearted wave, still recovering from the shock of the cat sharing a name with his godfather.

“He wasn’t here last time.” Bradley blurts out lamely and she chuckles, bringing out two plates.

“He was locked in my room. I didn’t know if you were a cat person and I didn’t want to appear too much like a crazy old cat lady.” Bradley smiles at that.

“You’re not old.” He points out.

“But still a crazy cat lady noted.” She smiles back and Bradley laughs, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

“Your words, not mine.” They laugh together and the tension from earlier seems to seep out of both their bodies. “So, you named your cat Maverick?” He says as they dig into the food. It’s delicious and he makes a note to mention it to Penny the next time he sees her. Dare nods thoughtfully.

“Pete was always just Pete to me. I hated that nickname, so I never used it. Then when I got the cat to fill the void it just felt right.”

“Maverick the Third?” He asks around a bite of chicken casserole.

She shrugs. “I’m old after all.” There’s a lull in conversation as they east before Dare speaks up again. “Thank you, Bradley, for what you did today.”

“I meant every word of it. I know you’re upset that you weren’t around more when I was younger but you’re here now and I want you in my life if you want to be.”

She smiles and he can see the shine of tears in her eyes as she says “I’d like that very much.” He scoots his chair closer and reaches his hand out to hold hers. The sight of her wedding ring still on her finger makes his heart ache subtly. He can’t right every wrong that she’s suffered, but he can do his best.

“Aunt Dare, do you have a lawnmower?”

***

A few hours later Bradley’s riding the elevator back up to his apartment, reeking of dried sweat and freshly cut grass. It's the last he could do but he’d felt the conviction to get it done tonight. Admittedly it had been a while since he’d cut grass but he figured it looked alright when he finished. The sun has long since sunk beneath the horizon and he hopes you haven’t been waiting for him too long. The idea of feeling you in his arms propels him out of the elevator and through the door. He could really use one of your hugs after the evening he’s had.

“Honey?” He calls out for you as he enters the apartment, but he’s met with silence. A glance by the door tells him that you’re here since your sneakers are lined up neatly. He walks down the hall. “Mom, I’m home.” He calls out the photo as he passes by, more preoccupied with finding you. A glance at the living room tells him that you’ve been there. A blanket is rumpled on the couch where you were clearly wrapped in it and a pizza box lies abandoned on the kitchen counter but there’s still no sign of you. He doubles back and checks the guest room first but it’s pristine. Remembering your request for a bubble bath, Bradley heads into the master bathroom and while the room is still sticky with humid warmth and the tub contains remnants of said bubble bath, you’re still yet to be found. He heads back to the living room and tries the balcony. He knows from your last visit that you enjoy the view. He walks the entire length of the wrap-around balcony but it’s empty.

He’s genuinely starting to worry for your safety when his eyes fall on the glass door leading into his bedroom from the balcony. Not even a week ago you stood where he does now, blatantly ogling him as he got changed for game night. Now it provides the answer to his quest. You’re curled up in his bed, facing the window. The lights are still on but by the steady rise and fall of your chest, he can tell you’re asleep. He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as he heads back inside, coming into his bedroom from the hallway. You’re indeed asleep, on the side of the bed you favored in D.C. As much as he wants to talk to you about the events of the evening he can’t bear to wake you when you look so peaceful. Stress doesn’t mar your features as you sleep and he begrudgingly trudges to the bathroom to shower before slipping in beside you. He knows he should wake you up, and give you the option to go home but he’s feeling selfish tonight so when he comes back to the bedroom to still find you sleeping soundly he turns out the lights and slides into the bed beside you. He’s resigned himself to staying on his side of the bed when you scoot your body up against his. He reaches for you instinctively, pulling you close and when you curl against him all is right in the world.

“Goodnight, Bear.” Your half-asleep voice murmurs as you drift between dreams.

“Goodnight, Honey.” He whispers back, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head as he lets the warmth of your body and the steady beat of your heart lull him to sleep.

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goldenseresinretriever · 4 months ago

Text

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 10

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Word Count: 4k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Warm. You’re so warm. You snuggle impossibly closer towards the source and you hear the low chuckle in your ear. “Cozy, Honey?” You hum affirmatively, still floating under the surface of sleeping and waking. “You want to go on an adventure today?” The voice is back, the low gravel scratching the insides of your ear and sending pleasant shivers down your spine and you bury your face in the warm cotton against your cheek, inhaling the woodsy scent that immediately settles your bones and you feel yourself falling back down into the inbetween. “Honey.” The voice is back and you feel the brush of lips and stubble against the sensitive skin of your ear, trying to squirm away, whining in complaint. He chuckles again and the arm around your middle tightens, holding you close. “Come on Honey, you wanna go on an adventure with me?” You give in and prop your chin on Bradley’s pec, pouting up at him. You’re sure you look an absolute sight, face puffy from the best sleep you’ve had in years and hair a birds’ nest but the look in his warm brown eyes is pure affection as he presses a quick kiss to the tip of your nose, making you wrinkle it.

“What kind of adventure?” Your voice is rough from sleep as you turn so your cheek is pressed to your cheek as you keep your eyes on his. His eyes sparkle with something you haven’t seen in them before.

“We have the day off,” he points out. “Let’s go somewhere.”

“Where?” You ask, a soft smile gracing your features at seeing this new side of Bradley. He looks excited for the first time since you’ve met him.

“Do you trust me?” You nod. “Then, let’s go.” You arch a questioning eyebrow. He responds by kicking off the sheets and you whine in protest, curling tighter against him for warmth as he scoops you out of bed, placing a kiss on your cheek and scattering every thought of protest from your mind. “Come on, Honey, you can sleep in the car.”

“The car?!” That wakes you right up. He shrugs as he carries you to the bathroom.

“I rented a car last night. Let’s get out of here.” He places you on the bathroom counter as he reaches for your toothbrushes, prepping them before passing you yours. “Unless you have other plans?” He asks and you shake your head as you brush your teeth. “Perfect, then let’s go.” You nod, mouth full of toothpaste and you think that you could get used to this even as you find yourself afraid. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to tell him no.

***

You feel your lips twitch into a ghost of a smile as you examine Bradley’s rental car. It’s a newer model, but it’s still a Ford Bronco, in a lovely grayish teal. “Bradley Brashaw, dare I say, you have a type.” You smirk at him as he pulls open the passenger door for you and he laughs as you climb in. He reaches over to buckle you in and you get another nose full of his cologne. Once he’s in the driver’s seat, he looks over to make sure you’re comfortable before pulling out of the parking lot of the hotel. You reach over to turn on the radio and the familiar sound of the piano at the beginning of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” fills the car. Your fingers freeze on the dial and you consider changing the station but Bradley’s voice stops you.

“Just a small-town girl, living in a lonely world. She took the midnight train, going anywhere.” He nods at you and you join in.

“Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit. He took the midnight train, going anywhere.” As the two of you sing along with Steve Perry you think about the last time you heard the song. It’s hard to believe that it hasn’t even been a week since Mickey, Bob, and you had ventured out to some cute little bar downtown that the boys had found during their first week in San Diego. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary but it was cozy and had Thursday night karaoke. Desperate to cheer you up after your panic attack, they’d dragged you out with the promise of free food and dancing. You remember climbing onto the bar as you crooned along to the music, feeling lighter than you had in a long time. You had friends who cared about you. You were in a new place, doing your dream job, with people who loved you. Everything is going to be okay. Back then you were hesitant about that statement, and in a way you still are, but as you sit in a car that smells unfamiliarly new, with a man who feels familiarly new, you’re sure that you’re happy.

***

At some point, the music and steady driving lull you to sleep and you don’t wake until your body registers that the car has stopped moving. You sit up, stretching, as your eyes adjust to the midafternoon sun streaming through the clouds. You glance around the empty car and then out into the parking lot of the Giant Food. You glance into your lap to see Bradley’s folded flannel has fallen there where it has to have been under your head. Your heart aches at the idea of him pulling over to tuck it under there so you wouldn’t wake up with a crick in your neck. The car isn’t too cold so you know Bradley can’t have been gone for long. You go to text him and ask if you should come in when you realize you don’t even have his number. Your laugh punctuates the comfortable silence. Then a chirp and click echo through the car and Bradley pulls open the door. “Hey, look who’s awake.” You give him a rueful smile as you toy with the fabric of his shirt in your lap. “You sleep okay, Honey?”

“I don’t have your phone number.” You blurt before you can think twice and he blinks, surprised before laughing and the warmth of the sound rumbling from deep in his chest chases away any of the cold he’s letting through the open car door.

“Yeah, I guess you don’t. Hold these for me?” He hands you a huge bouquet of daisies and you take them from him, the soft floral scent filling the car as you hold them while he climbs in beside you. When his other hand comes into view your heart aches in the best way as the second bouquet comes into view. The sunflowers light your face up the same way that they brighten the car. He hands those to you too as he buckles himself in and you inhale their scent, feeling warmth spread to the tips of your toes.

“Thank you, Bradley.” You say shyly as he looks over at you with your nose buried in the flowers.

“Of course, Honey. I’ll get you flowers whenever you want.” You feel your cheeks heat at his sweet words and he chuckles. “Here, give me your phone.” You shift both bouquets to one hand so you can pass it to him. He types on it before handing it back. “There, now you have my number, and whenever you’re ready, I’ll have yours.” You hold his gaze and you know he’s serious. You swallow hard before tapping the screen and Bradley’s pocket buzzes. He doesn’t break your gaze as he fishes it out, taking the call and raising it to his ear. “Hey Honey,” you raise your phone to yours.

“Hey,” you hate how breathless you sound. He smiles at you and you hope he doesn’t expect you to say anything else because you’re speechless. He hangs up the phone then, going to turn the car on and you struggle to breathe at the flex of his forearm. “So, where are we?” You ask as he pulls out of the parking lot, tearing your gaze away to the window as you look around for any sort of landmarks.

“Virginia.” He answers, nonchalantly. You whip around to gape at him.

“VIRGINIA?!”

“Well more specifically, Virginia Beach.” He still seems unphased as you continue to gawk at him. “Honey, I would stop gaping like a fish unless you want me to throw you into the ocean.” You shut your mouth, scowling at him.

“What’re we doing in Virginia Beach, anyway?” You ask, skeptically, as you turn back to the window.

Your breath catches in your throat as Bradley turns off the main road and your eyes fall on your apparent destination as it comes into view, the question dying on your lips. Bradley’s silent as the car passes under the wrought iron archway and along the paved path that leads to a mostly empty parking lot. You feel a lump in your throat as Bradley parks the car. You watch his hands grip the steering wheel as if for dear life before he finally lets it go and you see the afternoon sun dance off the sweaty prints he leaves behind. He climbs out of the car, coming around to your side and you’re frozen as he opens the door for you, holding out his hand for you to take. In any other situation you know it would be chivalrous but you know right now he needs you. You place the sunflowers on the dashboard, shifting the daisies in your arms so you can take his outstretched hand in yours. It’s sticky and clammy with sweat but you just give it what you hope is a comforting squeeze.

Bradley’s steps are hesitant as he leads you through the rows of headstones until you stop beside a pair of matching ones. They look like they haven’t seen much attention recently so you let go of Bradley’s hand as you reach out to sweep off the thin layer of grime on the top of one of them. You frown before handing Bradley the flowers, squatting down, digging in your purse for your tissues, and gently wetting them with your hand sanitizer as you carefully work to clean off the headstones. Your fingers drift over the names with reverence. Nick Bradshaw and Carole Bradshaw.

When you’re satisfied with the work you’ve been able to do, you stand, ignoring the crackle of your knees and you turn to take the flowers back from Bradley to see him watching you. Tears are sliding silently down his cheeks as you wipe your fingers clean. You see it then like you’re looking through a window into his very soul, the boy who stood here far too young the way you once had and you reach for his hands, tentatively. Just as your fingers brush his, he pulls you into his arms and lets out a shuddering breath as he pulls you against his chest. You wrap your arms around his middle, holding him as close as you can as you feel his shoulders shake. You hold him as he falls apart in your arms and when you look up, you see him watching you. Your own eyes are swimming with tears and as you watch his eyes fall to glance at your lips you realize that you were right. You’ll never be able to tell him no. You reach up then, planting your lips on his. It’s not a kiss, per se. Not really. Just another layer of closeness that the two of you are desperate for as the emotions overwhelm you. Neither of you moves to deepen it or pull away, you stand there, lips pressed together in silence, passing unspoken words between each other.

***

You’re not sure how long the two of you stand there until a shiver runs down your spine as the wind picks up and Bradley breaks the kiss, pulling you closer into his arms in an attempt to shield you from the cold. He digs around in the pocket of his coat, pulling out a beanie that he plops onto your head, making sure to pull it down to cover your ears. You give him an appreciative look as you wiggle out of his grasp even as he tries to pull you back. You wriggle free and dig into your pockets for the gloves he bought you before reaching for the flowers, sliding two daisies free. The first you place on his father’s headstone and you remember the family photo in his living room. Your heart aches at the thought of the ruddy-cheeky toddler standing here as his father was taken from him. “Thank you for being Bradley’s dad. You may not have gotten to see the man he grew up to be, but I know you’d be so proud of him.” You turn to Carole’s tombstone next and you feel your vision blur as you lay the next daisy on her stone. “Thank you, for raising a good man. He likes to pretend he’s not, but it comes through because you did such a good job. He must have been the luckiest person in the world to have you as a mom. And,...” you hesitate before continuing. “Thank you for showing him how to love because he’s teaching me every day, and I didn’t think I ever would again.” A sob breaks through your lips then because you wish you’d been able to meet her. The woman with the golden curls who had such a bright smile. You want to be strong for Bradley right now but now you just want your mother. You miss her. You really, truly, miss her. You just want to be able to pick up the phone and call her and hear her laugh again as she asks what she’s done to earn a call from her lovely daughter today.

You’re falling apart at the seams and all he does is pull you close. Your back is against his chest as you can’t tear your eyes away from the headstones and the wind tears at the two of you, pulling at your clothes and your heartstrings as Bradley and you cry together, letting the shared grief hold you together as you fall apart.

***

The sky is starting to pinken when the two of you finally start to make your way back to the car. The daisies have been left with Bradley’s parents as you leave the cemetery. The car is peacefully quiet as Bradley drives. Neither of you seems quite ready to talk about it yet so you don’t push.

“You okay if we make one more stop?” Bradley asks, finally, as he turns off the main road towards what looks like a residential neighborhood.

“Sure, of course.” You ignore how raw your voice sounds from crying but Bradley’s hand reaches across the console to hold yours. You’re quiet until he pulls up in front of a house. It's been painted a pale yellow but the pain is worn and faded, chipping in places. The fence looks freshly-painted and the yard looks maintained as the two of you climb out of the car. Bradley leads you up the path to the front door where he hesitates. You’re about to ask when a voice from behind the two of you causes you to turn.

“Bradley Bradshaw is that you?” The two of you turn around to see a little old woman standing at the fence a shocked look on her face as she takes in the sight of Bradley.

“Mrs. Peterson?” He asks, equally surprised. She gasps and shuffles up the path as he descends the stairs to meet her halfway. She reaches up to cup his cheeks as she takes him in. “After all these years?” She sighs as she looks him over. You linger on the porch awkwardly as you watch the sweet reunion. “You’ve finally come home, boy?” He nods, his voice thick with emotion as he answers.

“Just for a quick visit. I wanted to see Mom.” She pinches his cheek at that.

“She’d be furious that you were gone so long.” She says wistfully as she kisses the place where she pinched. “But, she’d be happy to have you home all the same.” She hugs him and he leans down so she can get a good grip around his neck. “John and I have kept the house up like you asked, and I get those Christmas cards you send every year.” She gives him a sweet look as she releases him, patting his cheek. “How long are you here for?” Bradley looks chagrinned as he explains,

“We have to be back in D.C. by tomorrow morning at the latest. She shakes her head a bemused smile on her cheek.

“You come back soon now, you hear me? And next time you’re staying for dinner.” He smiles and nods as she lets him go. Then she turns to you and you start in surprise as she fixes you with a warm smile. “And don’t you be a stranger either, you hear? I’m no fool. The first time this boy comes home in twenty years and it’s with a young lady.” She turns to Bradley and fixes him with a hard look. “You treat her right, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bradley promises and you smile before replying yourself.

“Don’t worry ma’am, he always does.” The two of them turn to you and you catch the warm affection in Bradley’s eyes as he looks at you. Mrs. Peterson leaves you then, walking back down the path and to the house next door. Bradley comes back up to the porch, taking your hand in his as he looks at the sides of the house.

“The house needs a fresh coat of paint.” He frowns.

“I can make some calls when we get back if you want.” You offer and he gives you a blinding smile before turning back to the front door. You see him hesitate and squeeze his hand gently. “We don’t have to go in if you’re not ready.” You know how hard this must be for him. Even getting this far has been a feat for him, one that you understand all too well. “How long has it been since you’ve been here?” You ask, trying to distract him from the task at hand.

“Twenty years.” He says, swallowing hard.

“Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters most.” You whisper back and he turns to look at you.

“Thank you, for coming with me.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” You assure him as you squeeze his hand again.

“I don’t think I can do it today.” He says finally and you nod.

“And that’s okay. We can come back, it’ll still be here.” You lean your head against his shoulder, gently. “Maybe in the summer? We can come back, go to the beach, maybe repaint the house ourselves. I’m sure it’s beautiful here then.” He nods, absently. “Should we go back?” You ask and when he nods again, you lead him back to the car. He doesn’t seem ready to drive yet so you lead him to the passenger side, taking the keys from the pocket of his coat.

You slide into the driver’s seat, typing something into your phone as you shift the car into drive. “Where are we going?” Bradley asks and you smile, turning to him.

“Do you trust me?” He nods, smiling absently at the echo of his words to you this morning and you set off.

***

You pull into the abandoned parking lot excitedly. In the summer you’re sure that it’s packed to bursting but with the clouds in the sky and the chill in the air promising snow there’s no one else out. Jumping out of the car you take in deep lungfuls of the salty air. It reminds you of home. Bridgeport is on the ocean too and it's been too long since you’ve seen the Atlantic Ocean. The giddiness takes over and you hardly wait for Bradley to follow you before you’re racing for the sand-covered walkway that leads to the beach. Your heels catch in the sand as you descend off a rickety set of stairs and you let out a laugh before bending to take them off. You pull off your socks before gasping at the cold sand under your bare feet.

“Honey, put your socks back on, you’re going to freeze your toes!” Bradley calls, voice firm but you let out a shriek-like giggle as you sprint off across the cold sand towards the water. “Honey!” Bradley calls you out but you keep running, silently daring him to chase you. You don’t look behind you until he’s scooping up up front behind and you let out a shriek. “Now where do you think you’re going, Honey, hmm?” He rumbles into your ear but you can hear the smile in his voice.

“To touch the water, obviously.” You pout up at him, blowing stray pieces of hair out of your face as he rolls his eyes.

“You absolutely are not.” He scolds and you squirm in his arms, trying to get free but he just tightens his grip and you’re not getting anywhere now. “You’ll freeze every single one of those pretty fingers and toes off.” You bat at his face and he catches one of your fingers in his teeth gently, not enough to hurt you. You stop your struggling and he releases the digit. “And where are the gloves I bought you.” You shrug, eyes dancing with humor. “Absolutely ridiculous.” He says, shaking his head.

“I wanna touch the water.” You announce and he shakes his head.

“You heard me, Honey, absolutely not. It’s going to be freezing.”

“I said I wanted to touch it, not go for a swim!” You argue and he takes a long look at your pouting face before he sighs and starts walking towards the water and you grin, knowing you’ve won. You lean up and kiss his cheek loudly and he rolls his eyes. When you get close enough to the surf he squats down, not letting you down and you reach down to touch the water. It is, indeed, freezing. A shiver runs down your spine and Bradly pulls you closer. He stands back up and jogs further up the beach where the water can’t reach and he sits down in the sand, you in his lap. He holds out one hand in silent request and you relinquish your socks to him as he reaches down with the other to rub your exposed toes, and you hiss as he warms them up before slipping your socks back on. You squiggle out of his lap as he lets your feet go and he scowls at you.

“Honey, where do you think you’re going?” You look back at him like he’s insane.

“Where do you think I’m going? We’re at the beach, we have to build a sandman!” He groans, getting up and following you as you scoot closer to the water but still staying far enough away that your socks stay dry. He’s carrying your heels now and watches as you squat down to make a small snowman out of damp sand. You pick around and find some shell fragments for eyes and start looking around for twigs to use as arms, when Bradley reaches past you, pulling two toothpicks from his pocket that you recognize from the pizza place. He pokes them into the sandman as makeshift arms and you let out a noise of approval. “When he washes away, he’ll bring us good dreams.” You explain. “But if you leave the beach without making one, you’ll have nightmares. At least, that’s what my mom used to say.” You have a rueful smile on your face as you turn to him. He nods in understanding before standing and reaching a hand out to pull you up after him. This time you don’t complain when he swings you into his arms, crossing the sand with you in his arms as the sun creeps down the sky towards the horizon.

As the two of you drive back to D.C. in the comfortable silence that you’ve come to associate with being with Bradley, Cyndie Lauper’s voice reminds the two of you that “If you're lost you can look and you will find me, time after time. If you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting, time after time.”

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goldenseresinretriever · 4 months ago

Text

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 8

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, dead parents, drunkenness, alcohol consumption, violence, sports violence, blood probably, angst, fluff, smut, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

You wake to the sound of the guys collecting their things as they prepare to get off the plane. You blink a few times, confused as to why there’s soft fabric against your cheek and you nuzzle the surface, trying to go back to sleep as Bradley’s voice in your ear pulls you out of your drowsy state.

“Time to get up, Honey.” You whine in protest and bury your face in the soft fabric and that’s when the familiar scent fills your nose and you remember what you’ve been sleeping on. You sit up immediately, cheeks heating as you see Bradley’s face, his lips turn into a soft smirk that’s part endearment and part teasing.

“Sorry,” you murmur and he shakes his head, dismissing your apology.

“It was an invitation.” He reminds you and then you realize your arm is linked in is his like you’d been cuddling it in your sleep and you’re embarrassed all over again. You try to slip it out but Bradley tightens his grip on it. “That one wasn’t an invitation, but not an unwelcome intrusion.” Your whole face feels warm. He finally releases your arm and you pull it back, trying to ignore how much you miss the warmth of Bradley’s body. You stand, stretch and a glint of light catches your eye and you follow the shine to a mortifying discovery. Your drool, glistening on Bradley’s sleeve. You yelp in embarrassment, instantly digging in your purse for tissues and grabbing Bradley’s sleeve to wipe your spit off the fabric. He watches you with an amused twinkle in his eye when you finally look up and meet his eyes. You desperately want to slap that cheeky smirk off his face. Instead, you stand up and start collecting your belongings.

Once again, Bradley refuses to let you carry your garment bag, not relinquishing it until you’re entering your shared hotel room. Sure, you’d shared a room with a guy before. Hell, you’d lived with Mickey for a year or two, but Mickey was like family. Bradley? Bradley is anything but. You cautiously enter the main space, letting out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding at the sight of two queen beds. Sleeping on Bradley’s shoulder on the plane is one thing, but sharing a bed with him is something else entirely. You’re not quite ready to cross that line yet.

You watch Bradley hang your garment bag in the closet as you set your purse and laptop bag down on the bed closest to the door. You perch on the edge as you take your laptop and clipboards out to check your schedule for the rest of the day. The boys have to head to the Avalanche’s arena for practice soon, and you’ll be tagging along to meet up with their PR rep to familiarize yourself with the interview schedule for tomorrow night. You haven’t even taken the time to temporarily slip off your heels and you’re already in full work mode. Bradley emerges from the bathroom and leans against the wall of the hallway. You feel his eyes on you as you scribble away, making note of important locations and timings on your clipboard so you don’t have to bring your laptop to the rink. He doesn’t feel the need to comment so you remain in comfortable silence until both your phones chime with a fifteen-minute warning before the bus leaves. You excuse yourself to the bathroom where you take a moment to pull your hair up into your signature ponytail. Examining your reflection in the mirror has you remembering that Cyclone once again called you by your mom’s name and you feel the itch to pull all your hair out. You’ve spent so long running from her memory and yet you always find yourself back at square one every time you stare too long in the mirror. There’s a knock at the bathroom door and you don’t respond, still locked in an intense staring contest with your reflection. You hear the knob turn and Bradley enters, your eyes flick to his in the mirror and a question lingers in their depth.

“Does it get easier?” Your voice is a whisper, like a breath that’s just managed to escape your lips. Something unreadable swirls in his eyes and his fingers twitch absently at his side and you feel the urge to lace them with yours. He hesitates for a moment before he nods.

“Eventually, yeah. At some point you’ll have lived longer without her than you did with her and then… then it feels… not easier but it doesn’t hurt as much.” You nod back, trying to wrap your mind around it.

“Do you miss them?” You know it has to be harder for him, he’s lost both his parents. You could call your dad right now if you just decided to pick up the phone.

“I never knew my dad. Well, I guess I did, but I don’t remember him at all. But my mom? I miss her every day.” He takes a deep breath and you reach your hand back, your fingers barely brushing his. “I used to wish I could forget her because I thought it would hurt less but now I know better. Trying to keep her alive isn’t delusion, it’s devotion. It’s not a crime to love the people we can’t hold anymore, it’s a blessing. There’s not a lot of feelings that can transcend death like that.” You take a sharp breath at the word as it passes through his lips. You almost envy the easy way he says it like it doesn’t hurt him anymore. His fingers brush back against yours and curl around yours. His thumb brushes across the back of your hand in soft, repetitive strokes and you squeeze his palm like it’s a lifeline. If you’re hurting him, he doesn’t let on, just continuing to hold you like an anchor as your heart is buffeted along on stormy seas.

You stay that way, watching each other through the mirror until a firm knock on your door makes you jump. Rather than dropping Bradley’s hand, however, you pull it closer, startled by the knocking that serves as a last call for the bus. “We should go.” You sound out of breath and Bradley nods, but neither of you makes a move to let go. He squeezes your hand firmly before letting go to grab his gear and you’re breathing heavily as you do your best to dismiss the heat in your cheeks.

***

You’re exhausted. You’ve spent the whole day coordinating with Colorado’s PR to make the preparations for tomorrow’s match and all you want to do is get back to the hotel and go to bed. You trudge out to the bus where the guys seem to be in better spirits. You overhear them making plans to hit the town tonight and it only makes you more tired. You’re climbing onto the bus when your heel catches in the ridges in the step and you feel you lose your balance and you’re too tired to stop your fall, resolved to your fate in face planting when a firm grip on your waist catches you, hoisting you back to your feet.

“You okay, Honey?” Bradley’s gruff voice tickles your ears and you fight the urge to melt back against his solid chest that you can feel behind you.

“Just peachy,” you mutter as you find your footing and kick your heels off. You’re exhausted and couldn't care less what people think right now. You bend down to scoop them up but freeze as your butt brushes against Bradley’s crotch. Your cheeks heat instantly as you stumble forward at the same time that Bradley stumbles back as if the contact had burned you both. You decide against an apology and simply scoop up your shoes and all but sprint onto the bus. You collapse into an empty seat, but your relief is temporary as Bradley sits down next to you. “I… I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.” You blubber and Bradley just reaches up to guide your head against his shoulder like he did this morning.

“Rest, Honey.” The command is simple but effective because you’re pretty sure you fall asleep before the bus even leaves the parking lot.

***

When you wake up, you’re horizontal. You blink the sleep from your eyes in confusion and your eyes adjust to the lack of light in the room. You’re still in your dress but you’re no longer on the bus. You run a hand across the bedspread absently as you focus on the twinkle of city lights outside the window. They cast the room in a dim light along with the lamp in the corner. It had been early evening when you’d left the stadium, the sky just beginning to pinken but now it's pitch black. The clock on the bedside table tells you that you’ve been asleep for around two hours. Your eyes fall on the lamp by the window that’s illuminating the chair where Bradley’s sitting, reading a book. You swing your legs over the side of the bed, sitting up and stretching and he looks up. You think you imagine the way his eyes roam your body as you arch it, banishing the sleep from your limbs.

“Sleep well?” You nod as you continue to stretch out your limbs. You’re dying to change into your pajamas and few yourself of the stiff material of your dress.

“How’d I get up here anyway?” You ask as you pad over to the window and take in the view of the city.

“I moved you with my mind.” You turn to look at him surprised to see a bemused smirk on his lips.

“Very funny. You didn’t have to carry me, you know.” He simply shrugs in response.

“You were clearly tired and you didn’t seem like you were waking up anytime soon.” You nod quietly, hoping that the dimness of the room hides the heat climbing your cheeks.

He stands, stretching in a mirror of what you’d just been doing and you let your eyes wander as his muscles ripple under the simple black t-shirt that he’s wearing. “Shall we head out?” He asks simply and you can’t help the way your stomach drops in disappointment.

“Out…?” You ask weakly.

“Yeah, it’s still early.” He glances at the clock. “Get changed.” You suppress a groan of frustration.

“It’s the night before a game, you can’t drink.” You argue and he arches an eyebrow.

“Who said anything about drinking? I’m talking about dinner.”

“Oh.” Your response is punctuated by your stomach letting out a loud growl and Bradley gives you a pointed look. “Fine, fine, let me just touch up my makeup and I’ll be ready to go.”

“You’re not going to change?” He arches an eyebrow as he follows you towards the bathroom, pausing at the closet to remove a long coat. You sigh.

“I don’t have anything except my clothes for tomorrow and my pajamas so this is going to have to do.”

“Well at least grab your coat.” You nod, stepping past him to grab it from your garment bag. You dig through the collection of suits you’ve brought and realize you’ve made an error. Letting out an exasperated groan, you lean your forehead against the frame of the door. You abandon the closet to the bathroom to touch up your makeup. When you’re ready you grab your purse and join Bradley where he’s waiting by the door. He looks up from his phone, a frown instantly creasing his forehead. “Honey, where’s your coat?”

“In my closet back in San Diego, apparently.” You shrug as you cross your arms across your chest defiantly. Bradley sighs and shrugs off his coat, handing it to you but you shake your head. “I’m a big girl, Bradley, I’ll be fine.” He gives you a skeptical once-over.

“Honey, you’re wearing a dress that doesn’t reach your knees and barely has sleeves.” He reaches out to run a knuckle along the sheer fabric of your sleeve to accentuate his point. You suppress a shiver at the feel of his finger through the fabric. You scoff softly, reaching down to pinch the fabric of your flesh-toned tights pulling it away from your legs as Bradley’s eyes widen.

“I’m perfectly fine.” You give him a firm look and he just shrugs, tossing his coat over his arm instead of putting it back out.

When the two of you get outside you understand why because you’re shivering as soon as the night air hits you. Bradley sighs in exasperation as he drapes his coat around your shoulders. It’s comically large on you but at least it’s warm. Your eyes train on his now bare arms and you frown at him. He seemed unbothered by the cold. “Aren’t YOU cold?” He gives you a pitying look.

“Honey I spent half my life in Virginia and the other half in Pennsylvania, this cold doesn’t bother me.” You pout up at him, following behind him as he makes his way down the street.

“I’ll have you know I grew up in Connecticut and then went to college in Wisconsin.” You have to scamper behind him to keep up while holding onto the coat so it doesn’t fly away or fall off and he notices, slowing his stride so you can keep up.

“Could have fooled me.” He replies and you grumble at him. The two of you are waiting for a crosswalk when he eases the fabric of the coat off your shoulders and you whimper as the wind cuts through the sheer material of your sleeves and you whimper at the loss as he slides the coat back on before holding it open in invitation. You’re too cold to argue and you curl against his side. Even in the November air, he’s as warm as a furnace.

The two of you continue walking like that in comfortable silence as Bradley occasionally checks his phone. Finally, you stop in front of what looks to be a pizza place. He holds the door for you and you scoot out from his coat into the warm interior of the restaurant that is indeed a pizza parlor. A sign encourages you to seat yourself so you beeline for a cozy booth in the back. You’re with an NHL player, you may be off the clock but you know better than to sit by any windows. “Not a fan of windows?” Bradley asks as he sits across from you.

You shrug. “I am, but so is the paparazzi.” He raises his eyebrows in surprise like this is the first time he’s considered that. A waiter comes by and takes your drink orders while providing you with menus. Bradley orders a basket of garlic knots without even glancing at the menu and you set your menu down as the waiter leaves, fixing him with a curious stare.

“Have you been here before?” He nods, picking up his menu to peruse it.

“Me and a couple of my teammates used to come here every time we were in Denver.” He explains and you try to hide your surprise. You’re aware that the Bradley you’re seeing here is very different from the one that played for Philadelphia but it’s hard for you to imagine Bradley willingly going out for dinner with his teammates.

“You could have invited some of the guys to come with us.” You suggest and he shrugs.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet.” OR IF THEY’D WANT TO COME. You can basically hear the unspoken words that float in the space between the two of you. “Maybe next time.” He resolves half-heartedly.

“Well, maybe it’s better that you just brought me.” You point out as you turn back to your menu. He looks up from his at you. “That way if it sucks, you can keep your dignity.” He scowls at you.

“It won’t suck.” You shrug nonchalantly, a playful smile dancing at the corner of your lips.

“That remains to be seen.”

***

The pizza doesn’t suck, in fact. It might be the best pizza you’ve ever had. You end up letting Bradley order since he’ll probably know what’s best and he delivers in spades. You feel warm from the inside out after stuffing yourself with hot cheese and bread. You sit back, a sated smile on your face as Bradley polishes off the last of the pizza.

“Did it suck?” He asks, a soft smirk on his face as he regards you practically boneless in the booth across from him. You shake your head. “Use your words, Honey.” His voice is low and gravelly and a shiver runs down your spine.

“I think that was the best pizza I’ve ever had.” You fall silent again before you continue. “I think we should move to Denver.” He chuckles at that.

“You’d never survive the cold.” He points you and you glance out the window, frowning absently.

“I absolutely could.” You pout at him. “I’ve lived in the cold before, remember? Plus I used to skate, I’d be fine.”

“Even if you would, you shouldn’t. The sunshine suits you.” You feel your cheeks heat at the offhand compliment. The two of you stare at each other for longer than what you’re sure is deemed appropriate until the waiter comes back with the bill. You reach for your purse but Bradley’s already handing the waiter his credit card. He waves aside your protests. “You came with me, you paid with your company.”

“So I’m a prostitute now?” You arch an eyebrow and Bradley rolls his eyes standing and extending a hand to you.

“I don’t know what universe you live in, but I pay my prostitutes.” He says matter-of-factly as he helps you to your feet. You release his hand and waggle your outstretched palm at him.

“Tens and twenties will be fine.” You grin and he snorts.

“Honey, you’re worth hundreds, don’t sell yourself short.” Your face heats up again and your heart is threatening to beat out of your chest.

You swallow hard and lead the way out of the restaurant. Bradley follows behind you and once you’re back out in the cold, he tucks you back into his coat under his arm. The two of you walk in silence for a bit until you reach the hotel. Once you’re in the elevator, you break the silence. “Does that make Cyclone my pimp?” Bradley groans and pulls you tight against his chest and you let out a squeal of surprise.

“Cyclone needs to stay the fuck away from you.” He practically growls into your ear and you shudder against him. It’s starting to become too much, the compliments, the teasing, the warmth of his body against yours, the way his breath fans across your ear as he growls into it.

“Or what,” the words pass out of you like they’ve been knocked out of your lungs with all the air when he pulled you close.

“Or else I’ll make him.” Bradley’s voice is no less rough as he once again rasps against the shell of your ear. Another shiver wracks your body and Bradley pulls you impossibly closer. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest through your back. “Always shivering, Honey, what’s got you feeling so cold?” He rasps, his fingers rubbing warming circles against your sides and you have to hold back a moan. The elevator doors open, saving you from answering as Bradley herds you to your door. You fumble to free your purse to find your keycard as Bradley plucks his from the pocket of the coat and unlocks the door, and the moment you hear the click he’s pulling you inside.

Before you can escape his arms, he’s crowding you against the door, face-to-face at last. His deep whisky eyes search yours for something and then he presses his forehead to yours and your breath catches. You’re sure he felt it against his own given that you’re practically sharing air. “I asked you a question, Honey.” He whispers and you hear yourself whimper in response. You watch Bradley’s eyes darken at the sound and he lets out a groan. His hand reaches up to cup your cheek, devastatingly gentle even as his beautiful irises are swallowed up by black. He strokes your cheek, waiting for you but the words have died on your lips so you simply surge forward, planting your chapped lips on his.

He kisses you back with a ferocity that almost brings you to your knees. Even amidst the desperate press of your lips, you feel the gentleness in his touch and his words come back to you. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” You whimper against his lips as his tongue darts out, asking for entry that you grant him greedily. When Bradley’s tongue sweeps into your mouth your legs do actually give and you feel his arms drop to pull you close. They wrap around your waist and as you kiss him with a matching amount of ferocity you feel him squeeze your thighs gently and you jump, letting his hands shift to grab full handfuls of your ass and you moan into his mouth. He presses you back against the closed door and you blindly grind your hips against his torso causing him to groan against you. He finally breaks the kiss and you whine at the loss even as he presses your foreheads together again.

“Honey, before we go any farther I need to know that you’re okay with this, and kissing me doesn’t count. I need your words, pretty girl.” You whine again nuzzling your nose against his.

“Bradley, need you,” you’re so out of breath that you barely manage the “please.” You try to grind yourself against him but his grip tightens, holding you in place. Your brows furrow in frustration and you pout at him. But he simply places a soft kiss on your lips before carrying you across the room to his bed.

Rather than drop you, he lays you down almost reverently, keeping you close and you relish in the warmth coming off him in waves. You reach up, pushing at that damned coat of his and he lets go of you to shed it. Before he can get his hands back on you, you’re pushing his t-shirt up, exposing his golden skin that makes no sense since he’s always lived where it’s cold. Your mind conjures up the image of him in his underwear on his balcony under the San Diego sun and you let out another whine. Bradley chuckles, taking the hem from you and yanking it over his head, shaking his dark curls free as he tosses the shirt somewhere behind him.

You don’t know everything, but you know plenty about men. The only thing they care about is their pleasure. If you get off in the process it’s an added bonus but it’s not their goal. If you want pleasure, you have to take it yourself. Over the years you’ve gotten good at it. If they want to play the game, you can play too.

Then he’s back down on you, fiddling with the belt on your dress and your hands are right next to his, pulling it open and squirming to pull it free, tossing it to the side. You’re ready to rip off the stupid buttons of the dress but Bradley takes your hands in one of his, kissing them before planting them above your head. You squirm but his hold is tight and you relax against the bed as his other hand reverently undoes the buttons one by one until they're all undone and all that’s standing between him and your body is the blue fabric. He meets your eyes with his and your heart stops. Even through the darkness swallowing the familiar brown, you can see what could be his heart, served up on a silver platter for you and it's foreign. No man’s ever looked at you like that, especially in bed.

You swallow hard, leaning as far up as his hand on your wrists will let you and kiss him deeply, sliding your tongue into his mouth. It’s messy and frustrated and when his grip loosens on your wrists you pull them free, threading them through those damn curls of his, pulling him closer. You’re practically grinding your mouth on his as you push up and flip your positions, pushing Bradley’s body beneath yours as your dress falls open in the fray. You kick it aside as you clamber onto Bradley’s lap.

You finally break the kiss and Bradley’s cheeks are ruddy with exertion and for a moment he looks like the boy he probably once was instead of the bear of a man that he’s become. His hands come up to grip the flesh of your hips, massaging it as they slide up to cover your lace-covered breasts. The pressure is heavenly and you let out a moan as he squeezes and palms the sensitive flesh. He reaches behind you, unclasping your bra and Bradley casts the fabric aside, hands returning to grope your bare skin. Your eyelids flutter shut in pleasure at Bradley’s ministrations. He pinches a peaked nipple and you let out a whine of desperation, shifting your hips against the rough fabric of his jeans, searching for friction. When his rough tongue laves over the angry skin, you release a shaky breath as Javy’s words come back to you again. You let out a shudder as the weight of your feelings crash into your rib cage at the same time that Bradley’s teeth scrape against the sensitive skin. You’re pulling away from him then, sliding down his body to kneel between his knees. You must be losing your edge if you’re so easily melting under his touch. The control you’re so used to having in situations is slipping out of reach and you need to take it back. His arms reach for you, to pull you back to him, perhaps to wring more pleasure from you, but precedent says otherwise. There’s no way that’s what he wants. What good would it do him?

“Condom.” You rasp and you hate how desperate and wrecked your voice sounds. “Do you have a condom?” He pushes up on his elbows, nodding, sweat sticking a few curls to his forehead and looking like a disheveled god.

“In my wallet, in my jeans.” You nod quickly, undoing his belt and sliding your fingers into his both waistbands, peeling down his jeans and underwear at once. You fumble for the wallet in the pockets, tossing it to Bradley as you come face-to-face with his cock. The outline you’d seen last night didn’t do it justice. You reach out to grasp the angry red flesh and give it an experimental stroke that has Bradley throwing his head back even as he passes you the condom. You tear the wrapper with your teeth gracelessly, rolling it down his considerable length. The length isn’t what you’re worried about though. Bradley’s cock, like the rest of him, is large, more specifically, wide, and girthy. You swallow hard but refuse to lose your nerve. You crawl back over his body, looking up to see his deep brown eyes watching you, searching for something you can’t decipher. They harden suddenly, his familiar stubbornness rearing its head. “Easy Honey, you’re not ready for that yet. Need to work you up to that, c’mere.” Well, that’s new. You’ve never had a guy question whether he would fit, that’s usually saved for your internal monologue and every single time your nerves are wrong. Your body was made for this, you’ll be fine. That much you know.

He reaches for you but you dodge his grasp, positioning your hips over Bradley’s, bringing your hands down to move the crotch of your soaked panties to the side and guiding Bradley’s length into you.

The air is knocked out of your lungs as you sink down on him. The angle is brutal and unforgiving as your body stretches to accommodate him. You’re not sure if you cry out but suddenly Bradley’s hands are on your arms. He’s sitting up as much as he can without shifting his cock in you, potentially causing you more discomfort. There’s evident worry and frustration in his wide eyes as he searches your face. “You crazy girl, what were you thinking?” You can’t do much more than let out a stuffed whimper because you feel so goddamn full. You’ve never felt so full in your life. Then Bradley’s arms are lifting you and your hands go to his shoulders immediately, nails digging into the skin there as he eases you off of him. Going from being so full to being empty is like a shock to your system and you hold onto Bradley like he’s the only thing keeping you from spinning off your axis. He carefully arranges you in his lap, strong arms wrapping around you, grounding you as you bury your face in the skin of his chest, relishing in his familiar scent. This is completely new territory for you so you latch onto the one thing you know for sure. You feel safe in Bradley’s arms.

“Honey?” His voice is soft, and tentative as he calls for you and you turn to look at him, resting your chin on one of his pecs. “You okay?” He asks, reaching a knuckle to brush across the apple of your cheek. “Did I hurt you?”

“I’m not sure.” You admit, heat rising in your cheeks. “Can I check?” His words are soft and once again he surprises you. He’s worried about your discomfort, your pain. Even while he’s probably not feeling too well himself. You can still feel Bradley’s cock, painfully hard against your thigh and you feel guilty. You nod, hesitantly and Bradley lays you down on the bed again.

This time he’s the one sliding down your body. His eyes ask permission when he reaches your panties and you nod again. He slides the scrap of lace down your legs before gently spreading your thighs. You feel overwhelmingly exposed and make to close your thighs in embarrassment. His strong hands stop you and your breath hitches as he presses a soft kiss against the skin of your hip.

This is all new territory for you. Sure you’ve sought your own pleasure but you’ve never actually had a man down there. The last time you’d been in a relationship that would have even entailed that kind of intimacy, you’d both been young and inexperienced, stumbling around each other’s bodies with no idea what you were doing. Your breath hitches again as Bradley’s hands shift to your inner thighs, spreading you even wider, exposing your soaked core to his gaze. His hands are steady, familiar as they spread you open and you have to fight a moan. His brows are furrowed as he examines your exposed flesh. “Does any of this hurt?” He asks and you’re yanked back to the reason that he’s down there in the first place and you shake your head. He gives you a pointed look and you swallow.

“Sorry, no, no it doesn’t. I think I’m okay.” He takes your words, nodding as he considers them. Then you’re arching off the bed as his tongue licks a stripe up your spread slit. You don’t recognize the sounds you’re making as you gasp for breath. Your vision swims with pleasure and your body is scrambling to keep up as Bradley, seemingly pleased with your reaction, dives into your pussy like a man starved. You feel you’re unraveling at your very core. You’ve never felt pleasure like this. Not at your own hands and definitely not at the hands of any man. The sensations are so intense that you don’t even notice the telltale signs of your orgasm until Bradley eases a thick finger past your weeping entrance and you’re cumming, harder than you ever have in your life. You think you might be sobbing, babbling a chorus of his name. Bradley doesn’t let up, letting you ride out your orgasm as he pumps that finger in and out of you.

Eventually, it becomes too much and you whine from overstimulation and he stills the finger in you as he crawls back up your body. His other hand brushes away the sweat-soaked strands of your hair that cling to your face as he places a sweet kiss to your lips.

“You okay, Honey?” You try to answer him verbally, you really do, but your lips can’t form the words so you nod weakly. He chuckles softly, peppering your cheeks and jaw with soft kisses. You feel like you’re floating outside your body and then his finger is moving again. You whine in pleasure despite your exhaustion and he murmurs sweet praises against your skin between kisses. “That’s it, such a good girl for me. Taking my finger so well. Gotta stretch you out baby, so you can take my cock.” You moan at his words and he eases a second finger into you. You gasp at the sensation as he scissors them, stretching your body with a gentle precision. Then he’s curling them, and you see stars. If you weren’t so fucked out, you’d probably have laughed at how easily he found a spot that every other man you’ve ever been with hasn’t been able to.

Before you know it, you’ve reached your climax again, grasping and gripping his arms to ground yourself as you unravel at the edges. He kisses you through it and you can taste yourself on his lips and tongue. “Hey Honey,” he whispers once you’ve come down and you whimper in response. “Think you can take my cock now or are you too tired, baby?” His knuckles stroke against your cheek and you gaze at him, a look of awe on your face. He’s wrung two orgasms out of you, all without finding his own pleasure and he’s giving you the option to stop? His erection has to be causing him more than just discomfort at this point and yet he’s willing to stop. You feel tears swim at the edge of your vision as you shake your head.

“No, need you, Bradley. Need to feel you.” You reassure him, coaxing him to take his pleasure. He rolls so he’s propped over you, and then he’s easing into you, ever so slowly, his brow furrowed with the effort of holding back as he searches your face for any hint of pain or discomfort. He’s right, though. He’s stretched you out and while you still feel ridiculously full, you don’t feel the way you did earlier. Bradley’s got you, he’s going to take care of you. He’s proved that he wants to and he can.

At the first roll of his hips, the two of you let out strangled groans. Your hands find purchase on his muscles shoulders, already marked from your earlier endeavors and you hold on, riding out the waves of pleasure that he draws out of you as he finally chases his own end. The room is filled with the sounds from your mouths and your bodies as you meld together, both working toward the same goal. Bradley takes you by surprise as he snakes his hand between your joined bodies and when the pad of his finger finds your clit, your head falls back against the bed. Even now, he’s concerned with your pleasure. You didn’t think you could cum again but Bradley’s proving you wrong as your body goes limp on the bed, and he chases his high. Minutes later he’s collapsing beside you, careful not to crush you beneath his weight as the two of you lay in silence, only the racing of your hearts and the staccato of your breath punctuating the silence.

You’re not sure how long you lay there in silence until he eases his cock out of you and you whimper at the emptiness. He’s removing the condom and throwing it away, retreating to the bathroom. As you wait, alone, the weight of what you’ve just done sinks in. Javy’s voice comes back to you then and shame washes over you. “Best case scenario you fuck one out, your feelings go poof.” That’s the problem. Your feelings haven’t gone anywhere. If anything, they’ve just gotten stronger. What if that’s not the case for Bradley? Suddenly you feel so alone, lying bare on his bed. You’ve never felt like this before and you’re overwhelmed. Before you know what you’re doing, you’ve bolted upright, and you’re pulling your underclothes on, grabbing the robe from the closet and wrapping yourself in it, the door to your room clicking shut behind you before you can think about it anymore.

Your mind is racing as you struggle to remember the room assignments. You pray you’ve got the number right as you dash down the hallway and bang on the door.

Javy swings the door open, a smirk on his face until he takes in your appearance and it instantly fades into concern and anger. “Did he hurt you?” His voice is hard, protective in a way you’ve never heard from him before. You shake your head. “No, no, I just… can I come in, Javy, please?” His gaze rakes over your trembling frame once more before he moves out of the way, and you dash into the empty room. Earlier today after the roommates had been reassigned, Javy had drawn the long straw, getting a room to himself and he’d been gloating all afternoon. Now you’re secretly thankful that he couldn’t shut up about it. You’re standing in the middle of the room, awkwardly trembling as he comes back in. He directs you to sit on the made bed while he perches on the one he’d clearly been occupying. You perch yourself on the edge, making sure the robe keeps you covered.

“Okay Zam, can you tell me what’s going on, sweetheart?” He clearly doesn’t believe your earlier statement about Bradley.

“We had sex.” You blurt, ripping the bandaid off. “And, and you said that if we fucked one out that the feelings would be gone but mine didn’t, they actually got WORSE and I don’t know if Bradley’s are gone and I just-“ you stifle an exhausted sob that threatens to break free.

“Oh sweetheart,” the hard look on his face has melted into a softer expression. “That only applies when the feelings are just lust, and maybe they were at first but something tells me both of you feel a lot more than that.” You blink at him, shock running through you. The sob breaks free and then there are tears running down your cheeks. “Where’s Bradley?” He asks, gently.

You shrug. “He went to the bathroom and I had a chance to think about what just happened and I freaked out so I ran.” His eyebrows go straight up.

“And you don’t think he’s probably freaking out now that he can’t find you?” Your wet eyes widen and you realize what it looks like from Bradley’s perspective.

“Oh my god, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to hurt him.” You’re crying harder now, the exhaustion catching up to you and Javy reaches out to take one of your hands in his.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay, Zam, I promise. Why don’t you calm down and get cleaned up in the bathroom, and I’ll go talk to Bradshaw? I’ll grab you some pajamas and anything else you need and you can sleep in here tonight.” You nod as you sniffle, tears still streaming.

“Zam, you know you’re safe here, right? I’d never do anything to hurt you, you know that?” Your heart aches at the sincerity in Javy’s voice as you nod.

“I know. You’re not actually interested in me, I know that.” You give him a watery smile at that as you shrug. “You call me sweetheart, but that’s what you call your sisters.” You see the surprise cross his face.

“Well damn, Zam, you’re good.” He chuckles, reaching out to ruffle your wayward hair. You give him your room number and retreat to the bathroom to clean yourself up.

***

When Bradley comes back from the bathroom, confusion mixes with dread as he sees the empty bed. He’s got a warm, wet washcloth in his hands, intending to help you get cleaned up but you’re nowhere to be seen. Your dress is still crumpled on the floor but your undergarments are gone. Was it not good for you? Usually, he thinks he’s good at reading emotional cues during sex, but it has been a while. He’d have thought that after three orgasms you would have been satisfied. The blissed-out expression on your face when he left for the bathroom had suggested that you were. He pulls on his underwear and sits on the edge of the bed, confusion warring in his brain. What could have possibly caused you to bolt? He’s not left wondering very long when a knock at the door jolts him out of his thoughts. He crosses the room quickly, swinging the door open without a second thought, expecting to see your face but instead he’s met with an unexpected surprise. Javy Machado is standing at his door.

He schools his expression immediately, regarding the other man warily. “Look man, before you say anything, she’s okay.” Bradley lets out a breath he doesn’t know he’s been holding even as confusion clouds his mind. How does Javy know that? Did you go to him? Why? Suddenly he’s seeing the two of you at game night, Javy’s arm around you on the porch and him pulling you into his arms later. He stiffens. Is Javy your boyfriend?

“Okay, I can already see the wheels turning so I’m gonna go right out and say we’re not dating, we’re not anything. Just friends. Yeah, I flirted with her but I just wanted to rile you up, it seemed fun at the time. And I have no idea why she came to me, but she’s freaking out and I wasn’t about to turn her away.”

Bradley’s heart aches at the idea of you feeling scared all alone. He silently curses how long he waited for the sink water to warm up. “Look, maybe it’s not my place, but she likes you man, like a LOT. And I think it’s freaking her out. I don’t know why, I don’t really know anything about her personal life, that’s Mickey’s area of expertise but as an older brother, it looks like she’s having trouble managing the size of her feelings and she’s tired on top of that. I’m gonna let her sleep in my room. If you’re worried about me trying anything, I would never but I can sleep in here if you’re really worried about it. She was freaking out so I said I’d come talk to you and get some of her stuff.”

Bradley wants nothing more than to storm over to Javy’s room and scoop you into his arms. He wants to hold you together as you fall apart but if that’s what you wanted you wouldn’t have run and so as much as he hates it, he has to give you space. If Javy’s right, and there really is something between you two worth protecting, he has to let you come to him. He’d been too upfront tonight and probably overwhelmed you when you’d already had an exhausting day.

So Bradley fights every single one of his instincts and goes back into the room, leaving Javy in the doorway. He may not be your boyfriend officially but he’ll be damned if he lets Javy go through your things. He finds your pajamas and a clean pair of underwear. He debates picking one of your suits too but he knows you probably have a specific one picked for tomorrow and would prefer to choose yourself. He ducks into the bathroom for your toiletries before bringing the small collection of items back to Javy with your phone and charger on top. Javy takes them and Bradley watches him leave down the hall. He wants nothing more than to see you right now, but he knows he has to wait for you. You’ll have to come and get your stuff tomorrow morning so he has that to look forward to for now and that’ll have to be enough.

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goldenseresinretriever · 4 months ago

Text

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 6

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

“Bradley Bradshaw apologized to you? Oh, that man is down BAD.” Your head shoots up from where you’re going over some paperwork to glare across your desk at Javy Machado where he’s casually sprawled across the armchair across from you.

“You’re disgusting, Machado.” He snorts in response as he leans over the desk to get closer to his face.

“Says the girl who’s just as down bad for him.” You feel heat rush to your cheeks at the accusation as a smirk spreads across his. “Never would have pegged you as the type of girl who likes angry guys, Zam.” He waggles his eyebrows and you scoff in his face, leaning back to put distance between the two of you before he can feel the heat radiating off your skin.

“I don’t.” You manage as you struggle to maintain your composure. You don’t have feelings for Bradley, it wouldn’t make any sense. He’s been nothing but rude and cruel to you. One dinner and apology shouldn’t have you suddenly running for his arms. You have absolutely no proof that he would even catch you, despite Javy’s theories.

“You want my advice?” You look up from your work again, fixing Javy with an exasperated look.

“Not really, no.” You clip as sweetly as you can, your saccharine smile hiding your bared teeth.

“Just fuck one of your system.” He says with a shrug and your jaw drops, fangs out.

“Javy Machado!” He grins at your expression.

“What? You know I’m right. Fuck one out and you’re done.”

“Because you’re a professional in that department.” You scowl at him and he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Call it an expert opinion.” You roll your eyes as he continues. “I don’t know about you? But that man needs to get laid. He has all that anger and nowhere to put it. Best case scenario you fuck one out, your feelings go poof and so does his anger. Worst case scenario, you get what you need, and he follows you around like a pussy-whipped puppy for the rest of the season and we can get on with things.”

“And why I should be the sacrificial lamb for that? Why don’t you guys just find him a girl, isn’t that what teammates do?” Javy raises his eyebrows.

“I thought we were supposed to be settling down, minding our reputations.” You groan and he knows he’s got you.

“Well, it’s not like you’re LISTENING.” You growl at him and he shrugs again.

“Look Zam, all I can say is that maybe I’m the only one who noticed the way you were looking at him this morning but if you keep it up, it’s not going to be just me next time.” Your cheeks flush with more heat. He stands with a stretch before leaning across your desk so you catch his whispered words. “That being said, it looks like you didn’t catch him looking at you the same way whenever you weren’t.” He turns on his heels as you grapple with the implications of his revelation.

You spent last night at Bob’s and Mickey’s house, where they demanded to know everything about your dinner with Bradley. For a pair of supposedly rough and tough hockey players, those two are insatiable when it comes to gossip. You’d managed to keep details to a minimum and distract them with other things like flowers or what Bradley’s dinner order consisted of but you knew Mickey was on to you.

Truth be told, you want to respect Bradley’s privacy. That’s your job after all and the things he’d shared at dinner last night were just that, private. He’d been real and genuine with you and you didn’t want to betray that tiny sliver of trust that he’d extended to you. You keep turning the events of dinner over and over in your mind, your thoughts snagging on stray details. Bradley’s hand on your back. The scratch of his flannel against your bare skin when he draped it around your shoulders. The woodsy scent clinging to it had enveloped you in a comforting warmth. The scent of daisies mixed with it in the confines of the Bronco.

Maybe Javy was right. Maybe you spent too long looking at him this morning during the team meeting. His walls were back up, his mask snugly back in place, and his expression was unreadable. You tell yourself that he’s just a puzzle, something you want to solve and unravel. That that’s why you’re putting in a meeting request with him. That it’s just professional responsibility that’s making you reach out to him and not the quiet yearning to see behind the curtain again, to see the Bradley that he’s only shown to you. You long to be a private audience again, watching as he becomes that man that you saw last night. Awkward and bumbling but sweet, concerned, and hurting. Hurting so fiercely that it steals the breath from your lungs because sometimes it’s like staring into a mirror.

It’s been eight years but you were just like him once, the pain so raw in your chest that you’d lashed out, pushing away every person that cared because you’d blamed yourself, blamed your ambition. If you’d just gone home for Thanksgiving maybe your mother would still be alive. You know that realistically that’s not true. Your mother’s heart attack was sudden and unexpected, unpreventable according to the doctors but there’ll always be a part of you that blames you for not being there. At the time you’d been so torn apart by grief that you’d destroyed your support system, only Mickey remaining amidst the wreckage, stubbornly holding onto you. He’d broken his lease and moved in with you, sleeping in your bed and holding you through the nightmares that would make you wake up screaming bloody murder. He brought you to his games, keeping an eye on you even as you stared at the ice like it was some kind of monster. Slowly your fear faded but you’ve still yet to set foot on a rink since your mother passed.

***

You’ve almost forgotten about the meeting when the knock at your office door startles you out of the groove you’ve fallen into. You call out absently to the knocker and finally look up to see Bradley squeezing his broad form into your little chair. You give him a sympathetic wince. “Sorry about the chair.” He just shrugs, and you can’t help but think of Javy shrugging in the same position just a few hours ago. You shake your head to clear your conversation with him out of it as you focus on Bradley.

“Did you make it home okay?” You try your best to quell the fluttering in your stomach at Bradley’s perfectly reasonable inquiry. You give your own shrug.

“I spent the night at Mickey and Bob’s place.” You don’t miss the way his shoulders tense at your words and find yourself trying to ease the tension so you add, “I stay over there all the time since Mickey and I used to room together in college. Their guest room is practically my second home.” You don’t know why you feel the need to make it clear that you’re not sleeping with Mickey or Bob, but you do. The air is thick with awkwardness as Bradley gives you a curt nod in response and you feel heat creeping up your neck. “Anyway, I wanted to let you know that tonight’s game night.” He looks at you half confused and half like you’re stupid.

“I know there’s a game today, that’s what we’ve been practicing for all morning.” He points out and you realize your error.

“Oh, not that game! It’s a board game night. Mickey and Bob host it every other Saturday at their house, it gets a pretty good turnout. You’re coming.” You debated inviting him and giving him the option but you’re almost certain that he wouldn’t show without a push so here you are, roping him into it.

“After a match?” He seems bewildered at the idea.

“Yeah, it’s a nice way to wind down, and there’s plenty of snacks and stuff. It’s a good way to bond as a team.” You emphasize this with a pointed look.

“Board games? What are we, twelve?” He’s not budging and you roll your eyes.

“Wake up, Bradshaw, there’s plenty of adult board games these days, and they're actually pretty fun. Don’t come crying to me when you lose.”

“And you’re going to be there?” Your heart flutters at the directness of his question like he’s basing his decision to attend based on your presence. You swallow down your nerves as you flash him a smile.

“Of course, and you’re my ride.” His face falls into a frown at that, but you barrel on ahead. “I don’t have my car because I spent the night at Mickey’s and they gave me a ride this morning.”

“So they could just give you a ride tonight.”

“But then how am I supposed to guarantee that you show?” He blinks in surprise as you go for the kill, eyebrow raised in question. His eyes narrow into a glare that you meet head-on. Last night Bradley promised you that he wouldn’t hurt you so you’re not scared of him now. You meet him head-on.

“I don’t have to go.”

“Actually, you do.”

“And what gives you that kind of authority?”

“Look, I’ve been tasked with getting you back on track. How I decide to do that is up to me. If you have an issue with my methods, take it up with your captain, or your coaches, or if you feel like braving the beast, go to Cyclone. I’m asking you to come because as I pointed out last night, you don’t seem to have any friends and you need to interact with your team more. Also, you could use some new hobbies that don’t involve eating or drinking alone.”

“Sometimes I eat AND drink alone.” He deadpans and it takes you a moment to realize that he’s just cracked a joke and you snort out a laugh on accident. You barely catch the way his face relaxes at the sound as you slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the unladylike noise. Collecting yourself as best as you can you manage to reply.

“Well, maybe you could eat and drink with company tonight?” The stubbornness is still in his shoulders but it’s depleted considerably. He lets out a heavy sigh before he shrugs.

“Fine, but we have to stop by my place first, I’m going to need to change.” You shrug back.

“Fine by me.”

“Fine.” Silence falls between the two of you again, not as uncomfortable as before but still awkward. Bradley’s head cocks slightly as he examines you and you feel your skin heat under his intense gaze. “Your hair’s different today.” Your cheeks are aflame as you fight the urge to reach up and touch your head self-consciously.

He’s right. You’ve abandoned your typical ponytail for a crown braid today. It was your mother’s signature look. After talking to Bradley last night you’d awoken to feeling like you could feel your mother with you so you’d let yourself wear your hair like this today. You used to wear it like this all the time back in college, proud of your resemblance to your mother. It was almost otherworldly the way you looked just like her, and when you wore your hair like this? Sometimes you caught yourself in the mirror when you passed by too fast that you could convince yourself that you’d seen her.

“Oh yeah, it’s how my mom used to wear hers. I don’t know, I just felt like doing something different today.” You watch the faintest hint of a smile ghost his lips.

“I like it, it suits you.” You feel your cheeks heat even more at the compliment. Javy’s voice is in your head again and your eyes slip to Bradley’s lips before you pull them back up to meet his whisky eyes that make you want to squirm under their intense gaze.

“Anything else I can help you with?” You curse the way your voice comes out breathy. Bradley just shakes his head and makes to stand. Your voice calls out to him as he gets ready to leave. “Bradley!” He turns and you feel your cheeks even more as he fixes you with that gaze of his again. “Good luck tonight,” you pretend you don’t hear your voice shake as the words pass your lips. He just gives you a tight-lipped smile and another of his curt nods. “And Bradley,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “Try not to end up in the box tonight, if you can help it.” He doesn’t respond, disappearing through the door and you sigh, leaning back into your chair as you glance absently at your calendar that’s pulled up on your screen.

FUCK. You’re scheduled for a meeting with Cyclone in, you glance at the clock in the top corner of the screen, five minutes. You scramble to your feet, sliding your feet back into your heels and grabbing your clipboard before you all but sprint for the door. As you run to the elevator you sprint past Bradley who raises a single eyebrow in question but you’re running too late to answer, electing to avoid the elevator in favor of the stairs. If you were thinking straighter, you would have taken your heels off before attempting to take the stairs two at a time and as a result, you lose your balance about halfway up and come crashing down. Your yelp of pain bounces off the walls of the stairwell as you gingerly make to push yourself up onto your hands. The echoing sound of footsteps somehow doesn’t meet your ears until a sneaker appears in your peripheral vision as Bradley squats down next to you, a gentle finger pushing a tendril of hair away from your eyes.

“You okay, Honey?” Usually, the pet name is sarcastic acid on his tongue but this time it’s different. He sounds sweet like the name suggests and genuinely concerned. You’ve just had the breath knocked out of you so you can’t do much more than grunt in response. Bradley’s hand comes into your field of vision and you raise an arm to grab it and he pulls you up so effortlessly that you know you should be at least a little concerned. His brows are furrowed as his brown eyes look you over for injury, his hands remaining on your hips, holding you up. You try to steady yourself by gripping his arm as you attempt to take back control of your limbs and whimper as pain shoots through your body. You favor your right ankle instantly and hiss as pain radiates from your abdomen in response. You’re bruised for sure and you’ve definitely sprained your ankle. You glance at your watch as Bradley’s concerned eyes train in on your ankle. You’re officially late. You’re in for it now. You groan before reaching for the banister, eager to be on your way despite your body’s protests. Bradley’s hand on your arm stops you and you turn to meet his eyes, the amber in them swirling and he tightens his grip on you.

“Where do you think you’re going, Honey? You’re hurt, we’re going to Bugs.” His voice is a low rumble that dares you to disagree with him. All the same, you lift your chin defiantly as you take another shaking step up away from him but his grip anchors you, keeping you from getting any farther.

“I’m late to a meeting with Cyclone. I’m already probably getting yelled at for that so I’d rather not exacerbate that by not showing up at all.” You try to step with your sprained ankle but pain shoots up your leg and your stiff lip wobbles as a squeak gets caught in your throat. When you don’t break your determined gaze away from Bradley’s, he lets out a huff of annoyance and then he’s scooping you into his arms before you can protest. You scramble to wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you up the stairs. You know better than to argue so you sulk in silence until he deposits you at Cyclone’s office door. You mutter your thanks, taking a moment to straighten your clothes before you head in, not sparing Bradley another glance.

“You’re late.” Cyclone doesn’t look up from whatever he’s currently reading as you walk in, doing your best to hide your new limp. You know better than to show weakness in front of a man like him. You’re just about to sit down, head dipped slightly when he finally looks up. “Katarina?!” You start with surprise as you look up to see that Cyclone’s face has gone ashen like he’s seen a ghost. You’re sure yours has a similar look since he’s just called you by your mother’s name.

“Why… why did you just call me that?” Your voice is trembling as the terrible dominoes tumble into place as your eyes snag on the Yale logo embroidered on the breast of his quarter zip. The same one you’ve seen on numerous trophies and faded college t-shirts of your mother’s. Your mother’s fairytale hockey player is sitting across a desk from you.

“You look just like her, just like Katarina.” Cyclone’s still in a stupor as he answers you. You’re just as shaken so your tongue is looser than you’d ever hoped it would be in front of your boss as you bluntly reply.

“I-I should hope so. She’s my mother.” Cyclone’s eyes nearly bug out of his skull at the revelation. He’s considerably more surprised than you, but you suppose that’s because you’ve heard plenty of stories about him and he’s had no effect on your life. You can’t imagine what it’s like to see the daughter of your college girlfriend standing in your office over thirty years later.

“You’re Katarina’s daughter? You’re Katarina’s daughter.” He murmurs to himself, followed by your name, turning the words around in his mouth as you take a seat, your sprained ankle making itself known as pain starts to shoot up your leg again. You’d rather be doing literally anything else right now but here you are sitting across from your mother’s ex-boyfriend who also happens to be your boss.

You try your best to distract yourself while you wait for him to wrap his mind around the revelation. Your mind drifts back to being in Bradley’s arms. Your nose twitches at the memory of that familiar woodsy scent. It makes you feel warm and safe. Not unlike the way he carried you. He’d felt so stable and sure as he climbed the stairs with such ease as if he wasn’t carrying you. Then you remember the way he so easily pulled you to your feet with one hand. You’d been all but deadweight at the time and he’d still done it so easily. Suddenly you felt bad for the guys you saw him grind into the boards. The idea of all that strength turned against you made you suppress a shudder. You shouldn’t be surprised, you suppose. After all, even drunk he had packed quite a punch.

“How is she?” You’re wrenched from your thoughts by Cyclone’s voice and you’re met with an expression you’ve never seen on his face. His green eyes are wide, equal parts nervous and earnest. It’s so foreign that it makes you want to squirm.

“Sorry, what?” You stammer, having completely lost the question that he asked.

“Katarina, your mother,” he still stumbles over the words like he’s still coming to grips with it. “How is she?” You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as you comprehend what he’s asking. He doesn’t know. Of course, he doesn’t. They never kept in contact. That being said, you've never had to say it. Not since the week it happened. The words are stuck in your throat, threatening to tear your vocal cords apart. Suddenly you’re in the restaurant from last night again and Bradley’s sitting across from you, avoiding the word, shielding you from the pain in a way that he knows, that he understands. Bradley would never ask you to say it.

And then you’re thinking about her. You’re imagining her, looking the way you did in college, wearing those t-shirts before they faded. Standing side by side with the man across from you. You wonder if anger had its claim on him then the way it does now or if the man that your mother fell in love with was simply this. A man with eyes so green and eager that they reminded you of the first days of spring. They remind you of her. She always reminded you of a sunny day in the dead of winter. The way it’s almost too bright as the light reflects off the snow that would trap the ground below until March, cutting through the dreariness of the season. The gray sky breaking into a brilliant blue and the clouds dispersing. She was a snowdrop, delicate and yet capable of pushing through all that snow, reaching for the sun and its warmth.

“She’s dead.” The words slide free, eased in their passage by the warmth of her memory. You’ve thought more about her in the last week than you have in years. It’s not that you actively avoid it per se but you’ve never been a masochist. You avoid her the way you avoid the ice, keeping a respectful distance that leaves enough room for nostalgia but not longing, because the longing could kill you. You feel the tear splash onto your hand. You don’t remember it leaving your eye. Your vision is uncomfortably clear as you watch your words hit Cyclone. The way the brightness in his eyes gives way to something darker, more familiar. It’s like peeking under the door that houses the unending rage you’ve been on the receiving end of one too many times.

“What?” His voice is hoarse and you don’t have it in you to say the words again.

“She had a heart attack. Eight years ago, there was nothing they could do.” You try to stick to the facts, deliver them as cut and dry as you can, taking as much emotion out of them as you can. You watch the storm in his eyes pick up and you have a feeling that Cyclone grieves the way that you do, violently. Every part of you wants to run for the hills. You feel you’re the captive audience of a show that neither of you wants you to see. You’re not sure which part finds the courage to excuse yourself.

“Sir, I think we should circle back to this meeting another time.” You know when she looks at you that he’s not seeing you.

“Of course.” His voice is rough with emotion and it makes you uncomfortable as you stumble to your feet, almost forgetting your ankle, and you almost fall on your face as you make for the door, desperate to get out of there. Your hand has just curled around the door handle when Cyclone calls out to you again. You turn at the sound of your name, white-knuckling the handle. “Could we get dinner sometime, and talk about some things?” You hear yourself agree. Anything to get out of here now. He dismisses you and you all but throw yourself out the door.

You stumble into the fluorescent lighting of the hallway and as your eyes adjust to the change you make out Bradley leaning against the wall. His features twist into concern when he sees you. Absently you wonder why, but when he reaches for you, you throw yourself against his chest. “Honey, what’s going on? What happened in there?” You can tell he’s fighting to keep his voice calm as you fist the fabric of his shirt tight enough to tear.

“He knew my mom. Cyclone knew my mom.” The words feel like cement on your tongue. Bradley’s arms are around you in an instant, holding you against him while you struggle not to fall apart. “And he didn’t know,” you sob against his chest. “He didn’t know that she’s dead.” The words hurt coming out but it’s easier even if they end in a strangled sob. “Oh my god, she’s dead, Bradley. She’s dead.” Now that you’ve finally said it, it consumes you and you crumple against him, repeating the words over and over as you sob into his chest. Bradley’s silent, simply holding you as you fall apart, his hands smoothing over the back of your head in a repetitive motion that serves as a constant in the backdrop of your breakdown.

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goldenseresinretriever · 4 months ago

Text

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 5

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Bradley Bradshaw is standing in front of you. This has to be some kind of colossal joke. Mickey would never do that, though, would he? Bradley looks like he’s fighting every impulse to shove his hands in his pockets as he shuffles from one foot to another.

“Can I help you?” You ask warily, still unsure if you’re getting pranked.

“I…” he starts before he falls silent again. He clears his throat awkwardly, finally surrendering to the urge and shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, tightening his broad shoulders. “I was eating at that restaurant and I saw you waiting and uh…” he hesitates again. “You’ve been waiting a while, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” A flush is slowly creeping up his neck, dusting the skin a rosy red. Warmth steals up yours as you realize he’s been watching you.

It’s Friday. You were supposed to be meeting the guy from the dating app today. The key word being WERE. You’ve been standing outside of the restaurant in a dress not at all appropriate for the chill in the air tonight for almost thirty minutes. You didn’t see Bradley walk by you which means he’s been here the whole time. You don’t feel like explaining your embarrassing plight to Bradley but with every passing minute, it gets harder and harder to lie without looking like a bigger fool. “I’m on a date…” you swallow, hard. “At least I’m supposed to be on a date.” You can’t help the way you fidget with your hands. At work, you’re on an even playing field. You have a job to do, a title that you wear like a shield. You’re at your most polished, ready to be seen by the world and taken seriously. Now you’re standing here on a curb in some unfamiliar part of town, all but shivering in front of a man who’s done nothing in the past but cause you pain and make you feel small. And he’s being nice to you. You don’t know what nice looks like from Bradley Bradshaw and you’re not sure you’re prepared to see him like this. It feels like you’re throwing your sword down in front of him, making him privy to a part of you that no one sees.

“He didn’t show?” You can hear the twinge of disgust in Bradley’s voice but the concern is louder.

“He’s just not here yet.” You attempt to cover for your date, but have no idea why. You don’t even know the man besides the few messages you’d exchanged over the past week.

“Honey, he hasn’t been here for thirty minutes. I don’t think he’s coming.” You expect to see pity in his eyes, maybe a smirk at your plight but you see something else, something unreadable. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he looks almost protective, but the lingering pain in your jaw and the ache in your heart tell you no.

“Yeah, maybe not.” You manage awkwardly, shifting on your feet.

“You could join me, if you want?” You blink, surprised. You’d expected a lot of things when Bradley Bradshaw walked out of the restaurant behind you but an invitation to join him was probably the last thing you’d have guessed. You actually would be less surprised if he produced tomatoes from his pockets and pelted you with them. What surprises you even more is that you nod and start for the doorway and you feel the gentle brush of his fingertips against your back, guiding you forward, respectfully avoiding the expanse of exposed skin at the top of your back in favor of the fabric lower down. You suppress a groan of relief at the warmth in the restaurant. “Over there,” Bradley gestures to an unoccupied table with several half-eaten plates on it. You pause as you reach the table, your eyes catching on the bouquet of daisies laid on the table.

“Oh my god am I interrupting something, like a date or something?” You sputter as you back up, bumping into Bradley’s broad chest. You turn to look at him and gasp softly as you realize exactly how close he is. Your back is pressed against his torso and you can feel him breathing through your clothes. Your lips are inches from his where you’re turned slightly backward to see him and his deep brown eyes are wide and boring into yours. You’re both staring for longer than socially appropriate, caught by surprise at the closeness. He backs up, hands ghosting over your waist to ensure you don’t stumble at his sudden movement and you can see the rosy hue creeping up his neck.

“They're for my mom.” He blurts and you look at him, confused. His file states that Bradley’s mother is deceased. “Daisies were her favorite.” Your heart aches at the confirmation that Carole Bradshaw has indeed passed away.

You’re not sure what to say so you awkwardly reply. “Irises were my mom’s favorite.” You watch the way his shoulders relax and slide into the booth across from where he was clearly sitting before this. He follows suit and you’re sitting face to face, squirming under the weight of each other’s gaze. You can’t take the silence so you keep talking. “My dad used to get us bouquets of irises and sunflowers, because those were our favorite, with baby’s breath to tie it all together. He used to say he was like them, the baby’s breath, there to make sure his girls shined.” You’ve never told anyone about this, so you’re not sure why you’re suddenly telling Bradley. You hadn’t really spoken about your mom in years. The last person you told about her was your grief counselor all those years.

“Are you close? You and your dad?” Bradley asks, his voice quiet, like he’s afraid to disturb you, to break the reverie holding you in this state.

You nod. “As much as you can be but I was always closer to my mom.”

“I didn’t know, you know,” Bradley murmurs and he averts his eyes, clearly uncomfortable. “About your mom.” His throat bobs and when he looks back up at you his eyes are simultaneously firm with determination and soft with guilt, “I never would have said that if I knew.” You shake your head, lowering your gaze.

“No one knows, really. Mickey only knows because he was there. I don’t talk about it. I don’t talk about HER.” You fall silent because you can’t explain why, because you don’t know why. Because you don’t blame yourself for her death, do you? Do you?

“If you don’t talk about her it’s like she’s still there.” His voice is almost a whisper like it’s a thought that was just meant for him but slipped past his lips regardless and your heart clenches at the truth in them and you nod. He nods back, lost in thought as he keeps going. “My family house in Virginia, I still legally own it. I haven’t been back there since I left for college, because then maybe she’s still in the kitchen, laughing and singing to herself, waiting for me to come home.”

“I haven’t been home in eight years.” You whisper. “Not since the funeral.”

“How did she…?” You flinch in anticipation of a word that never comes like he knows what it’s like, to feel it tear apart every seam you’ve painstakingly mended in a Frankenstein attempt to return to your old self.

“She had a heart attack, they couldn’t do anything to save her. It was instant.”

“I’m sorry.” He whispers back.

You barely shake your head. “It’s not your fault.”

“Maybe not, but other things are.” He hesitates before continuing. “I hurt you before, emotionally… and physically and I didn’t mean to.” You can tell it’s not easy for him to admit, that he’s not good at saying sorry. Your jaw takes that moment to throb with an aftershock of pain. Truth be told, it’s almost completely healed. Your hand reaches for it instinctively at the twinge but Bradley beats you there. He’s so large that his arm crosses the table with ease as his finger brushes over the spot where your jaw’s bruised under your makeup. You jerk back like his touch has shocked you and in a way, it has, not with electricity but with surprise.

“Fuck! Did I hurt you?!” You watch the panic on his face as he withdraws his hand instantly. You shake your head quickly. Bradley Bradshaw is an enigma. How is this the man who’s been nothing but casually cruel to you up until today? You secretly wonder if he has an evil twin.

“No, no, you just surprised me. Sorry.” You watch him grimace before his hands return to his lap and you can tell from the way his shoulders flex that he’s fidgeting with them in his lap.

“Sorry, my mom always said I need to remember I’m a big guy, and that women can get the wrong idea. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” He grimaces again. “Not anymore, I mean, I guess I already have.” You blink, surprised. You’ve always assumed that Bradley’s the type of guy who uses his size to his advantage. He certainly does on the ice. You’ve watched him throw around smaller players like their chump change. But this Bradley, sitting in front of you, is completely different. You think back to the time he was squished into the chair in your office, and then to the way he instantly backpedaled when you flinched after he slammed his hands on your desk and you wonder exactly how aware of his size he really is.

You’re saved from responding by the waitress finally approaching the table. She gives you a bright polite smile and asks if you’d like something to eat. Luckily, you’d already studied the menu online enough times that you could probably rattle it off from memory. You order a double bacon cheeseburger with onion rings and fries and the waitress retreats before you face a dumbfounded Bradley. “What? Never seen a woman eat before, Bradshaw?” You arch a judgmental eyebrow as he shakes his head quickly, schooling his expression quickly.

“No, I just. You don’t look like the type of girl who would.” He grimaces instantly like he realizes how it sounded. “Sorry I didn’t mean it like that, I just-“

You interrupt, saving him from further humiliation with a shrug. “I’m not trying to get laid, so no need to pretend I’d rather have a salad. No offense.” You give him a pointed look. “Plus, I didn't really think we were trying to impress.” Your eyes move to the various plates of food on the table in front of his singular person before going back to his. He just nods curtly before pushing a plate of lukewarm cheese fries in your direction. You could easily wait for your own mountain of food but you take a fry to fight off the awkward silence that threatens to consume the two of you.

“So, why hockey?” Bradley breaks the silence around a fry of his own. You chew thoughtfully before you answer him.

“Hockey was always a part of this fairytale that my mom used to tell me.” Bradley’s brow furrows in confusion. “When she was in college she had this whirlwind romance with a hockey player.” You clarify. “She never said who, but hockey became this little special thing between us. We’d giggle when we saw pond hockey teams play on the drive home from school. Sometimes we’d watch games in passing while flipping channels. And then when I was in college I had to share the practice rink with the hockey team. That’s how I met Mickey, and I ended up getting close to the team. Now I work with them for a living.” You shrug nonchalantly as you select another fry.

“So wait, your mom dated a hockey player and what? He went pro and disappeared?” Bradley frowns, his mustached lip curled in disgust.

You chuckle softly, smirking at him around the fry as you lean in conspiratorially. “Nope, SHE did.”

Bradley looks dumbfounded, sitting back, an impressed look on his face. “Good for her.”

You grin as you reach for another fry. “She got scouted for the U.S. Olympic figure skating team. Not even a year later she won her first medal, good for her indeed.” He whistles lowly, clearly impressed. You can’t help the way your chest puffs with pride over your mom’s accomplishments. There’s never been a moment when you aren’t proud to be her daughter. The lull that falls between the two of you is more comfortable now so you decide to take the jump.

“Okay your turn, what’s going on with you and Maverick? And before you deny it, Mickey said there’s been noticeable tension between the two of you and you mentioned something when you were drunk. However, since your drunk self makes some questionable, and apparently forgettable, decisions, I want to hear it from you sober.” You pause for a moment before adding. “I’m not on any side here, Bradley. Not Mavericks, not yours. But I could be. My job is to be on your side, if you’ll let me do it.” You’re tired and you don’t feel like doing this right now, especially when you’ve just started to feel like you’re getting somewhere with Bradley, but right now he’s unguarded. It’s the best chance that you’re going to get and you don’t want to curse yourself tomorrow when he’s back to his old self.

Bradley’s shoulders tense and you watch his hand clench into a fist where it lays on the table next to the plate of fries. You curse yourself for jumping the gun and pushing so soon, ready to watch his walls snap back up and shut you out again. He surprises you when he unclenches his fist, reaching out to toy with a French fry. When he speaks it’s, slowly. “You know Maverick’s the reason I’m in San Diego.” It’s not a question but you nod anyway. “Well, it wasn’t this beautiful reunion that the media seems to think it was.” You know about that too. While they don’t know that Maverick is Bradley’s godfather, there’s been plenty of buzz regarding the reunion of the Mitchell and Bradshaw names. “He didn’t even call to tell me that he’d requested the trade let alone ask for my permission, but that’s just Pete Mitchell. He blows in when it’s convenient and leaves just as easily.” He shakes his head, exhaustion, and disgust on his face.

“He wasn’t really around when I was growing up. Everyone likes to think he raised me in my dad’s place but the most he did was send my mom checks to pay for hockey. And I didn’t even know about that until he told me.” He sighs, tired, but you can tell you’ve breached some dam in his mind because he continues without hesitations. “The first time I even met him was at my mom’s funeral. He suddenly felt like he wanted to be a part of my life but I didn’t need him. He went behind my back anyway and paid for my college education. The second I got my first check from the NHL I started paying it back. That's the extent of our relationship. He threw money at me like I was a problem he could solve with it and I threw it back. Then the next thing I know I’m waking up to headlines and messages from friends telling me I’ve been traded to San Diego.”

“Wait, they didn’t even TELL you?!” This is news to you. “Like, god, I know they’d been trying to get rid of you but after playing with them for that long you think they’d at least give you the courtesy of telling them in person!” You’re rambling, fueled by rage. You’d already gotten a bad impression of the Flyers when they were so eager to give up Bradley during negotiations but this was a new low.

“Wait, what do you mean they were trying to get rid of me?” Bradley looks wary but genuinely surprised by this new information. You scowl, not at him, but out of mutual anger at the Flyers.

“When we called to negotiate the trade, your old manager said he’s been trying to trade you for the better part of two seasons.” Your heart clenches as you watch Bradley’s face fall slightly. “He… he was being a complete asshole about it, honestly. He kept saying you can’t teach an old dog new tricks and how they’d much rather fill the roster with rookie talent they could mold over the years.” Bradley’s unknowingly crushed the fry he was toying with earlier. You can tell he’s holding it in, the rage and hurt. Your heart aches. “He didn’t have any right to talk about you that way.” You’re not sure why you say it, why you feel the need to stand up for him against a man who’s not even here. “You played with him for over a fucking decade and played well might I add. You’re consistent, dependable, the perfect player to counteract the flux of developing rookie talent and ground a team but of course, all assholes like him can see is money.” You throw your hands up in frustration and it’s only then that you realize that Bradley’s watching you, a strange look on his face.

“You really think that?” His voice is hesitant.

You shrug. “Of course, if I didn’t I wouldn’t have agreed with the decision to request your trade. You’re exactly what a team like us needs. Sure, I felt for Maverick’s supposed emotional stake in the trade, hell I did the same thing to get Mickey here, but I still looked at you objectively and evaluated you as a necessary player to this team.”

You both fall into silence and the waitress chooses that moment to arrive with your burger. You turn your attention to gobbling down the cheesy goodness as Bradley mulls over your words. You’re polishing off the last of the burger with an onion ring dunked in ranch when he finally speaks again.

“Thank you.”

“Fwo wat?” You ask around the onion ring. He frowns slightly at your garbled words and your cheeks heat in embarrassment as you swallow your food and wash it down with water. Bradley’s not like your other colleagues, he’s the oldest on the team and ten years your senior. You owe him a little more respect than talking with your mouth full. “Sorry, for what?”

“For saying that, for telling me what my old manager said.” He pauses and you take the opportunity to snag another onion ring. “This whole time, I’ve been blaming Maverick. He used to play for the Flyers so I thought he called in some kind of non-negotiable favor, but now I know he’s not the only one to blame.”

You swallow, choosing your words carefully. “I know you’re not exactly happy here and it’s not really my place to tell you how you should feel, but for the record? If it were me? I’d much rather be unhappy somewhere I’m wanted than happy somewhere I’m not.” You pop a fry into your mouth, chewing thoughtfully as Bradley turns your words over in his mind.

He’s quiet until the waitress comes back with the check and he lets her know the food will be all in one check. Before you can protest, and honestly you weren’t really going to, he fixes you with a firm look. “I owe you one, plus I invited you.” You could point out that he didn’t really invite you so much as save you from further embarrassment and potentially a loitering charge, but instead, you just give him a shrug and pop a manicured finger into your mouth to lick the ranch off. He follows you out of the restaurant and with the setting of the sun the temperature has dropped even more and you silently curse your choice of attire. Your traitorous body seems to have forsaken your New England upbringing and fully adjusted to the near-constant heat of southern California. You try not to visibly shiver but then a warm presence falls across your shoulders. You turn to see Braldey has shed his flannel to place it across your shoulders.

“Thanks” you murmur and he gives you a curt nod.

“Where are you parked?” He asks and you groan internally.

“I’m not, I ubered here.” You admit, embarrassed. “I figured if things went poorly at least I could have a couple of drinks and if they went well then…” you trail off, not exactly feeling like explaining to Bradley that you’d been hoping to get laid tonight. You needed it, the stress relief alone would do wonders for you. He gives you another curt nod, thankfully not asking you to elaborate.

“This way then.” He guides you towards the parking garage down the street, his fingers a gentle pressure against your back through his shirt that you’ve wrapped around your shoulders like a cape.

“You didn’t valet?” You ask as you ignore the way your stiletto heels are biting your toes as you follow after Bradley through the parking garage.

He looks back at you like you’ve suggested something ridiculous. “No one drives the Bronco.” He states and you roll your eyes as he unlocks the car. You climb into the passenger seat. The car is surprisingly clean, no trash lining the floors and the cup holders are spotless, not even a forgotten gum wrapper. You buckle yourself in and Bradley fiddles with his phone in the little mount. “Where am I dropping you off?” He asks, pulling up Google Maps.

“Mickey’s place,” you answer. He’d told you to come right over if you didn’t end up going home with this guy so he could get all the details while they're fresh. You didn’t have much to share but you’re sure he’d want to know regardless. You realize Bradley’s still waiting and rattle off the address as it occurs to you that Bradley’s probably never been over to Mickey’s house.

“Can I ask why Mickey’s house?” He asks once you’re on your way and you shrug.

“Maybe I don’t want you to know where I live.” You try to stop the grin tempting your lips. He snorts. “How am I supposed to know that you’re not a serial killer?” You challenge.

“You’ve literally done extensive background checks on me, and you got into my car without any fuss.” He points out.

“Okay but you’re a loner, you don’t have any friends-“

“I have friends.” He interrupts, sounding offended that you would suggest otherwise.

“Bradley Bradshaw, you most certainly do not.” You fire back and you see the edge of his mouth twitch.

“Well, how do I know you’re not homeless and living on Mickey’s couch?” You think he might be smiling but it’s too dark to tell.

“I’m not HOMELESS!” You squawk. “I just have FRIENDS, unlike you.” He rolls his eyes as he gets on the highway. “Mickey said he wanted to hear all about the date after.” You shrug, settling back into the leather seat.

“But you didn’t go on the date,” Bradley points out. You shrug again.

“And so I have to chew him out for that since it was his idea in the first place.” You explain and he nods in agreement. “He thinks I need to have a life outside of work which is ridiculous.” Bradley nods at that too. The conversation fizzles out into a silence that doesn’t feel uncomfortable and Bradley fiddles with the radio and the 80s station comes on.

You hum idly along with whatever song is ending before another familiar one takes its place. You hear Whitney Houston’s familiar voice croons through the speakers. You’re not sure when you started singing along, “I wanna dance with somebody, I wanna feel the heat with somebody,” but your voice mixes with Whitney’s in the quiet of the Bronco.

When the song ends, Bradley speaks up. “You have a good voice.” You feel your cheeks heat at the reminder that you have an audience.

“Sorry,” you apologize immediately, sure that Bradley didn’t sign up for an impromptu concert when he turned on the radio to fill the silence, but he shakes his head.

“You don’t have to apologize, I don’t mind. Like I said, you have a nice voice.” You think about pointing out that he said you had a good voice, not a nice voice, and that a good and a nice voice are two completely different things but instead you join Belinda Carlisle in remarking that “Heaven is a Place on Earth.”

***

When you pull into Mickey’s driveway, Bradley shifts the car into park while you shrug off his shirt. When you hand it to him he hands you the bouquet of daisies and you blink at him, surprised.

“She’d want you to have them.” Bradley clarifies and you clutch them tightly.

“Thank you, Bradley, for all of it. Thank your mom for me.” You add and you see something flicker in his eyes for a moment as you climb out of the car. Bradley stays in the driveway until you’re at the door, ringing the doorbell. Only pulling out when Mickey swings the front door open, grinning wide.

“Welcome home, Casanova!” He greets you, dragging you in and slamming the door behind you. You’ve barely made it into the living room when Bob turns around from where he’s perched on the couch, looking out the window behind it.

“Mickey I was right, you owe me fifty bucks! That absolutely WAS Bradley’s Bronco!” You roll your eyes as Mickey comes in from the kitchen where he was fetching a vase for the daisies. You let him take them and arrange them in the vase as he looks at you, a question in his eyes.

“Okay yes, that was Bradley’s Bronco.” You admit and Bob lets out a crow of joy as Mickey scowls at him, fishing in his back pocket for his phone, Venmoing Bob fifty dollars.

“Babe, what were you doing with HIM of all people?” Mickey demands as he throws himself onto the couch next to Bob. You give an exhausted sigh before throwing yourself in between the two boys, groaning.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Don’t tell me that dating app guy was Bradley all along and it was a catfish?” Mickey screeches, sitting up so he can look you in the eye as you roll them shaking your head.

“No no, not that insane. The dating app guy stood me up and I was standing outside the restaurant for half an hour waiting for him like an IDIOT, and you wouldn’t believe who happened to be eating at the exact same restaurant.” Mickey groans, sinking back into the couch next to you, dropping his head onto your shoulder.

“Mami, you really got the double dose of bad luck today didn’t you.” You drop your head on top of his.

“And then he came out and asked me to join him.” Mickey’s head whips out front under yours and you yelp in surprise. “You DIDN’T!”

You shrug. “Mickey Garcia, have you ever known me to say no to free food?”

“You’re right but tell me you at least ate him out of house and home.” He groans and you laugh nodding, a grin spreading over his face.

“Double bacon cheeseburger, extra bacon, with fries AND onion rings.”

“That’s my girl!” He says, throwing an arm across your shoulders and you snuggle into his embrace.

“Plus it wasn’t actually that bad, I got to talk to him, get a better idea of what's going on inside his head.”

“I wasn’t aware there was ANYTHING going on in there.”

You snort as you bump his head with yours. “Says the guy who punched him.”

He tightens his grip on your shoulders. “He deserved that and you know it.” You don’t answer and he knows that’s the closest he’ll get to you agreeing.

“He’s not that bad, honestly.” You say finally. “He’s angry, and he’s hurting, but under all that I think he’s just tired, and honestly he’s an okay guy.” Mickey snorts disbelievingly. “He apologized for yesterday and before that too. Which reminds me, you need to apologize to him tomorrow.”

“For WHAT?” He squawks and you fix him with a hard look. “Fine, fine, if you insist, Mami, just for you. But while his apologizing to you is nice and all, I won’t believe it until I see it. He needs to be nicer to you. Civil at least. You’re just trying to do your job.” You nod and he sighs. “What do you say we all watch a movie and then you can crash here for the night? You have stuff upstairs in the guest room anyway and we can give you a ride to work tomorrow.” You nod, extricating yourself from his arms to trudge upstairs to change into your extra pajamas.

You’re not sure that tonight will change anything between you and Bradley but at the least, you hope that he’ll consider what you said to him because whether he chooses to believe it or not, the Dogfighters need him. You just hope you can get through to him before he does something you can’t fix for him.

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goldenseresinretriever · 4 months ago

Text

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 4

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Bradley Bradshaw wouldn’t consider himself a particularly irrational person, but when faced with the irrationality of others it brings out the side of him that usually sleeps soundly. He wonders exactly what’s gotten him to this point as he drives home, dried blood still in his face from his throbbing nose. Garcia packs a mean punch. He knows that Seresin was watching from outside the office, letting Garcia get in a hit before he intervened but Bradley tries not to think too hard about that.

He’s too busy thinking about the look on Coach Mitchell’s face as she told him to leave. She’s been watching him, he knows it. He’s not quite sure why but somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders if he’s seen her before or if his mind is just playing tricks on him. When he does think back to the days when his mother was alive he remembers a woman, always around but always just that, around. She was a friend of his mother’s, he thinks. Dutifully present at every single one of his bustling birthday parties and occasionally he thinks he caught sight of her at some of his hockey games. If she ever spoke a word to him, however, he doesn’t remember. Regardless, the day he met Coach Dare Mitchell he couldn’t help but be filled with this odd sense of nostalgia that covered him like a familiar blanket. She’s made no indication that she knows him, but every now and then there’s something about the cadence of her voice or the way she moves that brings him back to that kitchen in Virginia and he can almost smell his mother’s perfume and hear her laugh. He thought it would hurt, remembering her but instead, it fills him with a sense of peace that he’s not sure he’s ever felt.

It’s hard to focus on, however, when Maverick’s always her shadow, bringing out every irrational impulse in Bradley. Pete Mitchell is a person that Bradley barely knows. He’s heard the stories, of course. His mother spoke highly of Maverick, his father’s best friend, Bradley’s godfather. The NHL legend, who couldn’t be bothered to show his face in their corner of Virginia until the day they finally laid his mother to rest. The face he’d seen for years on TV finally showed up.

The text chimes through the Bronco and Bradley checks his phone when he’s stopped at a light, barely a block from his apartment. Coach Dare’s name flashes across the screen and he swallows thickly as he reads the message. “Bradley, I think it’s time we had a chat. How does dinner sound?” The next message is an address and he hesitates. She could have easily called him into her office instead of sending him home and now she wants to talk to him over dinner. It’s not lost on him that earlier she called him Bradshaw. Coach Dare takes the unconventional approach of calling all her players by their first names and that’s the first time she’s ever referred to him as Bradshaw instead of Bradley. There was something in her eyes as she said it, beyond the cold anger at seeing him and Garcia fighting. Pain? A flash of a memory lost to time? Almost like she was looking at someone else, or perhaps seeing someone else. He hesitates as he pulls into his apartment complex. Normally he’d park his car himself, preferring not to trust the Bronco with another driver but going to have to be quick if he wants to make dinner. He tosses his keys to the valet and heads straight for the door. As he gets there, he locks eyes with the older doorman. Tony’s eyes are full of sadness and a tinge of disappointment as he takes in the blood on Bradley’s face and shirt. Bradley breaks contact quickly, shame climbing up his neck as he pushes his way through the doors, beelining for the elevator. He’s had enough of letting people down today.

As the elevator doors shut behind him, he thinks about you, letting out a groan of frustration. He fucked up. He’s fucked up so royally that he’s not sure he’s going to be able to dig himself out of the hole he’s in with you. He remembers pieces of last night but mostly before you must have arrived. He has no idea how he got home but judging by the fact that the Bronco got left in the parking lot overnight, you must have driven him home. He grimaces at the thought of you coming to that dive bar. He hopes you didn’t come alone, it’s not the best place. That’s why he’d chosen it. He thought he’d be safe from the press for once but according to you, they’d found him anyway.

He pulls out his phone, shooting off a positive reply to Coach Dare and ignoring the reflection of his face in the screen, before he pulls up the web browser, hesitating before he types his name into the search bar. He grimaces as the articles pop up. Photos of him entering the bar last night, a few bad shots clearly taken through the open door of the fight that he barely remembers the reason behind. Then there are photos of you. Dressed in a powder pink suit, you have your hands on your hips as you stand on the pavement outside the bar, glaring at the cameras, that infamous no-nonsense look on your face. You did come alone. His heart squeezes at the idea of you alone in that part of town after dark, especially dressed like that. Just because he knows that you can dish as well as you can take doesn’t mean that everyone does. He closes the tab, leaning his head back against the wall of the elevator as he forces himself to think back to your office. He’d come in guns blazing after Tony informed him that a lovely young lady in pink brought him home last night and he’d spent the morning tracking down the Bronco and paying a hefty towing fee. He winces as he remembers the look on your face when he slammed his hands on your desk. He hadn’t meant to scare you, he was just angry, which he seems to be more often than usual these days, and unfortunately especially when you’re around. He’d seen the fight-or-flight trigger in your expression and had moved immediately, not wanting to make you feel threatened. He’s a big guy, his mother always used to remind him, that women could get the wrong idea. And then he saw the bruise on your jaw. You said he hit you, accidentally, but he hit you all the same. His mother would be so ashamed of him. Sure he’s thrown his fair share of punches being a hockey player but he’s never hit a girl. He never wants to, and yet you were nursing that painful-looking mark on your face. It had taken all of his self-control not to reach out and touch it, to try and soothe the dull ache he knows must have been throbbing through your jaw. Instead, he’d apologized, or at least attempted to. He’d done a piss-poor job of it, he knows that. And then you’d said something he doesn’t even remember anymore and he’d lashed out because of course he had. He just remembers you calling him that. BIG GUY. All at once he was in the kitchen in the Virginia house again, and his mother was trying to get past where his hulking form was taking up too much space as he rooted through the cupboards looking for a snack while she finished dinner. Reeling from the Deja Vu, he’d snapped, going from brusque to cruel with a flip to the switch as he tried to protect the wound you’d unsuspectingly opened. In doing so he’d flung the information he’d gathered about you after a lazy Google search after meeting you and done more damage than he intended.

He’d heard your screams as he was making his way from the gym to the showers, turning instantly to find the source of the sound. He can’t get the image of you curled in Garcia’s arms, the raw pain on your face as you watched soundlessly as Garcia rounded on him. He could have blocked the hit but he deserved it. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as the punch to the gut at his next words, “HER MOM DIED, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” Bradley squeezes his eyes shut as the elevator reaches the twentieth floor. He gets out and heads toward his apartment, Garcia’s voice bouncing around in his head as he unlocks his door.

“Hey Mom, I’m home.” He calls just like he does every day. He enters the living room, giving a tired and grim smile to the framed photo of his mom on the side table. The daisies in the vase behind it are starting to brown and he makes a mental note to get more on his way home from dinner. He heads straight to the bathroom, stripping off his bloodstained shirt and sweats, dropping them into the hamper on his way to the shower. He knows he should try and wash the blood out while it’s still relatively fresh but he can’t be bothered right now as he climbs under the hot stream. He feels the water smatter on his injured nose. It's not broken, he’s broken it enough times to know what that feels like but it’s still swollen, something fierce. He wonders if it feels anything like the bruise on your jaw before he shakes his head to clear you out of it. Water droplets flying left and right off his soaked curls.

He needs to stop thinking about you. You’re nothing but trouble for him. He should know better than to trust you after he got so brutally blindsided in Philadelphia when the Flyers traded him. He didn’t even find out until he opened his phone that morning to numerous missed calls from his friends and teammates and hundreds of texts from everyone who’d heard the news before him. The Flyers staff was like family to him after over a decade of working with them, and yet they hadn’t even given him the courtesy of telling him that he was being traded let alone asked for his opinion on the matter. So he couldn’t let himself trust you. Plus, you seemed to get along with Maverick which meant that you wouldn’t be any help to him. Just another person blinded by his charisma and smile. He doesn’t have any room in his life for any more hurt.

***

When Bradley pulls into the driveway of the sleepy little bungalow, he’s surprised. He’d expected the address to take him to some nice restaurant tucked into a hidden corner of San Diego that was safe from the prying eyes of the press, not his coach’s house. He makes his way up the path to the door, shifting awkwardly as he rings the bell. The woman who opens the door scratches Bradley’s brain with Deja Vu. At work, Coach Dare has her hair in a tight bun most days, but now it’s pulled into a ponytail behind her, the gray-streaked strands a comfortable kind of messy. She’s wearing a pair of loose-fitting pants and a simple top with bare feet.

“Bradley, glad you could make it.” She leads him inside and he toes off his shoes, self-conscious as he follows her toward the kitchen. The smell hits him as he enters and almost sends him to his knees with the familiarity. Dare stirs a pot on the stove giving him a soft look.

“It’s my favorite of hers. I figured you might enjoy having it. It’s not exact, I’ve never been able to make it taste as good as hers but I try.”

“You knew my mom.” It's not a question, not anymore. Dare nods gently as she continues to stir.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t remember me.”

“You were at my birthday parties.” He states, still in shock at the confirmation that she’s who he thought she was. She looks surprised at that before she nods slowly.

“I was, yes.”

“And you came to some of my hockey games.” He presses and she nods again.

“I didn’t know you noticed.” She says carefully.

“I recognized you.” He says with a shrug as he shifts uncomfortably, opting to lean on the counter across from her. “So, you’re one of my mom’s friends?” She chuckles at that, a distant look in her eyes as she smiles sadly at him.

“Carole was my best friend, but in regards to you,” she pauses like she’s deciding whether to tell him something. “In official terms, I’m your godmother.”

Bradley frowns in confusion. “That can’t be true. It can’t be because-“ He stops as the pieces fall together in his mind. Pete Mitchell. Dare Mitchell. “Oh my god, you’re his WIFE?” He’s reeling at all this information. Dare nods, looking as uncomfortable at the title as he feels giving it to her.

“Well only really from a legal standpoint.” She says and he thinks he hears bitterness in her voice.

“I thought he was married to Penny.” He blurts. He’s seen Mav and the brunette nutritionist looking cozy whenever she’s at the arena.

“He may as well be.” She says with a shrug. “We’ve been separated for thirty years.”

“But not divorced?” She shakes her head.

“He never pushed for it, so we never did it.”

“But he’s basically married to Penny Benjamin.”

“That’s the gist of it, yes.” She says it like she’s so numb to it that it sounds sane to her.

“But he’s still married to you.” Bradley still can’t get his mind around it. “Why did you separate?” He knows he shouldn't be asking but she’s his godmother after all, and he knows he can’t ask Mav for the answers that he’s after. He watches the pain flash across her eyes and instantly regrets asking. She turns back to the pot that she’s stirring, adding some spices, not looking at him as she finally speaks.

“After your dad died, Pete was so consumed by grief. He told me he needed space so he left for Anaheim and asked me not to come with him. He never came back.” Bradley’s hands tighten into fists even as the breath punches out of his chest as he whispers.

“You knew my dad?” Dare looks up at him again at that, her eyes swimming with tears as she gives him the most gentle smile full of love that he doesn’t know what to do with.

“Yes I knew your dad, Bradley, and he would be proud of you.” His heart squeezes with guilt at the words.

“I doubt that.” He says, averting his eyes to the floor. Dare snorts and he looks back up to see the older woman giving him a rueful smile.

“Pete was his best friend, his bar was exceptionally low.” Bradley chuckles at that. “He’d be proud of you, and your mother would be too. A little disappointed in your recent behavior but that’s fixable.” Her eyes are gentle as Bradley shifts uncomfortably.

“Is… is Zam okay?” He asks. Dare’s eyes soften as she gives him a tired smile.

“I’m not sure, but Bugs took her home so she’s not alone.” Bradley tries to let that information comfort him but it doesn’t.

“I didn’t know.” He whispers. “About her mom, I mean. I didn’t know she was dead.” Dare shakes her head.

“No one did, Bradley. Only Mickey, and he only knows because he knew Zam when it happened.”

“I don’t know what to do to fix it.” He mumbles, hating that he’s saying all this aloud but clearly, he can’t seem to figure this out on his own and something about Dare puts him at ease. He feels like he can trust her. Maybe it’s because she reminds him of his mother, maybe it’s just the familiar smell of her cooking filling the kitchen that’s filling him with a sense of calm and stability.

“You could start with an apology. A real one.” She fixes him with a firm look as she turns off the stove, nodding to the cabinet behind Bradley. “Get me two plates.” He scrambles to do as he’s told and watches as Dare serves up the familiar-looking pasta.

When they sit at the table, Bradley’s hand is shaking as he scoops up the first bite and when he takes the first bite he has to squeeze his eyes shut to stop the tears. For all her complaints that it didn’t taste the same as his mother’s, Bradley can’t taste anything less. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels arms wrap around his shoulders and then he’s being pulled into a smaller frame as a soothing hand rubs up and down his back. Combined with the taste of his mother’s cooking on his tongue for the first time in twenty years, he’s almost convinced that she’s here and this is the kitchen in Virginia and everything’s alright with the world. His shoulders are shaking with sobs that he hasn’t let out in years and she just holds him as he falls apart.

The food is cold when Bradley finally pulls away, red cheeks soaked with tears that mirror the dampness on Dare’s. She cradles his face with her hands and shakes her head slowly. “I’m so sorry, Bradley. I’m so so sorry.”

“For what?” His voice is a croak.

“For not being there. For being so damn afraid of letting you know me. After,” she chokes and has to swallow before she continues. “After Nick died, I tried to be there but I was trying to be there for Pete until he left and then I didn’t think you needed me. You needed a father, not a mother, and Carole was so perfect. I didn’t want to take any of that away in any way, so I kept my distance. I should have been there more often, I should have been there for you. And then when she died,” she has to stop again, her shoulders shaking. “When she died I should have stepped up but you didn’t seem to need it and I don’t think I could have dealt with you not needing me.”

“The way he didn’t need you.” Bradley’s voice is still rough from crying but the anger in his words is still there as he watches this strong woman fall to pieces before him, blaming herself for something that’s not her fault. “He had no right. No right to just leave you like that.”

“I should be telling you that.” She says, stroking his cheek fondly. “You were just a kid. Carole told me he never visited, just sent money to pay for school and hockey.” Bradley’s jaw hardened.

“I didn’t even know about that until her funeral. He actually had the balls to show up there after abandoning her for sixteen years.” His fists tighten at his sides. “That’s when he decided he wanted to be involved. He talked to me like we were old friends like I’d just accept him with open arms after he pretended we didn’t exist for my entire life. Just because he’s my godfather.” Bradley scoffs. “I didn’t want anything to do with him.” He pauses. “I don’t want anything to do with him.” His voice is hard and determined.

“Then why come to San Diego?” She asks and he realizes that she doesn’t know. He barks out an exhausted laugh at her question.

“I didn’t COME to San Diego, not willingly. Maverick negotiated the trade without telling me and the Flyers never told me either. I found out when everyone else did. Well, actually, I found out after everyone else when they called me to ask what happened. It’s not every day you leave the team you’ve called home for the last twelve years.” He watches her eyes harden.

“He had no right.” She growls and he thinks it’s the first time he’s ever truly seen her angry. Cross yes, irritated definitely, but not angry. Bradley shrugs, exhausted.

“But he did it anyway.” It feels good, he thinks. To have someone else feel just as angry about his situation. Someone who understands, not just the truth behind his anger but someone who truly understands what it’s like to be abandoned by Pete Mitchell and have to live with the consequences.

***

After dinner, Dare tells him more about his parents, promising to dig some old photo albums out of storage since she’s still unpacking and Bradley finds himself offering to come back and help if she needs to move any of the larger furniture. The evening had been a surprise, to say the least. Bradley chances a glance at the Tupperware full of the leftover pasta on his passenger seat. Dare had insisted that he take it and offered to teach him how to make it. He still couldn’t believe that he’d had it for the first time in twenty years.

He needs a drink. Not the copious amounts that he’s been indulging in for the past few months, trying to drown out his days, because today he wants to remember. He wants to remember the taste of his mother’s cooking and the feeling of his godmother’s arms. It’s weird. He has a godmother now. He’s always known about Maverick but Dare is completely new to him despite her being present for most of his life compared to Maverick. He knows he should be careful who he trusts but some deep part of him where he’s sure his mother resides tells him that he can trust her and right now he needs someone he can trust.

When he pulls into the parking lot of the bar it’s already fairly busy for a weeknight. This place is in a nicer part of town, more made for social drinking than the wallowing kind. Music pours out of the door as he swings it open. Thursday night karaoke is in full swing. Some nights he participates but tonight he just orders a beer before retreating to his usual booth. He has a decent view of the stage as patrons in various stages of drunkenness belt out horrendously out-of-tune hits. He’s still thinking about Dare’s so-called marriage to Maverick and it makes his blood boil. While she plays it off nonchalantly enough, he can tell that she’s been irrecoverably hurt by his godfather and it makes his heart ache. He feels oddly protective of the older woman, probably due to the admission that she was so close to his mother even if she wasn’t able to visit her very often.

The opening riff of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” meets his ears and Bradley groans audibly. He’s really not in the mood to hear some middle-aged dad desecrate the timeless hit tonight. He hopes they're at least a decent singer instead of one of the types that simply screams the words into the microphone with no regard for the tune.

When the singer starts, however, he pauses. The voice is clear, sweet, and feminine as it croons the opening lines. “Just a small-town girl, living in a lonely world. She took the midnight train going anywhere!” Bradley lets his eyes fall shut as her voice washes over him. She really is a fantastic singer. He opens his eyes again when she hits the pre-chorus, as her voice builds. “Strangers waitin’ up and down the boulevard. Their shadows searchin' in the night. Streetlights, people, livin' just to find emotion hidin', somewhere in the night!” As she belts the last note he turns, desperate to get a look at the girl who’s singing. There’s no one on the small karaoke stage and he frowns in confusion until he follows the sound of the chorus to where the singer is standing on the bar itself, her back to Bradley.

Bradley can’t take his eyes off her back as he watches her sing. She’s wearing an acid-washed black t-shirt over a pair of downright sinful cutoff denim shorts despite the faint chill in the November air. It’s California, after all. They’re dangerously short and accentuate her curvy hips and hug the swell of her ass, barely brushing the bottom of it. He’s lost to his ogling when she turns and suddenly his face flushes bright red as he finally recognizes you.

You look so different. He’s so used to your over-the-top pastel suits and your tight ponytail that seeing you now in your faded Queen t-shirt that’s been hand-cropped to just barely brush the top of your shorts with your hair down feels like seeing you for the first time. Your cheeks are bright from alcohol and the joy that spreads across your face in a wide smile as you sing. You’ve never smiled at him, not really. He’s seen your sickly saccharine smile that you’ve cultivated over the years of having a job like yours but he’s never seen this. The pure joy on your face is so diametrically opposed to the grief on your face just a few hours ago. He feels a part of his heart that he didn’t know was squeezing ease at the sight of you alright. The light is back in your eyes and you seem to be enjoying yourself. He shifts, making sure his back is to you and slouches slightly in his seat. You don’t need to see him. He doesn’t want to ruin your night after he always ruined your day. For now, he's just content to watch and listen.

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