Chapter Text
Wil can’t believe it.
Well, she can . She’s always felt less than adequate; a small town Kansas girl who barely had a clue what was out there in the world, while her husband was someone sophisticated who had it all figured out. Rick seemed to be everything - intelligent, driven, handsome, confident . He’d always been someone who knew what they wanted and got it. For some reason, that happened to be her.
At least, it used to be.
Her vision blurs, with every swipe of the windshield wipers as well as the back of her hand, emotions spilling over her lashline as fast as the rain from the sky, and the entire car jolts as she barrels over another pothole. Winter hasn’t been kind to anything off the main stretch of town, and a part of her knows she should slow down. It’s distant, shoved so far to the back of her mind it’s overridden by her desire just to get somewhere she can breathe.
Whatever Rick saw in her is gone, and apparently has been for some time now.
She’s suffocating, slowly, surely, from the moment she left her house. Her lungs are filled with concrete, and the further she goes, the more it starts to crack. The papers he handed her swim through her mind, their presence in the passenger seat searing through her senses, and it suddenly strikes her how detached the whole thing was, clinical in a way that's almost professional.
If she’s being honest, that’s just how Rick is with her, but it cuts too close to things she’s ignored for years to be able to acknowledge them right now.
So she drives. And drives. Aimless turns and muscle memory taking her down roads she doesn’t need conscious thought to navigate. She has no idea where she’s going, only that she can’t go back, and there's an agonizing span of time where she begins to believe there might not be anywhere to go.
Until she remembers there are some people and places that will never change, no matter how old they get or how many years pass.
Her subconscious is well ahead of the game, and when she slips back behind the wheel to her mind she finds she's already headed in the direction she wants to be. It's also well off the beaten path, which explains her rough ride, and several minutes out.
The property sits on the edge of town, nestled among a handful of other farms. She travels past muddy fields still spotted with snow, watching a light fog roll across the dirt road. She turns up the driveway, and as soon as the house comes into view, so does a familiar truck.
There’s a visceral twist that shoots through her being, and before she realizes it, her foot is slamming on the brakes.
It shouldn’t surprise her, but it does . Wholly. On a level that rattles her out of her grief long enough to consider that maybe she shouldn’t be here.
Yet, she has every right to be, and even with all she’s been led to believe, she knows if anyone deserves to be here, it’s her .
Nostalgia pushes against the clamor, carving into old paths abandoned by time. It unravels as swift as the rest of her life, and what it leaves behind is that much more disorienting for her.
She almost throws it in reverse, a manic undercurrent of avoidance flooding her veins, until the truth sweeps in with a sobering reminder: she has nowhere else to go.
This is it. The end of the line. Her mother is gone, in most ways that matter, her confused body living out the remainder of its days in a nursing home in Denver. Her father is there too, fully intact and wholly devoted to the woman he promised to spend his life with. The rest of her friends have moved on in their lives, their ambitions and desires taking them on different paths.
The ones that matter, however, have stuck around, even if it's been in less than ideal ways.
Her foot eases back on the gas, and the next several seconds are filled with an agonizing doubt as she crawls forward. The closer she gets, the more her anxiety hums with the near idling of her engine. There’s no backing down, though, not when a figure pulls back the living room curtains as she comes close enough to the house to park.
She finds the nerve to open her door, but it takes finding several others to get her foot through it.
Wrong.
All of this is, and maybe being there is just as much as the rest of it.
She manages to climb out, but the walk to those familiar porch steps is slow, like she’s hip deep in molasses and fighting to move upstream. The rain bears down upon her, numbing droplets pelting her skin, cold skittering across her awareness. She’s so full of everything it barely sinks in, a dash of color dotting the tip of her nose and cheeks.
She finally makes it to the stairs. Her hand braces against the railing, shuffled steps dragging her to the top where her shoes suddenly fill with stone. Her joints become hardened resin, and she’s not certain she can take another step, even if she’s ready.
It finally hits her, the full scope of all she’s learned, and she’s terrified of what may or may not be there when she walks through that door. It burns within her chest, the word away popping and sizzling through her at intervals like flames fighting through damp wood. Her fear finds purchase, but before it can engulf her, saturated frames groan in protest and rusting hinges give a squawk.
The figure that emerges nearly takes up the entire entryway, inherent comfort pushing against the rising tide at the sight of tall and lean. Normally sunny features mirror the weather rolling over them, a contrast of soft and hard culminating in Stanley's gaze as he takes in the sight before him.
“I didn’t- I didn’t kn-kn-” Chattering teeth cut through her message, drawing attention to the way her body’s drawn in on itself, fighting off a tremble that’s rapidly working into full-bodied shivers.
His jacket is off in an instant, enveloping her just before sturdy arms do. She gets a face full of flannel as he pulls her tight to his chest, and it’s not lost on her that the last time he’s hugged her this fiercely might have been at her wedding.
A sob sneaks it’s way past her lips, and the sentiments chasing it clench around her vocal chords, cutting off her ability to speak.
His grip becomes crushing. “I know,” he says quietly, and the confirmation releases a tidal wave of relief that she doesn’t have to say a damn thing.
All the tension in her body snaps, and she sags against him, clinging to him just as much as he’s holding her.
He gives her time to let the worst of it out, half-hiccups jarring through her as much as chill driven shudders. When she’s finally able to catch her breath again, he eases back, hands rubbing along her arms.
“You should come inside, and get dry.” Despite the offer, hesitation floods his features, and she knows what’s coming next. “But you, uh, you know Bill’s in there, right?”
She bites back an obviously , and any other time she would have thrown in a sassy his car didn't drive itself. But there's nothing to pull from except a fountain of hurt fueled by the budding bitterness and betrayal that’s no longer content to lurk beneath it all.
She’s not certain what she should be bracing herself for, only that she needs to. She’d prefer not to put Stanley in a position where he’d have to choose between the two people that mean the most to him aside from Bonnie.
Except it’s too late. Wil can’t avoid how this will all play out. She’s already there .
The doubt that plagued her descent up the driveway returns full force, and she’s not only questioning her decision not to throw it in reverse and keep heading out of town, but every single one she’s made over the last eight years.
Her mother used to say, “No matter what our plans may be or where our lives take us,,” and it all loops back in a dizzying rush to the fact that she is standing there.
Stanley takes her by the shoulders, gentle blue washing over her with concern. “Do you want to come in?”
The genuine invitation is almost her undoing. She blinks away more tears, using the oversized sleeves covering her hands to immediately cut off the salty streams along her cheeks.
“Does he want me to?” Her own uncertainty pours out as furiously as the heavens open up, a torrent of rain dropping down along the building so loud she almost doesn't hear the voice at the door
“Is that seriously a question?”
She uncovers her face, and seeing Bill is harder to manage than Stanley’s support.
He doesn’t look much better. His eyes are just as red, filled to the brim, though they aren’t mutinously leaking. Seeing the same pain reflected back in his gaze, however, adds a whole other unpleasant and heavy layer to it all.
Stanley steps aside, his hand resting between her shoulders in silent support. He's such a good friend, and Bill was one. Is? She doesn’t know where she stands with him now any better than she did two days ago.
Guilt twines with sympathy, pushing the unbearable weight deeper into her chest. She tries to use it as an anchor, but it doesn’t stop her from drowning, only seems to pull her steadily under with it.
Something shifts in Bill's demeanor. Hunched shoulders roll back, spine stiffening into a straight line. There's a hardness rippling through his features that doesn't belong, not in conjunction with her. But it's there , and the worst of her fears spring out from the shadows, sinking their teeth into the softest spots that they can find.
There’s no going back from this. It’s not just her that’s tainted, and seeing it feels so much worse than she imagined.
“I’m so sorry, Bill,” she manages before the tide crashes in, dragging her head beneath briny waves that course freely down her face. “I should have known. I should have --”
The rest of her words are lodged in her throat, the air in her lungs pushed out by the sheer force of her emotions. It no longer feels like she's drowning. She is , the world spinning around her as she desperately tries to keep herself from sinking any deeper.
She can barely hear them, their voices too garbled to understand as they trickle down from the surface. She feels the movement as they guide her somewhere and sit her down, but it’s strange, like being dragged through tar as her world collapses around her.
She gave up everything - everything - including her best friend, and for what? Nothing . She did it for nothing, and that’s what they were leaving them with.
“Breathe, Wil!” Bill’s stern command reaches her, resonating with enough panic to suggest not all is lost.
When she resurfaces, she finds herself on the porch swing, head practically between her legs with only his hands on her shoulders to keep her from pitching forward. Stanley’s got his palm on her back, rubbing frantic zigzags in way that’s wholly not soothing and speaks to the level of oh shit that must be going through his mind.
She inhales, a stuttering sound broken by the sobs still fighting to tear their way loose.
“Keep it up,” Bill encourages. “Just keep breathing, ok?”
“We got you,” Stanley promises, his voice so drenched with concern it has pieces of her snapping back into place at a staggering rate.
She sits up, throwing herself against the backrest as her hands shield her face. Exasperation and embarrassment smooth over the surface, solidifying her walls once more, and as Stanley sits back to give her some space, a muffled curse makes its way through the thick fabric of his coat.
This isn't how she wanted it to go, and it’s just another reminder of how nothing is in her control right now.
It takes a few minutes to even out her breath, and by the time she’s pulled herself together, there’s a sober silence hanging over all of their heads.
“You ok?” Stanley asks, finally breaking it.
She slides her hands down and cracks an eye at him, brow shooting up as if to ask what do you think?
“Right.” His features scrunch, head shaking slightly as if amazed even he asked that. “Stupid question.”
It’s an appreciated one, though.
She leans into him, cheek resting on his shoulder, and without hesitation he drops his head down onto the crown of hers.
“I’ll kill the sonofabitch if you want me to. Just say the word.” He’s only half-joking. Probably because he has to at least seem like he might be in front of the law enforcement officer sitting to her left.
“Deputy straight edge might have an issue with that.”
It’s automatic, the way she reverts not only to using humor to deflect, but back into patterns reminiscent of when they’d do this very thing; sit around on one of their porches, talking about everything, anything, and sometimes absolutely nothing.
Ironically, she’d called Bill the same thing back then, too, which made for a real fun night when he announced he was actually joining the sheriff’s office.
The realization of how different they are from the kids they once were hits almost as hard as the fact that her husband is leaving her for her former best friend’s wife.
“Only if you tell me the plan ahead of time,” Bill informs them. “Ignorance is innocence in the eyes of the law.”
He might be joking. He might not . She can't really get a pulse on him because it's been so long since she’s even been in his presence for more than just a few minutes. Chance occurrences and cordial acknowledgement, that's what their relationship has been reduced to.
Her mind drifts to a simpler time, when the future held so much excitement and hope. Where their friendship felt unshakeable, and it was just a given they'd all stay enmeshed in each other's lives. Raise their kids together. Hold boring barbecues they’d all attend.
When had it all become so messed up?
She untucks herself from Stanley’s side, and he immediately straightens back up, allowing her to rock forward to her feet. Her eyes drift past the property, out towards the horizon as she moves toward the railing. Her hands press against wet wood, palms soaking in the icy chill as she leans forward and has them take on more of her weight.
"Remember the last time we were all on this porch?" Stanley asks. She can hear the fond remembrance in his voice, can even picture the smile playing at his lips.
Bill's answer is immediate, surprisingly so. "Homecoming, eight years ago."
She’ll certainly never forget it. A bachelorette party was a little weird when her two closest friends were men, so she decided not to have one, and Stanley had surprised her by throwing the biggest homecoming party Jericho might have ever seen at his house in her honor.
"I might have woken up with the worst hangover of my life the next morning," Stanley reminisces.
They all had been rough around the edges, her in more ways than one for reasons she hadn't fully underst and still wouldn't until the bulk of what was happening finally hit her several days from now.
"Me too," she murmurs, lips tugging up as she recalls how convinced he had been that he was dying.
"Me three.”
To be honest, she's surprised Bill had even stayed long enough to get drunk, and part of her still wondered if it was a coincidence his mother had planned a Koehler women cruise to coincide with that weekend.
"I know it's not the same, but when Mary Ellen broke up with me and moved out, I would have spent as much time away from this place as possible.” Stanley admits. “But, I had Bonnie, and… well, I’m sure you remember how well that all went.”
The barren lawn snaps back into focus, and her fingers squeeze around the edge of the railing. It may not be the same situation, but pain is pain, and Mary Ellen had been the one to him, or else he never would have invited her into his sister’s life as well.
"So I'm going to go inside and, regardless of what you say, I'm finding a place for Bonnie to stay this weekend, and we will figure this out like we always have. Together."
She can read between the lines. It's been years since their childhood trio has existed in any capacity. What he really means is like you did with me. It's certainly the last time she can recall her and Bill interacting with any sort of regularity.
There's a creak of rusting hinges as he stands, weathered floorboards groaning beneath his shifting weight as he disappears back into the house.
A new silence emerges, and without Stanley there, you don't know how to fill it.
"It should feel weird, shouldn't it?" Bill questions. "Us. Both being here, when Rick and Betty…" His voice strains at the mention of his wife, and he goes quiet once again.
“Can’t be any weirder than that time we both showed up at Mandy Thompson's house to take her to the dance.”
He exhales quickly through his nose, unexpected mirth pushing briefly to the surface. He rocks onto the balls of his feet before setting back down on his heels, a different type of tension settling between you.
"Yeah, that, uh, that was pretty weird.” He scratches at the back of his head. "Always figured Stanley and I would be the ones that tripped over each other with a girl."
"Pretty sure my mom did, too.” That girl being Wil , which was why she had to ask Mandy out in the first place.
Her mother never made it a secret she wanted Wil to settle down with either Bill or Stanley, mostly because it meant she was certain to give her parents lots of grandbabies right there in Jericho.
She'd come back to her hometown anyway after her schooling, but there had yet to be any grandchildren.
Probably for the best, given the circumstances.
“It’s not your fault.”
Her brows draw together. Of course it wasn’t her fault Mandy double booked herself that evening. How was Wil supposed to know Bill was even in the picture?
Her eyes snap to him, noting the way amber darts away from her just as quickly.
It’s then she realizes what he’s actually talking about.
She swallows against the tight ring of emotions squeezing around her throat. Somewhere inside her she knows she’s not responsible for other people’s decisions, but that’s not what comes pouring out of her mouth.
“Happy husbands don’t run off with other people’s wives, Bill.”
His stare snap back to her, head turning slightly in her direction before everything about him goes stark still.
Her eyes widen as it dawns on her there’s a flip side to that statement.
He turns, body opening up to her as he touches her on the shoulder. “ Do you think it’s my fault Betty’s leaving me?”
She shakes her head. “No. Never. ” Vehemence infuses with her tone. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then why would you blame yourself?”
Her lips go pale, pressing tight against her teeth. He doesn’t know the way she’s woken up every morning with her instincts thrumming that something was wrong. He doesn’t know how deep her denial has run, not just for months but years , about the man she chose to spend her life with.
Most of all, he doesn’t know how stupid she’s been for thinking there was plenty of time to figure things out, because she was married.
She’s crying. Again . And this time she doesn’t attempt to stop the sorrow that drips down her face.
There’s hesitation in the way he shifts his weight, a stiffness in his frame as he reaches for her. The words he murmurs, however, are genuine, laden with his intimate understanding of her situation.
“It’s not your fault, Wil.”
She buries her head against him, breathing him in with every one of her senses. Everything about him is different. The way he feels is, though she’s not sure why. Maybe he’s softer. Less gangly. His scent has changed, reminding her of clean laundry, musk, and aftershave, like everyone’s dad used to smell when they were kids. It’s oddly fitting, even if it is a little weird to think about the fact they are that age now.
Despite all this, despite their distance, she can still feel the same sincerity within his embrace as she did when she was sixteen and had her heart broken for the first time, or when she was twenty-one and found out her mother’s confusion and failing memory was never going to get any better, only worse.
That’s one of the best things about Bill, though. He’s one of the good guys, and he doesn’t just care when it’s convenient or benefits him in some way.
He doesn’t deserve this. Not one bit.
“I’m sorry,” she tells him, and she’s not just apologizing for the curveball life has also thrown at him. It’s for allowing the distance to grow between them, for recognizing they were being pushed apart, but never fighting it. For seeing signs and knowing Betty would never make him happy, not forever, but never finding a way to tell him that felt right .
That’s always been a regret, well before this moment, though she had hoped she would be wrong.
Clearly, she isn’t.
“Me too.”
He’s so quiet, she almost doesn’t hear the hoarse whisper over the rain, and when his arms tighten even more around her, she’d like to think it’s because he’s saying the same thing back to her.