Chapter Text
She could have just shipped it, like a normal person.
A normal person who drives the ten minutes to the local post office, finds a nondescript “it fits, it ships” box, pays the flat rate postage, and continues about her day instead of driving halfway across Ontario to deliver something Patrick probably doesn’t want anyway. It’s been years.
Literal years.
He does not need what she’s come to give him.
She has to admit she’s curious, though. She has been since David Rose went stalking past her in a dingy yard at a charmingly inept barbecue so many years ago; since Patrick followed her into Room 9 looking wrecked and said two words she wished he had told her even slightly earlier: “I’m gay.” But as she puts her car into park outside the store that bears her ex-fiance’s husband’s name, she has a growing suspicion that this might have been a massive mistake.
“Okay,” she breathes, checking her reflection in the mirror on the visor. “This was not a completely ridiculous idea.”
Yes it was.
Clearing her throat in an effort to ignore her subconscious, she snags the tote from the passenger seat and exits the car into the cool spring air. It’s late in the afternoon - nearly early evening. Her stomach rumbles, and she glances at the Cafe wondering if it would be worth it to grab dinner before heading back on the road, but she’s stalling and she knows it. The store is probably wrapping up for the day; she doesn’t have much time, so she crosses the street and pauses on the sidewalk, watching through the warm glow of the windows as David frowns down at the register as if it’s done him a personal wrong.
She steps forward before she loses her nerve, listening to the old bell jingle above the door as she pushes it open.
“Welcome to Rose Apothe - oh.”
He’s just as beautiful as she remembers, eyes wide, lips rounded in surprise.
“Hello, David,” she replies. Her palms are starting to sweat and she wipes them on her jeans, adjusting the strap of the tote bag looped around her wrist.
“Rachel,” he breathes, fitting an enormous amount of surprise into those two tiny syllables. “What - what are you doing here?” Then he winces, like it was rude to ask what your husband’s ex-fiancee is doing in your store on a Saturday when she lives hours away.
She laughs a little and shakes her head, the knot in her chest loosening when the tenseness of his shoulders eases. She lifts her right arm, the cloth tote swinging. “Just came to drop something off for Patrick. I thought he might want it.”
“Oh.” David comes around the counter, gesturing towards the back of the store. “He’s unloading a vendor drop off. I’m pretending to be busy so I don’t have to help.”
She laughs again, more genuine this time, and clasps her hands behind her back, tote bag bumping against her legs.
“You’re welcome to wait,” he continues, looking nervous but sincere. “He shouldn’t be long.”
Rachel can’t fault him for any lingering anxiety. The last time she saw him in person ended up not being a great day for any of them.
“The store is wonderful,” she says, looking around, and David immediately perks up with pride. “Instagram doesn’t do it justice.”
“You follow us on instagram?”
“Of course I do.” She leans down to smell a candle on the table, if only to avoid the intensity of his gaze. “At first it was just idle curiosity - I didn’t get a chance to come in last time,” she moves on to a bottle of hand soap, “but you frame the products so beautifully in the pictures. I just want to light a candle and sit down in here with a book and a blanket.”
David makes a noise like a whine/groan, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, as if she just told him he had the best outfit on the Met Gala red carpet.
“We ship to your area, you know.”
“I know. Marcy told me,” she says with a sheepish grin. “I thought it would be weird if you saw my name on an order form when we haven’t really...” she trails off and vaguely gestures between them with her free hand.
“I would have filled it regardless,” he replies with a smirk. Then he raises an eyebrow. “Might have even thrown in a few free samples.”
But before she can respond to that, a voice she knows only too well calls out from the back.
“Babe, what’d you do with the - ” Patrick comes around the corner and stops dead in the doorway, eyes widening as he registers her presence. “Rach.” He licks his lips, and she doesn’t miss the way his gaze darts to David ever so briefly, checking in. David gives him a reassuring smile and holds his arm out, and Patrick sinks sideways into the embrace, fitting them together like pieces of a puzzle.
“Rachel was just telling me how wonderful my instagram posts are.” It’s clearly an old argument because Patrick just rolls his eyes and leans in further to the nook beneath David’s arm.
“Yeah, yeah.”
David looks at her again. “He thought we needed a professional. Mind you, the only professional in a 30 kilometer radius is Ray.”
She remembers hearing about Ray - Patrick’s first roommate. She heard about him from Marcy, though, back before their one-sided radio silence was broken on an unsuspecting afternoon with the smell of charred burger hanging in the air. They had more pressing topics to talk about that day. No, she didn’t hear about Ray’s affinity for letting nothing stand in his way - not even a locked door - for months to come, when Patrick’s tentative How are you? text became a three hour phone conversation.
“Oh, this from the guy who wanted to use a poorly-lit selfie for our engagement announcement,” she blurts, and she holds her breath because though she meant it teasingly, it could go very badly, but then David laughs - high and loud and unexpected as he pets the back of Patrick’s head.
“See? I rest my case. Thank you, Rachel, you’ve been incredibly helpful.”
She ducks her head, blushing, and silence descends. It’s a little awkward, but not necessarily uncomfortable. She should just get down to the reason she came - she can only imagine what’s going through Patrick’s head - but before she can, she watches the two of them have an entire conversation without ever uttering a word.
It’s… beautiful.
“I’m going to get some coffee from the Cafe,” David announces. “Rachel, would you like anything?”
“No, I’m good, thanks.” She opens her mouth to say more, to tell him this really isn’t that serious and he doesn’t need to go, but he’s already pressing a kiss to Patrick’s cheek and murmuring something about tea.
He gives her a warm smile as he passes, and the bell over the door signals his departure. A last minute slice of fear has her wanting to run to the window and call him back, but she holds her ground. Though they text a lot and talk on the phone occasionally, she and Patrick haven’t actually been alone together since that afternoon that’s more of a blur than anything else. A hazy conflagration of hurt, confusion, anger, and healing where they broke themselves down so they could build each other back up.
She clocks the RA on the wall as she turns back to him, this boy she fell in love with. This man she was supposed to marry.
But, no. Patrick is exactly where he’s supposed to be.
“Marriage suits you,” she says, meaning every word, and his ears go red as he scratches the back of his neck.
“Thanks.”
His wedding ring catches the light and, despite her most fervent wishes and her genuine happiness for him, it does make something pang deep within her. A sigh for the young girl she used to be who’d look at Patrick Brewer and imagine putting a band of gold on his finger.
“So…” he starts, chuckling slightly.
“Right!” she says, overly loud in the empty store. “Um, I’m moving to Toronto at the end of the month and I was going through stuff at my parents’ house and I came across this.” She opens the tote bag and pulls out its contents, running her thumb over the distressed seam where familiar navy wool meets gold leather. “I thought you might want to have this back.”
The letterman jacket that fit him perfectly as he walked down high school hallways, that he draped over her shoulders on cold evenings, that he asked her to wear to his baseball games; that was his but became hers is heavy in her hand, and she feels like the sound of her beating heart is echoing off the hardwood floors. This was probably a mistake.
“Oh,” he breathes. “That’s, um, very - ”
“Silly,” she says, shaking her head, red hair curtaining off the flaming of her face.
“Sweet,’ I was going to say,” he amends.
“Oh.” A relieved laugh escapes her mouth as he steps forward and reaches for the leather sleeve, fingering it gently.
“I completely forgot about this.”
It’s a nice jacket, Rachel can admit. The school had gone all out for them - bake sales, boosters, car washes, the works. Brewer is stitched on the right side, opposite a large T patch for their Tiger mascot. The left sleeve has his number, 12, and the right has a C for Captain. Rachel being tiny and it being Canada, she was constantly cold when they went out, and one night, Patrick gave it to her and never asked for it back. She wore it proudly around school and to his games and even to her college classes. Then life threw her a curve ball no captain of the baseball team could prepare her for.
She returned the ring, but she kept the jacket.
Until now.
“You came all the way out here to give me this?” he asks, eyes wide with wonder and mouth curved into something soft and sincere. It’s a look she used to let herself get lost in. After the fact, in her darker moments, she wondered if that expression was something he put on. An act he did to get her to cave on an argument.
But that’s just him. Patrick Brewer. Eyes like weapons of mass destruction.
“I could have just dropped it off with your parents, but I guess… I guess I felt bad for missing the wedding. I didn’t want you to think - I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t happy for you.” She bites her lip and swallows around an unexpected swell of emotion. “It was very nice of you to invite me. I really did have a work conference.”
Patrick smiles softly, seeing right through her. Just as he always has. “I know.” Then his expression turns playful and he tugs the jacket from her hand. “Think it still fits?”
She laughs and clears her throat, surreptitiously wiping at her eye as he slides his arms through the sleeves and tugs the buttons together with a wince.
“I don’t remember it being this tight,” he mutters.
“Well I don’t remember seventeen-year-old you having those shoulders,” she says with a raised eyebrow, poking at him. “Like - damn, Brewer.”
He laughs self-consciously, but then leans in to the moment, modeling to the left before pulling a muscle pose to the right. “I hike a lot,” he says, like that’s an explanation.
“Nuh uh. Hiking doesn’t do that.”
He looks sheepish. “I may have discovered Crossfit.”
Yeah, that makes more sense. “I can tell. Oh God, you’re not one of those gym rats that prefaces every conversation with ‘Oh I do Crossfit …” she teases, adopting a deep, overly macho voice, like it’s ten years ago and she’s ribbing him for giving her a play-by-play for a game she just watched.
“Only to David,” he says as the bell rings. “And only when he’s bringing home donuts for the fourth time in five days.”
“I’ve never heard you complain before!” David snaps as he nudges the door closed with his hip, before finally looking up and stopping dead. His jaw drops and his gaze rakes up and down Patrick’s body in a truly obscene way. If Rachel didn’t find it all so hilarious, she’d turn away to give them a moment.
God, she wishes she had recorded that.
“Um, hello,” David finally manages, the tray of drinks wobbling in his hand.
“Hi,” Patrick responds and the blush has spread beyond his ears, to his cheeks and down his neck. Rachel clasps her hands under her chin, gaze darting delightfully back and forth.
David whirls around to her. “This is what you wanted to bring him?”
“Yep,” she replies. “Disappointed?”
“That is… not the word I’m thinking of,” David breathes, Patrick chokes, and Rachel can’t help it, she doubles over in laughter.
“Wow,” she manages once she’s caught her breath. “So clearly the honeymoon period is still alive and well. I’m happy I could help contribute to the role-playing portion of the evening.”
Both of their jaws drop, and Patrick looks mortified, but David just looks intrigued. Like she's just given him an idea.
She winks. “You’re welcome.”
Patrick hastily takes off the jacket, despite David’s pout, but carefully folds it and places it on the counter. “Thank you, Rach. It is nice to have, and not for the devious reasons your dirty mind is thinking.”
She smiles again and nods, throat going tight because she didn’t realize they could have this. This lovingly teasing banter. It's easy over text. It's harder in person.
“Well,” she says, slapping her hands on her thighs, “I should get back on the road.”
“You’re not staying over?” Patrick blurts, looking concerned.
“Oh, no, I’m heading back. Those boxes won’t pack themselves.”
But Patrick is still looking at her like, like he’s never seen her before. “You drove… hours to drop off a high school letterman jacket?”
“I drove hours to drop off a high school letterman jacket to you," she specifies, shrugging and not quite meeting his eye. “I wanted to see you. Both of you.” Then she inhales shakily. “I wanted you to know that I really was upset to miss the wedding. I saw the pictures. It was beautiful.”
David presses his lips together and shakes his head. “I can’t believe you got us the espresso machine.”
Patrick smirks and tugs his husband in close, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Rachel knows what those kisses feel like, but she doesn’t think Patrick ever had that lovestruck expression on his face when he did it.
“You’re his favorite,” he says, looking up and meeting David's gaze. Again, they have one of those silent conversations involving nothing but a raised set of eyebrows and a slight shift of one shoulder.
David turns back to her and smiles warmly. “Stay with us.”
Oh. That’s - that’s not what she was expecting. And it’s definitely not what she was prepared for. Emotionally or, like, pajamaly.
“I didn’t even bring anything.”
“That’s all right,” Patrick murmurs. And he looks so sincere. Like he really does want her to stay. “We have extra toothbrushes.”
“And it’ll give you a chance to try out the products,” David says, complete with an enticing little shoulder shimmy. And because he's a mind reader, he adds, “Besides, I doubt it’s the first time you’ve borrowed my husband’s sleepwear.”
She laughs but nods in concession. She packed one of his old t-shirts just yesterday.
“Only if it’s not an imposition,” she says carefully, but Patrick is already stepping forward and reaching for her hand.
“It’s been too long,” those WMDs implore. “Stay.”
She sighs, helpless in the face of such destructive power, and nods. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
But David is already flitting around the store, shoving bottles of wine under his arm and pulling travel bottles of skincare products that will best suit Rachel’s palette off the shelves.
“Please,” he says. “An opportunity to get you sloppy and hear all about Patrick Brewer’s high school exploits? I should be buying you an espresso machine.”
She watches them close down and clean up, even offering to man a broom so Patrick can reconcile the register and David can continue to customize a daily skincare routine for her. When they finish, she heads out the door of a store she really does feel at home in with a promise to follow them to their brand new house. She unlocks her car and tosses the now empty tote bag in the passenger seat, listening to David and Patrick lock up through the cracked window.
“She knows I was kidding about the espresso machine, right? Like, she knows she can’t have ours, right?”
“Yes, babe,” Patrick laughs. “She knows.” He wraps his arm around David’s waist, probably because he’s too short to wrap it around his shoulders, like he used to do to her, and walks them to their car.
He waves at her, and she gives him a thumbs up in return, letting him know she’s ready to go when they are. Her ex-fiance and his husband.
One day, probably sooner rather than later, she’ll stop thinking of them like that. The ex and the next.
He’ll always be her first love whose letterman jacket was too big but kept her so warm. More importantly, though, he’ll also always be what he was first:
Her best friend.
One day, definitely sooner rather than later, that’s how she’ll think of him again.
And going by the new number she has in her contacts and the string of texts filled with detailed steps for her recently developed nighttime regimen, she has a feeling he won't be the only one.