Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When you survived time travel, monsters, mercenaries hell bent on capturing your husband, and your own death—not once, but over two thousand times—you’d think nothing could scare you anymore.

You’d be wrong.

Apparently one stupid envelope could.

Jake came back from work looking like he saw a ghost, dropped it on their kitchen table, and then locked himself in the bathroom. How long ago was it—fifteen minutes, twenty? Taylor lost track. The water was still running, but she doubted he was actually showering. By now it had to be ice cold. He just didn’t want her to see him fall apart.

She raised her hand and almost knocked, but let it rest against the door instead. She could picture him inside, sitting on the wet floor with his head in his hands. It was infuriating, it hurt, but Jake was like that. Sometimes he let her help. And sometimes he had to break down first, alone, before he was ready to let anyone hold the pieces.

She dragged the envelope closer. The lawyer office that sent it probably charged more per hour than they spent on groceries weekly, but that wasn’t the scary part. Well, unless the bill was included inside.

The scary part was the name on it: Jacob L. McKenzie. A ghost they buried years ago, with everything else from that life.

Nobody should have known. Nobody could connect that name to this address. Only ten people in the whole world knew where they were, and she trusted every single one of them with their lives. But what if—she started to think and wanted to smack herself. No. Impossible. They had been through hell together, and she was damn sure none of their friends would give them up.

Who else could it be though? And how?

She paced the hallway, pulling at her sleeves. They were so careful about everything. Cash only, different town every few months, no new friends. She had even been the one arguing last week that maybe, after six years, he could stop looking over his shoulder and loosen up a little. “It’s time to stop being paranoid,” she’d said like an idiot. Great timing, Tay. Brilliant.

She picked up the envelope again, running her thumb over the half-torn flap. One tiny move and she could see what’s inside. Extradition papers, maybe. Court order. Arrest warrant. God, the possibilities made her stomach turn. But this was Jake's past and his ghosts. Whatever was inside belonged to him, not her. Even if the waiting was killing her, even if every instinct screamed to protect him from whatever was coming—she couldn’t take this from him.

The water cut off. Taylor held her breath and waited. Nothing. She picked at a thread on her shirt until it snapped. Still nothing. When the door finally opened, she forgot how to breathe. Jake looked wrecked—hair dripping, yesterday's shirt grabbed from who knows which pile. But his eyes. God, his eyes. She'd only seen that look once before, in the Celestial when Mike died again and she almost—

“I can’t,” Jake whispered and reached out to her. “I can’t. What if… what if we gotta run again?”

What if? Their go-bags were packed and ready, and she had all exits mapped a long time ago. She would be ready in five minutes, if that was what they needed to do—but what good would it do to spiral now? She wrapped both hands around his palm and pulled it against her chest, right over her racing heart.

“Then we run,” she said firmly. “But not before we know what we’re running from.”

He pulled back with a shaky breath and nodded. “Okay. Let’s see it what it is. Together.”

They sat down at the table, both of them just staring at the damn thing. Jake’s fingers were shaking too much when he tried to open it, so she did it instead, tearing the paper in one quick motion. The rip sounded way too loud in the quiet kitchen. They both jumped, knees knocking under the table.

Jake pulled out the papers and skimmed through the first page. Taylor grabbed the edge of the table so hard her knuckles turned white. She didn’t dare to look down, eyes locked on his face. Please, let it be good news, she pleaded, not sure who she was praying to, but hoping they’d listen for once.

He frowned and started to read again, slower this time. The crease on his forehead grew deeper, his lips started to move silently—and that was when she first saw something else.

Hope. Reckless, dangerous, nonsensical hope.

He handed her the page with shaking fingers, and she looked down at it.

—the office of judge attorney general—lack of evidence—case dismissed—

She blinked the tears away.

“Jake,” she choked on a sob. “Jake, it says—”

“I know.” He was barely holding it together. “I know.”

Jake looked at her like he was drowning and she was air. Papers scattered everywhere as he lunged for her. His hands were in her hair, around her ribs, crushing her against him so tight she couldn't breathe. He was crying, or laughing maybe, she couldn't tell. His whole body was shaking.

“You read it, right?” He asked, breathless, wrecked. “Tell me you read it too. I didn’t imagine it?”

She picked the page off the table and held it up like it was something sacred. “Right here. See?” Her finger traced the sentence. “Lack of evidence. Case dismissed. All charges dropped. You’re cleared, Jake. For real.”

She didn’t even realize she was crying until he leaned in and wiped the tears off her face. His lips found hers in a kiss so fierce she forgot how to think. Her hands tangled in his hair as she kissed him back just as hard.

Six years. Six fucking years.

“God,” he said between breaths, eyes wide and wet. “Do you know what this means?”

“You can go back home.”

“I can go back home.” He squeezed her hands, voice full of wonder. “We can.”

And he kissed her again, like he finally believed it was real.

Taylor knelt to gather the scattered papers, her hands still shaking. Her eyes caught on a small, thick card tucked inside the main envelope. It looked out of place, too personal between all of the documents, and she picked it up first out of curiosity.

“You’ve been running long enough,” she read aloud, throat tightening with each word. “Time to go back home.”

Her eyes filled with tears, blurring the ten signatures underneath. It didn’t matter. She already knew them by heart.

She’d asked for their help three years ago, right after they got rescued from the cursed island. They’d promised to look into it. She’d kept checking in at first, always getting the same answer: “we’ll see what we can do.” Months passed without any news, and eventually she stopped asking and stopped hoping. She told herself that some things were just too broken to fix, and tried to make peace with that.

She should’ve known better.

“They did this,” she whispered, running her fingers over the names. “They never stopped fighting for us. How did they even—” her voice broke off. Did it matter how? Their friends had moved mountains, pulled strings, probably broken a few laws along the way. All to bring them home.

Jake was still laughing with relief when he snatched another document from the pile. “Look at this,” he said, his voice full of disbelief, holding a letter from the Naval Discharge Review Board. He gave it a quick scan, a wry grin spreading across his face. “About fucking time.”

Before she could even ask, her own eyes landed on something else. Plane tickets. “Jake,” she gasped, holding them up. “These are for next week.”

He dropped the discharge letter and snatched the tickets from her hand. “Holy fuck. Next week.”

She couldn’t stop smiling, not even if she tried. Next week. It sounded impossible, and yet it was right there in his hand. They both just sat there, grinning like idiots, still not believing the world had been kind to them for once.

The table was completely covered. Legal papers, tickets and forms, some letter from the law firm they hadn’t even touched yet pushed to the back. Relief was so loud in her chest she almost missed the next thing—two clipped documents. Birth certificates.

Jake’s was exactly what it should be: McKenzie, Jacob Lucas, born in Louisiana, February 6th, 1991. Hers, on the other hand…

She stared at it and read the name printed on it. Once, twice, and for a third time, because maybe she was seeing things. Then she cursed loudly.

“Diego's dead,” she said through gritted teeth. “He is so fucking dead.”

“What?” Jake leaned over her shoulder, read the name, and completely lost it. “Oh no he didn’t!”

She shot him a look that could kill a weaker man, but he just kept laughing like an idiot.

“It’s not funny, Jake!”

“Princess—” he wheezed. “Your name—”

“Shut up.”

What the hell was wrong with the name Taylor anyway…?

She closed her eyes and tried to do the breathing exercise that always helped. Breathe in for four seconds, hold for seven, breathe out for eight. How could he do it to me— Four. Seven. Eight. I will absolutely kill him. Four. Seven. Eight. But hug him first. Four. Seven. Eight.

Okay. Better. She grabbed her phone and looked at her husband, who was still wiping tears off his eyes.

“We need to call them,” she announced.

“Right now? It’s the middle of the night.”

“So what? They deserve it for not giving us a heads up,” she said with a shrug, and he had to admit she had a point. “I almost had a heart attack when I saw your face. What were they thinking?!”

Jake just nodded. “Still can’t believe they pulled it off.”

Taylor propped her phone against a half-empty sugar bowl and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Okay. Ready?” She asked, tapping at the screen.

A moment later, Grace’s face appeared, blurry and upside down at first, then snapping into focus. She was squinting. Taylor felt a pang of guilt at first—shit, she probably woke her up. But Grace wasn’t mad at her at all.

“I was hoping you’d call,” her warm smile lit up the screen.

Before Taylor could reply, two more people popped up on the screen. Zahra, looking unimpressed in a room lit only by the glow of her monitors, and Craig, who was clearly sitting next to her.

Jake leaned closer to Taylor, his shoulder brushing hers. “We, uh… we got the package,” he started, his voice still rough with emotion. “We wanted to say thank you. Is Aleister around? I’m guessin’ he’s the one who paid for all this?”

“You’re welcome, Jacob,” a man’s voice echoed off-screen. “I am glad we could help set things right.”

Zahra’s voice cut in, dry as a bone. “Please, Aleister, getting him cleared was a piece of cake. Do you have any idea how hard it was to make you a citizen?” She gestured vaguely at Taylor.

“Uh… no?” Taylor smiled sheepishly. “It’s quite easy in the movies. Just find someone who died and—”

Zahra groaned. “Yeah, easy. Unless you’re already on FBI watchlist, like me. So, sorry guys, I like you, but I wasn’t going to risk it. We have enough couples on the run already. So we needed to look for another way—”

Craig, who had been nodding along, suddenly froze. “Wait, what do you mean couples? I’d have to run, too? But I didn’t do anything!”

“Dumbass.” He earned a pointy elbow to the ribs.

Raj appeared, waving a spatula from a steaming kitchen. Sean’s screen was a dark silhouette, his sleepy groan “What hour is it?” audible in the background.

“—and then Craig told me about his cousin, born at home, homeschooled—”

Quinn popped in with a tearful, happy smile, typing furiously in the chat. Estela just waved and smiled.

“—he went to get a driving licence and it turned out the government did not even know he existed—”

Michelle’s face appeared for a second, looking tired but beaming, still in her scrubs. “I’m so glad you’re—” Her pager buzzed. “Ugh, so much for a break. Text me everything! Or I’ll call you later!”

“—had to apply for a delayed—”

And then another face appeared, blinking slowly, with hair sticking up in every direction. Diego.

“What?” He mumbled. “Is the world ending again? Because if not, this better be good.”

Taylor’s eyes narrowed. Finally. She’d been waiting for him. She held the birth certificate up to the camera, her finger pointing directly at the name.

“Diego Ricardo Ortiz Soto, you have five seconds to explain yourself before I get on the next flight and personally end you!”

“Is this about your new name?” Diego beamed. “Masterpiece, right?”

“A masterpiece of what? Public humiliation?” Taylor deadpanned, but Jake’s laughter from beside her ruined the effect.

“It’s a masterpiece of verisimilitude!” Diego declared, sitting up straighter. “Have you heard the whole story?”

“Very-what?” Taylor looked at him, dumbfounded.

“—she would have, if you’d shut up for a minute—”

“—‘Taylor’ would never have been believable for a child born in a forgotten hippie commune!” Diego argued over the noise.

“WHAT?!”

Estela appeared on the screen. “He’s not wrong,” she said calmly. “His ridiculous backstory was the only reason the county clerk didn’t flag the application. She seemed to pity you.”

“You were all in on this?” Jake asked, still chuckling.

Craig’s face popped up next to Zahra’s, looking sheepish. “The idea was mine. Well, my cousin's. The delayed birth certificate thing, I mean. Not the name. The name was all Diego!”

“I mean, it is kinda cute?” That was Quinn.

Taylor just dropped her head into her hands, but she was laughing now, a real, full-throated laugh. Jake, who had been grinning through the whole thing, leaned in.

“Hey,” he said, and the noise quieted slightly. He looked at each of the faces on the screen, his expression soft and eyes a little misty. “Thank you. All of you. For everything.”

The joking faded.

“Anytime, man,” Sean’s voice rumbled from his dark screen.

“Sorry we didn’t let you know earlier. Didn’t want to give you false hope,” Grace said, her voice even softer than usual. “We weren’t sure it would work until it did.”

“We’re just glad you’re coming home,” Estela added.

Taylor felt her throat tighten. “I love you,” she whispered, and she knew Jake was feeling the same thing. “All of you.”

Diego waved a dismissive hand, though his eyes were suspiciously bright. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just come back home. And bring me a souvenir.”

Taylor rolled her eyes, but she was smiling for real now. “I’ll bring you a punch in the face.”

“Promise?”

Taylor and Jake exchanged a smile over the phone. Idiots, the lot of them. But it was their idiots. And they couldn’t wait to see them in person once again.

Chapter Text

Jake couldn’t sleep.

It didn't come to him as a surprise, not after an evening like that. But he expected to feel happy or at least relieved, and he found himself spiraling instead. Long after the initial dread turned into wild joy, after the chaotic video chat, and even now, hours later, when the only sound left was Taylor’s soft snoring against his shoulder, his mind just wouldn’t shut up.

What if nobody is waiting for me anymore? What if I no longer have a home to come back to?

None of it was impossible. Lundgren, the damn bastard, told him once that his mother believed the news he brought her. All those years, and his words still hurt. Betrayed your country… your fault Mike was killed… your mother told me she’d rather hear her son was dead. Jake didn’t know if it was just another one of his lies or not, but God, it burned. His hands curled into fists just at the thought. Good thing Lundgren was a corpse already, because Jake would have made damn sure he paid for it in blood.

If only his old sergeant’s death could solve the question Jake kept asking in his mind over and over. Did his mother really believe all those lies? He couldn’t tell, and that was the scariest part. His mother—sharp, proud, unforgiving at times—had always expected the best of him. Or maybe not the best, just more.

Jake hadn’t exactly delivered either.

“Jacob McKenzie, you’re such trouble.”
“Lord help me, if I catch you one more time…!”
“I raised you better than that.”

Maybe his mother knew him better than he hoped. Because if she didn’t, and she stopped hoping… he didn’t even want to finish the thought.

The mattress groaned when he shifted, trying to free his arm from under Taylor’s cheek. She mumbled something and rolled off, and he froze for a moment afraid he’d woken her up. Thankfully, she started snoring again. He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek and smiled. Good. At least she would get some rest.

He carefully slipped out of bed and reached for a box they kept in the back of their closet. The sun wasn’t really up yet, just the faintest twinge of twilight on the horizon, but he didn’t really need much light to know what’s inside.

Memories.

A few photos—the oldest one from his childhood, he and his sister knee-deep in a muddy river, parents laughing at their antics and disapproving of the mess in the same breath. Another one with just him and Rebecca on someone’s birthday, probably hers if the pink cake was a clue. He couldn’t remember, and it didn’t matter anyway. He wondered if she still had that same mischievous grin, or if the badge had straightened it out of her.

There was a photo with Mike and the rest of their unit at boot camp, back when they felt invincible and even the sky wasn’t their limit, before everything went to shit.

And the newest one, gift from Michelle, a Polaroid picture she took at his wedding. Maybelline had an eye for photography, he begrudgingly had to give her credit for that. She somehow managed to catch the moment when he and Taylor looked at each other with so much love it physically hurt. Just the two of them and all the feelings he could never put into right words, hands tied with the pink ribbon tucked underneath the photos. It carried him through more dark hours than he could count.

And then, at the bottom of the box, under an expired passport, he found what he was looking for: his old dog tags. He kept wearing them long after he wasn’t supposed to, and sometimes he still missed the familiar weight on his neck.

He closed his eyes for a moment before slipping the chain over his head. The tags fell against his chest once again, cold and heavier than he remembered.

His fingers traced the stamped letters. McKenzie Jacob L. Finally, for the first time in six years, the name belonged to a man who could come back home.

To him.

If there still was a home that would have me.

He didn’t hear Taylor’s footsteps, lost in his thoughts, but felt her presence even before her arms slid around his waist and pulled him back against her chest. Sometimes he was sure she could still read people’s minds, and the more she denied it, the more he was convinced he was right. How else would she know exactly when he needed her presence, and when he wanted to be left alone…?

One of her hands moved up and covered the tags, holding them over his frantically beating heart, and he finally allowed himself to breathe.

They stayed like that until the morning light filled the room and everything turned real again. He’d gladly spend the whole day in her arms, but when Taylor’s stomach growled loudly he couldn’t help but laugh. So much for the mood.

“Coffee?” He asked, turning his head to nuzzle her cheek, and she only murmured in response.

Twenty minutes and two cups later, they were sitting at the kitchen table in silence broken only by Jake’s fingers tapping on the mug. Nothing about it was comfortable. It felt more like waiting for the storm to start. Finally, Taylor decided she’s done waiting and slid his phone across the table, already unlocked.

“Call her,” she said simply.

He took the phone like it might burn and stared at it for a minute. She squeezed his hand, and he could almost hear her thoughts. Just do it, Jake. I know you can.

Get out of my head, Princess, he thought back and glanced at her to see the reaction, but she didn’t even flinch. Maybe he was wrong about the mind reading, after all.

The number came from muscle memory, all the times he almost called it over the years came crashing back. His fingers hovered over the dial button, and when he finally tapped it, his whole body tensed. The first ring was so loud in the quiet kitchen he flinched.

“Hello?”

He took a deep breath and blinked the tears off his eyes.

“Hey, Ma,” he whispered.

The silence on the other end felt like an eternity.

“Jacob?” His mother’s voice broke on his name.

His throat suddenly got so tight he couldn’t breathe, needed air, space, now, and without thinking he pushed the door to the balcony. His knees buckled when he leaned on the railing for support. Taylor didn’t follow him, and he felt quietly thankful. As much as he loved her, some things he just had to do himself. His hand automatically wrapped around the dog tags, like he needed something solid to hold on to.

The call blurred together: his voice, his mother’s, words that mattered and silences that mattered even more.

She was waiting. She never stopped.

When Jake finally came back inside, his cheeks were wet with tears, but the tension in his shoulders was gone. Taylor looked up at him, eyes wide with hope.

“So?” She asked, reaching out to him.

“I told her we’re coming,” Jake’s voice was rough with emotion. ”She said… we better come hungry.”

He managed a dry laugh, but it died quickly in his throat when a sudden realization hit him. Of course. Nothing could be that easy.

“Shit,” he muttered, his eyes moving back to the phone. “Ma’s gonna call Rebecca. Probably right now. I should… I need to call her first.”

Taylor just gave him another reassuring squeeze.

Jake let out a breath and smiled again, still crooked, still a little unsure, but genuinely happy. “Well. Guess we’d better start fasting.”

They’d been stuck in the consulate waiting room for over two hours. Taylor always thought of herself as a patient person, but this was way too much even for her. Somewhere after first twenty minutes, her leg started to twitch. She tried to walk it off, but it only brought the attention of a bored security worker, who asked her to sit down and wait her turn. Then she started to mindlessly scroll on her phone and it was at least something, until her battery died. Finally, between the monotonous ticking of the clock and the hushed conversations, she closed her eyes—’just for a minute, my eyes need some rest’—and fell asleep until Jake nudged her with an elbow and pointed at a display.

“C’mon, Princess. It's our turn.”

He went first and slid a stack of papers and his expired passport across the desk. The clerk, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a coffee cup big enough to double as a soup bowl, scanned his application, nodding along to his story. Six years on the run, no contact with his family, finally able to come back home. She only looked up once to compare the old warrant photo to the man sitting in front of her, then let out a deep sigh, the kind that said ‘okay, now I've seen it all’, and started stamping. Five minutes later, she slid back a temporary passport, still smelling of fresh ink.

Taylor pushed her own application forward, then laced her fingers with Jake’s.

“And you’re…?”

“Taylor,” she answered quickly.

The woman looked down at the paper, then back at Taylor. The corner of her mouth twitched.

“That’s not what your birth certificate says,” she deadpanned.

Taylor let out a long, suffering sigh. She could feel Jake shaking with silent laughter beside her. Diego will pay for this cosmic monstrosity, she thought vindictively before looking the woman straight in the eye.

“Yeah, I know. I use my middle name. Can you blame me?”

“Not at all.” The clerk chuckled and tried to pass it off as a cough before her face became a professional mask again. “And your relationship to Mr. McKenzie?”

“She's my wife,” Jake added quickly.

“Do you have a marriage certificate?”

They exchanged a look. Shit. No, of course they didn’t have one. Taylor shook her head.

The clerk sighed. “Look, I'm sorry, but the rules are strict. Temporary passports are for emergencies. Yours, your parent's, your spouse's. But without a certificate, I can't confirm you two are married. I have to deny your application.”

Taylor stared at the woman, her chest suddenly feeling too tight.

“But I really want to meet his family,” she whispered quietly, like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“Ma’am, there’s gotta be something we could do…?” Jake tried to intervene, but the clerk didn’t answer.

Taylor blinked. Paperwork. Of all things that could stop her, it had to be the fucking paperwork.

The tears came fast, hot and angry. She didn’t want them, hated the fact that she was crying here of all the places, in front of a woman who couldn’t understand nothing, but they kept coming anyway.

It wasn’t about the trip, or even about Jake. It was about home, the one place she never really had. She hoped for a moment that his home and his family could one day become hers, too. A place where she would finally belong. And all of that hope got suddenly erased by a missing certificate.

Like their love didn’t count without a piece of paper.

Jake pulled her to his chest and she broke down completely. “…Shit. Tay, don’t cry. We'll figure it out. We always do,” he said against her hair, but her shoulders kept shaking with sobs.

The clerk tapped her pen against the desk, shook her head disapprovingly, then sighed like she was about to break some law and pushed a box of tissues towards them.

“Fine,” she muttered, reaching for a different stamp. “You’re my charity case today. One-time travel, valid for ninety days. But you better get married as soon as you get there, are we clear?”

Taylor nodded, still clinging to Jake’s shirt like a lifeline. The woman grabbed the freshly printed passport and handed it to her with a raised brow.

“Fifteen years on the job,” she murmured more to herself than to them, “and that’s the first time I’ve ever seen someone cry because they actually want to meet their mother-in-law.”

The moment they got back, Taylor grabbed the biggest duffel bag they had and threw half of her closet on the bed. Jake watched her from the doorway, mildly amused.

“We have a week to pack our things, you know?” He started gently, eyeing the three almost identical shirts she couldn’t decide between.

She glanced at him and sighed. “I know. I just… I feel like I need to do something. I can’t just sit and wait.” She gestured at the mess on the bed, then at him. “How are you not climbing the walls right now?”

He was eerily still since the calls he made this morning, and it only made her anxiety worse. She expected… well, she wasn’t sure what exactly, but not that. She couldn’t exactly put her finger on it, and it was unnerving.

Jake let out a long breath and ran a hand over his face, finally moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know. Years of practice? I think I panicked enough last night, and now it’s like… I don’t have anything left.”

Taylor sat next to him, her knee brushing his. He took the shirt off her hands and rolled it absentmindedly.

“I keep thinking about something Rebecca said,” he handed her the bundle, but didn’t look at her face. “That I found time to get married, but not call my mother. And she was right, you know? I could’ve—I should’ve. Maybe not right away, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I don’t even know why. Every time I thought about it, every time you asked, I had an excuse. I thought maybe I’ll call her tomorrow, maybe next week… and then it was too late.”

His voice dropped lower, almost to a whisper.

“I reckon I was just scared to hear what she thinks of me. To know for sure. And now that it’s behind me, I don’t even know what to feel anymore. Does it make any sense?”

“Yeah. Perfect sense,” she murmured and leaned her head onto his shoulder.

“I keep thinking—it’s stupid,” he sighed, but she squeezed his hand for courage. “I mean, it’s been six years. I’ve changed. They’ve changed. What if we don't even know each other anymore? What do I even say? I’m sorry, I was too stupid and too ashamed of myself? I put it off for too long, and I made it worse, I didn’t mean to? I’m an idiot? I missed you?”

“I think that’s actually a pretty good start.”

He huffed a laugh that wasn't really a laugh. She could feel some of the tension leave him, but her own was starting to build. He was worried about explaining the last six years. She was worried about explaining... her entire existence.

Shit. What do I tell them? For some reason, it didn’t come to her until now. And now was the worst possible moment, she realized. I can’t add my own shit on top of his. It’s not fair.

But Jake knew her too well, or maybe she was just thinking too loud. He looked at her for the first time since he sat down and noticed the small crease that always formed between her brows when her thoughts were spiraling, and she thought she was hiding it.

“Whatcha thinkin’?”

The soft drawl made her chest tighten. He only sounded like that when he stopped pretending to be okay.

“Nothing important.”

“C’mon, Princess.” He caught her hand, thumb brushing across her knuckles. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

“Mhm,” she sighed. “Same as you. What to say to them. Your mom and Rebecca, I mean. If they ask about me? About us?”

“The truth?” He offered, rubbing his neck, because he couldn’t think of anything else.

“Which part?” She smiled, but it was one of the smiles that didn’t reach her eyes. “The one where a disgraced black-ops pilot on the run and a girl with no past fall in love on a cursed island? Because that story starts with a tropical resort and a volcano that exploded but also didn’t because of a time bubble, and then there's my clone-but-not-really, not to mention the part where I’m not even technically a real person and just sort of… manifested because someone wished for a friend and a sentient alien crystal got creative—”

Jake gently took her hands into his. “Tay. Breathe. Don’t go in there. We got this. Do you remember the official story?”

“Yeah. The volcano erupted, ten people were evacuated off the island, everyone else didn’t make it. La Huerta was closed off because the volcano destroyed a secret Rourke Industries research facility, whatever was in there caused massive damage, and now it’s unsafe to go there. Something like that?”

“That’s right. So, let’s keep close to the truth. We’ll just… frame it differently.”

“How differently?” She looked up at him, unsure. “I don’t want to sound crazy. But I also don’t want to lie. Your sister is a cop, she will figure out I’m lying as soon as I open my mouth.”

Jake stared at the ceiling and tapped his nose. “Hm. What about this? You were investigating environmental crimes. You got wind of the facility on La Huerta and got in too deep, so you went there as a tourist, but your real goal was to bring Rourke down. I was tracking Lundgren, who was working for him. Our paths crossed, we joined forces, and the rest is history.”

“Okay. That’s… not entirely wrong.”

“It’s not wrong at all,” he squeezed her hand. “It is the truth, just not the full sci-fi special episode.”

She had to admit, it was a good story. Plausible enough. But it was still just a story, and she wasn’t sure if she could play the part. But if Jake believed she could, then for now it had to be enough.

“You’ll have my back, right?” She looked at him with eyes full of hope. “If I… forget my lines, or something.”

“Only if you promise you’ll have mine. I don’t know if I can do it on my own. Promise?”

“Yeah.” She wrapped her arms around him and placed a featherlight kiss on his cheek. He sighed so deeply is must have hurt and hugged her back. “Always.”

The knot in her chest didn’t loosen much until she felt the deep rumble of laughter in his chest. Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at him.

“Okay, what’s that about?”

“Nothing,” he lied. “I just thought… God, they’re in for a surprise. I left as a flyboy, and now I’m comin’ back as a nobody, but with a hot treehugger wife.”

“Don’t talk about my man like that!” She protested. “You’re not a nobody. And I’m not a treehugger.”

“No?” Jake chuckled softly and raised one finger. “Well, for one, you do walk barefoot most of the time.”

“I like to feel the ground,” she shrugged.

“Two, you make me eat vegetables,” he added, but it only earned him an eye roll and a dismissive snort.

“That’s called saving your arteries, Top Gun. Someone has to care for your health. I promise you’ll thank me one day.”

He raised a third finger. “We had a beautiful handfasting ceremony in a giant tree. Not in a church or a wedding venue, like, you know, regular people.”

“It was beautiful,” she agreed. “And we’re not exactly regular people.”

“And your dress…” He sighed and his face had that dreamy look of reverence she loved. “It looked like it was made of moonlight and flowers and held together by sheer force of will.”

She laughed. “Wow. I didn’t know you’re a poet.”

He murmured something she couldn’t quite get, something about her boobs. But she pretended not to hear it, unwilling to break the romantic mood.

“Okay,” she sighed finally. “You have a point.”

Jake wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek. “Hey. Don’t worry. They’re going to love you.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I do,” he said simply. “You’re brave, smart and funny. You’ve been through hell with me and stayed. They’ll see it.”

“And what if they ask about my family?”

“Well…” He got quiet for a while. “Then you just tell them the truth: you didn’t have one, not really. But you’ve made your own, and I’m one lucky bastard to be a part of it.”

“Okay, that was unfairly sweet,” she whispered against his collarbone.

“That was the truth.”

He tightened his arms around her, and for a long moment, Taylor just closed her eyes and let herself rest there, safe and reassured.

“You know what? Maybe being a vegetable-pushing tree hugger isn't the worst thing that could happen?”

“Now you're getting it,” he murmured, pulling her in for a quick, firm kiss, then gestured to the pile of clothes. “Alright, what’s your plan?”

“I have no idea. What do people wear in Louisiana?”

He picked up one of her t-shirts. Black one. “This, probably. It’s what I wear everywhere.”

“You sure black is a good choice?” She didn’t look convinced. “What else?”

“Anything. Nothing. Depends on the humidity. Some days even your skin is too much. You’ll see for yourself once summer hits.”

“Perfect,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “I’ll just wear anxiety and SPF 50.”

“Trust me, you’ll fit right in.”

Chapter Text

Six years ago, Jake would have driven the road with his eyes closed. It was just a couple more miles, one last stretch of highway and he’d be back in his childhood home. Easy. Thirty minutes, maybe twenty if he pushed it.

He couldn’t even get in the damn car.

He’d flown through thunderstorms that could tear a plane apart, landed on airstrips shorter than his temper, kept his cool when bullets punched through the cockpit. And now the keys to the rental car were too heavy, and his body refused to move.

Last time he was home, he was twenty-three. But the truth was, he already had one foot out of the door long before that. Maybe even before his eighteenth birthday, when his feet were still on the ground, but his head was already in the sky.

And then everything went to hell. Mike. Lundgren. The charges he never deserved. Jake convinced himself that he couldn’t go back, that it was just him against the world. Trust nobody, be loyal only to yourself. And it worked, kind of. Cost him everything, but yeah, it worked. Until he met Taylor who looked right through his walls, saw the raw mess underneath and didn’t flinch, just kept loving him like he deserved it. Even the broken and stupid parts. Until he remembered what it was like to hope again. Until he stood there, achingly homesick, unable to cross the last twenty miles.

Taylor’s fingers brushed against his arm and he leaned in, resting his head on her shoulder. The keys landed in her palm with a soft jingle. She didn’t say anything, but her arms closed around him without hesitation. It wasn't the first time she had to carry them both, but usually he felt bad about it—stiffened up, cracked a joke, pulled away sooner than he wanted to. Today there was no point in pretending. She always saw right through him anyway.

Jake slipped out of her arms and dropped on the passenger seat, looking out of the window. He could feel her leaning over, glancing at him and waiting for his decision, but his mind was already miles away. All he could bring himself to do was a small nod. She pulled out on the road without a word.

The trees along the highway looked shorter than he remembered, even the highway itself was shorter somehow. The old gas station was now boarded up. The church where his parents used to drag him every Sunday, with walls that used to be painted crisp white, now faded to grey. Small store where he bought his first beer—technically he wasn’t allowed to, but the neighbor who ran it winked and said if he was old enough to wear the uniform, then he was old enough to handle a beer—was not just another chain supermarket.

He didn’t even know why he felt surprised. Surely the world had kept turning while he was gone?

The tires thumped over the bridge. It rattled the whole car, same as it used to. When he was a kid, he used to ride his bike over it on dares: no hands, eyes closed, just to see if he could. He could. But God, he’d always been so stupid.

Taylor’s knuckles brushed against his wrist, and it was enough to remind him he wasn’t alone.

She turned left and he knew what was next.

His street. His house.

It looked the same as he remembered, almost like it held its breath all this time, waiting until his return. Same shutters that were probably blue at some point, but sun-bleached for as long as he remembered. Same porch with four steps he used to jump all at once, and the same chair where his mom waited with a sermon every time he came back after curfew.

Jake didn’t even realize his hand had moved until it brushed Taylor’s arm, reaching out on instinct, needing her touch. Their fingers laced together. For a long moment, neither of them moved. He closed his eyes and counted the ticks of the cooling engine before taking a deep breath and stepping out of the car.

Now or never, he told himself. But the moment he reached the porch and saw his sister on the doorstep, all courage left him. Before he could even say anything, she punched his shoulder hard enough to make him stumble down the steps. It looked like her temper didn’t change at all. If he wasn’t already thinking he deserved all that, and worse, he’d probably laugh and turn it into a joke. I missed you so much, Becks, he wanted to say, but her arms wrapped around him so tight it knocked the air out of his lungs.

She felt so real. His little sister, now all grown up, but somehow still all corners and elbows, in an apron streaked with flour, her red hair smelling of cinnamon. He heard her muttering something against his shirt, even answered something with a laugh stuck in his throat, but didn’t even know what he said. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, as long as he could hold her once again.

The door creaked again and she pulled away just enough for him to see their mother. His heart dropped. While Rebecca hadn’t changed, she did. And all the silver streaks in her hair, all the lines of worry on her face were his fault.

“Hey, Ma,” he whispered and closed his eyes when her hand rested on his cheek. He should’ve said more. I’m sorry. I missed you. It’s all my fault. Will you ever forgive me? The words got stuck in his throat.

“My boy,” she whispered and pulled him close, tucking his head under her chin like he was still a child. “You’re home. You’re finally home.”

He felt Rebecca’s arm tightening around him again, and he couldn’t hold the tears any longer.

He was finally home. Even if he didn’t deserve to call it that anymore. Even if it took him six years. Even when he lost all hope of ever seeing his mother and sister again.

His mother pulled back first, wiping her cheeks with shaking hands. “I need to—the oven—” she stammered, already heading back inside. Jake knew that move from his father’s funeral, from all the times when things got too big to handle. When his mother didn’t know what to do, she had to run and hide.

Apparently, some things just run in their blood.

“So, you’re gonna…?” Rebecca’s voice broke his thoughts.

Gonna what? He followed her gaze. Shit. Taylor.

For a moment, he forgot all about his wife. Taylor was still standing by the car, and even from the porch he could see her twisting the sleeves of his hoodie between her fingers and shifting her weight, unsure what to do. Give them more time? Run? Introduce herself? He motioned her over, and she climbed the steps carefully. His hand rested on her shoulder, squeezing it gently, something halfway between a ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry, I forgot about you for a minute’ and ‘you’ve got this’.

“This is my wife,” he managed. “Taylor.”

Taylor held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Jake could see the way his sister cataloged Taylor's grip, her posture, body language. But whatever she found, she didn't comment.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Taylor added.

“And I’ve heard nothing about you,” Rebecca replied, and then immediately winced and apologized for being rude. Like she wasn’t right. Like this wasn’t his fault, too.

Taylor followed his sister inside, and he hesitated for a moment on the doorstep until Rebecca turned and raised her eyebrows, urging him in.

The narrow hallway had the same striped wallpaper it had for over twenty years, peeling away no longer just in the corners. Last time he was home he promised himself he’d fix it once he gets a longer leave, maybe even convince mom to let him replace it with something new—and then all that shit happened, and he never did.

Would she let me do it now? he wondered.

His stomach twisted when he passed the living room and noticed the photos over the mantle. He fully expected his to have been removed, but no, his mother kept all of them. Even the one from the day he took the oath, his arms around mom and Rebecca, grinning so wide, unaware of what was about to come. Nobody could have known that, but fuck, it still hurt.

He entered the kitchen, still blinking away the tears. The oven was empty, and his mother wasn’t there. A tray of cinnamon rolls cooled on a rack, and his stomach turned into knots. God, mom remembered how much he loved them. Everything he could smell—her cornbread with secret ingredients-slash-leftover-veggies, the pot roast she only cooked for special occasions because they couldn’t afford it more often—were dishes he loved. And he didn’t think he deserved any of it.

“I’ll go check on her,” he said quietly and left before someone could stop him.

He had a good idea where she could be. The attic. His father carved out two identical rooms twenty years ago, one for him, and one for his sister. He’d been so excited back then to finally have his own space. Then summer hit, and he spent every night wishing he was downstairs in the freezer.

The door was cracked open.

God, nothing had changed. It felt like travelling back in time. Everything was as he left it. Same old poster on the wall, same lamp on the nightstand that buzzed when you flipped the switch. Shelf full of model planes he built with his father, and then just him, alone.

And his mother stood in the exact same spot by the window where she always stood when she said “we need to talk” but meant “you need to listen.”

“I didn’t think you’d keep my room,” Jake said quietly.

She shrugged. “Couldn’t bring myself not to.”

“I’m sorry.” Where do I even start?

He wanted to tell her everything. How he tried to do the right thing and lost. How he hadn’t felt safe for years. How he hadn’t stopped thinking about her and Rebecca and their home.

“I should’ve—I didn’t—” His voice broke.

“I don’t care about any of that,” his mother whispered and crossed the room before he could finish. “All that matters is you’re here now.”

Her arms closed around him, pulling him in with a strength that defied her petite frame. And that’s what finally broke him. He curled into her arms, shaking with sobs, and his mother’s hand stroked soothing circles on his back like he was her small boy once again.

“I missed you,” he said finally. “You have no idea how much I missed you.”

“Me too, baby.”

His mother pulled away with a shaky breath and dabbed her face with an apron.

“So,” she said, clearing her throat, “you said you married. That girl of yours here…?”

“My wife, Taylor.” He nodded. “Yeah. She’s downstairs with Rebecca.”

“She treatin’ you right?”

“Better than I deserve.”

His mother nodded slowly, then looked him over with a practiced eye.

“You’re too thin. She feedin’ you at all?” She asked, and the corner of her mouth twitched slightly.

Jake huffed a laugh. “She tries. But you know I’m too restless to keep any weight on.”

“Mhm.” Her gaze lingered a second longer, then softened. “Well. Guess I should meet her properly. Do you think she likes potato salad?”

Chapter Text

Taylor still had her arms around Rebecca when she first heard the creaking steps, but neither of them moved. They pulled back only as Jake and his mother appeared in the kitchen door.

“Sorry,” Rebecca muttered and wiped her nose with her sleeve like a little kid. “I was just—”

“Don’t be,” Taylor answered softly.

Jake’s eyes went from his sister’s tear-streaked face to Taylor’s arm still resting on her shoulder. She could practically see the question in his eyes: what happened? She just shook her head. That wasn’t her story to tell. It started with a joke about how the terrible coffee is a family tradition, but she doubted her sister-in-law-cried over that. No. From what he told her about his sister, she was the grounded and sensible one. This wasn’t about the coffee. This was just… the dam finally breaking. All the tears Rebecca held for six years of not knowing if her brother was dead or alive had finally found their way out.

His mother stepped forward. “Everything alright, honey?”

“Yeah. Fine. We’re fine.” Rebecca straightened, crossing her arms. “Just… talking.”

His mother only nodded, then turned to her. Taylor felt the heat rising to her cheeks. Okay. Her turn now.

“You must be Mrs. McKenzie. I’m Taylor.”

Also Mrs. McKenzie, I guess?

She bit the inside of her cheek. What was she supposed to do next? How do you greet the mother-in-law you’ve never met? Hug? Handshake? Nod? If it was anyone else, it wouldn’t matter so much, but it was Jake’s mother, and it meant everything. Okay. Breathe. Don’t panic. You’ve got this. Out of these three options, handshake seemed to be the safest choice, so she awkwardly reached out her hand.

“Oh. Of course.” The older woman’s face softened. “I’m glad to finally meet you.” She wrapped both hands around Taylor's.

Jake's mother had that same lopsided smile he had, except hers was warmer, more open somehow, and Taylor couldn’t help but smile back. “Me too.”

She gave Taylor’s hand a quick squeeze before letting go. “I hope you’re hungry. I reckon I got a little carried away with the cookin’.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to—”

“Nonsense.” She was already moving towards the stove. “It’s not every day my son comes home.”

Home. She looked at her husband and noticed the tension in his shoulders when he heard the word, almost as if he was already bracing for a blow. Rebecca sat by the table and picked at her cuticles. Her coffee cup was already empty, but she didn’t seem to notice it when she picked it up again to take another sip. His mother chattered about everything and nothing in particular while stirring pots, adjusting jars on the spice rack, and wiping down counters that were already clean. Taylor recognized that impulse. When things got overwhelming, she organized closets or cleaned. Jake’s mother apparently channeled it into feeding people.

“—ah, but enough about that,” his mother said finally. “How was your flight?”

Taylor looked at Jake, but he was running his thumb over a row of magnets on the fridge, lost in his own head.

“Good,” she answered for both of them. “Long, but good.”

“We’re staying in a hotel near the airport,” Jake added suddenly, like he just remembered where he was.

“A hotel?” His mother turned from the stove and propped her hands on her hips. “Quit that nonsense. This is still your home, Jacob. You’ll stay here, both of you.”

“We don’t want to impose—”

“Impose? Lord, you’ve been gone six years and you think you’re imposing?” She protested.

Taylor saw the familiar shift in Jake's posture. Arms crossed, eyes down, walls back up. She'd seen it hundreds of times already. Every time someone pushed too far, or showed him kindness he didn’t think he deserved.

“It’s very kind of you,” Taylor said quickly. “But we don’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re not botherin’ a soul.” His mother's voice was warm, but left no room for argument. “You’re family. I have a room ready.”

Family. The word hit Taylor right in her chest. She’d been family to exactly one person in her entire life, and he was standing three feet away looking like he wanted to bolt.

“But we left our bags at the hotel,” she protested weakly.

“So what?” Jake’s mother waved her hand dismissively and turned back to the oven. “Bring ‘em here. Problem solved.”

Jake looked up, and she saw a brief flash of panic before he gave her the smallest, almost imperceptible nod. Permission, or at least she hoped so. She looked once again at his sister, still sitting by the kitchen table with her head hanging low, then at his mother restlessly stirring the pots, and made a decision.

Jake had already started pulling away. If she stayed, he’d keep looking at her, not at them. They’d talk about weather and food and keep walking on the eggshells. He wouldn’t like it, but sometimes the best medicine was a bitter one.

“Thank you. I’ll go get them now, then,” she said, praying it sounded cheerful. “It won’t take long. It’ll give you all some time to catch up properly.”

“Tay—” Jake started, his voice low and a little desperate, but she was already moving.

She trailed her fingers across the back of his shoulder as she passed, hoping it told him everything she couldn’t say out loud. You've got this. You need this. And I'll be right back.

She was gone. Jake stood there, arms still crossed to stop himself from fidgeting, and listened to the sound of the car starting up, the crunch of gravel on the driveway, and then… nothing. Just heavy, awkward silence, almost as bad as if an engine cut out mid-flight. He should’ve asked her to stay, or went with her. It was so much easier to breathe when she was still in the room. She probably knew what she was doing, she always did, but still, she’d left him behind at the worst possible time.

No. That’s not fair, he told himself. She read the room and gave us the space we needed.

He just wished she hadn’t.

“She seems lovely,” his mother said.

Jake let out a short laugh. His wife was many things, lovely wasn’t even in the top ten words he’d use—but of course, his mother didn’t know her at all yet. So he just nodded, his eyes fixed on the worn pattern of the floor.

“She is.”

“How long have you two been married?” Rebecca finally asked.

“Almost three years.”

He caught the frown on his mother’s face and felt it like a punch to the gut. Yet another thing he kept from them, another milestone they had missed. It wasn’t entirely his fault—how would he even begin to explain it? Oh, this was another timeline in which the rest of world was burning, I wouldn’t be able to invite you to the ceremony even if I wanted to, and Lord help me, I did want you here—but it hurt nonetheless.

Rebecca grabbed another cup from the drying rack, filled it with coffee, and slammed it down in front of an empty seat with a thud. He took it as an invitation and slid into the chair between her and his mother, taking a sip. The coffee tasted like home. Outsiders always said it was terrible, but he preferred the term ‘acquired taste.’ At least that was what his father told him when he let him try it for the first time, and Jake himself complained it was awful and bitter.

Mom slid him a plate with a cinnamon roll, and he broke off a bite. Where the coffee was bitter, the pastry was sweet. Nobody ever complained about Ma’s baking. If they dared, well, she’d have a word with them. He blinked away the tears and tried to swallow, but his throat was suddenly too tight.

“Where have you been all that time?” Mom’s voice was soft, but the words hit hard.

God. What do I say now? His eyes dropped to the table, looking at a water stain that wasn’t on it the last time he were there.

“Around.” The word felt stupid the moment he said it. Six years reduced to one meaningless word. He could practically hear his mother thinking That’s it? That's all I get?

How do I tell you I’ve been hiding in cargo planes and beach shacks? That I’ve had half a dozen different names in the meantime? That some nights I still wake up screaming because I can’t forget? That I just keep waiting for the moment when everything inevitably goes to shit again?

“I’m sorry,” he said instead. “It’s... it’s a long story, Ma.”

And I don’t know if you want to hear it. I don’t even know if I can tell it. There are parts you’ll never be able to understand, hell, I don’t understand all of it myself.

Jake saw his mother’s hand reach across the table towards him, then pull back as if she’d touched something hot. A part of him understood that, wanted to say please keep your distance, I’ll only hurt you again. But the bigger one wanted to grab her hand, hold it tight, and tell her everything would be okay now that he’s back home. It must be.

She let out a shaky breath and stood, turning her back to him to fuss with the mountain of food nobody even touched.

“You look tired,” she said. “You should rest. Or eat something.”

“We’ve got time,” Rebecca interrupted, and her voice was flat and unforgiving. “What happened? The charges were bullshit, we know that now. So what was it?”

Are you asking as my sister, or as a cop?

He could feel her eyes on him, analyzing his every move. And his mother’s desperate hope for a simple answer, something that would somehow make everything okay. There wasn’t one he could offer them; not a simple one, anyway. But he owed them something. If not the whole truth, than at least a piece of it.

He finally looked up, meeting his sister’s gaze. His throat was dry.

“It was Lundgren.” Jake spat. “He was dirty. Sold weapons on the side. I was going to report him.” His eyes closed when he took a deep breath. “He found out and framed me before I could. Made it look like it was me and Mike, then sent us into an ambush. I got out in time. Mike… didn’t.”

His hand curled into a fist so tight his knuckles went white. He didn’t slam it, but the tension in his arm made the table wobble.

“By the time I realized what was happening…” He swallowed hard. “My only choice was to run.”

The kitchen was dead silent. His mother brought a hand to her mouth, but it was too late to silence the horrified sound she made.

“So you were trying to do the right thing,” she whispered. “I knew it. I knew it. I knew you’d never—this wasn’t how I raised you—”

The tension drained out of him, leaving him slumped in his chair. Six years. Six years of fearing this exact conversation, of carrying her imagined disappointment on his back and being sure he’d see nothing but disgust on her face. And with a few words, she’d just… washed it all away.

“I…” His voice cracked. “I thought—”

“You thought what, baby?”

His head snapped up so fast he almost gave himself a whiplash. When was the last time she called him that? He couldn’t remember, but it made him feel small and safe and loved.

Rebecca was still staring at him. “Mike,” she said finally. “So it wasn’t your fault he died.”

Jake flinched.

“It was,” he whispered. His hands were on his face before the words even landed. “He… he didn’t want to be the rat. I told him—” His shoulders started to shake “—I told him we can’t let that bastard get away with it, we have to report him—”

“Jesus,” Rebecca croaked. “Jake, no. You can’t be blaming yourself for that. Of course you needed to report him. It was the right thing to do.”

“And look where it got me,” he said hoarsely, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Mike’s dead. My name is ruined. Six years gone with the wind.”

Rebecca put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it hard.

His mother started pacing. “That bastard,” she muttered. “That goddamn bastard, pardon my French. He destroyed our family. He took my boy from me.”

“Ma—”

“Don’t you ‘Ma’ me.” She turned around, and Jake was startled to see fury in her eyes. Real anger, not at him but for him. “You were twenty-three. You were trying to do the right thing, and that bastard—” She stopped, pressing both hands flat on the counter, breathing hard.

“I prayed for you every night,” his mother said finally, her voice barely a whisper. “Every single night for six years. Even when...” She sniffled. “Even when I started to think maybe you won’t be coming back home.”

“I wanted to,” Jake said, and the words ripped out of him like they’d been buried too deep for too long. “God, I wanted to come back home so bad you have no idea.

“But I was so scared,” he continued. “Scared they’d find me. Scared they’d hurt you if they knew you’d helped me. Scared you’d look at me and see everything I’d done just to survive and—”

His mother crossed the kitchen and reached for his face with both hands, forcing him to look at her. “Jacob Lucas McKenzie,” she said fiercely. “You listen to me, and you listen good. There is nothing—nothing—you could do that would make me stop loving you. You understand me, son?”

Jake felt himself breaking apart.

“I don’t care what you had to do. I don’t care who you had to become. You’re my son. You’re my baby boy, and you—”

A car door slammed in the driveway and all three of them froze. Jake’s mother dropped her hands from his face, stepping back. Rebecca straightened in her chair, wiping her eyes. Jake turned towards the table, gripping the edge hard enough to hurt.

The moment slammed shut just like the car door did.

Chapter Text

Something was wrong. Taylor felt it the second she turned into Jake’s mother’s street. Cars. Cars everywhere, parked on the driveway, on the grass, one blocking the mailbox. She carefully parked between two large trucks, not bumping either by miracle. The place was absolutely packed. Through the windows she could see movement inside, people passing plates and clinking glasses. Someone hauled plastic chairs from a truck to the backyard while someone else laughed at two absolutely feral children chasing a dog.

Taylor sat in the car for a moment, her hands still on the steering wheel. This wasn’t what she left two hours ago: a quiet kitchen and a family finally ready to talk about the six years they had missed. And now it looked like a party in full swing, just someone forgot to send her the invitation.

Rebecca appeared on the porch and spotted her through the windshield. Taylor walked over.

“What happened?”

Rebecca shrugged, but her face said everything. “Family heard. News travel fast around here. Everyone wanted to be the first to see the prodigal son’s return.”

Taylor looked at the house, then back at her sister-in-law. “How is he?”

“Gone,” Rebecca said flatly. “Disappeared upstairs the minute the third car pulled in. Haven’t seen him since.”

The knot in Taylor’s stomach tightened. She’d given Jake space to reconnect with his family and open up without using her as a shield, and instead, they’d been invaded. By well-meaning relatives, but invaded nonetheless.

Their eyes met and they both seemed to think the same thing. How inconsiderate can you be…?

“And here I took the scenic route to give you guys more time,” she muttered under her breath.

Rebecca laughed. “First time in the South, eh?”

“Yeah. That obvious?” She tried to joke, but Rebecca just gave her a side eye. Right. There was no fooling the detective. “Can you show me where he is?”

Rebecca glanced towards the house, then back at her. “Jake’s upstairs, in his old room. It’s the one on the right. Fair warning though, he locked the door. Mama tried to get him to come down, but…”

Yeah. That sounded like Jake when he was overwhelmed. Taylor nodded. “Thanks.”

“You want me to come with you?”

“I think I’ve got it,” Taylor looked at the chaos everywhere and hesitated. “I guess you didn’t come out for nothing. But thanks.”

“Okay.” Rebecca looked grateful. “Good luck.”

Taylor took a deep breath and opened the door. It felt almost like diving into deep ocean, except she was immediately surrounded by noise, not water. She dodged someone’s toddler sitting in the middle of the hallway with a glass of something suspiciously sugary, smiled at a red-haired teenager inhaling a pie directly from a pan, then said a quiet prayer of gratitude when she managed to slip past the kitchen door unnoticed by Jake’s relatives, ducked her head beneath a low beam and climbed the steep staircase.

Rebecca told her which one was his room, but she could have guessed it without her hint. Of course he’d have the stereotypical “Keep out” sticker on the door. She ignored it and knocked softly.

“Hey. It’s me. Everything okay?”

She heard his loud breathing on the other side of the door, but he didn’t answer at first. Her fingers traced the peeling edge of the sticker.

“No,” he answered finally. It was so unexpectedly honest it made her blink.

“May I come in?”

Another deep breath.

“Door’s not locked, you know.” Jake’s voice was muffled, and she heard the shift of fabric against the wood. He was just on the other side. “It doesn’t even have a lock. I’m just… holding it.”

Of course he was.

“Oh. Okay. But it doesn’t really answer my question,” she chuckled softly. “May I come in?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. I’ll wait here until you do.” She sat down on the floor, her back to the door, knees drawn to her chest, and imagined him sitting in the same position on the other side. The sounds of the party downstairs were muffled, but she could still hear someone’s laughter followed by a whole chorus joining in, and someone asking where Jake was.

“So, about the lock,” she said after a while. “Want to tell me the story?”

He snorted. “It’s not much of a story. Dad removed it when I was fourteen. Said if I want privacy, I have to earn it. I guess they were just tired of me locking myself in.”

“Hmm. Figures,” she murmured. “I see some things never change.”

“Maybe. But you understand it.”

“No, I don’t. I respect it.” Taylor tilted her head against the wood. “But that’s not the same thing.”

“Feels the same to me.” He was quiet for a long moment. “Okay. How bad does it look down there?”

“I don’t know about bad. Noisy, for sure.” She chuckled. “I met Rebecca on the porch. She looked like she wanted to murder someone. Your mom is holding court in the kitchen. Someone set up a barbecue in the backyard, I almost trampled someone’s kid in the hallway, and I think someone brought a dog?”

“Shit. A whole damn welcome party.”

She nodded, before remembering he couldn’t see her. “Yeah. Looks like it. From what your sister told me, it’s always like that?”

“Often, yeah. I should have known,” he sighed, and then added so quietly she wasn’t sure she wasn’t imagining it. “Will you come down with me?”

Taylor pressed her cheek to the door. “Of course.”

His boots scuffled against the floor, then the door clicked and gave way under her back. Jake stood above her, one hand still on the handle, the other rubbing the back of his neck. She slowly got up and smiled at him. He didn’t look half as bad as she thought—his breathing returned to normal, and he even smiled weakly when he reached for her hand.

“Okay,” he said, lacing their fingers together. “Let’s face the dragons.”

If she thought the party downstairs was in full swing before, now it was simply off the hinges. Jake’s grip tightened the moment they stepped into the living room. If it got any tighter, he’d probably break her bones.

“There he is!” Someone called out and every head snapped up in their direction.

“Want to run?” Taylor asked him, half-turning her head to check for any warning signs on his face.

“Too late,” he murmured back.

She ran her thumb over the back of his hand and they moved deeper into the room together. The guests weren’t unkind, just too much and too fast, but at least it didn’t take them long to find the right rhythm to the dance.

“Took your sweet time coming back. Your mother was worried sick. You were framed, did I hear that right? And who’s that? Oh, you married? Well, I’ll be! And what are you planning to do now? Are you going to stay?”

“Well, look at you, honey,” some older woman gave Taylor a once-over. “We need to get some food in you. Lord, do you even know how to cook? You know the fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach!”

No, it’s actually through the ribcage, Taylor wanted to correct her, but nodded and smiled politely.

A woman around her age—his cousin maybe?—turned to Jake, and her voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. “So, are you going to tell us where you were hiding all this time? Wait, you’re not still wanted, right?”

Without missing a beat, Taylor gestured at someone’s plate and asked “What’s that? Cornbread? I don’t think I've ever had a real homemade one. Can you tell me which one is the best?”

Bingo, she thought and winked at her husband when three women immediately launched into a debate over recipes, the tactless question already forgotten. Sadly, the victory was short-lived.

“You don’t have cornbread where you’re from?”

“You’re from out of town, right? You’ve got that look. Let me guess, you’re a big city girl? New York maybe? Chicago?”

“Is that where you met?”

“We didn’t even get a single wedding photo. Do you have any? What did you wear?”

“How long have you known each other? Are you planning kids?”

Taylor smiled, ot at least tried to. Her mouth moved, but her brained lagged behind. Jake’s hand had gone stiff in hers, and she wasn't entirely sure if the tightness in her chest was amusement or panic. Everyone seemed to be happy to see them here, which was a nice surprise actually, but did they all have to be so much?

At some point, someone pushed a glass in her hand with an encouraging “You have to try it!”. One whiff of whatever was in there made her head spin. She took one cautious sip and coughed. It wasn’t bad, but it burned going down, and it made her feel warm and the room blur a little.

When she looked around, some guy with beefy arms was already stealing Jake away, saying something about needing him to take over the barbecue duty before one of the uncles burns the burgers again. She just managed to nod to him helplessly and signal I’ve got this.

She wasn’t really sure she did.

Taylor stood alone in a sea of strangers. The glass was sweating in her hand, and her top was stuck to her back too. She took a few deep breaths and another sip for courage, then began to make her way to the back porch, hoping to slip away unnoticed. It worked. She leaned on the railing, and took another sip. Last one, she promised herself, before I cross the line between brave and stupid. This thing tastes like pure alcohol.

“How does it feel to be a main attraction?”

Taylor flinched, hearing her sister-in-law’s voice. Rebecca pushed herself off from the wall she’d been leaning against and stepped into the light.

“Me? Come on. Everyone here knows Jake is the main dish.” Taylor tried to joke, hoping the sense of humour run in the family. “I’m just the weird side salad nobody ordered, but got anyway.”

Rebecca let out a sudden, genuine laugh. “Okay, that was good.”

Taylor smiled sheepishly. “So, Jake told me you’re a detective? Should I prepare for a background check?”

“Of course. Family tradition.” Rebecca noded. “But you have nothing to worry. Unless you’ve got priors in three states?”

Well, I barely even have a birth certificate, Taylor chuckled to herself. Whatever Rebecca might find, at least it won’t be a criminal record. But would any cop, let alone Jake’s sister, believe Diego’s ridiculous hippie childhood story? Shit. She brought the glass to her lips, then remembered she promised herself not to drink anymore, and put it down without taking a proper sip. She was sure Rebecca noted that, too.

“Where are you from?” Her sister-in-law asked eventually. “I can’t place your accent.”

Taylor’s stomach dipped. She should’ve seen that one coming. “It’s… complicated.”

Rebecca raised a brow.

“We lived abroad,” Taylor said carefully. “I didn’t really have a hometown. Or a childhood, to be honest.”

That part was true, just probably not in the way Rebecca could understand it.

“It’s not something I want to talk about,” she added, fully aware that it wouldn’t make Rebecca stop digging for answers.

“Fair enough.” Her sister in law looked at her and nodded. “Okay, next question, lighter this time I promise. How did you guys meet?”

“On a plane. I had a weird dream and went into the cockpit—”

“Ugh,” Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Please don’t tell me it was love at first sight.”

Taylor’s laugh turned into a snort. “God, no. Jake was a total ass.”

They grinned at each other and just like that, the tension was gone.

“Still,” Rebecca said, narrowing her eyes, “you married him?”

“Oh, I’m sure you know your brother can be very charming if he wants to.”

Before Rebecca answered, Taylor noticed her husband actoss the yard. He looked at them like he saw a ghost.

“Speaking of the devil,” Taylor pointed him with her chin. “I think he’s worried we're plotting something.”

“Good,” Rebecca clinked her beer against Taylor’s glass. “He should be.”

Jake started making his way over to them, but someone’s shout stopped him in his tracks.

“Lucille! So glad to see you! Didn’t think you’d make it!”

Jake cursed under his breath, exchanged a knowing look with his sister and they both disappeared in the crowd before Taylor even got a chance to ask who Lucille is, and if she needed to run and hide, too.

Cowards.

Aunt Lucille arrived bearing casserole and judgement.

“Ah! So you must be the wife!” She beamed at Taylor, her voice dripping with the sweetness of a diet soda.

“Yup. That’s me. I’m The Wife,” Taylor murmured, probably for the thousandth time tonight. Where did he even get so many relatives? How am I supposed to remember their names?

“How did you two get married? You must tell me all about it! I absolutely love wedding stories,” the aunt grinned, already looping her arm through Taylor’s. Somehow, despite being a head shorter than Taylor, she managed to steer her out of the safety of the back porch to the very center of the party just by hanging on her elbow. If the woman was less intimidating, Taylor would have been impressed.

“It was… very romantic,” Taylor smiled at her memories. “We got married on an island in the Caribbean.”

“Was your family there? Because we sure didn’t know about any wedding until last week!”

“No,” Taylor answered honestly. “It was just us and a few of our closest friends. We were… kind of living off-grid at the time.”

“Ah. So you two eloped,” Aunt Lucille nodded as if she agreed with the decision, but her eyebrows already disappeared under her fringe. “But, are you sure you picked the right church?”

Taylor considered her options, and settled on the truth. “We didn’t marry in a church.”

The aunt just blinked. Someone cackled. Taylor glanced sideways, catching a few other family members eyeing them too. Subtle as bricks, these folks.

“It was a handfasting ceremony. Very traditional among the people we were living with,” Taylor tried to explain. “They had a special hall in a giant tree, all decorated with flowers and lanterns, and we tied our hands and said our vows in front of a—”

Lucille gasped in horror. “Well, that’s not a real wedding then, now is it?”

Half the porch went quiet. Jake suddenly materialized by his wife's side.

“It is real to us,” he said calmly, one arm wrapped tight around Taylor’s waist. “And I think that’s what counts.”

“Oh honey, no! This won’t do at all.” Aunt Lucille waved her hand and looked past them, already making plans in her head. “You need a real ceremony. In a church. With God’s blessing and a licensed officiant. I'll call father John, and y’all do it properly this Sunday. Lord help me, I’ll fix this.”

Jake choked on his beer. “Father John hates me.”

“I’m sure he's forgiven your… antics. We’ll clear out the church, get you two up there—”

“What did you do?” Taylor whispered to her husband as the aunt kept prattling.

“I might have, uh… dented his communion wine supply,” Jake mumbled his answer. “When I was sixteen.”

“No!” Taylor covered her mouth, but her eyes filled with laughter.

“—we will have absolutely none of this pagan nonsense!”

“Lucille,” Jake said gently, but not backing down. “We made our vows three years ago in front of witnesses and an officiant, and we stand by them whether you like how it happened or not. If we decide to renew them, you’ll be the first one we invite. But we’re not doing it this Sunday. Or any other day,” he added quickly before she even caught the loophole.

A few cousins chuckled. Lucille let out an offended huff, probably meaning something along the lines of ‘I spoke my mind, if you still choose to live in sin, that’s on you’, lifted her chin up, and glided through the stunned crowd parting in front of her like the Red Sea before Moses.

“I can’t believe she let us win this round,” Jake murmured. “She never gives up. I’m sure she’s planning something. We gotta be careful.”

“Let’s not worry about this now. And… speaking of pagan nonsense,” Taylor whispered, fingers brushing his wrist as she leaned closer, “I saw this old oak tree out back and got an idea. It might be a perfect place for a very pagan kind of ritual. Do you think we could go there? I mean, not now, of course,” she added quickly. “But one day?”

Jake turned to her and raised an eyebrow. “And this ritual… does it involve clothes?”

“It’s pagan,” she grinned. “What do you think?”

A real smile, the first one she’d seen all day that truly reached his eyes, spread across his face. “Yeah,” he whispered back. “Count me in.”

By the time half of the county was finally fed and the last guests were headed home, Jake’s mother had enough of being the polite hostess. Her feet ached. Her voice was hoarse from all the greeting, explaining, and answering the same question a dozen times (“Yes, it’s really him… yes, that’s his wife… yes, they’re both staying here… no, I didn't know he married either, now, have you tried Marge’s potato salad?”). She set down her glass and sighed, hoping she could now sit down and get a moment of peace and quiet.

But then she heard the faint clink and splash of dishes in the kitchen, and realized the peace and quiet wasn’t happening yet.

It couldn’t have been her daughter, who conveniently excused herself from the party at least an hour ago, nor any of her nieces, who knew better than to mess with her system. No, this was a new rhythm, quiet and utterly foreign.

She stepped closer, already frowning. It was her kitchen and her rules. Sure, Jake’s girl meant well, but washing dishes without asking—ugh, no. It just wasn’t how things were done here. Why hadn’t Jake told her? It was one thing to help when asked, another to just go and start without as much as a “may I?” She leaned against the doorframe and tried to think of a gentle scold, something polite enough to make a point without making an enemy.

But when she stepped into the kitchen, the speech died on her lips.

Her prodigal son stood at the sink. Jake, the same boy who used to vanish into thin air as soon as she as much as thought of assigning him to dish duty, was now here. Washing the dishes. Next to him, his wife dried them with a towel, the two of them forming their own small team and passing plates and glasses in a practiced rhythm.

“I’ll be damned,” his mother said before she could stop herself. “You never did the dishes when I asked you.”

Jake just grinned over his shoulder. “I do now.”

His mother shook her head in wonder. She looked at Taylor for a second before turning her gaze back to Jake.

“Well, this girl of yours is clearly a miracle worker. Didn’t think anyone could get you to stand at a sink willingly. She put the fear of God into you, son?”

“Worse,” he said, faking a shudder. “She puts the fear of the wife into me.”

“Good,” she laughed. “That’s how it should be.”

Taylor smiled at him as she handed him another plate, and the whole operation kept going smooth as a dance.

For a moment, his mother watched Jake and tried to reconcile two images: the wild boy who used to track mud across this very floor without a care in the world, and the steady man at her sink. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him so much at peace. Even as a baby, he always kicked off the blankets, moved fast, looking for a next thing to do. That restlessness he used to wear like a second skin… it wasn’t there. Not tonight.

“You’ve changed,” she said quietly.

Jake didn’t look up from the plate he was scrubbing. “I had to,” he said simply. “It was about time I grew up.”

Jake held out the clean plate and Taylor reached for it, but instead of taking it right away, her fingers found his wrist and stayed there for a bit longer then it was necessary, almost like they'd forgotten someone was watching. Her first instinct was to roll her eyes or clear her throat to remind them she was still standing there, but instead she realized she was smiling. She was a practical woman, Lord knew, but she wasn’t made of stone.

Maybe they weren’t married in Lucille’s church. Maybe they weren’t even married by her definition. But standing there like that, hands busy, no need to fill the silence—well, that looked like marriage alright.

Jake rolled onto his side for the fifth time in twenty minutes. Everything felt wrong. The pillow was too soft, the sheets were too stiff, the mattress keep creaking, and even with Taylor’s familiar warmth beside him, something about the room just made his skin itch.

It just didn't feel like home.

She reached across the bed and snuggled closer, nuzzling her cheek to his back.

“Everything okay?” She murmured somewhere between his shoulder blades.

“No. It’s a guest room,” he answered with a long sigh. “Might as well be a motel. Doesn’t even smell right.”

Her hand found his and squeezed it tight.

“Let’s go.” Jake said suddenly, sitting up. The mattress groaned under him again, and so did something in his chest. “You should see my room.”

“Now?” She protested, but followed him anyway.

They crept up the narrow staircase, Jake automatically avoiding the steps that creaked. He felt stupid for being nervous, almost like he was sixteen again and trying to impress his date.

“This is it. Welcome to my kingdom,” he said, spreading his arms like he was showing off a palace and not his old bedroom, then gestured at the slanted ceiling. “Careful in that corner. I lost count how many times I bumped my head. It’s probably why I never got any taller. Low ceiling stunted my growth.”

Taylor stepped inside, looking around with wide eyes. It was like stepping back in time: a faded Top Gun poster on the wall, a single bed tucked in a corner, a whole collection of model planes on one shelf, and a stack of old textbooks on another. She shot him a sideways glance, her lips twitching with a smile she was trying to hold back. “I see you really had a thing for aviation,” she said, gesturing around.

“Shut up,” he said, but he was grinning. “I was gonna be a pilot.”

Taylor’s smile softened. “And a damn good one.”

Jake’s hand brushed the quilt. It was clean. No dust, no smell. Fresh sheets. Six years. She kept it ready for six years. He had to look away before Taylor saw his face.

Jake slowly laid down, arms folded behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Taylor hovered in the doorway for a second, then crawled in beside him and wriggled into the small space until she could rest her head on his chest.

“It’s a single bed,” he grumbled, but didn’t move until she nudged him with her knee.

“Well, I had at least a dozen of your aunts tell me I’m too skinny. If we don’t fit, it’s definitely not my fault.”

He bit back a laugh. “You did good today,” he murmured into her hair.

“Well, nobody tried to bless my heart, so I’m counting it as a win.” She chuckled. “But I couldn’t eat another bite of potato salad if you paid me.”

The laugh that escaped him was more of a relieved sigh. “God, I needed that,” he whispered.

“Potato salad?”

“Yeah. That too.”

Taylor shifted, her hand sliding over his chest. “How are you holding up?” she asked. “I mean, really.”

Jake sighed deeply and covered her hand with his own.

“I missed being home,” he admitted. “I didn’t think I’d ever make it back. But now that I’m here… it’s just a lot.”

Taylor snuggled closer, then lifted his hand and pressed a kiss to each knuckle. “You’ve got this,” she whispered before her eyes fluttered shut.

He wanted to say something, but his mind didn’t know what. “I’m glad you’re here”? “Thank you for coming with me”? They both knew she’d follow him straight into hell without being asked.

He’d never been good with words. And before he found the right ones, her breathing slowed and deepened. She wouldn’t hear any of it now. Jake just smiled and carefully tucked the quilt around her. The words could wait until morning, he didn’t mind.

He was home, and she was here with him.

That was enough.

Chapter Text

Taylor could sleep through anything. Alarm clocks, loud noises, thunderstorms. Jake had no doubt she’d blink at the end of the world, mumble “five more minutes,” and roll over. Not that it was a bad thing. There had been times, not that long ago, when she woke at every noise, breath caught in her throat, drenched in cold sweat. He’d take her snoring any day over that. It meant she felt safe, just like she deserved. But fuck if it didn’t make him jealous.

Because tonight, or maybe already today, Jake could not sleep at all.

The night started to make way for the dawn, birds and frogs held a contest over who makes the most noise, the old mattress springs dug into his back, and he was still wide awake. He couldn’t even move, pinned down by her sleeping half on top of him. His old bed was never meant for two people, but good luck explaining Taylor that. You’d have more luck arguing with a brick wall than with her once she set her mind on something.

This is your fault, he reminded himself. You’re the idiot who said, ‘Let’s go see my old room’ when she was already halfway asleep.

When he pulled her closer and buried his face in her hair, he could still smell the smoke from last night’s barbecue mixing with the warm and damp air from over the river, and all he could think of was that’s how home used to smell like.

Home.

It felt so strange to be back. And welcome, too. For years, he kept telling himself he didn’t want to set foot back in there ever again. Nobody wanted him here, anyway. He was an expert in bullshitting himself.

Taylor mumbled something into his neck, pulled closer, tightening the arm she had slung over his chest before sighing and sinking deeper into sleep. It would be such a shame to wake her up.

“Taylor,” he whispered, brushing her cheek gently. “Hey, Princess. Wake up.”

She groaned. “Nooo.”

“C’mon. I wanna show you something.”

She cracked one eye open. “Does it involve coffee?”

“Nope.”

She closed it back. “Then it’s too early.”

“Trust me, you’ll forgive me when you see it. I know you like places with views.”

“Fine,” she sighed and nuzzled his collarbone. “But I’m only doing this because I love you.”

He tilted her chin for a kiss. “And I’m really grateful that you do. Now, get your pretty ass up.”

She sighed dramatically, but sat up and shot him a sideways look. “You still owe me caffeine.”

“Deal.” He reached for his jeans.

Taylor paused halfway into pulling on her shoes. “Wait. You should leave a note. Your mom’s going to freak out if she wakes up and you’re just… gone.”

Jake froze. He hadn’t thought about that. At some point, he stopped thinking someone cared where he went.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, you’re right.”

He found a scrap of paper and scribbled “Took Taylor out to see the sunrise. We’ll be back for breakfast. —J” and stuck it to the fridge.

“You’re terribly smart for someone half-asleep.”

“I’m always smart.” She yawned.

“Not gonna argue.”

The car rumbled down the gravel road, dashboard rattling every time he hit a hole. Taylor curled on the passenger seat and tucked her legs underneath, still drifting off and on to sleep. When the road turned into dirt, he parked under a tree and nudged her.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We’re here.”

Taylor blinked blearily. “Where’s here?”

“You’ll see. Come on.”

He led her down the narrow, overgrown path. It opened to a small clearing on the riverbank where the water moved slowly, reflecting the last of the night sky. To the east, the horizon already started to lighten, deep purple fading to pink. The air smelled like wet earth and something sweet and flowery—he never bothered to learn what it was, and now regretted that.

“Oh,” Taylor gasped at the sight. “Jake, that’s—”

“Yeah.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, hit by a sudden wave of nostalgia. “Pretty, right?”

“What is this place? How did you find it?”

“I used to come here a lot when I was a kid. When things… got loud at home.”

She didn’t say anything, but he could feel her shifting closer, her shoulder brushing his. His eyes focused on the purple clouds above his head.

“I was fourteen. My folks were fighting again, and I just… walked out. I ended up here and stayed until dark. Scared the shit out of Ma. Got my ass handed on a plate,” he laughed bitterly. “But I kept coming back. It was just… my place.”

Taylor’s hand found his, and he let their fingers lace together.

“I think this is where I first started to think about leaving. I used to sit here and dream I was somewhere else. I didn’t even know where I wanted to be, just… not here.” His thumb brushed the back of her hand. “And then, after the charges, I sometimes dreamed about coming back to sit in the exact same place and not feeling like a goddamn failure.”

The sun finally peaked above the horizon. Rays scattered in the morning mist, turning the whole river into liquid fire and painting the clouds lilac. He’d forgotten how damn beautiful mornings here could be.

“See? Told you it’s gonna be worth it.” He turned to her, and realized she wasn’t looking at the sunrise at all.

“You’re not a failure, Jake.” Her hand went to his cheek. “Don’t you even dare thinking that.”

He huffed out a laugh. “No?”

“No. You survived. You kept going when others would give up. You came back home. That’s—” her voice broke. “That’s not failing. That’s winning.”

He pulled her closer and buried his face in her shoulder. “I didn’t think I’d ever have this. You. Home. My name cleared. I didn’t think I deserved it.”

“Well, tough shit. You’ve got it all now.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For coming here. For believing in me. For…” He gestured helplessly around. “For all of it.”

“Always.” She kissed his jaw, his cheek, then finally his mouth. “Besides, someone has to make sure you’re not brooding too much.”

Jake smiled against her lips. “I’m not brooding.”

“You are so brooding right now.”

“This is called being reflective, Princess. It’s different.”

“Mhm.” She turned in his arms, facing the sunrise. “So, reflect on this: you’re safe. You’re home. And you’re stuck with me.”

“Best person to be stuck with.”

He pulled her closer to his chest, holding her until the sun climbed high enough to burn off the mist and the sky turned pale pink.

“So,” his lips brushed her ear. “How do you like the view? Better than coffee?”

Taylor didn’t even hesitate. “No.”

“Seriously?”

“Don’t take it personally.” She patted his arm. “It’s a close second.”

“A close second?” He spun her around to face him, pretending to be offended. “I bring you to my secret spot, bare my soul, give you the perfect sunrise, and you tell me I can’t even beat coffee?”

She grinned. “You know me. Next time try the sunrise and coffee if you want a shot at number one.”

“Next time I’m not bringing you anywhere,” he grumbled.

“We both know you won’t,” she said sweetly, taking his hand as they headed back up the path.

Taylor had always been looking forward. It kinda came with the territory: she literally had no past to look back at, besides Diego’s fabricated story about an orphaned hippie kid. But for the last three years, future seemed like something they had to face together. Now when she looked at the way Jake’s shoulders relaxed when he talked to his mother, or the way he laughed when Rebecca teased him, future felt more like something they could build together.

He was busy repairing the wooden porch step which he claimed was a ‘safety hazard’ and a ‘miracle it didn’t break under anyone who visited last week’. She just brought him some coffee and called it a break when her phone buzzed. Another group video call? She raised her brows, but accepted it.

“Intervention time!” Diego announced with a big grin.

Jake, who was sitting next to her, looked at him with suspicion. “What did I do now?”

“We’ve been talking,” Grace said gently. “And we know you’re two proud idiots who would try to live on instant ramen for next year out of principle. So we’re taking that option off the table.”

Taylor felt her breath catch. “Grace, if you’re trying to say what I think you are, don’t—”

“We’ve set up a trust,” Aleister cut in. “A soft landing fund, if you will. You have full access starting today. Use it for security deposit, car, Jake’s FAA certifications, whatever you need.”

Taylor looked at Jake and saw his face harden immediately. “Guys, we can’t accept that.” His voice hardened. “We appreciate it, but no.”

“Too late!” Sean laughed. “It’s already done.”

“And we’re not taking no for an answer,” Zahra added. “You can pay your rent. Or spend it on whiskey and drugs. We don’t care.”

“Not a chance,” Taylor protested, shaking her head. “Thank you, but we can’t take it. You’ve already did more than enough.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’re our family.” Grace beamed at the screen. “And family helps each other. So shut up and let us help. Now, we have to go. Love you. Don’t be stupid.” She waved goodbye and the call ended, leaving them in a stunned silence.

Jake let out a heavy breath and scrubbed a hand over his face, turning away.

“We can’t take it,” he whispered.

“No,” she agreed, but it didn’t really sound convincing.

“I looked it up last week,” he admitted, and his voice was so low she could barely hear his words. “The whole process. The flight hours, medical cert… it’s a fortune. I’d written it off as impossible.”

He finally met her gaze, and she saw the flicker of hope in his eyes. And that was it. Pride can wait. Future can not.

She grinned at him.

“Okay, so here’s what we’re gonna do: first, we’re getting you back in the air.”

“Even if I could,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck, “that process could take a year. What are we supposed to do in the meantime?”

“In the meantime, I’ll find a job. Let’s stretch this fund for as long as we can. And then… ” She bit her lip. What if he laughed at her dream? “Maybe I could go to school. Get a degree.”

His hand touched her cheek. When she dared to look up, the look of reverence on his face made her chest ache.

“You’d wipe the floor with everyone there, Princess. You absolutely should.”

“You really think so?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Then I will.” She grinned. “But you first. And when you’re a hotshot pilot again, you can bring home the paycheck, and I can be the trophy wife who spends it all on books. Deal?”

“Deal.” He grinned back and pulled her in for a kiss. “So… where do we do all this? Do you have a place in mind? Hartfeld? Somewhere new?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

“I spent half my life trying to run.” His voice dropped again. “But now that I’m back here, with you… it feels different. I think… I think I could stay. What do you think? Could you be happy here?”

Her hand found his.

“I spent my whole life with nowhere to belong. I think I just want to have a place I can come home to at the end of the day that’s ours. To have roots.”

“Here?” He studied her face.

“Anywhere you’re with me. Besides,” she let out a small laugh, “the sunrises really help sell it.”

He looked down at their joined hands, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face.

“Okay,” he breathed, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Okay. Let’s grow you some roots then.”

They laughed, foreheads pressed together, and he kissed her mid-laugh. She kissed him back, then pulled away with a grin. “Alright. First step—”

“Anything you want.”

“Think you can convince your mother to teach me a few of her recipes?”

The look of mock horror he gave her was so sudden she laughed again.

“Coward,” she whispered.

“Damn right,” he smiled, and she watched the last of the guarded tension melt away from his face, replaced by a pure happiness she hadn’t seen since they’d landed.

And her own heart felt a little lighter, too.

“We need to talk about last night.”

Jake turned and looked straight into his sister’s eyes. “It was just a nightmare, Becks. It’s over.”

“Bullshit, and you know it.” She sat next to him on the porch steps and handed him a cup filled with coffee.

It was bitter, but not as bitter as his shame.

The night itself had already faded into a blur of fragmented images—Mike’s blood on his fingers, the smell of fuel, the suffocating dust—but the aftermath was a physical thing. He still felt the bone-deep tiredness that came from fighting a war with his own mind.

Every time it happened he hoped that would be the last. Every time he was proved wrong. Last night was hist first attack in months, and he knew with gut-deep certainty this wouldn’t be his last one either.

He kept telling himself it was just nightmares. Everyone has nightmares. Hell, in the first week after the island, Taylor’s were so bad she had panic attacks when it was time to go to bed. Except hers eventually went away, and his… didn’t. And that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was waking up and seeing it reflected in her eyes. The way she knew exactly what to say and how to say it to bring him back, and never once let him see how scared she must have been. And that, more than anything, filled him with a quiet, suffocating shame.

“I’ve been a cop for five years, Jake. You know as well as I do that last night wasn’t just a nightmare.”

He flinched.

“So stop calling it that. We both know what it is. You’ve seen it in your guys, I’ve seen it in mine. It has a name.” She paused, letting him fill in the blank in his own head. “And the only person you’re fooling right now is yourself.”

“I’ve got this,” he whispered, but she only snorted in response. “We handle it.”

Rebecca let out a short sharp breath. “No, Jake. Taylor handles it. I’ve seen her last night. And you know what I saw? Not a wife comforting her husband when he has a bad dream.”

“She’s got used to it.”

She snorted in response. “You know who she reminded me of? A hostage negotiator. She knew exactly how close to get and exactly what to say to ground you. She didn’t even flinch when you started yelling for Mike. That’s what she got used to.”

Jake closed his eyes. Every word was a punch to the gut.

“You say you’ve got this, and I believe you think you do. You’re not a danger to yourself. But you are letting her carry the entire weight of it by herself. She’s the one who stays awake after you’ve fallen back asleep. She’s your wife, Jake. Not your medic. Not your therapist. And you’re asking her to be all three.”

“I would know if it was too much. She would tell me,” he protested weakly.

“Maybe.” Rebecca shrugged. “Maybe not. I’ve known her for a week, but I can see she’s just as pig-headed as you are. But you know she’s not equipped for that, Jake. No one is. What happens if one day it’s too much? What happens if the person holding you together starts falling apart?”

Rebecca was right, and he knew it. He’d seen the exhaustion in Taylor’s eyes after he came back to himself. But he’d been too focused on battling his own demons to stop and ask himself what it cost her to be his shield.

Shit.

“I know you’re trying.” She set her own mug down and grabbed his hand between her palms. “Taylor and I talked last night. I’m gonna make some calls before I leave. Find you someone good. But you have to be the one to walk through that door, Jake. For you. And if you won’t do it for yourself, then damn it, do it for her.”

He studied her face for a moment with a throat too tight to speak.

“Please.” She blinked too fast. He knew why.

“Okay,” he rasped finally, squeezing her hand. “Okay.”

Rebecca had cornered Jake two days ago. Taylor couldn’t hear the words, but could guess what it was about from the way his shoulders tensed. Afterwards, Rebecca gave her just a small nod and asked to give him time.

She knew better than to push. So she waited, until one evening she found him sitting with phone in hand, staring at a list of numbers Rebecca had scribbled on a sticky note.

“I called,” he said quickly when she entered the room. “Got an appointment for next week.”

She sat next to him and wrapped her arms around his. Her thumb stroked his shoulder. There were so many things she wanted to say to him right now, starting with how proud she was, but all words got stuck in her throat. “Good. That’s good,” she finally managed.

He closed his eyes and nestled his head in the crook of her neck.

“Rebecca said—” he stopped, jaw tight, and curled smaller “—she said I was unfair to you. That I asked for too much.”

“Oh, Jake—”

“No.” He put a finger on her lips and looked up. “ She was right. I needed to hear it. I should’ve seen it sooner. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Taylor tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Hey. We do what we can until we can do better. And now it’s time to do better. Okay?”

His hand found hers, threading their fingers together.

“We’re gonna be okay,” she whispered. “You are.”

“Yeah.” He hooked one pinky with hers. “And that’s a promise.”

She pulled him closer, resting her chin on his head, and let herself believe it.

When he finally moved to look at her, he looked as if someone took a weight off his shoulders.

“So,” he said, and his voice was lighter, too. “You still want to take a look at the house tomorrow? The one you bookmarked?”

“The one you said ‘needs work’?”

“That’s the one.”

“Yeah,” she smiled. “I think I do.”

“Okay.” He pulled her in for a kiss. “Let’s see what kind of disaster are we signing up for next.”

It wasn’t Jake’s girl’s fault that Mama felt this way. Taylor was nice and polite, and said and did all the right things, but… there was always a but.

But she isn’t from here being the biggest one.

Or maybe, though Jake’s mother was too ashamed to admit that one even to herself, but she’ll take my boy away from me again.

Sure, the Bible said ‘a man will leave his father and his mother and be united with his wife,’ but she wasn’t really his wife, was she?

There were much more “buts” like these, but if Mama was honest with herself, none of them were really about his girl and all were about her own fears and doubts.

It wasn’t fair to Taylor. The girl looked at Jake like he was her whole world, and Lord knows her boy deserved someone who looked at him like that. Especially now, with all the nightmares and the haunted look that never really left his eyes.

One night, she’d heard her talking to Rebecca in the kitchen. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop. They talked about trauma and therapy. About things Mama should have known, should have seen, should have helped with if only he’d come home sooner.

If only he’d trusted me enough to come home.

She’d spent six years grieving a son who wasn’t dead. For six years, she dreaded every unfamiliar knock on the door thinking it might be someone coming to tell her they’d found a body. For six years, she’d been worried he might be cold, hungry, scared, alone. And now he was here, safe, alive, sleeping in his old room with this woman Mama barely knew, and all she could think was: how long until he leaves again?

Rebecca had already chosen California over home. What if Jake did the same? What if she ended up alone in this house with nothing but phone calls twice a year and maybe Christmas if she was lucky? She’d barely had him back, and what was that she heard Taylor saying into the phone just last night? Something about a place ‘down by the bay’ that needed work. That could mean anything. The coast. Another state. Another life built somewhere far away.

And that thought hurt more than anything.

The morning sun was barely up when Mama started on the apple pie. She’d been up since six, unable to sleep, needing to keep her hands busy like always when she didn’t know what to do with her thoughts.

“Good morning,” Taylor greeted her, rubbing the sleep off her eyes, and made a beeline to the coffee pot.

Mama already set out a cup for her. Just like her own daughter, Taylor couldn’t function without caffeine. Girls these days, she scoffed in her mind, but there was no malice in it. Who raised them that way, hm?

“Rebecca’s the same,” Mama said. “Gets it from me, I’m afraid. Can’t think straight without my first cup.” She smiled. “I suppose your mama was the same?”

Taylor’s hand stilled on the mug. “I don’t know. My parents died when I was little. I don’t remember much from before that.”

“Oh, honey.” Her chest tightened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay.” Taylor took a sip and tried to smile. “Really. It was a long time ago.”

Mama searched for something to say that wouldn’t make it worse.

“Well,” she said finally, setting down the peeler. “You’ve got yourself a habit somehow. That’s what matters. And if you want to learn how to make a proper apple pie, I’m happy to teach you. Family recipes ought to be passed down.” She gestured at the bowl full of apples.

Taylor looked up, eyes bright. “I’d love that.”

For a moment, they stood side by side, peeling the apples. It was already warm, warmer than it usually was in the spring, and Taylor brushed a strand of hair stuck to her forehead with the back of her wrist.

“Phew! I can’t imagine how hot it gets by July. I think I might have to live in the river.”

She hummed. “You’ll still be here come summer?”

“Yes. I mean—” Taylor seemed flustered. “I don’t mean here here, in your house, we don’t want to overstay our welcome… we’ve been looking for a place on our own. There’s a house Jake wants me to see later today, maybe twenty minutes from here. It’s just a rental and needs work, but…” She smiled sheepishly.

Mama’s hands stilled. Twenty minutes. Not the bay. Not far away. Right here. Oh. She must have meant the bayou, not the Gulf coast like Mama had been picturing all night. Close enough to come by for Sunday dinner.

“I thought you’d be wantin’ to move,” she said carefully. “Take him somewhere closer to your people.”

Taylor blinked. “But he’s got roots here.”

This time it was Mama who stared at her like she grew two heads. “You don’t.”

“I don’t,” Taylor agreed. “But I’d like to grow some.”

Mama’s hands stilled on the apple peeler. Her throat got tight.

“Jake needs help,” Taylor said quietly, still focused on her apple. “Real help. And he needs family while he’s figuring things out. He needs you.”

“And what do you need?”

“Same thing.” Her voice was quiet. “A place to belong.”

Mama looked at the girl beside her, awkward and careful, trying so hard to do everything right, and saw the determination in her eyes. The same kind Mama had seen in herself the night she’d carried two kids through the flood, refusing to let go.

Maybe she wasn’t taking her son away. Maybe she was the one who’d keep him home.

They stood in front of the house, keys in Taylor’s hand. The paint was peeling. The porch sagged. The nicest thing they could say about the front yard was that it was there.

“It’s a dump,” Jake said with a grin.

“Yeah.”

“It’s perfect.”

“It’s our home.” She grinned back at him.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled the phone out of his pocket. His smile turned mischievous. “Okay, time to make my sister jealous.” He quickly typed something, then showed the screen to Taylor.

“Guess who just sold his soul to the landlord?”

“Congrats! It looks nice!” Rebecca replied, and Jake wheezed reading it.

“She’s a terrible liar,” he muttered and wiped a stray tear off his cheek.

“Come on, we know it’s a dump. But it’s OUR dump,” Taylor wrote back. “Come visit when we’re done renovating?”

“Definitely.”

Taylor looked once again at the front porch, hands propped on her hips. “Think we can repaint it?”

“Darlin’, together we can do anything.”

And for once, she believed him.

Chapter Text

Objectively speaking, the house was a disaster. They both knew it since the moment the landlord gave them the keys and said “Good luck” in a tone that suggested they were going to need it. A normal couple would have taken one look before turning on their heel and running away screaming, but they both established a while ago they’re very much not a normal couple, and if they had one thing in abundance, it was their luck. And stubbornness. And spite.

It was exactly these two latter qualities that landed them in the empty house, their whole furniture an air mattress borrowed from some cousin, and a folding table with two camping chairs they left to air on the porch in hopes it would kill at least some of the campfire smell. Taylor hummed something in the kitchen, wiping the empty cabinets, and Jake stood in the living room, staring at the empty space. For a second, he imagined himself back on the Dorado, smelling the salty air around them and feeling the breeze in his hair. His fingers still remembered tracing the imaginary shapes over an empty islet. A hopeless fantasy to keep them both from breaking apart.

He knelt down, his fingers touching the dusty hardwood floor, and started to trace once again.

“Right there… we’ll have a couch,” he said quietly. “A big, comfortable one. The kind you can fall asleep on.” He drew a rectangle. “And a reading chair here, by the window, where the morning sun hits just right.”

Taylor stopped humming, and Jake heard her soft footsteps on the floor until she was standing right behind him. He smiled up at her and pointed at the wall.

“And here, a bookshelf. A big one, floor to ceiling. For all the books you’re gonna buy as the trophy wife.”

She laughed and knelt beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I remember when you first did that thing.”

He turned his hand over and laced his fingers with hers. “But this time, I can make it true.”

She stood, pulling him up with her, and led him to the big window that looked out into the overgrown yard.

“Out there, we can have the garden you told me about.” She pointed with her free hand. “Hibiscus will be easy, they love heat. Lilacs are trickier, but I’ve been reading and there are varieties that could work. We can even have the cinnamon plants, if you don’t mind hauling them inside every winter.” She looked at him and squeezed his hand. “The only thing that I don’t think we can grow here are the mountain lilies. But maybe some other variety will do?”

Jake just stared at her, stunned. “You remembered all of it?”

“I remember everything.”

He cupped her cheek and leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. “On the island, that was just… a story. Something to hold on to when we had nothing else. But this is real, Tay. Not just my imagination. This time, we’re going to build it for real.”

“Even without the lilies?”

“Even without the lilies.” He smiled. “We’ll find some flowers you like instead. How does a wildflower meadow sound?”

“Perfect.”

They ate the dinner sitting on the porch steps. Jake’s mother sent them home with a casserole wrapped in aluminium foil with a note stuck to it that read “I want the dish back.”

“Your mom is a miracle worker,” Taylor said, scraping the last bits off her plate. She briefly considered licking it clean. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“Or you’re just hungry.” He laughed when she shot him a sideways look. “Just joking. She loves feeding people. That’s how she says ‘I love you’ without ever saying it.”

And I hear her loud and clear, Taylor thought, her chest feeling full in a way that had nothing to do with food. “She’s never getting the dish back,” she announced defiantly.

“She knows that. The note is just a formality.”

“Smart woman.”

“Runs in the family. There’s a reason I picked you, you know?”

You picked me? Ha, good one. Taylor elbowed him, and Jake just grinned and pulled her closer.

The sun was setting over their yard, painting everything gold, and for a moment, she could see the dream garden in place of weeds. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked at a passing car. Life went on, and she felt so absurdly happy it didn’t fit in her chest anymore. Happy enough to let herself believe in bright future.

“That was the best date you’ve ever taken me on,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“You’ve got incredibly low standards.”

“Well,” she looked at him, already smirking. “Why do you think you managed to get me?”

He laughed and tilted her chin up. “Touché. Guess I walked into that one, huh?”

The kiss started slow and unhurried. His hand slid from her jaw to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. Hers found his chest and rested over his racing heart. When they broke apart, both a little breathless, Jake’s eyes were dark in the fading light.

“Come on,” he whispered and impatiently tugged at her hand. “Let’s get inside before the neighbours get a free show.”

Taylor laughed, but let him pull her to her feet. The empty plates were left on the porch—ah, to hell with dishes, she said to herself as they stumbled through the door, already reaching for each other again.

The air mattress squeaked under their weight, but she was too busy pulling Jake’s shirt over his head to care about it. Her hands mapped the familiar terrain of his back, his arms, the face she’d kissed thousand times before and still wanted thousand more.

“We have to be careful,” he murmured against her neck. “This thing is gonna deflate if we’re not.”

“We can always sleep on the floor.”

He laughed. “You’re really selling the dream, Princess.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

So he did, without further complaints. He’d always been good at following orders.

Later, when the sunlight faded completely and the first stars came out, they stayed tangled together on the slightly deflated mattress. Taylor smiled at the water-stained ceiling.

Finally, she thought. Finally, we have a real home. It’s awful and it needs work and it’s already perfect in a way I could never have imagined.

“Can you believe we get to live here?” Jake asked, as if he could hear her thoughts.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered.

“Perfect? Come on.” Jake snorted. “The bathroom door doesn’t even close all the way. The paint peels away as we speak. The kitchen sink is leaking from both the pipes and the faucet. And I’m sure that’s only the tip of the iceberg.”

“Still. It’s perfect to me.”

“How?”

She brushed a strand of hair off his face. “Because everything that’s worth keeping needs some tending to.”

“Wait. Are you still talking about the house?” He leaned on his elbow and looked at her with suspicion.

“You’re smart,” she laughed and pulled him for one more kiss. “You’ll figure it out.”

The honeymoon phase lasted exactly three days. Jake was sitting in a waiting room that was so disgustingly bland it was nauseating. His leg bounced restlessly and he stopped it, annoyed with himself. This was complete bullshit. He should be at the house doing something useful, fixing the porch, hell, patching the roof, instead of waiting to do what? Talk about his feelings?

But every time he thought about leaving, he remembered how Rebecca tore him a new one. You’re letting her carry the entire weight. Every word hit him like a gut punch. True ones always did. It hurt like hell, but maybe he needed to hear all that from someone who cared.

He’d promised her he’d find help. And say what you want about Jake McKenzie, but he always kept his promises.

If you won’t do it for yourself, then damn it, do it for her.

The door opened, and a woman with a clipboard looked into the waiting room. “Jacob McKenzie?”

“Yeah.” He stood, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. “That’s me.”

“Previous work experience?” The manager glanced up from the application.

Taylor’s mind went blank. Led a group of students through an island filled with death traps. Survived time loops. Saved the world from a reality-manipulating madman.

“Customer service,” she lied smoothly. “And I’m very good with people.”

He raised an eyebrow, then looked from her polite smile to the large blank space on the form.

“Right,” he tapped his pen. “We’ll let you know when… I mean, if we have an opening.”

She felt the disappointment rising inside her chest. So the “now hiring” sign she’d seen on the door was just a decoration?

“Thanks,” she stood up with a sigh, but forced herself to smile. “Call me if you have anything.”

Outside, she pulled out her phone and crossed another address off her list. Twelve interviews in three days. Twelve polite rejections.

At that rate, she’d run out of workplaces in under a week.

Shit.

When Jake got home, it was so quiet he thought Taylor wasn’t back yet. He found her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, and didn’t even have to ask how her day went. The exhausted slump of her shoulders told him enough. She didn’t ask about his either, she could see it in his tense jaw and empty eyes.

They met somewhere halfway, wrapping arms around each other. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. She melted into him, pulling him tight against her chest.

Drip… drip… drip…

The drops kept falling from the leaky faucet and echoing off the sink with a terrifying regularity.

Bullshit, all of it, he thought.

His hand slid up to the back of her head.

All, except for this.

The next morning, Taylor woke up to a sound of metal clanking and a string of very creative curses. Following the noise, she found Jake under the kitchen sink with a wrench in hand.

“Having fun?”

“This absolute son of a—” he grunted and whacked something with the wrench. “I swear whoever installed it did it wrong on purpose.”

“Need help?”

“No, I just need this damn thing to—hah!—gotcha!” He tightened something with a noise worse than a thousand nails scraping on a chalkboard and slid from under the sink, wiping hands on his shirt. “Now, the faucet.”

He stood up, grabbed a screwdriver and started dismantling it. Taylor watched as he pulled out a worn rubber washer, held it up triumphantly and replaced it with a new one.

“Where did you get that?” She asked.

“Hardware store opened at six. I was their first customer.” He put it back and surveyed his work. “Do you want to do the honors?”

She looked at the faucet with a challenge in her eyes and slowly turned the handle. He slid a cup under the stream, then turned it off.

Nothing but blessed silence.

A proud grin spread across his face as he looked at her, chest puffing just a little.

“See?” He patted the sink. “One down.”

Taylor walked to him and looped her arms around his neck. “My hero.”

“Damn right.” He kissed her nose. “Now, let’s fix the rest.”

By the time May rolled around, the house was… well, it still wasn’t much, but they were getting somewhere, one little step at the time. Some mornings, Taylor woke up to the sounds of Jake fighting with a power washer outside. Other days, she spent hours in the yard, pulling weeds until her back ached and her hands were stained green. The overgrown jungle slowly became something manageable, and the front looked pretty impressive, even if the paint took forever to dry in the humid heat.

She got a call two weeks in, exactly when she stopped hoping she’d ever find a job. Minimum wage, terrible boss, even worse hours, but she still did a happy little dance when she hung up.

“I’m starting on Monday,” she announced, jumping into his arms with a big grin, and they celebrated with a cheap bottle of wine, feeling like kings.

His progress was harder to celebrate. Jake grumbled that for every step forward, he took two back. One evening, he came back home exceptionally quiet, even for himself. At night, he curled into her side, said “don’t ask, just hold me,” and stayed like that, hot tears soaking through her shirt until he fell asleep. But next morning, the sun was already high when she woke up—first!—and for the first time in forever, she saw him smiling in his sleep.

Jake’s mother appeared one afternoon, took one look at Taylor’s pathetic attempt at yard work and commandeered the project. By the sunset, all the weeds were gone, the flower beds prepared, and both their hands covered in blisters. “Tomorrow, I’m coming back with a few seedlings,” she announced in a tone that brooked no argument.

One weekend, they finally got around to painting the bedroom. Taylor spent an eternity picking paint swatches, forcing him to decide between colors he could swear were completely identical, and when he secretly sent the pictures to Rebecca asking for assurance, the traitor sided with his wife and said the difference is obvious, and he should get his eyes checked if he doesn’t see it.

In hindsight, he should have asked why they needed so many colors.

Back at home, she hauled the cans and sat in front of the prepped wall, carefully balancing a laptop on her knees, then drew her brows together and focused on a DIY video.

“Please tell me we’re not doing that,” he sighed, staring at the title: ‘How to paint ombre walls: step by step tutorial.’

“Oh, no.” She turned and grinned at him, switching to a photo of the sunrise she snapped on their first morning back. “We’re doing this.”

“Absolutely not. This has like, million colors. You’re seriously overestimating my abilities.”

She clapped his back. “Don’t worry, I’ll help.”

“That’s what worries me the most,” he muttered and yelped when she elbowed him.

“Come on. It’s going to be very easy,” she assured him. “Look here, they say you have to be fast before the paint dries, and we don’t have to worry about that. See? Living on your swamp has it perks.”

“Sure, Picasso. Teach me.”

It was not, in fact, very easy. But when they reached the bottom with only minor casualties along the way, Jake had to admit it didn’t look bad at all. Maybe not perfect, but way better than he expected.

“Now, as for the other walls…” she started with an innocent smile that turned into a throaty laugh when she noticed his face. “Don’t worry. Solid color only. One accent wall is enough.”

This, he could live with.

With each passing day, the house transformed from a dusty place into a home. The floors were still scuffed, but at least there were scrubbed clean, and the worst of it was covered by a fluffy rug. The furniture was a mismatched mix of second-hand finds that Taylor deemed “eclectic.” The roof wasn’t leaking anymore, neither was the sink.

And when Diego called asking if they’re planning a housewarming party, Taylor looked around the tiny house and thought: Yeah. We can do this.

“Tell him yes,” Jake shouted from the porch, already cataloguing things that still needed to be done before they let people see the place.

“Are you sure?”

“No.” He grinned. “But let’s do it anyway.”

Chapter Text

Taylor had never been a fan of house chores, but the upcoming party had turned her into a monster. Everything was spotless, the living room looked like something straight out of a home staging magazine, she already cleaned the bathroom twice and was now staring at the mirror wondering if she needs to clean it for a third time before settling on ‘no’. But when she checked their bedroom and saw an old t-shirt thrown on the freshly made bed, she felt the steam coming out of her ears.

“Jake, what did I tell you about putting your clothes where they belong! I swear, if I find anything on the bed instead of a hamper again—”

“Relax, Marie Kondo.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and took the shirt off her hands. “This is my favorite shirt. I’m gonna wear it. It does spark joy.”

“Last time I’ve seen you wearing it, we’ve been painting the walls.”

“That’s because it’s my favorite shirt for dirty jobs.”

“We don’t have any dirty jobs planned tonight. So, hide it somewhere. I don’t care where. I don’t want to see it.”

“God forbid people know we’re living here,” he grumbled, putting away the offending piece of clothing. “Let me guess, I can’t sit on the couch either?”

“Absolutely not. It’s going to get all wrinkly.”

He sighed. “Tay, breathe. Seriously. They just want to relax and catch up. I promise. Do you really think they’re going to care that our couch has wrinkles?”

“I know.” She sat on the bed. “I just want everything to be perfect, you know?”

“It is perfect.” He crouched in front of her and wrapped her hands in his. “We’ve been cooking and cleaning for two days. The house smells amazing. We’re more than ready.”

“What if they think it’s not enough?” Her voice was quiet.

“Taylor, look at me. It’s our friends. These people have seen us at our worst. They’ve seen us covered in blood and mud, and after not showering for days. I think we’re fine.”

“Yeah, but it was different then. We’ve all been dirty and sweaty and—”

He kissed her forehead. “They’re coming because they love us. Not because we have a fancy house.”

She knew that. She really did. But there was a part of her that wanted to prove something. We’re okay. We’ve made it. We’re not just surviving anymore, we’re living here.

“Okay,” she agreed. “You’re right. I’m being crazy.”

“Maybe a little. Now, come on. Can we sample some of the food? I’m starving.”

“Absolutely not. It’s for our guests.”

“But it’s going to be forever until they all get here,” he whined.

She rolled her eyes, but stood up and held her hand. “Okay. Let me fix you something.”

“Wow. I see you’re picking up the slang.” He grinned. “At that pace, a few more months and you’ll be as good as native.”

Her phone buzzed.

“Okay. This is really happening. Remind me to breathe,” she sighed, showing him the message.

“You’ve got this. Now, about the food…?”

Taylor heard the car pull up and felt her chest tighten. Three years. It’s been three years since they all saw each other. There had been calls and texts and video chats, but it wasn’t the same. It couldn’t compare to having their friends here, in their home.

“Ready?” she looked at Jake.

“Ready,” he replied, threading his fingers with hers.

They opened the door before Estela could even knock.

“Hey, Katniss.” Jake grinned when his wife wrapped her in a tight hug.

“Come here, cabrón.” She grinned back and freed one arm.

He awkwardly stepped into the hug. Estela wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him in with a force that almost threw him off-balance.

“Missed you,” he whispered somewhere between the two women.

“Missed you, too.” She finally pulled away, her gaze sweeping over the tiny house. “Damn. You two really did it. A real-ass house. With a porch. You’re all grown up.”

“We’re getting there,” Jake beamed. “Welcome to casa de McKenzie.”

Estela scowled. “Your accent needs work.”

Jake just laughed, but Taylor stepped forward, looping her arm with Estela’s.

“Ignore him,” Taylor said, pulling her into the house. “Come on in. What are you drinking? We have cheap beer or cheap whiskey. Choose wisely.”

By the time they almost finished their drinks, Taylor’s anxiety dissolved completely and first drops of rain began to tap against the kitchen window. Jake glanced out and saw his sister climbing out of a car.

“That’s Rebecca,” he said, and felt Taylor’s hand squeeze his shoulder.

“Go,” she said softly. “You’re about to meet Jake’s sister,” she explained to Estela. “She’s a detective.”

“A cop, huh?” Estela’s eyes were unreadable as always.

Muffled voices carried from the porch and a moment later, Jake walked into the kitchen, one arm slung around his sister’s shoulders. Rebecca was shaking the rain off her hair like a wet dog. She smiled at Taylor before turning to their guest, and the moment her gaze landed on Estela, she froze.

“Let me introduce you to Estela,” Jake said, blissfully unaware of the current crackling in the air. “This is my sister Rebecca. Becks, this is Estela Montoya.”

“Nice to meet you.” Estela extended her hand.

“I saw you at the airport,” Rebecca blurted out when their hands met, and her breath hitched. Her cheeks, already pink from the rain, seemed to flush warmer. She quickly looked away, handing a wine bottle to Taylor as if it was suddenly burning her hands.

Taylor felt a slow grin spread on her face. Oh, this is going to be so much fun, she thought as she turned away to hide her smile, and filed the discovery away to discuss with Jake later.

The front door burst open again, bringing a gust of wind and a whirlwind of noise with it.

“We made it! Sorry we’re late, the traffic was—”

“Shut up or I’ll change all your passwords.”

“Ah, here comes the chaos.” Jake laughed, recognizing the voices.

“Diego!” Taylor beamed, her heart doing a happy little flip. She managed to make maybe two steps towards the hallway when he wrapped her in a hug that almost lifted her off the ground.

“I missed you so much! Sorry about the mess with your name,” he murmured into her hair. “I can explain. Don’t kill me, please.”

“Not now,” she whispered as low as she could. “Jake’s sister is here, and she’s a cop. We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

“She’s here?” Diego’s head snapped up and he grinned, already turning to Rebecca. “You must be Jake’s sister, the detective? I’ve been researching police procedures for my next book, and I think you could help me—”

Poor girl, Taylor thought, and then smirked a little bit. That’s karma for leaving her with that churchy aunt. Now, Taylor wasn’t evil enough to leave Rebecca with Diego for the entire night... but a few minutes to taste that medicine surely wouldn’t hurt.

Zahra passed them with a little wave as a whole greeting and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the counter.

“Great to see you too, Zahra,” Jake chuckled. “Help yourself.”

“I spent six hours on a plane with Diego,” she snapped back. “I deserve it.”

Neither of them could really argue with that. Taylor glanced at Rebecca, looking like she wanted someone to rescue her, or maybe kill Diego, and made her choice.

“—we’ll be like Castle and Beckett, and I could get a ‘WRITER’ vest like he had on the show—”

“Come on, Diego. Have you tried the salad?” She grabbed his arm and winked at Rebecca, who mouthed ‘thank you’ in response. “Let her settle in before you start asking for favors, okay?”

“But—”

“No buts. Here. Try this one,” she handed him a plate of potato salad. “That’s from Jake’s mom, and I don’t know what she puts there, but it’s absolutely addictive.”

Diego’s eyes went wide when he put a forkful in his mouth, and he finally went quiet. She loaded another heaping spoon onto his plate, just in case, and was about to check if there’s more in the fridge when headlights swept across the window.

“Grace!” She set down the bowl and headed for the door just as it opened.

Grace practically tumbled inside, laughing and dripping wet.

“I’m so happy to see you!” Taylor wrapped her in a hug despite the water. “Where is your fiance?”

“He dropped me in front of your porch and told me to go in fast before I melt,” Grace said breathlessly. “But I got wet anyway. And he got stuck on the driveway. It turned into a swamp,” she giggled.

A moment later, the door opened again and Aleister went inside, soaked to the bone, his shoes covered in mud. Before he could take another step, Taylor pointed a wooden spoon at him from across the room.

“Hey! Mind the mud on your shoes, I just mopped!”

She was grinning, but Aleister obviously missed the joke. He looked at his shoes with horror and took a step back to take them off.

“My apologies,” he murmured, entering the room in just his socks.

Taylor caught Jake trying not to laugh. Diego wasn’t trying at all.

“Come on,” she said, handing Aleister a fresh towel. “Let’s get you dried off.”

From the corner of her eye, she caught Rebecca staring at him with her mouth open.

“Alright,” Jake announced, raising his beer. “Before this gets any more chaotic, I just want to say thank you for coming. For being here. It means everything to us.”

“Hear, hear,” Diego said through a mouthful of potato salad.

“To friends,” Taylor added, raising her own bottle.

“To family,” Estela corrected quietly.

They all raised their drinks, and the house filled with warmth despite the rain outside.

Taylor refilled the salad bowl for the third time and made a mental note to send a big thank you to her mother-in-law. Jake’s mom arrived this morning with a giant tub of her signature salad, and refused to hear their protests that it was too much for their small gathering.

“Absolutely not,” she said, shooting a sideways glance at the greens Taylor was chopping. “Y’all need some real food before you start drinking all that booze, or you’re gonna regret it come morning.”

And with that, she went on to check the pots on the stove. Taylor was absolutely sure her mac and cheese got blessed with an extra stick of butter behind her back, even though she couldn’t prove it. None of their guests certainly seemed to mind.

She scraped the last of the salad into the bowl and looked up from the kitchen counter at the party. Even if only half of the crew could be here tonight, the house was crowded—but in the best way. God, she missed them all. It’s been too long, and she was afraid it would be too awkward. She’d never been happier about being wrong in her entire life. They all fell into rhythm like no time had passed at all, bickering and bantering like the slightly dysfunctional family they were.

Diego and Aleister were standing near the kitchen island, now doubling as a buffet.

“—and my editor said it needed more emotional depth,” Diego was gesturing with his fork. “Like, excuse me? I poured my whole soul into that draft and you’re telling me it’s not deep enough?!”

Aleister was smiling politely, but his eyes kept drifting off to Grace on the couch. She was sitting next to Estela, showing her some Pinterest wedding boards and discussing flower arrangements. Even Zahra perched on the armrest with her whiskey looked… interested. Taylor blinked twice, but no, she wasn’t hallucinating. Who would have thought, she smiled to herself. It wasn’t that long ago that Zahra called fancy weddings a sham.

The big day is just two months away, she realized, looking at the invitation stuck to their fridge with two plane tickets underneath. Just two months ago, she was sure they’d miss Grace and Aleister’s wedding because going back to US wasn’t an option, and she felt really silly when she remembered how sad it made her. They’d missed way too many events and celebrations, hiding in their little corner of the world. But that was over now they were back. Just two more months, and she’d see everyone. Finally, a proper reunion, she grinned at the thought.

From her corner of the kitchen, Taylor could see Jake with Rebecca on the porch, deep in conversation. Something emotional, by the looks of it. Good. They both need that, she thought, her smile softening when she saw them hugging each other.

She let out a happy sigh, pasted on her hostess smile and carried the salad bowl to the buffet. “Alright, vultures, round number three, last chance for the potato salad! Don’t pretend you weren’t waiting for it. Be quick or you’ll lose it to Diego.”

Diego immediately held out his plate with two hands, grinning at her like she was a lunch lady he was trying to charm into giving him an extra portion. “You know me too well. Any chance you’ll have some leftovers I could rescue tomorrow?”

Taylor pointed to the empty tub near the sink and laughed when his face fell.

“I guess you don’t know the recipe either? What a shame.” He sighed so deep it sounded like he was going through a heartbreak. “Oh, I have an idea. Do you think she would share her recipe with Raj? You told me she likes his show, and I know he was planning a series where he cooks in regular people’s kitchens—”

“I think she’s a bit too territorial for that.” Taylor tried to imagine her mother-in-law and Raj in one kitchen and shuddered.

“Who’s territorial?” Jake peeked out from behind Diego’s back.

“Your mother,” she explained. “Diego is plotting to get Raj to her kitchen to learn the secret salad recipe. Don’t ask.”

“Sorry, man.” Jake clapped Diego’s back. “This one is sacred. And she’d kill you if you tried to guess.”

“Challenge accepted!” Diego declared. “Okay, I taste… potatoes, obviously. Paprika… a hint of sweetness? Is that relish?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Jake shared a conspiratorial grin with Taylor.

Zahra leaned against the counter nearby, watching him with detached amusement. “It’s probably just love, Diego. You wouldn’t recognize the taste.”

Even Grace laughed while Diego glared daggers at Zahra. But over their heads, Taylor noticed Estela sneaking out to the porch, and she immediately moved closer to the window, shamelessly curious. She watched Rebecca standing closer to their friend than strictly necessary, her head tilted just so. Yep, Taylor thought, her grin widening. Something definitely is in the air.

“What are you plotting now?” Diego’s voice sounded behind her, and she almost jumped.

Oh no, Taylor panicked instantly. If Diego noticed the vibe on the porch, he’d be out there “helping” in an instant, and the moment would be gone before it started.

“Do you know how to dance? I remember you were thinking about salsa classes last year?” She spun around and smiled innocently. “I was just thinking that the wedding is in two months, and I could use some practice. Think you could give me some quick rundown?”

Diego’s eyes lit up. “With pleasure!”

He grabbed Taylor’s hand and pulled her towards the small clear space between the couch and coffee table. "Okay, so it’s all about the hips and the rhythm. Feel the music.”

She was pretty sure the music was completely unsuitable for dancing salsa, but the determination won. “Like this?”

Diego winced when she stepped on his foot. “Ow! Okay, that’s fine, we’ll try again. And one, two, three—”

She stepped on his foot again.

Jake watched from his spot against the counter, grinning. “Need rescuing, Travolta?”

Diego spun Taylor, or rather tried to. She stumbled, laughed, and nearly crashed into the coffee table. “Your wife has two left feet!”

“I don’t!” She wheezed. “You’re just a terrible teacher!”

“I’m an excellent teacher! You’re just—” Diego tried to demonstrate a move and somehow managed to trip over the rug, or maybe his own feet. “Okay, maybe I need more practice too.”

“Maybe?” Zahra took a big sip of her drink. “You’ve been going to those classes for a year.”

“Twice! I went twice! I’ve been thinking of them for a year.” Diego corrected. “And I was sober. That was my mistake.”

“Pretty sure being drunk isn’t going to help,” Estela said, steadying him.

“Only one way to find out.” Diego grabbed a new beer. “Round two!”

“Absolutely not.” Taylor backed away and winked at her husband. “I’m retiring from salsa. I guess we’ll just stick to slow dancing.”

“Fine with me.” Jake grinned back.

“Quitter,” Diego muttered, pretending to glare at Taylor. “Okay, folks! Time for a game. Truth or Dare? Never Have I Ever? Remember how we used to play this all the time?”

“Definitely not Truth or Dare,” Zahra cut in sharply from her place on the couch, pointing an accusatory finger at Jake and Taylor. “Last time those two idiots got drunk and decided to play it, he called me in the middle of a meeting with an important client and told me my code had infinite recursion. I lost the deal because of that, dumbass.”

“Sorry.” Jake smiled sheepishly. “It wouldn’t help if I told you this was Taylor’s idea, would it?”

“Gee, thanks. Throw me under the bus, why don’t you?” She bumped his arm.

“Okay, Never Have I Ever it is.” Diego stood and looked around. “Everyone has a drink? Great! I can start.” He grinned and Taylor braced herself for his challenge. “Never have I ever… skinny dipped!”

Jake and Taylor both drank. So did, surprisingly, Aleister.

“You?” Grace gasped at her fiance.

“Boarding school,” he said stiffly. “A temporary lapse in judgment.”

“I absolutely need to hear this story,” Diego announced.

“I’m afraid that is out of the question,” Aleister’s ears turned pink. “But, since it’s my turn… never have I ever been arrested.”

Grace took a swig. So did Rebecca, who immediately stared at her brother across the room. “Wait, you haven’t?”

“Nah. Ran before they had the chance.” Jake grinned at her, but Taylor squeezed his hand under the table. “But what have you done?”

“Occupational hazard. Let’s just say… undercover stuff gets messy.”

Diego sighed, probably thinking of all police adventures Rebecca denied him.

“Never have I ever,” Grace said slowly, “fallen for someone completely wrong for me.”

The room went quiet for a beat. Then Diego drank. Taylor stared at her bottle, than at Jake, then at her bottle, and finally settled on not drinking. But she could swear she saw Rebecca glancing around before turning away and taking the world’s smallest sip.

“Okay, my turn.” Jake looked around. “Never have I ever… cried at a wedding?”

Taylor elbowed him. “Come on. You were supposed to say something you haven’t done.”

“But I—” he facepalmed. “Right. My bad.”

“He cried like a baby on our own,” Taylor explained to Rebecca, and to Jake’s chagrin, everyone nodded in agreement. “That calls for a penalty round, right?”

He murmured something, but she raised one brow and he obediently took a swig.

“Never have I ever,” Taylor said, looking around at everyone, “regretted meeting any of you.”

No one drank.

“Good,” Taylor said simply. “Me neither.”

By 3 AM, the house that Taylor cleaned so thoroughly looked like a hurricane had passed through. Bottles on the counter, someone’s jacket forgotten at the back of a chair, plates that would have to wait in the sink until someone found the strength to wash them. The group retreated to a hotel, promising to be back for brunch. Or, as Diego put it, “more like brunner, you know, similar idea, but not so early…?” Rebecca was the only casualty, passed out on the couch with her mouth open, snoring loud enough to wake the dead. Jake grabbed a blanket and tucked it around her shoulders, set down a bottle of water within her reach, and turned off the lamp before slipping back to the bedroom.

Taylor’s eyes lit up when she saw him, but he just sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his own hands.

“Hey. Everything okay?” She scooted over.

“Yeah. I talked with Becks earlier. It was… hard.” He sighed. “She told me she thought I… that I’d killed myself. After the message I sent her. She thought it was a goodbye.”

Taylor’s heart clenched. She remembered that message very well, and yeah, she could see why Rebecca thought that. Her fingers gently touched the back of his hand.

“And she told me that’s why she went on to be a detective. Because she wanted to find out what happened to me.” He laced his fingers with hers. “All this time, I let her think I was gone. And all I could say was that I’m sorry. I fucked this up. But she just told me it doesn’t matter anymore, she’s just happy I’m here now.”

“She really is, Jake. You know that.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I do.” He was quiet for a while, then let out a long sigh, rubbing his eyes for a moment before a tiny smile touched his lips. “So… while we had our emotional heart-to-heart, what were you up to? Because come on, I know that look.”

“Who, me?” She batted her eyelashes. “I ain’t done nothing. But, since you’re asking… I might have seen something.”

“Oh no. What now?”

“I think—” she leaned in conspiratorially and lowered her voice “—that your sister has a crush on Estela.”

Jake’s head snapped back. “What? Becks? On Estela?”

“Shh! She’s sleeping right there on the couch!” She playfully swatted his arm. “And yes, I really think she does! You didn’t see it? When she walked in and saw her, she froze and started blushing, and then couldn’t put a sentence together… it was so adorable! And later I saw them on a porch, and she was looking at her like that.”

Taylor tilted her head and looked at him from under her eyelashes, lips slightly parted, fingers tangled in a hem of her shirt. He felt heat rising in his chest just from this look.

“Rebecca? With Katniss?” Jake looked completely bewildered, then his eyes lit up with the exact same mischief she felt. “No shit.”

“Big shit.”

“Okay,” he said with a grin. “So, what’s the plan? We gotta ask Diego. He’ll know what to do.”

Taylor winced. “Absolutely not.”

“What? Why? He told me he gave you that pep talk, the one that got us together?”

“He did give me a pep talk,” she mumbled, turning away from him, and this time it was her face that was flushed. “But God, Jake, it was absolutely mortifying. And he still takes credit for our entire relationship.”

“Mortifying how? What did he say?”

Taylor raised her eyes to the ceiling. “He told me it might be our last night on Earth. And if I don’t get my steamy R-rated action now, I might never—”

“Oh my God,” Jake wheezed. “Okay, we really have to tell him. Can you imagine Becks’ face when she hears something like that? I have to see it!”

“Jacob! It. Wasn’t. Funny. At all!” She hissed. “It was awful! I was trying to be… you know, romantic! And he just went and steamrolled it with that. Besides, I was waiting for you to make the first move!”

“It was just five days!” He said, exasperated. “I was working up to it!”

“It felt like an eternity,” she said primly. “I know his heart was in the right place, but ugh. So, no. No way. We are not letting Diego anywhere near this. We can handle it on our own, just like we did for ourselves. You know, desperate times call for desperate measures, and all that.”

“Desperate, huh?” He shot her that crooked, lopsided grin that always made her stomach flutter, and leaned in to nuzzle her cheek. “For the record, I’m very glad you got desperate.”

“Me too,” she whispered. “But damn, my pride hurts to this day.”

“Oh? Where? Let me see if I could kiss it better.”

Her breath hitched when he brushed his thumb across her lip, and then got completely lost in her throat when his mouth claimed hers. She melted into the kiss, but when his fingers started to work their way up under her shirt, she weakly pushed him away.

“Your sister—”

“She’s dead to the world, and across the house,” he murmured against her skin. “We can be quiet.”

Her fingers tangled in his hair when she pulled him in for one more kiss. The propriety might have been saying no, but her wounded pride demanded a tribute.

He laughed against her lips as his hand slid back to where it was. This time she didn’t stop him.

They’d never been good at waiting, anyway.

Chapter Text

Taylor dropped her bag by the door and took off her shoes without bending down, like even that small effort was too much. Jake looked up from the stove just in time to notice her swaying a little and catching the edge of the table before she dropped on a chair. Her eyes might have been still open, but he wasn’t sure she was still awake.

“Long day?” He ruffled her hair and slid a plate.

She sighed. “Aren’t they all?”

“I’m just saying,” Jake grumbled from behind her, “you don’t have to kill yourself at that job. It’s been what, three months? It’s barely even August, and they already sucked the soul out of you.”

“Yeah, well. We need the money.”

“We have the fund.”

“And you know it’s not going to last long at this rate.” She turned to face him. “We talked about this. The flight hours aren’t cheap. And we still need to pay for your therapy and—”

“I know.” His jaw clenched. “You think I don’t know how much it all costs?”

“Then what do you want me to do? Quit? We can barely make rent as it is.”

“I want you to not come home exhausted every single night!” He snapped. “You’re working yourself into the ground for minimum wage and I—”

“And you what, Jake?”

His face went blank. “I’m the one who fucked everything up and now you’re paying for it.”

“That’s not what it is.”

“Isn’t it?” He turned away from her, gripping the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles went white. “I can’t fly yet. Can’t make real money. You’re stuck working your ass off while I play pilot and go sit in a comfy chair twice a week to talk about my problems—”

“Jake—”

“And now you can’t even really enjoy your friend’s bachelorette party because you have to wake up early to be back for an opening shift in a job that you hate.”

Taylor’s chest tightened. “I don’t hate it.”

“You should. You should hate it. You should hate me for putting you there.”

“Stop.” Taylor stood up and hugged him from behind. “I don’t hate you. I could never—”

“I’m supposed to take care of you.” His voice cracked. “And instead you’re taking care of me, and the house, and everything, and I can’t even… I’m failing you, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Hey. You’re not failing anyone.” She made him turn and look at her, and the guilt in his eyes made her want to scream. “We’re doing this together. Okay? That’s the deal.”

“Some deal you’ve made,” he muttered.

“I knew what I signed up for. Bad days and all.”

He closed his eyes and leaned into her.

“This is all bullshit,” he said finally. “We’re not even mad at each other.”

“No,” she agreed. “We’re just stretched thin. And tired.”

“And broke.”

She laughed despite herself. “Yeah. That too.”

“Fuck it,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“I said fuck it. Come on, Tay. Every day, you come back home so exhausted you barely even make it to the couch. I carried you to bed three nights in a row. You can’t go on like this.” He held her head so she couldn’t look away. “Please.”

Jake was right, and she knew it. That was the hard part. Lately, work had been more exhausting than usual, leaving her with a bone-deep weariness that didn’t go away after sleep. But what options did she have, exactly?

“Take the whole week off before you burn out to bits. Stay with Grace. Call in sick. I’m sure Maybelline can write you a doctor’s note,” he continued, as if he could hear her thoughts. “Hell, quit on the spot, there’s million bullshit jobs like this one. I don’t care. You need to rest.”

“But—”

“No buts. Husband’s orders.”

The offer was so tempting she allowed herself to consider it for a moment. And the more she thought of it, the more she liked his idea. A week just to herself sounded like heaven. No demanding bosses, no bending over backwards for people who left basic manners outside the building. No cooking and no chores either. Maybe Grace would need someone to fold napkins or fetch flowers from a shop, or some other last minute wedding chores… she started laughing at herself.

Jake shot her a look from under his brow.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” she chuckled. “It’s just, you told me to rest, and I immediately thought that maybe I could help Grace with the wedding somehow—”

“Princess, you’re impossible,” he grumbled and pulled her closer. “Can you think of yourself just for once?”

“I can try.” That earned her a kiss. “But are you sure? Won’t you miss me too much?”

“Oh, I will. But it will do us both good. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that shit.”

“You really believe it?”

“Mm-hmm.”

His fingers tangled in her hair when he tilted her head and leaned in. The kiss started gentle, barely-there, just a soft brush of his lips against hers, but as it deepened, she felt the warmth spreading in her chest. His mouth trailed down her neck, then back again to capture hers, hands moving to her hips only to pull her closer, kissing until neither of them could take another breath.

“Now,” he grinned, releasing her lower lip from between his, “imagine how good this will be after a week of letting you miss me properly?”

She let out a happy sigh. “Promise?”

“Yeah.” He pressed one more kiss, this time to her cheek. “Now. Let’s get you packing, shall we?”

The next morning came too early. Taylor left her suitcase waiting by the door, packed in that haphazard way of hers that always made his eye twitch. When she fell asleep, he sighed and repacked it properly, carefully rolling each piece of clothing so it wouldn’t get wrinkled, and then tucked a little note she wasn’t supposed to find until she was at the hotel.

Now, standing in the airport drop-off lane, Jake pulled it from the trunk and looked at Taylor with concern. “You sure you didn’t forget anything? Your ID? Boarding pass?”

“Yes, mom,” she teased, but checked her bag anyway.

“Charger?”

“Jake—”

“I’m dead serious. You always forget your charger and steal mine.”

“See?” She held it up as proof. “I packed everything I need. Well, except you.” She wrapped her arms around him and nuzzled his neck. “I am so going to miss you.”

“Good.” He grinned. “That’s the plan, remember?”

“It’s going to be a really long week,” she sighed.

“Yeah. But it’ll be gone before you know it.” He kissed her nose. “We’ll see each other next Friday. And trust me, I have plans for when we do.”

“Don’t break anything while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” he laughed. “Just kidding. I’ll be a model citizen. Scout’s honor. Doing absolutely nothing but sitting down and missing you while you have fun with the girls.”

She laughed and pulled him in for one last kiss. “Okay. I need to go or I’ll miss my flight, and then I’ll be stuck in this swampland forever. At least NYC is not as hot as here.”

“Don’t get your hopes up too high. It’s still August.”

“Yeah, but have you seen the forecast? It’s like ten degrees cooler. As far as I’m concerned, that’s basically winter.”

“Alright, Princess. As you say. Enjoy your winter holiday.” He grabbed the suitcase and closed the trunk. “Go. Have fun. Eat too much. Sleep in. Be completely irresponsible.”

“I’ll try.”

She took the handle and started towards the entrance, but stopped to take one last look at him. Jake was still standing there, watching her with a goofy look that made her chest ache.

“I love you!” She waved at him.

“Love you too.” He blew her a kiss.

She made it three more steps before his voice rang out again. “Hey, one more thing!”

“What?”

“Tell Grace no strippers!”

Several people turned to stare. Taylor felt her face heat up as she spun around to glare at him, but she was grinning too hard to pull it off. He was hopeless.

“No promises!” She shouted back, flipping him off over her shoulder.

His laughter followed her through the terminal door.

By the time Taylor’s cab pulled up to the hotel, she had already been travelling for close to ten hours—first a short hop, then a layover filled with a terrible, overpriced coffee that she finished only because it had the caffeine she needed to not fall asleep and miss her next flight, and then the final leg to New York. Now, standing in the fancy hotel lobby with her suitcase in hand, she felt a little crumpled and out of place.

“Taylor!” Grace appeared out of nowhere, her face all lit up, and wrapped her in a hug. “You made it!”

For a moment, the exhaustion vanished, replaced by genuine joy at the sight of her friend.

“Hi!” Taylor hugged her back just as tight. “How are you? How’s the pre-wedding chaos?”

“Everything’s under control, thanks to Michelle,” Grace laughed. “It’s so good to see you! How was your flight?”

“Long.” Taylor managed a smile. “But I’m happy to be here.”

“Perfect timing, too. We’re meeting in the restaurant downstairs at seven. So you have like…” Grace checked her watch. “An hour to drop your stuff and freshen up.”

“Sounds great,” she said, and was mostly meaning it.

The enormous bed upstairs called her name the moment she entered the room, but she just ran her hand over the silky sheets and resisted flopping on it face-first. She would never get out in time if she did. So she settled for a hot shower instead, and then spent five minutes staring at her own face in the mirror. I’m going to need Michelle’s help, she sighed, taking in the deep shadows under her eyes. She’ll know what to do. And if it’s even possible to get rid of those in time for the wedding.

When she opened the suitcase, she just stood and stared at the neat rolls inside. She’d noticed the way Jake’s nostrils flared when she threw her clothes inside, but she didn’t think he would feel obligated to fix it. And then she found a note he tucked inside, and her chest tightened. Jake had never been a romantic, not in the traditional sense, but every now and then he did something like that, and it swept her off her feet.

She giggled and held the phone to her chest for a moment, trying to silence that silly flutter inside. Maybe he was right and some time away would do them good. And a week of sleep and friends was probably exactly what she needed right now.

When Taylor stepped into the hotel restaurant, she felt cold dread seeping into her bones. The sterile, white and blue place looked exactly like…

Like the Celestial ballroom.

She looked at the round tables covered with white tablecloths, each with a vase full of blue flowers, at the floor covered with a blue carpet, at the glittering crystal chandeliers and breath caught in her throat.

Not again. Not now, she told herself. She’d had that flashbacks before, she knew the drill. You’re not there. This isn’t real. Focus on what is. Her hand moved back to touch the cold glass door again. She shifted her weight and forced herself to breathe. And when she looked around and noticed Grace and Michelle waving at her from one of the tables, the panic let her out of its grip. The restaurant wasn’t even remotely like the hotel ballroom. Different layout. Different decorations. Safe.

It’s just my imagination. I must be even more tired then I think I am.

“Everything alright?” Grace looked at her, worried. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

“Thank God you’re here,” she sighed, sitting next to them. “I… I panicked for a moment. I was afraid I came first and they were going to kick me out for not knowing dress code, or something. I’m not used to fancy places like this.”

Grace laughed. “Relax. You look great. Besides, with all that money Aleister is dropping on the wedding, they’d let you in wearing a potato sack. Not that you couldn’t pull it off.”

Taylor gave her a half-hearted smile.

“Rough flight?” Michelle asked quietly.

“Yeah. That obvious?”

“You look exhausted. Glad you’re taking the full week off.”

“Me too,” she forced another smile. Get it together. You’re fine. This isn’t the Celestial. You’re safe. But her hands were still shaking slightly when she reached for her water glass.

Grace beamed, putting her phone down. “Estela and Quinn are parking as we speak, and I see Zahra is here already. I’m so happy we can all get together again!”

“Hey.” Zahra dropped into the seat across from Taylor with a sharp nod. “Grace, does this place have a decent wi-fi? Because if not, I’ll be leaving a one-star review.”

“It does,” Grace assured her. “We’ve checked. But come on, we’re not here to work!”

“Relax, it’s not for work,” Zahra replied dryly. “I’m only here for the drinks and drama, and I need some distraction for when you do all the boring small talk.”

“There won’t be any drama,” Grace said firmly.

Zahra scoffed. “It’s a wedding. There’s always drama at weddings.”

“Not at this one,” Grace and Michelle protested in unison. Zahra just grinned and muttered she hopes for the drinks at least.

Estela and Quinn arrived moments later, and suddenly everyone was hugging each other and the table filled with laughter and the noise of overlapping conversations. Grace looked absolutely thrilled chattering about her wedding while Michelle looked through her thick notebook with ‘maid of honor’ stamped on the cover. Quinn started to tell some story about a disastrous date, complete with dramatic scene reenactments. Zahra pretended to scowl, but she was secretly cracking up behind her wine glass. Estela exchanged a knowing look with Taylor across the table, and Taylor winked back, promising she’d keep Estela’s dating life between the two of them.

It felt so good to be back with them all, even if a part of her brain was already calculating how soon she could politely escape to the giant bed upstairs.

Just need to recharge, she told herself firmly. This week will fix it.

When the waiter set her plate down and she tried a small bite, her body rebelled. The dish had so much garlic she could guarantee there were no vampires in the entire building, and quite possibly the entire block. She set down her fork, tried to cough discreetly and reached for the water.

“You okay?” Quinn asked from across the table.

“Yeah, just—” Taylor pushed the plate slightly away. “I think they went a little heavy on the garlic.”

“Come on, it’s not like you were planning to kiss anyone tonight?” Quinn winked at her.

“Sadly.” She laughed and tried another bite, managed to swallow it, then gave up. Maybe it was the panic or travel still making her stomach upset, or maybe she just wasn’t built for that kind of fancy cuisine, but she couldn’t force herself to enjoy it. So instead, she focused on Grace’s story about cake tasting, secretly checked Zahra’s wine levels, and just pushed the food around her plate like a picky toddler, hoping nobody noticed it.

When the waiter cleared the plates, Quinn stretched and grinned. “Okay, who wants to hit the hotel bar? I saw they have one on a rooftop.”

“Yes!” Michelle beamed immediately.

Grace looked around the table. “What do you think? Just for a bit?”

“I’m in,” Zahra said, which surprised no one.

“Uh, it’s a terrible idea,” Taylor said. “We have the dress fitting tomorrow at ten. Do you all want to be hungover and feeling like shit?”

Her voice went out sharper than she intended, and she regretted it the moment the words left her mouth. Where the hell did that come from? She wanted to go, to be the fun and adventurous friend they knew. It was just that she was tired and overwhelmed, and the thought of another crowded and loud room was absolutely unbearable. She loved them all, but she was already running on fumes.

“Wow. You’re twenty-four and you already sound like my mother,” Zahra scoffed over the table.

Taylor felt something crack in her chest. Tears pricked at her eyes and she blinked them back, mad at herself. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I… I’m just tired lately. Last couple of weeks have been rough. I didn’t mean to snap like that. You guys should go and have fun. I’m going to head back to my room before I make it even worse.”

“We can all go back,” Grace insisted, signalling to the waiter for the check. “It’s not a big deal. We’ve got all day tomorrow.”

“No. Absolutely not. It is a big deal. I’m just being a mess, but that’s my problem, not yours. I’ll go to bed early and will be good as new for the big day.” She covered Grace’s hand with hers and smiled. “You should go. I’ll be better tomorrow, I promise.”

“Fine,” Grace relented. “But call me if you need anything. I don’t know, room service, Netflix password, a shoulder to cry on. Okay?”

“I absolutely will not.” Taylor squeezed her hand and stood up. “Seriously, go have fun for me. And that’s an order.”

Michelle stood too. “I’ll walk you up.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Michelle’s tone left no room for argument.

They walked to the elevator in silence. Once inside, Michelle turned to her.

“You look absolutely wrecked. You sure you don’t need anything? Hot tea? Ice cream? Painkillers? Heating pad?” She wiggled her eyebrows and Taylor scowled in response.

“Ugh, it’s not that. I need like twelve hours of sleep and a break from the job.”

“Stress can do that,” Michelle agreed. “Okay. Try and get some rest. Tomorrow will be better.”

“Yeah.” Taylor tried to smile. “Sorry for being such a mess.”

“You’re not a mess. You’re human.” The elevator dinged at Taylor’s floor. “Text me if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay.” She hugged Michelle goodbye.

Back in her room, Taylor kicked off her shoes and finally fell onto bed like she wanted from the beginning, not even bothering to change. Her phone buzzed.

She stared at his message. For a moment, she considered telling him the truth: that she felt out of place in this fancy setting, like a kid playing dress up in a world she didn’t belong to, and that the luxury of it all made her skin crawl. It reminded her too much of the Celestial, another beautiful place where everything went horribly wrong, and it was bringing the awful feeling of being trapped. That she just wanted to be back in their own, messy, safe house with him.

But he’d start to worry. The week was supposed to fix her burnout, and besides, she really was happy to see her friends. She just needed some sleep, that’s all. So instead, she just typed:

And then she closed her eyes and fell asleep before she read his reply.

Chapter Text

Twelve hours of sleep did wonders. For the first time in weeks, Taylor woke up feeling refreshed instead of resurrected. She stretched, grabbed her phone and cursed. 8:47 AM. Shit. The dress fitting was at ten. Breakfast is definitely out of question. Shower, five minutes max. Makeup, uh… She thought of skipping it, but one look in the mirror told her that wasn’t a good idea. Maybe the sleep marathon helped her feel better, but the deep shadows under her eyes were stubbornly there. Still stressed, I guess, she sighed, grabbing her makeup bag. A little concealer would have to do the magic.

At 9:01, she ran down to the lobby with her hair still a bit damp, clothes only slightly mismatched, and makeup that made Michelle’s eye twitch, but at least she was on time. Almost. That one minute didn’t count.

“Alright!” She beamed at her friends. “Are we ready to save the world, one dress at a time?”

Zahra snorted from her place on a lobby couch. “Not before Grace brings me coffee.”

“Here.” Grace appeared as if on cue and handed her a paper cup, then turned to Taylor and pushed a second one into her hands. “I didn’t see you at breakfast and I know you’re unconscious before your first cup, so I brought one for you too.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Grace. Thank you,” Taylor sighed gratefully and took a big sip, hoping for a hit of caffeine to clear the last of the morning fog, but instead it was the weird and metallic taste that did it. Ugh. Seriously? she thought, trying not to make a face. I thought fancy places like these could manage a decent brew. Still, caffeine was caffeine. She powered through.

“Alright, everyone!” Grace clapped her hands. “The car’s waiting. Shall we?”

They ended up in a bridal salon straight out of a romcom. It took all of Taylor’s willpower to keep her mouth shut, not stare at anything for too long, and definitely not touch anything out of fear she would break it and had to sell her liver to pay for the damage.

Okay, anything but the couch, she smiled to herself, sinking into the velvet with a deep sigh.

“Not too comfy?” Michelle perched on the armrest and gave her a sideways look.

“Nope. I’m living here now.” Taylor grinned in response. “What’s our plan?”

Michelle opened her notebook. “Grace’s dresses are ready, but since it’s the first time we’re all here together, she wanted one last try on to show us before the wedding. And then we try ours. Ideally, everything fits and we have the dresses delivered to our hotel today, but in case someone needs last minute alterations because she changed her mind about her shoes again—” she squinted at Quinn, who smiled and batted her eyelashes with no apology whatsoever “—there are seamstresses on standby and we’ll have it done by Wednesday. But we are not going to need any of that, are we all clear?”

Shit.

“Uh, Michelle?” Taylor smiled at her sheepishly. “Is it too late to tell you that I forgot to take my shoes with me?”

Michelle sighed dramatically and took out her phone. “Let me call the hotel.”

“Uh… I left them at home.”

“Home, as in… Louisiana home?” Michelle looked as if she was about to faint.

“Yeah. That home.”

Quinn burst out laughing. “Oh my God. See, Michelle? I’m not the only one shoe disaster!”

“Look, I’m sure this is not a big deal. I’ll call Jake now, he’ll be here on Friday—”

“No, that’s way too late. What if your dress is too long and we only learn on Friday night? Ugh, this is so much worse than changing your mind about heel height,” Michelle snapped and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay. Okay. Breathe. Plan B. What size are you? We need to find you something—”

Before Michelle could finish her thought, one of the consultants apparently overheard and jumped at the opportunity. “We keep a selection of styles for such emergencies,” she said smoothly. “What size do you need? 9.5? 10? Let me see what we have.”

“Okay. Thank you so much.” Michelle nodded to the consultant with relief, then turned to glare at Taylor. “Seriously?!”

Taylor was about to defend herself, but at this moment, Grace emerged from the fitting room.

“Oh wow.” Zahra whistled. “You don’t even look like a meringue.”

Michelle shot her a look that could kill. Grace’s cousin, whose name slipped Taylor’s mind, actually wheezed. And Taylor just stared.

The dress was stunning, white silk and lace and delicate beading that sparkled in the light. Grace looked like she stepped out of fairy tale, glowing and radiant and so absolutely, positively happy that it made Taylor’s heart ache.

“Grace,” Estela said quietly. “You look incredible.”

“You really think so?” It shouldn’t be humanly possible, but Grace’s face lit up even more.

Someone passed around a box of tissues. The cousin blew her nose loudly. Quinn was dabbing her face with a tissue. Even Estela looked misty. Zahra rolled her eyes, but there was something warm in her expression.

“You look perfect.” Taylor’s throat tightened. Her eyes were burning. “You’re so—”

And then, to her absolute horror, she started bawling. Happy, overwhelmed-with-love tears.

“Sorry,” she sniffled, laughing a little at herself. “God, I’m just— I’m so happy for you, Grace. You look so beautiful and so in love, and you know I’m not usually like this, but—”

“Wedding emotions,” Michelle said, passing her the tissue box.

“Yeah.” Taylor took it gratefully. “Apparently I have those now.”

Grace disappeared back into the fitting room, and the energy shifted from emotional to practical.

“Alright, ladies,” Michelle said, consulting her notebook. “Let’s get everyone fitted, so we can actually enjoy the rest of the weekend.”

Taylor’s dress fit perfectly. At least Michelle won’t kill me for that, she chuckled to herself. But then came the shoes.

The consultant returned with several boxes. “Let’s see what works with your dress.”

Taylor tried on the first pair.

“Too low.” The consultant shook her head and handed her another, a pair of strappy heels that were definitely taller than the pair she’d originally planned to wear.

“Okay.” Michelle blinked. “These are absolutely gorgeous. But, uh, I think there’s going to be a problem. Jake—”

“Come on. He’ll be too busy staring at my legs to even notice the height difference.” Taylor grinned and did a little spin to see the full effect.

“Even if he has to crane his neck up to make eye contact?” Zahra asked dryly.

“Stop it. You see, uh, my husband is… not very tall,” Taylor explained diplomatically to the consultant.

“Understatement of the century,” Michelle snorted.

“Well, the dress certainly looks good on you, and it’s perfect length for this heel height.” The consultant nodded politely. “What kind of dress did you wear for your own wedding?”

Taylor blinked. Seriously? That’s what’s important right now? But then she realized she was being unfair. The woman was selling dresses for a living, of course she’d ask about it. “A family heirloom, actually. It belonged to my friend’s mother,” she said, not without a bit of pride.

“Oh.” The woman nodded and turned to help another client, and Taylor couldn’t shake a feeling that she somehow disappointed her.

Well. Her loss, she thought. Maybe the dress she borrowed didn’t have a fancy tag attached, but it was an absolute honor to wear it. Not to mention it made her feel absolutely gorgeous.

“Okay, everyone looks amazing, and miraculously, all dresses and shoes are accounted for!” Michelle announced, checking something in her notebook with a flourish. “Crisis averted. The salon will have everything packed and delivered to the hotel this afternoon. I think we officially earned lunch.”

“Actually, I was going to meet with Diego after the fitting,” Taylor looked at her phone. “He said, and I quote, ‘you can’t come to New York and not get a hot dog’, and told me he’ll give us a city tour. He just texted me asking if we’re done. Anyone in?”

“Hard pass,” Zahra scoffed. “He’ll talk you to death before you even see anything. And the hot dogs are overrated.”

“I was planning on going shopping, but you guys go ahead!” Quinn chimed in.

“And we’ve got that appointment with the florist at two,” Grace turned to Michelle, who just hummed in agreement.

Taylor looked questioningly at Estela.

“That sounds fun.” Estela nodded. “Okay. Count me in.”

“Yes!” Taylor grinned.

“Misery loves company,” Zahra muttered under her breath.

“Then we’re all settled!” Grace clasped her hands. “Let’s meet in the hotel bar at eight. We’ll stay there until midnight, and after that we hit the clubs. In the meantime, have some fun, and please don’t get lost!”

Taylor laughed, shaking her head, then gave Grace a quick hug. “We won’t. I promise.”

The hot dog, consumed on a busy street corner amidst the city traffic, was surprisingly decent. To Taylor, anyway. Maybe she was just starving after missing breakfast. Estela said it tasted like cardboard, and Zahra was right to call them overrated. Either way, it settled Taylor’s hunger without upsetting her stomach, and that alone felt like a major win.

Diego’s promised city tour consisted mostly of walking through the Central Park looking for shade, with him complaining all the time about how hot the day was. Taylor gave him a smug smile and announced he wouldn’t last five minutes in the South. This weather here did not compare to what she dealt with back home. And then she laughed at herself, because back home she complained much worse than Diego was now. Oh well. She wasn’t about to hand him a shovel to dig her own grave.

“This is really nice,” she said at one point, running her hand through a fountain, and really meant it. “I don’t think I’ve had a day off like that in a long time.”

“I’m gonna have a word with your husband,” Diego said firmly, studying her face. “I mean, no offense, but we’ve been through serious shit, and you looked better than now.”

She sighed. “Blame my boss, that’s her fault. She’s a complete pain in the ass. I’m not really sure I want to go back there, even after this week off.”

“Then don’t? Come on, Taylor. You know you deserve better than that.”

“Yeah. But it is what it is.” She stared at the water and blinked away the tears. “Oh, look!” She pointed at an ice cream cart to divert the conversation to something lighter. “Who’s up for ice cream?”

Diego lightened up immediately and ended up convincing them both that if they didn’t get at least three scoops each, it didn’t count. They found an empty bench and raced to it before someone else claimed it. For a few minutes, they just sat and ate their ice cream and watched people move around them. Then Estela smiled at her phone and typed something quickly before hiding it back in her pocket.

Diego looked at her with suspicion. “Okay. Hold on. I know this look. Who are you texting?”

“My girlfriend,” Estela replied calmly.

“Your girlfriend?” Diego stared at her, dumbfounded. “You have a girlfriend? Since when?”

“A few weeks. It’s new. We’re still figuring things out.”

“Oh. My. God. You have been dating someone for a few weeks and you haven’t told me?” He looked seriously offended. “I could have given you advice!”

Taylor caught Estela’s eye over Diego’s head and shared an amused smile. Some things never change.

“Your advice is exactly why she didn’t tell you,” Taylor murmured.

Diego turned in an instant and pointed his finger at Taylor. “You. You knew.”

“I did,” she confirmed.

“And you haven’t told me?!”

“Not my secret to tell.”

“I can’t believe this.” Diego shook his head. “Et tu, Brute? My own success story against me?” He looked pleadingly at Estela. “Please tell me you’re at least bringing her to the wedding? Please?”

“No,” Estela sighed. “She had to work this weekend.”

“Aw. So, what I hear from you two is that being in the workforce sucks.”

“Yeah.” Estela gave his arm a playful shove. “But hey, don’t worry. If I ever need relationship advice, I’ll be sure to give you a call.”

“Really?” His face lit up.

“Mm!” She nodded, completely ignoring Taylor’s frantic head shaking.

“Tay, you know I can feel you giving her signals behind my back…?” Diego looked at her from over his shoulder, and Taylor pretended to be offended.

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you.” He grinned and slung his arms around them both. “Mark my words. One day you’ll be begging for my advice. You may be laughing today, but you will.”

Taylor laughed despite herself. “Okay, guru. If you say so. Now teach us your wisdom so we can pass it to our bride tonight.”

By the time Taylor got back to the hotel, her inbox had five makeup tutorials sent by Michelle asking her to “watch and learn, and not repeat this morning’s disaster.” She just laughed and texted back that she doesn’t even know names of half of the products used, let alone own any of them, not to mention having the skill to apply it all. Little did she know Michelle took it as a personal challenge and arrived with a set that would make a professional makeup artist jealous.

“You need to look presentable tonight,” Michelle said in a tone that left no room for argument, and started working.

Just twenty minutes later, Taylor looked into the mirror and didn’t recognize herself.

“That’s witchcraft,” she murmured, admiring Michelle’s work from different angles. “I’ve never looked that good in my entire life.”

“You’re welcome. I couldn’t let you look like a zombie.” Michelle gave her a quick squeeze. “Now, get changed, we’re meeting in thirty minutes upstairs.”

Once she left, Taylor slipped into her dress, took a photo in the mirror and couldn’t resist sending it to her husband, just to torture him a little bit.

The first stop was the rooftop bar. They gathered in a private section marked with big glittery letters “Bride Squad” on the wall and ordered drinks.

“To Grace!” Michelle raised her glass. “May your marriage be long, your patience endless and your heart always filled with joy!”

“Hear, hear!”

“And here’s to never being asked when are you getting married ever again,” Zahra added with a laugh, clinking her glass against everyone’s.

Taylor barely finished half of her drink when she started feeling the buzz. It seemed almost out of proportion to the tiny amount she had. Woah, must be stronger than I thought. She took another cautious sip, and then almost facepalmed herself thinking of the lone hotdog hours ago. Yeah. Probably a bad idea to drink on an empty stomach. She subtly pushed the drink aside and asked a passing waiter for a bottle of water and some fries instead.

Grace’s cousin appeared with a tray of shots. She was already tipsy. “Okay, ladies! Time to get this party started properly!”

Zahra elbowed Grace and lowered her voice. “Look, I like her already, but what’s her deal? If she keeps up with this pace, she’ll end up under the table.”

“Who, Alex?” Grace sighed. “It’s her first night out since she had a baby. I’m afraid she’s enjoying her freedom a bit too much.”

Alex distributed the little glasses filled with something alarmingly pink. “Come on, ladies! Bottoms up! To Grace!”

Taylor saluted with her water instead.

“You, on the other hand, don’t enjoy your freedom enough,” Zahra pointed out, but took the opportunity to steal herself a second shot.

“Someone has to make sure you drunks are comfortable under the table later,” Taylor chuckled in response.

“Okay, but before we end up there, how about we do some traditional bachelorette activities?” Quinn chimed in. “Like a… marriage advice corner? We already have two experts on board!” She waved her hand expectantly between Taylor and Alex.

Alex shrugged helplessly. “Don’t count on me. I feel most of the time I’m just winging it. Just… talk to each other? A lot?”

“Cheers to that,” Taylor agreed and thought for a moment. “Also, remember you’re a team. Even when things are bad. Or maybe especially then.”

“Just remember who’s player one and who’s player two. I mean, come on, they have to know their place,” Zahra grinned. “And also, get a second blanket. Seriously. Life changer.”

“Okay, wow,” Grace giggled, pretending to take notes. “Communicate, teamwork, separate blankets. Got it. Feeling very prepared now.”

“Alright, ladies!” Michelle clinked her glass for attention. “Since the official advice portion was rather… brief, I have something else planned. Grace, please don’t kill me.”

“What did you do?” Grace asked suspiciously.

Michelle pulled out her notebook with a grin. “Oh, just a small quiz. First question: what is Grace’s biggest worry about the wedding day itself?”

A few guesses flew around the table.

“Tripping on the isle?”

“No, it’s got to be someone spilling red wine over her dress—”

“Forgetting the rings!”

“Rain?”

Grace just kept shaking her head, giggling.

“An embarrassing toast?” Zahra chanced. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Craig behaves. Or at least keeps it under five minutes.”

“OHMYGOD, THANK YOU!” Grace’s eyes lit up with relief as she jumped and tried to hug her. “I mean, I’m sorry, I know it sounds really stupid, but—”

Zahra expertly dodged the hug. “No need to apologize. I know what we’re dealing with. Consider it… managed.”

“Okay, point to you!” Michelle laughed. “Next question… guess the honeymoon destination!”

“Ha, I know that one! I knooow!” Quinn’s hand shot up like she was in a classroom. “A tour of Scottish castles, am I right?”

“Yes!”

“Scotland?” Alex looked surprised. “I totally pictured you guys on some gorgeous tropical beach somewhere.”

Grace shuddered slightly. “Yeaaah. Honestly, I think I’ve had enough tropical islands for one lifetime.”

A knowing glance passed between the rest of the group before Estela jumped in to save the mood. “Scotland sounds amazing, though. Very romantic.”

“Absolutely,” Taylor agreed, trying to ignore the familiar knot in her stomach. “Romantic and quiet.”

“Quiet sounds heavenly right now,” Alex sighed wistfully, swirling her drink. “My dream vacation involves a soundproof room and eight uninterrupted hours of sleep. How about yours?”

Everyone started to list dream destinations: Northern Lights, wilderness hikes, spring in Japan. Quinn and Michelle got into a discussion over whether to pick France or Italy, or rather: wine or pasta, before reaching the only possible compromise, that is needing to visit both.

“How about you, Taylor? Where would you like to travel?”

“Hm? Me? To be honest, I mostly travel between work and home these days. But,” she added with a wistful smile, “I think I miss the sea. We’ve been living by the sea for three years,” she added for Alex’s benefit. “So, somewhere by the sea maybe?”

“Sea…” Grace repeated, her eyes lighting up as she shared a look with Michelle. “And will ocean do? Because we were thinking of a beach outing on Tuesday.”

“Really?” Taylor’s face brightened. “That would be perfect. Sign me up, please.”

“Then it’s a date!” Grace beamed at her and clapped her hands.

Michelle cleared her throat. “Okay, girls, and now for question number three—”

The night blurred into more noise and laughter. They played more silly games: scavenger hunt with increasingly ridiculous clues, bingo that nobody was able to win, but everyone had fun anyway, then “Dare or Dare” that got quickly shut down after Zahra’s challenge was deemed ‘absolutely not happening in public’. Quinn lobbied for karaoke, and ended up being politely, but firmly stopped after a very creative but slightly bawdy attempt at winging forgotten song lyrics. Later, someone charmed the bar staff into turning up the music, and Grace pulled Quinn and Estela towards a dance floor.

“Come on, Taylor!” Grace called back, her eyes sparkling.

Taylor joined and let the rhythm move her, laughing as she tripped over her own foot and nearly took out a potted plant, but by the fifth song she felt her exhaustion creeping back and she excused herself. It was barely around midnight, and she wasn’t sure if she had enough energy left for the rest of the night.

But however much she had, it was definitely more than Alex. Taylor noticed her slumped on a bar stool with phone in hand and realized it was time for a rescue mission.

For both of them, if she was being honest.

“Hey,” Taylor said softly, sitting next to Grace’s cousin. “Everything okay?”

Alex looked up startled. “Yes. Nnnooo… I just miss my baby,” she whispered, tracing her finger over a photo on her screen. “It’s her first night without me,” she sniffled. “I am a terrible mother.”

“No, you’re not.” Taylor protested. “You deserve a break. But you look tired. How about we call it a night? I’ll walk you to your room.”

“Nono, I’m fine—” Alex swayed dangerously on the chair.

“You’re definitely not fine.” Taylor wrapped an arm around her waist. “Come on. Let’s go before you puke on the floor.”

Grace walked to them, looking torn. “Do you want me to come? We were about to go to the club, but—”

“Absolutely not,” Taylor said firmly. “Enjoy your night. It’s your bachelorette party. Don’t worry, I’ve got her. I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Taylor smiled at her, already heading with Alex towards the exit. “Have fun for both of us.”

Calling the night early had it perks. Taylor was the only person at the brunch table who didn’t look like she regretted last night’s choices. Quinn nursed her coffee, murmuring something about her grandma recommending alcohol as hangover cure. Across the table, Grace pretended not to hear Quinn’s not-so-subtle suggestions, but she downed her third glass of water in fifteen minutes and barely ate her toast. Estela still had little smudges of her last night’s mascara under her eyes. Even Zahra was less snippy than usual, focused on her plate with an interest she only ever shown for tech. Michelle didn’t come at all.

The restaurant door opened and Alex appeared, looking remarkably put together for someone who was a complete mess twelve hours ago. And in her arms, dressed in a tiny floral dress with a bow bigger than her head, was a baby.

“Sorry I’m late!” Alex called, navigating between tables. “Someone decided I had to pay for last night and wouldn’t let me leave without her.”

“Oh my god, she’s so cute!” Grace cooed immediately. “Can I hold her?”

“Please,” Alex said gratefully, passing the baby over. “My arms are dead.”

Grace settled the little girl on her lap, making silly faces, but the baby immediately locked eyes with Taylor and, after a moment of solemn contemplation, reached out her arms to her.

“Oh! Looks like someone likes you,” Alex laughed softly. “Want to hold her?”

Taylor hesitated. She didn’t exactly have experience with… small humans. They seemed incredibly fragile. “Okay,” she murmured. The baby settled against her, one tiny hand grabbing at Taylor’s shirt, the other reaching for her face. And then, ridiculously, Taylor felt that familiar prickle behind her eyes.

Seriously? Again? she thought, blinking fast.

“She looks good on you,” Grace said softly, smiling at the sight.

Taylor managed a watery smile back and carefully handed the baby to Alex before the floodgates opened. “How are you feeling? Recovered?”

“Yeah. Mostly. Thanks again for rescuing me last night. Sorry about that. I got carried away. Honestly, motherhood is no joke. I swear, I’ve been tired since the day I got pregnant. It just never really goes away, no matter how long I sleep. Not that she lets me sleep long, mind you.” She rubbed her eyes, took a sip of her coffee and sighed with relief. “Well, now at least I can keep the coffee down. Imagine needing caffeine just to function, but the smell alone makes you feel sick?”

Taylor froze, her hand halfway to a glass of orange juice.

Oh.

Oh holy shit.

Why does every single word of that sound familiar?

Back in her hotel room, Taylor locked the door out of habit, even though she was alone. Her hands were shaking when she opened the box and read the instructions twice. Three minutes. That’s what it would take to know for sure.

She set a timer on her phone and placed the test on the counter, face down. She wasn’t ready to see it yet.

Please be negative. Please please please.

She sat on the edge of the tub and stared at the timer. Three minutes. Three eternities.

The seconds crawled.

She thought about Jake at home, working on the house, completely oblivious. Thought about their tiny rental and her minimum wage job that was supposed to be only temporary until she goes to school. Thought about how some weeks they could barely afford groceries without relying on someone’s generosity.

The timer went off, but she sat there for a long time before she found enough courage to make herself stand up and look at the result.

Deep inside, she knew what she was going to see even before she turned the test. But her stomach still dropped and her hands were shaking.

She looked down at the two pink lines.

Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit.