Chapter Text
September, 1994
Travis Martinez never forgot the first time he saw Natalie Scatorccio. It was sophomore year, the kind of fall afternoon where the air still smelled like summer grass. Travis sat on the bleachers during yet another soccer practice his dad had dragged him too, arms crossed, Nirvana playing on his old MP3.
The Yellowjackets were running suicides on the field, most of them groaning and dragging, but one girl cut through the heat like she had something to prove. Blonde hair sticking to her neck, black eyeliner stark against her pale, sweaty skin, she didn’t look like she belonged on a suburban girl’s soccer team. Travis thought she must have been dropped here from some other, sharper world.
He knew her name; it was Natalie, Natalie Scatorccio. He’d heard her name from the lips of football or baseball boys who talked about how much they wanted to fuck her. His dad talked about her often: how she was the fastest girl on the team, but wasted her potential. He talked about her like she was already a lost cause, the burnout slut everyone thought her to be.
But looking at her then, sweat running down her arms, mouth set in determination, Travis thought they were all wrong. Natalie Scatorccio was fire, hot and burning.
She kept going, like quitting wasn’t an option for her, even when the rest of the girls were gasping for air. To Travis, she wasn’t the slut all of the guys wanted, or the cautionary tale his dad muttered about when he thought Travis wasn’t listening.
She looked like she was trying to outrun all of them, every label, every rumor. She looked like the sun.
The whistle blew sharp, announcing that practice was over. The girls collapsed into the grass, sweat-drenched and groaning. Natalie stayed standing, hands on her hips, chest rising and falling. She didn’t look at anyone, not until her gaze flickered to the bleachers.
Travis froze, Kurt Cobain’s voice turning ghostlike in his ears. For a moment, it was just her and him, eye contact cutting through the last afternoon haze. His stomach clenched like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t look away. Not from her.
And then–she smirked. Small, crooked, more like a dare than a real smile.
Travis snapped his eyes down, studying the marks on his beat up Converse instead. By the time he looked back up, she was chatting up a red-headed girl and jogging toward the locker room. The smirk still burned in his mind.
There was just something about her.
He pushed his headphones off and stared at the empty field. He didn’t know why she got under his skin so much. He just knew that for the first time, he didn’t mind that his dad forced him to come to practice.
October, 1996
Travis was fucked. Completely and utterly fucked. He showed up late to homeroom, had muttered something under his breath, and earned himself a detention. It wasn’t like him, but senior year felt different. And his dad was still going to kill him.
He showed up for detention right at 3:00, headphones in, trying to drown out the embarrassment. That’s when he saw her again; Natalie fucking Scatorccio, sprawled in the back row of the detention room, combat boots kicked on the desk. A pen twirled between her fingers, lazy and practiced, like she’d been here too many times to count.
Travis still hadn’t shaken that goddamn smirk from sophomore year out of his mind. His eyes sought her out every practice, every game. She watched him, too. He could feel it.
By senior year, Natalie wasn’t just a rumor anymore. She was the kind of girl everyone knew, the one who cut class to smoke weed, who showed up to parties with a flask and left with someone else’s lighter and the star quarterback. Teachers sighed when they read her name in attendance, parents warned their kids about ‘trailer trash.’
And yet, she was still the fastest girl on the team, the most determined. She still had fire in her.
Travis sighed and dropped into an available desk. When the teacher called out, “Martinez, Travis,” Natalie turned and looked at him in shock. Her eyes were the same as he remembered: but now they were curious, paired with the smirk she sent his way. She bit her bottom lip and raised her brows in question.
Travis just shook his head and rubbed his eyes. His stomach flopped a little bit.
The rest of detention, he couldn’t shake the feeling of her eyes on his. He couldn’t even focus on his history homework he was supposed to be doing. All he could see was her, biting her goddamn lip.
The bell finally rang after a painful two hours, and Travis tried to get the fuck out of there as fast as he could. But when he pushed out the side door, Natalie was already there, smoking a cigarette and leaning against a brick wall like she’d been expecting him.
She saw him and smirked, smoke exhaling from her lips. “Travis fuckin’ Martinez. Guess you’re not a saint after all.”
He froze, then shifted his backpack higher on his shoulder. Something about her voice, low and raspy, made heat pool in his stomach. “Guess not.”
She laughed once, dry and sharp, and flicked ash onto the sidewalk. “What’d you do? Forget to salute your dad this morning?”
He would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so nervous. Travis scoffed, kicking a rock with his shoe. “No. I-uh, was late and talked back. Mrs. Johnson didn’t appreciate it too much.”
Her eyebrows lifted, impressed. “Look at you, Martinez. Mouthy.” She offered the cigarette between two black-chipped fingernails.
Travis hesitated. He’d never smoked other than the occasional drag his friends forced him to do. But she was watching with her big eyes, waiting. So he took it, inhaled too quickly, and nearly coughed his lungs out.
Natalie laughed, eyes glinting. It made Travis smile back in between coughs.
“It’s okay,” she offered. “I used to be like that too. You’ll get used to it.”
He handed it back, slightly embarrassed, but she just offered him a smile and took another slow drag.
For a moment, it was quiet except for the rustle of dry leaves in the parking lot and the sounds of cars.
Then she said, “You don’t talk much, do you?” She looked at him again in that curious way, like he was a puzzle she was trying to piece together.
Travis rubbed the back of his neck. He felt like her eyes could see right through to his bones. “Not really.”
“Good,” she said, flicking the cigarette onto the ground and grinding it with her boot. “Means you actually notice things.”
Then she smirked, that fucking smirk that stayed with Travis all these years. “See you around, Martinez.”
She was gone before he could even blink.
His dad had screamed at him and took away his headphones when he got home. All Travis could think about was cigarettes and smirks.
He hadn’t expected her to talk to him again. He was halfway down the hallway, trying to pretend the world wasn’t watching him trip over his feet, when he heard her voice call out to him.
“Hey, Martinez!”
He turned around and saw her leaning against the lockers, a crooked grin plastered on her face, head tilted.
“Uh…hey,” he said, walking over to her. He shoved his hands in his jeans just to give them something to do.
“So, did your dad kick your ass last night or what?” Natalie teased, voice low.
“Shit,” he exhaled. “Just the usual, yelled about how useless I am.”
Travis saw her faced drop at his words, only for a second, so quick he almost thought he imagined it. Her eyes turned far-away, like she was lost in a memory, before they snapped up to his again.
“Shit. That sucks,” she responded, like she really did understand how shitty his dad was.
Travis shrugged, unsure if he was supposed to say more. He wasn’t used to talking to people about his dad, least of all with Natalie.
“Yeah,” he muttered, eyes downcast. “Thanks.”
She gave him a knowing, somewhat sad smile. “You know, you don’t have to put on that perfect, coach’s kid act with me. I can tell when people are lying.”
He blinked, caught off guard by how easily she saw through him. “I, um…I’m not great at, like–talking about stuff.”
“Good,” she said with a sly grin. “Keeps things interesting.”
He let out a small laugh, feeling the tension leave his body. “Interesting, huh?”
Natalie leaned in closer, eyes shining up at him. “Yeah. Don’t get used to me making things easy for, Martinez.”
Before he could answer, the bell rang, signaling the next class. She pushed off the lockers, smoothing her hair back and throwing him one last smile. “Later,” she said casually.
Travis stayed there for a second, hands still deep in his pockets, heart thudding as he watched her leave.
November, 1996
By the next month, Travis and Natalie had managed to talk to each other almost every day: in the hallway, at practice, in the parking lot. She always had some witty retort and he always said something back that made her laugh.
Travis was leaning against the fence again, notebook half-opened but mostly ignored. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her on the field. Natalie ran like she owned it, the ball at her feat, sweat gleaming on her arms.
When the whistle blew for a break, she jogged over, her blonde ponytail swinging.
“Martinez,” she said, “Funny seeing you here. Enjoying the show?”
Travis cleared his throat, fumbling with his notebook. He hoped she couldn’t see the redness on his cheeks. “Yeah. You’re pretty good out there, y’know.”
She laughed again, a sound that never failed to get Travis’s heart racing, even after all the times he’d heard it. “Is this your way of flirting, Trav?”
He looked back at her, a new confidence blooming in his chest. “I don’t know. Is it working?”
Natalie smiled, looking down at her worn cleats to hide her blush.
Travis swallowed, heart hammering. He’d been thinking about this all week, rehearsing it over and over again in his head, trying to perfect every word. But when she was right there, smiling at him, he forgot everything.
“Well,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I was, uh, wondering if…maybe you’d want to–to you know, like hang out or something. Like, just us…not practice or school, just…” he trailed off, words sticking to the back of his throat.
Natalie raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging on her lips. “Just us, huh?”
“Yeah,” he said too quickly. “We could, like, grab dinner…or, or something. Maybe…Friday night?”
She bit her bottom lip, resting her head on the fence. “Travis Martinez, are you asking me out on a date?”
“Yes,” he said, nearly shouting before remembering to lower his voice. “I mean…yeah. I’m asking you, if you want to. No pressure.”
Natalie tilted her head, her smirk softening into a real, open smile that showed all of her teeth. “Yeah, sure. Friday night. Dinner.”
Travis felt like he was in a dream. “Great. I’ll, uh, pick you up?”
She nodded, playful spark still in her eyes as the whistle blew to resume practice. “You better.”
As she jogged back to the team, Travis just smiled stupidly at her retreating form. He felt eyes on him, then turned around to find Javi grinning at him from his seat on the bleachers.
“Dude!” he called, eyes lighting out. “You actually asked out Nat freaking Scatorccio?”
Travis groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Don’t tell Mom or Dad. Please.”
“I won’t,” Javi said seriously before laughing again. “You are so screwed, Trav.”
Travis couldn’t help but laugh with him. Yeah, he totally fucking was.
On Friday night, Travis pulled into the trailer park in his beat-up pickup with sweaty hands and a heart that wouldn’t stop pounding.
Natalie was already sitting on her front step, face illuminated by the glow of a cigarette, one bare leg pulled up to her chest. As she spotted Travis’s headlights, she stood and flicked it to the ground. And when he got out of his car to meet her, she shot him her familiar little half-smile, half-smirk he’d come to love.
“Hey, Martinez,” she called, one arm crossed over her leather jacket, the other swinging by her short, black skirt. “Fancy seeing you in this part of town.”
He smiled. “Hey.” Travis just stared at her, words failing him in her presence. Especially when she looked like that, all black eyeliner and bare legs.
A moment passed before Natalie finally broke the silence. “So…you just gonna stare all night, or…?”
Travis cleared his throat, leading her to the passenger side of his truck. “Right, right, sorry.”
She slid into the seat like she’d done it a thousand times, and he paused before starting the engine.
“It’s just…you look really beautiful, Natalie,” he uttered, forcing himself to turn around and look at her as he said it. Travis watched her eyes light up, like she’d never heard it before, which he thought was statistically impossible. But again, maybe she hadn’t, not really. Maybe it had just been from boys who wanted her in bed, who said “baby” in a rough tone and grabbed at her like she was just a piece of meat.
The smile she gave him wasn’t sarcastic or mocking. It was real, soft. It was almost as if he was seeing another side to her, one a lot of people didn’t get to see.
“Call me Nat,” she responded softly. “And you don’t look too bad yourself, Trav.”
Travis didn’t stop grinning the whole drive there.
The diner he chose wasn’t fancy–sticky red booths, a jukebox with half the buttons missing, a waitress who looked like she’d seen it all. But it served the best milkshakes in Wiskayok. Travis’s mom used to take him and Javi every weekend when they were little.
“You’re really pulling out all the stops, huh?” Nat said, eyes glinting.
They slid into a booth, and Travis couldn’t stop fiddling with his cuffs. “My, uh, my mom used to take me and Javi here when we were real little. And their chocolate milkshakes are the fucking best.”
Nat reached out a hand across the table, gently touching his shaking hands. “That’s really sweet, Travis.”
His stomach flipped. The brief contact of her cold skin on his sent shockwaves throughout his body.
The waitress came by, pad in hand, and Nat ordered a vanilla milkshake with fries. Travis got a chocolate and a burger and tried not to stare where her hand had just been on hers.
“So,” Nat said, leaning back in the booth and raising her eyebrows. “Do you take all the girls here or am I just lucky?”
Travis laughed nervously. “Secret’s out, I guess. They all love the shitty diner that smells like grease. Nothing but the best.”
Nat grinned, twirling the straw paper into little spirals. “Good. I’d be worried if you pulled up with roses and candles or some shit. I’d think you were trying to hard.”
“I am trying,” Travis muttered, quieter than he meant.
Nat glanced at him, her eyes softening into something warmer. For a second, she didn’t say anything. Then, she shrugged, looking down at her hands. “Well. So far, so good.”
The milkshakes came, tall glasses with whipped cream and cherries on top. Nat leaned over, stole the cherry from his, and popped it into her mouth before he could protest.
“Hey!” he laughed. Travis didn’t mind though, not at all. He would give all the cherries in the world just to see her smile.
“Sharing is caring, Martinez.”
He shook his head, but his grin betrayed him. “You’re impossible.”
“Mm-hm,” she said through a mouthful of cherry. “And you’re predictable.”
They dug into the fries, Nat dunking hers into her milkshake just to see him squirm. “You’re a fucking weirdo,” he said, watching her chew with exaggerated delight.
“Hey,” she responded, sliding him one across the table. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
He rolled his eyes but took, it biting the fry and then making a face, just for his sake. “Okay…not terrible.”
“Told you.” She looked far too pleased with herself.
After conversations about music, soccer, which teachers were the biggest assholes, there was a lull. Nat pushed a fry around on her plate, her shoulders stiff.
“Y’know…boys don’t really–take me out on dates,” she said, her voice too casual.
Travis frowned. He found that hard to believe, and not just because of the things he’d heard them say when they thought he wasn’t listening. How could anyone not? How could they not want to show her off to all of fucking Wiskayok, this beautiful girl that burns so brightly.
“What?”
She sighed, leaning back in the booth, arms crossed. “They don’t date me. They pick me up in their cars, drive me to some party or abandoned parking lot and just…y’know. Then they tell all their friends about it on Monday. Nobody takes me out in public.”
Her words hung in the air, sharp enough to cut through the oldies music playing on the jukebox.
Travis swallowed, his chest aching for her. “That’s not what this is, Nat. I–I wanted to be here. With you. For so fucking long, actually.”
For a moment, she studied him like she was trying to find a crack in the glass, a tell that would give him away. Then she smiled, small and real. “Either you’re the best liar I’ve ever meant, or you actually mean that.”
“I mean it,” he said firmly.
Nat bit her lip, looking away. “Guess I’m not used to people meaning things.”
Silence again. He could feel her mask slipping, little by little. Travis just wanted her . The Nat who he saw on the field, determined and ruthless. The witty girl who was the brightest spot in his day, who could make him laugh with just one word.
He cleared his throat. “My dad, he–doesn’t think much of me, either.”
Nat’s head snapped back to him.
“I mean, Javi–he’s the golden boy. Everyone’s favorite. Dad worships the ground he walks on. But me?” Travis laughed bitterly, staring intently at his empty glass. “Everything I do is wrong. Every time I fuck up, it’s just proof I’ll never be enough. And he loves to remind me.”
Nat’s expression turned thoughtful, sad. Like she knew first-hand how bad it fucked you up. She didn’t tease, didn’t speak, just reached her hand across the table again.
“That fucking sucks, Trav. Really.”
Her touch lingered this time, black chipped fingernails rubbing circles onto his warm hands.
“Yeah,” he muttered, meeting her gaze. “But it doesn’t feel so bad right now.”
Her lips curved into a soft smile, and she squeezed his hand before pulling back.
When they left the diner, the November night air hit cold, smelling like damp leaves and faraway woodsmoke. They walked to his truck in silence, but it wasn’t awkward. It was full, comfortable.
While Travis drove, he looked over and saw her lighting up a cigarette, head bouncing softly to Radiohead, and he felt like he’d known her forever. Like they were the same person in a past life, separated by time and a higher power. She looked back and just smiled, like she knew exactly what he was thinking, and she felt the same thing.
Back at the trailer park, Nat fiddled with the zipper on her jacket and flicked the cigarette out as he pulled into the gravel drive.
“You can just drop me off here,” she said quickly, gesturing to the corner before her place came into view.
“Why?” he asked, brow furrowed.
She hesitated, then murmured, “Because…it’s embarrassing, okay? Living here. Everyone in this goddamn town already thinks I’m trash. Don’t need to rub it in.”
Travis parked anyway, killed the engine, and turned to face her. “I don’t care about that. I came here for you, Nat. Not where you live, or what everyone thinks of you.”
Her eyes flickered over his face, reading the utter honesty displayed there. “God, you’re such a dork,” she whispered, but her voice was softer now, almost fond.
He swallowed, then without thinking, blurted, “Can I kiss you?”
Her mouth curved into a smile, though her cheeks were pink, almost like she wasn’t used to boys asking, just taking. “Took you long enough to ask.”
And then she leaned across the bench seat, her hand curling into his shirt, and kissed him–warm, hungry, and better than he’d ever imagined. They just stayed like that for a while, it might’ve been hours Travis thought, just learning each other.
When they pulled apart, she laughed. “Not bad, Martinez. Not bad at all.”
He sat there, stunned and grinning like an idiot, as she slid out of the truck and jogged up the steps of her trailer. Halfway up, she gave him one last smile, then disappeared inside.
Travis stayed parked there for a while, staring at the door, heart racing.
December, 1996
By Christmas, it felt like they were apart of each other.
The month blurred together in ways Travis would never forget. Movie nights at the drive-in that ended in hours long makeout sessions, Nat dragging him to a gas station to get more cigarettes (where she ended up stealing his jacket the night because she was cold), stolen glances at practice, late night Polaroids she taped to her wall.
Travis didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly, his days didn’t seem right unless she was in them.
When he asked her to be his girlfriend, almost a month after their first date, she just smiled and said, “Of course, you fucking idiot.”
On Christmas Eve, Travis gripped the small, awkwardly wrapped box in his pocket like it might burn a hole through his pants. He’d spent weeks trying to figure out what to get her, saving up money he earned from doing odd jobs. He finally settled on a sliver lighter, better than the shitty BIC one she had, engraved with her initials.
He parked his truck on the edge of the trailer park, his breath fogging in the cold. White snow fell in soft flakes around him, landing on his eyelashes. Strings of half-working Christmas lights dangled from a few doors, but when he reached Nat’s, there were none. Just a weak porch light buzzing over her step.
He knocked once, twice, with no answer. Finally, he pushed the door open.
The smell hit him first: cheap vodka and stale weed. Then he saw her. Nat was curled up on the couch in a t-shirt and shorts, a half-empty bottle dangling from one hand and a joint in the other. Her eyeliner was smeared, hair messy. The TV played a re-run of While You Were Sleeping , barely audible.
“Nat?” he called, stepping inside. He noted the stacked bills on the kitchen counter, the full ashtrays overflowing with used cigarettes.
She blinked up at the sound of his voice, glassy-eyed, and smirked. It looked hollow, fake. Like it was a window to emptiness. “Look who it is. Saint fuckin’ Travis. Come to save me on Christmas Eve?”
Travis’s chest ached. He shut the door behind him, crossing ot sit on the edge of the couch. “Where’s your mom?”
She laughed bitterly. “A bar, probably. Who the fuck knows.” She tipped the bottle in a mock toast, then winced as if saying the truth out loud physically hurt.
Travis carefully took the bottle from her hands, setting it down on the floor. “You shouldn’t be alone like this.”
Her face hardened instantly, walls snapping into place. She took a drag of her joint, cheap weed filling the air before flicking it into an ashtray. “I’ve been alone my whole goddamn life, Martinez. You think t’night’s any different?”
Her words slurred together in a strong of hurt, and for a moment she looked like a little girl again, left all alone.
He didn’t know what to say. Instead, he pulled the box from his jeans and placed it on the coffee table. “I got you something,” he said softly.
Nat stared at it like it was a trick. “What? A Bible?”
“Just open it.”
Her fingers worked clumsily at the paper until the little silver lighter shone in her palm. She turned it over, saw the initials on the side, and for a long moment, said nothing.
“Trav…” her voice cracked, soft and raw, like he’d hit a bruise she never let anyone see. “Nobody’s ever…gotten me something like this before.”
He shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “Figured you needed one that actually lit. And
now you’ll think of me every time you light one up.”
She gave a wet laugh, wiping at her eyes before tears could fall. “You’re such a dumbass.”
But then she leaned into him, burying her face in his shoulder. Her body shook–quietly, like she was trying not to let him notice–but he did anyway. He held her tighter, stroking her hair gently, heart breaking for the little girl who never got any presents, for the teenager who was learning what love looked like.
“I’m not going anywhere, Nat,” he whispered into her ear. “Not tonight, not ever.”
For the first time in a long time, Nat let herself believe it. That she was worth loving, that someone in the world cared.
On Christmas morning, 1996, Nat woke up with the smell of coffee and a splitting headache. Her mouth was dry, her head a little foggy, but the first thing she noticed was a familiar weight draped over her shoulders. A blanket.
She rubbed her eyes and stretched her limbs, the cold, winter light from outside hurting her head even more.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” a deep voice called. “Made you some coffee.”
She looked over and saw Travis, leaning against the kitchen counter, a coffee cup in one hand and Aspirin in the other. He looked tired and a little out of place, but he was here. Still here, with her, on motherfucking Christmas.
“Trav,” she said, the word breaking slightly in her mouth. He immediately headed toward her, setting the cup and bottle on the table.
“Hey, hey Nat,” he asked, hand coming up to stroke her hair. “What’s wrong?”
She snorted quietly at the overly worried look on his face. It also made her heart feel like it was too big for her chest.
“It’s just, um…You stayed.”
Travis looked confused at that. His large fingers stopped their motion and cradled her head. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
Nat studied him, her defenses still somewhere between cracked and broken. “You didn’t have to.”
“Yes, I did, Nat,” he whispered. His other hand came to rest on her cheek, thumb brushing her smeared makeup off gently. “Can’t have you waking up alone on Christmas, can I?”
That one hit deeper than she expected. Her throat felt too tight. She deflected, muttering, “You’re way too good for this fucking place.”
But Travis just smiled, his thumb stilling. “Nat, I told you I don’t give a single fuck about where you live. All I care about is you. It’s always you.”
And in that moment, something cracked inside her. Her defences, maybe, or the fear she’d felt ever since she was a little girl–the one that told her she didn’t need anything, that she was only good for one thing. The one her dad had planted in her long ago.
For the first time, maybe ever, Natalie felt loved . She felt loved and cared for and needed. And it was because of Travis fucking Martinez.
“Travis,” she whispered, looking into his deep brown eyes like she was trying to memorize them. “I think…I think I love you.”
He looked startled at first, unsure of what to say. But after a beat, he smiled the biggest smile she’d ever seen, kissed her forehead gently, and said, “I think I love you, too.”
They stayed like that for a while, Travis cradling Nat in his arms, whispering ‘ I love you’ s and breathing each other in deep.
Then, Nat said, “Where the fuck did you find the coffee machine under this mess? And why aren’t you with your family right now? You’re dad’s gonna beat your ass.”
He laughed, the sound warm and rumbling through his chest. “Javi’s covering. Told them I was at a friend’s. And it took me twenty minutes. Found it under old magazine and like, six packs of Marlboros.”
Nat groaned, hiding her face in his shoulder. He smelled like something familiar and comforting. Like home. “God, you must think I’m such fuck-up.”
“Nat,” he said firmly, tugging her chin to meet him. “I don’t care about any of that. I just love being with you. Mess and all.”
She closed her eyes, though her throat felt too tight to joke properly. “You’re such a sap, Martinez.”
“Maybe,” he smirked. “But you love it.”
Her lips curved despite themselves. She sipped the coffee, and the bitterness contrasted with the utter love she felt for this boy. This boy who spent Christmas Eve helping his drunk, fucked up girlfriend. Who made her feel like she was worth something.
And for the first Christmas morning ever since her dad died, she wasn’t alone.
January, 1997
It happened on a Saturday night in January. The snow had melted slightly, leaving behind a dirty slush that stuck to the curbs. Travis picked her up from practice–a rough one since the season was about to start–and drove them back to her trailer. Her mom was gone again, out with some guy whose name Nat couldn’t bother to remember.
They sat on her bed, legs tangled, Mazzy Star playing in the background from her little stereo. They had been kissing for what felt like hours, Travis’s hands tentative on her hips like he was afraid to move too fast.
“Trav,” she murmured against his lips, tugging at the hem of his shirt.
He froze, his fingers playing with the hem of her shorts. “Yeah?”
Her smirk faltered a little, replaced by something vulnerable. “I want you to…stay the night.”
Travis’s heart almost stopped. Although they had been dating for about a month, they had never done anything more than the occasional blow job. His palms were sweaty, his chest tight, but when he looked into her eyes, he knew she meant it.
He was just…scared. Scared that she wouldn’t think he was good enough, that he couldn’t measure up to the guys she’d been with before. Travis wasn’t supposed to admit it, of course, because boys were supposed to know what they were doing. But he just–he didn’t.
Nat’s eyebrows knitted together at his worried face. “What’s wrong? Do you not want to–”
“No,” he interrupted quickly. “It’s not…it’s not that, Nat. Of course I do. I just–” He hesitated, fingers gripping her bare skin for stability.
“I’ve never, uh, been with someone before. And people talk, Nat, I–” He exhaled, head dropping. “I don’t want to be some dumb fucking kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
She paused at his words, hands stilling from where they were on his chest. Nat was quiet for a beat. Then, “You want to know the truth?”
He nodded, hesitant.
“I’ve only been with three guys. Levi Houser sophomore year–” She rolled her eyes. “That was nothing. Then Aaron Johnson, golden boy football star. And an older guy at a show when I was fifteen. That one…” she trailed off, chewing her lip. “That one didn’t end well.”
Travis’s stomach twisted, his grip on her tightening. “Nat…”
She cut him off with a sharp shake of her head. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not telling you so you’ll pity me. I’m telling you because I don’t want you thinking I’m…whatever everyone says I am.”
“I don’t,” Travis said, words tumbling out quickly. “I never have. I just…I don’t wanna fuck this up.”
Something flickered in her eyes, fragile and unguarded. “You won’t. No matter what they say…it means something to me, Travis. Like it really means something. And especially with you.”
He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. “I love you.”
“Back at you.”
He kissed her again, but slower this time, testing, like he was leaning a language he’d always wanted to know. He threw his shirt off and let Nat’s cold hands run over his bare chest, his skin burning where she touched him.
“Still nervous?” she whispered against where she was kissing on his jaw, smirking into his skin slightly.
“A little,” he admitted, breathless. “But I want you so fucking bad I can’t stand it.”
She brought her lips to his, kissing him deeper, tugging her shirt over her head. Travis’s heart hammered, but his body answered for him, every nerve screaming for more, for her.
When her shirt hit the floor, Travis pulled back for a second, chest rising and falling as he stared at her. She looked back at him, messy bleached hair falling gently on her shoulders, lips slightly swollen and parted, red bra stark against her skin. She was his , he thought.
“Jesus,” he whispered, half to himself, half to whatever God allowed them to find each other.
Nat cocked a brow, though her tone softened. “You just gonna stare all night, or are you gonna touch me?”
That broke him out of it. His hands slide up her sides, tentative at first, then firmer when she leaned into his touch. She guided his palms over her ribs, the swell of her chest, until his fingers knew her body like he’d always meant to.
She pushed him back onto the bed, Mazzy Star crooning a soft melody in the back. When his hands shook a little when they unbuttoned her shorts, she took them in hers.
“Hey,” Nat whispered. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just be with me.”
He swallowed hard, nodded. “Okay.”
Clothes came off slowly, every inch of fabric removed uncovering something new for him to explore. Every touch felt intentional: her guiding his hands, him memorizing every curve and sound she made. When she slipped her hand to pull down his boxers, he groaned into her mouth, the sound low and desperate, his whole body aching for her.
“Nat…” His voice cracked on her name.
“I got you,” she whispered, and the way she said it wasn’t cocky, or teasing, but steady.
When he finally pushed into her, Travis’s breath caught. He clutched her waist, grounding himself in her warmth, her body, the way she fit against his like she’d been made for it. He moved carefully at first, unsure, until she kissed him and whispered in his ear.
The world narrowed to just the two of them. The creak of her bed, the rhythm of their breathing, her nails dragging down his back, his face buried in her neck as he learned what it meant ot love someone this way.
It was messy, and a little awkward, but theirs. And when Nat gasped his name, clinging to him like she’d never let go, Travis felt like for once in his life, he wasn’t failing at something. She loved him for him , and that was enough.
After, they lay tangled together under the thin blanket, skin still damp, breaths slowing. Nat lit a cigarette with her new lighter, passing it to him before curling into his chest.
“Well,” she murmured playfully, “Not half bad for your first time.”
He laughed, still breathless, and planted a kiss on her hair. “Told you I’d figure it out.”
She smiled against his chest, eyes fluttering softly. “Yeah. You did. And I never doubted you.”
The parking lot was mostly empty by the time Nat ducked into Travis’s truck after practice, her bag thrown into the backseat. She’d barley shut the door before they were tangled up, mouths pressed hard together, windows fogging in the winter air.
Travis’s hand slid up her thigh, desperate, and Nat pulled him closer by the collar of his hoodie.
They were so caught up in each other they didn’t hear the footsteps until someone rapped lightly on the glass.
Nat froze. Travis pulled back just enough to see an outline outside of the window. Van.
“Fuck,” Nat hissed. She pushed Travis off her and scrambled out of the door, winter air biting at her exposed skin.
Van just stood there, arms crossed, a vaguely amused look on her face. “So…this is what ‘catching a ride home’ means now?”
Nat’s stomach plummeted, her hands turning sweaty despite the temperature. “Van, please. Don’t–don’t say anything, okay? Not to anyone. Especially Tai, or the team. Or coach. Please.” Her voice cracked a little, raw and pleading.
Van’s face softened at her tone. She studied Nat in front of her, face pale with panic, then Travis in the truck, looking embarrassed as hell. Then, she let out something between a sigh and a laugh. “Relax, Scatorccio. I’m not gonna narc on you.”
Nat visibly relaxed, her shoulders dropping like a weight had been let off. “You’re not?”
Van leaned against the truck, her face gentle in a way she only reserved for Natalie and Taissa. “Of course not. We’ve been friends for what–10 years? And honestly, Nat, I’m happy for you. Really. You deserve a guy who actually gives a shit for once.”
Nat blinked at her, caught off guard. “You mean that?”
“Cross my heart,” Van said, mockingly holding her hand to her chest. She straightened a little, shooting a glance at Travis. “But seriously, stay off of each other long enough to go somewhere a little more private.”
Nat managed a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Noted.” Her face grew serious.
“Thank you, Van. Really.”
Van smiled and gave her a wink. “Smoke sesh at mine? Bring your weed though, I’m all out.”
Nat laughed. “Sure, Palmer.”
But as she climbed back in the truck, her veins still buzzed with adrenaline. And fear. Always, always fear.
Travis glanced at Nat, his lips twitching like he was fighting a smile. “Well…that could’ve been worse.”
She didn’t respond, just lit up a cigarette and stared out of the window.
“Hey. You okay?”
Nat snorted, meeting his worried gaze head-on. “Do I look okay?”
He reached out, gently resting a large hand on her knee. “You heard her, Nat. She’s not gonna tell anyone.”
“I know,” Nat muttered, taking a drag. “It just kind of…freaked me out, I guess.”
Travis rubbed his thumb on the outline of her bone. “Because of my dad?”
Her jaw clenched. “Because of him, the team, fucking everybody in Wiskayok. You don’t get it, Trav. They already look at me like I’m white trash from the trailer park, the girl who drinks too much and fucks around.” Her voice cracked, and she looked away so he couldn’t see her eyes.
“If they find out about us, they’ll say I’m just dragging you down. That you could do better than some slut whose only good for working or mouth and laying on her back. And…maybe they’re right.”
“Hey.” Travis’s voice was firm, cutting through her spiral. He reached out and turned her face back to him. His eyes were steady, warm in a way that felt more like home to Nat than any shitty trailer. “Don’t say that. You’re not dragging me down, Nat. Fuck, you’re the best thing in my life. I’ve told you I don’t care what they think, or my dad. I love you .”
Her throat tightened, the words burning her mouth like fire. “I’m scared of fucking this up, Trav. It’s like every thing I touch turns bad. I’m a goddamn black hole. And I don’t want you falling down there too.”
He shook his head, thumb brushing a tear from her cheek. “That’s not true, Natalie. You’re mine, and I’m yours. You’re not a black hole. You’re the light.”
For a long moment, she studied him, looking for the lie. All she found were his stupid, earnest brown eyes looking at her like she was the sun. Finally, she sighed, leaning forward until her forehead met his.
“You’re too good for me, Martinez.”
“Good,” he whispered, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Then I guess we’re even. Because you’re too good for me, too.”
She huffed a laugh despite herself, and he kissed her again, soft and slow. The kind that made her forget what she was afraid of.
February, 1997
The next few weeks after Van caught them, Nat could feel it everywhere. Eyes on her, on them , always watching: when they brushed hands in the hallway, when they fucked in his truck because they couldn’t wait to get to her trailer.
Maybe she was paranoid. But it felt like she was trying to grip onto the only person who knew her before it was ripped away.
Travis could feel her growing distant, could tell she wasn’t really there, even when he was deep inside her. It was like Nat was always waiting for it to end, waiting for the only good thing in her life to disappear like everyone else.
And then it was February 5th, two years since Nat watched her dad stumble into a gun and leave a silent space where screaming used to be. The anniversary crept up on her. It always did.
She didn’t tell Travis. She didn’t deserve his soft words and gentle touches, didn’t want to see that look on his face he always got when she talked about her dad. So she went to a shitty house party with Van instead, where the music and alcohol and drugs were enough to drown out the thoughts in her head.
Shots blurred into pills which blurred into a powder she snorted up her nose until she couldn’t form a coherent sentence. By the time Nat stumbled down the hall and into some dimly lit den, she wasn’t sure which way was up. But she couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t think. And that was the point.
That’s when a man slid next to her–older, mid-twenties maybe, with greasy hair and eyes that didn’t blink enough.
“You look like you need somethin’ stronger,” he muttered, pulling out a wrapped piece of foil from his jacket and smiling in a way that made Nat’s stomach turn with unease.
Her head lolled onto the back of the couch. She laughed, too loose. “What’dya got?”
“Somethin’ that’ll make you forget your own name, pretty girl.”
Every rational bone in Nat’s body was screaming at her to stop, to find Van, find Travis, get the fuck out of there. But she wanted to forget more. So when the guy lit the foil and held a straw to her nose, she took it. Her lungs burned, her chest ached. Then came the floating, the nothingness.
Nat was in a space where she was nobody. She wasn’t that scared little girl hiding under her bed from her dad, wasn’t the teenager who got drunk before practice to deal with the whispers. In this liminal space of nothing, she was just light. Pure, radiant energy.
But then she felt hands fumbling at her skirt and a heavy weight pressing on her body.
“Don’t–” she tried to say. She already had a boyfriend, a good one, who loved her like the sun.
“Shh. You’ll feel good,” the man breathed. It didn’t, she thought.
The door slammed open.
“Nat?” Van’s voice cut through the haze. Then, sharper, “What the fuck?”
She saw them: the foil, Nat half-conscious, the man ripping at her clothes. Rage exploded in her chest.
“Get the fuck off her!” Van shouted, lunging forward and shoving him hard. He stumbled back, searing, but Van was already yanking Nat upright, pulling her ripped skirt down, wrapping an arm around her trembling shoulders.
The guy sneered. “Bitch wanted it.”
Van shook as she half-carried Natalie to the nearest phone. “She’s seventeen, you fucking creep.” Her voice cracked.
He spat on the floor and stormed out, muttering.
Van’s breath was ragged, her arm locked tight around Nat’s limp body. Her eyes fluttered, unfocused.
“Vannie,” Nat slurred, barely coherent. “I can’t feel my hands.”
Van’s heart stopped. She pressed the phone to her ear with shaking hands.
The call connected. “Hello?”
“Travis–it’s, it’s Van,” she gasped, trying to hold the tears back. They fell anyway. “You need to come get Nat. Now, please. She…she did heroin, and some guy–” She cut herself off, choking on the words. “She’s really bad.”
For a moment, silence. Then Travis’s voice, sharp and terrified: “Where are you?”
By the time Travis pushed his way through the party, his face was white as chalk instead of his usual tanned brown. He found Van in the corner of the living room, holding Nat upright, her head slumped against her chest.
Travis dropped to his knees in front of her. “¡ Dios mío !” He cupped her face, trying to fight the urge to take her in his arms and never let go. “Nat, baby–open your eyes. Come on.”
Her lashes fluttered. “Trav?” she whispered, voice thin and cracking. “Travis. I fucked up.”
His throat tightened. “It’s okay. I got you, baby. You’re okay, cariña .”
He scooped her in his arms, her body frighteningly light, and carried her into the freezing night. Van followed close behind, furiously wiping at her tears. People around them stopped and whispered, but Travis just pushed past them, clutching tight to his girl. His girl.
He didn’t let go of her the entire ride back.
By the time Travis carried Nat to the bathroom of her trailer, she was drifting in and out, muttering nonsense and the occasional “Trav.” Van hurried after him, hands full with towels and a glass of water.
Travis kept her head in his lap, gently brushing her hair from her sweaty forehead, panic thick in his chest. This wasn’t the Nat he knew. The Nat he knew was witty and sarcastic and could shut you down with just one look. He’d never seen her like this before: pale, broken, completely hollowed out. It scared him.
“She’s gonna be okay, right?” he asked Van, or maybe whatever God was listening. He kept his eyes trained on her, like she would disappear if he looked away.
Van swallowed hard. “I don’t know. We need to keep her awake.”
Travis patted her cheek gently. “Nat, hey. Stay awake, okay? Can you open your eyes for me?”
Nat didn’t respond.
Van dropped to her knees beside them. “We need to get it out of her, now. We have to make her throw it up.”
Travis blinked at her, tears welling in his eyes. “What? How–”
Van didn’t hesitate. She’d done this enough times with her own mother. She grabbed Nat’s shoulders, shaking her. “Natty. Open your mouth. Come on.” When she didn’t move, Van shot Travis a desperate look. “We don’t have a choice.”
Together, they coaxed her forward, Travis holding her hair back with shaking hands as Van stuck two fingers down her throat. He turned his head away. Travis couldn’t fucking watch this.
For a long, terrifying second, nothing happened. Then, Nat gagged, coughing, and retched into the toilet.
“Good, good, that’s it,” Travis whispered into her ear, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. “Get it out, baby, you’re okay.”
When it was over, Nat slumped against him, clutching onto his shirt so tight her knuckles turned white, sobbing apologies neither of them could make out. He rocked her slowly and kissed the top of her damp forehead.
They carried her to bed together, Van pulling the blanket up over her shaking body hile Travis tucked himself in next to her, refusing to let go of her hand.
“Stay with her,” Van whispered, voice thick. “I’ll check in tomorrow.”
Travis just nodded, eyes locked on Nat’s face. The face he had memorized, the one he could trace in his sleep.
When the door clicked shut behind Van, Travis lay there in the dim light, listening to Nat’s breath even out. Every time her chest rose, he sent a prayer to whatever God had kept her there with him. He didn’t sleep, he couldn’t. He just held her body to his and whispered, “I’ve got you, Nat. And I’m never letting you go.”
The morning light cut through the blinds in harsh stripes, slicing across Nat’s face. She groaned and rolled onto her back, her throat dry as sandpaper. Her stomach twisted, but it was quiet now. There was no more nausea, just the bone-deep exhaustion that made every breath heavy.
She blinked, and Travis was there. Curled up under the covers with her, one hand wrapped protectively around her waist, like he was scared to let her go. His dark hair fell across his tan face, his chest rising steady and slow.
“Trav?” her voice cracked, barely a whisper.
His eyes opened instantly, as if he hadn’t really been asleep at all. Relief flashed across his features. “Nat,” he sighed, sitting up and cupping her face with shaking hands, like he couldn’t believe she was even talking to him. “Jesus fucking Christ. I thought I lost you last night.”
She flinched at his words, shame cutting like a knife through her. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t,” he said firmly, thumbs brushing over her temples. “Don’t you dare apologize. Just…don’t ever fucking do that again. Please.”
Her throat tightened. She wanted to deflect, to push him away with some sarcastic joke. She wanted to put on the mask she had perfectly crafted for years and keep everything inside: the shame, the pure terror of her childhood. But the look on his face, raw, like his entire world had almost collapsed, broke something in her.
She turned away, staring at some soccer trophies stacked in the corner. “Do you know what yesterday was?”
He frowned, confused. “February fourth?"
“Fifth,” she corrected quietly. Her chest rose and fell, uneven. “Two years since my dad died.”
Travis stayed still, waiting.
Nat swallowed hard, the words like glass as they climbed out of her throat. “He…he used to hit me. Sometimes my mom, too. I don’t even know why half the time–if he was drunk, if I looked at him wrong, if dinner was cold. I used to–to hide under my bed. He always found me.”
Travis’s jaw clenched. He slid his hand into hers, grounding her. Reminding her that someone loved her, despite of it all.
“One day, I had Kevyn Tan over. Well, he found us and–and started calling me a little slut.” Nat laughed at that. “We weren’t even fucking doing anything. But it didn’t matter. And he grabbed me too hard, and I…I got the gun and pointed it right at him.”
She took a deep breath, eyes far away. “I pulled the trigger, Trav. But the safety was on, and then he took it and…he tripped. And he was just…gone.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Nat pressed her palms into her eyes, gasping. “I watched him die, Trav. Watched the blood, watched my mom screaming and crying. And y’know the most fucked up part? I was glad. I was fucking glad.”
Travis moved before she could spiral further, pulling her into his chest. She fought it for half of a second, then collapsed into his arms, shaking.
“That doesn’t make you fucked up,” he murmured fiercly into her hair. “That makes you a survivor. You hear me? You didn’t kill him. He did that to himself. You were just a kid, Natalie. You didn’t deserve any of that.”
Her sobs tore through her like waves, and he held her tighter, whispering, “You’re not alone anymore. I’m here. Always. I fucking love you, Natalie.”
And for the first time in years, Nat let herself cry. For the scared, bruised little girl she was, for the teenager who got fucked up just to not feel.
And she believed Travis, the boy she loved, the boy who made her feel like she was worth something.
He held her until the afternoon sun shone lightly on them. Then, she looked up at him and smiled.
“I’m hungry.”
Travis laughed. “Me too.”