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dreamingofbucky · 8 months

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Breakout - Round Two

Pairing: Boxer!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Joel both find yourselves thinking things you shouldn't.

Rating: Explicit 18+ (By proceeding to read beyond this warning, you are agreeing that you are 18 years or older)

SeriesContent: Alternate Universe - No Outbreak, Explicit Smut, Age Gap, Secret Relationship, Workplace Shenanigans, Jealous/Asshole Boyfriend/Ex, Risk of Getting Caught, Fighting (Obv), Teacher/Student Dynamic, Best Friend's Dad

Word Count: 7K

A/N: Round two! Here we go! Thank you for all the love on the first part of this series! Yes, I'm saying series now. No one @ me. Thank you also to @frannyzooey for being my wife and to @djarinsbeskar, @astroboots, and @write-and-buried for all their encouragement.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Round 1 | Round 3

You’re fumbling for the keys in your purse as soon as you make it to the sidewalk, fresh tears racing down your cheeks as you feel every possible combination of embarrassed and heartbroken.

“Fucking asshole,” you swear, playing the conversation over and over again in your head.

Can we argue about it later? As if I haven’t already waited long enough?

You ask yourself that again and again as you stand rooted to the concrete, torn between getting in your car to go and going right back inside so you can really have it out. All the words you should have said burning and then dying out while still on your tongue as you turn to the sound of the door opening behind you.

“Sorry,” you say reflexively when you see a young woman step out onto the sidewalk, painfully aware that Tyler is not the one you’re disappointed not to see standing there. “Sorry, I thought you were…”

“It’s okay,” she tells you, then frowns. “Well, actually, I wanted to check if you were okay.”

“Oh. That?” You try for casual even while shifting awkwardly, your face heating as you look away and wave a hand towards the gym. “It’s fine.”

It’s not, you hear Joel say again. And you know that he’s right. You have to stop pretending like it is.

You have to stop pretending.

When you glance back in the other girl’s direction, her expression is all empathy, understanding eyes and a compassionate smile that feels completely genuine and also… familiar.

“There’s a diner on the corner down there,” she tells you, pointing in the direction of the sign. “Would you maybe want to go get a coffee?”

“Coffee?” You look back and forth between her and the diner, trying to figure out how pitiful you must look for a complete stranger to try to offer you caffeine. “Look, I promise I’m really okay.”

“I believe you,” she reassures, holding up her hands. “Offer still stands though. I’m Sarah by the way.”

“Sarah,” you repeat before telling her your own name, wondering again as you shake her hand if maybe you have seen her around before and just don’t remember. “Well, I could, um, maybe…”

You pull your phone out of your purse, hands still slightly unsteady as you check how many hours you have before your evening shift at the restaurant. As well as the fact that you have no new messages.

“Actually,” you say, letting out a deep breath and trying for a smile. “I think a cup of coffee would be good.”

As it happens, the cup of coffee is good, great even for the company that comes with it.

Until you had met Sarah, you hadn’t realized how lonely you were. How much you might have needed a friend, someone to talk to until your voice ran dry and to make you laugh until your sides hurt. To make you feel like… you again.

Even though there are a few years between you, it’s quickly apparent that you and Sarah have plenty in common. Matching taste in books, movies, and even a shared enthusiasm for thrifting, a subject that you spend at least an hour on as you exchange stories of the best things you’ve ever found, the pieces you’d still love to see turn up, and favorite flea markets and antique stores around Austin.

“There’s a monthly market downtown that usually has some nice stuff. We should go next weekend,” Sarah offers after more than two hours of easy conversation have passed, and you’re thrilled by the idea that maybe she has become as quickly fond of you as you have of her.

“I can borrow my dad’s truck in case we find anything really good,” she adds, leaning back and draping her arm over the back of the booth. “He won’t mind.”

“Really?” you ask, hesitating as you try to picture having a parent that would so freely hand over one of their more valuable possessions. “I’ve gotten pretty good at cramming things into my car if that’s easier.”

Sarah waves you off before leaning forward again, pouring an obscene amount of sugar into her fresh cup of coffee, and taking another bite of the pecan pie you had agreed to split. You jot away a mental note for later that your new friend seems to have a definite sweet tooth.

“Nah, he really won’t care. He’ll be at the gym most of the day anyway, since they’re hosting a fight that night.”

Your own cup of black coffee is halfway to your mouth, but pauses in midair as you study her warm brown eyes and half smile, just why she might seem so familiar starting to click.

“Is your dad…” you start, already knowing the answer. “Is your dad a boxer?”

Sarah’s brow arches, evidently confused by the question, though that particular expression is all the confirmation you need.

“Joel. Your dad is Joel Miller?” you say, suddenly feeling as if you’ve done something wrong. As if you’ve been hiding something even though you know you have nothing to hide.

“Yeah,” she answers hesitantly, and your stomach drops further.

So you know her dad… not like it’s a big deal. You didn’t know he had a daughter. And even if you had known, why would it matter? It’s not like… He trains your boyfriend. That’s it.

“You okay?” Sarah asks, and you realize you’re frowning only after she’s already continuing, sounding a bit nervous now, “Sorry, I guess, I just thought you knew? I’m so used to everyone at the gym knowing I’m Joel’s kid, but um, listen, I know he’s got a reputation, and he can be a little… But he’s really not like what everyone—”

“No, no, no, it’s not that,” you say quickly, your cup clattering against the tabletop in your haste to set it back down. “I know he’s not…”

Ruthless. Joel Miller is ruthless.

A dozen articles pass through your mind. Headlines of a man and photos of a face that’s so different from the one in your mind, from the one that now sits across from you bearing his resemblance.

“Joel has — Your dad is great. I mean, he’s been great to me — to Tyler,” you tell her, your hands clasping tight together beneath the table in an attempt to settle yourself. “I guess I just didn’t…”

You hadn’t thought of Joel with a daughter who is only a handful of years younger than you. Hadn’t thought of him like a dad at all — not that you think of him.

“Sorry,” you say again, repressing the urge to shake your head to clear it. “I guess, I just didn’t realize he was married.”

You panic almost as soon as you realize what you’ve said, wondering if it makes it seem like you have some sort of interest in her dad.

Oh, God, do you have an interest in her dad?

“He’s not married,” Sarah informs you with a small smile and a tilt of her head, and you feel even worse at the realization that her answer actually makes a part of you feel relieved. “I mean, he was once. But my mom left when I was still a baby.”

“I’m so sorry,” you say, meaning it in more ways than one, but Sarah simply gives you a half-hearted shrug as she waves you off.

“It’s alright. Honestly I think it was a lot harder on my dad. I don’t really remember things any other way. I was still too young.”

“Yeah,” you tell her, an unwanted influx of infrequently visited memories redirecting your thoughts. “My dad left when I was pretty small, but my mom remarried when I was in high school. Had a few more kids. They’re still living in Harper.”

Sarah nods in understanding, though you suspect she has never heard of the place you’ve just mentioned. Not many have.

“When did you move to Austin?”

“My boyfriend Tyler and I moved here after we graduated high school,” you explain, not sure how much Joel would’ve told her. “He’s the one your dad is training… the one with the lunch.”

“Figured.” Sarah sets her fork down before nudging the rest of the pie in your direction. “Speaking of…”

You sigh, thinking again about your last conversation with your boyfriend. “Yeah. He’s, um…”

“A dick?” Sarah prompts, and you open your mouth reflexively to argue, only to find no words in his defense make themselves readily available.

“Sorry,” Sarah tells you, giving you a lopsided but apologetic smile. “Too harsh?”

“No,” you agree with a sigh, placing your hands back on the table in front of you. “Probably not.”

You close your eyes against another wave of embarrassment, but open them again when Sarah reaches over and squeezes your hand.

“He wasn’t always like that,” you mutter, the excuse more for your sake than for his, and you can’t help a bitter laugh before you add, “He wasn’t always… He wasn’t always such a dick. If you can believe it.”

“I’ll try,” Sarah replies, giving you a small smile and reaching for the sugar again as soon as the waitress refills her cup on the way by the table. “But if he is now? Isn’t that what matters?”

*****

Joel is near to pacing in his office. Repeatedly moving himself and the same stack of papers from his desk to his couch and back again, checking his watch far more than he’s managed to check anything off his list.

He does so again now as he sits on the edge of his chair with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped tight in front of him, counting back the hours since he had asked Sarah to go see if you were alright. Not liking the sum, he grabs for his cell phone where it sits idle on his desk and reads the last message he received.

Going to diner back soon

Maybe Joel should have went after you himself. For the two of you to have been gone this long, you must really be –

Over the sounds of in-use workout equipment outside his door, Joel hears Tyler laugh from a few yards away, Charlie’s presence at his side when he had returned from lunch answering Joel’s earlier question about which “guys from the gym” could have possibly volunteered to spend time with someone that Joel would have gladly volunteered to never see again.

Figures it would be someone who also needs to get paid. Well even if Joel doesn’t get to kick the little shit to the curb, hopefully you will. Although that would also mean…

Had that been the last time he would see you?

Joel stands as his already piss poor mood worsens, one hand going to his hip and the other to the surface of his desk as he watches Charlie continue to talk Tyler’s ear off. The kid actually appearing to be listening for once as he bends his head and nods along, although Joel has a feeling that the message he personally would like to deliver would be far less well received.

He checks his phone again, feeling like flinging the damn thing into the wall when there’s still nothing new, but instead he types out a text to Sarah:

All okay? When will you be back?

The answering dots appear almost instantly but the wait still feels like an eternity, an anxious feeling in his chest only intensifying until the new message pops:

Look up

He does, immediately spotting Sarah standing just outside his office with an amused expression before she lets herself in.

“Everything alright?” Joel asks again, glancing over Sarah’s shoulder for you even though you’re clearly not there. “What took you so long?”

“We got to talkin’,” Sarah explains, raising her eyebrows at the impatience in his tone as she comes further into his office and drops into one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Hey, can I have your truck next weekend?”

“My truck?” Joel asks, trying to catch up to the seemingly sudden change in direction. “Why? You disposing of a body?”

“Why? You offering to help?” Sarah counters, glancing back over her shoulder to where Joel’s eyes keep flicking in Tyler’s direction. “C’mon, would mean you wouldn’t have to coach him anymore. We could even make it look like a training accident.”

“Tempting. But I’m not sure I could afford the insurance hike any more than I could the bail.” Joel sinks into his own chair across from his daughter, starts straightening that same stack of papers again as he asks, “She was alright?”

“Yeah, she was,” Sarah tells him, her voice softening. “I think the whole thing is just… complicated, you know? One of those things where you know what the right thing is, but it’s just getting yourself to do it.”

“Right,” Joel mutters, rubbing the back of his neck beneath his palm. “Right.”

“So the truck? Next weekend?” Sarah asks again, and it takes Joel a moment to remember what she’d asked him.

“Sure. You can borrow it,” he tells her, leaning forward slightly, “but if you’re doing another one of those Craigslist deals, I want to go with you.”

“No scary internet people this time.” Sarah grins, popping up and beginning to gather the books she still has scattered around his office. “I told her about that market downtown. The one we went to a few months ago? And she seemed into the idea, so I thought I’d take the truck in case we find anything…”

The sound of Sarah’s voice fades into the background, Joel’s hand hovering over an organic chemistry textbook as he tries to sort through what he thinks of you spending time with his daughter even though he is undoubtedly the one who had formed that connection in the first place.

It’s good… Right?

Of course, it is. Why wouldn’t it be? Sarah is always studying so hard, working and keeping things running at home more than she should. It would be good for her to have someone to pal around with. Plus, he likes you.

And isn’t that the fucking problem?

“You okay?”

Joel snaps out of it to see Sarah standing in front of him again, already holding the textbook he’d been about to grab.

“We don’t have to take the truck if you need it for something,” she tells him, her brow creasing. “Or I know you have that fight, but if you wanted to go with us in the morning?”

“No,” he says quickly and more adamantly than he’d intended. “Sorry, no, it’s fine. Take the truck. You guys have fun.”

He’s being ridiculous… Completely overthinking things where you’re concerned. He has nothing more than a polite interest in your well being. Anyone would.

Or at least they should.

Joel glances back outside his office, sees that Tyler appears to have wrapped up his conversation with Charlie and is starting to meander in the direction of the weights. His phone in his hand again as he taps rapid fire against the screen.

“Tell you what,” Joel says to Sarah. “Why don’t you take the truck now and head home? I’m going to stick around for a bit. I’ll have Charlie drop me off later.”

Sarah follows his eyeline. “Sure. Just let me know if you end up needing to get rid of a body after all. I’ll bring the truck back.”

*****

You think about it all through your shift, through your drive home, your fight with the lobby door and your climb up to your apartment. Still agonizing over each word you need to say even as you slide your key into the lock of your front door.

Joel was right just like Sarah was right. And you can’t keep doing this. You’ve decided.

Until the moment you step inside.

“Hey, babe,” Tyler greets you, his voice warm as he immediately turns off the TV, gets up from the sofa and greets you at the door, taking your bag before wrapping you in a tight hug and catching you so off guard that you don’t even manage a greeting in return.

“Listen,” he continues, resting his chin against the top of your head as he holds you close. “I want you to know that I’m sorry about what happened earlier.”

“You are?” you ask him, your voice slightly muffled by the fabric of his t-shirt. Seemingly fresh from the laundry just like he appears to be fresh out of the shower.

“Of course, I am.” He steps back, his hands moving to your upper arms and squeezing firmly for emphasis. “You know how much I hate to see you upset.”

Before you can tell him that you’re not sure you do know that, he rotates slightly, showing you fresh roses still in a grocery bag on the counter.

“Got these for you,” he says, giving you a wide, satisfied smile. “Here I’ll put them in some water.”

He lets go of you and moves into the kitchen while you try to wade through your own personal episode of the Twilight Zone, only tuning out of it at the echoing sound of cabinet doors opening and closing while he fails to locate a vase.

“They’re under the sink,” you mutter, about to reach for one but he shakes his head at you and grabs it himself.

“I got it.” He fills the antique glass halfway with water before picking up the roses and dropping them in with the rubber band, sealed plant food, and plastic still around the stems. “Good, right?”

You look at them then back at him, dreading how much they must have cost while remaining completely baffled by this sudden shift in behavior. “Tyler – ”

“I know, okay, I know,” he jumps in, coming closer again to place his hands on your shoulders. “I haven’t been the best boyfriend lately. I haven’t been able to do things like this for you, but that’s going to change soon. It’s all going to change. I’ve got a fight lined up next month, and I’m telling you it’s going to be one of the ones that finally gets us there.”

Us.

For the first time in a long time, Tyler is looking at you like he used to, and God, you’d forgotten what it is like to see it. To see someone look at you like they need you.

“Tyler, I don’t think…” All your words are escaping you again, fleeing at your first overdue sign of hope. At the first sign that things could go back to the way they were before, and what would you even do if they don’t. “I’m not sure — ”

“I am,” he tells you, earnest and excited. “Before long, you’re not going to have to worry about anything anymore, babe, okay? I’ve got this.”

He pulls you into another hug, not seeming to mind that you can’t seem to get yourself to relax into it, into him as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s all going to be just like we always talked about,” he promises you, and you want so badly to believe him. “You remember?”

You do. Only now, sometimes you wish you didn’t.

*****

Joel has grown to like this part. To realize just how much he prefers using his hands to build things up instead of break them down, the physical proof of a hard day's work showing up in a way that doesn’t involve blood or bruises. For the most part.

Accidentally clipping the side of his thumb with the hammer, Joel hisses out an annoyed breath, briefly letting the pain pass before going right back to it.

A few hours from now, Hunter’s Gym would be playing host to a match between one of their boxers and another local. Nothing too high stakes but enough that they still expect a small crowd, a phenomenon that the gym is not really built to accommodate without needing to move a large amount of equipment as well as hastily construct wooden bleachers that Joel will only have to take right back down tomorrow.

Shame, he thinks as he lines a nail up into place, because he’s building them solid enough to last. Or at the very least to save them from a lawsuit.

After another swing of the hammer, Joel steps back, surveying his progress as Charlie comes by and gives an appreciative whistle.

“Looks good,” Charlie says, slowing his stride to linger beside Joel. “You going to be done in time?”

Joel gives him a look, crouching down and grabbing some more nails from his toolbox as he answers, “Have I ever not been?”

“Of course not,” Charlie answers, clearly considering him. “Just surprised to still see you here. Figured you would have left by now.”

Normally, Joel would have. Most fight days he only sticks around long enough to get things ready before heading home for a few hours, returning just in time to make the fight but to miss the mind-numbing meet and greet.

However, as discussed, Sarah had gotten up early this morning and left with his truck to pick you up, her full plan – as of last night – being that the two of you would come back to the house after the market to hang out for a bit. Which it isn’t that he minds you at the house. Better you there than with that jackass you’re still dating but… seeing you at the gym is already hard enough.

Not hard. Just enough. Enough to already make him feel like he’s losing it.

“I’m happy to fuck off if you’d like,” Joel tells him, straightening back up and extending the hammer in Charlie’s direction, knowing he would sooner have Joel hit him with it then pick it up himself. “Just say the word.”

Just as Joel anticipated he would, Charlie takes a full step back from the offending object before grinning and saying, “That won’t be necessary. However, if you are planning on sticking around until the fight, you know people would love to see you. Joel Miller is still a draw.”

“Sure,” Joel replies, grinding his teeth as he turns his back on his boss and grabs for another board. “Happy to.”

“That’s great,” Charlie says, clapping a hand on his shoulder from behind with enthusiasm. “I have a few contacts I’d like to introduce Tyler to before things get going. Do you know when he’s getting here?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” Joel says, placing the board and starting to drive in a nail with force. “You should check with him.”

“It would lend real weight to have you there as well to speak to his potential,” Charlie continues as if Joel hadn’t spoken at all. “Your stamp of approval. I know you weren’t sure about him at first, but he’s come a long way, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Joel mutters, lining up another nail. “He’s really something.”

Ever since that day where you had come in late, Tyler appears to have undergone some sort of personality transplant, unbelievably managing to become a version of himself that was even worse than the one before.

At least that had felt authentic while this version… The pasted on smile and the good boy routine he trots out every time you’re in the vicinity makes Joel’s skin crawl. Makes his fingers twitch at his side each time Tyler makes a point to kiss you when you show up and each time you leave with his arm around your shoulders.

He wants to tell you not to believe it, not to trust a mask that can so easily be taken on and off at will, but the uncertain look on your face each time Tyler does it tells him that you already don’t. Not entirely. Not yet.

“You did talk to him about attending, right?” Charlie asks, still buzzing in Joel’s fucking ear. “Because I’d hate for him not to – ”

“Seeing as how I’m not his fucking secretary,” Joel snaps, rounding on Charlie who takes a wise step back. “If you want to make sure he’s here, then I suggest you call him.”

In the following beats of silence, Charlie holds up his hands in surrender, giving the hammer in Joel’s hand a sideways glance before leaning forward and clapping him on the arm.

“I’ll do that. Try to blow off some steam before tonight, yeah? So you can be at your best?” Charlie suggests before walking away. “Bags are still up in the back corner.”

Until he hears Charlie’s office door shut behind him, Joel remains right where he is, more out of stubborn commitment that Charlie not be right than true disagreement with the suggestion. The overwhelming tension in his frame cancels out any counter argument he could attempt to make.

He’s tried. Tried to not think about it. About you. Tried to bury himself in work to focus on anything else. But it’s like everywhere he turns…

Only once he finishes the job does Joel head for his office, setting the toolbox by the door and going for the locker he keeps in the corner to pull out his tape and gloves. Neither used nearly as often these days as they once were although the muscle memory will remain in him until the day he dies.

Joel’s left hand flexes, palm open and fingers spread as he starts to wrap the tape. Thumb to wrist. Wrist to hand. Wrist to fingers. Around and around until he reaches the end and has to start over on his other hand.

With his gloves now hanging by his side, he walks back out onto the gym floor, and a few faces turn in his direction once they realize where he’s headed. A few more coming closer so they can see, even though he’s already started not to see them.

From the moment he’s standing in front of the bag, Joel can feel the shift. Even before he straps each glove into place, he can feel all of it fading into the background as another version of him steps forward.

And then he becomes an onlooker, too.

*****

“Right. No, your right. Okay, now left. Shit.”

You're laughing so hard you’re close to breathless, the sensation not helped in the least bit by the fact that you and Sarah are trying to negotiate a massive and ancient trunk up the narrow stairs of her house.

“Are you sure you emptied this first?” you ask, trying to glance behind you as you make your way up the stairs backwards. At least five steps since you lost the feeling in your fingers.

“Um,” Sarah huffs, then starts to look doubtful. “Crap, I might have put those books I found in there so they weren’t rolling around the truck bed. Well, too late now.”

The two of you manage the last few steps until your feet blessedly hit the upstairs landing, and Sarah is directing you again.

“Room on your left. No, right.” She laughs at herself. “It’s the one with the butterflies.”

You nod, heading that direction even as your eyes inevitably stray quickly to the other. Past an open door and into a room with blue walls and music posters, a dark wooden bed and unmade tan sheets, the sound of a whirring fan and an open window.

Joel’s room.

No sooner do you think it then it’s out of view, tucked away back in the hallway as you’re swallowed up by a bedroom of pale pink and pastels.

“Where do you want it?” you ask, looking around until she jerks her head in the preferred direction.

“At the end there,” she tells you, maneuvering until the trunk is at last deposited at the foot of the bed with the two of you along with it.

“Sorry,” Sarah offers, still sitting against the trunk just as you are while she catches her breath. “Was heavier than it looked. Should’ve waited for my dad to help.”

Your stomach knots at every mention of him, nervous energy that only seems somehow magnified now. Who knew seeing someone’s messy sheets could make you feel so… distracted.

“We did alright, though,” she says, leaning her head back against the trunk. “Wish you would have lucked out, too.”

“It’s okay. The hunt is the best part,” you reassure her, not wanting to admit that you had actually seen plenty that caught your eye, just not anything you’d been willing to pay the price for. Not right now. Especially not with how things are between you and Tyler.

You’ve heard it before. You’ve heard all of it before. So why are you still listening?

“I am starving,” Sarah says from beside you, getting to her feet with a groan and brushing herself off. “What do you like on your pizza?”

“Whatever you want is fine,” you tell her, hoping it’s not the mountain of jalapeño peppers that Tyler always insists on. “You sure you’re okay with me sticking around for a bit?” Your friendship with Sarah is still so new. A sudden bright spot in your day that you didn’t have before and you find yourself constantly worrying that you’ll overshadow it by asking for too much. Even if the pizza and movies had been her idea in the first place.

“Of course,” she tells you with a warm smile, holding out a hand to pull you to your feet. “Unless you’d rather I took you home?”

“No,” you say a little too quickly, trying to cover it by clearing your throat. “No, I mean, I was just checking. Tyler’s at the gym anyway, so not like I need to rush back.”

Yes, let’s not rush back to sit alone with our thoughts.

Sarah tilts her head as she looks at you, that same assessing stare that you’ve seen Joel use on more than one occasion, and you wonder what both of them see when they look at you.

“Everything okay?” she asks. “With Tyler I mean? You can tell me to butt out, but just in case… Just wanted to check.”

You sigh, honestly surprised she’s waited this long to ask. Especially considering the things you’d said at the diner and the fact that the only image she has of you and Tyler together is you shoving a sack lunch at him and storming away. From her perspective… not exactly ideal. Or yours for that matter.

“He’s trying,” you tell her, still not sure how to feel about it yourself. “He’s, um… He didn’t have the best examples growing up, and, I know, how it seems, but he is trying. And I just…”

Sarah gives you a sympathetic smile, and you wonder if she thinks you're stupid for staying with him or, even worse, thinks you’re weak.

“You love him,” Sarah says, reaching out and squeezing your hand as she completes your sentence for you, and you simply nod in agreement, following her back towards the stairs as she starts to review movie options and you start to wonder:

Does it bother you more that loving Tyler wasn’t the explanation you’d been planning to offer? Or that it hadn’t occurred to you that it should have been?

*****

It’s ten by the time Joel gets home, pulling Sarah’s car into the spot beside his truck, and irritably unfolding himself from the small interior to get out. Tired down to his bones with no intention of doing another thing on this earth but taking a hot shower and falling into bed.

He knows from the moment that he gets in the door, however, that won’t be the case.

Splashing the front living room in blue light, the TV is playing the ending of what Joel is positive is one of Sarah’s Dawn of the Wolf movies, though he can never keep straight which is which even after seeing them in theaters and several times since at Sarah’s insistence. One he can only assume she’d made tonight as well, though as has been the case since she was small, she doesn’t appear to have made it to the ending.

Fast asleep on the arm of the couch, his daughter doesn’t even register his arrival. But for a change, she’s not the only one there to greet him.

You get up from your spot on the other end of the couch as soon as you see him, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room as if you’re not sure if you should be here at all.

“She fell asleep,” you explain quietly as you gesture gently in her direction. “I didn’t want to wake her.”

“She does that.” Joel lets his own voice stay slightly more normal in volume as he steps closer to grab the blanket off the back of the couch and drape it over her. “Don’t worry, it would take a natural disaster to wake her up.”

Joel straightens, standing a few paces away from you in low light that makes you look even softer than you usually do. Angelic even if he’s not sure he can still confidently say all his thoughts are leaning that direction.

“I was just going to call a cab,” you say, shifting from foot to foot as you meet his gaze. “Sorry, I’ll do that and get out of your hair.”

You look away, reaching for your phone in your pocket, and he knows it would be smarter if he just let you. If this time he actually did just let you go, because –

“I can drive you,” he tells you, already moving to trade keys on the key hook on the wall while you protest, “Oh, no, Joel, you don’t have to do that. I really can get a cab.”

He gets an image in his head of you being dropped off on some dark street alone, and his resolve deepens, “It’s no trouble.”

“If you’re sure,” you say softly, coming closer to him as he starts to head back towards the front door. “I don’t want to put you out. I tried texting Tyler but he said he’s still at the fight.”

Joel frowns while he still has his back to you, thinking that over. Was Tyler still there when he left? A few people were but had Joel seen… He can’t remember. Although, to be fair he had gone out of his way to avoid the asshole all night.

“Promise, it’s no trouble,” he tells you again as he turns back, moving then to open the front door and hold it until you pass by, still worrying at your bottom lip and looking guilty. As soon as you’re out on the front stoop, he follows, starts to lock the door behind him until he quickly goes back in to leave a note on the side table for Sarah:

Took her home. Be back.

Love, Dad

Back outside, you look just as nervous as you did in, your fingers knitting together as you stand near his passenger side door and wait for him to unlock it. When he goes to open it for you instead, the surprised look on your face makes him think even less of Tyler than he already does.

“Thank you,” you murmur, taking his offered hand to climb up into the truck cab. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

He looks at you. At the hesitant smile that’s on your face now. At the way you look sitting in his truck.

“I’m sure.”

*****

The drive is quiet, but your thoughts are loud. Empty streets passing by and low music playing as you try to think of something to say beyond your one word replies to his questions on if you’re too cold or if you want him to change the music. Anything that isn’t the question circling around and around in your head:

Is this really okay?

He made it seem like it was but there’s still a part of you that’s whispering that you were wrong to take him up on it. To want to so badly.

He’s just being nice. He’s being nice and you’re being weird so just say something. Say anything. Now.

“Fight?” you ask abruptly, your voice sounding too loud after the long minutes of silence. “How was the fight?”

He shrugs, turning his truck to the right as he follows the directions you gave him. “Alright. Pretty standard.”

“Did we win?”

“We did,” he says, the way the corner of his mouth turns up visible in the glow of the streetlights. “Clean fight, too.”

“That’s good,” you reply softly then pause, already apparently at the end of that series of questions. “Did you, um…”

You’re searching again for a while, looking again for words to say so that you don’t have to focus on the way your stomach flips every time you look at him.

“Did you always want to be a boxer?” you ask finally and immediately wish you could be swallowed into the bench seat.

Gripping. Gripping conversation. Why don’t you ask him his favorite color nex —

“I didn’t.”

You look back over at him, surprised by his answer. Having assumed that someone who was as good as he was must have wanted to be.

“You didn’t?”

“No,” he says simply, pulling up to a stoplight and flipping on his turn signal as he waits for it to change. “Was just… the option that presented itself.”

“Sounds familiar,” you mutter, your heart hurting for him as you rest your head back against the seat and turn to look out the window. “Really familiar.”

The last of the drive passes with no more words than the beginning had, although somehow it feels different than it did then. Even your thoughts seem content to be still for a while as you watch Austin pass you by, waiting until the moment Joel pulls up outside your apartment to look his way again.

“This it?” he asks, eyeing your tiny building as well as the cramped street. Not judging… just surveying.

“This is it,” you confirm, not wanting to leave now that you’re here. “Thank you again for the ride. You really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he tells you, looking like he’s about to say something until he sees your hand hovering near the door handle. “I’ll get it.”

Opening his driver’s side door, Joel gets out onto the dark street, his shadow looming large as he passes through the headlight beams on his way around to your side. Helps you out just like he helped you in, only this time when your feet hit the pavement neither of you move, lingering in close proximity until you remember exactly where you are.

You look away, first to the empty parking spot on the street and then to the dark windows on the third floor. Tyler still not home.

“I could walk you up,” Joel offers, looking where you are. “Make sure everything is — ”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you tell him, stepping away and grabbing for your keys in your purse as you try to think how much Tyler would lose his mind to come home and see Joel Miller in his apartment.

Although if he had just picked you up, you wouldn’t have had to get a ride home so…

When you reach your lobby door, you turn back, give Joel a small wave just before you put your keys in the lock. Let yourself have one more look back before you turn them and —

Stuck. The door is stuck again.

“Everything alright?” Joel asks, still standing by his truck although he seems to have taken a step or two forward at the first sign of trouble.

“It’s the damn door again,” you say over your shoulder. “It doesn’t work right.”

You try again, taking your keys out and putting them back with no success, and you’re about to let out a frustrated groan right before a large pair of hands covers yours and takes over.

“Let me try it,” he mutters from beside you, careful to keep a respectful enough distance that his body isn’t touching yours though you have an overwhelming urge to close that gap.

Instead you watch as he fiddles with the keys along with the handle, apparently searching for something known to him although you’re not sure what until he gets it and the door swings open.

“How’d you do that?” you ask him, nearly annoyed at how easy he’d made it look after the thing had nearly brought you to tears at least a dozen times.

“You gotta play with it a bit until you feel it catch,” he tells you, pulling the door shut again so he can demonstrate. “You try.”

Sure enough, you manage to get it on the next go under his instruction and are practically beaming when you do. Silly considering how small a victory it is.

“If I’d known it was that easy, I wouldn’t have bothered the landlord.”

“No,” Joel says, sounding suddenly serious. “You should definitely call your landlord. It’s not safe for you to have a door that doesn’t work right.”

“Sure, I’ll tell him. I really bet he’ll listen this time,” you quip, your tone enough to convey your doubt, although it turns to laughing when Joel takes out his phone to take a picture of the building management information on the door.

“What are you doing?” you ask, watching him check the picture before stashing his phone away. “You’re not going to…”

“If he’s not here fixing it tomorrow, let me know.”

“Joel,” you start, not sure what it is exactly that you want to say before you’re turning towards him, but then you’re not sure you want to say anything at all.

He’s so close. Did he come closer or did you?

Because you’re having to tip your head back to meet his eyes in a way that you didn’t before, now able to see the way he holds your gaze before his own drops down to your mouth, your throat.

The way Joel looks at you makes you feel fuzzy, like everything around you has dulled and faded out except for him. You are so aware of him all the time.

“Joel,” you murmur, and his eyes lift back up to yours. He takes a quick breath in, beginning to say your name until someone else beats him to it.

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