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Divertissement | III

Divertissement | I

Divertissement | II

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x fem!oc

Summary: Three Years after Tabitha Carmichael abandons Frankenmuth and her childhood friends—one of which being her ex-boyfriend—she returns in hopes of mending burnt bridges.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, explicit sexual situations (later chapters), explicit language, mentions of underage drinking/drug use, mentions of child abandonment, mentions of homophobia

Words: 8.3k

***This is fiction (obviously) if you don’t like it, feel free to block and breeze by this.

In the five days to follow, the boys wrapped up their run with the Struts, to which Josh described as a “mind numbing” experience due to the fact they were beat down from traveling back to back for so long and for so much, by the end of it.

While they finished up their stretch of work, I was at home trying to get back into the swing of mine—picking up my old job I worked while in high school at the gymnastics and cheer center Sierra acquired when I was in middle school.

Except when I went back, I put my kinesiology degree to use as a coach instead of working reception, which only reminded me how much of it I had lost since I first started throwing my body around in elementary school.

Every backbend resulted in a ‘pop’ that made me almost collapse at times despite the fact I maintained the flexibility and technique to do it correctly—every tumble and twist held an echo that would make it almost impossible to find comfort once it was all said and done.

Most days I’d go home, take some Tylenol, soak in epsom salt and slather myself in Icee-Hot and take it easier the following day, but on one Friday, I was feeling well enough to grin through some drinks and food at Slo’ Bones with Beth—who had messaged me as soon as she heard I was back in town.

I take in the square shaped, overhead of lights rooted to the ceiling, the noise growing as more and more people begin to pile in from their treks from work or home, Beth’s own voice growing distant as she rambles on while my eyes scan the room.

The last time I was here, Josh and Jake kept getting sidetracked coming to talk to me and Lee, even when co-workers would scowl at them or tap them on the shoulder in passing to remind them they’re not getting paid to have lengthy conversation—to which Josh would always quip, “I’m optimizing the customer experience!” or “No one wants to eat anywhere they’re not acknowledged by staff!” before quickly stealing a kiss and running off to put his nose back to the grindstone.

Jake would only roll his eyes and grumble under his breath before trudging away to do the job he signed up for.

They both, however, would spiel on and on to anyone willing to listen about their band, outwardly admitting that as soon as everyone was out of school, they’d be long gone and wouldn’t ever see the inside of their highschool work-place ever again as an employee.

“Tabby?” I’m pulled from nostalgia, Beth staring at me as I look up and see our waitress, who’s patiently waiting with raised brows.

“Refill?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, yes.” I nod, and she grabs my cup and steps away from the table.

“But anyway, enough about me.” Beth picks right back up, and I pretend I absorbed anything she said after mentioning her and Luke breaking up because he slept with Lauren Cotter. “What have you been up to?”

“Well…I finished school, and moved back home.” I shrug, ending it there.

“Okay, you say that like you didn’t run off and stay gone for years!” She argues with a laugh at my simplified explanation. “Which, understandable. If I had been able to, I would've left as soon as I heard about Luke and Lauren. But that didn’t surprise me, really.” She admits. “I mean, not like Josh and Sara did, at least.” She speaks it so casually.

Only I’m bridled with pure confusion.

“Josh and Sara?” I inquire curiously, unaware of what exactly that’s supposed to mean, waiting for her to explain as her delicately pretty, somewhat freckled face turns a ghostly shade of white.

I can see the panic in her eyes as she grapples to find an explanation to smooth over what seems to have been word vomit.

Pushing her dark blonde bangs from her face, she breathes out, “Okay. Sara and Josh were ‘together’ —if you would even call it that—for, like, two weeks a little bit after you left. Everyone assumed he cheated on you with her and that’s why you guys broke up—which I know that’s not why you broke up, but I only know that because I was ready to kick some Kiszka ass when I heard about it, and Josh didn’t want me to flip shit on Sara, too.”

“Too?” I get a small smile from the image of Bethany Claire, who stands at 5’10’’ and has maintained her athleticism, and could probably throw someone if she needed to, tearing through town and handing Josh his own ass.

“He explained it after I went off on him.” She then adds, “Which I felt like shit after because he let me go and on and didn’t bother to be like, ‘Hey, Beth, shut the fuck up and listen for two seconds,’ which, sure, I jumped to conclusions, but what the hell else was I supposed to think? All I heard was he and Sara made out and obviously that math didn’t quite add up because you two had only been split for a month and a couple weeks, and he was supposedly so hurt over you leaving, but then was running around with Sara.” She throws her hands up. “Then he was confused as to why I thought he would ever actually stoop that low.”

“So, what was going on, then?” I ask, hoping to clear the befuddled clouds of disorientation of my own mind.

“I’ll explain it when we get back to the car.” She assures me, glancing around as if it doesn’t need to be spoken in public incase someone overhears.

“Okay.” I leave it there as we turn over to other topics of conversation like her sister having a baby, me starting to work for Sierra again, before flipping back to her dropping out of college where she held her pursuit of veterinary medicine simply because it was a lot more difficult than one could imagine.

Before long we’re reminiscing on our fair share of thrills before I graduated high school and everything changed—back when all we really worried about was who was driving, and could their vehicle fit the mandatory four, and an addition of Sara from time to time.

Never without Neil Young, or Jimmy Hendrix, Tom Petty, Eric Clapton or Bob Dylan, and at least one John Denver or Beatles song was necessary on the ride to whatever unoccupied field Beth’s family land offered us.

Then comes the “Remember when?”s.

When Beth and I streaked bare foot through a corn field on a drunken dare, and a fucking goose got after us, leaving Jake and Josh both in tears from cackling so hard as they watched on from the roof of Beth’s Jeep.

Then of course the time we spent the night hunkered down in the woods, hiding from the cops that had busted up one of Marley Atkin’s field parties, or Josh wearing my cheer uniform to cheer me on when I played in the Powder Puff match.

Or the time Lee officially became Jake’s hero after cussing out Coach Hughes for demanding Beth and I be dismissed from athletics after he overheard Mallory Whitaker talking about a party we were all at, even though Beth and I neither consumed any alcohol, or drugs at the party—once Lee started throwing curse words around due to the teacher refusing to accept my brother’s voucher of, “Tabby and Beth swear they weren’t drinking or doing drugs and I believe them, especially since there’s no proof,” Coach Hughes calmly stated, “I believe this will be settled better in the Principal’s office,” to which my brother replied, “I believe this will be settled better in the parking lot if you keep on about them two girls lying when they’re not.”

By the time the night winds down, we’re both doubled over, the corners of our eyes raw from having to wipe stray tears, our cheeks aching from smiling and our stomach’s sore.

And when we finally decide to leave arm-in-arm to keep one another upright as we giggle, I’m smacked in the face with a cloud of cigarette smoke as soon as my heels hit the pavement of the parking lot, followed by an all too familiar, “Hey, Tabby.”

Beth’s smile fades, not even trying to hide her disgust for the perpetrator of the attention, and I’m turning to look over my shoulder and Spence, who's apparently working here, now, on a smoke break.

“Hey.” I reply, feeling Beth tug at my hand, digging me out of a trap she thinks I’m about to set for myself, only to quickly pipe, “It was good to see you.” Before following her, but he doesn’t accept my dismissal, jogging after us as he says, “Wait, wait, hold on.”

“Fuck off, Spencer.” Beth hisses.

“She’s still pissed at me for not telling her Luke was sleeping around on her.” Spencer tells me.

“She doesn’t wanna talk to you.” She adds as we approach her Jeep.

“How do you know? You’re not even giving her a chance.” He argues.

Beth stops, raising her brows at me as if to say, “Well…do you want to speak to him?”

I have no reason not to…we didn’t end on bad terms, and I have no partner to stay loyal to.

But I feel as though I do, picturing the pair of brown eyes that would only empty out more disappointment onto me if he knew I entertained “Spencer fucking Benak” again, once more in the name of “getting my groove back.”

“It was good to see you again, Spence.” I repeat it with a smile, releasing Beth’s hand to step around the passenger side door as she lets out a smug, “Hmm,” flipping her blonde hair and climbing into the driver's seat.

“He just needs to let it go.” She adds as we pull from the parking lot, heading back to my house as I stare out the window. “Fun while it lasted, but move on.”

I glance at her, unamused with her dragging of the subject, and she raises her brows.

“The reason Josh and Sara had to make it seem like they were a thing was because Spencer was telling everyone Josh was gay, and that’s why you left town.”

“He what?” I grit out, immediately snapping my attention back to her, nearly turning in my seat to face her fully as she nods.

“Which, isn’t even technically true being that Josh has never outright labeled himself but of course Spencer didn’t even know the full story and wouldn’t have cared either way. He just started a random, bullshit rumor because he was mad that you left and needed someone to blame it on, but of course Josh swore he knew something somehow, and so he and Sara put it all to rest.”

“Why the fuck couldn’t you tell me that before I was nice to him back there?”

Rage doesn’t begin to describe the sudden urge to knock Spencer in the face with the heel of my shoe.

“Because it’s all blown over now, and there’s no need to dig it all back up.” She says to me, keeping her eyes on the road.

Biting my tongue, I delve into my mind, my head starting to hurt at the thought of anyone deliberately trying to make Josh’s life hell on account of me leaving, as if I’m worth torturing someone over.

“Did he think I told him?” It sounds almost frantic as I ask it, unable to bear the possibility of him thinking I would ever tell anyone the details of our relationship, let alone details that are so personal and sacred to him, meant to be shared in his own time.

“He didn’t want to, but, I mean, you were the only one who really had any idea of it back then aside from Jake. But he talked to Sara about it, and she found out from Naya that Spencer didn’t actually know anything about what happened, and just made it up to be a prick.” She rolls her eyes. “And I was lost and confused from the sidelines because I didn’t have any idea what the fuck was going on.”

She and I just look at one another again, briefly, before I’m closing my eyes and resting my head back against the seat as Beth turns the radio up.

When she drops me off at home, I’m quietly stepping inside to avoid possibly waking Lee and Sierra up because every light in the house appears to be off except for the porch light.

Sitting my keys on the counter, I slowly pull my heels from my feet and carry them in-hand, stepping silently to my room to see the glow of the guest bedroom being lit up by the lamp that sits on the bedside table.

The door is ajar, open just enough for me to catch a glimpse of my brother looking down in concentration, striking a resemblance of someone I’ve only ever seen in photos, and on rare occasions when he visits me as I dream.

My brother is the mark of our father.

At least I assume as much–he certainly looks exactly like him from the photos and few home videos we’ve managed to preserve, even his voice, in all its thickly woven, southern drawl, holds the same energy that my father’s gave up when he passed.

I don’t remember him, but from how Lee always spoke of him, his kindness, his creativity, his love and warmth, his regard for those he loved…I knew that Lee had captured fragments of him, and in doing so, I believe that to know my brother is to know my father, truly.

I was one when he died, and Lee was thirteen.

It only thwarted my brother from a normal coming of age, and spring-boarded him into “the man of the house” because my mother slowly started losing herself in a bottle the older I got.

His dream was initially to be the next Johnny or Hank, riding out of here encapsulated in song and a blaze of glory, once he realized there was no way of that happening, he put everything he could into football with the hope of getting the hell out of Beaufort.

He managed to score a full ride to Clemson University, where he met Sierra who had got in through cheerleading.

She wanted to go pro, while he just wanted to graduate, make whatever he could out of agricultural business management and save up enough money to put me and mom somewhere comfortable so he wouldn’t have anything to worry about when it was time to tuck the diploma away, take to the stage, and kick the footlights out, so to speak.

Everything came to a crashing halt, however, his sophomore year in college.

Ironically enough, he was in the midst of enjoying his freedom, locked in an epic keg-stand when he got a phone call from mom hitting her peak in a meltdown, begging for him to come home and take me.

You can probably imagine how quickly it sobered him to hear, “I can’t do this anymore. I need you to get your sister. I can sign custody,” at twenty years old—or how daunting it was for Sierra to hear, “I think I’m about to have to raise an eight year old,” from her boyfriend. And although one might think it wouldn’t have been as easy for him to get custody of me as it was, there were things the State of South Carolina deemed neglectful enough on my mother’s part.

Within two years Lee and Sierra were married, I was adopted, and both of their career goals and life dreams were put on the back burner to make me the priority.

I suppose that’s why Lee reacted to me storming out the way that he did.

Only I didn’t realize exactly how badly it affected him…

There’s a scattering of faded photos littered across the plush carpet of the floor of the guest bedroom, shrouding my brother who’s sitting with his back leaned against the bed.

It’s been five days since our discussion about my indiscretions while I was in Texas, and five days since he drunkenly aired out my laundry in front of my old friends.

Unable to figure out how to start that conversation, I haven’t been able to approach him and apologize more sincerely, pride stepping in the way the moment I try to choke out any words.

But I know if I don’t start the conversation, it won’t get started—because he can go months without speaking to anyone, aside from Sierra, if need be to prove a point.

I open my mouth to break the silence, only for him to cut me off with a soft chuckle and a curious, “Do you remember this?”

Stepping to him, I pluck the picture from his hand when he offers it up, and sit opposite of him, pushing the photos on the floor aside neatly.

It’s a picture of me, Jake, Josh, their sister–Veronica, and Sammy, all of us perched on the dock located where we used to go to stay at the lake, wrapped in brightly colored beach towels and holding sandwiches, smiling toothily at the camera.

“That was the summer right after we moved here.” I recall, narrowing my eyes to focus on a very faint dusting of green skin between my nose and my lip, the recollection of it suddenly striking me, “Was this…?

“Yep.” He confirms. “Right after you got that damn green jelly bean stuck in your nose, and Sierra and Karen had to hold you down and blow it out, while me and Kelly had to distract the boys and Ronnie. You got bright green snot everywhere.”

His deep, belly laugh is one I’ve missed, not realizing exactly how much until I see it, now, and it only grows when he looks at the next photo.

“Oh, hell.” His face turns red as he coughs, carrying on his cackle as he hands it over.

It’s a picture of me at five years old, adorned in cheap, bright, cream colored fabric, paired with big angel wings and a golden, tinsel halo that sits crookedly on my head.

I look like a baby bird the way you can only see my mouth as I stand center of the other kids dressed as Mary, Joseph, and wisemen.

I do, indeed, remember it vividly.

“The loudest rendition of ‘Mary Did You Know’ to date.” He chuckles, making me join him the longer I linger on the memory.

“Stella was pissed I got to sing.” I recall, while the little redhead playing Mary shows her annoyance plainly in the photo, but my eyes train once more on the smaller version of myself.

How painfully hopeful she was.

“You curled my hair for this.” I add.

“Tried to at least.” He shrugs. “Those damn pink and purple rubber rods…”

“You burnt my ear trying to fold one.”

“Oh, I ain’t forgot.” He promises. “Thank God I mastered hair tools by the time prom came around.”

“You sure did.” I agree, smiling at him, the memory of him curling my hair for prom only makes the pull of my lips to grow.

Rubbing my lips together, I hand the picture back and move closer, sitting beside him to see the photos as he does.

“Speaking of prom!” His head leans back, more laughter ripping through the air as I grab the picture.

It’s him from his senior prom, adorned in a rented tux that settled around him a little too snug, fixed with his blonde hair styled into an almost mullet-type of structure, pairing perfectly with the equally as blonde Callie, who’s lime green dress nearly swallowed her with the amount of tull leaching from it.

The picture was clearly taken when he’s in the middle of a conversation with her, the pure joy showing plainly on his face.

He looks happy to just be standing beside her.

“Whatever happened to her?” I ask of his first love, handing the picture back, to which he states, “We broke up half-way into my first semester at Clemson.”

“Oh…” I remember her never coming around anymore, although I assumed it was clearly because Lee wasn’t even around.

I just recall her not being in the picture anymore when he got me.

“Why’d you two break up?” I don’t know why I ask, maybe out of curiosity, or maybe to prove my own suspicion that relationships are more trouble than they're worth, and everyone naturally loses passion…or maybe it’s just Carmichael kids that have shit luck with years-long relationships withstanding some long-distance.

He looks off, nearly hesitating to say, rubbing his lips together as he breathes out.

“I met Sierra.” He honestly confesses. “Which, I loved Callie, but with Sierra…” His head shakes as he thinks about it, a dumb grin reappearing before falling like molasses as he reflects on his first love. “Callie was what I needed in high school. That stupid, naive, dumb, first love that tricks you into thinking you’re gonna get married straight outta school and stay together forever. Until progressively, you got that voice in your head telling you you’re not in love anymore, and it’s just a matter of time before you can’t tolerate going through the motions miserably…” He then smiles again, so vivaciously that his eyes almost close. “But the second love is what really runs you ragged.” He adds. “Like you’re just on fire and it don’t even have anything to do with lust, or even passion, because you can have those with anybody–and neither of those do what it feels like any justice, but whatever feeling it is, it doesn’t go away.” It unsettles me somewhat to understand what he’s trying to describe, though I’m still dismissing mine with the typical stereotype of the girl who feels eternally attached to a guy she had sex with once, chasing after the feeling ever since. “It’s not even that you need to be with them, it’s just a solid want to.” He adds, clueless to my own thoughts.

It’s a small ramble, one he has to pull himself out of before he goes on an outright tangent about his wife, “Callie was alright, though, after the break up. She and Wyatt Bradshaw ran off together and got, like, five kids now.” He finishes.

The mention of children poses a new question to me, one I’ve always wondered but never quite asked, “Lee?”

“Hmm?”

“How come you and Sierra never had kids?”

He still fumbles through pictures, not bothering to stop as he thinks for a moment, finally pausing and glancing at me.

“Well, we had you, and wanted to get you taken care of before trying to focus on anything else.” He explains, before raising blonde brows and adding, “We talked about it when you went to college.”

“You did?”

I always pictured what they’re children would be like, how vibrant and enthusiastic—how pure.

“Yeah.” He nods.

“Why didn’t you?”

His smile fades, being wiped away with only three words, his green eyes hazing over as if he’s being plunged into an abyss at the back of his own mind.

“Well, I wasn’t really in any shape to.” He answers my question casually despite the fact I can tell the actual explanation is far less nonchalant. “And it wouldn’t have been fair to Sierra to agree to start a family and then not be very present.”

I want to dig my heels in more, coax out what exactly was the issue, but I can’t bring myself to continue on with the way he reflects on it without hashing out all the gore.

I only cling to the image of him christening the kitchen sink drain with the rest of the beer in the fridge, an action that I always thought was blasphemous under this roof until I witnessed the sight with my own eyes the day after he said what he did in front of everyone.

He appeared to have been crying excessively from his blood shot, swollen eyes and damp face, very clearly remorse-ridden from embarrassing me.

All it did was make me wonder if there was any particular reason they’re keeping stronger alcohol out of the house—and now apparently any alcohol at all.

He seems to be reading my mind, because he clears his throat and begins, “And about the other night—”

“—Lee, you don’t—”

“—No, now, let me talk.” He cuts me short, raising his brows before I nod and allow him to continue, “I’m sorry I said that in front of everyone. It wasn’t anyone else’s business and I had no right to say a damn thing about it until you were ready to.”

“You were drunk, Lee, I know you wouldn’t have done it any other time.” I assure him, knowing too well that I’ve had my own share of inebriated stupidity.

“But I knew better.” He argues, refusing to allow me to relieve him of his responsibility. “So, I’m sorry for doing that.”

“Well, I’m sorry for not telling you anything. You didn’t even know I was dating anybody until I called and told you we were married. And you didn’t know we had split until…” I trail off, my voice growing shaky with the words. “I’m sorry, Lee. And, you know, I’ll work on including you more. I really will.” I promise.

“Yeah?” He questions, his hand quickly wiping at his eyes to diminish any possible tears of his own from showing.

“Yeah.” I nod, my stomach knotting up as I add, “In fact, would you like to know about the most recent events your sister has gotten herself into?”

“Do I want to know?” He asks, to which I nod.

“Oh, boy, do you.” I make myself comfortable, crossing my legs and settling back against the bed fully before I vaguely explain the shitshow taking place between Josh, Jake, and myself–refusing to disclose what exactly occurred between my ex-boyfriend’s brother and myself.

He just listens as I carry on, not a single flinch in his expression when I bring up “something” happening between Jake and I at that party, and then “something else” happening a couple weeks later, as if he’s not shocked by it.

And finally, the last shred of admittance that I think might surprise him, “I wanted to leave, anyway, but after that happened with Jake, I really, really wanted to go because I screwed everything up even more…so me leaving didn’t even have anything to do with Josh, it was just easier to tell myself it did because I didn’t want to admit that his brother made me feel something that I hadn’t felt in years.”

“You were just too comfortable to notice it was missing until someone else reminded you of it.”

“Yes!” I’m relieved when he puts what I’m feeling into better words. “Exactly. And I was devastated when he broke up with me, and felt blindsided because everything was ‘fine,’ but then the thing with Jake happened, and after I left and started reflecting on all of it I realized that Josh and I were just settled together because that’s what we both assumed we needed to do. We’d been together for so long and had invested so much that it just made sense for us to stay that way.”

He rubs the back of his neck, once again not saying anything in return in case there’s more I need to get off my chest.

It’s when he realizes that I’m done, that he apprises, “I’ve, uh, already had this conversation with the other half of this clusterfuck.”

It’s now my turn to be out of the loop, my brows threading together as I turn to face him completely.

“What?”

“Jake came over about a year after you’d left, just to blow off steam and play out back, and then he started apologizing—saying you left because of him…and then it all just came out…” He throws out, glancing at me and I spring to defend myself.

“I was hurting, and confused, Lee, I didn’t mean for it to take that turn and—I didn’t even know he felt that way about me, I just—”

“You had to have known a little bit, T.J., or else you wouldn’t have even felt comfortable enough to even try to…” He waves his hand to finish his sentence because he doesn’t want to think about what exactly Jake and I might’ve done together, all while I pinch the bridge of my nose.

I look at him after he doesn’t say anything else, to see him staring at me with a knowing look, daring me to deny it but knowing I can’t.

“I think everyone—even Josh—knew he had a little crush on you–”

“--It’s Jake, he has a little crush on any girl he thinks is pretty.” I remind him.

“The way he talked that night he was over here…years of keeping his mouth shut and just looking at you while you were looking at his brother…eat up with guilt that he couldn’t shake you off his mind, even with years worth of trying.”

I can’t picture Jake feeling anything for me when I was with Josh.

The betrayal to his brother would’ve been too severe.

“Well, rest assured, he’s not looking at me anymore, so it’s settled.” I pat his leg, pulling myself up to stand as he only lets out an unconvinced, “Mhm,” followed by me ignoring it with a sing-songy,“Goodnight, L.C.” I use his rarely worn nickname as I step to the door.

“Yeah, g’night, T.J.” He replies in an exaggerated sigh, most definitely mumbling an innocent rant about me under his breath as I go to my room.

I couldn’t sleep any that night, too spun up with regret after Lee informed me of his conversation with Jake.

Had I truly been just that oblivious?

Jake would flirt from time to time, but that was how he operated—that’s how every Kiszka operated—kind, eccentric and dizzying, endlessly entertaining, and easy to get swept up in.

If anything, I assumed it was Beth that Jake ever felt anything more for, the way he would look at her from time to time…though it stopped at once the moment she and Luke got together because he was repulsed she’d ever give him the time of day because he was a raging asshole like his best buddy Spencer, that’s what turned Jake off of her and onto me subsequently.

The Monday to follow started like all the days that I didn’t have to drag myself out of bed and chug some form of caffeine to begin to function for work: staring up at the ceiling and contemplating joining my chipper sister-in-law—who was always disturbingly overjoyed to watch the sunrise and then cook breakfast for me and Lee.

However, it had been well past sunrise, and the way she was knocking pots and pans together, mixed with the smell of food that didn’t match that of any breakfast, piqued my curiosity enough to lure me out of my room.

“...What?” I furrow my brows as Sierra goes over a mental list in her head, ensuring she has everything she needs.

“Go grab your swimsuit and come help me with this cooler.” She repeats what she had ordered as soon as I stepped into the kitchen and asked what was going on. “Lee’s gonna get the dip.” She adds, motioning to the dish perched on the counter.

“Swimsuit for what?” I groggily inquire clarification, still not able to fully open my eyes from the lighting beaming down in the kitchen.

She raises her brows.

“Okay, I know that the last summer you were home, you and Josh were not speaking anymore, so you didn’t bother to appear in the pass-time of drunk slip-n-slide kickball, however, you, Beth, the boys are old enough to participate in the ‘drunk’ part, now, and since they beat us the last time you played, it’s only fair you come this time to avenge our winning streak.” It’s as if when she’s speaking, a realization comes to her mind, making her expression fall as she starts up again before I can reply. “Oh, shit, no, because of your back.”

It’s now, when she threatens the opportunity for me to partake in a festivity I haven’t attended in years, that I decide I actually do want to.

“I can take Ibuprofen or something.” I argue, adding, “I’ll be drinking, I won’t even feel anything.”

“Okay, we don’t need to think that way, firstly,” She points out, cautiously, before adding, “Secondly, you’ve barely been making it through a shift, Tabby. I don’t want you to screw it up worse than it is.”

“It’s kickball, Sierra.” I argue. “Not the Olympics.”

Famous last words…

The sun spreads across my skin as we stand out in the soft grass of Beth’s expansive backyard that offers flat, even ground, while she and Josh bicker in the midst of divvying up teams.

Mr. Kiszka and Danny’s father are assisting Lee and Beth’s dad in ensuring nothing laid across the grill gets too charred, while Karen and Lori are trying to mediate between Josh and Beth.

“I want either Lee or Sierra. That way we distribute the athleticism.” Josh states to her, white sunglasses in the shape of gigantic, cartoon beer mugs making it almost impossible to take him serious as his thick brows furrow in confusion as she retorts, “It’s already evenly distributed because you have Danny—”

“Golf?” Josh asks her, screwing his face up as he spits it out before quickly turning to add, “Not to say it isn’t a sport,” to Danny who’s eyeing him particularly, amused with his attempt to pull his foot out of his mouth, Josh turns to Beth to continue, “but it doesn’t require one to run, and run fast, or throw one’s body around.” He adds, motioning to me, Beth, and Jake. “And if you stack your roster with two cheerleaders, a football player, a soccer player, and a track star–”

The feeling of ice against my back has me jumping out of my skin, Jake chuckling as the condensation from his beer drips down my spine from where he teasingly pressed the cold, wet glass between my shoulder blades.

He stays angled half-way behind me, extending his left hand to offer me some of his drink.

I only shake my head as Josh and Beth continue their back and forth, and I use it as a means of ignoring the sweltering that’s rolling through me from him behind me.

“You’ve got a golfer, and a volleyball player, and you did karate.” Beth argues with Josh, to which he pipes back, “Does Karate count as a sport?!”

“You guys have Chrissy,” Lori jumps in calmly, optimistically reassuring him in reference to Beth’s mom, who went back inside to grab plates, “She played basketball in High School.”

This all started when names were drawn to determine team captains, and then the draw for teams were done, with Beth very pleased with her pick thus far, and Josh's brown eye twitching at the thought of losing.

The bright orange, lycra string tied around my neck is pulled on, next, and I snap my head around to Jake once more, who holds his hand up and defends himself in a hushed, “Some of your hair is caught in it, Tabby,” his brows raising over the brown plastic of his sunglasses.

I sigh out and grab his beer so he can use both hands to free the strands at the nape of my neck that I hadn’t felt get caught in the tie of my bikini.

Having to keep myself still as he gently tugs at my hair, I wait patiently as the back and forth happening before us carries on.

Soft palms pat into shoulders when he’s done, and I hand him back his beer before pulling my hair into a ponytail that he once more lends a hand to smooth to avoid shorter hairs being left out.

If I had more alcohol in my system I’d probably be panting like a dog under his attention and touch.

“…Also, it’s not like we still even have ‘it’.” Beth adds, waving her arms toward herself, “I’m not waking up every morning sprinting,” She motions toward us. “Jake’s not chasing after balls…” She goes on her rant that I don’t hear the rest of because I’m too distracted with Jake nudging his bare chest into my shoulder blade where he stands behind me, his lips ghosting my ear as he mumbles, “Such poetry,” causing me to look over my shoulder with a grin, and when I move closer to say something in response, he leans forward to give better access to his ear, warm skin flush against my own while I whisper back, “Would it be inappropriate to bet on this game?”

“That’s why he’s so passionate about it.” He says with a snicker, his right hand holding at my right side to steady himself after one too many drinks, “He doesn’t want to lose his ten bucks.”

“Only ten?” I sarcastically ask, causing him to smile mischievously. “I don’t know, Jake, I think if anyone can win against a leg-up just to prove a point, it’s your brother.”

“Thirty says we rock their fucking shit.” It’s said so confidently, covered stonily in the thick, blunt British accent of his alter ego. Reaching my pointer finger up to catch his glasses on the nose, I slide them down just enough to see his eyes as they stare into mine. “Easy.” He adds, cutting his eyes for emphasis.

I can’t help but fail at stifling a laugh at how abrupt “Oliver Fucking Reed” comes out of him, and he tries to keep a serious face, only to also fall defeated as he and I giggle amongst the rather serious kickball debacle.

“Me and you are on the same team. How do you know I won’t throw the game just to win the money?” I ask softly once I’ve calmed myself.

Tilting his face closer to mine to deliberately invade my space the way I’ve done his, he smartly reminds me in his regular voice, “Because you’re too competitive to pull punches even if it doesn’t benefit you,” he unwraps his middle finger from his bottle and lightly pokes the end of my nose with it.

He’s not wrong.

“Fair game, and if they lose you owe me thirty dollars.” He states as he pulls his right hand from my side and holds it out to me, his eyes dancing over my face with a daring glint, waiting for me to accept it or not.

I pretend to think about it, stalling a reply to keep those brown hues fixed on me.

“You’re so on.” I finally grab his hand, and we shake on it, Josh and Beth still going as Lee shouts, “It’s ready!”

Lunch is eaten with Josh and Beth finishing getting their teams in order: Josh gets, Danny, Danny’s little sister—Josie, Sara, Chrissy, Sierra, Ronnie and Karen, while Beth obtains, me, Jake, Josh’s friend—Matt, Lee, Sam, Lori, and Beth’s dad—Trace.

“You are a child.” Beth tells Josh as she tips her red solo cup back to finish her drink, stepping into the kitchen to throw her plate away while Josh calls out, smugly, “You’re just pissed that my team’s still got ‘it’,” motioning to Sierra and Josie, Danny’s younger sister avidly faithful to her spot on the high school Volleyball team.

Sierra offers him a nod, the two of them exchanging a high-five.

“Don’t encourage him.” Sam states to Sierra as Danny says, “No, no.”

“He’s already got the lead-singer syndrome going, Cece.” Jake explains. “It’s really an uphill battle to keep him humble.”

The “uphill” they speak of is only steepened further within the hour.

“Run, Josie, run, Josie, run, Josie!” Josh is screeching it, jumping and spilling his drink in his hand where he’s next in line to kick, the youngest Wagner stealthily high-tailing it across the slippery plastic of the waterslide that’s stretched between the kiddie pools marking Second base and Third base.

She dives into the bright pink, inflatable pool being used as Third base in the nick of time with a loud splash, Lori exclaiming, “Good job!” with a small clap of her hands despite being on opposing teams.

“I’m about to lose thirty fucking dollars.” Jake groans to the sky where we stand in the outfield.

“Josh is never gonna let us live it down.” Sam complains in the same tone.

I just take another swig of my Smirnoff, waiting for Josh to kick the ball.

When he does, by some miracle, Jake catches it.

Josh’s mouth hangs open, completely shocked and irritated with the turn of events as everyone erupts into laughter.

“Ha! Out!” Beth calls with a cackle as we start switching positions, their team still ahead of us in points.

She and Josh exchange words in passing as Sara laughs at them, Lee handing the ball off to Josh to pitch to me.

“I don’t care that you’re a girl, I’m not going easy on you.” Josh warns me, to which I reply, “You wouldn’t even go easy on me when we were dating, ass,” recalling all too well his ruthless competitive streak.

Chuckling knowingly, his pink tongue flashing between his white teeth smugly as he winks at me, he pitches the ball and I kick it, carefully scurrying along the waterslide to First base, laughing the entire way, trying not to spill my drink as everyone shouts different things.

Once I’ve reached the safety of the pool, my team bursts with clapping and cheers while the ball makes its way back to Josh.

I see Jake step up to kick, middle fingers flying at his brother, maintaining their position even as he kicks the ball perfectly—so perfect in fact, there’s plenty of time to spare.

“Run to third!” Beth hollers to me as I stumble into second base and Jake makes it to first.

Everyone’s jumping, even the dads sitting in their lawn chairs stand in excitement as they shout for us to keep running.

It only amplifies when I make it to third and hear repeated, “Home! Home!”

Screaming and yelling outright ensue as I run as steadily as I can on the slickend material, Josh getting the ball and throwing it to tag me, missing me by a hair which only buys Jake more time to run to third while I have time to slide into home.

I gasp from the fast shot of sharpness that knicks at my back, my hand flying back to knead out the spasm close to the base of my spine as I wince, dropping my vodka cranberry into the pool with me in the midst of trying to aid myself.

“Hell.” I hiss, Josh coming back to say some smart remark, only to stop, standing over me as I sit in the water of the small pool, disappointedly saying, “I can’t shit talk if you’re hurt. What’s wrong?”

“My back.” I grit out in a wince, trying to take even breaths.

“What?”

“I fucked my back up cheering.” I explain as the spasm starts to unwind somewhat.

“…And you’re playing this?” He barks, scoldingly, offering me a hand to take and pull myself up.

“I’m benching her.” Lee assures him as he approaches.

“I’m okay.”

“T.J., you got us at a tie, you’ve done your part, go sit the rest out.” He pats my back dismissively.

I look at Josh as he nods in agreement, pointing a sharp finger toward the patio furniture and spouting, “Fuck off.”

A small part of me is relieved that I’m being dismissed.

Sunburnt, buzzed, and hot, I walk into the house wrapped in my towel, and grab my bag of extra clothes, heading to Beth’s bathroom to go ahead and shower.

I’m as careful as I can be not to trigger another spasm, getting cleaned and smearing the steam from the mirror when I step out of the shower.

My cheeks are red due to me not reapplying sunscreen, a couple bumps and bruises from the day showing on my damp skin.

I get my hair squeezed out in my towel, the process interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Who is it?”

“Jake.”

“I’m in here.” I retort, hoping he’ll leave it there, but he doesn’t.

It’s like he can’t help himself and he has no intention of helping me, either.

“I know, that’s the point.” He states.

I crack the door just a little where I can look at him and quietly say, “I’m not dressed.”

“I’ve seen everything anyway.” He reminds me with wide eyes and a shrug, obviously still feeling the effects of his drinks through the afternoon.

If he were stone-cold sober, he wouldn’t have come near me today, let alone tease and soak up me doing it back.

He’s still in his black swimsuit bottoms, shirtless and soaked from his own time in the kiddie pools, his sunglasses pushed into the damp tresses of his hair

“I owe you thirty dollars.” He explains to me, waving his wallet.

To keep anyone from seeing us, to keep us private, I open the door and allow him to come in, where he proceeds to shut the door behind him, pull cash out, and count it up in front of me.

“…Twenty-Eight, Twenty-Nine, Thirty.” He hands it over to me after counting it up and folding it neatly.

“We lost?” I question, accepting the cash from him.

“Sierra kept catching everyone’s ball.” Is all the explanation he bitterly offers to me.

“Well, maybe next time my back won’t be doing this and we can win.” I grimace as I keep my towel up with one hand, the other reaching behind me to massage at the place I feel trying to grow tight once more.

He tosses his wallet to the counter where I’ve also set aside the cash he gave me, and he says, “Do I need to?”

It’s more than likely the alcohol I’ve consumed that has me nodding my head desperately with tears threatening to swell in my eyes as the pain begins to increase. My hand is doing no good at easing it in the slightest.

Moving behind me, his fingertips collide with mine near the bottom of my spine while he asks, “Here?”

When I grab his hand and place his fingers more accurately, his eyes grow bigger, looking at me in the mirror as he states, “I can fucking feel that.”

“Mhm.” I nod, clenching my teeth together as he tries to soothe it.

Once I realize the fluffy gray towel is hindering my relief, I say, “Is it okay if I drop this a little bit?” while pulling at the back of the material.

He nods, turning and looking at the floor while I readjust the material, a slew of profanities following as I try to catch my breath as the issue at hand grows more intense, and once I’m finished, I’m holding the towel to my chest but it’s draped loosely right above my ass, the whole of my back exposed.

“Okay.” I quickly get it out with the hopes he’ll quickly snap around and make it all go away.

He turns to face me, clearing his throat as his flesh returns to mine, his heat alone already feeling better than the staleness of the towel.

“Here, right?” Jake asks me, staring at my back when he questions it.

“Right here,” I guide his hand another inch to the left and he nods, adding, “Yeah, that’s it,” as he feels the muscle twitch and pulse.

My eyes close and I wallow in his touch, at one point the fingers of his right hand shift into the thumbs of both hands, offering more pressure and better leverage as his palms rest against my skin and his other fingers hold at me.

The sensation has me wanting to snap open my eyes while my thighs press together subtly with the springing of sinful thoughts that rush forth in my mind.

But I control myself, my knuckles going stark white as I cling to the towel at my chest, digging my nails into my palms in the process.

My lungs take in heaps of air but that can be blamed on the pain, not the fact I feel like I’m going to combust with the way he kneads at me before uses his leverage to slightly pull me back against him, my ass brushing against him briefly, his voice soft and scalding against the skin of my neck as he asks, “Is that better?”

I’m positive if he weren’t holding at me, I’d be hitting the floor due to my knees feeling like jelly.

The spasm has subsided, but I don’t want to lose his handling.

Trying to play it cool, I nod, looking at him in the mirror with a small, grateful smile despite my heart feeling as though it’s beating out of my chest.

I look over my shoulder at him as if not seeing him looking me over in the mirror will help some of this tension subside.

“It’s better. Thank you, Jake.” I say to him, our faces too close to disperse any of the thoughts I’m having.

I expect him to offer a, “No problem,” and get out of here fast, but he keeps his hands on me, allowing them to slowly ghost across my sides, watching my reaction to the feel of him, while he looks at me with a self-satisfied pull on the corners of his lips, seeing right through the composure I’m trying to maintain.

“Is it better?” He asks me, not bothering to disguise the fact he’s referring to a different discomfort than I am.

No, I didn’t notice a difference in the air around him and I until that night we first kissed.

In fact, that was all it took to get my mind off of my first love completely—like an addict getting a hit from a stronger, achingly delicious substance, chasing after the feeling that first taste brought on like no other...but I had to think clearly in the moment for the both of us, because he would've done so for me.

It’s now my turn to put the more sober foot forward, returning the favor he gifted me when I was too drunk to think clearly and had first started this clusterfuck to begin with.

“Jake, we can’t…” I start and finish all in a few words as his hands roam to trace over my ribs, his lips running along my shoulder before his left hand slips from under my towel, his knuckle brushing along the flushing skin of my right cheek, his nose nudging at mine, eyes heavy as he whispers, “It’ll feel so good, though, Tabitha…remember?”

“I do.” I sigh out, nodding. “But I remember what came after.” I softly remind him of the hurt that chased after our time, cupping my hand over his that holds my face. “I don’t want you to have to be wasted to want to touch me, Jake.” I add.

His brows shift in thought as if I’ve brought forth an epiphany to him, the muscles in his jaw tensing as he draws back from me.

I tighten up the towel around me, stepping aside and staring at the floor as he reaches for his wallet on the counter.

Once the door shuts and I’m left in the bathroom, I take in a full breath, feeling like I haven’t been able to breathe in ages due to suffocating in his heady presence.

#jake kiszka #jake kiszka x oc #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka fanfic #greta van fleet fic #jake kiszka smut #jake gvf #josh gvf #sam gvf #danny gvf #josh kiszka #greta van fleet

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