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fortheloveofwonderland · 8 days

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Rusty | Chapter 12 | S.R

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Chapter Summary - In the wake of Luke’s visit, you and Spencer are forced to be honest with one another. How will a former FBI Agent react to discovering he’s been harbouring a fugitive?

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - heavy on dialogue, graphic depictions of violence and murder, past abuse, death of a parent, swearing, tears, prison arc, Cat Adams, dissociation, brief mention of past addiction, making out, use of term “rape”, fingering, oral (f receiving), male masturbation, confessed feelings.

WC - 6.2k

Chapter 12 - Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

Silence.

As a little girl the sounds of silence ringing throughout your home was a warning sign. Silence was an indication that something wasn’t right, something was deeply wrong.

The rare moments in which voices weren’t exploding off of walls, reverberating through the halls, cracking, rumbling, echoing within the house filled you with dread, morbid anticipation for when their raucous feuding would begin again.

Silence in the Reid household derived the opposite, offering a privileged repreve. The small windows in time when his mother was lucid, instead of screaming so loudly that walls shook, were a wondrous abatement of his responsibility.

When she simply slept as opposed to yelling that they were coming to take her away. Silence was a solace, enjoyed but not necessarily revelled in, because he knew all too well it wouldn’t last.

It went a long way to explain the fundamental difference between the two of you. Where you always tried to fill those deafening voids of quietude, Spencer fought to let them pass freely and for as long as they pleased.

It was so still in the lodge that you could hear the wind rustling through the long grass outside. If you really focused you could even hear the far off sounds of the horses in the stables.

It was the kind of quiet that left you on tenterhooks, the kind that came before an all mighty eruption. The calm before the storm. The tranquillity before the chaos. The respite before all hell broke loose.

You and Spencer didn’t know each other at all and that was startling apparent now. But thanks to Luke’s visit, it was time to dig up all those secrets you’d both tried to bury from one another.

It was the witching hour. The be all and end all.

You had relocated to the couch while Spencer was unable to sit still. He paced the length of his living room while you toyed with your hands in your lap. The longer he patrolled, the more he limped, but he didn’t let it slow him down.

He raised his good hand and threaded it in his hair. He entwined his fingers in the locks and tugged at his roots. Grounding. Tethering. He was trying not to divorce his mind from the situation.

It was almost an hour spent like this after Luke’s departure. Neither of you wanted to speak for fear of what you might say, what you might unearth. But it was an inevitable conversation and eventually one of you would need to break this fractured silence.

Normally that would fall to you, but not this time. The words wouldn’t come, you were still too busy trying to wade through all of the information. For a time you were at a stalemate, neither of you willing to be the first to break the silence.

But then with a huff of breath, Spencer finally stopped pacing before he wore a hole in the floor and glared at you with the kind of gaze reserved for the criminals he interrogated back in his previous life.

“I'm gonna need you to explain to me why my ex Fugitive Hunter, ex boyfriend has a file with your face on in his possession.” His voice was surprisingly steady, not loud but not quiet either. Not necessarily angry but certainly not untroubled.

You leaned forward, your elbows on your knees. You scrutinised him with your gaze, locking eyes with him to show you were not to be intimidated.

“And I’m gonna need you to explain to me how an FBI Agent wound up in prison before falling off the grid and uprooting his whole life to live out some cowboy fantasy.” You retorted, not willing to give it up so easily.

Spencer’s eyes darkened, you saw his jaw pulse as he clenched it. He was most definitely not budging on this.

“You first.” He growled.

You continued to stare at him, offering him your full attention but not a single word. His jaw oscillated furiously, you swore you could hear the grinding of his teeth.

“I swear to god if you don’t tell me everything I will call him back here, Y/N.” He spoke again when you didn’t make a sound.

You run your tongue around the inside of your mouth, weighing up your options. You had very few. You could make a run for it but Spencer was no doubt faster and he was closer to the door. You could try and lie to him but now you knew he’d been a profiler that wouldn't be easy.

If your gun wasn’t in your glovebox, you might have considered shooting him, not that you wanted it to come to that. You did care about him after all.

Your final option was simply to tell him the truth and await his reaction. If he called Luke then you could reassess the situation. For now, all you had was the cold, undiluted truth.

“I told you about my mom and my stepdad.” You began with a tenuous breath. “After I found out she died, I confronted the son of a bitch. I couldn’t stop myself. He as good as admitted to me that he killed her. I didn’t go there to hurt him, at least I don’t think I did. But I did take my revolver.

“He almost immediately started beating on me like I knew he would. I thought maybe if I let him hurt me just enough I could go to the cops. But then he got me up against a wall, his hand around my throat and I thought this is it, he’s going to kill me. So I had to act fast.

“I pulled out my gun and I shot him in the stomach. As he was stumbling backwards I emptied my magazine into the bastard. But it wasn’t enough. He was dead, sure, but it wasn’t enough. After everything he’d put me and mom through, it wasn’t fucking enough.

“So I reloaded and shot him six more times. A neighbour must have heard the gun fire because the cops showed up pretty fast. Everything was a blur. I somehow ended up in a cell, my fingerprints taken, my DNA.

“I had to remain in holding pending trial as I had no one to bail me out. Eventually when the trial came, I was charged with manslaughter two. Seven years. Seven fucking years.” You paused to take another breath. Tears were readily falling down your cheeks at this point and Spencer’s expression was unreadable.

“The guard that was transferring me upstate was a real soft touch, young and green. I’ll admit I manipulated him, got him in a compromised position and I escaped.

“I spent about six months on the run. In the meantime I guess I must have fallen on the radar of your ex boyfriend and his partner. I knew I recognised him when I saw that photo in your room but I never saw him up close, only once from afar. It was his partner that finally caught up to me and I was put back in prison.

“I spent a year in a max security facility. A few weeks ago there was a prison break. I almost didn’t leave. Almost. But I did. I ran and I fucking ran and I kept running until I find some cowboy injured on the side of the road. I'm not proud of what I did, Spencer, but if I had to do it all again I wouldn’t change a thing. So you can call Luke back but I will run again. I am not going back to prison, I would sooner die.”

You stopped talking and were once again met by a long stretch of silence. Spencer started to pace the room again, his expression still blank and you had no idea what he was thinking. He didn’t make an immediate grab for the phone so you could only hope there was a small chance he might not turn you in.

You watched from the couch as he walked back and forth, back and forth. Every now and again he would huff out a breath and rake his fingers through his hair. You didn’t know what to think, and it unnerved you.

He wasn’t entirely surprised in truth, he’d known you were running from some kind of trouble. The signs had been there, and there had been many. And they all spiralled into the forefront of his memory.

“What if I rob you? You don’t know me, I could be a criminal.”

“You’re not gonna rob me.”

“You couldn’t possibly know that.”

“I'm good at reading people. You have a trustworthy face.”

——

He didn’t miss the way you jumped a little at the initial sound and how your body seemed to go rigid at the sight of the flashing lights.

——

“What do you do?”

“This and that.”

——

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Deflection. Answering a question with a question. You are in trouble.”

He suddenly stopped pacing, looking back at you. His face didn’t give away what was going on in his head, perhaps that was deliberate. His body went rigid as he sucked in a breath and then deflated as he exhaled.

“Four years ago I was arrested for drug possession and later charged with murder. I was framed by a woman I arrested about a year prior. She used a partner on the outside to get me in a compromised position, drugged me so I couldn’t remember what happened. I spent three months in prison while my team worked to prove my innocence. But in the meantime, Cat, the woman pulling the strings, had my mom kidnapped.

“I have not been the same since then. When I was released I tried to continue as normal, like nothing had changed. But I was changed. Three months inside felt like three years and it destroyed the very fabric of my being. I can’t imagine what a year would have been like.

“The first time I suffered a dissociation was when I had to come face to face with Cat again after my release. I thought she’d had my mom killed and I got her up against the wall with my hand around her throat. And to make matters worse, she was pregnant.” He grimaced a little now, clearly he was seeing the similarities between what he’d done and what your stepdad did to you. You wanted to tell him it wasn’t the same but he spoke again. “I still to this day don’t remember doing it. For a few seconds I blacked out and when I came back around my friend Jennifer had wrenched me off of her.

“And then it happened with Luke.” He choked back tears. “He tried to…touch me and my mind just divorced itself. The next thing I knew I had his arm twisted behind him, pinning it to his back. That’s when I knew I had to leave. If I wanted to keep the people I loved safe, I had to leave. My medication helps to a degree but I’m not the same. I’m never going to be the same. I couldn’t be an FBI Agent anymore when I couldn’t trust myself in the field. What if I dissociated and killed someone? No, I had to take myself out of the equation.”

You could see the unshed tears behind his eyes but he was determined not to let them fall. Your own were still rapidly rolling down your cheeks but you didn’t care. You’d kept this all bottled up for far too long and it needed to come out.

He stood staring at you, rolling his lip between his teeth. What did this all mean? Where did the two of you go from here?

“So what now?” You sighed with a shrug of your shoulders. “I wouldn’t blame you for calling him back. You might not still be an agent but you took an oath once upon a time. Protect and serve, right?”

Spencer was mulling over your words, nodding his head slowly. He cupped his jaw, brushed his fingers over the scratchy stubble. You weren’t sure if it was an attempt to ground himself or just something he did when he was deep in thought.

“I should call him. I know that I should.” He dropped his hand again, his eyebrows pinched. You could almost see the internal debate happening in his head. “But…I know what it’s like to be pushed to the darkest realms of your mind, to feel like violence is the only way out.

“If Cat had killed my mom, I wouldn’t have hesitated in doing the same to her. And I would have slept well after. There are three particular men from my past who if I ever saw again I would, without doubt, kill. So if I were to call Luke, it would be hypocritical of me. Because I understand why you did what you did. And honestly? I don’t blame you.”

You choked on a sob and it wracked your frame. Your emotions were coming in huge waves and you couldn’t see an end in sight.

“Is this a trick?” Your voice wet with tears. “Did you somehow alert him and he’s on his way back here? Are you trying to distract me?”

Spencer surprised you when he laughed, shaking his head at your question. He finally moved closer to you, dropping down to the couch. He took hold of your hand in his good one and laced your fingers together. He smiled gently at you, his eyes soft as he looked at you.

“No, Y/N, I swear to you this isn’t a trick.” He croaked. “Do you believe in karma?”

Your brow pinched deeper, unsure where he was going with this.

“Yes, very much so.” You nodded.

“Me too. Although I hate to admit that because I’m a man of science and logic. But I do believe that what we put out in the universe has some bearing on how we are compensated in return. You and I aren’t that much different. We’ve both seen our share of immense trauma, both had to face things no one should ever have to go through.

“But I’m starting to think that maybe us finding each other was the universe's way of cutting us both some slack. Maybe we are each other’s rewards for the atrocities we’ve been forced to face. I have no intention of turning you in, and if you run anyway, I would be inclined to follow you. Because I think we need each other. I think we’re just two lost souls who found each other just when we needed one another the most.

“I spent my whole life feeling as though no one understood me, alone in a constant sea of people. But since I met you, I’ve felt seen for the first time in my life. Even before I told you all of this, I think you saw something in me that resonated with you. I think ultimately, we’re one in the same; two peas from the same fucked up pod. I think I’m…” he trailed off, swallowing a lump that suddenly formed in his throat. “I think I’m falling in love with you and I think I want to let myself.”

Somehow his confession caused more tears to fall from your eyes and he was quick to let go of your hand and cup your cheek so he could brush them away. He held you with a delicacy you’d never experienced before. No one had ever been so kind, so gentle with you. No one had ever looked at you the way Spencer was right now.

You’d done a terrible thing and you knew it. Although you didn’t necessarily regret your actions, and you certainly weren’t missing any sleep over Leon's death. But because of what you’d done you’d resided yourself to being alone. No one in their right mind would ever accept for you for who you were and where you’d been.

But Spencer Reid - Doctor, SSA whatever he was - didn’t just accept you but he understood you.

It was intrinsic. A deep seated comprehension passed between you. Perhaps Spencer had a point, for all your collective wrong doings, all the trauma you had both suffered, maybe the universe was offering you to each other in compensation.

The tears continued to fall and he didn’t stop wiping them away. The look he was giving you told you he would always be there to dry your tears. He briefly removed his hand from your face and took yours again, pulling you to your feet with him. Once you were both standing you instantly fell into his outstretched arms.

You nuzzled your face against his chest and he encased you in his arms. His cast pressed against your back but if you felt any discomfort you didn’t mention it. His other hand meandered up and down your spine, rubbing your back in a calming manner while you sobbed into his t-shirt. It occurred to you that this was the first time he’d ever hugged you.

In return you wrapped your arms around his waist, holding him so tightly he felt the air being squeezed from his lungs. But he didn’t care. Not in the slightest.

He lowered his head, resting his cheek on your crown. His breath fanned through your hair, his strong, comforting hand scoring up and down your back whilst his heart beat could be felt from your proximity.

Never in your entire life had you felt so secure than you did at that precise moment in time.

You’d spent so many years running from the prospect of closeness, hiding your heart away from the world. After losing your father so young and then your mother at the hands of her second husband, you had learnt to never depend on anyone.

In Spencer you had found a kindred spirit. He had built up the same walls around his heart, guarding himself from the world with the same careful precision you had. He didn’t let people in because he, like you, had been burnt in the past.

But as he held you in such a tentative yet unyielding manner, you could feel the defences you’d carefully curated start to crumble to dust.

Spencer's approval and resolute understanding of the very fibre of your being was resoundingly stalwart. You knew as he tightened his grip on you that he would be forever unwavering in his adoration and protection of you.

“Spence?” You whispered, wiping your eyes on his shirt before looking up at him.

He lifted his own head and brought his good hand to your jaw. Your chin rested in his large palm while his fingers caressed your cheeks.

“Yes Y/N?” He whispered, glossy eyes peering down at you.

“I think it’s only fair that you know…” you trailed off, sucking in a breath, preparing to speak words you’d never said to another person before. “I also think I am falling in love with you too. And at this point, I’m too far gone to stop.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief and chuckled lightly before brushing his lips over your own.

“Please don’t stop.” He mumbled into your lips. “Because I have every intention of catching you when you are ready to fall.”

“You know you’ll never have a normal life, right? I’m on the run, I’m always going to be looking over my shoulder.”

“Y/N I have never known a normal day in my life.” He laughed. “I’d rather be looking over my shoulder forever with you by my side than ever be without you.”

“You really do know all the right things to say, huh?” You smiled up at him, your heart wrapped in a warm blanket of affection.

“Not usually.” He shrugged. “But you make it so easy.”

He brushed his lips over yours again, keeping his hand on your face, holding you as if you were a fragile bird.

“No more secrets?” You asked, eyes pleading.

You noticed something flicker across his features briefly as he drew in a breath.

“In the interest of transparency, the real reason I don’t drink is because I had a drug problem. A long time ago now but, uh, yeah.” He puckered his lips.

“Wow, you really are messed up.” You chuckled. “I have a trunk full of cash which I took from my mom’s safe after I killed my step dad. And the car outside is stolen. I took it from a junkyard and changed the plates so no one should be looking for it, but it’s always a possibility.”

Spencer closed his eyes for a few seconds, nodding his head in understanding.

“Might be best to get rid of it at some point.” He mused out loud. “Where did you get a cell phone if you’re on the run?”

“It’s a burner.” You shrugged. “I mostly relied on a paper map and my own instincts whilst travelling but I needed it just in case. Good job I did too because otherwise you might still be out in that desert.”

“Lucky for me.” He kissed you again, more passionate than before, his tongue edging into your mouth to deepen it.

It was a strange and alien feeling having someone know you so completely, and not only know you but accept you.

He was soon leading you back towards his bedroom and the two of you climbed into bed together. You undressed each other down to your underwear before Spencer started to tense up. He pulled back from your lips and stroked your hair back off of your face.

“I, uh, I thought I was ready but…” he trailed off with a fractured sigh.

“You’re not there yet.” You finished for him.

“Not quite.” He admitted, a faint blush spreading to his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m trying.”

“Please don’t apologise to me, it’s okay.” You brushed your knuckles over his stubbly jaw. “Spence, I have to ask…”

His eyes snapped closed and his body stiffened. He rolled away from you until he was on his back.

“Please,” he mumbled. “It’s been a lot today. Can we just…?”

“Okay,” you agreed, although not placated by his answer. “Can I…at least hold you?”

His body seemed to relax a little at that and you saw his head nod against the pillow. He held his arm open and you curled into him, resting your head on his chest and draping your arm over his stomach, careful to avoid his wound he hadn’t yet redressed.

His skin was warm against the side of your face and you closed your eyes, breathing him in. He tucked his own arm around you, resting his hand on your hip and brushing his fingers against your flesh.

There were some things he simply couldn’t talk about. A part of him wanted to, a part of him wanted you to know him inside and out. And maybe one day you would. But he was exhausted by this day and needed to keep this one thing close to this chest.

Telling the woman he was falling in love with that he was raped was not exactly high on his priority list.

***

When you awoke you were on your side facing the window. From this angle you could see pieces of the rolling expanse of land bathed in the early morning sunlight through the slatted blinds.

Spencer’s casted arm was around you, one of his knees pressed between your own thighs, his front flush against your back. He was already awake, that much you were certain of as his lips were peppering kisses along the side and back of your neck.

You nuzzled back against him to let him know you were awake too, and he held you tighter. His hips grinded against your ass and given that between you there was only your flimsy panties and his boxers, it was inherently obvious how hard he was.

Less than twelve hours ago he said he wasn’t ready for anything like this but you weren’t going to complain.

Spencer had woken up like this, pressing against you, holding you for dear life. He’d been standing at half mast in his pants before he opened his eyes. With his brain still addled by sleep, he was going to take advantage of it and just let himself give over to this.

He kissed along your jaw bone, fingers that peeked out of the cast brushing over your ribs. The cast was impeding what he wanted to achieve and he grumbled a little against your skin.

“Can we, uh, relocate?” He mumbled.

“As in?” You croaked out a reply.

“Same position. Other side.”

You nodded against the pillow before rolling over to face him. Spencer was particularly uncoordinated in his attempt to clamber over you, lay himself down and resume spooning you.

He tucked his casted arm under the pillow and his good hand was now able to freely wander your body. He forced his mind to stay in the ether, somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. He needed this, he needed to feel connected to you, more so than he already did.

He didn’t waste time with the preamble, didn’t want to allow his mind to be fully aware in case he started overthinking it. He brushed his fingers over the waistband of your panties to which you moaned in response.

Taking that as a green light, he manoeuvred his knee back between your thighs to wedge your legs open and let his hand slide inside them, instantly moving towards your clit.

You gasped at the contact of his deft index finger pressing against your bundle of nerves, wiggling your ass back against his crotch.

Spencer started rubbing intricate circles on your bud, closing his eyes and burying his face into the back of your neck.

You were already completely soaked and it drove him wild to know he could have this effect on you before he’d even touched you.

His ministrations were fast and desperate, and he started rutting against you in no time at all. You had barely escaped the blankets of sleep and your head was still hazy.

His finger flicked and pressed with adept precision. He knew exactly what he was doing and your moans were testament to that.

You were already spiralling, falling into the depths of pleasure bestowed by him. You rocked against his hand, fitfully to increase the friction.

His heavy breaths on your neck and his hardness rubbing up against your ass cheek were only adding to it. You wanted to turn your head, look at him, kiss him; but he kept you pinned to his chest.

Your thighs were trying to clamp around his hand as he toyed delicately with your clit, but his knee was in your way. You heard him chuckle darkly into your hair.

“What? What do you want?” He mumbled, his lips pressing against the skin of your neck.

“M-more,” you simply whined.

Spencer thrust against you, the feeling was mutual.

Suddenly he withdrew his hand from your panties making you whine like a feral dog. He then shuffled backwards, pulling you roughly by your shoulder until you were on your back.

He quickly knelt over you, his eyes dark and pupils blown wide. His messy bed hair hung in his face and a sinful smile was adorned on his lips.

He kissed you hard and fast, tongue plunging into your mouth and messily exploring its contours. It only lasted a moment before his lips trailed down your jaw and to your neck.

He sucked deeply at the apex of your throat, you could already feel a bruise to begin to form in his wake. But then his lips continued to trail lower…

He kissed the swell of your breasts over your bra, down between them across your sternum. Brushing over your ribs they kept getting lower and lower until…

A wanton moan escaped you as his lips ghosted across the waistband of your panties. Spencer smirked against them as he raised his hands and started pulling the fabric down out of his way.

You kicked them off your legs, looking up at him with large eyes.

“Is this what you want?” He spoke against the skin of your hip bone.

“Y-yes…” you whimpered. “Yes p-please, Spencer.”

“Not Spencer,” he smirked at you. “Call me Doctor.”

You whined loudly, arching your back off of the bed.

“Fucking hell.” You panted. “Why is that so hot? P-please Doctor. Need it. Need you.”

He growled at your use of his honorific, straining painfully at the front of his boxers. He let his lips graze lower, breathing in your natural scent.

You instinctively parted your legs wider and Spencer settled between them, gazing between your legs like he’d just found the holy grail.

There was a point not so long ago when the idea of intimacy, specifically oral sex, would have sent him spiralling into the darkness. But right now he needed his face between your legs with an unadulterated desperation.

Perhaps had you been a man it might have been different. In all honesty he knew he’d never be able to perform oral sex on a man again. Chances were, he may never be able to receive it again either.

Your glistening cunt spread before him was the most dizzying sight he’d ever beheld. And although it had been an extremely long time since he’d been here with a woman, he still knew exactly what was needed to pleasure you the way you deserved.

His forearm came down on your stomach, pinning your writhing body to the bed. He edged his face closer and closer until you could feel his breath between your legs.

And then the flat of his tongue swiped through your slicken folds, collecting your arousal on the muscle and swallowing you down.

He moaned at your taste and it vibrated through you. You wiggled beneath him but he held you down harder with his arm.

He was purposefully slow in his movements, making you desperately squirm against him in the need to get him where you so badly needed him.

His facial hair was rough between your legs, causing a friction that was unimaginably pleasurable.

He allowed his tongue to dance between your folds, teasingly avoiding your clit. You whined as your fingers dove into his hair and tried to tug him higher by his roots. A laugh escaped him, dissolving between your legs.

“Someone’s impatient.” He mumbled, swallowing down more of your bitter arousal.

“Can you blame me?” You panted, wrapping your legs around his neck.

He chuckled again, placing a kiss on the inside of each of your thighs. And without warning he plunged back between your legs like a scuba diver taking to the ocean and drew your bud into his mouth.

You gasped loudly, fingers curling into his thick locks and gripping them with all of your might. He suckled your clit, his tongue swirling around it in the most jaw dropping way conceivable.

Your eyes rolled back in your head and your thighs clamped around his head. You thought you could have just come then and there.

His tongue was skilled, as though this was a well practised art to his. He was sure of himself and it was warranted. He settled quickly into a smooth rhythm, one in which sent a heat flooding throughout your entire body.

His strong arm held you down against the bed as you frantically rocked against his face, coating his chin and mouth in your slick.

Spencer was moaning against your clit, a man possessed by his one objective of bringing you to orgasm with his tongue.

In his mind we’re only two thoughts fighting for dominance: getting you off and the almost painful straining against his boxers.

Without really meaning to, his hand wandered of its own volition between your bodies and straight into his pants.

He gasped as his hand wrapped around his shaft as though surprised by it. He quickly started pumping himself in his hand, but kept his attention between your legs.

The sounds of his saliva mixed with your arousal and the room was awash with the sloppy sounds of Spencer’s eating you out.

Your fingers were lost in his hair. Your legs tightened around his head to the point you might suffocate him. But he didn’t care.

He let his tongue glide back between your legs hissing in desire as he collected your seed on his deft muscle. Soon enough he settled back on your clit, sucking it back into his warm, wet mouth once more.

Your body was convulsing, trembling and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. Your impending orgasm swelled in the pit of your stomach right beneath Spencer’s arm.

Your nails grazed his scalp and he bucked into his hand, precum leaking from the tip. He wanted to continue this forever, spend every single moment of every single day worshipping you between your legs.

But he knew you were close, he knew it was only a matter of time before you reached your peak.

As if on cue, you tugged tightly on his hair, thighs pressing viciously against the sides of his face.

“F-fuck…” you stammered, the tears now rolling from your eyes. “S-Spence, I’m gonna…oh fuck.”

A final, rushing wave of pleasure encompassed you and he sucked harder on your bud, as a scream erupted from you.

You came with a string of slurs and whines and Spencer continued to lap his tongue back and forth over your clit until you were physically pushing him away.

Your body was a quivering mess beneath him, your hold on his hair and grip of his face loosening as your limbs flopped like a rag doll to the mattress.

Spencer collected your arousal on his tongue, making you whimper and shudder. With a chuckle he sat back on his haunches, still with his hand around his cock.

You blinked a few times, bringing him into focus. The sight before you could only be described as divine.

His mouth and chin was glossy with your arousal, his eyes nodded with lust. His hair was messier now after your assault on it and fell in his eyes.

His boxers were pushed down to his thighs and he hurriedly jerked himself in his hand as he knelt over you.

You rolled your bottom lip feverishly between your teeth, unable to take your eyes off of his thick, hard shaft in his hand.

His stomach was clenched, his abdominal muscles tightening beneath his flesh. His member was coated with his own slick and you regarded the way the vein on the underside pulsed with each pump of his hand.

“I’m c-close.” He mumbled, increasing his speed. “Where can I…?”

“Anywhere.” You were quick to answer. “Anywhere.”

The endless possibilities were too much for his hazy brain and didn’t move, couldn’t move. Instead he kept up his strokes for a few more moments before the tug in his balls and pinch of his stomach alerted him to the imminence of his orgasm.

Seconds later he stuttered out a breath, mumbling, “f-f-fuck!” And then he erupted, streak after streak of hot come across your stomach and hips.

He slowed his strokes but continued to pump himself more leisurely as he expelled every last drop of his orgasm, some of which dripped down the side of his balled fist.

Once his cock was completely spent, his legs gave way and he collapsed next to you on the mattress, quickly drawing you in for a deep and slightly messy kiss.

The smell of sex clung to the air, heavy and heady and in return Spencer clung to you like you were his only lifeline. You held him with as much energy you had left in your body, limbs entwining to the point you didn’t know where you ended and he began.

He peppered sloppy kisses everywhere he could reach, from you cheeks to your neck to the crown of your head. This had to be heaven because nothing had ever felt this good.

He looked at you, deep into your eyes as he cupped your face delicately in his hand. It was impossible to doubt his loyalty to you when he looked at you like that.

“I, uh, I lied before about something.” He croaked and you immediately frowned at him.

“About what?” You pouted but Spencer was smiling at you, dispelling some of your nerves.

“I told you I was falling in love with you. I lied.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” You croaked.

He inhaled deeply through his nose as his hand trailed into your hair. His gaze was permeating right through to your soul.

“I’m not falling in love with you. Because I’ve already fallen.” His smile grew but there was a hint of nerves laced into his words.

You exhaled in relief, half wanting to slap him for misleading you like that. But instead you kissed him.

“God that was mean.” You laughed against his lips. “And I guess that makes two of us.”

You felt him relax in your arms at your admittance and he pulled you tighter to his chest.

You were ultimately just two fucked up people just trying to find your place in the world. And neither of you would have ever thought you’d find it here together.

@kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @marvellover1819 @babyspiderling

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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ghoststyles · 7 months

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Fairway to Heaven - Chapter 9

7.8K

SO SORRY I WENT MIA LIFE SUCKED FOR A MIN THERE

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When Harry peels his eyes open at the crack of dawn on a Tuesday, he’s not expecting two beady eyes to be staring into his, mere inches from his face.

“Morning, sleepy!” Hattie’s shrill voice rings through the small guest house. She’s dressed and ready for the day, munching on some Percy Pigs.

“Morning, rug rat. Why’re you eating candy at half eight?” He narrows his eyes, slowly lifting his head from the pillow. “Gimme some.”

Hattie hesitantly hands him one, taking notice of the dwindling number of gummy candies left in the bag.

“Mumma left already and Daddy took a phone call,” she reasons.

Harry rolls his eyes as he chews, pushing himself to his feet.

“C’mon, let’s go get you a proper breakfast.”

She perks up at this, following behind her uncle. Harry’s bones crack as he stretches his limbs. He crosses the slightly damp grass and opens the back sliding door to Gemma and Michal’s house, trying not to let any cats out. Hattie stays in the garden, staring at some worms on the stone pathway.

Harry begins making scrambled eggs and conjuring up any fruit he can find. As the eggs cook slowly, his mind begins to wander. It’s been a little over 2 1/2 months since he returned to England and his mind has had very few thoughts that didn’t include Briar.

He misses her on his runs. He misses her on the train. He misses her in the morning. He misses her when he’s alone in a shop buying fuck-all to fill the void.

Grabbing his phone, he sends his daily “ . ” to Briar, just to check if he’s still blocked. As usual, the message sends in a green bubble.

Pushing the eggs around, he makes it just how Briar likes it; mostly cooked, but still runny. Drudging over to the fridge, he spots some cheese to sprinkle on top. With careful hands, he plates the eggs for the two of them to share.

By this point, Hattie is romping around the garden in her school uniform, getting dirt and muck on her shoes and dress. He stalks over to the door, opening it enough to shout out to her.

“Oi! You’re due at school any minute and you’re ruining your clothes! Get in here.”

Hattie’s head whips up at Harry’s tone. He’s never once yelled at her in her 6 years of existence. Usually, she can get away with anything from painting Harry’s nails to stealing his nice clothes for a fashion show. Harry sees her face drop and can sense the tears are about to start. She stands up, her wide eyes looking at him. She meets him at the door and wraps her arms around his legs.

“‘M sorry, uncle H. Didn’t mean to mess up my dress.”

“It’s okay, bug. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. Why don’t you sit and start eating, and I’ll run upstairs to grab a new dress, yeah? Do you need new socks, too?”

She nods sadly, her bottom lip still in a pout. Harry lowers down to kiss the top of her head.

“Alright, love. Be right back.”

It’s not right. The room is silent, apart from the strained puffs of air hitting her face. Soft praises and dirty comments aren’t being whispered in her ear, and the hairs on the back of her neck aren’t standing straight up. Sweat is building up on her lower back and the backs of her knees as his hips snap sloppily into her.

They’ve been in this spot for a while, Spencer and Briar. If she were with Harry, she’d have reached completion twice by now, and explored 3 different positions. He’s barely uttered a word to her, just periodically grunting and saying, “oh yeah.”

Shuddering at the thought of Harry, she finally musters up the courage to look up at Spencer. His eyebrows are furrowed and he’s biting his lip in a manner that would normally be sexy, but to her, it’s repulsive.

They’d been out at a bar with a group of his friends; Briar being the only girl to tag along. They were both drinking and listening intently as his friends told funny stories. He included her when he could, but for the most part, Briar sat quietly to people watch.

“Close, Bri,” he grunts again.

She cringes, again. Only the people she’s closest with call her Bri. Is he asking her if she’s close, or is he telling her he is?

“Mhm,” she squeaks out a lie. He can’t possibly think this is good, right?

“Oh my goddd,” he drags out as he finishes into the condom. His heavy pants continue as he rolls off of her, a little sweat from his chest transferring to hers.

She cringes as he maneuvers his way to lay along side her. When he doesn’t immediately get up to grab a washcloth, she slides herself off the bed, picking up her shorts and throwing her long t-shirt on. She slowly shuffles to the bathroom, willing herself not to cry.

Spencer is nice; he’s respectful, but a little boring. When she looks at him, her heart doesn’t hammer in her chest.

Staring at herself in the mirror, her heart sinks to the floor. Her mascara is smudged, bags more prominent than before.

Briar used to feel enlightened and empowered after sex, a sense of weightlessness hitting her senses. But right now, a pit is formed in her stomach and she can’t wait for him to leave.

Entering the room, she sees Spencer sitting along the edge of the bed in his boxers. He smiles at her before pulling his sweatpants up.

“I have to be at the shop early tomorrow. I’ll text you?”

She inhales sharply, slightly relieved.

“Okay, yeah,” she smiles back as he leans in to peck her on the lips.

“See you later, gorgeous.”

Gus lifts his head as the unfamiliar man makes his way past him before exiting through the front door.

She joins him at his spot on his bed, nuzzling her face into his wide and fluffy neck. She’s a little salty because Spencer didn’t even acknowledge Gus.

“Gus, what did I get us into?”

After 10 weeks in England, the longest period of time he’s spent there since he was 16 years old, Harry is heading back to the U.S.

There were lots of tears from Hattie, sympathetic looks from his sister, and sad waves from his mum.

He’s in his groove as a father to Oliver, balancing work and making time for FaceTime dates and even popping back over to France for a weekend. Camille is bringing Oliver to America in a few days.

His flight was seamless. He opted for business class so he could lay down and sleep. By the time the flight attendant shook him awake, they were just minutes from landing in New York City.

Looking to the escalators, the same ones Briar left him at to go to France over 3 months ago, his heart sinks. Getting broken up with 11 days into a trip is fucking with his head.

Harry’s driver, Paul, is waiting for him, the trunk of the SUV open for his luggage. He’d added an extra bag to carry new clothes and even a new trinket for his collection. Paul gently pats Harry on his back when he approaches.

Sliding into the back seat, Harry doesn’t bother buckling himself in, and lays his long legs over the seats. His eyes are about to close when he gets a text from Niall.

Welcome home, mate. I’ll stop over tomorrow for the meeting?

It’s not that he’s not excited to see Niall, he just can’t stomach acting happy and ignoring the elephant in the room. He wonders if he’s been to Wynnewood recently. He answers Niall with a quick ‘ya’ and shoves his phone in his pocket.

Town is quiet, just a few joggers and dog walkers milling about. It’s early, so the shops are only just opening their doors.

“Hey, Paul, can we stop for a minute? I want to grab a coffee.”

“Sure thing,” Paul says, slowly pulling the car to a stop.

With a cracking of his bones, Harry slides out of the car to stand in the street. He ducks inside the shop to find one guy behind the counter. He’s tall, flowy brown hair with a few tattoos on his arms and hand. He reminds Harry of a younger version of himself.

“Morning, man. Let me know what I can get started for you,” the barista smiles.

“Thanks. I’ll take two large iced cold brews. Black. And a croissant.”

“No problem. I just gotta fire up the oven, so it’ll be a minute," the guy says as Harry taps his credit card.

“Take your time,” Harry waves him off as he tucks himself into a corner booth, pulling out his phone to look at his emails.

A few more people filter into the coffee shop, so the level of chatter increases. Another worker brings over his coffees, and the original worker is pulling the croissant out of the oven.

The bell over the door jingles, signaling someone is entering.

“Hey, Bri!” the barista shouts as he’s pulling two espresso shots.

Harry’s blood runs cold as he wills himself to lift his head. His chest tightens when he’s met with his worst fear.

She’s as breathtakingly gorgeous as the day he left her at the bottom of the airport escalator. Her eyes are still puffy from sleep, but bright and lively as ever. Her skin is perfectly tanned, and her hair pulled into a neat braid that extends down her back. She’s a bit flushed, assuming she is in the middle of a run.

The barista has completely abandoned Harry’s croissant in order to lean over the counter and talk to her. He passes her her favorite drink; a green iced tea, lightly sweetened with lemon.

In his observation of this interaction, Harry forgets to breathe, so he lightly chokes on his own saliva. He’s hidden from their view, so he’s not worried about being caught.

Are they friends? Are they more? Was she in essentially no pain since she ended it?

Peering around, he can’t find an emergency exit. Paul will start to question why he’s been in there so long. The other worker finally brings his croissant to Harry, but there’s no way he can physically stomach it.

More people are entering the coffee shop, so Briar waves shyly to the barista and makes her way out of the shop.

He counts to 30 before pushing himself to his feet. The lock in his jaw is tight and his shoulders are so tense he’s scared he’ll snap a tendon.

He leaves the croissant, grabbing the drinks and stalking out of the shop. He’s moving haphazardly around the small cafe style tables.

“Have a good day, man!” the barista shouts, to which Harry ignores and slams the door with the strength of Thanos, he’s sure the whole building shook.

Paul is stood outside the car, leaning on the hood, his eyes a little wide, “Was that…”

“Yes,” Harry snaps, handing Paul the cup.

He rips the door open returning to his seat. His heart is pounding, and he can’t help but obsess over one detail:

She didn’t fucking pay for her drink.

For the remainder of her run, Briar felt unsettled, but she couldn’t pinpoint why. She never feels this paranoid unless she takes too much of her edible gummies. Even then, she always had Harry with her to make her feel safe.

Things with Spencer are stagnant; they’ve hooked up a few times, and he’s invited her to meet his friends. They have a good time when they’re together, but she isn’t feeling the spark. Since shutting off contact from Harry, she’s grasping for male attention; something she’s worked on since starting therapy.

There’s a networking event at Wynnewood later today, so Briar is anxious to know if Niall will be there. They’ve effectively avoided one another, treading the subject of she and Harry’s relationship lightly.

Her pace picks up when she hits the public garden, stomach twisting in pain when she passes the bench in the little alcove where she and Harry had their first official date. Tears begin to prick in her eyes, making her squeeze them shut to try and stop it from getting worse.

Her relationship grief comes in waves; waves of missing him and fits of anger. Anger at herself, really. Deep down, Briar recognizes she fucked up. She won’t admit it, though. The amount of times she’s wanted to pick up her phone, unblock him and grovel at his feet should have her on some sort of government watchlist. She reaches her apartment complex in record time.

While the shower runs, she foam rolls her legs and starts to lay out her skin care on the counter. Her phone is blasting her calming playlist, and her favorite bergamot candle from Target is lit. She’s not sure what comes over her, but she delicately enters her passcode and scrolls to Harry’s contact.

Her stomach churns and her finger hovers over the unblock button. She’s a split second from unblocking him when she hears Gus bark abruptly in the other room. Slamming her phone back down, she strips her clothes and jumps into the cold shower. That should clear her head a little.

Getting ready and driving to Wynnewood went by in a blur. Her knuckles are white from gripping her steering wheel tightly. She’s certain she’ll see Niall today. He’s the executive sponsor of the networking and charity event on the back course and luncheon in the main dining room. She just hopes his best mate isn’t there to support. She’ll donate an extra buck to make up for that damning thought.

Briar spots her Uncle Patrick in his office squinting at the computer screen as he normally does. She smiles to herself before gently opening the door. Patrick looks up, glasses perched on the end of his nose.

“Hey, Bear,” he smiles brightly.

“Hi,” she sighs, taking her usual spot on the sofa.

“I sent over your itinerary for California. We’ll all be on the same flight, but you’ll be on your own for most of the trip. The boys and I will be playing at Pebble Beach and a few other courses. But, I’m sure you’ll keep busy with your mom.”

Briar inhales through her nose at the mention of her mother. This will be her first time visiting her in her new life in California. Anxiety bubbles in her chest, causing her to feel her pulse at her neck.

“We want you to come over for dinner when you drop Gus off and stay the night so I can take us all to the airport Sunday morning.”

Her jaw locks at that. This is a mandated trip, planned by her uncle so she can’t put it off. She’s the last of her siblings to visit. Seeing her mother start over with a new family seems too much to bear. Her heart hurts thinking about it.

“Okay. Are you sure Aunt Mer is okay watching him? I can have Caroline stay at my apartment.”

“She’s fine. She’ll want a buddy for the week, anyway.”

Briar hums, playing with the hem of her shirt as she musters up the courage to go out on the course. But before she does, she scrolls to Harry’s contact again and finally bites the bullet to unblock him.

Harry finally makes it back to his house. The sun is rising, casting an orange hue over the windows. He sees his annoying neighbor Maureen watering her plants, so he’s sure if she sees him she’ll fill him in on 12 weeks of nonsense he missed.

The lawn is well kept and the windows are clean. Madison did a good job of making sure his house is in order. His heart twinges when he enters the new code on his lock, imagining Briar on this same step, cursing him out and steam blowing out of her ears. He misses the way her nose would scrunch up any time she was cross with him.

Slowly, the door opens and the deafening silence hits him like a bus. No sign of life anywhere. He isn’t tripping over her shoes, and he doesn’t smell the light traces of coconut and citrus from her perfume anymore.

Paul follows behind him, placing his bags down by the entryway. Harry says nothing, but nods at him appreciatively.

“I’ll be back to pick you up for the airport on Sunday, Harry.”

“Thanks, Paul. Have a good day.”

Dreading the walk upstairs, Harry continues on with his carry-on so he can shower and try to sleep off as much jet lag as he can. He has a feeling he’ll have a lot of early mornings this week to get back on track.

He stomps up the stairs, preparing himself to see his bedroom with no traces of Briar left. The door squeaks when he opens it, and a gust of wind escapes his lungs. It feels wrong; almost too sterile. Briar brings a certain level of peace and comfort everywhere she goes, and now his house feels empty and void of color and fun.

Hell, he even wishes his sheets were twisted from Gus rolling around on the bed even though Harry hates it. The three of them just fit. It was easy.

Harry pads into the bathroom, turning the water in his shower on the hottest setting, ignoring the lonely blue toothbrush sitting on the counter, clearly missing its pink companion.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, not expecting to be hit with the grief from something as simple as that.

Just before he strips, he opens his text conversation with Briar to send his daily “ . ” to see if he’s still blocked. This time, the message is blue.

Harry’s heart stops for a split second. A rush of adrenaline shoots up his spine, but he can’t help the smile that’s formed on his face.

Briar finally emerged from Patrick’s office, so she quickly scurries to the garage to start loading up her cart. The bar backs already got a head start on it, so really she is only putting out the fun straws and straightening up.

She spots Joaquin, the stuffed bird Harry got her. She’ll spare him — for now. She thanks the boys for their help before setting off to the back course.

Wynnewood is packed with people, thanks to the networking and fundraising event hosted by Niall and the men’s league he plays in on Wednesday nights. She’s bound to see him, so she’s basking in the moments of no awkwardness.

Zipping past the practice green and driving range, she spots a lot of members who are never at the club at the same time; it’s all of her worlds colliding at once. No sign of Niall.

The shift is going relatively smoothly; Everyone is in great moods, and being even more generous. She’s already decided she’ll donate a portion of her tips to the fundraiser.

Rounding the 14th hole, she sighs as she sees Niall seemingly waiting for her. He’s leaning suavely on his golf club, tan chinos hugging his legs nicely. He smiles at her facial expression, knowing he has her in his trap.

Panicking, Briar slowly approaches him on the path. As Niall begins to speak, Briar punches the gas and plows over the grass, cutting around Niall. In shock, he whips around and begins to shout after her. She smiles to herself smugly as she whips to the 15th hole.

The grounds crew will have to forgive her for fucking up the grass.

Briar makes it through the afternoon without running into Niall again. But at 3pm, she’s in need of a break. She parks the cart and heads to the locker room. Staring down at her phone, her breath hitches when she sees a notification from Harry.

Just as she’s about to swipe to open the message, a pair of hands grabs her and she’s suddenly lifted into the air.

“Oh my God! What the f—”

Niall is laughing hysterically as he drags her into the empty steam room. He covers her mouth so she stops screaming. He places her down on the ground and she starts to smack him on the chest.

“Niall, what the fuck is wrong with you? Grabbing a fucking girl like that!”

“I know, you’ll have to forgive me,” He laughs sitting down on the teak bench. “I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” he reasons, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sure about that?”

Briar stays put. Niall cocks his head at her, fully assuming if that were the truth, she’d have left by now.

“Fine,” she grumbles. “What?”

“What is going on? You’ve been AWOL, Harry won’t talk to me, and I’m just plain miserable. Why did he fuck off to England?”

Briar is quiet. She had no idea he hasn’t been in the states this entire time. She figured he was avoiding Wynnewood.

“He was in England?”

Niall hums, “There it is. There’s the confirmation.”

“Fucking — Fine, yes, Niall, we broke up. I broke it off.”

Niall sighs again standing up to face her, “I figured as much. It’s been like, two months, and he’s barely had a conversation that’s not about work with me. He worked remotely from his sister’s.”

Her heart hurts knowing Harry fled to England; reminiscent of when Camille ended the engagement. She can’t help but feel like a villain.

“Briar, you’re 24. I think anyone with a good head on their shoulders would have apprehensions if their significant other has a kid. He just needed time.”

Tears prick in her eyes as she hears the one thought she’s been beating herself up over for weeks.

“I know,” she admits quietly.

“There’s plenty of time to fix it, if that’s what you want.”

Niall pulls her to his chest, the most physical touch she’s received in weeks. He leans down to whisper in her ear, “I’m sweating out of my arsehole right now.”

She guffaws and shoves him, turning on her heels to leave the steam room. She pulls her phone back out to deal with the text from Harry. She mentally prepares to read a long text trying to get her back. Instead, she’s met with a single “ . ”

What the fuck?

Friday night comes quicker than Briar likes. She begrudgingly loads her luggage and Gus’s supplies into the Jeep and sets off for her Aunt and Uncle’s house. Her brothers are already there, based on the memes in the “BarlHOES” family group chat.

Her uncle is quick to help her unload and manage Gus, and Cormac grabs her small suitcase and backpack. She gives her youngest brother a big hug. They silently embrace until Cormac pulls away.

She follows the two of them inside and is greeted by her aunt.

“Hi, sweets! I’ve missed you, honey.”

Briar hugs her aunt and gives her her best fake smile. Meredith looks at her knowingly.

Dinner goes by in a blur; Briar only participating if directly spoken to. The boys head to bed early to prepare for their rude wake up call at 3:30 AM. Patrick bids the girls a good night after he takes out the trash.

Briar slowly backs out of the kitchen, hoping her aunt doesn’t notice. Meredith clears her throat and slams two wine glasses down on the kitchen island. She silently reaches down into the wine fridge and pulls out a Cabernet Sauvignon.

“Sit,” Meredith orders.

Briar exhales and gives in. She pulls out the stool and rests her legs on the spare one between them while Meredith pours.

“How long?” Meredith pries.

“How long, what?” Briar plays dumb.

“The break up. The break. Whatever you’re calling it,” She pokes. “The reason you’ve been M.I.A.”

“10 weeks, maybe? I ended it,” Briar replies, stone faced. “I’m hooking up with someone from my program now.”

Meredith sighs, taking a sip of her wine. “What spooked you?"

“Nothing. I just wanted Harry to be able to adjust to being a dad without me in the way. I had the parent who didn’t choose her kids, and it sucked.”

“I think those were two completely different situations, Bri. Your mom had issues and needed to focus on getting better. Harry can easily find a balance with his circumstances.”

Briar rubs her neck, “I’m only 24, I can’t be someone’s step-mom,” Briar replies out of exasperation.

Meredith glares at her and clears her throat, “Um, I was only 27 when I took in FIVE little monsters. Cormac was barely even eating solid foods!”

Briar laughs, and takes a sip. “You’re right. I didn’t think about that.”

“It was the sexiest thing watching Patrick care for all of you. It showed commitment and stability,” Meredith recalls fondly. “And it takes a strong partner to keep it all together. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

Briar inhales deeply, resting her head on her forearms, “I know what we had was good. Amazing, even. I fucked it all up. I told him not to contact me. But obviously I wanted him to. He respects me so fucking much, he listened!”

Meredith laughs, “Briar, he’s 40 years old. He’s not gonna play your game. So, now, you need to figure out what you’re going to do about it. I suggest you do some reflecting and journaling when you’re in California. And smoke a joint. It’ll give you all the clarity you need.”

Briar hums, shaking her head.

“I think you already know what you want. You just have to go get it.”

Harry’s wake up call on Sunday ripped him from a deep sleep; the best night’s sleep he’s had since getting back to the states. He’s usually up by 4:45 AM pacing the kitchen and reorganizing things for the hell of it.

But today, he’s sluggish, and doesn’t even want to move from his bed. Rising to a seated position on the edge, he cracks his neck, followed by several cracks down his vertebra.

He checks his phone to find a text from Camille from 30 minutes ago. She, Oliver, Theo and Amelie are 2 hours from landing. Harry and Oliver are going on a solo trip, so Camille and her family are staying in New York for the next 2 weeks while they bond. Harry has a few stops in mind, and he can’t wait to spend this time alone with him.

Paul texts Harry that he’s downstairs. He unlocks the door from his phone, and sends him a text to let him know where his luggage is. For good measure, Harry checks his messages between himself and Briar. The message is still blue, but no indication that she read it.

He slips down the stairs after getting ready to head to the airport to meet them. Harry and Oliver’s flight is in a few hours, giving them plenty of time to go through customs and get him situated.

The ride is silent; Harry slipping in and out of a light sleep. Paul isn’t talkative in the morning, either. For some odd reason, there’s a traffic jam at the terminal. Harry can’t quite place what’s going on, but spots a family that looks like they’re arguing and some of their bags rolled into the road. Harry shrugs and pulls hood further over his eyes to block out the bright lights of the terminal.

Camille’s plane hasn’t landed yet, so Harry opts to lay in the car until it’s closer to when they’ll hit customs. With time to kill, he slips back into a peaceful sleep.

“Get the fuck out of my face!” Jasper screams at Welles before shoving him out of the way.

“I didn’t even fucking do anything!” Welles screams back.

Before they know it, suitcases are toppling over into the street, and Uncle Patrick jumps out of the driver’s seat to intervene. He shoves Jasper, who’s significantly taller than the rest of the boys, and shoots Welles a glare.

“Knock it off! Callum, Cormac. Pick the suitcases up. Now!”

Cars are honking and swerving to avoid the family’s altercation. All of this is happening at the grand old time of 6:15 AM. The younger boys roll their eyes before listening to their uncle.

Briar is disassociating in the passenger’s seat, not even lifting her head to assess the situation. She woke up with extreme anxiety, so she’s just praying her heart doesn’t jump out of her chest.

“Fucking ridiculous. 30 years old, for Christ’s sake,” Patrick mutters about Welles.

If there’s one thing about the Barlowe boys, they settle everything physically. They’ll even team up on Briar every once in a while, throwing her in a headlock or slamming her down on the sofa.

She finally snaps from her daze and maneuvers to grab her belongings. For all she cares, she’ll head in alone and pretend she doesn’t know them. Once she’s through security and has her Starbucks, she’ll be golden.

They descend toward the escalator, until Briar hears a gasp. She whips her head around to her younger brother, Cormac, looking white as a ghost.

She places her hands on his shoulders, her sisterly instincts kicking in, “Mac? What’s wrong, bubby? Are you gonna be sick?”

He speaks so softly she has to lean in to hear him.

“Bri, I forgot my license. Are they gonna let me on the plane?”

She tries to mask the pain on her face, but fails. She glances over at her stressed uncle, whose blood pressure is probably only just lowering. Cormac turned 18 3 days ago, so she knows their chances of flying without his license is slim to none

“It’s okay, I’ll tell Uncle Patrick,” she pats his head lightly.

They are 25 feet from the security line, so Briar speaks up.

“Uncle Pat, don’t make a scene, please,” she reasons. “Mac doesn’t have his I.D.”

Patrick closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to try and regulate his reaction. Wordlessly, he pulls out his phone to dial American Airlines. Briar watches as he places his phone between his shoulder and ear, and aggressively waves the family to follow him back downstairs.

Needless to say, none of the Barlowes got on that plane.

It was just like the movies when Harry reunited with Oliver. He stood at the bottom of the escalators and waited for his boy to spot him from the top. He immediately bounces on his heels but refrains from running down the escalator when Camille shoots him a look. Amelie is strapped to Camille’s chest while Theo manages the bags.

“Papa!” Oliver shouts as soon as he’s within earshot of Harry.

“Mate! Welcome to America!”

Camille smiles as she makes the final steps off the escalator. She looks down at her excited boy fondly and gives Harry a side hug as to not disturb the baby.

“Customs line long?” Harry asks, breaking up the mild awkward silence. Theo finally joined them, shaking Harry’s hand and pulling him in for a bro hug.

“Not bad today. Packed far too much, though,” Theo grumbles, looking directly at Camille.

“2 1/2 weeks in New York means 2 months worth of clothes,” she smirks.

While Harry takes Oliver to California solo, Theo and Camille are staying in New York. Camille worked out several business deals, so she’ll have in-person meetings the entire time. When Harry and Oliver return, they’ll fly home to Paris together. After that, Harry’s not sure when he’ll see him next.

Camille felt more comfortable being in on the same continent during their first solo trip. Harry is stoked — he planned the whole trip to Montecito, being sure to hit all his old favorite spots and spend plenty of time in the sun. Even though he and Camille aren’t together, he thinks it’s important to tell Oliver about their story. He probably won’t understand, but he’s excited nonetheless.

Oliver stifles a yawn, so Harry takes that as their queue to start their own trip. They have about an hour until their flight. He needs coffee and a good bagel.

Camille leans down to give Oliver a huge hug, whispering in his ear to behave, be kind and have fun. The boy smiles brightly, wiggling his first loose tooth at her.

“That tooth better be gone when I see you next, mister!” She smiles, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“I think we can arrange that. Does the tooth fairy travel?” Harry laughs.

Harry bids the couple farewell, and drags he and Oliver’s bags behind him. He spots a Dunkin’ Donuts, so he decides to treat them to some coffee — hot chocolate for the little guy — and munchkins.

Oliver’s eyes light up at the taste of his first American donut. Harry hopes he isn’t going to regret this later, unsure of how Oliver reacts to loads of sugar. It’s the American way, he supposes.

To pass the time, Oliver colors and the two of them play tic tac toe. He’s grateful he wasn’t raised as an iPad child. They talk about what movies they’re going to watch, fully knowing the boy will probably sleep for most of the flight. He’s a trooper after almost 24 hours of travel.

Harry shows Oliver pictures of their bungalow for the next 2 weeks; a small cottage steps from the beach and a short walk from the Beachwood Cafe, he and Camille’s old stomping grounds.

About 20 minutes before the flight, Harry ushers them over to their gate. As he’s sitting down, he partially tunes out the chatter around him, until he hears an announcement from the desk associate, her accent thick.

“Bare-low party of six, please check in at the desk.”

Harry looks around, in case the love of his life is right under his nose. He can’t be that lucky.

Then again, 10 minutes later.

“Bare-low, party of six, last call to check-in. Standby passengers, please come to the desk.”

Getting Oliver settled, they wait for their boarding call. They board third, a new perk of having a kid.

He places their bags in the overhead bin, sets his boy up with snacks, juice and headphones for a movie, but he can already see his little eyelids fluttering. Painstakingly slow, the plane boards. Harry paid close attention to the passengers coming on, and he knew his luck had run out.

Though, the seat next to him is suspiciously empty as the pilot announces the closing doors.

Thanks to Aunt Meredith leaving pilates to drive an hour to the airport during rush hour, Mac has his license and they’re booked for a later flight. The family swiftly runs through security and heads to their gate. The boys have calmed down, opting to lay in an empty row of chairs. Two are sleeping and two are scrolling their phones.

Patrick is scratching Briar’s head as she leans against him, something they’ve always done since she was little and pretended to be a dog everywhere they went.

Their boarding group is called, so they embark on their journey, leaving Briar to suck it up. She’s decided she’s going to make this trip about her, leaving all distractions behind. Her mother, Harry, Spencer, and school.

Settling into her seat, she turns on the movie she queued up and gets comfortable. She watches about 25 minutes of the movie before dozing off. She hopes Patrick will wake her to get a biscoff biscuit and a ginger ale, but she doesn’t have high expectations.

Patrick nudges Briar awake when there’s 40 minutes left in their flight. She climbs over a sleeping Cormac to use the bathroom and stretch her legs. She spots her other brothers a few rows back, smiling at the way they’re piled on one another. It reminds her of them all as kids, dog piling on a fort of pillows in the basement.

She stretches her arms above her head as she pees, swearing plane bathrooms have gotten smaller. She takes a selfie in the plane bathroom before heading back to her seat. Cormac is still passed out, so she clambers over him to the window seat.

Before she knows it, the plane is descending into Los Angeles. A pit forms in her stomach knowing she is spending the next 2 weeks with her mom while her brothers and uncle golf and surf most of the time.

Patrick rented two cars; so she opts to ride with Welles. It’s not often the two of them are alone. He was 12 when their dad died, so he had a more realistic grasp on what was happening to their family. He was Cormac’s age when their mother sought treatment. His bright, happy demeanor dissipated quickly. It makes Briar’s heart hurt sometimes. Her siblings dealt with these issues differently, and they’ve never had a true heart to heart about it.

They drive for a few miles, Welles fiddling with the Bluetooth and playing his music. They’re in the car for the next few hours, so Briar finally got the courage to speak up.

She clears her throat, “what moment did you realize Mom needed help?”

Welles’ eyebrows scrunch, and he looks over at his sister before looking back at the road.

“Uhm,” he starts, not sure where to begin. “I remember Mom picking me up from the first day of middle school. She was waiting for me in the pick up line, and she was slurring her words. I obviously didn’t know what being high was, so I was scared something was wrong with her health.”

She closes her eyes, remembering that day vividly. Uncle Patrick came storming into the house, yelling at their mother. Welles called him, too scared to get in the car with her.

“I remember that,” Briar replies quietly. “Mine was when she kept missing important things; school events and doctors appointments. It got to the point she didn’t know what day it was.”

“Yeah,” Welles responds solemnly. “Well, that’s in the past now. She’s better. Even though I don’t agree with some of the choices she’s made recently, we have to try to support her.”

“I know,” she starts to sniffle. “It was just fucked up to put that kind of pressure on us.”

Welles reaches over to squeeze her shoulder, “I know, Bear.”

Harry and Oliver’s trip started off smoothly. He collected their bags and got them on the shuttle to the rental car office. Oliver could still barely keep his eyes open, so Harry held him while they stood in line. When it was finally their turn, Harry was ecstatic (first to relieve his back and arms from carrying 55 pounds, and second, because he rented them a convertible coupe).

It’s similar to the car he used to drive around Montecito as golden hour hit the coastline. He and Camille would drive on the Pacific Coast Highway and head to the beach to smoke a joint and watch the stars. He smiles to himself fondly.

He sets Oliver up with a booster seat in the back, and rolls the top down. If he weren’t so tired, he’s sure he’d be smiling ear to ear.

“Papa, je suis fatigué,” Oliver mumbles.

Harry smiles to himself. Even though Oliver can speak English well, his native tongue slips out when he’s exhausted.

“I know, mate. As soon as we’re at the house we can sleep some more.”

“D’accord, Papa.”

They drive for a while, and Harry slows down to stare out at the ocean as he drives through familiar towns. He’s excited to have some decent Mexican food again.

They pull up to the bungalow a little before noon. He lifts Oliver from his booster, laying his head on his shoulder. He unlocks the door based on the AirBnB host’s instructions, and gently lays him down on the sofa in the main room. His face scrunches in protest, and Harry can’t help but feel like he’s looking in the mirror. Even their mannerisms are identical.

Jogging back out to the car, Harry unloads and gets everything inside before locking up. He’s excited to head out back and enjoy the view. He snaps a few photos of the water, and sends his daily “ . ” text to Briar.

The bubble is blue again.

Briar and Welles talked the whole drive to Montecito. They laughed as they covered what seemed like years they’ve missed out on being close. She hopes this is a turning point for them.

Her phone chimes, and her heart stops as she looks down at the notification. Another fucking “ . ” from Harry! What does that even mean?

“What’s wrong?” Welles pipes up. She must’ve made a sound or had a sour face.

“Oh, um. I’m not sure if I told you, but Harry and I broke up.”

“Yeah, Jasper told me. Sorry to hear.”

“Thanks. So, I blocked him like, 2 months ago, and I just unblocked him the other day. I’ve been getting messages that only have a period in them, and I have no idea what that means.”

“It means he’s been testing if he’s still blocked. He’s probably been sending those the entire time.”

Briar ponders this. She kind of thinks it’s funny. And a little sad.

She laughs, “Do you know that from experience?”

“Maybe. Before Imani and I were good together, we were not so good together,” he says, hysterically laughing.

The GPS indicates they’re at their destination. It’s a nice house that overlooks the ocean, and appears to be well kept.

Patrick and the other boys are already inside, so Welles and Briar approach the front door to knock. They’re greeted by a small girl, no older than 8 years old, in a purple princess gown.

“Hi,” Briar smiles.

The girl ignores her and retreats back inside. She and Welles shrug, stepping into the threshold of the house. They follow the loud voices into the main living room. Along the way, she spots photos on the walls of her mother, her new husband, and his kids. Her heart pangs when she realizes there isn’t a trace of her or her brothers.

“Bear! Wellie!” Catherine Barlowe screeches. “All my babies under one roof!”

She hugs both of them and plants strong kisses on their cheeks.

“Did you meet Penelope?”

“Uh, I think so,” Welles responds.

“You remember Dean, right? And these are his two other girls, Daphne and Delaney,” she points to two identical girls. They’re probably 10 years old. Brian remembers seeing photos of them at the wedding.

Dean leans in to give her a hug and shake Welles’ hand.

They all exchange pleasantries until Briar excuses herself outside. Their back deck is gorgeous, and overlooks a picturesque part of the ocean. She snaps a few photos, and fights the urge to send them to Harry.

By the end of day 9, Harry is exhausted. He wasn’t aware of the mental toughness required to occupy a child, feed said child, and and also take care of himself. His heart grows three sizes everytime Oliver smiles during a new activity, making it all worth it.

They’ve already explored the beaches, went shopping, went to the aquarium, explored Big Sur, and even spent a day on the golf course. Harry just had to sneak one day of golf in to keep sane. Oliver reacted well and had fun chasing the golf cart, despite the nasty looks from members.

They start off most of their days by walking to Beachwood for coffee and croissants, and Harry tells Oliver their plans for the day. It’s been nice to reminisce his life with Camille. Almost like exposure therapy.

They check in with Camille frequently, and Harry’s even gone out of his way to vlog their entire trip. Maybe he’ll put together a video at the end. Briar used to love vlogging. She’d take 1 second clips and arrange them with his favorite songs. Some videos were for their eyes only.

Camille is busy with work, but she’s thinking of leasing a New York apartment to make traveling with Oliver easier. Harry’s not sure how to feel about it.

Harry goes to sleep that night with a plan to take Oliver kayaking. They’ll swing by Beachwood before heading off.

Briar’s brothers and uncle have golfed every single day, leaving her to stay with her mother and her new family. It’s interesting seeing her mother in this role; almost like she’s on a TV show. This trip should be healing for Briar, but she feels an overwhelming sense of anxiety.

The moment she woke up, Briar informed her mother that she’d like to spend the day alone. They’d gone shopping one on one and went to lunch, but Briar felt a major disconnect. Her mother took some offense, but understood she’s there for a few more days.

Slipping on her running sneakers and pink trucker hat, Briar set off up the hills of Montecito. She’s explored every coffee shop in the neighborhood and has one left that her mother raves about; the Beachwood Cafe. Her running pace has improved tremendously, so she makes it to the doors of the cafe just after 8. It’s jam packed, but she realizes it’s a Saturday. On vacation, she loses track of the days.

After ordering her iced green tea and a croissant, she spots an open table outside. The sun is shining, but the damning humidity from the east coast is nowhere to be found. She could live in weather like this forever.

Her podcast is playing and she just started the mini crossword when she feels the vibrations of the extra seat at her table being drug away from the table. Startled, Briar looks up to find a young boy, loose chocolate brown curls on his head, freckles, and bright green eyes staring at her. Still a bit stunned, Briar doesn’t react when the boy sits at her table. He has a book of marine animals with him, equipped with a sticker set.

Her heart is beating erratically. It can’t be, can it?

The boy is paying her no mind as she wordlessly starts to pack up her things. She’s cursing herself for bringing so much shit with her on a run. He munches on his croissant with strawberry jam and watches her fumble around.

Finally, she gathers her things and heads to the door, her head down in case this is really happening. She takes 5 stunted steps before running into a rock-solid object. She stares down at the brightly colored Hoka sneakers belonging to the man she’s utterly in love with, but is choosing to torture herself and stay away from.

“Birdie?”

___________________________________________

REUNITED N IT FEELS SO GOOOOOOD :D

Wrapping up the story in part 10 <3 I already know how I want it to go, so hopefully I can get it up soon.

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