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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 3 months

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A Clean Slate

Chapter Twelve of Sweet Home Alabama

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd), Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd)

Description: After Bradley leaves you at the field, you feel adrift. Everything hurts, and in more ways than you'd ever thought possible. It seems like your life encounters disaster after disaster the more time you spend in Pigeon Creek. Is it any wonder that you jump for the chance at recovering the life you've got when Bradley shows up at your house again?

Themes: love, attraction, angst, sex, cheating, lying

Warnings: Carole being, Carole. She's a warning in and of herself!

Word Count: 4028

A/N: Here we see the aftermath of Bradley's time in Pigeon Creek. Linley's really not feeling great about Bradley anymore. This chapter is where we start to see it. I'm sorry this chapter is late!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

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Your heart feels like it’s shattered into a billion pieces as you find your dad and let him take you home. There’s no way you’re going back to New York today. You feel like you should stay away from the city and lick your wounds in peace a while longer. Carole will be all up in your face, and so will the press, you’re sure, the moment you set foot in your apartment. There’s so much you’ll have to do now. Apologize to Bradley and Carole, return the ring to him, and possibly draft a statement for the press. It makes your stomach roil and your head ache thinking about it.

“Hey, kiddo, I’m making a batch of that plum jam you love so much. Do you want a jar to take back home with you?”

You don’t respond. You’re draped over the sofa with a wet rag over your face. A part of you is hoping it will fix all of your problems like it’s fixing your migraine. But they don’t go away. Right now, you have two problems you need to solve. The problem between your dad and Bradley, and the problems between you and Bradley.

“Yeah, I’ll take a jar.” You sit upright with a sigh, letting the rag fall into your arms.

“Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened between you and the Bradshaws?” You start pacing back and forth in your living room, one, two, three, four steps, about turn, repeat.

“It’s not an easy story to hear. It’s not an easy story to tell. Before I say a word, I need you to know. I wanted to protect you from the man I was when I was in the Navy. I regret so many of my actions during that time. The only thing I don’t is having you.” He sounds exhausted, but you have to know.

You sob a little. “Please, daddy. I have to know. I love Bradley. I’m marrying him. I want him to be my family. I want him to be your family, too.”

For several moments, it is quiet between the two of you, only the sharp snick of your dad’s knife cutting through ripe plums punctuating the silence.

“This all happened in 1986, only a few months before I met your mom. Goose was my best friend in the whole world. I met him on my first rotation aboard ship when I joined the Navy. I’ve told you about my dad, right, kiddo? About how he was considered MIA in Vietnam?” You nod, because you are more than aware. “They used to haze me, beat me up, blame me for every problem. I learned pretty quickly after joining the Navy to never trust another soul. There’d be nobody who could look out for me like I could look out f0r myself. I went through RIO after RIO. Nobody wanted to work with a traitor’s kid. Until I met Goose. Goose protected me from those in my squadron who considered Duke Mitchell’s kid to be as traitorous as his father.”

Your dad sniffles and it’s all you can do to keep from sobbing in concert.

“He was my best friend, my family. We spent every leave together, took liberty together, caused mischief together. When he met Carole, I thought everything would change. But I hadn’t lost my brother. I’d gained a sister instead. I was the best man at their wedding. I wanted to scream from the rooftops when they told me they were expecting. I would have done anything for Goose and Carole. When they put Bradley in my arms at the hospital and told me I was his godfather, I would have done anything for him too.”

“When Bradley was two years old, Goose and I were called to Top Gun.” He hums gently, pulling another plum from the colossal stack and cutting into it. He doesn’t waste a single drop of the sweet juice.

“We were cocky. We thought we were the best of the best. But so did everyone else there. It was hard. We fought for our place in the rankings every day. Family day came and went, bringing Carole and Bradley to North Island.” He has a sad smile on his face as he methodically cuts up plum after plum. “Goose was so happy to see them. We took them out on the town, showed them around North Island. We did everything to make their visit the happiest. Then Hop 31 happened. I flew through your Uncle Ice’s jetwash, we went into a flat spin, and the engines failed. We had to eject. The canopy didn’t eject fully and since Goose pulled his ejector first, he hit the canopy. It severely compacted his spine.”

“The Navy had to discharge him honorably on medical grounds. There was an investigation afterward, one in which I was cleared. But after nearly losing Goose, I never wanted to fly again. So I left the Navy. I went to New York a few times after the accident to see Goose and Carole and Bradley. But it wasn’t the same. Goose and I were the same, but Carole? Carole looked at me with hatred in her eyes. By hurting Goose, I destroyed all of the hopes she had in expanding her family. She always wanted to give Bradley little brothers and sisters. My third or fourth time in New York, she told me never to come back again. She said it was hurting Goose too much to see me walking around when he’d never be able to again. So I never went back to New York. I never saw my brother again.”

You wrap your arms around your dad, relishing in the scent of his cologne, motor oil and fragrant plum juice.

“Thank you for telling me, Dad.” He grins, a crooked upturning of his lips.

That answers the question of the problems between your Dad and Bradley. You believe your dad. You also believe Bradley. His leaving New York and never coming back hurt them both - it probably hurt Goose too. You’re sure you can get the men to talk to each other in the coming months and years. But you know your romantic problems are not so easy to resolve. You did lie to your fiancé for months, hiding the most integral parts of yourself from him. Now he’s angry, and honestly, so are you. If only you hadn’t come back to Pigeon Creek. You could have told Bradley the truth in New York and taken his help to get Jake to sign the papers after all. Visions of Sheriff Garcia and officers from the Greeneville Police Department forcing Jake to sign the papers float through your imagination. But you didn’t tell Bradley earlier. Now you have to fix this problem and shove whatever it is you feel for Jake into the box where it’s been languishing for the past seven years.

“I know you’re thinkin’ that I spoiled things good this time, Dad.” Your voice is subdued, mind turning in circles at the thought of every relationship you’ve destroyed in your life - Jake, your dad, Penny, Amelia, and now Bradley.

“Oh, hon, don’t go accusin’ me of thinkin’.” His laugh rings out through the small kitchen. “I ain’t done anything of the sort.”

“Anyways, kiddo, spoiled’s in the eye of the beholder…” You stand at the counter so you can see the peace on his face as he carefully breaks down the plum in his hand. “Like these plums here. Some people might call them spoiled, but I think that these almost-ruined ones make the sweetest jam.”

It’s true. This jam is your favorite thing to have on toast, pancakes, or stirred into oatmeal. Hell, you’ve even made tea with a spoonful of the flavorful preserves and hot water.

“Do you need any help?” The grin that transforms your father’s face is enough to chase some of your thoughts away.

The quiet, methodical work settles something in your soul. You’ve always enjoyed working with your hands, and making jam seems to settle the frantic rush in your soul just as much as sewing does. You’re just bottling the jam up when there’s a knock on the door.

“I’ll go see who it is, kiddo. You keep bottling the jam.” You’re not expecting the silence when the door opens, though. Nor are you expecting the continuing silence as your unexpected visitor walks through the door.

“Hi.” Your shock must show on your face because Bradley’s quick to take your hands in his. You’re wearing an apron, and there’s a streak of sticky-sweet jam on your cheek, but he’s looking at you like he’s still in love with you. Should you be feeling hopeful now? Maybe not, but you are hopeful despite all indicators to the contrary.

“Hi. I thought you’d be halfway to New York by now.”

“So did I.”

“So why are you here, Bradley?” You need to know why he’s here. As much as you may hope that he’s here to reconcile, to tell you he forgives you, a part of you isn’t sure you can believe it until you hear it.

“I wanted to know if I’m still your fiancé, Lin, well… that is … if you’ll still have me. I really don’t care what happened down here.” He’s so clearly not looking at your dad as he says the words.

“So... you have a past. I mean, who doesn't? What I need to know is if there is a place for me in your future.” You’re frozen. There’s a part of you that isn’t sure if he’s genuine or not, but when he opens his arms to you, you melt into his embrace anyway.

“Honey, you’ve got jam on your cheek!” His smile is sweet as he brushes it away with the pad of his thumb and licks it off. “It’s as sweet as you are.”

“So, we’re heading up to New York City, huh?” Your dad’s careful question pops the bubble you’re in, the one fueled by mad hope and love.

“Well, Mav, my mom’s the mayor, and she has her heart set on a New York wedding.” At least his tone is outwardly polite.

“I guess I can take off work for your wedding, kiddo.” You smile at your dad, grinning at him. But something about the big New York wedding Bradley had mentioned doesn’t feel right to you anymore.

“Bradley?” At his hum, you continue. “ I, um... actually, I was thinking, maybe we could have the wedding here?”

“Here?”

“In my hometown.”

“Look, Lin, if it’s the cost you’re worrying about, don’t.” It’s a little weird that money is what he’s worrying about. You may live a bit more frugally than Bradley does, but you have money. If you have to pay for a part of a New York wedding, you’re sure you can swing it.

“It’s not the money, Bradley. It’s never about the money down here.” It’s really not. There are bonds amongst the people - the community - in Pigeon Creek that you’ve never felt in New York. You have people you love in New York, sure. But you have so many people you love in Pigeon Creek, too. It doesn’t feel right celebrating without Dorothy, Mickey, Penny, Amelia, and all your old friends anymore.

There’s a smirk on his face as he grins down at you. “You know,” His town is secretive, brimming with barely concealed joy. “A lot of people are expecting us to get married in the city. But, I think a nice, quiet country wedding is just the ticket.”

“Mav, if you could cover the rehearsal dinner, I’d really like to take care of the rest?” Your heart soars at hearing the obvious olive branch Bradley’s giving your dad.

“I think I can cover that. After all, how many times does your only daughter get married?” Your fledgling smile falls at those words from your dad’s mouth. “Other than before, kiddo.”

New York City - Mayor’s Office

“What do you mean she’s Mav’s daughter, Bradley?” Of all of the information Bradley’s given his mother since he landed back in New York with Linley an hour ago, that’s the piece of information that she’s fixating on. He’s trailing behind her as she marches through her office like she’s on a warpath. “And then there’s the fact that she has a history with the police in Pigeon Creek?”

“She was never convicted, Mom.”

“Oh-ho! I don’t know which is worse: that she’s a child cat killer, that her dad’s a part of the sons of the Confederacy or that her dad is Maverick Fucking Mitchell.”

Bradley can’t tell which is worse either. As of now the fact that she's a Mitchell is trumping everything else. “What would you suggest I do, Mom? Dump her for being poor? Or hell, because her dad is who he is? Didn’t somebody say something about the sins of the father not applying to their children?”

Bradley walks towards the small lounge area where his mom likes to take interviews from her office. She always maintains that this particular location showcases all of her best sides. “You’re supposed to be a Democrat, remember?” He sits down on the sofa as he asks her that question.

“There is nothing wrong with being poor.” His mom’s eyes flash as she stares him down. “I get elected by poor people. And I’m a big enough person to commend her for making something of herself.”

She sits down next to him, and it’s been so long since Bradley’s seen her as a mother that he forgot how comforting her perfume smells. “What upsets me is that she lied to you.”

To her credit, the great Carole Bradshaw does indeed look like she’s worried. Worried about Bradley, for Bradley. Though Bradley would bet that her true worry is over the nosedive her polling numbers are going to take once they find out that Bradley’s marrying a nobody turned semi-successful fashion designer instead of a Southern heiress turned semi-successful fashion designer.

His tone is deliberately nonchalant as he looks at his mom. “So what? She was ashamed of her background. Who hasn’t been embarrassed by their parents at one point?”

Bradley’s poking the bear. He has been embarrassed by both of his parents. When he was younger his embarrassment was in how they were always all over each other. Their love was disgusting in that wholly teenage way. Now, Bradley’s constantly embarrassed by the fact that his mom is so controlling over his life; because she insists that she knows best even though he’s thirty years old.

“I’m going to assume that was a rhetorical question.” Bradley’s quite content to let her think so.

“Assume away.” The fact that she’s still glaring as she walks away means that he’s hit a sensitive spot. But it has him rising as well, because he’s not going to let her intimidate him into doing something he doesn’t want to.

“No one is going to change my mind about this.” Bradley’s sure she’s going to try to dissuade him, again. “Not you, not the media, not anyone.”

“Fine, Brad. But admit it, I was right.” There’s victory in her gaze as she walks up to face him down.

“Yes, you were right. But she came clean. Now can we move on?” Please, can Carole Bradshaw’s one track mind be de-railed already?

“There is a wedding in your future, after all, whether you like it or not.” As if Bradley could forget - he’s just mentioning the wedding to get his mom off of the Linley and lying topic. It’s a decision he’s still not sure of. In truth he’d headed back to the Mitchell house in Pigeon Creek because he’d taken a look at his own polling numbers. People loved the fact that he was engaged. Then there’s Linley’s own chosen profession. It would be easy enough for her to stop fashion designing if his career demanded it. He could use a lovely leading lady on his arm after all for the endless rounds of fundraising galas and for swearing-in ceremonies.

“And how, exactly, does Little Miss Alabama plan to accommodate 500 people? I suppose she has connections at the jail?”

Hah! Bradley would pay to see Mayor Carole Bradshaw living out of a jail cell for the wedding. “Well, there are several excellent choices.” There's definitely a grin on his face as he lists out the options, if only because his mom seems angrier the more low-brow they get. “There's also a Travelodge, a Days Inn, a Motel 6 … oh, and the Golden Cherry Motel, where we will be.”

It’s obvious she’s less than amused. “Laugh now, but if this gets out, Bradley…”

“It won’t.” Bradley’s going to ensure it. As far as the press is concerned, Bradley Bradshaw is still marrying Linley Floyd of the Greeneville Floyds. It’s going to be a closed wedding, no press. The Bradshaws will be controlling the narrative every step of the way. “Anyways, mom, the press is expecting the Plaza in June. They’re not going to find out.”

New York City - Linley’s Apartment

It feels weird being back in New York City again. You’re the same person who left New York less than a week ago, but now you can feel it, how little you fit in. You’re lying on your bed flipping idly through one of the most recommended wedding magazines of the year. But it’s not keeping your attention - nothing about place settings or napkins or flower arrangements is. If you could kick your brain, you would. All you’re thinking about is Jake. Jake, Jake, Jake. The day you fell in love. The day your life changed. The day you left. But more than those days in the past, you’re eagerly thinking about the days you’ve experienced more recently with Jake - or well maybe you should say that you’re thinking about the one night you’ve spent with Jake recently.

It’s surreal how one night with your ex, a man you haven’t seen in nearly a decade, was more of everything you've been yearning for than the past eight months with your fiancé. Now the wedding plans are underway. It doesn’t feel right, what Bradley and his mom are planning. They’re bringing the media into town, cherry-picking journalists and photographers to spin this wedding the way they want it to be spun. Isn’t this wedding supposed to be about you and Bradley? Apparently not. Instead you feel like this is all about Bradley and his polling numbers.

The worst part is how there isn’t a person you can talk to. If you talk to Nat, all she mentions is her excitement for the wedding and how lucky you are to have Bradley in your life. But the more you think about it, the more you’re sure you only want to talk to one person. You’ve been holding yourself back from calling him for seven years now. You definitely can’t call him now. But you feel like you know exactly what he’s doing.

It’s a Sunday night, so Jake’s probably home with his mom and Amelia watching the football game. You can picture the languid sprawl his limbs are arranged in on Penny’s worn plush sofa. He’s probably wearing a football jersey and worn jeans, feet bare with Bryant curled up against his hip. His green eyes are probably narrowed at the screen, every inch of his body tense as he tracks the oblong football across the screen. Everything else will have faded away for him. The only important thing in his sights is probably the football game. There had been a time where you’d been able to pull his attention away. When you were younger, he used to pull you into his arms as he lay there on the sofa, turning you until you were comfortably ensconced in his embrace as his hands traced absent minded patterns against your stomach. That had been how he’d felt the baby kick, in those weeks before happily ever after crashed down around your ears. But now, you’re simply alone, lying on your bed and flipping through magazines with words that barely make sense, in a city which never sleeps and where you feel like you have no friends.

Or well, maybe you have one? It’s Tash on the phone, “Hey Linley! I feel like I haven’t seen you at all since you got back from Alabama!”

“Hey Tash.” Your voice is subdued as you roll across your bed, mussing the pristine sheets and knocking your pillows out of place. “I’ve missed you, too. But since I got back, I’ve just been planning the wedding.”

“Now why does it sound like you said The Wedding in all-caps?” Her gasp is over dramatic and you can practically see the way her almond shaped eyes narrow as her brain goes into overdrive. People always forget that models have brains. Nat never wanted to be a model full time. She was originally studying Business Management, wanting to start her own fashion house. But starting fashion houses needs money and influence in addition to a good head for business. “Fuck, Lin. Is Carole Bradshaw being an absolute bitch about this wedding?”

“She’s been more than a little annoying, yeah, Tash.” It makes your skin crawl just thinking about the meeting you’d had with Carole in her sprawling penthouse apartment the day after you came back to New York. You can still remember the hopelessness you’d felt at the sight of the fabric samples, cutlery, flower arrangements, invitations and more laid across the formal dining table. Carole had disregarded every decision you’d made and by the end of the neverending decisions about the wedding, your head was splitting. That was when she’d started talking about the venue.

“This place is gorgeous and we can control the security.” You’re not sure when she had the time to do this because she had picture after picture of the Floyd Plantation house.

“The Floyd Plantation?” It rankled a little as Carole patted your hand condescendingly.

“It did inspire your identity, didn’t it?” Oh, if only she knew. You’d picked the name of your other best friend for a reason. You’d picked Floyd as more than a wish for affluence. You’d picked Floyd as a wish for success, for happiness. It hadn’t helped that you’d seen Beau Simpson’s fakely polite smile the entire time you were at the manor either. In fact, you’re pretty sure the pictures Carole has of Floyd Plantation are from his foray into Floyd Plantation without permission.

You’re still reeling as you recount the whirlwind that Carole Bradshaw had become when you were talking about the arrangements.

“God, Lin! Did the old witch let you make any choices on your own?” You have to laugh at that. It’s obvious the Tash is calling you in between photo shoots because you can hear so much noise in the background.

“It doesn’t feel like she’s letting me pick out much, Tash. But she is letting me pick my dress, of course.” Tash’s laughter makes you laugh just a little too, your existential dread lifting just a little at the sound. “Do you want to come with me?”

“You’re serious?!” She sounds like she’s jumping up and down in her makeup chair.

“You’re one of my best friends, Tash! Of course I want you there!”

The next four weeks are filled with conversations like that one - light and easy but not emotionally fulfilling. You’re surrounded by more people than you ever have been in New York but you feel lonelier than ever. The night after your first wedding dress fitting, you give in to the urge and dial the number you’ve had in your thoughts ever since you left Pigeon Creek. Each ring makes the nerves and sorrow rise in your chest as you struggle to find the joy in planning this wedding. The days turn to weeks as you call and call and call. But when the busy tone turns into the announcement that the number you’re trying to reach has been disconnected, you know it’s time. You’ve made your bed, it’s time to lie in it.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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