Chapter Text
“Can't believe you're kickin’ me out.”
“It's tradition.”
Joel sucks softly at your collarbone, his teeth grazing the skin. "Have pity,” he murmurs, smiling at the giggle vibrating in your chest. “You've been workin’ me up for over a week, you little tease.”
Squirreled away under the sheets together and fully clothed, Joel was supposed to be heading to the cottage for his last night of being what he jokingly called a ‘dishonourable man’. Tommy had planned a night of quiet drinks and cards with Hank and the ranchers, and a sunrise fly-fishing excursion the next day.
He wasn't interested in leaving though. For the last week and a half, when the girls bid you goodnight and Kayce was down, you'd pounced and dragged him to bed, drowning him in a sea of kisses and soft sighs, of damp and tangled limbs. Joel was vividly recalling his teenage years of lips feeling bruised and his pants painfully tight, rutting against some girl in the front seat of his first car.
But it wasn't just some girl anymore.
When his hands got too frisky you yanked them back, entwining them with yours and dragging a groan of frustration from him. Nibbling at his lower lip, your breath hot against his mouth, you’d admonish him with a chuckle.
Now, his fingers tweak a clothed nipple, earning him a moan as you twitch in his arms.
“You're killin’ me,” he growls, doing it again just to hear your breath catch in your throat.
“I know. It's kinda fun though.”
Three and a half months after Kayce’s arrival, Joan had given you the all clear physically. While you still looked at your changed silhouette with some frustration, Joel was unperturbed. His hands got decidedly bolder each night when curled around you in the dark, splaying along your hips and tracing the new curve of your waist. His head resting on your soft belly, sighing contentedly.
“All mine, darlin’. Beautiful.”
His breath fans over your neck now as he licks and sucks, his untrimmed beard scratching your skin. Your legs fall open under his hips, and he grinds himself against your clothed core. He groans, and you giggle again.
“This is torture.”
“So go.”
He lifts his head to look at you, carding a hand through the slippery strands of your hair. He nudges his nose against yours.
“Almost three and a half months of sleepin’ in the same bed. Think that's the longest we've ever had.” He bumps his nose against yours again. “Now you're sendin’ me away.”
“I am not sending you away. I'm just…taking the bride's prerogative.”
He hums against your neck. “And what is that?”
“Hrmph,” you grunt, turning and nipping his ear. “Anticipation. Desire. The kind that makes you a little crazy. I've read about this. Wanted to have some for myself.”
“You should be careful about the buildup,” Joel replies, resting a cheek to your chest. “I'm about one touch away from comin’ in my pants like some boy.” Your laugh is louder, and he pokes a finger in your ribs for good measure.
Wrapping a hand at the base of his neck, you pull at his hair, up to face you again. Your expression is serious.
“Last time,” you intone softly. “Then I don't want to be apart for a single day. I promise.”
He blinks, and you see him swallow. Then his mouth is on yours, his tongue sweeping inside again. A loud thumping cuts through your kiss-drunk haze.
“Are you two being disgusting in there?”
Joel pulls away in time for you to gasp “Yes!” to Ellie's theatrical gagging on the other side of the door, and a peal of laughter from Dina. You hear Kayce add a squeal to the ruckus.
“Let's go, Joel!” Tommy shouts, and Joel huffs a theatrical sigh.
“I'm comin’!”
“Ah, gross!” There's more laughter outside the door.
He plants another kiss on your lips. “Until tomorrow, Mrs almost Miller.” You grab him and kiss him feverishly, grinding your core against his straining cock. A pathetic moan chuffs into your open mouth.
“Until tomorrow.”
The next day dawns chilly, the bed cold without Joel's familiar heat. You can hear Kayce gurgling softly in the crib, the clatter of pots and pans downstairs and…what sounds like a party?
You pull the quilt down from over your head, frowning. There's a swell of chatter - laughter, talking. Feet thump on the oak floorboards, and there's a ripple of music.
A sharp tap at your door, and Hannah pokes her head in.
“Oh good! You're awake!”
She moves to Kayce’s crib, tutting softly as he sucks in a breath and starts to whine. She gathers him in her arms.
“Okay, what is going on down there?”
Hannah beams. “You have visitors,” she declares, handing you the baby. “Look after this one, I'll get you some clothes.”
“Visitors?”
“Yes.”
“You gonna give me any more?”
“No,” Hannah replies coyly. “But you're going to like it. Ooh,” she sighs, quickly crossing to the window. “Look out here.” She pulls the curtain aside. Sprawled on the grass below are a group of mismatched chairs, all facing a tall frame made of flat planks of wood. Flowers tied in bunches accent the corners and the top beam.
“Oh my. Who did this?”
“Hank,” Hannah says. “Had it hidden in the barn. We picked the flowers at sunrise. It's not much, but I think it looks pretty-”
“It's perfect,” you reply, meaning it. She bumps your shoulder affectionately.
“Give Kayce his breakfast and we'll go downstairs.”
Freya is bouncing on her toes on the landing, looking over the railing to the dining room below.
“Ooh, come see!” she squeaks. She grabs your hand, pulling you towards the edge. You peer over, rubbing Kayce's back. Below is a table piled with breakfast dishes. Orange juice, milk and coffee is passed around, knives and forks scrape plates and conversation happens around full mouths.
One of the guests says something and Joan clips him behind the ear affectionately.
“The preacher is at the table! Mind your mouth!”
“Don't worry Joan,” you hear Father Declan say as he rubs his stomach. “I was in the Navy.” Laughter drowns out the rest of his sentence.
Hannah and Freya watch your face carefully, taking in your slow smile.
“I didn't think they'd come.”
Two nights ago, Joel had caught you awake in the small hours, your fingers drumming on your thigh, toes rubbing together under the handmade quilt.
”Can hear the gears turnin’, sweet girl,” he'd murmured into your neck. You’d froze.
“Sorry.”
“Hrmph,” he'd replied, shifting behind you to draw you closer. “Don’ matter,” he'd replied, his voice thick with sleep. “What's goin’ on?”
“I…it’s silly.”
“Ain't silly if it's keepin’ you awake,” he'd growled, his voice low so as not to wake Kayce. “Out with it.”
You'd sighed. “I was thinking about…the wedding. The um…the guests.”
“Mmm?”
“I should've invited…you know, the core patrol group. Minus Brandon, of course.”
Joel had sniggered into your neck. “That boy is lucky he didn't end up in an unmarked grave. A permanent patrol ban and muckin’ out the stables ‘til Jesus returns is a light punishment.”
You hum in response, and he wriggles you closer.
“So invite them.”
“I…they wouldn't come anyway. I ran off from Jackson and didn't…well, you were there. I didn't say goodbye. And when they stopped by here for refueling over the past year, I'd hide in the bedroom while Joan fed them. I know they asked about me and I just…didn't say anything.” You feel your cheeks colour in the dark. “Such an idiot.”
“Dunno what this has to do with askin’ them to the weddin’,” Joel had replied, pulling at your hip so you rolled to face him. His lips found your forehead. “I'll get Tommy to put the word out.”
“What if they don't come?”
He’d sighed. “Of course they'd come.”
“Because you'll threaten them?”
He’d chuckled. “No, sweetheart. They'll come for the same reason that they asked after you when they stopped by. And why every day in Jackson, someone grabbed my arm and wished you well. I told you months ago.” He kissed your forehead again. “You are loved. I know they're burstin’ to see you and Kayce, but they also know you.” His hand slipped to the small of your back, drawing you closer. “I know you. You live quietly. But that don't mean you haven't been missed.”
He felt you melt into his embrace, relaxed. “Will you please ask them to come?” you’d whispered, your fingers stroking his jaw.
His lips pressed against yours. “Anythin’ you want.”
From the landing, you see Joan turn to look up at you, smiling.
“You coming down to greet your guests?”
Knives and forks clatter against plates, as a table full of your friends stop what they're doing and looks up. Kayce, warm and heavy in the sling, stirs against your chest and yawns. Hannah and Freya grin widely beside you.
You raise a hand. “Hi.”
The table bursts into whoops and cheers.
Kayce's eyes are almost closed, his mouth pursed, making lazy sucking sounds. Joan’s fingers twine in your hair, and your own eyes feel heavy. She eyes your reflection in the vanity mirror, and tuts.
“No falling asleep.”
“I associate you doing my hair with trying to relax,” you grin, watching Kayce stretch and squeak in the crib.
“You nervous?”
“Hmm.” You pluck at the belt of your robe. “My wedding day.”
“It is.”
“Do we know exactly what day?”
Joan carefully curls a section of hair around the hot roller. “Um…Hank would know. I'll ask him.”
“Okay.”
She curls another section.
“What a year,” you say to yourself, tugging the belt again. Joan clips the roller in place and stands back, hand reaching for a chair and positioning it next to you. She sinks into it with a soft grunt.
“We go back to Jackson after this,” you say softly.
“Yes.”
“And I want to go back. I want Kayce to grow up in a town, with his family and other kids. And maybe…maybe a brother or sister. If I can. I want to get to know Maria better. Dina, Ellie. I want the option to go back to patrol. Or not. I want to be Joel's wife. I want us to make a home. I want as many years as I can get with all of us together.”
Joan is stroking your arm. Her voice is tight. “All of that is waiting for you.” Your hand grips hers.
“Joel told me about his first wife. That she couldn't handle it. Marriage. A baby. They were so in love, he said, but it wasn't enough.” You squeeze her fingers. “What if I can't do it? Everything is so easy here. You know…every answer. Kayce's such a good baby, he's perfect, what if I get him back to Jackson and I can't do it? Or I do something wrong? What if Joel is on patrol and he won't stop crying? He's so good at settling him, sometimes he just screams when I hold him.” You squeeze Joan's hand again. “I told Joel I wouldn't leave. I'm going to be such an asshole if I can't keep my word.”
Joan shrugs. “So? You don't think I'm sending you back to Jackson without telling you I am your getaway driver if you need one?” Your mouth drops open.
“What?”
She pats your arm. “If you needed to come back here for any reason, Hank and I won't turn you away. We won't make you go back to a situation that no longer works for you. But,” she says, rising from the chair and fetching another roller. “I don't think it will come to that. I’ve seen you have the courage to ask Joel for what you need, and him have the patience to give it to you. You're going to be a very good wife. And you already had grace and selflessness in abundance. Which means you're going to be a very good mother.”
“How do you do that?” You wail, tears spilling over your cheeks. “How do you always know the right thing to say?”
Joan winks. “You know why. I'm a witch.” Her sly tone causes your mouth to twitch upwards. She presses a light kiss to your temple.
“The only thing you have to worry about, is what are Hank and I going to do without you?”
Your face sobers. “Really?”
“Really. This last year, having you here…well, we've felt very blessed. We've always loved it when you've visited us but this year-” she clears her throat. “Has been like having a daughter again.”
“Well I…” you stumble and try again. “I like the idea of being your daughter.” You spy Joan swallow once, twice, before she replies.
“I quite like the idea of being your mom.” She begins unrolling a curler. “And Hank…he’s just bursting with pride that he gets to escort you down the aisle.” You hold each other's eyes, grinning wildly and wiping away tears.
Alone for a few minutes before the ceremony starts, you're sitting on the window seat, peeking through the curtain at the setup below.
It's not really cheating you tell yourself.
Ellie is holding Kayce, wearing a vest made from the same material as your dress - sapphire blue over a white shirt that had to be taken apart and remade from scratch to fit. You'd asked her to be maid of honour, but both of you balked at the title. When you suggested “best woman”, she'd laughed and then agreed.
The patrol group is in a small circle, passing a mason jar back and forth; the sight of it makes your mouth water. You make a mental note to ask Joan if it's okay to have some later on. As Ellie walks past, you see them stop her to coo over the snoozing bundle in her arms. From the front row of chairs, Dina watches, a wistful little smile on her face.
Joel and Tommy are next to the square-frame arch with the preacher. Tommy is straightening Joel's collar, and Joel half-heartedly bats away his hand, a smirk on his face. You can see from the window that he's trimmed his hair and beard, and is wearing a frayed, but clean and neatly pressed chambray shirt with his jeans. Ellie drifts over to them and Joel pauses to kiss Kayce's dark head, then hers. She wrinkles her nose, but she's smiling too. Freya shyly approaches them, rosebud boutonnières from Joan's garden in her hands.
“Ain't supposed to be doin’ that.”
You turn to see Hank at the doorway. He begins fidgeting, pulling at his cuffs and smoothing his shirt over his thickened middle. He wipes a hand down his freshly shaven cheeks, the tips of his ears blushing red.
“Well, look at you,” you say, smiling, and his cheeks redden further.
“Swear this shirt fit better ‘an this,” he grumbles. His hair is slicked back and you smell Joan's homemade lemon balm soap as you walk towards him.
“Let's see here,” Hank says as he takes your arm. He twirls you around and a bubble of laughter leaves you. The dress fits perfectly, the skirt brushing the floor, the bodice snug but not tight. Freya had spent late nights embroidering delicate vines of silver thread along the hem. A matching shawl is over your arm, and Hank takes it and begins tucking it around your shoulders.
“Air’s chilly out.”
“How's Joel?” You ask. Hank chuckles.
“Grinnin’ and actin’ like a man half his age. Changed my mind about likin’ him for not talkin’ much. Wouldn't shut up at the river ‘bout you an’ Kayce. Scared the fish.” He finishes fixing the shawl. “Y’look good girlie. Joel's punchin’ above his weight.” He holds out an arm, and you tuck your hand in the crook of his elbow. “Ready?”
You press a cheek to his shoulder. “Thank you, Hank. For everything.”
“Ain't nothin’,” he mumbles, patting your hand. His eyes are bright. “You're family.” With that, he sweeps you out the bedroom door, and down the stairs to where Joel waits.