Parts: 1

"Love Beyond The Ruins"

the last of is (tv show) fanfic. Love story between Joel Miller x Original Female charachter. (No outbreak) Improve story. Mature 18+ Chapter 1 – Welcome Home POV: Esme The Texas heat hit her before the sun did. Esme stepped out of Austin-Bergstrom Airport and instantly regretted the black jeans. The air was thick and heavy, like someone had draped a hot, wet blanket over her shoulders. She pulled her suitcase toward a concrete pillar just outside the flow of people and dropped her backpack with a soft thud. She needed a second. A breath. Maybe a lifeline. With slightly shaking fingers, she opened her phone and hit the group call button. It rang twice before Maxime picked up, her blond curls pulled into a messy bun, a worried smile tugging at her lips. “Oh god, you’re alive. You didn’t get eaten by customs.” Jane popped into the frame a moment later, sitting on the floor with a mug in her lap. “Is it as weird as we imagined? Are people wearing cowboy hats?” “No cowboy hats yet,” Esme said, lips quirking. “But I did see a giant mural of a longhorn in the terminal. Very subtle.” “So? First impression?” Maxime asked, squinting. “Does America smell like cheese and guns?” Esme laughed under her breath. “It smells like… air-conditioning and anxiety.” Maxime and Jane both groaned sympathetically. Jane leaned in closer. “You doing okay? Really?” “I think so,” Esme said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s surreal. I’ve never been here. Never met most of these people. And now I’m supposed to call this home?” “You’re not alone, though,” Maxime said. “You’ve got you. That’s a pretty solid start.” “And us, virtually haunting you at all times,” Jane added. “We’ll call every day if we have to.” Esme smiled at the two familiar faces. Her chest hurt in that slow, aching way that came from love. “I already miss you both.” “We miss you too,” Maxime said gently. “But this is good. A reset. New place, new air. Space.” “And maybe,” Jane said with a grin, “a hot Texan man with actual emotional depth.” Esme snorted. “Highly unlikely.” “We’re coming to visit,” Maxime said. “Eventually. Once we figure out how to survive the heat and the portion sizes.” “I Googled Texas and found a list of venomous snakes,” Jane added. “It’s not helping.” Esme laughed, then drew in a breath. Her heart suddenly skipped — because there he was. Her father. Standing just outside the pickup zone. Sunglasses perched on his head. Cardboard coffee tray in one hand, like he was clinging to it for stability. Squinting at the road like it owed him something. “I gotta go,” she said softly. “He’s here.” “Deep breath,” Maxime murmured. “You’ve got this,” Jane added. “And if not, pretend you do. That’s practically the same thing.” Esme smiled — real, wobbly — and ended the call. Then she stepped forward into the Texas sun. When he turned and finally caught sight of her, his whole face lit up. “Mijn meisje,” he said, stepping forward and wrapping her in a hug that knocked the breath out of her. She held on a moment longer than she meant to ⸻ The car ride was easier than she expected — warm, comfortable. They hadn’t really talked like this in years. There had been quick phone calls, the occasional rushed weekend in Europe (mostly spent around other relatives), but nothing deep. And yet now, in this old Toyota truck with country music humming low on the radio, the conversation flowed like it used to. Henry told her about the neighborhood, about Joel and Sarah — “He’s a good man. Keeps to himself, but helps when it counts.” He talked about Bill and Frank too, longtime friends from the area. Funny, in their own weird way. He said he was glad they’d all get to meet today at the barbecue — something he and Frank had organized as a welcome-home gathering for Esme. He told her he was happy she was finally here. That it meant more than she probably realized. Esme listened, watching the flat Texas landscape roll by for the first time in her life, and let herself feel it: something close to peace. “I was a little nervous,” she admitted, her voice soft. “About coming here. About seeing you.” Henry glanced over. “Why?” She shrugged. “It’s been a long time. And this isn’t just a visit.” “You’re home, Esme. For as long as you want it to be.” His voice was rough with age — and everything they didn’t say. “I’m glad you’re here.” She smiled out the window, blinked hard, and said, “Me too.” ⸻ They pulled into the driveway, and the smell of grilled meat hit her instantly — smoke, spices, something tangy. There were voices coming from the backyard already, laughter floating through the air, and the distinct sound of kids splashing in a pool. “Looks like they already started,” Henry said with a smile as he got out of the car. Esme stepped out after him and looked at the house — the house she’d heard so much about but never seen in person. Her father’s house. It was smaller than she imagined, but cozy. Deep red brick, with ivy crawling along one side and a wide oak tree shading the porch. Something about it tugged at her. She hadn’t expected it to feel so… familiar. Henry had already grabbed her suitcases and was heading inside. Esme followed, and the moment she stepped through the front door, her heart dropped. The house looked like her mother had decorated it herself. Sofie’s style — soft farmhouse textures, whitewashed wood, woven baskets, cozy throws. Henry had even shipped the old furniture from Holland. Tears threatened, but she held them back as she heard her father coming down the stairs. Now’s not the time for tears. “Well, welcome to my hib,” Henry said. Esme blinked, then laughed. “You mean crib.” “Hey, I’m an old man trying to keep up.” He smiled. “Your room’s on the left, next to the bathroom. You can freshen up and I’ll see you outside when you’re ready.” “Thanks, Dad.” She walked into the room — and stopped. Some of her own furniture was here too. Her old desk. The chair from her childhood bedroom. Familiar things in an unfamiliar place. She dropped her backpack onto the chair and changed into a green summer dress and sandals. Her thick brown curls were swept into a loose, stylish updo — messy in a deliberate way, stray ringlets framing her face just right. You’re fine, she told herself in the mirror. You’re okay. No one here knows your past. You’re just the daughter. That’s all. ⸻ The backyard was buzzing with life. String lights zig-zagged overhead. Folding chairs formed a loose circle near the grill. A cooler sat open, half-full of beers and soda. A tall man stood flipping meat with practiced ease, while two others — one with a shaved head and beard, the other in a button-down shirt — were in a heated debate about hot sauce. I’m not sure I’m ready for this, Esme thought. But she didn’t step back. She smiled — wide and warm, dimples deepening — and moved forward anyway. She quickly spotted her dad, standing a little apart, chatting with a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a rough, unshaven jaw. He wore a fitted gray T-shirt that clung just enough to hint at the strength beneath it. “Esme, come meet some folks,” Henry called. She stepped forward. “This is Joel Miller. Joel, this is my daughter, Esme.” Joel shifted slightly, eyes moving over her. His expression was unreadable, posture guarded — but something in his gaze lingered. Just for a second. “Nice to meet you,” he said, voice low. “You too,” Esme replied, meeting his eyes steadily — though her heart stuttered. A sharp, unexpected flutter. She hated that feeling. Tim had taught her not to trust it — to hide from it, to doubt it. Henry stepped closer, introducing the rest of the group. A burly man with a graying beard walked over, holding a plate piled high with barbecue. His sharp eyes studied Esme for a moment before softening. “Well, look who decided to show up,” he said. “Heard you’ve been keeping busy. Army nurse, huh?” Esme nodded, offering a small smile. “Yes. Just got back on leave.” Bill gave a slow nod. Respect, plain on his face. “Takes guts. Not many can handle what you’ve seen.” Esme felt a flicker of gratitude behind the bluntness of his words — and noticed the pride on Henry’s face. “I’m Bill,” he added, extending a hand. “Esme. Nice to meet you.” She shook it firmly. He gave a rare smile. “You don’t look like someone who’d take crap from anyone. Good.” Just then, a lanky man in a button-down shirt approached, balancing a cooler in one hand. “Frank,” he said, offering his hand with a kind smile. “Heard a lot about you, Esme.” She took his hand, already liking his energy. “All good things, I hope.” Frank chuckled. “Mostly.” ⸻ The smell of grilled sausages and sunscreen hung in the air as Esme sat in the shade, legs crossed, sipping cold lemonade from a red plastic cup. Henry’s backyard buzzed with easy summer energy — neighbors chatting around the grill, kids shrieking as they cannonballed into the pool, country music humming low from the old speaker by the kitchen window. Esme watched it all with the quiet alertness of someone not used to this kind of peace. It was a soft, ordinary afternoon — and somehow that made her more nervous than chaos ever had. “Daaad!” She looked up just in time to see a soaking wet girl darting across the yard, a blur of tangled curls and dripping limbs. Joel barely had time to turn before Sarah flung herself into his arms. “I beat my own time by twelve seconds!” she beamed, water running down her nose. “I am literally an Olympic threat.” “You’re also literally soaking me,” Joel muttered, trying not to laugh. Esme smiled faintly — and then felt Henry nudge her elbow with his. “That’s Sarah,” he said, voice warm. “Bit of a hurricane. She’s twelve. Smart as hell. Loud as hell too.” “She reminds me of someone,” Esme replied, sipping her drink. “Don’t say me,” Henry said, already grinning. Before she could answer, Joel turned toward them with Sarah still latched onto his side. “Esme,” he said, “this is my daughter — Sarah.” Sarah turned, taking Esme in with a curious tilt of her head. Her cheeks were flushed from the sun, one goggle strap still looped around her arm. “Oh,” she said, blunt and unfiltered. “You don’t look how I thought you would.” Esme raised an eyebrow, amused. “And how did you think I’d look?” Sarah shrugged. “I don’t know. Older. Less… cool, I guess.” Joel coughed into his drink. Henry snorted. Esme laughed — not the nervous kind, but real. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” “You sound funny,” Sarah noted, squinting. “That’s because she’s Dutch,” Henry offered, leaning back in his chair. “Like me.” Sarah turned to him, appalled. “You told me Dutch people put mayonnaise on fries.” “Because it’s delicious,” Henry defended. “It’s horrifying,” Sarah said flatly. “That’s a crime against ketchup.” “It’s a cultural upgrade,” Esme added, deadpan. Sarah gave her a long look… then smirked. “You’re both weird.” Then she turned back to Joel. “I’m going back in. Cannonball time.” “Dry off a little first!” Joel called after her, but she was already gone — a flash of towel, bare feet, and chlorinated rebellion. Esme watched her go, still half-smiling. “She’s cool.” “Depends who you ask,” Joel said, but he looked proud. “She liked you,” Henry added. “That was liking me?” Esme raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah,” Joel said. “She only roasts people she accepts.” They both laughed, and for a moment, it was just easy — the hum of summer, the splash of the pool, Henry sipping beer in the shade, and Esme sitting in the middle of it all, feeling — for the first time in a long while — maybe not so out of place after all. —- The house was quiet now. The last dishes had been stacked in the sink, the lights in the hallway dimmed, and Henry had said goodnight with a tired smile and a warm pat on her shoulder. Esme’s room was cool from the ceiling fan, her green dress draped over the back of the chair, suitcase half-unpacked at her feet. She lay on the unfamiliar bed in cotton shorts and a faded sleep shirt, the kind you never wear around strangers. But no one here was quite a stranger anymore. Not fully. She picked up her phone. 11:30 PM in Texas. Back home? 6:30 AM. She hovered for a second, then tapped Maxime’s name. The call rang once. Then twice. Then a groggy voice picked up. “Als dit geen spoed is, ga ik je vermoorden,” Maxime muttered, throat scratchy. Esme laughed quietly. “It’s me.” “Es…?” The sheets rustled, and Maxime’s voice cleared. “Jesus. You okay?” “Yeah. Sorry. I figured you’d be up soon anyway.” Maxime yawned. “Barely. I’ve got ten more minutes until the world gets to see my face. What’s going on?” Esme shifted under the thin blanket. “I just… wanted to hear a familiar voice.” “That bad?” “No, actually… kind of okay,” Esme said, hesitating before letting the words out. “The barbecue was sweet. Dad really went all out. There was this girl — Sarah, Joel’s twelve-year-old daughter. She’s got this fearless energy and zero filter.” Maxime chuckled softly. “Sounds like your kind of kid.” “She really is. Smart, loud, funny. Kind of reminds me of how I used to be… before everything.” There was a pause on the line. Not heavy. Just knowing. “Joel’s her dad?” Maxime asked casually, but there was a note of interest there. Esme smiled faintly. “Mhm. Quiet. Dry humor. Good-looking in that whole ‘doesn’t realize it’ kind of way.” “Ah. Brooding Texan. You’re doomed.” “Stop.” “Jane’s going to lose her mind when she hears this.” “Speaking of,” Esme said, “still asleep?” “Snoring. Sounded like a dying lawnmower twenty minutes ago. I should’ve recorded it.” Esme laughed again — properly this time. The sound felt good in her chest. “You okay, really?” Maxime asked, quieter now. “Not just saying it?” Esme let her head sink into the pillow. “I think… yeah. I mean, I don’t feel like running. That’s new.” Maxime exhaled slowly. “Good. That’s really good, Es.” Another pause. Then: “I miss you.” Esme swallowed. “I miss you too.” “Okay,” Maxime sighed. “Now I have to pretend I’m a responsible adult and go make coffee.” “Go. Save the Dutch economy.” “Sleep, Es. Dream of cowboys.” “Please don’t.” Maxime laughed, then hung up. Esme let the phone fall to the side, the room still and dark around her. Outside, a cicada buzzed in the distance. Somewhere, a dog barked once, then quieted. She listened to the unfamiliar night, the hum of Texas life just outside her window. Then she closed her eyes. And for the first time in weeks, maybe longer, sleep came without a fight. Chapter 2 – Babysitting Blues POV: Esme / Joel ⸻ Two weeks later, the Texas sun was already blazing through the blinds. The buzz of neighborhood life drifted in through the open window — lawnmowers, dogs barking in the distance, kids laughing. Esme sat at the kitchen table, nursing her third cup of coffee and scrolling absently through her phone. She hadn’t slept much. The usual nightmares had kept her up, mind racing, and now her screen was flooded with something that made her stomach twist: Texts from Tim. New number. New country. Same toxicity. How the hell did he even get this number? She stared at the screen, frozen in that half-alert tension she knew too well. Should she tell Maxime and Jane? ‘No, they would be worried constantly. But how did he get my number?’ The floor creaked behind her, and she quickly locked her phone. Henry walked into the kitchen, smiling — until he saw the look on her face. “Hey, lieverd,” he said gently. “You okay?” Esme jumped, startled. She hadn’t heard him come in. Immediately, the mask slid on — the calm, easy smile she’d mastered years ago. “Yeah. Just some trouble with admin stuff. Nothing bad.” She put her phone down like it meant nothing. Henry studied her for a beat, but nodded, reassured. “Alright. But if you need help, I’m here.” Then his face brightened. “Speaking of help — how would you feel about babysitting Sarah for a bit? Joel could use a hand. I’m helping him out at work until his brother gets back.” Esme blinked. “Babysitting?” Henry chuckled. “Sarah’s a handful. But she likes you.” It wasn’t something she’d expected. Babysitting hadn’t been on her radar. But maybe this was exactly what she needed — something light, something ordinary. Something normal. She glanced at her father’s hopeful expression and nodded. “Alright. I’ll do it.” ⸻ POV: Esme After Henry left for the job site, the house fell into a still, unfamiliar quiet. Peaceful, but odd. Esme moved from room to room like she was waiting for something, nerves humming just under the surface. Then the doorbell rang. She opened it to find a familiar pickup idling at the curb, sunlight bouncing off the windshield. Joel stood at the door with a coffee in one hand and Sarah’s backpack slung over the other. Sarah was in front of him before Esme could say anything — a blur of pink T-shirt, goggles, and foam swords. “Ready for a swordfight?” she asked eagerly. Esme laughed, crouching to her level. “I’m ready if you are.” Joel offered a small smile, nodding toward the bag. “Snack’s in there. Emergency goldfish crackers are in the side pocket. And… good luck.” “Thanks,” Esme said, shouldering the backpack. Their eyes met for a brief second — polite, but with something a little heavier underneath. He hesitated like he might say more, then thought better of it. “Text me if she gets too wild,” he added with a crooked grin. “No such thing,” Esme replied. Joel gave Sarah a quick hug and headed back toward his truck. Sarah waved dramatically as he drove off, then turned to Esme, practically vibrating with excitement. “Can we swim first? I brought my fastest goggles.” “Absolutely,” Esme said, already smiling. And just like that, the quiet was gone. They swam and had the long awaited sword fight. Painted their nails — bright turquoise for Sarah, chipped navy for Esme. Then Esme let Sarah braid her hair while a Disney movie played quietly in the background. Just as Sarah was halfway through explaining the tragic plotline of her favorite video game character (“He dies, but like, in a cool way — with music!”), Esme’s phone buzzed with a call from Maxime. She smiled and picked up. “You awake?” Maxime’s face appeared, half-covered by a hoodie, her voice crackling through. “Barely. It’s late here — almost bedtime in Holland. But I needed to check in on Operation Babysit-A-Tornado.” Sarah perked up instantly. “Who’s that?” “That,” Esme said, turning the phone toward Sarah, “is Maxime. One of my best friends.” “Hi!” Sarah waved so hard her bracelet flew off and hit the couch. Maxime grinned. “Whoa. You must be the famous Sarah.” “That’s me.” She puffed up proudly. “Esme said you’re Dutch too?” Maxime winked. “Born and raised. She teaching you any Dutch yet?” “I only know how to say stroopwafel. Does that count?” “Absolutely,” Maxime said solemnly. “The most sacred of words.” Just then, another face appeared on screen, blinking blearily in the background. Jane. She looked like she’d just rolled out of bed — hair wild, makeup smudged from the night before, still holding a half-empty water bottle. “Why is it so loud,” she muttered, before focusing on the screen. “Wait… is that a child?” “I’m not a child,” Sarah corrected. “I’m Sarah.” Jane tilted her head. “Respect.” Esme laughed, shifting to lean against the couch arm. “They’re my best friends. We’ve been stuck together since high school.” “Were you troublemakers?” Sarah asked, eyes wide. “Absolutely not,” Maxime and Jane said in perfect unison — then burst into laughter. “I don’t believe you,” Sarah said wisely. The four of them talked for a few more minutes — about Texas, about Sarah’s pool sword, about Jane’s late-night bartending adventures (“Never trust a man who orders tequila and cries,” she said), and Maxime’s morning coffee dependency. The sun was still high in Texas, but for Maxime and Jane, it was well past their bedtime. “Alright,” Maxime said with a yawn. “It’s almost lunchtime here, but almost midnight there. I have to pretend to be functional tomorrow.” “Miss you,” Esme said softly. “Miss you more.” Jane blew a kiss. “You’re glowing, by the way. Texas looks good on you.” The screen went dark. Esme tucked the phone away, a small, settled smile lingering on her face. Sarah flopped dramatically across her lap. “Your friends are weird. I like them.” “Yeah,” Esme said, running a hand over Sarah’s damp curls. “Me too.” She cooked dinner for the four of them — Sarah’s request: spaghetti bolognese. By the time Henry and Joel returned, the table was set, the kitchen smelled like home, and Sarah was proudly explaining the exact ratio of cheese to pasta. Dinner was easy. Full of small jokes, second helpings, and relaxed conversation. By the end of the night, it was decided: Esme would babysit Sarah whenever needed. ⸻ POV: Joel Joel hadn’t expected it to go so well. He watched from the doorway for a moment before stepping in — Esme and Sarah side-by-side at the kitchen counter, laughing over a sauce disaster like it was the funniest thing in the world. He hadn’t seen Sarah that relaxed in weeks. And Esme? She didn’t even seem to realize how naturally she fit in. The way she softened around Sarah, the way she listened without interrupting, how quick her laughter was even though she carried something heavy behind her eyes. Henry’s idea hadn’t just been practical — it had been smart. Joel had seen the way Esme looked at the world: cautious, like she didn’t fully trust solid ground. Like someone who had survived too much. Sarah hadn’t had a woman in her life since she was a baby. Connie, their elderly neighbor, helped when she could — but this was different. Esme was different. Joel’s gaze drifted toward her again. She was leaning on the counter, nodding along to one of Sarah’s stories. And then she glanced up — just for a second — and caught him looking. Something flickered between them. Not heat exactly, not yet. But something cautious. Curious. Hopeful. ⸻ Chapeter 3 – Unspoken Things POV: Joel / Esme A few weeks had passed, and Esme was slowly adjusting to life in Texas. Babysitting Sarah had become part of her routine, and dinners with Joel and Sarah brought moments of warmth and comfort she hadn’t expected. Bill and Frank would often join, bringing with them easy conversation and the feeling of a chosen family. Her relationship with her father, Henry, was gradually improving. There were more shared moments now—quiet breakfasts, small talk in the evenings—but still, the conversation they needed to have remained unspoken, lingering like a shadow between them. Despite the progress, Esme’s past clung tightly. Triggers would surface without warning—BBQ smoke that reminded her of chaos, the sight of gun shops, even the sharp scent of cleaning solvent. All brought back flashes of the trauma she tried so hard to bury. Tim hadn’t made it easy to move forward. His texts and calls came in waves—pleading, apologizing, swearing he couldn’t live without her. One message would beg her to take him back; the next, filled with rage and threats, reminded her why she left. After weeks of this cycle, Esme finally blocked him and changed her number, hoping that would be the end of it. POV: Esme She jolted awake, heart racing, the dream still clinging to her like sweat. The bedroom was dark, but not silent—Texas crickets hummed through the open window. Her breath caught, uneven, and for a moment she forgot where she was. Not there, she told herself. Not anymore. But her mind still played tricks. Two years earlier – Afghanistan. The medic tent was dimly lit. Blood, heat, screaming. Esme’s hands shook as she clamped gauze to a soldier’s shattered leg, shouting orders in Dutch out of instinct before switching to English. Someone else—someone younger—was vomiting in the corner. “Esme!” a voice barked. She turned, already soaked in sweat and blood. Another wounded man was being dragged in—no gear, missing half his body armor. His eyes were wide. His mouth was moving, but he wasn’t making a sound. She didn’t even remember what she said. Just the pressure of compressing wounds. The moment his pulse faded under her fingers. Gone. Like so many others. Just gone. Now. She blinked hard and sat up, dragging the covers away. The air felt too heavy. She needed fresh air. Ground. Stillness. And a damn cigarette. Esme padded barefoot through the dark house and out to the porch. Her legs felt weak. Her mind was loud. She lit her cigarette—then heard a voice. POV: Joel The night air was cool against his skin, the low hum of cicadas filling the quiet spaces between thoughts. Joel couldn’t sleep. He sat on the porch, elbows resting on his knees, lost in the kind of silence he rarely had time for. Then he heard the screen door creak open. Esme stepped outside, barefoot, cigarette in hand. She didn’t see him right away — just leaned against the railing and lit up, exhaling slowly into the night. He hadn’t meant to stare. But Esme had this way about her — like she was both tough and fragile, standing on the edge of something and holding herself together anyway. He wondered what battles she fought under that calm exterior. Joel cleared his throat softly. “You okay?” he asked, voice low, rough from disuse but genuine. She startled just a bit and turned, eyes catching the porch light. “Yeah, just… tired.” He nodded. “It’s a lot, coming here. Starting over.” Esme gave a small smile. “Yeah. Feels strange—but good.” They stood there in a companionable silence, the kind that didn’t need filling. Not awkward—just full of things left unsaid. Joel shifted his weight, thumb tapping lightly against his knee. Part of him wanted to reach out, to say more. But he held back. “You know,” he said instead, “if you ever need anything—anything at all—just say the word.” Esme met his gaze, steady and warm. “Thanks, Joel. That means a lot.” ⸻ POV: Esme A few minutes later, Joel reappeared from inside the house, holding two cold beers. He handed her one without a word. “Thanks,” Esme said softly, her fingers brushing his as she took it. The warmth of his hand lingered longer than it should have. The air had cooled just enough to feel bearable. The backyard was quiet, wrapped in soft porch light and shadows. Joel sat down beside her on the steps, leaving a respectful space between them. “So,” he said, casual but kind, “how’s Texas treating you so far? Besides melting you.” Esme smiled. “Hot. And everyone seems convinced I’m starving all the time.” Joel chuckled. “Barbecue portions aren’t for the faint of heart.” She laughed—a real one this time. Light and unexpected. “Guess I’m going to have to bulk up.” He shook his head, grinning. “You look fine to me.” The words hung between them for half a beat. Esme looked away, suddenly fascinated by a crack in the porch wood. “You’ve got to teach me how to handle Texans,” she said. “Or I might drown in brisket and sweet tea.” Joel took a slow sip of his beer, eyes drifting toward the darkening sky. “I might know a thing or two.” They sat in silence again, this one even easier than the last. No pressure. No expectations. Just the soft hum of the night, the warmth of a shared drink, and two people learning to find their rhythm—slowly, quietly, in the space between unspoken things Chapter 4 – Heatwaves and Hesitations POV: Esme / Joel ⸻ POV: Esme Bill’s birthday was already buzzing by the time Esme stepped into the backyard. Henry’s place looked like it belonged in a magazine: string lights crisscrossed above the patio, a cooler full of drinks nestled in the shade, and the barbecue already smoked with promise. Laughter bounced off the pool water like sunlight. “C’mon!” Sarah shouted from the deep end, flailing one arm and dramatically splashing. “You said you’d swim!” Esme laughed, slipping off her sandals and tugging her sundress over her head, revealing the forest-green bikini underneath. “I’m coming, I’m coming!” She waded in, the heat of the day giving way to the cool relief of the water. Sarah immediately splashed her, shrieking in delight, and they fell into an easy rhythm of games and laughter. For a few moments, Esme let herself sink into that rare feeling: peace. Lightness. But when she glanced toward the patio, she froze—not from nerves, but from the sudden awareness of being watched. Joel stood near the grill, beer in hand, spatula idle. His gaze had landed on her—just for a second—and then slid away, almost guiltily. Esme’s heart gave a traitorous flutter. She turned back to Sarah, forcing herself to focus on the splashing girl instead of the man with the quiet eyes and the weathered hands. ⸻ POV: Joel Joel hadn’t meant to look. Not really. He’d just been flipping burgers and checking the cooler when Esme walked out and— Damn. She laughed, hair curling damp around her cheeks, water trailing down her skin in slow, glinting lines. Her bikini clung to her body, hugging curves that made Joel’s chest tighten. Her waist, the soft slope of her hip, the long line of her legs beneath the water—he noticed all of it. More than he should’ve. And still, there was something else. A quiet strength behind the softness. She looked at ease, like she belonged in the sunlight. Like she’d fought through fire and come out steady. He quickly looked away and focused back on the grill, jaw tightening. She was Henry’s daughter. And she was young. Too young for him. Right? “You’re staring,” came a voice at his elbow. Joel blinked and turned to find Bill grinning around a toothpick, eyes sharp. Joel grunted. “I’m flipping burgers.” “Uh-huh,” Bill said. He leaned in slightly, voice lowering just enough to stay between them. “Listen, I’m not gonna give you the whole protective uncle speech. But that girl’s been through hell. You probably know that already.” Joel didn’t answer. Just kept his eyes on the grill. “She’s not fragile,” Bill added. “But she’s still healing. So… if you’re gonna look at her like that, just make sure you’re not looking to forget your own pain.” Joel’s jaw flexed, but he nodded once. The warning was fair. Maybe even earned. From the pool, Esme laughed again. And Joel felt something deep in his chest ache. ⸻ POV: Esme She felt warm from the inside out as the day wore on—not just from the sun, but from being surrounded by familiar faces and safe voices. For the first time since she’d landed in Texas, she felt like part of something. Later, after the party died down and most of the guests had gone home, Esme couldn’t sleep. It was after midnight when she slipped outside, barefoot and in an old T-shirt, the air still holding onto the day’s heat. Her chest felt tight, breathing shallow. Her thoughts were looping again. Like they always did when it was quiet. The past had a way of sneaking in at night. She sat on the steps, rubbing at her wrists, grounding herself, reminding herself: You’re safe. You’re here. He’s not here. It’s over. The screen door creaked. She didn’t turn right away, expecting her dad. But it was Joel who stepped out, moving quietly, like he somehow knew. He didn’t ask what was wrong. Just walked over and sat down next to her, a little closer than before. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a cigarette, then offered her one without a word. Esme hesitated, then took it. He lit hers first, then his own. They sat there in the silence of late night, the crickets humming around them, the smoke curling into the dark. “I get these nights sometimes,” she murmured eventually. “When my brain just won’t shut up.” Joel didn’t look at her. Just nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know the kind.” A pause. Then, softly: “After Sarah’s mom left, I didn’t sleep right for months. Hell, maybe I still don’t.” Esme turned toward him slightly. “She left without saying goodbye?” “Pretty much. One day she was just… gone. I woke up to a note on the counter and half the closet empty.” Esme didn’t answer right away. She watched the smoke drift from her cigarette, the way the ember glowed when she breathed in. “I never thought I’d be this tired,” she whispered. “Not physically. Just… tired of carrying things alone.” Joel finally looked at her. “You don’t have to carry everything.” Her eyes met his. There was no pity there, just something solid. Something like understanding. “I don’t talk about it much,” she said. “The army. What happened over there. It’s easier to pretend I’m fine.” Joel nodded, slow and steady. “You don’t have to pretend with me.” They sat in silence again, but this time it felt like a conversation. Neither of them said what they were really thinking. That they saw each other more clearly than they meant to. That something was shifting between them—quiet, unspoken, but real. Esme crushed the cigarette under her bare heel and let out a breath. “Thanks,” she said. Joel didn’t ask what for. Just gave her a soft, tired smile. “Anytime.” Chapter 5: The Weight We Carry - A few days later , Esme sat in the garden with her father. The cicadas were humming. A couple of empty beer bottles sat between their chairs. Henry glanced over at her. “You used to sit like this with your mom.” Esme turned her head. “Did I?” “Yeah. She loved warm nights. Said it made her feel close to home.” He paused. “She’d be proud of you, you know.” Esme’s throat tightened. “I don’t know about that.” Henry didn’t argue. He just let the silence settle. “She died too young,” Esme said after a while. “Thirteen feels like too young to say goodbye.” He nodded slowly. “I know, lieverd. She was the love of my life, Es. I never really figured out how to move on. I tried once, but… it didn’t feel right.” “You never talk about her.” “It hurts,” he admitted. “But I think maybe… it’s time to stop burying the good memories just to avoid the sad ones.” Esme looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers like she was trying to feel something. “The army changed me,” she said quietly. “I saw things I’ll never forget. I lost parts of myself.” Henry didn’t say anything at first. Then: “But you’re still here. Still you. Maybe a little harder on the outside, but I see her in you. Her strength. Her kindness.” Esme blinked fast. “I don’t feel kind.” “You are,” he said firmly. “You care too much. That’s what hurts most of all.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, like she used to when she was little. And for the first time in a long while, she let herself feel it. All of it. - It was close to 2 a.m. in Texas, but Esme couldn’t sleep. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that made thoughts louder. So she grabbed her laptop, padded barefoot to the kitchen table, and clicked the video call button. It rang twice before Maxime answered, wrapped in a robe, mug in hand, her hair a chaotic bun of sleep. A second later, Jane joined, still in bed, holding her phone above her face. “It’s 9:30 in the morning here,” Jane mumbled, squinting at the screen. “Why do you look so awake?” “Because it’s the middle of the night here,” Esme said, smiling faintly. “Couldn’t sleep.” Maxime tilted her head. “What’s going on?” Esme hesitated for a second. Then she said, “I talked to my dad.” Both of them straightened instantly—Jane even sat up in bed. Esme continued, her voice softer now. “We were in the garden, just sitting together. He brought up my mom. Said she used to sit outside like that, listening to the cicadas. And then we just… talked. About her. About the past. He told me she’d be proud of me.” Maxime’s eyes went glassy. Jane was quiet for once. “It was the first time it didn’t feel awkward,” Esme added. “It felt like… maybe we’re actually healing.” There was a pause. Then Maxime asked carefully, “And… is that all that’s got you wide awake right now?” Esme gave a quiet smile. “I also talked to Joel.” Jane perked up. “Oh?” Esme leaned back in the chair, glancing at the porch through the window. “It was late. I couldn’t sleep again, and he came outside. We didn’t say much, but… what we did say mattered. He opened up. And I did too.” Maxime raised an eyebrow. “So. Porch talks at midnight. Eye contact. Emotional vulnerability. Cigarettes. Are we officially entering something?” Esme laughed under her breath. “I don’t know. Maybe.” “You don’t have to know,” Jane said. “You just have to not push it away.” They talked a little longer—about nothing, about everything—until Esme finally yawned, her body catching up to the hour. As she signed off and shut the laptop, the house felt a little less heavy. Like maybe, just maybe, she was starting to let go of the weight she’d been carrying. POV: Joel Two days later, Joel pulled into Henry’s driveway to pick up Sarah after work—and froze. Esme was by the edge of the yard, talking to a younger guy. Tall, tan, wearing a delivery uniform. He was clearly dropping something off, but still lingered a minute. And Esme—she was smiling in that open, real way Joel didn’t see often. She even laughed at something he said. Joel felt something twist in his chest. He told himself it was nothing. She was free to talk to whoever she liked. It wasn’t his business. Still… he couldn’t stop watching. Later, when they passed each other in the hallway, Esme smiled at him and said, “Hey.” He responded with a clipped nod. “Hey.” She paused, brow furrowing. “Everything okay?” “Fine,” he said, too quickly. She watched him a second longer, then kept walking. That night, Joel sat at home with a beer in his hand and the lights off. He thought about Esme’s smile. The way she looked at that guy. He finished the beer, rubbed a hand over his face, and muttered into the dark: “Too old, Miller. Too damn old.” But he didn’t believe it. Not really. - Chapter 6 – Strangers, Softened POV: Esme / Joel ⸻ POV: Esme The morning light was soft through the kitchen windows as Henry tossed his overnight bag in the back of the truck. Esme stood barefoot by the door, coffee mug in hand, watching as Joel pulled into the driveway in his dusty Chevy. “Don’t let her eat too much sugar,” Joel called with a faint smile as Henry climbed into the passenger seat. Esme held up three fingers. “Only three donuts. Scout’s honor.” Joel looked at her for a long second. “Thanks again. I owe you one.” “Maybe two,” Esme said with a grin. “I’m taking her to a movie later.” “God help you,” Joel muttered, then gave her a nod and pulled away. She watched the truck disappear down the road, then sipped her coffee, thinking about the afternoon ahead. ⸻ Later that day Sarah’s school pickup was chaotic but fun—Sarah dramatically pointed her out to her friends, waving from across the lot like she was a celebrity. Esme leaned against Henry’s car with sunglasses on and arms crossed, playing it cool. “Is that your mom?” one of the kids whispered. Sarah rolled her eyes. “No, it’s my babysitter. She’s cooler than a mom.” Esme blinked at that. She didn’t know what to say. Just smiled softly and opened the door. ⸻ POV: Joel Joel’s workday was longer than expected—hot, loud, and exhausting. He checked his phone just before sunset. No messages. No missed calls. But for some reason, that silence didn’t bother him. He trusted Esme with Sarah more than he’d trusted anyone in a long time. Still, as the miles passed and the truck finally rolled onto his street, a quiet hum of curiosity built in his chest. ⸻ POV: Esme The movie was loud, sugary, and filled with ridiculous talking animals—Sarah had picked a comedy that made her laugh so hard she choked on popcorn twice. Esme didn’t even mind the terrible jokes. Seeing Sarah happy was worth it. Afterward, they walked back into Joel’s house like it was the most natural thing in the world. Sarah kicked off her shoes, flopped on the couch, and groaned dramatically. “I’m full. I can’t move.” Esme chuckled. “That’s what three scoops of ice cream will do to a person.” They curled up on the couch under one of the blankets Joel always kept folded in the basket by the TV. A nature documentary played quietly in the background. Sarah fell asleep first, curled against Esme like a kitten. And before long, Esme’s head dipped back, eyes fluttering shut. That soft quiet came again—the kind that had started to feel safe. ⸻ POV: Joel When Joel opened the door just after eleven, the house was dark except for the flicker of the TV. He paused in the hallway, then stepped into the living room. There they were. Sarah, fast asleep, tangled in the blanket with her head on Esme’s lap. And Esme… leaned back against the couch, one hand resting protectively on Sarah’s shoulder, her face slack with sleep. Peaceful. Joel stood there a moment too long, something warm catching in his chest. He thought about grabbing a blanket. Then quietly walked to the linen closet and did just that—gently draping it over both of them before turning off the TV. Esme stirred slightly. Eyes half-lidded. “Joel?” “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m home.” She blinked slowly, then whispered, “We watched a nature thing. Sarah fell asleep.” “You too,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. Esme let out a soft hum and leaned her head back again. Joel stood for a moment longer, then quietly sat in the armchair across from them, elbows resting on his knees. He didn’t want to go to bed yet. Not just yet. He watched the two of them, wrapped in that quiet little world of warmth and breath and trust. And for the first time in a long time, Joel Miller didn’t feel like he was coming home to an empty house. - POV: Esme About half an hour later, Esme woke fully, blinking against the dim light of Joel’s living room. Sarah was still asleep, curled up on the couch like a tiny, peaceful cat. Esme carefully shifted, trying not to wake her. She rose quietly, padding toward the kitchen table where Joel was still sitting. Joel’s voice caught her off guard. “Your phone’s been blowing up.” Her heart skipped. She fumbled for her phone, the cold glass pressing into her palm. The screen flooded with messages—Tim’s name flashing at the top, alongside a string of threatening texts, raw and unrelenting. Her breath caught, and for a split second, panic tightened around her throat. But then she reminded herself where she was. She took a slow, steadying breath and smoothed her expression, erasing the flicker of terror. She looked up at Joel, trying to play it cool—putting on the mask she wore for the world. Joel’s eyes narrowed, catching the shadow behind her calm. Concern settled deep in his gaze. He stepped closer, voice low and steady. “Everything okay?” She forced a light laugh, trying to sound casual. “It’s nothing. Just some old stuff with a friend. I’m fine. Really.” Joel didn’t buy it—not for a second—but he let the silence stretch between them. He didn’t push harder. Maybe she wasn’t ready to share yet. “Alright,” he said finally, softer now. “Get some rest.” She nodded, slipping the phone back into her pocket. As she turned to leave, she met his eyes and gave a quiet, grateful smile. “Goodnight, Joel.” “Goodnight, Esme.” The door clicked softly behind her, leaving the house wrapped in a fragile stillness—one that held promises of safety, but also the weight of things yet to come Chapter 7 – Shadows in the Sun POV: Esme / Joel Esme had been in Texas for five months. She was still a newcomer in many ways, but the routines had started to settle: the runs at sunrise, the quiet coffees on Henry’s porch, the school pickups with Sarah, the late-night silences she and Joel both seemed to crave. She hadn’t planned on staying this long. But lately, the idea of leaving had begun to feel… heavy. Tommy arrived like a Texas dust storm—loud, smiling, and impossible to ignore. Joel stood in the driveway, arms crossed, as his younger brother swung out of the truck with all the energy of a man who never learned how to stand still. “Well, look who still can’t read a map,” Joel said, voice dry as desert air. Tommy grinned. “Takes one to know one.” He pulled Joel into a one-armed hug before heading up the porch stairs. Henry came out, hand raised. “Tommy! Damn good to see you.” “Henry, you silver fox,” Tommy said, giving him a bear hug. “Still haven’t aged a damn day.” Joel muttered behind them, “Charm’s still set to dangerously high.” “Too high,” Henry agreed, laughing. “Well, where’s the birthday boy?” Tommy said, glancing toward the backyard. “Out back,” Henry said, leading him in. - The backyard buzzed with noise and color. Pool noodles drifted lazily in the water, kids shrieked and splashed, and the scent of grilled meat mixed with sunscreen and the thick Texas heat. It was Frank’s birthday, but Henry had offered up his place—mostly for the pool. Esme had helped decorate: paper lanterns swayed overhead, and a playlist of old-school rock played just loud enough to compete with the sound of summer. Tommy was mid-hello to a group near the grill when Esme stepped into the backyard, carrying a bowl of chips. He turned. And froze. Joel saw it. That subtle shift in his brother’s face. The smile. The spark. “Well, hello,” Tommy said smoothly. Esme smiled politely. “Hi. You must be Tommy.” “And you must be Esme. Figured I’d be meeting the mystery woman eventually.”” he replied. Joel rolled his eyes. Frank, stepping in just in time, handed Tommy a beer and added with a grin, “That’s Esme. Henry’s daughter. And former army nurse. She’s tougher than she looks.” Esme shot Frank a look, but smiled. “Thanks for the intro, Frank.” Tommy perked up. “No way. Where’d you serve?” “Afghanistan. Two deployments.” Tommy whistled low. “Damn. Respect. I was posted there too, back in ’08. You with medical the whole time?” Esme nodded. “Mostly field support. Triage. Some evac.” And just like that, they were off—trading acronyms and shorthand, the kind only veterans understood. Joel hung back, half-listening, half-steeling himself. He caught Henry’s eye from across the yard. The older man gave him a knowing glance. Joel looked away. ⸻ POV: Esme Esme dipped her feet into the cool water, laughing as Sarah cannonballed beside her. Sam joined moments later, more cautious but smiling wide. She handed them each popsicles, then leaned back, stretching her legs out across the tile, her sunglasses sliding down her nose. The sun was brutal, but she didn’t mind it today. The laughter, the splashes, the low hum of people talking — it all made her feel just removed enough from the heaviness that always lingered beneath the surface. Tommy was sitting beside her now. He was easy to talk to. Light, friendly, funny in that brotherly way. He reminded her of someone from base—a guy who could make a joke mid-crisis without ever being cruel. They traded stories, joked about the food in the mess tents, the absurdity of long patrols, the way sleep deprivation made everything hilarious. He made her laugh. But even while she listened to Tommy talk about almost getting kicked off base for a dumb prank, a part of her was aware of Joel — somewhere behind her, she could feel Joel. Still. Quiet. Watchinug. ———- The sun had dipped below the trees, leaving a hazy warmth in the air. The pool party had mellowed into its golden-hour version of itself — quieter music, grown-ups nursing drinks, kids wrapped in towels chasing fireflies. Joel stood by the grill, tongs in hand, though the coals had gone cold a while ago. He watched the yard over the rim of his beer bottle, eyes scanning like he wasn’t looking for anything in particular — but he was. Tommy and Esme sat at the patio table beneath the string lights. A mostly-empty bowl of chips sat between them. They were laughing. Her hand brushed his arm as she leaned in, and something in Joel’s chest pulled tight. Tommy said something that made Esme laugh — really laugh, head tilted back, eyes lit. And Joel felt it again. That gut-punch kind of stillness. He looked away too late. “You burnin’ the meat or just staring a hole through your brother’s skull?” Frank’s voice was dry beside him. Joel didn’t answer. Frank whistled low. “Damn. So it’s like that.” Joel set the tongs down harder than he meant to. “She’s not—” he started, then stopped. Frank raised a brow. “Yours? Nah. I know. But you are staring like someone kicked your dog.” Joel’s jaw flexed. “She can talk to whoever she wants.” “Sure.” Frank nodded, unbothered. “And you can stand here all night pretending it doesn’t matter.” ⸻ Later, Esme came inside, plate in hand, looking for a place to set it down. Joel was already in the kitchen, rinsing out beer bottles at the sink, sleeves pushed up, arms tense. She hesitated before speaking. “You alright?” “Fine,” he said without looking at her. “You seem… off.” He dried his hands, kept his back to her. “I’m not.” Esme stepped closer, arms crossed. “If this is about earlier—” “It’s not,” he said, too fast. She paused. “Because it kind of felt like it was.” Joel turned to face her. “Why would it be?” She shrugged, tone casual but eyes sharp. “Tommy and I were talking. That’s all.” “I know.” He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms to mirror her without realizing it. “He’s funny,” she added. “Easy to talk to.” Joel’s throat worked. “He always has been.” Something in his voice made her pause. Then: “But you’re not, are you?” Joel looked at her, really looked. Her arms, sun-kissed and folded. The line between her brows. The way she was standing like she was bracing for something — not from him, but from the world. “I didn’t mean to—” he started. “Get weird?” she offered. He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. That.” Esme stepped in closer, just enough to lower her voice. “You think I don’t notice when you’re looking at me like that?” “Like what?” “Like you want to say something but don’t know how.” Joel looked away, jaw tight. “Joel,” she said gently. “I’m not fragile.” “I didn’t say you were.” “You don’t have to.” The room was still. Then he spoke, low and honest: “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that I don’t know if I should.” Esme tilted her head. “Why?” “Because I don’t have the luxury of screwin’ things up anymore. Not with you. Not with… all this.” She didn’t respond right away. Then she stepped forward, just a few inches from him now. “You’re not the only one who’s lost things, Joel.” He met her gaze. “I don’t need perfect,” she added. “Just real.” Joel’s eyes flicked down, then back up. “I can’t promise anything easy.” “Good,” she said. “I don’t trust easy.” Something shifted then — a weight between them settled. The kind of quiet that held more truth than anything either of them had said out loud. Behind them, someone called from the porch, and the moment cracked. Esme stepped back first. “Guess we should get back out there.” “Yeah,” Joel said, watching her go. But this time, he followed. Later that Night – Just Out of Earshot The party had thinned out. The kids were curled up with blankets under the string lights, half-asleep to the hum of a backyard movie. The adults were scattered — some cleaning up, others talking in low voices on the porch. Joel stood off to the side, near the fence line, a beer dangling loosely from his hand. Tommy stepped up beside him, a little slower than usual. For once, he didn’t open with a joke. “Quiet out here,” he said. Joel nodded. “Not for long.” They stood like that for a beat. Then Tommy cleared his throat, glanced toward the porch where Esme stood laughing at something Frank had said. “She’s got that thing,” Tommy said softly. “The way she carries herself. It hits you before you even know what you’re looking at.” Joel said nothing. Just sipped his beer. Tommy gave a half-shrug. “I’ll be honest, I felt it. First five minutes talking to her. She’s sharp. Got that dry humor I like. And she actually listens.” Joel’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t interrupt. “But,” Tommy continued, “while I was sitting there with her, swapping stories and trying to keep it light… I looked up.” Joel didn’t move, but Tommy felt the shift. The tension. “I saw you,” Tommy said. “The way you were watching her. Like it already mattered.” Joel’s grip tightened slightly on the bottle. “Didn’t realize I was that obvious.” “You weren’t. Not to most.” Tommy paused. “But I know that look. Seen it once before, when you met Sarah’s mom.” That hit harder than Joel expected. He looked down, swallowed. “Didn’t mean for it to happen.” “You never do,” Tommy said. “But it did.” There was a beat of silence between them, then Joel finally turned to face his brother. “I ain’t got the margin for mistakes anymore, Tommy.” “I know,” Tommy said, eyes steady. “And I’d never get in the way of it. If you’re in, really in, you don’t gotta worry about me stepping where I shouldn’t.” Joel exhaled, slow and quiet. “I appreciate that.” Tommy smiled a little, not teasing for once. “Just… don’t wait too long to tell her. Real things don’t always wait around.” Joel looked back toward Esme, who was now bent over helping Sam with a blanket. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.” ——— Chapter 8 – The Quiet Between The kids were asleep. The guests had gone. The lanterns still swayed on the porch, flickering in the breeze like they didn’t know the party was over. Joel stayed behind to help clean up. He hadn’t said as much, just kept picking up plates, folding chairs, and tossing beer bottles into the recycling bin like it gave him something to do with his hands. Esme was inside rinsing out serving bowls, sleeves pushed up, hair tied back. She’d changed into an oversized T-shirt and leggings, comfortable in a way that made her seem more herself than she had all afternoon. Joel hovered near the doorway, not quite coming in, not quite staying out. “You don’t have to keep cleaning,” she said over her shoulder. “I don’t mind.” Silence settled between them again — not cold, just cautious. Esme set the bowl in the drying rack and turned off the faucet. “You always do that?” He looked up. “Do what?” “Hang back. Watch everyone else.” Joel rubbed the back of his neck. “Old habit.” She grabbed a towel, dried her hands, then leaned against the counter. “You used to be a leader, right? In the field?” Joel shrugged. “Did what needed doing.” “I don’t buy that.” He glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “You’ve got presence. People feel it when you walk into a room. That’s not nothing.” Joel exhaled, slow. “Maybe. Back then, it made sense.” “And now?” “Now I’m just… trying not to be the reason someone falls apart.” Her eyes softened. He shook his head. “You said earlier you don’t trust easy. I don’t trust myself.” There it was. Out in the open, finally. Esme stepped forward. “Joel. If you were gonna break something in me — you’d have done it by now.” He swallowed hard. “Doesn’t mean I won’t.” “It also doesn’t mean you will.” They stood there, close enough to hear each other breathe. No interruptions this time. No distractions. Esme looked up at him, eyes steady. “I’m not asking you to promise me the world.” Joel’s voice was barely above a whisper. “What are you asking?” “A beginning. Or at least a step in that direction.” Joel hesitated. Then nodded once. “I can do that.” Joel turned to the sink. “You want help with the rest of that?” Esme smiled. “You dry, I’ll wash?” “Deal.” - Later, when the house had gone quiet and the soft hum of crickets filled the spaces between silence, Esme sat cross-legged on the bed, tugging a hoodie over her T-shirt. Her hair was damp from a quick shower, her skin still warm from the day’s sun. She was just reaching for her book when her phone buzzed. Maxime. She answered quickly. “Hey.” “Esme,” Maxime’s voice came tight, a little breathless. “Tim’s been calling me and texting me. What the fuck?! I thought he had finally stopped…So I can only expect he has been stalking you again. How long has this been going on? Why didn’t you tell us?!” Esme’s stomach dropped. Caught in her lie. “I’m sorry Max. I didn’t want you to worry again. You both have done too much and deserve a life of your own.” She said trying to keep the tears at bay. Maxime sighed. “You survived hell, Esme. But you didn’t walk out of it alone. Jane and I were there. And we still are. You’re not some cautionary tale. You’re someone we love.” Esme’s throat tightened. “I just…” she began, but couldn’t finish. “I know,” Maxime whispered. “But don’t keep hiding in the ruins. You deserve peace.” Then, more gently: “Tell me everything.” Esme took a breath. “It started just after I got here. I thought switching to an American number would help. I only gave it to you, Jane, my dad, Bill and Frank, Joel, and Sarah. That’s it.” “I know,” Maxime said. “That’s why I’m freaking out. I texted him—told him to fuck off, demanded to know how he got it. And he just said… ‘I always find her.’” Her voice lowered. “Like it’s a game. A dangerous obsession. He’s not letting go.” Esme didn’t respond. Her whole body went still. Cold. Like the floor dropped out beneath her. “Don’t make me say it like it’s not still in my head almost every goddamn night, Es,” Maxime pressed. “Jane and I broke into that apartment. I saw what he did to you. He found you after you broke it off. After you told him no, after you moved to another town.” Esme closed her eyes. Every word cut across old scars. “I wasn’t supposed to be found.” “But he did,” Maxime snapped, voice tight with emotion. “He broke in. Beat the shit out of you. Nearly strangled you to death. We were ten minutes away from finding your body instead of finding you still breathing. Thank God the neighbor came home—helped us kick the door down.” Maxime paused, then said quietly, “You know that? I didn’t wait for the super. I just ran at it. Shoulder first.” Esme stared at the wall across from her, vision swimming. “I held pressure to your head while Jane screamed for an ambulance. You were barely conscious. Your eyes were open, but you weren’t in them. You were just—gone.” “I remember.” Esme’s voice was barely there. “I remember thinking I was already dead.” Maxime inhaled shakily. “I can’t go through that again. I won’t. If this gets worse, I have to tell your dad..” “It won’t get worse.” “You can’t know that.” Esme stood up, pacing the room. Her hoodie suddenly felt too tight, like it was choking her. “I’ve done everything I can,” she said, louder now. “ “I did,” Esme snapped. “I told the MPs. Filed the report. I changed my number, my email, even stopped using my old socials. I did everything right.” “I don’t mean them,” Maxime said gently. “I mean someone here. Tell your dad. Tell Joel. Tell someone who can help if this spirals again.” Esme ran a hand through her hair, breath shallow. “I don’t want to drag them into it.” “You think you’re protecting them?” Maxime asked. “Because you’re not. You’re just isolating yourself. And that’s exactly what he wants. You alone. You scared. You too ashamed to speak” Esme sat heavily on the edge of the bed, hand trembling slightly as she pushed her hair out of her face. “If I tell them,” she said after a long silence, “everything changes.” Maxime was quiet for a beat, then asked softly, “Are you more afraid of what Tim will do — or how Joel will look at you after he knows?” Esme didn’t answer. Esme swallowed hard, and when she finally ended the call, the phone trembled slightly in her hand. But she wasn’t shaking anymore. - [ ] Chapter 9 – Buried Truths A few weeks had passed since the call. Maxime and Jane had checked in nearly every day since, gentle but persistent, trying to convince her to tell someone—Joel or her father. It was warm that night. The kind of heat that lingered in the air long after sunset, clinging to skin like memory. The cicadas buzzed in the trees. Esme sat on the back porch with Joel. Henry and Sarah had gone to bed hours earlier, and the beer in her hand had gone untouched. Joel noticed. “You okay?” She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Just… tired.” He didn’t press. Just waited, like he always did. Eventually, she turned to him. “Can I ask you something?” “Course.” “If someone told you something awful… something that might change the way you saw someone else—someone you cared about… would you want to know?” Joel didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, beer bottle dangling from his hand. “I’d rather know the truth. Even if it’s ugly.” She nodded, pulling her knees to her chest. “There’s something I want to tell you. A secret only my two best friends now about. ” Joel didn’t speak. Just looked at her with that quiet steadiness of his. “It’s about my ex. His name was Tim We met in the army. He was charming. Everyone liked him. Even my dad.” She swallowed. “They thought he was solid. Reliable.” A pause. “We started seeing each other during my second deployment. It felt… safe. Like I had someone who understood the chaos. But he changed. Fast.” Joel stayed still, his gaze never leaving her. “It started small. Controlling stuff. Where I went, who I talked to. Then came the yelling. The nights where he’d show up drunk and accuse me of things I hadn’t done.” She swallowed. “Then came the bruises. The… isolation.” She looked down at her hands. “I stayed longer than I should’ve. Because I thought I could manage it. Because I was afraid.” Joel didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just listened. Joel’s hands clenched slowly around the bottle. Still, he said nothing. Her voice cracked a little. “And the worst part? I couldn’t bring myself to tell my dad. He liked Tim. Believed in him. I didn’t want to see that look on his face. Like… he’d failed me.” Joel finally spoke, voice low. “That ain’t on your dad. That’s on Tim.” “I know. In my head, I do. But my heart—” “Still blames itself.” She nodded, eyes shining. “Can I ask something?” Joel said gently. She nodded. “Do you still feel like you’re hiding?” Esme exhaled. “Not anymore. Not right now.” Joel leaned closer. “You were brave, Esme. Walking away. Protecting others. Surviving. That’s not failure.” “I don’t feel brave,” she murmured. “I feel like I failed myself. Letting it go that far.” “You didn’t fail. You survived.” Esme closed her eyes. “If your dad ever finds out,” Joel added softly, “it won’t destroy him. It’ll break his heart that you were hurting alone.” She wiped a tear. “You really think that?” “I know it. I’d feel the same way if it were Sarah.” Esme’s voice was barely there. “I’ve never told anyone. Not even in therapy. I guess I didn’t trust anyone to hold it.” Joel reached for her hand. “You can trust me.” She gripped it like an anchor. “There’s more,” she whispered. Joel turned slightly toward her. “After I broke it off with Tim… I went on leave for an extended period because of mental healt issues. Took a flight out to Holland. Got a house in a small town; where I thought I would be safe.” Her fingers curled into the blanket draped over her lap. He waited, jaw tight. “But he still found me.” Joel’s body tensed, breath slow and deliberate. “Somehow he’d gotten my leave info. Broke into my appartement. I’d just come back from the market. He was already inside. Waiting.” Showed up like it was a romantic gesture. I told him no. Over and over again. Clear as I could. That it was over. That I didn’t want him near me.” Esme’s voice cracked slightly. “That’s when he lost it.” Lunged towards me and started hitting me. Over and over. When I tried to run, he—he got his hands around my throat.” Joel didn’t move, but the shift in him was palpable — like coiled wire under pressure. Joel’s fists clenched on his knees. “ “I thought I was going to die. Right there. I was extremely lucky that my two friends got suspicous when I hadn’t texted them back. They kicked in the door. Saved me.” She wiped at her face, eyes glassy but dry. “I stayed with them a friend from the unit during recovery. Didn’t report it officially. Just… got an extensed leave, packed what I could, and got the hell out. Texas was supposed to be a clean slate. Quiet. Safe.” Joel’s voice was rough when it came. “He find you again?” Esme nodded. “Yeah. Somehow he got my new number. Started texting. At first, it was all guilt and apologies. Then it turned to threats. Obsession. Like he couldn’t stand that I’d disappeared on him. He even texted and tried calling my best friend.” Joel’s jaw was locked. “ We blocked him. Changed my number again. It’s been quiet for a while now. But sometimes…” She exhaled shakily. “Sometimes I still feel like he’s watching.” Joel turned toward her fully now, voice low and certain. “You ever see him again — or get so much as a whisper that he’s nearby — you tell me. Immediately.” She nodded, but didn’t speak. “I mean it, Esme.” Her eyes met his — and for once, she didn’t look away. “I trust you,” she said. Joel looked like he might say something — but didn’t. Instead, he reached out and took her hand. Not possessively. Not to fix anything. Just to hold it. Esme gripped his back like an anchor. “I haven’t told anyone this besides my two friends and a trusted friend who helped with my leave,” she murmured. “Not even my therapist. And definitely not my dad. He liked Tim. He’d never forgive himself if he knew what happened. That he couldn’t protect me.” Joel shook his head. “It wasn’t his job to see through a mask. It was Tim’s job not to be a monster.” Esme’s voice was barely audible. “You really think he wouldn’t hate himself?” Joel gave her hand the gentlest squeeze. “He might. At first. But he’d hate even more that you’ve carried this alone.” Esme closed her eyes, breathing through the weight of it. “I don’t think I’m ready to tell him,” she said. “You don’t have to. Not until you are. But when you are?” Joel’s voice was steady. “You won’t be alone.” She didn’t answer. Just leaned her head back onto his shoulder and let the quiet hold them both. ——— Chapter 11 – Something Like Normal Two weeks later, the house was unusually quiet. Henry had left that morning for a fishing trip with Bill and Frank, a packed cooler in one hand, a rod in the other, grinning like a man half his age. Sarah was off too — sleeping over at her best friend’s house, already sending Esme silly selfies and updates about nail polish and movie snacks. Which meant, for once, there were no eyes watching. No interruptions. No responsibilities pulling anyone in opposite directions. Esme checked her reflection in the mirror again. Just a simple dress — soft cotton, dark green. Hair down. Lip balm, not lipstick. She knew it would wake them, but they’d forgive her once she told them about her date with Joel. Before changing her mind she quickly called. The phone rang twice before Maxime’s face filled the screen, squinting blearily at the screen. “Esme? What time is it?” “It’s about 2:30 AM.” “This better be good,” Maxime said while sitting up straight. “Put me on speaker,” came Jane’s voice in the background. “Okay,” Jane said, eyes narrowing. “What’s going on?” Esme gave a small, shy smile. “I have a date. With Joel.” The scream that followed was instant and ear-piercing. “SHUT UP,” Jane shouted. “You finally caved?!” Esme laughed. “It’s not caving! We’ve been talking more. It just… felt right.” “You look amazing,” Maxime said, leaning in. “That’s the green one, right? The soft cotton dress? Good choice.” Next chapter: explicit sex

Parts: 3

"Love Beyond Scars"

the last of is (tv show) fanfic. Love story between Joel Miller x Original Female charachter. (No outbreak) Improve story. Mature 18+ Chapter 1 – Welcome Home POV: Esme The Texas heat hit her before the sun did. Esme stepped out of Austin-Bergstrom Airport and instantly regretted the black jeans. The air was thick and heavy, like someone had draped a hot, wet blanket over her shoulders. She pulled her suitcase toward a concrete pillar just outside the flow of people and dropped her backpack with a soft thud. She needed a second. A breath. Maybe a lifeline. With slightly shaking fingers, she opened her phone and hit the group call button. It rang twice before Maxime picked up, her blond curls pulled into a messy bun, a worried smile tugging at her lips. “Oh god, you’re alive. You didn’t get eaten by customs.” Jane popped into the frame a moment later, sitting on the floor with a mug in her lap. “Is it as weird as we imagined? Are people wearing cowboy hats?” “No cowboy hats yet,” Esme said, lips quirking. “But I did see a giant mural of a longhorn in the terminal. Very subtle.” “So? First impression?” Maxime asked, squinting. “Does America smell like cheese and guns?” Esme laughed under her breath. “It smells like… air-conditioning and anxiety.” Maxime and Jane both groaned sympathetically. Jane leaned in closer. “You doing okay? Really?” “I think so,” Esme said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s surreal. I’ve never been here. Never met most of these people. And now I’m supposed to call this home?” “You’re not alone, though,” Maxime said. “You’ve got you. That’s a pretty solid start.” “And us, virtually haunting you at all times,” Jane added. “We’ll call every day if we have to.” Esme smiled at the two familiar faces. Her chest hurt in that slow, aching way that came from love. “I already miss you both.” “We miss you too,” Maxime said gently. “But this is good. A reset. New place, new air. Space.” “And maybe,” Jane said with a grin, “a hot Texan man with actual emotional depth.” Esme snorted. “Highly unlikely.” “We’re coming to visit,” Maxime said. “Eventually. Once we figure out how to survive the heat and the portion sizes.” “I Googled Texas and found a list of venomous snakes,” Jane added. “It’s not helping.” Esme laughed, then drew in a breath. Her heart suddenly skipped — because there he was. Her father. Standing just outside the pickup zone. Sunglasses perched on his head. Cardboard coffee tray in one hand, like he was clinging to it for stability. Squinting at the road like it owed him something. “I gotta go,” she said softly. “He’s here.” “Deep breath,” Maxime murmured. “You’ve got this,” Jane added. “And if not, pretend you do. That’s practically the same thing.” Esme smiled — real, wobbly — and ended the call. Then she stepped forward into the Texas sun. When he turned and finally caught sight of her, his whole face lit up. “Mijn meisje,” he said, stepping forward and wrapping her in a hug that knocked the breath out of her. She held on a moment longer than she meant to ⸻ The car ride was easier than she expected — warm, comfortable. They hadn’t really talked like this in years. There had been quick phone calls, the occasional rushed weekend in Europe (mostly spent around other relatives), but nothing deep. And yet now, in this old Toyota truck with country music humming low on the radio, the conversation flowed like it used to. Henry told her about the neighborhood, about Joel and Sarah — “He’s a good man. Keeps to himself, but helps when it counts.” He talked about Bill and Frank too, longtime friends from the area. Funny, in their own weird way. He said he was glad they’d all get to meet today at the barbecue — something he and Frank had organized as a welcome-home gathering for Esme. He told her he was happy she was finally here. That it meant more than she probably realized. Esme listened, watching the flat Texas landscape roll by for the first time in her life, and let herself feel it: something close to peace. “I was a little nervous,” she admitted, her voice soft. “About coming here. About seeing you.” Henry glanced over. “Why?” She shrugged. “It’s been a long time. And this isn’t just a visit.” “You’re home, Esme. For as long as you want it to be.” His voice was rough with age — and everything they didn’t say. “I’m glad you’re here.” She smiled out the window, blinked hard, and said, “Me too.” ⸻ They pulled into the driveway, and the smell of grilled meat hit her instantly — smoke, spices, something tangy. There were voices coming from the backyard already, laughter floating through the air, and the distinct sound of kids splashing in a pool. “Looks like they already started,” Henry said with a smile as he got out of the car. Esme stepped out after him and looked at the house — the house she’d heard so much about but never seen in person. Her father’s house. It was smaller than she imagined, but cozy. Deep red brick, with ivy crawling along one side and a wide oak tree shading the porch. Something about it tugged at her. She hadn’t expected it to feel so… familiar. Henry had already grabbed her suitcases and was heading inside. Esme followed, and the moment she stepped through the front door, her heart dropped. The house looked like her mother had decorated it herself. Sofie’s style — soft farmhouse textures, whitewashed wood, woven baskets, cozy throws. Henry had even shipped the old furniture from Holland. Tears threatened, but she held them back as she heard her father coming down the stairs. Now’s not the time for tears. “Well, welcome to my hib,” Henry said. Esme blinked, then laughed. “You mean crib.” “Hey, I’m an old man trying to keep up.” He smiled. “Your room’s on the left, next to the bathroom. You can freshen up and I’ll see you outside when you’re ready.” “Thanks, Dad.” She walked into the room — and stopped. Some of her own furniture was here too. Her old desk. The chair from her childhood bedroom. Familiar things in an unfamiliar place. She dropped her backpack onto the chair and changed into a green summer dress and sandals. Her thick brown curls were swept into a loose, stylish updo — messy in a deliberate way, stray ringlets framing her face just right. You’re fine, she told herself in the mirror. You’re okay. No one here knows your past. You’re just the daughter. That’s all. ⸻ The backyard was buzzing with life. String lights zig-zagged overhead. Folding chairs formed a loose circle near the grill. A cooler sat open, half-full of beers and soda. A tall man stood flipping meat with practiced ease, while two others — one with a shaved head and beard, the other in a button-down shirt — were in a heated debate about hot sauce. I’m not sure I’m ready for this, Esme thought. But she didn’t step back. She smiled — wide and warm, dimples deepening — and moved forward anyway. She quickly spotted her dad, standing a little apart, chatting with a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a rough, unshaven jaw. He wore a fitted gray T-shirt that clung just enough to hint at the strength beneath it. “Esme, come meet some folks,” Henry called. She stepped forward. “This is Joel Miller. Joel, this is my daughter, Esme.” Joel shifted slightly, eyes moving over her. His expression was unreadable, posture guarded — but something in his gaze lingered. Just for a second. “Nice to meet you,” he said, voice low. “You too,” Esme replied, meeting his eyes steadily — though her heart stuttered. A sharp, unexpected flutter. She hated that feeling. Tim had taught her not to trust it — to hide from it, to doubt it. Henry stepped closer, introducing the rest of the group. A burly man with a graying beard walked over, holding a plate piled high with barbecue. His sharp eyes studied Esme for a moment before softening. “Well, look who decided to show up,” he said. “Heard you’ve been keeping busy. Army nurse, huh?” Esme nodded, offering a small smile. “Yes. Just got back on leave.” Bill gave a slow nod. Respect, plain on his face. “Takes guts. Not many can handle what you’ve seen.” Esme felt a flicker of gratitude behind the bluntness of his words — and noticed the pride on Henry’s face. “I’m Bill,” he added, extending a hand. “Esme. Nice to meet you.” She shook it firmly. He gave a rare smile. “You don’t look like someone who’d take crap from anyone. Good.” Just then, a lanky man in a button-down shirt approached, balancing a cooler in one hand. “Frank,” he said, offering his hand with a kind smile. “Heard a lot about you, Esme.” She took his hand, already liking his energy. “All good things, I hope.” Frank chuckled. “Mostly.” ⸻ The smell of grilled sausages and sunscreen hung in the air as Esme sat in the shade, legs crossed, sipping cold lemonade from a red plastic cup. Henry’s backyard buzzed with easy summer energy — neighbors chatting around the grill, kids shrieking as they cannonballed into the pool, country music humming low from the old speaker by the kitchen window. Esme watched it all with the quiet alertness of someone not used to this kind of peace. It was a soft, ordinary afternoon — and somehow that made her more nervous than chaos ever had. “Daaad!” She looked up just in time to see a soaking wet girl darting across the yard, a blur of tangled curls and dripping limbs. Joel barely had time to turn before Sarah flung herself into his arms. “I beat my own time by twelve seconds!” she beamed, water running down her nose. “I am literally an Olympic threat.” “You’re also literally soaking me,” Joel muttered, trying not to laugh. Esme smiled faintly — and then felt Henry nudge her elbow with his. “That’s Sarah,” he said, voice warm. “Bit of a hurricane. She’s twelve. Smart as hell. Loud as hell too.” “She reminds me of someone,” Esme replied, sipping her drink. “Don’t say me,” Henry said, already grinning. Before she could answer, Joel turned toward them with Sarah still latched onto his side. “Esme,” he said, “this is my daughter — Sarah.” Sarah turned, taking Esme in with a curious tilt of her head. Her cheeks were flushed from the sun, one goggle strap still looped around her arm. “Oh,” she said, blunt and unfiltered. “You don’t look how I thought you would.” Esme raised an eyebrow, amused. “And how did you think I’d look?” Sarah shrugged. “I don’t know. Older. Less… cool, I guess.” Joel coughed into his drink. Henry snorted. Esme laughed — not the nervous kind, but real. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” “You sound funny,” Sarah noted, squinting. “That’s because she’s Dutch,” Henry offered, leaning back in his chair. “Like me.” Sarah turned to him, appalled. “You told me Dutch people put mayonnaise on fries.” “Because it’s delicious,” Henry defended. “It’s horrifying,” Sarah said flatly. “That’s a crime against ketchup.” “It’s a cultural upgrade,” Esme added, deadpan. Sarah gave her a long look… then smirked. “You’re both weird.” Then she turned back to Joel. “I’m going back in. Cannonball time.” “Dry off a little first!” Joel called after her, but she was already gone — a flash of towel, bare feet, and chlorinated rebellion. Esme watched her go, still half-smiling. “She’s cool.” “Depends who you ask,” Joel said, but he looked proud. “She liked you,” Henry added. “That was liking me?” Esme raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah,” Joel said. “She only roasts people she accepts.” They both laughed, and for a moment, it was just easy — the hum of summer, the splash of the pool, Henry sipping beer in the shade, and Esme sitting in the middle of it all, feeling — for the first time in a long while — maybe not so out of place after all. —- The house was quiet now. The last dishes had been stacked in the sink, the lights in the hallway dimmed, and Henry had said goodnight with a tired smile and a warm pat on her shoulder. Esme’s room was cool from the ceiling fan, her green dress draped over the back of the chair, suitcase half-unpacked at her feet. She lay on the unfamiliar bed in cotton shorts and a faded sleep shirt, the kind you never wear around strangers. But no one here was quite a stranger anymore. Not fully. She picked up her phone. 11:30 PM in Texas. Back home? 6:30 AM. She hovered for a second, then tapped Maxime’s name. The call rang once. Then twice. Then a groggy voice picked up. “Als dit geen spoed is, ga ik je vermoorden,” Maxime muttered, throat scratchy. Esme laughed quietly. “It’s me.” “Es…?” The sheets rustled, and Maxime’s voice cleared. “Jesus. You okay?” “Yeah. Sorry. I figured you’d be up soon anyway.” Maxime yawned. “Barely. I’ve got ten more minutes until the world gets to see my face. What’s going on?” Esme shifted under the thin blanket. “I just… wanted to hear a familiar voice.” “That bad?” “No, actually… kind of okay,” Esme said, hesitating before letting the words out. “The barbecue was sweet. Dad really went all out. There was this girl — Sarah, Joel’s twelve-year-old daughter. She’s got this fearless energy and zero filter.” Maxime chuckled softly. “Sounds like your kind of kid.” “She really is. Smart, loud, funny. Kind of reminds me of how I used to be… before everything.” There was a pause on the line. Not heavy. Just knowing. “Joel’s her dad?” Maxime asked casually, but there was a note of interest there. Esme smiled faintly. “Mhm. Quiet. Dry humor. Good-looking in that whole ‘doesn’t realize it’ kind of way.” “Ah. Brooding Texan. You’re doomed.” “Stop.” “Jane’s going to lose her mind when she hears this.” “Speaking of,” Esme said, “still asleep?” “Snoring. Sounded like a dying lawnmower twenty minutes ago. I should’ve recorded it.” Esme laughed again — properly this time. The sound felt good in her chest. “You okay, really?” Maxime asked, quieter now. “Not just saying it?” Esme let her head sink into the pillow. “I think… yeah. I mean, I don’t feel like running. That’s new.” Maxime exhaled slowly. “Good. That’s really good, Es.” Another pause. Then: “I miss you.” Esme swallowed. “I miss you too.” “Okay,” Maxime sighed. “Now I have to pretend I’m a responsible adult and go make coffee.” “Go. Save the Dutch economy.” “Sleep, Es. Dream of cowboys.” “Please don’t.” Maxime laughed, then hung up. Esme let the phone fall to the side, the room still and dark around her. Outside, a cicada buzzed in the distance. Somewhere, a dog barked once, then quieted. She listened to the unfamiliar night, the hum of Texas life just outside her window. Then she closed her eyes. And for the first time in weeks, maybe longer, sleep came without a fight. Chapter 2 – Babysitting Blues POV: Esme / Joel ⸻ Two weeks later, the Texas sun was already blazing through the blinds. The buzz of neighborhood life drifted in through the open window — lawnmowers, dogs barking in the distance, kids laughing. Esme sat at the kitchen table, nursing her third cup of coffee and scrolling absently through her phone. She hadn’t slept much. The usual nightmares had kept her up, mind racing, and now her screen was flooded with something that made her stomach twist: Texts from Tim. New number. New country. Same toxicity. How the hell did he even get this number? She stared at the screen, frozen in that half-alert tension she knew too well. Should she tell Maxime and Jane? ‘No, they would be worried constantly. But how did he get my number?’ The floor creaked behind her, and she quickly locked her phone. Henry walked into the kitchen, smiling — until he saw the look on her face. “Hey, lieverd,” he said gently. “You okay?” Esme jumped, startled. She hadn’t heard him come in. Immediately, the mask slid on — the calm, easy smile she’d mastered years ago. “Yeah. Just some trouble with admin stuff. Nothing bad.” She put her phone down like it meant nothing. Henry studied her for a beat, but nodded, reassured. “Alright. But if you need help, I’m here.” Then his face brightened. “Speaking of help — how would you feel about babysitting Sarah for a bit? Joel could use a hand. I’m helping him out at work until his brother gets back.” Esme blinked. “Babysitting?” Henry chuckled. “Sarah’s a handful. But she likes you.” It wasn’t something she’d expected. Babysitting hadn’t been on her radar. But maybe this was exactly what she needed — something light, something ordinary. Something normal. She glanced at her father’s hopeful expression and nodded. “Alright. I’ll do it.” ⸻ POV: Esme After Henry left for the job site, the house fell into a still, unfamiliar quiet. Peaceful, but odd. Esme moved from room to room like she was waiting for something, nerves humming just under the surface. Then the doorbell rang. She opened it to find a familiar pickup idling at the curb, sunlight bouncing off the windshield. Joel stood at the door with a coffee in one hand and Sarah’s backpack slung over the other. Sarah was in front of him before Esme could say anything — a blur of pink T-shirt, goggles, and foam swords. “Ready for a swordfight?” she asked eagerly. Esme laughed, crouching to her level. “I’m ready if you are.” Joel offered a small smile, nodding toward the bag. “Snack’s in there. Emergency goldfish crackers are in the side pocket. And… good luck.” “Thanks,” Esme said, shouldering the backpack. Their eyes met for a brief second — polite, but with something a little heavier underneath. He hesitated like he might say more, then thought better of it. “Text me if she gets too wild,” he added with a crooked grin. “No such thing,” Esme replied. Joel gave Sarah a quick hug and headed back toward his truck. Sarah waved dramatically as he drove off, then turned to Esme, practically vibrating with excitement. “Can we swim first? I brought my fastest goggles.” “Absolutely,” Esme said, already smiling. And just like that, the quiet was gone. They swam and had the long awaited sword fight. Painted their nails — bright turquoise for Sarah, chipped navy for Esme. Then Esme let Sarah braid her hair while a Disney movie played quietly in the background. Just as Sarah was halfway through explaining the tragic plotline of her favorite video game character (“He dies, but like, in a cool way — with music!”), Esme’s phone buzzed with a call from Maxime. She smiled and picked up. “You awake?” Maxime’s face appeared, half-covered by a hoodie, her voice crackling through. “Barely. It’s late here — almost bedtime in Holland. But I needed to check in on Operation Babysit-A-Tornado.” Sarah perked up instantly. “Who’s that?” “That,” Esme said, turning the phone toward Sarah, “is Maxime. One of my best friends.” “Hi!” Sarah waved so hard her bracelet flew off and hit the couch. Maxime grinned. “Whoa. You must be the famous Sarah.” “That’s me.” She puffed up proudly. “Esme said you’re Dutch too?” Maxime winked. “Born and raised. She teaching you any Dutch yet?” “I only know how to say stroopwafel. Does that count?” “Absolutely,” Maxime said solemnly. “The most sacred of words.” Just then, another face appeared on screen, blinking blearily in the background. Jane. She looked like she’d just rolled out of bed — hair wild, makeup smudged from the night before, still holding a half-empty water bottle. “Why is it so loud,” she muttered, before focusing on the screen. “Wait… is that a child?” “I’m not a child,” Sarah corrected. “I’m Sarah.” Jane tilted her head. “Respect.” Esme laughed, shifting to lean against the couch arm. “They’re my best friends. We’ve been stuck together since high school.” “Were you troublemakers?” Sarah asked, eyes wide. “Absolutely not,” Maxime and Jane said in perfect unison — then burst into laughter. “I don’t believe you,” Sarah said wisely. The four of them talked for a few more minutes — about Texas, about Sarah’s pool sword, about Jane’s late-night bartending adventures (“Never trust a man who orders tequila and cries,” she said), and Maxime’s morning coffee dependency. The sun was still high in Texas, but for Maxime and Jane, it was well past their bedtime. “Alright,” Maxime said with a yawn. “It’s almost lunchtime here, but almost midnight there. I have to pretend to be functional tomorrow.” “Miss you,” Esme said softly. “Miss you more.” Jane blew a kiss. “You’re glowing, by the way. Texas looks good on you.” The screen went dark. Esme tucked the phone away, a small, settled smile lingering on her face. Sarah flopped dramatically across her lap. “Your friends are weird. I like them.” “Yeah,” Esme said, running a hand over Sarah’s damp curls. “Me too.” She cooked dinner for the four of them — Sarah’s request: spaghetti bolognese. By the time Henry and Joel returned, the table was set, the kitchen smelled like home, and Sarah was proudly explaining the exact ratio of cheese to pasta. Dinner was easy. Full of small jokes, second helpings, and relaxed conversation. By the end of the night, it was decided: Esme would babysit Sarah whenever needed. ⸻ POV: Joel Joel hadn’t expected it to go so well. He watched from the doorway for a moment before stepping in — Esme and Sarah side-by-side at the kitchen counter, laughing over a sauce disaster like it was the funniest thing in the world. He hadn’t seen Sarah that relaxed in weeks. And Esme? She didn’t even seem to realize how naturally she fit in. The way she softened around Sarah, the way she listened without interrupting, how quick her laughter was even though she carried something heavy behind her eyes. Henry’s idea hadn’t just been practical — it had been smart. Joel had seen the way Esme looked at the world: cautious, like she didn’t fully trust solid ground. Like someone who had survived too much. Sarah hadn’t had a woman in her life since she was a baby. Connie, their elderly neighbor, helped when she could — but this was different. Esme was different. Joel’s gaze drifted toward her again. She was leaning on the counter, nodding along to one of Sarah’s stories. And then she glanced up — just for a second — and caught him looking. Something flickered between them. Not heat exactly, not yet. But something cautious. Curious. Hopeful. ⸻ Chapeter 3 – Unspoken Things POV: Joel / Esme A few weeks had passed, and Esme was slowly adjusting to life in Texas. Babysitting Sarah had become part of her routine, and dinners with Joel and Sarah brought moments of warmth and comfort she hadn’t expected. Bill and Frank would often join, bringing with them easy conversation and the feeling of a chosen family. Her relationship with her father, Henry, was gradually improving. There were more shared moments now—quiet breakfasts, small talk in the evenings—but still, the conversation they needed to have remained unspoken, lingering like a shadow between them. Despite the progress, Esme’s past clung tightly. Triggers would surface without warning—BBQ smoke that reminded her of chaos, the sight of gun shops, even the sharp scent of cleaning solvent. All brought back flashes of the trauma she tried so hard to bury. Tim hadn’t made it easy to move forward. His texts and calls came in waves—pleading, apologizing, swearing he couldn’t live without her. One message would beg her to take him back; the next, filled with rage and threats, reminded her why she left. After weeks of this cycle, Esme finally blocked him and changed her number, hoping that would be the end of it. POV: Esme She jolted awake, heart racing, the dream still clinging to her like sweat. The bedroom was dark, but not silent—Texas crickets hummed through the open window. Her breath caught, uneven, and for a moment she forgot where she was. Not there, she told herself. Not anymore. But her mind still played tricks. Two years earlier – Afghanistan. The medic tent was dimly lit. Blood, heat, screaming. Esme’s hands shook as she clamped gauze to a soldier’s shattered leg, shouting orders in Dutch out of instinct before switching to English. Someone else—someone younger—was vomiting in the corner. “Esme!” a voice barked. She turned, already soaked in sweat and blood. Another wounded man was being dragged in—no gear, missing half his body armor. His eyes were wide. His mouth was moving, but he wasn’t making a sound. She didn’t even remember what she said. Just the pressure of compressing wounds. The moment his pulse faded under her fingers. Gone. Like so many others. Just gone. Now. She blinked hard and sat up, dragging the covers away. The air felt too heavy. She needed fresh air. Ground. Stillness. And a damn cigarette. Esme padded barefoot through the dark house and out to the porch. Her legs felt weak. Her mind was loud. She lit her cigarette—then heard a voice. POV: Joel The night air was cool against his skin, the low hum of cicadas filling the quiet spaces between thoughts. Joel couldn’t sleep. He sat on the porch, elbows resting on his knees, lost in the kind of silence he rarely had time for. Then he heard the screen door creak open. Esme stepped outside, barefoot, cigarette in hand. She didn’t see him right away — just leaned against the railing and lit up, exhaling slowly into the night. He hadn’t meant to stare. But Esme had this way about her — like she was both tough and fragile, standing on the edge of something and holding herself together anyway. He wondered what battles she fought under that calm exterior. Joel cleared his throat softly. “You okay?” he asked, voice low, rough from disuse but genuine. She startled just a bit and turned, eyes catching the porch light. “Yeah, just… tired.” He nodded. “It’s a lot, coming here. Starting over.” Esme gave a small smile. “Yeah. Feels strange—but good.” They stood there in a companionable silence, the kind that didn’t need filling. Not awkward—just full of things left unsaid. Joel shifted his weight, thumb tapping lightly against his knee. Part of him wanted to reach out, to say more. But he held back. “You know,” he said instead, “if you ever need anything—anything at all—just say the word.” Esme met his gaze, steady and warm. “Thanks, Joel. That means a lot.” ⸻ POV: Esme A few minutes later, Joel reappeared from inside the house, holding two cold beers. He handed her one without a word. “Thanks,” Esme said softly, her fingers brushing his as she took it. The warmth of his hand lingered longer than it should have. The air had cooled just enough to feel bearable. The backyard was quiet, wrapped in soft porch light and shadows. Joel sat down beside her on the steps, leaving a respectful space between them. “So,” he said, casual but kind, “how’s Texas treating you so far? Besides melting you.” Esme smiled. “Hot. And everyone seems convinced I’m starving all the time.” Joel chuckled. “Barbecue portions aren’t for the faint of heart.” She laughed—a real one this time. Light and unexpected. “Guess I’m going to have to bulk up.” He shook his head, grinning. “You look fine to me.” The words hung between them for half a beat. Esme looked away, suddenly fascinated by a crack in the porch wood. “You’ve got to teach me how to handle Texans,” she said. “Or I might drown in brisket and sweet tea.” Joel took a slow sip of his beer, eyes drifting toward the darkening sky. “I might know a thing or two.” They sat in silence again, this one even easier than the last. No pressure. No expectations. Just the soft hum of the night, the warmth of a shared drink, and two people learning to find their rhythm—slowly, quietly, in the space between unspoken things Chapter 4 – Heatwaves and Hesitations POV: Esme / Joel ⸻ POV: Esme Bill’s birthday was already buzzing by the time Esme stepped into the backyard. Henry’s place looked like it belonged in a magazine: string lights crisscrossed above the patio, a cooler full of drinks nestled in the shade, and the barbecue already smoked with promise. Laughter bounced off the pool water like sunlight. “C’mon!” Sarah shouted from the deep end, flailing one arm and dramatically splashing. “You said you’d swim!” Esme laughed, slipping off her sandals and tugging her sundress over her head, revealing the forest-green bikini underneath. “I’m coming, I’m coming!” She waded in, the heat of the day giving way to the cool relief of the water. Sarah immediately splashed her, shrieking in delight, and they fell into an easy rhythm of games and laughter. For a few moments, Esme let herself sink into that rare feeling: peace. Lightness. But when she glanced toward the patio, she froze—not from nerves, but from the sudden awareness of being watched. Joel stood near the grill, beer in hand, spatula idle. His gaze had landed on her—just for a second—and then slid away, almost guiltily. Esme’s heart gave a traitorous flutter. She turned back to Sarah, forcing herself to focus on the splashing girl instead of the man with the quiet eyes and the weathered hands. ⸻ POV: Joel Joel hadn’t meant to look. Not really. He’d just been flipping burgers and checking the cooler when Esme walked out and— Damn. She laughed, hair curling damp around her cheeks, water trailing down her skin in slow, glinting lines. Her bikini clung to her body, hugging curves that made Joel’s chest tighten. Her waist, the soft slope of her hip, the long line of her legs beneath the water—he noticed all of it. More than he should’ve. And still, there was something else. A quiet strength behind the softness. She looked at ease, like she belonged in the sunlight. Like she’d fought through fire and come out steady. He quickly looked away and focused back on the grill, jaw tightening. She was Henry’s daughter. And she was young. Too young for him. Right? “You’re staring,” came a voice at his elbow. Joel blinked and turned to find Bill grinning around a toothpick, eyes sharp. Joel grunted. “I’m flipping burgers.” “Uh-huh,” Bill said. He leaned in slightly, voice lowering just enough to stay between them. “Listen, I’m not gonna give you the whole protective uncle speech. But that girl’s been through hell. You probably know that already.” Joel didn’t answer. Just kept his eyes on the grill. “She’s not fragile,” Bill added. “But she’s still healing. So… if you’re gonna look at her like that, just make sure you’re not looking to forget your own pain.” Joel’s jaw flexed, but he nodded once. The warning was fair. Maybe even earned. From the pool, Esme laughed again. And Joel felt something deep in his chest ache. ⸻ POV: Esme She felt warm from the inside out as the day wore on—not just from the sun, but from being surrounded by familiar faces and safe voices. For the first time since she’d landed in Texas, she felt like part of something. Later, after the party died down and most of the guests had gone home, Esme couldn’t sleep. It was after midnight when she slipped outside, barefoot and in an old T-shirt, the air still holding onto the day’s heat. Her chest felt tight, breathing shallow. Her thoughts were looping again. Like they always did when it was quiet. The past had a way of sneaking in at night. She sat on the steps, rubbing at her wrists, grounding herself, reminding herself: You’re safe. You’re here. He’s not here. It’s over. The screen door creaked. She didn’t turn right away, expecting her dad. But it was Joel who stepped out, moving quietly, like he somehow knew. He didn’t ask what was wrong. Just walked over and sat down next to her, a little closer than before. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a cigarette, then offered her one without a word. Esme hesitated, then took it. He lit hers first, then his own. They sat there in the silence of late night, the crickets humming around them, the smoke curling into the dark. “I get these nights sometimes,” she murmured eventually. “When my brain just won’t shut up.” Joel didn’t look at her. Just nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know the kind.” A pause. Then, softly: “After Sarah’s mom left, I didn’t sleep right for months. Hell, maybe I still don’t.” Esme turned toward him slightly. “She left without saying goodbye?” “Pretty much. One day she was just… gone. I woke up to a note on the counter and half the closet empty.” Esme didn’t answer right away. She watched the smoke drift from her cigarette, the way the ember glowed when she breathed in. “I never thought I’d be this tired,” she whispered. “Not physically. Just… tired of carrying things alone.” Joel finally looked at her. “You don’t have to carry everything.” Her eyes met his. There was no pity there, just something solid. Something like understanding. “I don’t talk about it much,” she said. “The army. What happened over there. It’s easier to pretend I’m fine.” Joel nodded, slow and steady. “You don’t have to pretend with me.” They sat in silence again, but this time it felt like a conversation. Neither of them said what they were really thinking. That they saw each other more clearly than they meant to. That something was shifting between them—quiet, unspoken, but real. Esme crushed the cigarette under her bare heel and let out a breath. “Thanks,” she said. Joel didn’t ask what for. Just gave her a soft, tired smile. “Anytime.” Chapter 5: The Weight We Carry - A few days later , Esme sat in the garden with her father. The cicadas were humming. A couple of empty beer bottles sat between their chairs. Henry glanced over at her. “You used to sit like this with your mom.” Esme turned her head. “Did I?” “Yeah. She loved warm nights. Said it made her feel close to home.” He paused. “She’d be proud of you, you know.” Esme’s throat tightened. “I don’t know about that.” Henry didn’t argue. He just let the silence settle. “She died too young,” Esme said after a while. “Thirteen feels like too young to say goodbye.” He nodded slowly. “I know, lieverd. She was the love of my life, Es. I never really figured out how to move on. I tried once, but… it didn’t feel right.” “You never talk about her.” “It hurts,” he admitted. “But I think maybe… it’s time to stop burying the good memories just to avoid the sad ones.” Esme looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers like she was trying to feel something. “The army changed me,” she said quietly. “I saw things I’ll never forget. I lost parts of myself.” Henry didn’t say anything at first. Then: “But you’re still here. Still you. Maybe a little harder on the outside, but I see her in you. Her strength. Her kindness.” Esme blinked fast. “I don’t feel kind.” “You are,” he said firmly. “You care too much. That’s what hurts most of all.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, like she used to when she was little. And for the first time in a long while, she let herself feel it. All of it. - It was close to 2 a.m. in Texas, but Esme couldn’t sleep. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that made thoughts louder. So she grabbed her laptop, padded barefoot to the kitchen table, and clicked the video call button. It rang twice before Maxime answered, wrapped in a robe, mug in hand, her hair a chaotic bun of sleep. A second later, Jane joined, still in bed, holding her phone above her face. “It’s 9:30 in the morning here,” Jane mumbled, squinting at the screen. “Why do you look so awake?” “Because it’s the middle of the night here,” Esme said, smiling faintly. “Couldn’t sleep.” Maxime tilted her head. “What’s going on?” Esme hesitated for a second. Then she said, “I talked to my dad.” Both of them straightened instantly—Jane even sat up in bed. Esme continued, her voice softer now. “We were in the garden, just sitting together. He brought up my mom. Said she used to sit outside like that, listening to the cicadas. And then we just… talked. About her. About the past. He told me she’d be proud of me.” Maxime’s eyes went glassy. Jane was quiet for once. “It was the first time it didn’t feel awkward,” Esme added. “It felt like… maybe we’re actually healing.” There was a pause. Then Maxime asked carefully, “And… is that all that’s got you wide awake right now?” Esme gave a quiet smile. “I also talked to Joel.” Jane perked up. “Oh?” Esme leaned back in the chair, glancing at the porch through the window. “It was late. I couldn’t sleep again, and he came outside. We didn’t say much, but… what we did say mattered. He opened up. And I did too.” Maxime raised an eyebrow. “So. Porch talks at midnight. Eye contact. Emotional vulnerability. Cigarettes. Are we officially entering something?” Esme laughed under her breath. “I don’t know. Maybe.” “You don’t have to know,” Jane said. “You just have to not push it away.” They talked a little longer—about nothing, about everything—until Esme finally yawned, her body catching up to the hour. As she signed off and shut the laptop, the house felt a little less heavy. Like maybe, just maybe, she was starting to let go of the weight she’d been carrying. POV: Joel Two days later, Joel pulled into Henry’s driveway to pick up Sarah after work—and froze. Esme was by the edge of the yard, talking to a younger guy. Tall, tan, wearing a delivery uniform. He was clearly dropping something off, but still lingered a minute. And Esme—she was smiling in that open, real way Joel didn’t see often. She even laughed at something he said. Joel felt something twist in his chest. He told himself it was nothing. She was free to talk to whoever she liked. It wasn’t his business. Still… he couldn’t stop watching. Later, when they passed each other in the hallway, Esme smiled at him and said, “Hey.” He responded with a clipped nod. “Hey.” She paused, brow furrowing. “Everything okay?” “Fine,” he said, too quickly. She watched him a second longer, then kept walking. That night, Joel sat at home with a beer in his hand and the lights off. He thought about Esme’s smile. The way she looked at that guy. He finished the beer, rubbed a hand over his face, and muttered into the dark: “Too old, Miller. Too damn old.” But he didn’t believe it. Not really. - Chapter 6 – Strangers, Softened POV: Esme / Joel ⸻ POV: Esme The morning light was soft through the kitchen windows as Henry tossed his overnight bag in the back of the truck. Esme stood barefoot by the door, coffee mug in hand, watching as Joel pulled into the driveway in his dusty Chevy. “Don’t let her eat too much sugar,” Joel called with a faint smile as Henry climbed into the passenger seat. Esme held up three fingers. “Only three donuts. Scout’s honor.” Joel looked at her for a long second. “Thanks again. I owe you one.” “Maybe two,” Esme said with a grin. “I’m taking her to a movie later.” “God help you,” Joel muttered, then gave her a nod and pulled away. She watched the truck disappear down the road, then sipped her coffee, thinking about the afternoon ahead. ⸻ Later that day Sarah’s school pickup was chaotic but fun—Sarah dramatically pointed her out to her friends, waving from across the lot like she was a celebrity. Esme leaned against Henry’s car with sunglasses on and arms crossed, playing it cool. “Is that your mom?” one of the kids whispered. Sarah rolled her eyes. “No, it’s my babysitter. She’s cooler than a mom.” Esme blinked at that. She didn’t know what to say. Just smiled softly and opened the door. ⸻ POV: Joel Joel’s workday was longer than expected—hot, loud, and exhausting. He checked his phone just before sunset. No messages. No missed calls. But for some reason, that silence didn’t bother him. He trusted Esme with Sarah more than he’d trusted anyone in a long time. Still, as the miles passed and the truck finally rolled onto his street, a quiet hum of curiosity built in his chest. ⸻ POV: Esme The movie was loud, sugary, and filled with ridiculous talking animals—Sarah had picked a comedy that made her laugh so hard she choked on popcorn twice. Esme didn’t even mind the terrible jokes. Seeing Sarah happy was worth it. Afterward, they walked back into Joel’s house like it was the most natural thing in the world. Sarah kicked off her shoes, flopped on the couch, and groaned dramatically. “I’m full. I can’t move.” Esme chuckled. “That’s what three scoops of ice cream will do to a person.” They curled up on the couch under one of the blankets Joel always kept folded in the basket by the TV. A nature documentary played quietly in the background. Sarah fell asleep first, curled against Esme like a kitten. And before long, Esme’s head dipped back, eyes fluttering shut. That soft quiet came again—the kind that had started to feel safe. ⸻ POV: Joel When Joel opened the door just after eleven, the house was dark except for the flicker of the TV. He paused in the hallway, then stepped into the living room. There they were. Sarah, fast asleep, tangled in the blanket with her head on Esme’s lap. And Esme… leaned back against the couch, one hand resting protectively on Sarah’s shoulder, her face slack with sleep. Peaceful. Joel stood there a moment too long, something warm catching in his chest. He thought about grabbing a blanket. Then quietly walked to the linen closet and did just that—gently draping it over both of them before turning off the TV. Esme stirred slightly. Eyes half-lidded. “Joel?” “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m home.” She blinked slowly, then whispered, “We watched a nature thing. Sarah fell asleep.” “You too,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. Esme let out a soft hum and leaned her head back again. Joel stood for a moment longer, then quietly sat in the armchair across from them, elbows resting on his knees. He didn’t want to go to bed yet. Not just yet. He watched the two of them, wrapped in that quiet little world of warmth and breath and trust. And for the first time in a long time, Joel Miller didn’t feel like he was coming home to an empty house. - POV: Esme About half an hour later, Esme woke fully, blinking against the dim light of Joel’s living room. Sarah was still asleep, curled up on the couch like a tiny, peaceful cat. Esme carefully shifted, trying not to wake her. She rose quietly, padding toward the kitchen table where Joel was still sitting. Joel’s voice caught her off guard. “Your phone’s been blowing up.” Her heart skipped. She fumbled for her phone, the cold glass pressing into her palm. The screen flooded with messages—Tim’s name flashing at the top, alongside a string of threatening texts, raw and unrelenting. Her breath caught, and for a split second, panic tightened around her throat. But then she reminded herself where she was. She took a slow, steadying breath and smoothed her expression, erasing the flicker of terror. She looked up at Joel, trying to play it cool—putting on the mask she wore for the world. Joel’s eyes narrowed, catching the shadow behind her calm. Concern settled deep in his gaze. He stepped closer, voice low and steady. “Everything okay?” She forced a light laugh, trying to sound casual. “It’s nothing. Just some old stuff with a friend. I’m fine. Really.” Joel didn’t buy it—not for a second—but he let the silence stretch between them. He didn’t push harder. Maybe she wasn’t ready to share yet. “Alright,” he said finally, softer now. “Get some rest.” She nodded, slipping the phone back into her pocket. As she turned to leave, she met his eyes and gave a quiet, grateful smile. “Goodnight, Joel.” “Goodnight, Esme.” The door clicked softly behind her, leaving the house wrapped in a fragile stillness—one that held promises of safety, but also the weight of things yet to come Chapter 7 – Shadows in the Sun POV: Esme / Joel Esme had been in Texas for five months. She was still a newcomer in many ways, but the routines had started to settle: the runs at sunrise, the quiet coffees on Henry’s porch, the school pickups with Sarah, the late-night silences she and Joel both seemed to crave. She hadn’t planned on staying this long. But lately, the idea of leaving had begun to feel… heavy. Tommy arrived like a Texas dust storm—loud, smiling, and impossible to ignore. Joel stood in the driveway, arms crossed, as his younger brother swung out of the truck with all the energy of a man who never learned how to stand still. “Well, look who still can’t read a map,” Joel said, voice dry as desert air. Tommy grinned. “Takes one to know one.” He pulled Joel into a one-armed hug before heading up the porch stairs. Henry came out, hand raised. “Tommy! Damn good to see you.” “Henry, you silver fox,” Tommy said, giving him a bear hug. “Still haven’t aged a damn day.” Joel muttered behind them, “Charm’s still set to dangerously high.” “Too high,” Henry agreed, laughing. “Well, where’s the birthday boy?” Tommy said, glancing toward the backyard. “Out back,” Henry said, leading him in. - The backyard buzzed with noise and color. Pool noodles drifted lazily in the water, kids shrieked and splashed, and the scent of grilled meat mixed with sunscreen and the thick Texas heat. It was Frank’s birthday, but Henry had offered up his place—mostly for the pool. Esme had helped decorate: paper lanterns swayed overhead, and a playlist of old-school rock played just loud enough to compete with the sound of summer. Tommy was mid-hello to a group near the grill when Esme stepped into the backyard, carrying a bowl of chips. He turned. And froze. Joel saw it. That subtle shift in his brother’s face. The smile. The spark. “Well, hello,” Tommy said smoothly. Esme smiled politely. “Hi. You must be Tommy.” “And you must be Esme. Figured I’d be meeting the mystery woman eventually.”” he replied. Joel rolled his eyes. Frank, stepping in just in time, handed Tommy a beer and added with a grin, “That’s Esme. Henry’s daughter. And former army nurse. She’s tougher than she looks.” Esme shot Frank a look, but smiled. “Thanks for the intro, Frank.” Tommy perked up. “No way. Where’d you serve?” “Afghanistan. Two deployments.” Tommy whistled low. “Damn. Respect. I was posted there too, back in ’08. You with medical the whole time?” Esme nodded. “Mostly field support. Triage. Some evac.” And just like that, they were off—trading acronyms and shorthand, the kind only veterans understood. Joel hung back, half-listening, half-steeling himself. He caught Henry’s eye from across the yard. The older man gave him a knowing glance. Joel looked away. ⸻ POV: Esme Esme dipped her feet into the cool water, laughing as Sarah cannonballed beside her. Sam joined moments later, more cautious but smiling wide. She handed them each popsicles, then leaned back, stretching her legs out across the tile, her sunglasses sliding down her nose. The sun was brutal, but she didn’t mind it today. The laughter, the splashes, the low hum of people talking — it all made her feel just removed enough from the heaviness that always lingered beneath the surface. Tommy was sitting beside her now. He was easy to talk to. Light, friendly, funny in that brotherly way. He reminded her of someone from base—a guy who could make a joke mid-crisis without ever being cruel. They traded stories, joked about the food in the mess tents, the absurdity of long patrols, the way sleep deprivation made everything hilarious. He made her laugh. But even while she listened to Tommy talk about almost getting kicked off base for a dumb prank, a part of her was aware of Joel — somewhere behind her, she could feel Joel. Still. Quiet. Watchinug. ———- The sun had dipped below the trees, leaving a hazy warmth in the air. The pool party had mellowed into its golden-hour version of itself — quieter music, grown-ups nursing drinks, kids wrapped in towels chasing fireflies. Joel stood by the grill, tongs in hand, though the coals had gone cold a while ago. He watched the yard over the rim of his beer bottle, eyes scanning like he wasn’t looking for anything in particular — but he was. Tommy and Esme sat at the patio table beneath the string lights. A mostly-empty bowl of chips sat between them. They were laughing. Her hand brushed his arm as she leaned in, and something in Joel’s chest pulled tight. Tommy said something that made Esme laugh — really laugh, head tilted back, eyes lit. And Joel felt it again. That gut-punch kind of stillness. He looked away too late. “You burnin’ the meat or just staring a hole through your brother’s skull?” Frank’s voice was dry beside him. Joel didn’t answer. Frank whistled low. “Damn. So it’s like that.” Joel set the tongs down harder than he meant to. “She’s not—” he started, then stopped. Frank raised a brow. “Yours? Nah. I know. But you are staring like someone kicked your dog.” Joel’s jaw flexed. “She can talk to whoever she wants.” “Sure.” Frank nodded, unbothered. “And you can stand here all night pretending it doesn’t matter.” ⸻ Later, Esme came inside, plate in hand, looking for a place to set it down. Joel was already in the kitchen, rinsing out beer bottles at the sink, sleeves pushed up, arms tense. She hesitated before speaking. “You alright?” “Fine,” he said without looking at her. “You seem… off.” He dried his hands, kept his back to her. “I’m not.” Esme stepped closer, arms crossed. “If this is about earlier—” “It’s not,” he said, too fast. She paused. “Because it kind of felt like it was.” Joel turned to face her. “Why would it be?” She shrugged, tone casual but eyes sharp. “Tommy and I were talking. That’s all.” “I know.” He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms to mirror her without realizing it. “He’s funny,” she added. “Easy to talk to.” Joel’s throat worked. “He always has been.” Something in his voice made her pause. Then: “But you’re not, are you?” Joel looked at her, really looked. Her arms, sun-kissed and folded. The line between her brows. The way she was standing like she was bracing for something — not from him, but from the world. “I didn’t mean to—” he started. “Get weird?” she offered. He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. That.” Esme stepped in closer, just enough to lower her voice. “You think I don’t notice when you’re looking at me like that?” “Like what?” “Like you want to say something but don’t know how.” Joel looked away, jaw tight. “Joel,” she said gently. “I’m not fragile.” “I didn’t say you were.” “You don’t have to.” The room was still. Then he spoke, low and honest: “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that I don’t know if I should.” Esme tilted her head. “Why?” “Because I don’t have the luxury of screwin’ things up anymore. Not with you. Not with… all this.” She didn’t respond right away. Then she stepped forward, just a few inches from him now. “You’re not the only one who’s lost things, Joel.” He met her gaze. “I don’t need perfect,” she added. “Just real.” Joel’s eyes flicked down, then back up. “I can’t promise anything easy.” “Good,” she said. “I don’t trust easy.” Something shifted then — a weight between them settled. The kind of quiet that held more truth than anything either of them had said out loud. Behind them, someone called from the porch, and the moment cracked. Esme stepped back first. “Guess we should get back out there.” “Yeah,” Joel said, watching her go. But this time, he followed. Later that Night – Just Out of Earshot The party had thinned out. The kids were curled up with blankets under the string lights, half-asleep to the hum of a backyard movie. The adults were scattered — some cleaning up, others talking in low voices on the porch. Joel stood off to the side, near the fence line, a beer dangling loosely from his hand. Tommy stepped up beside him, a little slower than usual. For once, he didn’t open with a joke. “Quiet out here,” he said. Joel nodded. “Not for long.” They stood like that for a beat. Then Tommy cleared his throat, glanced toward the porch where Esme stood laughing at something Frank had said. “She’s got that thing,” Tommy said softly. “The way she carries herself. It hits you before you even know what you’re looking at.” Joel said nothing. Just sipped his beer. Tommy gave a half-shrug. “I’ll be honest, I felt it. First five minutes talking to her. She’s sharp. Got that dry humor I like. And she actually listens.” Joel’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t interrupt. “But,” Tommy continued, “while I was sitting there with her, swapping stories and trying to keep it light… I looked up.” Joel didn’t move, but Tommy felt the shift. The tension. “I saw you,” Tommy said. “The way you were watching her. Like it already mattered.” Joel’s grip tightened slightly on the bottle. “Didn’t realize I was that obvious.” “You weren’t. Not to most.” Tommy paused. “But I know that look. Seen it once before, when you met Sarah’s mom.” That hit harder than Joel expected. He looked down, swallowed. “Didn’t mean for it to happen.” “You never do,” Tommy said. “But it did.” There was a beat of silence between them, then Joel finally turned to face his brother. “I ain’t got the margin for mistakes anymore, Tommy.” “I know,” Tommy said, eyes steady. “And I’d never get in the way of it. If you’re in, really in, you don’t gotta worry about me stepping where I shouldn’t.” Joel exhaled, slow and quiet. “I appreciate that.” Tommy smiled a little, not teasing for once. “Just… don’t wait too long to tell her. Real things don’t always wait around.” Joel looked back toward Esme, who was now bent over helping Sam with a blanket. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.” ——— Chapter 8 – The Quiet Between The kids were asleep. The guests had gone. The lanterns still swayed on the porch, flickering in the breeze like they didn’t know the party was over. Joel stayed behind to help clean up. He hadn’t said as much, just kept picking up plates, folding chairs, and tossing beer bottles into the recycling bin like it gave him something to do with his hands. Esme was inside rinsing out serving bowls, sleeves pushed up, hair tied back. She’d changed into an oversized T-shirt and leggings, comfortable in a way that made her seem more herself than she had all afternoon. Joel hovered near the doorway, not quite coming in, not quite staying out. “You don’t have to keep cleaning,” she said over her shoulder. “I don’t mind.” Silence settled between them again — not cold, just cautious. Esme set the bowl in the drying rack and turned off the faucet. “You always do that?” He looked up. “Do what?” “Hang back. Watch everyone else.” Joel rubbed the back of his neck. “Old habit.” She grabbed a towel, dried her hands, then leaned against the counter. “You used to be a leader, right? In the field?” Joel shrugged. “Did what needed doing.” “I don’t buy that.” He glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “You’ve got presence. People feel it when you walk into a room. That’s not nothing.” Joel exhaled, slow. “Maybe. Back then, it made sense.” “And now?” “Now I’m just… trying not to be the reason someone falls apart.” Her eyes softened. He shook his head. “You said earlier you don’t trust easy. I don’t trust myself.” There it was. Out in the open, finally. Esme stepped forward. “Joel. If you were gonna break something in me — you’d have done it by now.” He swallowed hard. “Doesn’t mean I won’t.” “It also doesn’t mean you will.” They stood there, close enough to hear each other breathe. No interruptions this time. No distractions. Esme looked up at him, eyes steady. “I’m not asking you to promise me the world.” Joel’s voice was barely above a whisper. “What are you asking?” “A beginning. Or at least a step in that direction.” Joel hesitated. Then nodded once. “I can do that.” Joel turned to the sink. “You want help with the rest of that?” Esme smiled. “You dry, I’ll wash?” “Deal.” - Later, when the house had gone quiet and the soft hum of crickets filled the spaces between silence, Esme sat cross-legged on the bed, tugging a hoodie over her T-shirt. Her hair was damp from a quick shower, her skin still warm from the day’s sun. She was just reaching for her book when her phone buzzed. Maxime. She answered quickly. “Hey.” “Esme,” Maxime’s voice came tight, a little breathless. “Tim’s been calling me and texting me. What the fuck?! I thought he had finally stopped…So I can only expect he has been stalking you again. How long has this been going on? Why didn’t you tell us?!” Esme’s stomach dropped. Caught in her lie. “I’m sorry Max. I didn’t want you to worry again. You both have done too much and deserve a life of your own.” She said trying to keep the tears at bay. Maxime sighed. “You survived hell, Esme. But you didn’t walk out of it alone. Jane and I were there. And we still are. You’re not some cautionary tale. You’re someone we love.” Esme’s throat tightened. “I just…” she began, but couldn’t finish. “I know,” Maxime whispered. “But don’t keep hiding in the ruins. You deserve peace.” Then, more gently: “Tell me everything.” Esme took a breath. “It started just after I got here. I thought switching to an American number would help. I only gave it to you, Jane, my dad, Bill and Frank, Joel, and Sarah. That’s it.” “I know,” Maxime said. “That’s why I’m freaking out. I texted him—told him to fuck off, demanded to know how he got it. And he just said… ‘I always find her.’” Her voice lowered. “Like it’s a game. A dangerous obsession. He’s not letting go.” Esme didn’t respond. Her whole body went still. Cold. Like the floor dropped out beneath her. “Don’t make me say it like it’s not still in my head almost every goddamn night, Es,” Maxime pressed. “Jane and I broke into that apartment. I saw what he did to you. He found you after you broke it off. After you told him no, after you moved to another town.” Esme closed her eyes. Every word cut across old scars. “I wasn’t supposed to be found.” “But he did,” Maxime snapped, voice tight with emotion. “He broke in. Beat the shit out of you. Nearly strangled you to death. We were ten minutes away from finding your body instead of finding you still breathing. Thank God the neighbor came home—helped us kick the door down.” Maxime paused, then said quietly, “You know that? I didn’t wait for the super. I just ran at it. Shoulder first.” Esme stared at the wall across from her, vision swimming. “I held pressure to your head while Jane screamed for an ambulance. You were barely conscious. Your eyes were open, but you weren’t in them. You were just—gone.” “I remember.” Esme’s voice was barely there. “I remember thinking I was already dead.” Maxime inhaled shakily. “I can’t go through that again. I won’t. If this gets worse, I have to tell your dad..” “It won’t get worse.” “You can’t know that.” Esme stood up, pacing the room. Her hoodie suddenly felt too tight, like it was choking her. “I’ve done everything I can,” she said, louder now. “ “I did,” Esme snapped. “I told the MPs. Filed the report. I changed my number, my email, even stopped using my old socials. I did everything right.” “I don’t mean them,” Maxime said gently. “I mean someone here. Tell your dad. Tell Joel. Tell someone who can help if this spirals again.” Esme ran a hand through her hair, breath shallow. “I don’t want to drag them into it.” “You think you’re protecting them?” Maxime asked. “Because you’re not. You’re just isolating yourself. And that’s exactly what he wants. You alone. You scared. You too ashamed to speak” Esme sat heavily on the edge of the bed, hand trembling slightly as she pushed her hair out of her face. “If I tell them,” she said after a long silence, “everything changes.” Maxime was quiet for a beat, then asked softly, “Are you more afraid of what Tim will do — or how Joel will look at you after he knows?” Esme didn’t answer. Esme swallowed hard, and when she finally ended the call, the phone trembled slightly in her hand. But she wasn’t shaking anymore. - [ ] Chapter 9 – Buried Truths A few weeks had passed since the call. Maxime and Jane had checked in nearly every day since, gentle but persistent, trying to convince her to tell someone—Joel or her father. It was warm that night. The kind of heat that lingered in the air long after sunset, clinging to skin like memory. The cicadas buzzed in the trees. Esme sat on the back porch with Joel. Henry and Sarah had gone to bed hours earlier, and the beer in her hand had gone untouched. Joel noticed. “You okay?” She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Just… tired.” He didn’t press. Just waited, like he always did. Eventually, she turned to him. “Can I ask you something?” “Course.” “If someone told you something awful… something that might change the way you saw someone else—someone you cared about… would you want to know?” Joel didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, beer bottle dangling from his hand. “I’d rather know the truth. Even if it’s ugly.” She nodded, pulling her knees to her chest. “There’s something I want to tell you. A secret only my two best friends now about. ” Joel didn’t speak. Just looked at her with that quiet steadiness of his. “It’s about my ex. His name was Tim We met in the army. He was charming. Everyone liked him. Even my dad.” She swallowed. “They thought he was solid. Reliable.” A pause. “We started seeing each other during my second deployment. It felt… safe. Like I had someone who understood the chaos. But he changed. Fast.” Joel stayed still, his gaze never leaving her. “It started small. Controlling stuff. Where I went, who I talked to. Then came the yelling. The nights where he’d show up drunk and accuse me of things I hadn’t done.” She swallowed. “Then came the bruises. The… isolation.” She looked down at her hands. “I stayed longer than I should’ve. Because I thought I could manage it. Because I was afraid.” Joel didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just listened. Joel’s hands clenched slowly around the bottle. Still, he said nothing. Her voice cracked a little. “And the worst part? I couldn’t bring myself to tell my dad. He liked Tim. Believed in him. I didn’t want to see that look on his face. Like… he’d failed me.” Joel finally spoke, voice low. “That ain’t on your dad. That’s on Tim.” “I know. In my head, I do. But my heart—” “Still blames itself.” She nodded, eyes shining. “Can I ask something?” Joel said gently. She nodded. “Do you still feel like you’re hiding?” Esme exhaled. “Not anymore. Not right now.” Joel leaned closer. “You were brave, Esme. Walking away. Protecting others. Surviving. That’s not failure.” “I don’t feel brave,” she murmured. “I feel like I failed myself. Letting it go that far.” “You didn’t fail. You survived.” Esme closed her eyes. “If your dad ever finds out,” Joel added softly, “it won’t destroy him. It’ll break his heart that you were hurting alone.” She wiped a tear. “You really think that?” “I know it. I’d feel the same way if it were Sarah.” Esme’s voice was barely there. “I’ve never told anyone. Not even in therapy. I guess I didn’t trust anyone to hold it.” Joel reached for her hand. “You can trust me.” She gripped it like an anchor. “There’s more,” she whispered. Joel turned slightly toward her. “After I broke it off with Tim… I went on leave for an extended period because of mental healt issues. Took a flight out to Holland. Got a house in a small town; where I thought I would be safe.” Her fingers curled into the blanket draped over her lap. He waited, jaw tight. “But he still found me.” Joel’s body tensed, breath slow and deliberate. “Somehow he’d gotten my leave info. Broke into my appartement. I’d just come back from the market. He was already inside. Waiting.” Showed up like it was a romantic gesture. I told him no. Over and over again. Clear as I could. That it was over. That I didn’t want him near me.” Esme’s voice cracked slightly. “That’s when he lost it.” Lunged towards me and started hitting me. Over and over. When I tried to run, he—he got his hands around my throat.” Joel didn’t move, but the shift in him was palpable — like coiled wire under pressure. Joel’s fists clenched on his knees. “ “I thought I was going to die. Right there. I was extremely lucky that my two friends got suspicous when I hadn’t texted them back. They kicked in the door. Saved me.” She wiped at her face, eyes glassy but dry. “I stayed with them a friend from the unit during recovery. Didn’t report it officially. Just… got an extensed leave, packed what I could, and got the hell out. Texas was supposed to be a clean slate. Quiet. Safe.” Joel’s voice was rough when it came. “He find you again?” Esme nodded. “Yeah. Somehow he got my new number. Started texting. At first, it was all guilt and apologies. Then it turned to threats. Obsession. Like he couldn’t stand that I’d disappeared on him. He even texted and tried calling my best friend.” Joel’s jaw was locked. “ We blocked him. Changed my number again. It’s been quiet for a while now. But sometimes…” She exhaled shakily. “Sometimes I still feel like he’s watching.” Joel turned toward her fully now, voice low and certain. “You ever see him again — or get so much as a whisper that he’s nearby — you tell me. Immediately.” She nodded, but didn’t speak. “I mean it, Esme.” Her eyes met his — and for once, she didn’t look away. “I trust you,” she said. Joel looked like he might say something — but didn’t. Instead, he reached out and took her hand. Not possessively. Not to fix anything. Just to hold it. Esme gripped his back like an anchor. “I haven’t told anyone this besides my two friends and a trusted friend who helped with my leave,” she murmured. “Not even my therapist. And definitely not my dad. He liked Tim. He’d never forgive himself if he knew what happened. That he couldn’t protect me.” Joel shook his head. “It wasn’t his job to see through a mask. It was Tim’s job not to be a monster.” Esme’s voice was barely audible. “You really think he wouldn’t hate himself?” Joel gave her hand the gentlest squeeze. “He might. At first. But he’d hate even more that you’ve carried this alone.” Esme closed her eyes, breathing through the weight of it. “I don’t think I’m ready to tell him,” she said. “You don’t have to. Not until you are. But when you are?” Joel’s voice was steady. “You won’t be alone.” She didn’t answer. Just leaned her head back onto his shoulder and let the quiet hold them both. ——— Chapter 11 – Something Like Normal Two weeks later, the house was unusually quiet. Henry had left that morning for a fishing trip with Bill and Frank, a packed cooler in one hand, a rod in the other, grinning like a man half his age. Sarah was off too — sleeping over at her best friend’s house, already sending Esme silly selfies and updates about nail polish and movie snacks. Which meant, for once, there were no eyes watching. No interruptions. No responsibilities pulling anyone in opposite directions. Esme checked her reflection in the mirror again. Just a simple dress — soft cotton, dark green. Hair down. Lip balm, not lipstick. She knew it would wake them, but they’d forgive her once she told them about her date with Joel. Before changing her mind she quickly called. The phone rang twice before Maxime’s face filled the screen, squinting blearily at the screen. “Esme? What time is it?” “It’s about 2:30 AM.” “This better be good,” Maxime said while sitting up straight. “Put me on speaker,” came Jane’s voice in the background. “Okay,” Jane said, eyes narrowing. “What’s going on?” Esme gave a small, shy smile. “I have a date. With Joel.” The scream that followed was instant and ear-piercing. “SHUT UP,” Jane shouted. “You finally caved?!” Esme laughed. “It’s not caving! We’ve been talking more. It just… felt right.” “You look amazing,” Maxime said, leaning in. “That’s the green one, right? The soft cotton dress? Good choice.” Esme nodded. “Wanted to feel like mys

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