Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fucking hell. Clyde stripped off his rubber gloves and fire retardant clothes. He felt heavy. Numb. It was the third night in a row he was called in for downed lines. He had to run on coffee and energy drinks at this point because sleeping during the day felt impossible. Too much light and sound. So much noise. It kept him up. Alert. He had a hard time relaxing ever since he got back from the war. Clyde’s hand clenched at his side.

He pulled a bottle of Tennessee whiskey toward him, ready to fend off sleeplessness with alcohol and bad late night television. That’s when his door burst open.

“Alright! Come on.”

Clyde’s head whipped to the door and he groaned, clutching the whiskey tighter. “Jimmy, no. We’ve been over this—“

“Yea,” his brother acknowledged, hands stuffed quickly into his pockets. “Your complaint’s been noted. Now shut up and get in the car.”

It was his first night off in the last three weeks and his idiot brother was back to his old shit.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Clyde growled. Though his brother was an absolute pain in the ass, Clyde could be just as stubborn.

Jimmy’s brows rose marginally. “That so?”

Clyde grunted.

Jimmy glared and plopped down next to him. “Do I need to remind you of Mellie’s birthday last month?”

Clyde’s eyebrow quirked up. “Are you serious? You’re bringing that up? Now?”

Jimmy shrugged, mouth twitching up at the corner and looking so smug and self-righteous it took everything in Clyde not to punch his brother in the face. He had him dead to fucking rights on that one. Clyde hadn’t gone to Mellie’s party. He’d taken another lineman shift even though he was only second on-call because… well–because it was hard being around people.

And he loved Mellie. Really he did. His sister was also a pain in the ass, but less so than Jimmy. She got him. She was patient with him. And kind in a way he didn’t really understand. It was the kind of kindness that made him have a bit of hope. Like maybe there were rose colored glasses somewhere instead of the shit-stained ones he tended to view the world with.

But she’d had a party. Like… a big party. Friends. Family. And he knew it would feel like the world was caving in on him and exploding all at once from the noise and the laughter and the pretense of every interaction he didn’t want to have. So when the text came in to the lineman crew about the downed line out in Alberta, he didn’t even let Sammy, the first guy on call, respond. He took it without a second thought. And he’d called Jimmy to help him make excuses.

Now that rat bastard was taking him to task. It was only a matter of time, and Jimmy crossed his arms over his chest, daring his brother to refuse him.

Clyde rolled his eyes and sucked on his teeth, but he knew better than to fight Jimmy on something like this. Especially when he looked so goddamn self-satisfied. So Clyde stood up, snatched his Carhart jacket by the door and shrugged it on. “You’re driving.”

“‘Course,” Jimmy nodded.

“And buying the first round.”

Jimmy glared, following after his brother. “Don’t get greedy.”

“I’m doing this for you, you asshole.”

“And I’m doing it for you,” Jimmy retorted. He slammed the door shut on the rusty Chevy pickup and Clyde just glared in response. But Jimmy was having none of it. “Ever since you came back, you haven’t been the same. Distant. Quiet. Always by yourself.”

Clyde’s jaw twitched. “Maybe I just don’t want to be surrounded by dumbasses like you.”

Jimmy’s mouth quirked up, but there was something like pity lurking in his expression. It made Clyde’s fist clench and his mouth go dry. He fucking hates it when people feel sorry for him.

He served his fucking country. Got his arm blown off doing it. Saw friends die. But he did it because they needed him to do it. Protect people. Land of the free. Home of the brave. All that patriotic shit. But no matter the bitter taste that sometimes crept into his mouth when he thought of his service, he doesn’t regret it.

Not when he thinks of Richie and Mac. Not when he remembers the shitty card games and the terrible food and the even worse singing. The unit had to try so hard to stave off boredom and desperation and the crushing feeling of missing home.

But now that he was back, it’s like part of him stayed over there. Still aching to come back to a home that doesn’t seem to exist anymore. At least not like it used to.

“Try and deflect all you want, Clyde. I know you. And this ain’t you,” Jimmy said. The road was dark before them, a sprawling vacant blackness swallowing them up, until tiny pricks of light began to spring up in the distance. Town. “You’ve got to leave the house. I don’t care if I have to drag you out myself. You can’t just work on lines all day by yourself, go home by yourself, and wait to finally go to bed, by yourself. That ain’t no way to live.”

Clyde let out a huff and tried to stretch further in the small vehicle. His eyes pulled to the left, watching his brother closely. The determined set of his jaw is unmistakable. Like a pitbull with its jaws clamped down, there was no getting him to let this go.

“So where to?” The resignation in Clyde’s voice was clear.

Jimmy turned to him, grinning broad. “The Beaver Trap.”

Clyde’s eyes went wide. “No. God no. Absolutely—“

But the neon sign with “Girls, girls, girls” in bold pink letters flashed overhead.

“Too late.” Jimmy looked about as pleased as punch and Clyde sorely wanted to sock him in his smug, overly enthusiastic face.

Phee rolled her neck and stretched her legs, trying to loosen her hamstring up. Last night she tweaked something when she came off the pole, but fortunately April had given her some sort of witch hazel salve. She swore by it relentlessly and Phee would have tried anything to make sure she could dance tonight.

Phee caught the blonde’s eye and tossed her the tube. “Thanks again, April.”

“No problem, sugarplum. How’s the hammy?”

“Much better,” Phee said, relief clear in her tone.

“And your hands?”

Phee tried not to wince. Her hands had been noticeably shaking when she came off the pole last night. Probably from nerves. Or the pain of pulling something.

But she noticed a tremor when she was making mac and cheese earlier today too. Phee just shook her head at herself though. Because what could she do? Get it checked out with her non-existent insurance only to have a doctor say it’s nothing to worry about and hand her a check for $200? It was laughable.

Phee turned back to April and shrugged. Dismissive. “It’s nothing. Just glad for the salve. I was worried about tonight, but that stuff really works. Think I might even be able to pull off that broken doll in ‘I Feel Like I’m Drowning.’”

April let out a low whistle. “You better. You always make ‘em beg with that one.”

But Phee rolled her eyes. “With these cheap assholes I need every penny I can get.” Her magenta pink mouth curved up in the corner. “And they deserve to be taken down a peg. I might crawl on the stage but they’re the ones with their dicks hard and mouths hanging open.”

“That’s the spirit,” April crowed, she finished her winged eyeliner with a flourish. “Well?” she asked, turning to Phee and straightening, chest out and back straight.

“Like a million bucks,” Phee replied. She bent down to tighten one of April’s garter belts and tucked a stray hair back up into place. “Go knock ‘em dead.”

April grinned and headed for the stage. “Don’t worry, Phee. I’ll leave most of them in one piece.”

Phee scrunched her nose but shooed her friend out so she wouldn’t miss her cue, and April cackled as she strutted away.

She liked April. She was fun and chaotic and too kind for her own good. Phee’s smile faltered in the mirror as she finished her makeup. She didn’t know how anyone that kind could end up in a place like this. Then again, the girls were usually careful not to ask each other too many personal questions.

In fact, Phee had never really had a girl friend before April. She’d always been surrounded by shitty manipulative men. And in school it had always been Ham.

Phee bared her teeth in the mirror and stood abruptly from the vanity. She paced to the cabinet of costuming products. Fabric tape. Buttons and pins and a number of different adhesives to make your ass higher or your tits more perky. She began ripping open drawers and rummaging.

Best not to think of Hamish when she was up next.

Phee stopped pawing through drawers and took a rough breath. She forced herself to hold it before letting it out in slow, even increments. Let it go, she reasoned, trying so hard for rational thought. It’s in the past. Time to move forward.

Easier said than done.

But Phee managed to secure the last strip of adhesive to best enhance her cleavage and shut the drawer. She heard the swell of wolf whistles and the final chorus of “Earned It” crescendo. One last look in the mirror. A final fix of her lingerie and the flimsy tear-away satin wrap dress concealing it.

A final slow breath in as the song faded and the audience hollered one last time at April’s retreat.

Show time.

Clyde took a long slow drag on his beer. Beside him, Jimmy’s eyes were already glazed (unclear if it was from the booze or the show), and his mouth curved into a wide grin. God, he looked just like he did when they were kids. He just had that as soon as your back is turned I’ll be rifling through the cookie jar kind of look. Jimmy clutched an unseemly gob of one dollar bills in his hand, cheering with the rest of the crowd as the petite blonde scurried off the stage holding fast to her money.

The stage went dark. Clyde was just about to make an excuse and head to the restroom for a momentary reprieve from the spectacle, when a few low lights flickered to life. Fog rolled across the stage and Clyde stood up. Jimmy was sucked in already as a creeping intro started. Time to make his escape.

But a flash of pale skin caught his eye. A slim leg emerged from behind an offset platform covered in a black cloth. Pale flesh gleamed in the beam of a spotlight just as plucked dissonant chords rang through the speakers. The beat pulsed like a heartbeat and a girl—a woman—stepped out as the lyrics echoed through the club, sinister and scintillating.

You keep dreamin’, and dark schemin’
Yeah you do

Long red hair fell in waves down her back. Her scandalously short satin dress was crushed teal with a little tie holding it closed just at her right hip. She was ethereal. Like a siren in those horrendous Greek tragedies they’d made him read in high school. But, my god, his mouth went dry. Her skin glowed. Luminescent and otherworldly. Like the moon had come down to embody a beautiful woman. That’s when her eyes flicked to him.

He froze. Stunned.

Her mouth curved up and Clyde could've sworn she squared off to face him. Her hand flicked the little knot loose at her hip and her dress fell open.

Clyde felt himself sink helplessly back down into his previously vacated chair. Everything about her felt like it ensnared him, unable to wrench free of her grasp. But truly it was her movements across the stage that kept him transfixed.

She was fluid. The liquid material of the dress slithered down her shoulders until it pooled on the floor. Clyde thought his eyes might pop out. They followed the small curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, bound in thin scraps of leather and lace that concealed nothing.

As she moved over to the shining pole, his mouth actually dropped open. Just as the chorus crescendoed she mounted the pole with ease despite the ludicrously tall heels. She hooked a leg around, swinging carelessly around the pole, and he could see the lean muscles in her arms and legs. Good god. The sheer physicality and stamina this coordinated dance must take… It was a marvel.

She spun on the pole and Jesus. Her tits were falling out of her lingerie now, the edge of a rosy nipple clearly visible. Clyde’s hand clenched on his thigh. He was ashamed at the tightness of his pants. Get a grip, asshole.

But the song was crescendoing. She did a final spin and dismounted, dropping into a crawl on the stage. And she crawled toward them. Something feral and hungry gleamed in her eyes.

He caught movement in his periphery as Jimmy stood with a gaggle of other men, throwing dollars on the stage for her to snatch up. There was a roaring in his ears as he stood too, entirely unsure what the hell he was doing. But he reached out with his non-prosthetic arm, hand closing around Jimmy’s fistful of dollars.

“I got this one.” Several seconds passed before he realized it was his own gruff voice.

Jimmy smiled, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Well, hot damn. You want this one? You got it.” He pushed the ones into Clyde’s hand and sat back down, shooing Clyde forward.

Clyde didn’t know why his heart was in his throat all of a sudden. Why he felt clammy and a little nauseous and horrifyingly hard. But even with every instinct of his that told him to sit the fuck down, his legs carried him forward. Her pale skin glimmered as he got nearer and now he could see it was from a thin sheen of sweat. Her chest rose and fell in rough exhalations from the exertion and Christ Almighty it made her even hotter.

Some middle aged man with a paunch and a scraggly beard was taking his sweet time leaving a single one on the edge of the stage. The woman snatched the one quickly and the man fanned more ones, beckoning her closer, but she merely grinned like a feral shark, plucking the horde from his hands before he could blink.

She was grinning wide when she turned and spotted him, flicking a tendril of her long red waves behind her shoulder. From this close he could see her eyes were a warm honey brown, liquid and molten.

“I thought you were gonna leave during my song.” Her lower lip jutted out in a faux pout and he bit the inside of his lip to keep from smiling.

“My brother forced me to come.” His voice was lower and rougher and it made it sound like he hadn’t spoken in days. Her eyes flicked to his as he held up the wad of cash for her. “But…” damn his throat for sticking and forcing him to take a hard swallow. “I’m glad he did.”

Her eyes widened and there was something soft and sweet in her expression. It pulled at something in his chest. Like a goddamn parachute ripcord in a terrifying free fall.

But in a moment it was gone. That savage grin firmly back in place. And instead of reaching for the cash she jut her hip in his direction.

That’s when his mouth went completely dry.

“Go ahead,” she goaded him. “Slip them in.”

If he thought he was hard before it was nothing compared to the aching stiffness he felt now. The way her eyes crinkled he knew she knew, but she held firm, kneeling with the flesh of her firm thighs taunting him.

His hand shook but he reached out, eyes narrowed in determination. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t will himself to actually touch her. She just shook her ass on stage, tits on display, but this was more than he bargained for. He’d been in active combat with bullets flying and explosives going off around him. He could still hear the echo of bombs bursting, of men screaming for their lives. He had gritted his teeth and bore it. But this? This supple thigh before him would be his undoing.

Before Clyde could turn tail and run, a small hand reached out to his. The girl. Sly fox smile gone. Instead, her eyes were soft and the warmth of her hand pressed to his, guiding his hand up, his fingertips barely skimming her golden skin until he was at her G-string. She helped him tuck some of the bills just there, at the little juncture of hip and pelvis. He couldn’t breathe. She took the rest of the bills and tucked them just into the cleft of her cleavage.

“Thanks, Tiger.” With that, she stood, to hoots and hollers from around the stage.

And she was gone.

Chapter Text

Phee’s heart pounded in her chest. There was something about being up on stage. Like no other high in the world with adrenaline coursing through her veins like this. Dancing had always been something Phee loved. Since she was a little girl. Her father bought her her first ballet slippers when she was seven years old. The silken ties and the graceful sloping shape of them made her feel like a princess. He used to love coming to her performances. Her dad. But that had been a very long time ago. Any pride or warmth toward her had long since withered and died. And maybe she traded out her slippers for stilettos and a leotard for a g-string but she’d never stop dancing. Give up the electric magic of lights and music and movement? She’d rather stop breathing.

Fortunately, there were still plenty of people willing to watch her dance.

Granted, they might be more interested in her ass or her tits, but they were still enthralled with the magic she worked on the pole and on the stage. Like that guy at the end of tonight’s show. All wide eyed innocence and wonder. Was it innocence? There was something precious about him. Something sweet and vulnerable. Like he’d never watched a girl shake her ass for money. She snorted. Was that even possible?

But still. The way his fingers brushed the skin of her bare thigh… her skin erupted in goosebumps, despite the balmy backroom of The Beaver Trap. Phee’s head swum for a moment and she slumped into her vanity chair with a stupid smile stretching her mouth.

“Babe,” April whispered, voice thick with astonishment. “Your set was…” she held up her hands and mimed her brain exploding.

Phee laughed but rolled her eyes. “It’s what I always do!”

“Um no! The end? Making that guy come in his pants just from tucking some bills into your panties? That was a master stroke. Although get ready for every asshole in the place to want to touch you like that.”

“Don’t forget. We make the rules on touch,” Phee cut in, and April nodded.

“Yea. But there’s always that one guy that has to push it. Fuck heads.” Her tone went bitter but April shook herself and her smile was back in a moment. “But where the hell did that come from? You know that guy?”

Phee snorted. “Not at all. He looks green around the gills.” But his dark somber eyes tugged at something just behind her navel. “But he looked like he needed some time out of his head.”

April laughed outright at that. “Well, mission accomplished, Red. I don’t know if he’ll have thoughts about anything but your pussy for weeks.”

Phee gasped in mock outrage and swatted at her. “Jesus April!”

The side door banged open into the dressing room and the house manager burst in. “Alright, alright. Enough freshening up. If your ass isn’t on stage, get out there and work the floor. And for the love of god, please try and upsell these assholes on private dances. I don’t give a shit if you don’t want to feel the outline of their tiny pricks, get out there, hustle, and make us some fucking money!”

As quickly as he entered, the manager left again, slamming the door shut behind him with a final snap.

“Wow. Larry’s really on one tonight, huh?” Phee asked, laughter still bubbling out of her.

“What a fucking blowhard. He knows we all know he’s a kitten, right? I mean did you see the way he tossed out that asshat who was harassing Daph last week?” April shook her head. “But somehow still feels like he needs to blow smoke up everyone’s ass.”

Phee finished with her lipstick touch up and pulled April to her feet. “Come on then, Glimmer,” she said, using April’s stage name. She looped her arm through April’s and put on her best sensual smile and batted her lashes for good measure. “Time to earn our keep.”

The main floor of The Beaver Trap was dark with any focused lights being shined on the stage. Everything else was soft and shimmering, tinged in red or blue to give it that other-worldly glow. As April and Phee made their way across the floor, Phee couldn’t help but notice for a Thursday it was packed. Wall to wall shadowed outlines of people with drinks in hands or talking to other dancers circulating the room. Phee could see a few of the other girls giving lap dances to a few groups around the floor. Cherry was leading some poor schmuck over to the velvet cordoned off area where the champagne rooms were. It was somehow even darker over there. More mysterious.

April tugged her arm, giving Phee a reproachful look, and Phee nodded, apologetic. Floor work was her least favorite task. Strutting around, her mouth aching with a forced smile and chatting up boring, lonely middle aged men. She’d thrown on a little fake rhinestone chemise to give her something to work with. Men always wanted something to unwrap. Like she was somehow modest and only they would have the honor of undressing her. Even though she was the one doing the undressing. It was like she was a goddamn blow up doll sometimes.

April elbowed her, pointing off to a newly arrived group of what looked to be aging businessmen. They had just opened a bottle of champagne and a raucous peel of laughter went up. One man punched another in the arm before chuffing him on the shoulder and pulling him in for a bro hug. Phee rolled her eyes. Clearly they were celebrating something. An easy target.

They made a beeline for the group before any of the other girls could descend and April was already thrusting out her chest the moment they were within earshot.

“Good evening fellas,” she simpered, batting her eyelashes so much that it took a monumental effort from Phee to rein in an epic snort of laughter. “Would any of you care for a dance with me or my friend, Red?”

One of the younger looking men whose eyes were glassed over from booze gave them an appraising look. He stared directly at April’s breasts when he asked, “What’s your name?”

Phee stiffened but April was a consummate professional.

“Glimmer,” she giggled.

“Price per dance?” he asked.

April didn’t hesitate. “$25 for a dance out here on the floor, or $250 for time in the champagne room for 3 dances, $50 per dance after that. It’s where the high rollers like yourselves get more direct attention,” she cooed. Her voice dripped with promise and sex, and Phee just tried to maintain her composure.

The man considered her, finally looking up at April’s face. “Alright, Glimmer. Let’s adjourn to the champagne room then.”

April smiled wide, tugging Phee behind her, but the man held his hand up.

“Just you, sugar. We like busty blondes.” He eyed Phee, openly gawping at her small breasts, with just a hint of a disgusted curl of his lip. “Gingers kinda creep me out, to be honest. No offense,” he threw out to Phee in an afterthought.

April’s mouth thinned to a rigid line, and for a moment, she looked like she was about to throw down the damn gauntlet on this joker. But Phee touched her arm, plastered on another fake smile, and leaned in close to her friend. “Take that asshole and his friends for all they’re worth,” she whispered.

When she pulled back, Phee looked around at the older men with a beatific smile. “Enjoy the show, gentlemen.” With a final nod at April, she walked away, putting some much needed space between Dickhead Supreme and his little dickette followers. April would be alright. She knew how to run guys like this. Work the clock, not the cock, she always said. She’d get them on the hook for 15 dances before they ever came in their pants. And besides, Remy and Sal were working the doors tonight and they wouldn’t hesitate to bounce those two pump chumps if they tried anything.

The blue shimmering lights around the floor put everything in a shadowed sort of glow. Dark outlines of writhing bodies with flashes of illuminated skin. It was mystery and sin and sex. Some sort of spell that pulled men under and made them believe in the fantasy of pretty young things wanting them. Like a fucking circus, it was all spectacle.

Phee moved through the space, but she felt like wayward driftwood, floating pointlessly from table to table without even trying to engage. The thrill of the performance was over. April was off giving dances. And she was stuck doing floor work alone. It was bleak.

She huffed in frustration. This was stupid. She needed the money. Phee clenched her teeth in determination and strode toward the back of the club. She needed a drink.

Within seconds of approaching the bar, Larry was already pouring a double gin and tonic with several limes. He pushed it to her with a grunt and retreated quickly without engaging.

“Thanks Larry!” she shouted to his retreating back.

He glared without heat and set about filling another customer’s order when her neck began to prickle. There, beside her, was the big beef cake of a man from before. Dark eyes, shaggy dark hair, and a gruff goatee. Though he was big and broad and should be intimidating, there was something about the way he held himself that was gentle. Maybe it was the hunch of his shoulders? The crinkle at the corners of his eyes?

Phee squared her shoulders to face him, hip cocked out to the side, fully showing off what limited curves she had.

“Did it leave you wanting more?”

He blinked at her. And there was silence for a beat. Phee started to look away. Looking for an excuse to bail on an ill conceived attempt to—

“What?” the man rasped, eyes wide.

Her shoulders relaxed a bit and she leaned back into the bar top. “The show. Did it leave you wanting more?”

The man seemed to have lost all words at that direct question. But he recovered quicker this time. “I think that’s safe to say, ma’am.”

Phee hastily bit back a laugh. God. Was this guy for real? “I think we’re a bit beyond ma’am, Tiger.”

And that big, strangely shy man grinned at her. With teeth and dimples and everything. He looked her in the eyes and it was so unguarded that something in her puddled and pooled. Warm and molten in her chest. Or maybe it was in her panties? Yeah. Her panties. She was just turned on. Still not great for her professionally, but it somehow felt much safer.

She should have asked him for a dance. He was a prime target right now. Clearly interested and ripe for the picking. But instead she asked, “So why’d your brother make you come tonight?”

He took a sip from his Budweiser and she couldn’t help notice how small the bottle looked in his large hand. Jesus. Imagine the size of his—

“Apparently I ‘haven’t been myself’,” he mock-air quoted, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh?”

The question hung in the air and he swallowed hard.

“I did two tours in Iraq.”

Whatever she’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. This was dangerous territory now. He disclosed personal details. Vulnerabilities. And every self-preserving bone in her body knew she should just offer him a dance or walk away. That’s what a smart dancer would do.

“Keep them at a distance,” April had cautioned. “Don’t get too close.”

It had been laughable at the time. Taking men’s money was easy and she had no interest in their sob stories or sugar baby proclamations. Not after her father. Not after Ham. Men were trash. It was the simple creed she stuck by.

But instead…

Phee reached across the table, hand squeezing his arm. “I’m sorry.” There were no other words. What could she offer? Platitudes? Empty and hollow.

He offered a self-deprecating sort of smile. “It’s alright. Just part of who I am.”

She nodded. Phee wanted to say something more. Ask more. But the man’s eyes widened and he stood.

“Shit. My brother’s heading this way.”

Phee turned and sure enough, his broad brother with the closely cropped sandy hair was on the warpath, clearly scanning the crowd. Searching.

“Is there a back exit to this place or…” he trailed off.

Phee grabbed his hand, tugging him with her, along a less visible path behind the bar. “I’ve got a better idea. How about we go somewhere private?”

His eyes shifted to her, somehow widening further. God he really was a strip club virgin.

“For a dance,” she clarified on an eye roll. His mouth dropped open, dumbfounded and she squeezed his hand. “I may not be able to erase the past, but I can try to help you forget. At least for a little while.”

He stared at her, throat bobbing, and after a quick moment, his head bobbed in a nod. “Alright.”

Phee grinned. And she was shocked to realize it was her real smile. Not the sugary fabrication she usually pasted on. But there was no time to dwell on that. She tugged him behind her, weaving her way across the club, into the back, toward the private champagne rooms.

Black crushed velvet curtains hung over the entrance cordoned off with golden tasseled rope, guarded by the burly bouncers, Remy and Sal.

“Red,” Remy greeted. Tall and wide, the man was massive with a mop of ginger waves that made him only slightly less intimidating. “You need a room?”

“Yeah, thanks Remy.” She turned back to the man towering behind her. “You need to show your ID and they’ll charge your card here.”

His brows furrowed. “Before we even go in?”

Phee shrugged. This was always the awkward part, though usually she felt much more transactional about it. Somehow this felt more… intimate than usual. She shook it off, mentally reprimanding herself. “It’s a security measure, so people don’t try and stiff dancers.”

His brow furrowed more. “People do that?”

Phee shrugged again. “It happens.”

The man bit the inside of his cheek but dug in his back pocket, producing a duct tape bound wallet. He handed his ID and credit card to the bouncer and Phee couldn’t help but scope out the ID.

“Clyde?” she asked.

His eyebrows rose, “Red?”

Phee smiled at him. “That’s how people know me at the club.”

“Mm. Security measure?”

“Now you’re getting it,” she teased. Remy handed Clyde his card back and she tugged him forward again. “Remy, can you have Larry send back a whiskey and some champagne?”

Remy nodded and walked off, leaving Sal to man the VIP section. Clyde let Phee tug him forward but bent down to say in a softer tone, “I had actually switched to beer…”

Phee’s eyebrow arched when she looked over her shoulder. “Trust me, you’re going to want something a bit stronger.”

Clyde’s eyes narrowed skeptically, wondering just how much he was willing to follow Red down this rabbit hole of hers. But as she pushed forward, the little nymph looked back at him, brown eyes shimmering with mischief and promise, and he knew he was helpless to stop her. He was already too far gone under whatever spell she’d lured him in with. Clyde followed deeper into the lair of dark draped cloth that muffled the music still blasting from outside. Everything was softer back in these private rooms. Lux fabrics and dimmed lights. But it wasn’t exactly warm. More… sensual.

“Here we are.” She tugged him through a small black door that opened into a little tucked away room. Black leather sofas lined three walls and a pole was mounted in the middle, gleaming in the soft lights. For a moment he stood, transfixed at the strategically placed mirrors and the drink order that had somehow materialized in this room before they even got here.

Then Clyde felt warm fingers skim the planes of his chest, pushing him until the backs of his knees hit one of the couches. He sat without a fight and Red reached for the whiskey glass. Typically, he would have hemmed and hawed at a drink being foisted on him. He certainly never had any problem shutting Jimmy or even Mellie down when they pushed a drink into his hand because, according to Jimmy, he looked like some sad sack deadbeat loser with Eeyore eyes. He was able to grumble a brusque “No thank you,” and carry on his merry fucking way of not engaging with people and retreating back to his trailer.

Now, however, the amber liquid winked at him playfully from the glass, and his eyes flashed to hers. Soft warm brown like cooling caramel. He gulped and took a long swig before putting it back on the small plastic tray.

She was right.

He did need something stronger.

The slow thrum of a bass guitar reverberated in the speakers and Red toyed with the hem of her mini dress. Jesus. Even though he just saw her writhing on the stage in next to nothing, this was—more.

Sexier. More intimate. Just… more.

Red pushed the skirt of her rhinestone dress further up her thighs until he saw just the barest glimpse of black lace. Her fingers skimmed down the length of his arm and she met his eyes and—

Were her eyes always this big? This soulful? For a panicked moment he wondered if this was how she looked at every loser who walked in here the same way. Did she make everyone feel like this? She leaned close, warm breath ghosting along the shell of his ear as she whispered, “Relax. Let me make you feel good, Clyde.”

The promise rang in his ears. Even as she pulled away and turned, showing him her back. But then she slid down until her ass was right in his lap and he thought he’d been shocked by an electric current, a too familiar sensation in his work on the lines. Hot and tingling energy zipped down his spine and made him sit up ramrod straight, almost knocking her off of him. Panicked she would fall, his hands came up to steady her, encircling her waist and holding fast.

Shit! Is he supposed to touch her? There’s probably a rule against that right? Oh god. He is the biggest perv that ever—

“Shit Red, I’m so s—“

But her hands were on his, using them to wrap around her tighter still, until she was positioning them over the little tie holding her dress together.

“Do you want to take it off me?”

Her voice was so breathy he thought he might expire on the spot. Clyde tried to swallow but there was a thick lump in his throat. “I umm—“ he could feel himself start to get hard and fuck it all. “Yes,” he rasped.

He could feel her Cheshire Cat grin, even with her back to him. His hands shook on the delicate fabric. He could hear his breath. Too loud. And his pulse. Too fast, roaring in his ears. But he managed to fiddle with the little tie until it came undone. His hands hung uselessly there for a moment before he remembered himself. Clyde knew he was being too gentle. Fingertips barely nudging the straps along her shoulders, soaking in the feel of her soft, luminous skin. When the straps fell away, Red stood again, allowing the dress to fall to the floor, the gems on the fabric catching the soft, sinful lights, before pooling at her feet.

Clyde’s eyes widened at the leather and lace ensemble she revealed. Scraps of fabric barely enough to cover her intimate areas, every subtle curve on glorious display.

Her own hands roved over her body. Hands rounding over her tits and sliding down her waist before she tossed her hair over her shoulder and came closer. Red’s palm hit the leather couch behind him, and in the next moment those firm thighs were on either side of his hips. Oh dear lord. She was straddling him. With her tits at eye level he was helpless to look anywhere else. For a panicky moment he thought his hand would come up and close over one of those perfectly perky breasts. But thank Christ he was able to rein himself in.

Clyde sat on his hands. Best to remove the temptation. And good thing he did too. She ran her hands through his hair and leaned forward. Those perfect tits pressed to his chest and she whispered, “Need a place for your hands?”

Clyde gulped. “I’ve got it under control.”

Red grinned. “Oh you do?”

She lowered herself fully into his lap, her clothed pussy now flush against his groin.

And that’s when she started to grind.

Her hips rolled against his and Clyde’s jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might break. “Fuck,” he hissed. He was so glad he sat on his hands. If they had been out and untethered, his fingers would be digging into her ass right now. Pushing her down firmly until he could feel her lips part around his length—

“Fuck!” Now he just sounded strangled, but the images in his mind of what he would do to her if he could. It was very unhelpful at this moment.

“Everything under control?” Red teased. Her fingers roved down his chest until she reached his navel, wicked eyes glinting in the dim light.

“Yup. Fine,” he managed to grunt. God he was a stubborn ass.

Her mouth tipped up again, eyebrows raised in challenge. And those nimble fingers of hers unlatched whatever was holding the leather/lace creation that was surely made to destroy him and the bodice fell away.

Dear God in heaven above. But she was an unholy angel sent to torture him with perfect pert tits and rosy puckered nipples.

“Alright!”

Clyde couldn’t stop his hands from coming to settle on her hips. “You’re driving me fucking insane,” he growled. “It’s taking every ounce of strength not to tear you apart right here.” He dared to lean a bit closer and even through a sheen of sweat from dancing she smelled like ginger and cherry blossoms.

But a cold hard fact suddenly washed over him. She wasn’t his. Wasn’t anybody’s. And this was her job.

He pulled his hands away and they ached at the loss of her warm body. She made a little noise in the back of her throat. Something disgruntled and… needy?

Before he could tuck one of his hands back under a thigh, she snatched it, lacing her fingers through his.

“What if I want you to?” Red pulled his hand up and he watched in amazement as she used his hand to cup one of her breasts. Fuck. It felt even better than he’d imagined it. Soft and tight. Small and supple.

He felt his pants tighten again and he experimentally rolled his hips with hers. It caught her off guard so that her hands fanned out and fluttered to his shoulders, gripping him tightly and bearing down. Were they dry humping in the back room at The Beaver Trap? Christ Almighty he never imagined this was how his day would end.

“Wait,” she breathed, and he was fucking giddy with how flushed she was. So pretty and pink. But he stopped instantly, despite his fear that his dick may have a heart attack. “Not here,” she continued. She glanced up at the clock and the song counter.

1:37 AM and 4 songs here in the champagne room.

“Pay for 8 and let’s get out of here.”

Clyde just blinked at her, brow pulled down in confusion. “But… there’s only been 4 songs.”

Her eyes narrowed and her mouth pursed. “If you want me to leave my shift early and come fuck you, you’re gonna need to cover the rest of my wages.”

“Isn’t that…” Clyde’s heart hammered and his whole body seemed to tense.

“Tiger, I need to make the money I would make otherwise by leaving with you. You’re not paying me for sex. You’re paying off my time.”

Clyde’s mouth turned down just at the corner, but he was already mentally back at his place, preparing to fuck her into the mattress.

“Y—yeah,” he gulped. “8 dances.”

“And a tip,” she added.

“And a tip,” he confirmed.

Red smiled and slid off him, hurriedly picking up her strewn clothing.

“Alright then Clyde. Take me home.”

Chapter Text

This was perhaps the dumbest thing she’d done since moving to Wichita. Scratch that. It’s definitely the dumbest. But even with reinforced panties and a high tolerance for dry humping, she felt the dampness blooming between her thighs.

And besides, it was a little late to second guess herself now. Clyde had already hailed an Uber for them and they were on their way to his place. Her leg jiggled nervously and she couldn’t stop tucking her hair behind her ears. Phee didn't dare look at him. Worried she’d either throw herself at him or throw herself out of this little Mazda. Either way, not a great idea.

Calm down. Focus on something. Anything.

But her brain pinged from one panicked thought to the next, until she finally bullied and berated herself enough to just think about choreo. She started mentally running over her choreography in her head, plucking out minute tweaks to her routine, when she felt something warm and heavy press down on her knee. In a moment, her body went as tight as a bowstring, ready to fire, face already crumpling into a snarl, but Clyde held his hands up, palms exposed.

“It’s alright. Not tryin’ anything. Just… you seem—nervous. If you don’t want…”

Her brows pulled down, caught off guard. “What are you saying?”

The light was dim in the Uber but she could swear his cheeks went a rosy pink and he looked away.

“You don’t have to… do this. With me. If you don’t want. If you—changed your mind? I just want—“

“What? No. No. That’s not it. I mean,” That’s absolutely why she was panic-spiraling into shame-fixes to her set, but… was it too much? Should she bail on tonight? The thought of splitting an Uber now and having him drop her at home felt… what was that dumb word Vizzini was always using in The Princess Bride? Inconceivable. It made her stomach feel like a hollow bottomless pit. And it had her breaking out in a cold sweat. No. No, that's not what she wanted at all.

Phee sucked in a breath. She didn’t want to say no, but she also had to set this man straight before he went and had ideas. “I just want to be really clear that this is not a standard thing for me. I don’t want you thinking any time you come by the club…”

She let the words hang there. Too mortified to go on.

“I’m not…” A hooker? A slut? She’d been called all those things and worse. Mostly by her father. Phee’s hand curled into a fist at her side, nails digging into her palm. Before she could try and rectify her verbal diarrhea though, Clyde carefully caught her eye.

“Red. You’ve got nothing to explain. I get it.”

Phee’s eyes narrowed. “Do you?”

“I can do casual,” he said, matter-of-fact. Too matter-of-fact. The man was a stripclub virgin after all. No way he was a connoisseur of casual sex.

She could feel her eyes straining not to side-eye him. “Just a little no strings attached fun, alright?”

He nodded quickly. “‘Course.”

Phee rolled her eyes as their Uber driver pulled to a stop outside of a double wide trailer on the edge of town. The paint chipped along the siding and she thought it might be a pale yellow-ish color. Hard to tell in the dark. One street lamp glowed nearby that gave it an odd sort of orangey-yellow glow. Like dying embers in a fire.

She didn’t hesitate. Out of the back of the Uber and up the steps before Clyde had even shut the car door.

Phee waited while he hastened over, hands shaking as he fumbled with his keys.

“Fuckin’… why do they make them so damn—“ he tried to twist the key in the lock but the metal just rang together on his keychain and refused to budge.

Phee pushed gently on his shoulder until Clyde turned to face her. She held out her hand, voice soft, “Give ‘em here.”

Dutifully, Clyde pulled the keys from the lock and handed them over to her. His hands still shook. When she reached to take them, she gripped the keys in one hand and reached out with the other. She threaded their fingers together, pulling his hand to her chest and taking slow, deep breaths.

Clyde’s eyes fell on their interlocked hands, entranced by the pattern her thumb traced along the delicate lines of his veins on the back of his hand. She breathed out and in. His eyes followed the rise and fall of her chest and he couldn’t help it. In a moment his breath matched hers. In sync. Tandem.

Her mouth twitched up and she turned the key, lock sliding out of the bolt.

Phee’s smile spread wide across her face when she pushed the door open. “Shall we?”

His hands were already at her waist, pushing her in and pulling her close so that her front was flush against his. She could feel the hot puff of breath at her neck as he nosed the little hairs at her nape that had come out of her messy bun.

Phee tugged on the collar of his shirt, pulling him down and rocking up on her toes to get closer. She wanted to consume and devour. She wanted to pin, dominate, and control. But when she wound her fingers through his hair to grip him tight and kiss him roughly, one of his large hands soothed down the slope of her neck, thumb pressing gently along the column of her throat.

“Hang on there, Red,” Clyde whispered. Too soft. Too sweet. “Give me a moment darlin’ or this might be over too quick.”

She felt the thick length of him pressed into her thigh. She pouted. She glared. She just wanted a quick fuck. To orgasm and head home. That’s all this was. Just a means to feel good. Even if only for a fleeting moment.

His hand ran down her arm and she shivered under his touch. But he was going slow. She wanted fast. She wanted hard. Feeling petulant and frustrated, Phee chose that moment to suck a bruising kiss into the hollow of his neck and grind herself along his hard-on.

Clyde’s hand tightened on her waist while his prosthetic hand uselessly cradled her to him. He let out a pained sort of groan. His teeth skimmed her jaw before he nipped just below her earlobe and growled, “You’re a fucking menace, Red. A brat.”

Phee actually shivered. Maybe she’d even turned into a puddle. It was indecent how the man made her panties such a mess.

“I want you to fuck me. This century would be preferable.”

He just looked at her, mouth twitching in amusement before he worked the fastenings of the prosthetic arm. Phee hadn’t paid it much attention before, but now her eyes were drawn to it. The stiff plastic where soft warm flesh should be.

“Did that happen…” the words lingered. She couldn’t finish it though. How do you ask somebody how his arm got blown off?

His mouth twisted in a facsimile of a rye smile. Or maybe it was just a grimace. This was a question he knew well. He nodded but his eyes stayed down as he rubbed the stump of his arm where the prosthetic attachment had been fixed.

“Still itches sometimes,” he grunted. “An itch I’ll never be able to scratch.” And there’s something heartbreaking about this. She’d heard phantom limbs could still give off the feeling of pain or sensations like itching, but she’d never known if it was true. Never knew anybody who could verify the truth of such a thing. Phee reached out but felt suddenly uncertain. Could she touch his arm? Was that painful? Offensive? Her hand hovered there in midair and Clyde’s dark eyes met hers. “Is it going to be a problem?”

Her initial instinct was to splutter and fuss and be outraged that of fucking course it isn’t a problem, she isn’t some elitist ableist shithead who—but, well… hadn’t she just been freaking out in her brain? Wondering what’s acceptable?

Phee swallowed down the knee jerk reaction and instead, she leaned the fuck in.

“Unless that’s gonna stop you from fucking my brains out, I’ve got no problem here, Tiger.”

It only took a moment for Clyde’s surprised smile to spread across his face. And he wasted no time. The fingers of his hand dug into the firm flesh of her ass and he hooked his amputated arm under her thigh before hauling her up. He lifted her off the ground, her legs clamped around his hips, trying to further grind into him. He’d take her to the bed, maybe throw her down and fuck her senseless into the mattress until she was all used up. Phee preened. She kissed along his collar, fingers digging into his beefy shoulders.

That’s when her ass hit the cold linoleum of a counter. What the—

Phee’s eyes fluttered open and she realized they were only a few feet further into his trailer. The faux-wood paneling wallpaper felt like it was mocking her.

“What’re you…”

Clyde just grinned at her. Wide and shit-eating. “Thought maybe you’d want a drink, Princess.”

She only glared.

“Coke? Coffee? You don’t really strike me as a seltzer sorta girl but—“

“Ha. Ha. Hilarious.” But her soaked panties would protest otherwise. Phee squirmed and Clyde grinned even wider. Asshole. “Now can you please, just—“

Clyde’s fingers were deft when he pushed her skirt up and quickly found the waistband of her panties, hooking his thumbs and pulling them down in one fluid motion. “That is the magic word, isn’t it?”

Phee didn’t have time to roll her eyes before his hand skated up her inner thigh and he dropped a kiss on the dimple of her knee.

She let out a disgruntled grumble. “Clyde, would you just—“ She sucked in an audible gasp and it sounded like she might choke.

Thick fingers stroked along her smooth labia, his thumb nudging just around the hood of her clit. But the bastard worked around it. Careful not to push the sensitive button. Phee wanted to sob. Instead, all she managed was a strangled keen.

Two fingers swiped some of her arousal and toyed with it. Spreading her own desire along her cunt until she rolled her hips into his hand, trying desperately for more. More friction. More sensation. More. Phee was certain this was cruel and unusual punishment, this endless teasing. His mouth hovered along her inner thighs pressing soft kisses into the flesh there, but nothing more.

Phee’s hands clenched the counter so hard she thought she heard the linoleum creak ominously. Fuck. She’s going to break his fucking counter because he—

“You know what I wanna hear, Red.”

The deep rumble of his voice caught her by surprise. “Wh—what?”

“More of that magic word, baby.”

Phee wanted to roll her eyes harder. Really she did. But her treacherous pussy just pulsed and gushed more.

“Good girls ask for what they need,” Clyde breathed into her slit and fuck him for being hot and good and too fucking much for a one-night stand. Who did he think he was talking to her like this? Reading her like this? Like her fucking kinks are written on her forehead. Does her whole being just scream, desperately in need of praise? Please please make me feel good about myself?

But when his tongue slid along her folds, lapping at them like a man starved, he groaned, “Fuck you taste like honey and cinnamon, baby. Too fucking good. Too sweet.”

She can’t help herself. “Please.” It’s tentative. Hardly said above a whisper, but he pulled back, his goatee gleaming with her slick.

“Please what, baby? What do you need?”

“Need you.” She can’t get out more than that.

He seemed to understand. “My hand? My mouth?”

“All of it. All of it. Just—please touch me. Touch my clit. Just—oh!”

It shouldn’t startle her but it does. The fingers that had traced her folds before pump into her now. A slick urgent slide that made her head fall back and a moan tear through her.

“Yes! Just like that—“

It didn’t take him long to find a rhythm. His mouth worked her as well. Tongue laving flat along her most sensitive parts until she shivered. Her thighs twitched when his tongue flicked the hood of her clit before chasing it with a broad lick.

Phee’s hands wound into his hair and she pulled too tight, nails scraping along his scalp but she can’t stop.

Clyde groaned. “So good—“

Pleasure shivered up her spine and she felt that telltale heat creep up her core. Molten and melting.

“Clyde—“ she tapped his shoulder, frantic and squirming. “I’m going to—“ she tried to pull away. To not come all over his face. Ham used to tell her it was gross. She was gross and he didn’t want to be creamed all over like he was some cheap porno girl on the receiving end of a mediocre cum shot.

But Clyde’s hands clamped down on her hips, letting her ride his face as he pulled her clit into his mouth and sucked.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Phee didn’t even hold back. She cried out, broken and falling over the edge of her release. Tumbling head over feet. Down, down, down, until she slumped on the counter and thought she might slide off all together. She was boneless. High and so fucking satiated and he hadn’t even fucked her.

Clyde’s grip on her was firm though and she stayed in place. He dropped a final kiss to her thigh before he stood again, arms bracketing her on either side.

That’s when the reality of what she just did slammed into her.

“Shit. Clyde—sorry I just… on you. I didn’t—I mean I tried—“ Phee’s face was crimson. No. Maybe puce. She could feel the heat of her shame.

“Red.”

Maybe it was the way he said it. Soft. And kind. She felt a twinge of something snap within her. Because this is what finally forced her to realize that a man had never spoken to her like this. Tender and caring.

“I wanted that. I thought it was clear in how I held on but—“

“Phee,” she said, voice ragged and breathy. She’d just come after all. She was entitled to this shakiness. Right? She figured it was the least she could do. Give him her real name after that mind-blowing orgasm.

Clyde’s confusion was clear with furrowed brows and a tight jaw.

Phee rolled her eyes and clarified, “My name is Phee. Well—Ophelia technically, but nobody calls me that and if you try I’ll have to—“

“Phee.” A smile curved his lip. One large thumb tracked a path down the slope of her cheek. “I like that.”

Phee felt herself go hot and she can’t help but feel annoyed that this virtual stranger managed to make her feel frazzled so many times tonight. She did not get frazzled. But she definitely didn’t get frazzled with guys. Men were disposable. Best to love ‘em and leave ‘em before they leave you.

Her heart raced in a chaotic canter in an entirely foreign feeling and she knew—just knew—this had to be stopped.

Phee slipped off the counter thighs sticking a bit so that her dismount was less than ideal. It only took a moment for her to regain her confidence, grabbing his hand and tugging him along the only hall in his trailer. Surely this would lead to a bed. They could fuck quickly. She could repay him with an orgasm of his own. They’d be even. Square. And she could walk away,

“Take off your pants,” she commanded, pushing him back on his bed.

Clyde reeled for a moment, arms pinwheeling before landing in a crumpled heap. “Yes ma’am.”

He pulled his t-shirt over his head and shimmied out of his pants at lightning speed, and he was bared before her. And good god. The man had thighs like redwoods and there, nestled between them, was the biggest dick Phee had ever seen. The head curved up from the shaft and it was already red and weeping precum. He looked painfully hard. Phee gulped. She tried to blink herself back. What in the hell had she been doing?

Right.

Orgasm. Even the playing field. And get the fuck out.

She sank to her knees on the bed, crawling up over his legs until her face hovered over him. Dear lord. He looked even bigger at this angle. No wonder some people called it a one-eyed mons—

“Y’all right there, R—I mean, Phee?”

Her eyes jumped back to his. But she didn’t dignify that loaded question with a response. Instead, with one hand she trailed up his meaty thigh until she traced the base of his cock.

One finger stroked along a thick vein that ran the underside of his shaft. She was careful to keep her focus here rather than dare a glance up when he sucked in a harsh breath. She didn’t want to see his face right now. Didn’t need that image in her brain. This was about returning pleasure. Giving as good as she got. And getting the fuck out.

One small hand gripped the base of him and she thought she felt him shiver. Phee gave him no time to adjust. She lowered her head until she was able to kiss along the ridge where pelvis met hip. She peppered kisses along the juncture and rounded it off with a deviously placed lick.

She smiled wickedly when she saw his hand reach out to twist the sheets in his fist. That’s when she started to work him. Pump up. Pump down. Firm pressure and rolling the heat of him along the palm of her hand. He was so hard and she could tell he was already struggling to maintain control as she varied her grip and her pace.

“Jesus baby, you’re gonna make me lose it. Slow down,” he muttered, words a harsh frayed whisper.

Phee grinned but still didn’t dare meet his eye. Instead, she lowered her head further, tucking her head and dropping her jaw wide before taking him in, all the way to the back of her throat. Her lips wrapped around him and she began to suck and Clyde’s hand quickly moved to her hair.

Good. This is how it’s supposed to be.

But before she can brace herself for the inevitable shoving her head down to take more until she choked, Clyde eased his fingers through the stands of her hair.

“Your mouth, baby, your mouth. You feel so fucking good. You are so fucking good.”

A zip of something electric and hot zipped down her spine and fuck her for doing it, but her eyes shot up to see him.

He looked wrecked already, staring down at her, hand palming the side of her head. He was tense from the effort of maintaining control, but when he saw her looking at him, he seemed to… melt. For lack of a better word. The tension left his shoulders and his other hand came up to cup her cheek.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Look at me. You see how turned on you’ve got me. You see what you’re doing to me? God I want to do so many things to you, but I’m not gonna last. You hear me? I can’t last when that sweet mouth is sucking me off like I’m the goddamn best icy pop she ever deep throated. I mean fuck,” he sighed, really losing it now. Phee could feel his thighs shaking with the effort of staying in check.

She knew she should look away. Anywhere other than his eyes while he’s so far gone. But for some inexplicable reason she couldn’t manage to turn away.

Instead she swirled her tongue around his base, mouth following her hand with every stroke until she took him as deep as she could. His eyes went black, pupils swallowing the iris. His grip on her tightened.

“Shit! I’m gonna—“

He couldn’t even get it all out before there was an explosion of tangy warmth in the back of her throat. Nutty and earthy and metallic. She bobbed along his shaft for another couple of strokes before he pulled her up.

His thumb traced along the swell of her bottom lip where some of his spend undoubtedly still clung. Clyde shuttered and sucked in a breath, running his thumb along the moist pucker of her lips. A sly grin crept across Phee’s face as her mouth dropped open again. She leaned forward and captured his thumb between her teeth. A little nipping bite before she sucked his digit into her mouth and sucked, cheeks hollowing out and eyes narrowing to soft slits.

“Fuck,” he gasped.

She let his thumb go with a slick pop, intending to slink away and fetch her clothes. But before she could, he pulled her closer to him, arm wrapping around her waist until she was sprawled across his chest, red hair fanning around them.

Clyde’s chest rose and fell with soft exhalations and miraculously, a deep rumble of laughter shook his chest. He tightened his arms around her. “That was not at all how I saw my night going.”

“Yea?” Phee asked. “What was tonight supposed to be?” Her head rested on his chest and she could hear the gentle drum of his heart.

“Here. Alone. With a frozen dinner and a Budweiser, watching jeopardy and waiting to pass out on my couch before my next shift.”

“Mmm. Sounds depressing.”

Clyde snorted. “That’s ’cause it is depressing.”

“You're welcome then.”

He side-eyed her and Phee grinned wide and wild.

“For making your night way fucking better.”

Clyde laughed and pulled her closer still, dropping a tender kiss on her brow. And the moment was so sweet and domestic, all of a sudden it made Phee’s skin crawl. She felt another cold sweat coming on and her chest felt like it was caving in.

She rolled out of bed and tried to laugh. Tried to ease breath out and make it not seem like she was gasping for air. “We—well. I gotta run. Need my beauty rest and all that.” She went for casual and breezy but she couldn’t keep the panic edging her voice as she crammed her panties back on and shimmied back into her dress.

“What’s wrong?”

Clyde stood and reached for his boxers, but she threw her arms out. “No—nope. Nothing’s wrong. Just gotta go—”

“Phee—“

“—my roommate worries and I’ve got the damn cat to feed and—“

“Phee!” He stood in front of her now, his hand gently squeezing her arm. “It’s alright. You want to go. I get it. Can I at least call you an Uber or a Lyft to get you home?”

She gulped, eyes casting about wildly, looking for a way to get out of even that small display of kindness. But none were forthcoming.

“Um, yea. Ok. Thanks.”

He pulled out his phone and after a few quick swipes he handed it to her. “You’ll need to put in your destination. Or somewhere close enough if you don’t want to put your address in.”

Phee swallowed and took the phone, typing quickly. Thankfully there’s someone in the region. Less than five minutes to pick up.

“Phee?”

She turned and he had such a hangdog look she almost phones it all in to climb back into bed with him.

But she can’t. She can’t.

“I don’t suppose there’d be any chance of me getting your number?” There was no hope in his tone. Only abject defeat. And it shouldn’t hurt but damn it does. Like salt in a proverbial wound. But even though she hated herself for doing it, she knew it was for the best.

“I’m sorry. It just—it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

The words hang there. Limp and hollow sounding. Probably because they were.

Even as he nodded a pained smile splits his face, like he knew this would be the outcome. That he couldn’t possibly imagine himself having any sort of happy ending.

It was stupid. This feeling clawing in her chest. She’d been through so much. Too much. But for some reason, this man’s quiet acceptance of her rejection made something crack in her chest. Something felt a bit broken. Or mangled. Or not at all right.

His phone dinged with the Lyft notification and she threw her ridiculously large purse over her shoulder. The silence between them was heavy and stilted. But she managed to pause in the doorway as Clyde held it open for her.

“Bye Clyde. It was good meeting you.”

Silence met these words. He probably didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Probably already going through all the reasons she would be a terrible idea. Why she wasn’t good enough or wasn’t that special or—

“G’night Phee. I didn’t think it was possible, but thanks for making my night better. Didn’t know I was still capable… anyway. Nice to know I am.”

Phee blinked and the door closed.

It took all of her strength not to wonder at his meaning or how things could have been different. Maybe if she was a different person. With a different past. Maybe if she could allow herself more than a moment of real, actual feeling before stuffing it down and hiding.

But that wasn’t her.

So she gritted her teeth. She bore it. Because that’s what she had to do. And by the time she made it home, she had let him go.

Chapter Text

“Glimmer! You’re on deck! Red you’re in the hole. Everyone else get back on the floor and sell, sell, sell! When you aren’t upselling private dances, you’re pushing bottle service, drinks, dances on the floor. Got it?” Larry yelled over the din of half naked girls fixing makeup, sharing gossip, or trying various forms of torture devices to emphasize breasts and asses to the best of their abilities.

It's another Thursday night. Same lineup. Same numbers. But every Thursday for the past two weeks, Phee’s skin hummed and her heart thudded just a bit louder in her chest.

She couldn’t say why. Well. Maybe that wasn’t true. More accurately, she couldn’t own why her body betrayed her on these particular Thursday nights. Though she suspected it had to do with a tall, dark, handsome veteran with one functioning hand and a very talented tongue.

But that wasn’t the only struggle in the last two weeks. She’d been plagued by anxiety attacks almost daily. She’d lost weight. Her stomach was a mess. And she couldn’t shake the cold sweats or the hand tremors that she’d been struggling with before. In fact, they’d gotten worse.

“Phee?” April said gently. Phee jumped, entirely lost in her thoughts.

“Y-yeah? Sorry, just spacing out.”

April’s eyes narrowed knowingly and Phee had to wonder again if her friend had somehow developed telepathy. Perhaps in some sort of demon soul bargain situation.

“You’re doing it again,” April chided, pointing at Phee’s hand that had a subtle trembling shake to it.

“It’s nothing,” Phee stubbornly declared because what choice did she have? When shit got real, Phee’s best tactic for handling it was: deny, deny, deny OR run away. She couldn’t run from this. So: denial. “Now get out there! You’re up!”

April gave her a final appraising look, but Phee put on her best ‘everything is totally fine and I’m loving my life’ look, with two thumbs aggressively up.

April had no choice but to roll her eyes. “Go to a damn doctor, Phee.” With those parting words April waltzed off to the main stage without a backward glance.

Phee turned back to her mirror, carefully applying a thin layer of eyeliner. God. Her eyes looked huge tonight. Maybe that was a good thing? Guys liked big doe eyes right? Except they looked more bulbous than doe-esque. She tossed the liner aside and reached for lip gloss instead. She knew guys liked glossy lips. Probably because they wanted to think of it as their cum clinging to a dancer’s pouty lips.

She regretted it the moment the thought struck her. Flashes of large hands cradling her face as a thumb traced her cum-slicked mouth had her swallowing hard, heart pounding in her chest. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Eyes she wanted to drown in. Hands that held her too gently splayed wide, engulfing her waist.

Phee groaned in frustration, fingers carding roughly through her hair, agitated.

What was wrong with her? She had to stop this. Shut it down. Shut it the fuck down, Phee.

She gulped in breaths of stale, chemical soaked air from all the goddamn body spray the dancers felt the need to use. But even as she sucked down lungfuls of Sol de Janeiro’s Crush Cheirosa body mist, she felt better.

Everything is temporary. This feeling too will pass.

Phee let the words wash over her in between breaths, repeating them again and again in her mind. Finally, her chest didn’t feel like it might crack open under the vacuum of pressure there. The dull roar of her heartbeat quieted to a faint drumbeat. Steady and sure.

Once again she was eternally grateful for the three therapy sessions she’d finally allowed herself last year. It had been expensive, but it was long overdue. The skills she’d gained from Darcy, the middle aged woman with graying temples and laugh lines around her eyes and mouth, were invaluable.

“Phee,” Darcy had said, voice like a gentle rolling wave. Her eyes were kind as she smiled at Phee, inviting and encouraging. “I think you’ve made some great progress over the last few sessions. You’ve already reported your anxiety has decreased. You’re able to challenge your thoughts and use some of the skills we’ve talked about. But–”

There was always a but. The word struck Phee in the chest and she rubbed at her sternum, trying to ease away the twinge of emotion like it was a pressed bruise.

“--we’ve barely scratched the surface with the trauma that initially brought you in. There’s client assistance programs avai–”

“No,” Phee cut the woman off. “That’s alright.” She didn’t want someone’s charity. This was good. Things felt better. She was better. “I think this really helped, Darcy. I’ve appreciated it. I’ve got your card if I need to reschedule.”

Darcy just nodded, too understanding and kind. It made Phee squirm in her seat. “Of course. Door’s always open for you, Phee. Take care of yourself.”

And that had been it. She’d walked away a year ago and hadn’t gone back. She didn’t need to. Things were fine.

Except now the panic was settling in her chest again. And it was getting harder and harder to use the skills Darcy had taught her.

“Red! You’re on!” Larry shouted across the dressing room.

Phee shook out her limbs, stretched her neck, and sucked in lungful after lungful of perfumed air.

Everything is temporary. This feeling too will pass.

She pulled her tits into place, small breasts straining against the leather straps concealing her nipples. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and gnawed on the inside of her cheek.

I can do this. This is fine. You are fine.

Phee rolled her shoulders back, donned that sly smile that masked a world full of sin, and walked out onto the pitch dark stage.

“Phee!”

Things were dark. Muddled. Sound was muffled and distant. Or maybe it was close? April’s voice faded in and out, like someone was turning the volume up and down on a staticky radio.

“Phee, can you hear me? Christ, Larry, call the ambulance for god’s sake!”

That’s when she felt the hands on her body. People lifting and shifting her. Hands touching her bare skin and she flinched and tried to flail away, but her limbs felt numb and drugged. Her head throbbed. What in the fuck? Phee fought to open her eyes, struggling to the surface like she was buried under the crashing tides, fighting for breath.

She couldn’t get her mouth to move, but finally she managed a blink. The throbbing LEDs of the dressing room popped overhead. She tried to pull away from whoever held her, hating the press of foreign flesh on her skin.

“Phee, babe. Be still, ok?” April’s fuzzy face swam into view as her eyes struggled to focus on her friend’s blonde bob and round face. “You fell and hit your head, honey. You were knocked out for just a minute, but we need to get you checked out.”

“Wha?” Her head pounded, and she tried to blink away the flashing bursts of color at the edges of her vision. But she couldn’t get out more words. Everything felt jumbled and confused.

“Ambulance is two minutes out,” a man’s voice said from somewhere to her right. Phee tried to turn her head, but her vision swam and darkness perforated the edges again.

“Stop moving, Phee. Just relax. Help is on the way.” April again. Voice gentle and firm.

She tried to nod but she thought she might throw up. Then she did throw up. Crumpling further in on herself as she tried to choke down the bitter tang of bile.

Someone pushed a glass of water into her hands and she drank greedily. Some of the water sloshed over her face and she rubbed at the wetness with the back of her hand.

“Here,” said a gruff voice. A moment later a massive flannel lined jacket was being draped over her shoulders.

“Thanks Sal,” April’s grateful voice responded.

There was a shuffling sound on the side of the room and Phee blinked in that direction, blurry vision finally settling into focus. Sal, April, Larry and a few of the other girls hovered around her obscuring the vanities along the walls. The shuffling noise was apparently EMTs fighting their way through to the dressing room. A man and a woman in their dark navy uniforms pushed through the back door.

“Alright, can we have the room please? Only essential people back here now,” the woman said, already sprawling her med kit over one of the dancer's stations.

There was a low grumble of dissent, but everyone slowly trickled out. The low buzzing thrum of conversation left with the people and a relative silence fell over the dressing room with the exception of the medic pulling out her supplies.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Phee turned to see April still hunched over her, crouched with her body taut. Spring loaded and ready to attack. Phee reached out and her hand grazed April’s arm.

“It’s ok,” Phee managed weakly. But she cleared her throat, determined. “Really I’m alright.” Her voice was stronger now. And she was fine. Now that her vision had cleared up and she’d gotten over the initial shock, she was feeling much better. Just with a splitting headache and a queasy stomach. But that was basically her baseline these days.

The man medic just shrugged, looking at April. “It’s fine if you stay. Maybe you can tell us what happened so we can best treat your friend.”

April’s eyes widened when she looked at him, lean and wiry with thick glasses and a mop of nutty brown hair. But she nodded. “She was on stage, Phee that is,” she pointed to her. “She was up on the pole doing a complicated move—but she’s done it a hundred times I swear! Never any issues! And she just… let go of the pole when she was inverted. Fell about five feet straight onto her head; she didn’t brace her fall.”

The female medic nodded. The man just grunted his understanding. He dropped to his knees at Phee’s side. “I’m just going to take a few vitals, Miss. Alright?”

All Phee could do was nod. She tried her best not to flinch when he took her blood pressure. Having men in the club touch her was one thing. She called the shots. She dictated what happened and she had muscle to back her up. But this?

She was broken. Helpless. Weak. And he was in charge.

The man was efficient. Professional. While he took vitals, the woman medic ran some additional checks. She asked questions about date and time. Where she was. She did ok until she was asked what happened that led to her fall.

“Umm,” Phee racked her brain. “I don’t remember falling. I think maybe I lost my grip?”

April was right there. “Did your hands get the shakes again?” She turned to the female EMT, “She’s been having tremors in her hands for the past month. Maybe longer.”

The woman nodded. Phee glared at April. The rat. But April didn’t even spare her a disapproving shake of her head.

“Your heart rate is elevated and your blood pressure is high,” the man said. “And you’ve got some red puffy patches on your shins.”

Phee shook her head. “I get marks on my body all the time from dancing. Pole work is difficult.” Her voice came out more defensive than she meant, but she jut her chin out and scowled, unwilling to back down.

The woman paramedic stepped up, hand outstretched, but she thought better of it as Phee leaned back. Her hand fell back to her side, limp and useless, but her green eyes were earnest. “Ma’am, we need to take you to the hospital for further assessment. At the very least it looks like you’ve got a concussion. But it also sounds like something more caused your fall in the first place.”

Phee tensed, already forming her argument, but April squatted in front of her, taking Phee’s hand in her own.

“I’ve been telling you to go, Phee. It’s time babe. I’ll come with you,” April turned to the paramedics, “Can I ride with her?”

Both of them nodded. “We’ll grab the gurney,” the man said, already heading for the exit.

Phee sat up straighter and her head swum dangerously, stomach roiling, “No!” she gasped out. “Dear god, leave me with some dignity.”

The woman paramedic looked skeptical, face pinching as she closed her medic bag. “Can you walk?”

“Yes,” Phee snarled. April held out her hand to help pull her to her feet and Phee staggered. Her whole world shifted and swayed and she clutched her head that felt like it might split open.

“Phee.” It was Larry. Their curmudgeony front of house coordinator. Where the hell had he come from? “Come on.” His voice was gentle. He wrapped an arm around her back. “Lean on me.” He turned to April. “Can you take her other side?” April was there in an instant, looping her arm under Phee’s shoulder so she could use them both as crutches. “Alright. Let’s go then, Red. We’ll get her to the ambulance,” he added to the paramedics. They hustled off ahead of them, leading the way.

It was a silent walk to the ambulance. Phee’s head still swam, she felt like she might throw up at any minute, her bowels clenched and she kept shaking. Tremulous and weak. She hated it. She tried to do more. To quit leaning on Larry and April, but as they approached the ambulance, Larry turned to her.

“Phee. Listen to the docs. Get well. Heal. You can’t get up on stage until you get a clean bill of health. You got it?”

“I’m fine, Larry. I just bumped my head. I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

Larry just shook his head. “Absolutely not. Take the night off. Heal.” His insistence grated on her, and she turned to April, looking for support. But April’s eyes were wide with a mix of concern and pity. It felt like a punch in the gut.

“Larry’s right, babe. I’m worried about you, ok? You’ve been working yourself so hard and something isn’t right. Let’s figure it out and we can work through it together, ok?”

The words were laced with love and kindness and it made Phee’s chest clench painfully and her stomach swoop with shame. But she kept her mouth shut. She knew when she was fighting a losing battle. She gritted her teeth and nodded, allowing the two to help her into the ambulance.

But as Larry walked back to the club and April settled in beside her, the paramedics secured her in the back of the emergency vehicle and one thought settled in her mind, playing again and again.

I can handle this on my own. Stop being weak and take care of it. No one else needs to be burdened with your shit. Take care of it.

She tried to breathe. Tried to count the traffic lights as they passed through town. But the halo of the lights hurt her eyes and she had to look down again, head cradled in her palms.

Don't be useless. Toughen the fuck up and handle it, Phee.

And then that mean little voice she’d mostly managed to keep at bay came creeping back in.

You’re a worthless piece of shit that can’t even show her tits for money without fucking it up.

Her chest constricted and her eyes stung. Shut up, she told the voice. I’m handling it. It’s under control. It’s nothing.

But she heard her father’s voice in her head, “You’re nothing, Ophelia. Nothing.”

She clutched her hands over her ears trying to block out the sound of his cruel words but they echoed, bleak and terrible in the corners of her mind.

She had her coat on, picking at her cuticles and cursing the fake eyelashes she still had on. It felt like chainmail on her eyes.

A hand reached out and slapped at her fingers. “Quit ruining your nails. You’re gonna make ‘em bleed,” April scolded.

Phee glared. “Yeah, easy for you. You’re not waiting on scary lab results to come back.”

April rolled her eyes but her mouth pinched in worry. Her voice was confident and reassuring though. “It’s gonna be fine, Phee. I’m sure it isn’t a big deal. But no matter what,” April squeezed her hand. “I’m here for you. Alright?”

Phee turned to her friend. April’s blue eyes shone clear and bright. She was pure kindness and goodness and Phee’s heart lurched in her chest. Because she knew that April had the best intentions. But there was no way Phee could ever accept her help.

April had a two year old little boy at home. Jackson. He was blond and blue eyed just like his mommy. With the sweetest giggle and the intense desire to climb and jump off of any surface he could reach. He was a little menace and Phee adored him. The punk. He was April’s whole world.

Phee knew April cared for her. Cherished her as a friend. But she was already scraping by paycheck to paycheck and doing her best to provide everything for Jackson since his dad bailed on them. She might want to help. But the fact is: she just couldn’t. Not with money. Not with time she didn’t have when she needed to care for her kid.

No. Phee would do this alone. Just like she always did.

She squeezed her friend’s hand in return. “Thanks April. Whatever happens, I’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

April’s brow furrowed and she opened her mouth to argue but finally, the curtain in the ER bay got pushed to the side and a tall, gangly middle aged doctor with salt and pepper hair and dark circles under his eyes entered.

“Ms. Sanzaro?”

Phee’s stomach dropped and she swallowed hard. “That’s me.”

The doctor rifled through his papers, before flipping over a sheet on his clipboard and rolling a wheeled stool over. He sat down heavily before finally making eye contact with her.

“I’m Dr. Bernardo. Sorry about your wait, but I’ve got your labs back.” His eyes were a watery pale blue that made her want to blink.

April leaned into Phee’s side, holding her hand tight and Phee squeezed right back. Dr. Bernardo’s eyes shifted to April. “Would you like to discuss results privately or…”

Phee’s response was quick and decisive. “No. I want her here.”

The doctor nodded. Although he looked tired and a bit malnourished, his mouth quirked up at the corners and he nodded gently. “Of course.” He cleared his throat. “Well, you’ve got some abnormal blood levels that seem to be connected with your thyroid.”

Phee blanched. “My thyroid?”

“Yes. It’s a gland at the base of your neck in the endocrine system. It produces necessary enzymes that help your body maintain normal functioning.” He glanced down at her chart again. “You reported shaking hands, muscle weakness, increased anxiety, and weight loss. You mentioned struggles with body temperature regulation and I can see your eyes are bulging and you’ve got red patches of skin on your shins.”

Phee’s heart raced in her chest. An uncontrollable gallop. “What does that mean?” She wanted to snap at him. Take his head off with brutal eviscerating comments. But her voice sounded small. Fragile.

“Well… I’d like to confirm with some sort of imaging or a radioactive iodine uptake test, but I think you might have something called Graves’ disease.”

Just like that, her heart stopped. Her fingers went numb.

“Graves… does that mean… am I going to die?”

Dr. Bernardo squawked, flapping his clipboard like some sort of demented bird. “What? Of course not! Graves’ disease is named after the man who was first cited with the illness.”

In a moment, her whole body went limp with relief. April sighed beside her and squeezed her hand again. “It’s ok,” she whispered into Phee’s ear.

The doctor shook his head. “No. Graves’ disease is very treatable. It will require some diet and exercise change. There’s medication options. Even surgery.”

Medication. Surgery. The dollar signs started to form before her eyes.

“I don’t have insurance,” Phee said, voice soft.

“Oh.” Dr. Bernardo looked really uncomfortable now. “Well. I’m sure there are payment plans. Or something available through your work perhaps?”

Phee let out a harsh laugh. “I’m a dancer at The Beaver Trap. We don’t exactly offer dental and benefits.”

He scratched the back of his neck and April squeezed her hand.

“We’ll figure something out for you, Phee. There’s assistance programs out there. There have to be options.”

But Phee spiraled and her thoughts went from bad to worse. All she could think was this isn’t happening. And that age old friend of hers, denial, came rushing back to save the day. “It’s not that bad.” Both April and Dr. Bernardo stared at her. “It’s not! Can I just… keep doing what I’m doing? I’ll change my diet and exercise and I’ll do less risky stunts on the pole and—“

“Miss Sanzaro. I don’t think you understand the gravity of this illness. It will continue to get worse without treatment.” The doctor sighed and a muscle in his jaw ticked. “And…” his finger drummed nervously along his thigh until Phee couldn’t take it.

“What?” she spat.

“Well… I can’t clear you for dancing until you start treatment. It’s too risky. And your employer won’t want the liability.”

All the breath left her lungs. “I—I can’t dance?”

Dr. Bernardo looked from Phee to April for help, but none was forthcoming. He looked so very tired and miserable, Phee almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

He rubbed his jaw. “No, miss. You can’t.”

A large lump settled in her throat and though she tried, Phee couldn’t swallow it back down.

She started dancing when she was five.

She got ballet slippers on her fifth birthday with their silk ribbons and gorgeous sloping curves. They were the most beautiful things she’d ever seen.

Dance had been her escape from her father. She was able to lose herself in music and movement and get out of her head, even if only for a moment.

And even when she left home with nothing but a bag of clothes, she brought her dance shoes. She knew. Just knew that she wouldn’t stop dancing. It was the only time she felt alive. Like she could wear her vulnerability like a second skin and it didn’t feel like too much. It made her dancing real and raw.

And sometimes it felt like the only safe space in the world.

Her breath caught in her throat and she thought she might choke.

“Phee?” April asks beside her, voice high and scared.

She tried to shake it off. Tried to nod her head and force a smile like she always did. But goddamn it. She couldn’t. Her hands shook in her lap and she wanted to snap them off. Her fucking hands were the problem, weren’t they. Shaking and weak and useless. She shut her eyes tight, and felt the hot sting of tears behind her lids. A black tunnel tinged in a halo of red as she squeezed her eyes tighter still.

Maybe then she’d disappear. Fade into oblivion and have the world swallow her up. But the machine beeping with her vitals, the traitorous pounding of her heart, betrayed her.

You’re alive.

Life just ended but you’re alive.

And the world wants you to burn.

Chapter Text

Why the fuck did they make these things so goddamn complicated?

Clyde growled as he wrestled a piece of plastic tubing into a hole that was just a bit too small.

“Should I even ask how it’s going?” Mellie said, holding back a snort.

Clyde glared up at her from where he’d crouched in Mellie’s backyard. “Remind me why I’m spendin’ my Saturday afternoon building a goddamn Barbie dream house?”

Mellie just shook her head, arms crossed over her chest. “Because you love your niece, you dipshit.”

Clyde sighed louder. “The party ain’t even until next week, Mellie. Oh for Christ’s sake!” The piece of pink plastic tubing broke in his hand. “Piece of shit garbage!” he muttered under his breath. “That’s it. I’m gettin’ my blowtorch and soldering this together.”

“And this is why I made you come over to build it today. Because one–you’ve got the day off which never happens. And two–I knew you’d need the time to figure this shit out.”

Clyde rolled his eyes and moved to grab more tools from his truck, but before he could, Mellie spoke again. “And three–I’m worried about you.” Her voice was quieter this time. More reserved than his usually verbose sister. He sucked in a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and bracing himself.

“Mel—I don’t know how many times I’ve got to say it. I’m fine.”

“You ain’t fine. Ain’t been fine for a long time Clyde. Jimmy and I—“

“Jimmy doesn’t know shit about nothin’ and neither do you! Why the two of you have taken it upon yourselves to be—“

“To look out for you? To be your family? To care?” Mellie screeched. And fucking hell. There were tears in her eyes. Granted probably angry tears, but that didn’t make him feel less shitty.

He really was a selfish asshole, making them worry like this. But… well–he doesn’t know how to be ok. And clearly he’s shit at pretending. The one time he’d felt moderately like his old self was three weeks ago. That curtain of red hair with that sinful smile tucked into the corner of her mouth…

He clenched his fists. There was no point dwelling on that. She’d been clear enough.

The wind left his sails and he couldn’t help but feel like a downed line. Zapped of energy and directionless.

He turned to Mellie. “I’m alright Mel. Really I am.” His tone was beseeching. Imploring. Please believe me. I can’t keep having this fight. And I’m worried you’ll wear me down.

“Clyde…”

He could see her bracing herself. To chide him again and try and wring every thought and feeling out of him. Until she could dissect and pick apart each point of dissatisfaction and fix it.

The thought made his stomach turn. And finally, something in him broke. This was the fourth time Mellie had confronted him. Jimmy was on his sixth. He just couldn’t take the well-intentioned badgering any more.

“I met someone.” The words came out in one rushed breath. He cringed. The lie tasted like ash in his mouth.

But the effect was immediate. Mellie’s head tilted up quizzically. “You… what?”

For the first time in weeks Clyde saw hope lurking behind her eyes. He swallowed, nervous. Hand clenched at his side. Well—no other choice but to double down.

“Yeah. I… did. So you can knock it off with the whole ‘concerned sibling routine’. I’ve just been busy with my girl.”

Shock didn’t begin to describe Mellie’s expression. A painful kind of relieved disbelief felt more accurate to Clyde. And honestly, it was a bit offensive.

“Maybe you could reel in the surprise just a bit.”

Mellie shook her head fiercely. “No, yea. Of course. I just—I had no idea. Does Jimmy know?”

“You know Jimmy can’t keep a secret for shit.”

For a moment Mellie looked touched to be the first in Clyde’s confidence, but then her face shifted, twisting with suspicion.

“Why would it be a secret, Clyde?”

Goddamn her perceptive little—

“Because you two been houndin’ me something fierce and I wanted to be sure it was something worth sharin’. Christ almighty, Mel.”

Mellie held her hands up. “Alright, alright. I just don’t like you keepin’ things from the family. You know we’re just concerned. We love you.”

And cue the gut wrenching guilt. What a piece of shit, lying to his baby sister like this when all she’s done is care about him.

Clyde sighed, running a hand through his shoulder length hair. “I know Mel. I know. I’m sorry I haven’t told y’all, alright? I’ll make it up to you both.”

Mellie’s mouth twisted up in a victorious smile. “You should bring her to Sadie’s birthday party then.” Clyde’s mind went blank, mouth dropping open in a mute splutter.

No.

No was the obvious answer, but he’d apparently forgotten how to form words and sentences. He wondered if he could get away with a noncommittal grunt.

Mellie grabbed another pink attachment to the dream house and pushed it into the fixture with hardly any effort. Then she looked back at Clyde, brown eyes twinkling. “I just need to know you’re okay. But dating someone… that’s great. Really great. That means you’re moving forward.” She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m happy for you. And for her.”

His throat tightened around a lump and he shifted uncomfortably. “Th-thanks Mel. Appreciate that.”

“So you’ll bring her then?”

In for a penny, in for a pound, he supposed.

“‘Course.”

When he left Mellie’s later that afternoon he wanted to go home and sink into his well-loved, unfortunately stained armchair, and have a much needed whiskey. Why, why, why had he told her he met someone? What in the actual fuck had he been thinking?

A flash of pale thigh and perky tits was the image his mind supplied in reply and he groaned. She’s not available, you creepy asshole. And then, even if she was she wouldn’t want nothin’ to do with you. Clyde scrubbed a hand down his face and flicked his blinker on, pulling onto Douglas Avenue.

He had just switched into the right lane when a loud BANG and POP sounded from just up ahead. Clyde’s hands seized around the wheel, jerking it to the side.

Pull over. Find the source. Secure the scene.

His heart pounded in his ears and his lungs struggled to keep up with his rapid breaths. He popped the door of the jeep and stayed low. Where was his weapon?

“Mac! Richie?” he called. His throat constricted around the names. They had to help him secure the area but a sinking in the pit of his stomach told him they weren’t coming. Another BANG went off and Clyde cradled his head in his hands, covering his ears. His muscles were taut and he squeezed his eyes shut. He could practically see the fire, flames licking up the sides of the transport up ahead. He could hear the screams and see the bodies.

“MAC! RICHIE!” There was really panic in his voice now. Clyde lost his balance in his crouch and his good hand caught him before he hit the pavement.

Pavement. Wet from the rain last night.

Clyde forced his eyes open, but his lungs screamed at him even though he was sucking in breath after breath. It ain’t Iraq. You’re in Wichita, Clyde, he scolded himself. But his heart kept hammering in the cage of his chest and he couldn’t catch his breath. What had Dr. Grace said? Go through the steps of checking a line. One: find the line in question, two: check the TDR for functioning along the line. He took a deep breath in and tried to let it out slowly. Three: after the reading comes through, secure the circuit, four: patch and repair, five: run the TDR again for confirmation the line is intact again.

By step three, Clyde felt the frantic beating of his heart soften, quieting to a dull distant thud. He was on Douglas Avenue, right outside of his pickup. Not his commissioned combat jeep.

He stood, limbs shaking. That’s when he finally noticed his face felt wet. His hand came up to feel the tears. He looked up ahead where the noises had come from.

An old piece of shit Ford. It had fucking backfired.

A woman and a man had the hood popped and were working on it. But their eyes kept shifting to him, a mixture of pity, concern, and fear clear, even from this distance. He did his best to give a little wave before getting back in his truck. He still shook, drenched in cold sweat as he pulled back out onto the road.

Clyde clenched his jaw. Goddamn it. It’s been months since he had a flashback. He thought he was done with them. Dr. Grace said he made progress. He thought he was fucking cured. He exhaled long through his nose. At least Mel hadn’t seen. What a shitty silver lining. But he’d fucking take it. Mel and Jimmy freaked when he had an… episode. And who could blame them? He felt crazy and out of control. Like he totally lost his sense of self.

That he was broken.

Before he could further mentally degrade himself though, his work phone buzzed. Thank Christ. A downed line. Something to distract himself from the attack. From this stupid self-deprecating spiral.

He swiped to unlock his phone, “This is Logan.”

“Lineman ID 22469, this is dispatch, can I patch you through to Line Foreman ID 143?”

Clyde’s brows raised. “Kennedy? Yea, sure, put me through.”

There was a grumble of discontent. Probably due to his informality with his boss, the Line Foreman for their region, Derek Kennedy. Rita always was a stickler. But a few clicks with the hum of silence over the line and a gruff voice crackled in his ear, “Logan? You there?”

“Heya Derek. Yeah. Over on Douglas just before 235. You got a–”

“Nah. No line for you, Logan. I know it’s your first day off in a bit, but Rodriguez’s wife went into labor and Stanley is a useless piece of shit who doesn’t answer his damn phone.”

Clyde did his best to turn his chuckle into a cough. “Well, what’ve you got if it ain’t a line?”

There was a long sigh from Derek. “You know that new rookie? Garcia? Got himself zapped.”

“Again? Wasn’t he the one a few weeks ago who–”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t remind me. Little shit. I’m about to send him back to Harding for more apprenticeship hours.” Derek rambled on with a few more swears and even more feeble promises to revoke Garcia’s license, but Clyde just smiled. The man was all bluster, no bite. Finally, Derek’s tone calmed, voice dropping in defeat, “Anyway, can you go over to Sacred Heart Urgent Care and fill out a report on it? He’ll need to do a worker’s comp case and lord knows he doesn’t have the brain cells for it.”

Clyde just laughed, flipping on his blinker again to change lanes and head back the way he came. “Sure thing, boss.”

A sigh of relief. “Thanks Logan. I owe you one. Beer on me next time there’s a rodeo.”

“How many we at now?”

“Oh I reckon four or five at this point. You keep saving my ass like this and I’m gonna have to recommend you for a promotion,” Derek warned.

Clyde shook his head, mouth pinching. “No thanks, boss. I got no desire to manage crews and equipment. Give me a line to fix, and that’ll be just fine.”

“Alright, alright,” Derek relented. “But someday when you got a wife and a kid, that might just change. Might wanna stop taking so many risks and be home at nights.”

Clyde almost missed the turn entirely. He had to break hard and jam the wheel to the right. Shit.

He tried to laugh it off, “Yeah right Kennedy. Just get myself a wife and settle down.”

But Derek didn’t laugh. “Stranger things have happened, Clyde.”

“Don’t you dare use pink taffeta, Derek.”

“Pink taff–”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were my wedding planner.”

Derek let out a bark of a laugh. “Ha. Ha. Ha. Fine. Fine. By all means, ignore my age and wisdom. Just go sort Garcia out.”

“On it.” Clyde hung up the phone and turned onto Sharp Street, pulling up to the Urgent Care center. Garcia was just lucky he didn’t have to go to the ER. That told Clyde the shock wasn’t that bad. And truthfully, shocks were par for the course in this line of work. You could wear all the fire retardant clothing available, but one wrong move and… well. It was important you paid attention as a lineman. And bless Garcia, but he was a bit of a golden retriever. Energetic, eager, and all over the place.

Clyde sighed as he slammed the door of his truck and made his way into Urgent Care. The waiting room was too white with a faint antiseptic smell and generic art on the wall. Why did doctor’s always decorate with a mix of Robert Kinkaid watercolors and pictures of bowls of fruit? It was an oddly off-putting combination that always made his teeth clench.

The receptionist was on the phone, looking harried.

“No, sir—unfortunately we can’t do that. Our clinic—“ she spied Clyde and covered the receiver.

“I'll be with you in just a moment, sugar.”

He nodded, crossing his arms over his chest as he glanced around the waiting room. An elderly couple sat together by a large window. The old man was stooped, back hunching with age, but in his lap he cradled the woman’s weathered hand. Gentle and tender, Clyde watched as the man’s thumb stroked along the back of her hand. The woman smiled and batted him away to better hold her magazine, but she reached out to cup his cheek and lay a kiss on his brow.

Something clenched in his chest and he had to look away. The exchange felt like something too intimate to witness as an anonymous observer.

He cleared his throat and scanned across the room again, looking for something to make the ache in his chest feel more palatable. But his heart stopped as his eyes landed on a girl tucked in the corner of the room, long red hair swept into a loose braid, wrapping around her left shoulder. Her brown eyes were wide and round, deep purple bags beneath them; her gaze fixed on him.

“Phee?”

He’d said it before he could think better of it. Before a lick of self-preservation could warn him that she didn’t want him. That she’d been very clear with her boundaries. But his feet apparently didn't give two shits about that. Already carrying him over to her with reckless abandon.

Her smile was small and sad. It didn’t reach her eyes, and it was a far cry from that mischievous grin that made his heart thud painfully in his chest.

“Hey Tiger.”

Clyde sat heavily in the chair beside her and had to stop himself from reaching for her. His hand itched to cup her chin. To cradle her face and take stock of her. She looked more pale and drawn than before. How long had it been? A few weeks? A month?

“You ok?”

Her eyes flitted to him and he could see her try to stuff the feelings down. Muscles going rigid and throat bobbing on a pained swallow.

“Yea—yu—“ but the word got stuck in her throat. Phee sucked in a lungful of air, and though her eyes looked glassy, the corners of her mouth ticked up. The smile didn’t come close to meeting her eyes, and there was something caustic in her expression, a bitter edge in her tone, “Just living the dream.”

Clyde balked, mouth parting in confusion. “Oh… alright. So—“

“I’ll spare you from having to ask all those small talk questions.” Phee turned toward him, but her eyes remained fixed blankly on a point over his left shoulder. “How am I? Fucking fantastic. I’ve had to quit my job as a dancer. I’ve been relegated to bar wench at the club. I have a shitty thyroid disease that continues to fuck up my life, makes me feel like shit, and continues to drain me of what little money I have.” Phee’s mouth was wide in a manic sort of grin. “Oh. And I didn’t tell you the best part. I can’t qualify for Medicaid because I work too much. My employer has no group insurance options. And I owe thousands of dollars for the ER visit I had no say in going to.”

He stared at her, but Phee fell silent, stubborn chin jutting out defiantly.

Words died in his throat. What were you supposed to say to someone so clearly on the edge? He bit his lip and heaved a sigh, scratching the back of his neck. “Well fuck, Red. You landed right in the sloppiest pile of dog shit, didn’t you?”

A choked cackle escaped her throat and her eyes swiveled to him, widening in surprise. “Seems that way.” Her body curved further in, knees to chest and arms tucked around herself.

He only hesitated a moment. Clyde slid an arm around her and tugged her into his side. The armrest between them was annoying but Phee softened into him, head nestling into the crook of his shoulder. Her body was warm pressed to his and god damn it. Why did he miss this when he never even really had it? He couldn’t help it. Clyde leaned down, nose snuffling in her hair. She still smelled like cinnamon and sweat and something expanded in his chest. He dropped his mouth low, voice rumbling out in a whisper, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I really am.”

She didn’t look up or nod. No indication she’d even heard him. But that was alright.

He sat with her, just like that, in companionable silence. It could have been several minutes, or several hours, but they stayed like that for some time, until Clyde noticed a little dark skinned girl with immaculate braids and colorful butterfly clips woven into her hair. Younger than Sadie by a year or two, she clutched a Barbie tightly in her small hand. And for the fifth time that day, Clyde once again realized how unbelievably fucked he was with Mellie.

He groaned and realized four seconds too late. Phee sat up, brow pinching.

“What?”

Fucking shit. “Nothing. It’s stupid, Red.”

She sat up further still, pulling away from him, elbows on her knees and looking way too intrigued. “I just unloaded my shit life situation on you in a doctor’s waiting room. The least you can do is repay me with your minor tribulations.” His heart pounded when she flashed that gremlin smile. “I reserve the right to laugh if it is something stupid though.”

He glared. Then groaned. Hand running roughly through his hair.

“God, you're worse than my siblings.”

Phee just grinned.

Clyde let his head fall back against the wall before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well—you met Jimmy, my idiot, meddling well-intentioned brother who is convinced I’m an unwell loser.”

Phee nodded, stifling a chuckle and his mouth quirked up. It felt good to make her laugh. And if that required offering up his dignity? So be it.

“I also have a very smart, annoyingly perceptive, well-intentioned little sister who, like Jimmy, is convinced I’m an unwell loser.” Clyde fiddled with the straps of his prosthetic. “They’ve both been up my ass to socialize, reintegrate into civilian life… date.”

To her credit she didn’t laugh right then and there. Just kept staring at him, finally motioning to continue.

Clyde gulped. “My sister, Mellie, was giving me shit as always. About to confront me and my anti-social/loner ways, and I just… panicked.”

Phee leaned forward. Her brows drew together.

He just had to rip it off like a band-aid.

Clyde exhaled sharply through his nose. “I told her I was dating someone. To get her off my back.”

Silence followed these words. He looked over at Phee. She’d dropped her face into the safe enclosure of her arms. Her shoulders were shaking. Oh god. Was it a seizure? A convulsion? He was just about to push her hands aside when Phee sat up again, tears streaming down her face and… laughing?

Clyde grimaced. “Alright. Alright. Real funny there, Red.”

“I’m sorry,” she wheezed. “But that’s got to be about the dumbest thing you could’ve trapped yourself into.”

“I’m aware. But… it gets worse.”

Phee’s eyes widened further and she looked delighted.

“Ugh. Don’t look so fucking pleased at my humiliation, Phee.” He pushed her arm playfully and she put on her most innocent expression. Wide eyes and pouty lips.

“I’ll be good,” she promised. And fuck. That little phrase went right to his cock. For a moment he was taken back to that night. Those little needy whimpers and rough exhalations. Goddamn it. Quit thinking with your dick, Clyde!

He shook his head and took a deep breath, determined to soldier on. “Well, Jimmy has a daughter. My niece, Sadie. She is talented, beautiful, smart as a whip, and her birthday is coming up next weekend. That little girl means the goddamn world to all of us.” He was rambling now. Focus Clyde. “Anyway,” he sighed, “Mel, thought it’d be a great idea for me to bring my girlfriend to the party, since she’s the one occupying all my time.”

Phee’s smile widened but she tried to hide it behind her hands.

“Clyde… no.”

He groaned for what felt like the billionth time in the span of the last ten minutes, and sank further into the chair. “I know. I’m fucked Phee. Royally fucked.”

Phee just snorted and shook her head at his stupidity. But he couldn’t help but notice this smile was real. It showed the dimple tucked into the corner of her mouth. Just above the little freckle along her upper lip.

Maybe that’s what caused him to totally lose control of the words coming out of his mouth.

“Unless… you wanted to come?”

Phee’s nose scrunched but the smile still stretched wide on her face. “What?”

Clyde could feel his cheeks heating up but he couldn’t back down now. Might as well up the ante.

“You could come and pretend to be my girlfriend.”

The smile slipped from her face, replaced with a confused blankness. “But I’m not.”

Ok. Ouch. He rubbed at his sternum and did his best to roll his eyes in response. “No shit. Which is why I said pretend.”

Phee’s eyes narrowed. “Why the hell would I—“

“I could pay your ER bill.” Clyde winced. He wasn’t sure when the thought crossed his mind, but he knew he didn’t like the idea of her scraping by and racking up more and more debt. And there was no way she was making more money tending bar. She’d probably gotten a pay cut the second she stopped dancing.

Meanwhile, he pulled in what felt like an absurd amount of money for a man with few expenses and limited hobbies. Maybe he could have his cake and eat it too? Help Phee out without hurting her pride and get to spend more time with her? He let out a sigh. Because even in his head it sounded desperate.

At his offer, Phee’s mouth dropped open. She was silent for a moment, before words sputtered to life. “Clyde—are you asking me to pimp myself out for a family function?”

He winced. “In a totally platonic friend-helping-another-friend-fool-his-family-into-thinking-he’s-ok sort of way.”

She was silent for a moment, and he noticed the bags under her eyes again. A light purpling tinge that made her face look more angular in the fluorescent lights of the waiting room. Despite her clear exhaustion, he saw the wheels of her brain spinning.

Phee’s hand swept over her face, tucking an errant strand of red hair back behind her ear. “I meant what I said. I’m not a hooker.”

Clyde’s mouth opened and closed several times like a gaping fish. “I know that!”

She glared and he snapped his jaw shut. “I could use the money.” Her admission looked like it cost her dearly, the weight of the words hanging heavy between them. “I swear Clyde, if this is some misguided charity attempt—“

“Did you hear that shit-stain of a situation I got myself in? You’d be doing me the favor, sweetheart.”

Phee gnawed on her lip and he couldn’t help his eyes flicking down to her mouth to follow the movement. She caught the look and he felt his cheeks warm, guilty under her scrutiny.

The main door of the clinic opened and a scrub-clad medical assistant with a clipboard stepped out, glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. “Ophelia Sanzaro?”

Phee turned to the woman and stood. Clyde’s heart sank. She was going to walk away and he’d never see her again. It was a stupid idea. His hand clenched the armrest in abject defeat.

But when he blinked, a small palm was there, outstretched under his nose. “Give me your phone.”

He plucked the phone from his pocket with lightning speed and it almost went crashing to the floor in his haste.

Phee rolled her eyes, clicking and swiping on the screen before handing it back to him. “Text me so I have your contact and I’ll message you my terms.”

Clyde nodded, head bouncing in blind acquiescence, like a gimmicky bobble-head doll.

Phee laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “See ya around, Tiger.” And with a wink she disappeared behind the clinic door and was gone.

Chapter Text

Was it normal to miss the heavily perfumed air of the backstage dressing room? The body sprays along with the hair spray and adhesives the dancers used all culminated together, clashing in a powerfully pungent odor that gave her headaches.

Phee sighed, pulling one of the taps behind the bar to fill another pint glass, careful to tip the glass and avoid getting too tall a head of foam.

Her chest clenched. She watched Valentina, another dancer, float gracefully in a spin on the pole, eyes tracking her hold and the taut muscles along her thighs. God, she missed it. She missed the girls. Their camaraderie backstage. The inappropriate jokes and last minute beauty tips.

Relegated to the main floor she couldn’t sneak into the back or swap stories. It was all hustle and turning over orders for the tables. Valentina glided from the pole into the splits and Phee swallowed hard.

More than anything she missed dancing. The music in her veins. The movement. How the whole world disappeared when she lost herself in her routine. Steps and breath and heartbeat.

“Red! Take these to table 6!” Larry’s voice cut through her reverie. And just like that, a sour taste bloomed in her mouth as she beelined it back to the bar with her tray.

The rest of her shift was spent shuffling from the bar to the tables, having her ass grabbed and pinched while her hands were full. A tall blonde guy spilled a Pilsner down her back and she knew she reeked of hops and stale beer for the rest of the night.

Her skin was sticky and the interior fabric of her car clung to her thighs when she slumped into the driver's seat of her little Honda at the end of the night. She pushed her big tote bag across to the passenger’s side and dug through it, pulling up a small stack of cash.

Twenty. Forty. Forty-seven in tips.

Phee stared at the bills in her hand for a moment, trying to remember how to breathe. With a frustrated cry she shoved the bills back in her bag and turned the ignition over, throwing the car into reverse and getting the fuck away from this place. She would have pulled at least $250 in tips on a Friday night when she was a dancer. But it was becoming more and more apparent that the patronage at The Beaver Trap gave two shits for the bar runners and servers. All the money went to dances. And Christ. She couldn’t even blame them.

Her phone lit up and she glanced at it. Probably from April, trying to offer her some of her tips. She was a well-intentioned angel that Phee desperately wanted to shake sometimes and remind her, You have a kid! And fuck it all, Phee would not be the reason that little boy went without.

When she tapped the Lock Screen to read who messaged her though it wasn’t from her best friend. Her mouth quirked up.

Sergeant Stripes 🐅

It had been three days since she’d run into Clyde at the Urgent Care Center. Phee hadn’t even finished her appointment when the first text came in.

Come on, Red. You know you want to watch my humiliation in real time.

And then—Don’t make me beg.

He shouldn’t be allowed to say things like that when he was tall, dark, and had lips meant to devour pussy.

She had swallowed and glared down at the phone. Because he already made it perfectly clear what this situation was. Tit for tat. Quid Pro Quo. She plays fake girlfriend for him and he pays off her crushing ER debt.

It didn’t seem like a remotely fair trade to her, but he obviously thought it was a great idea, and she didn’t exactly have options.

No need to drop to your knees, Tiger. I’m in.

Phee resisted the urge to open his most recent message until she pulled up outside her apartment. The white trim peeled on the shitty single-pane windows, but she was grateful it was on the ground floor, little flower window boxes bursting into bloom with pink and purple petunias. But she didn’t even glance up to enjoy them, swiping open the message from him.

Sergeant Stripes 🐅: don’t forget to wear pink tomorrow. Sadie might be eight but she’ll end you for wrecking her theme.

Phee had to bite down on the corner of her lip to keep from grinning like a fool as she rolled her eyes.

Phee: I did play with Barbies growing up. Trust me, I understand the assignment.

Sergeant Stripes 🐅: Should I be scared? I’m already feeling like I should hide when the Dream House gets unveiled.

Sergeant Stripes 🐅: There will be 14 eight year old girls in attendance. Feels like the odds of having my eardrums not pierced with excited screams is very low.

Phee: Don’t be such a curmudgeon. Your niece will love the Dream House and you’ll only have one mildly perforated eardrum.

Sergeant Stripes 🐅: At least I’m bringing a life size Barbie with me to take the heat off and distract everyone.

Phee: Ok, now I’m feeling like I should be scared. How big a deal is this?

Sergeant Stripes 🐅: If I said ‘not at all’ would you believe me?

Phee: 😒😒 not a chance

She tucked her phone away, rifling through her enormous tote to find her keys. Goddamn it. Buried at the bottom no doubt. She clawed through the bag but the hair at the nape of her neck prickled.

Phee turned back to the road, staring up and down at the silent street. But a prickling cold oozed down her spine. She couldn’t see anything amiss, but… something felt off.

Finally she felt the metallic slide of her keys. She jammed the key in the lock, twisting and pushing open the door. When she was inside she turned and slammed it shut behind her, chest rising and falling quickly with her rapid breathing.

Calm down, Phee. It’s nothing. Just being dramatic again.

The apartment was quiet and dark, but Phee flipped on lights as she made her way to the kitchen. She needed sustenance.

Sam was gone for her night shift at the hospital and wouldn’t be back till 7:30. Phee had been lucky enough to snap up the room with Sam when she’d posted the vacancy on a Facebook Wichita housing group. Their schedules didn’t have much overlap, and for the most part Sam kept to herself. So Phee followed suit. It was the perfect roommate situation. Cordial, but not overly familiar. Perfunctory. By the relationship standards in Phee’s life, that was pretty damn good.

The pan sizzled as Phee gathered the supplies to make a loaded grilled cheese with three types of cheese, some sliced deli turkey and avocado. Did that make it a turkey melt?

By the time she sat down at the table it was far too late and her stomach roiled with hunger. Her mouth watered as she bit into the gooey cheesy mess but she only managed two bites before her nausea rose up again, forcing her to store the hardly eaten sandwich into a small tupperware. After she placed it carefully in the fridge, she swiped her phone open again.

Her heart twinged in her chest. And since there was no one around she allowed herself the luxury of letting her mouth spread into a wide grin.

Sergeant Stripes 🐅: I’ve got no doubts, sweetheart. They’re gonna love you.

Phee woke up to sun streaming through her threadbare curtains and construction equipment blaring outside her window. She groaned into her pillow and tried to bury her face in the soft surface only to grumble and throw it to the floor at a particularly loud rumble from a bulldozer.

That's when her eyes blearily fixed on the clock. 11:00AM.

Fuck.

Phee threw the sheets off her and hopped in the shower. She only had an hour to get ready before Sadie’s party and she still had to eat. She was just so tired and groggy. The meds she was on were shit. They didn't help with the nausea or the digestive problems. She still felt so weak. But her last appointment with the doc had given her some hope.

“There’s a new drug on the market that’s been really effective for Grave’s. A few side effects but trials have had a really great success rate.” He paused, looking at her chart. “What kind of insurance do you have again?”

Phee had shaken her head. “I’m paying out of pocket.”

She watched the young doctor try to repress a cringe, but he nodded, trying his best at a smile. “I see. Well let me call around and see what we can do with Good Rx. It’s a medication discount program and this is a new drug so it doesn’t have a generic yet. Typically new drugs have discount codes and coupons to increase awareness and demand. We’ll get something figured out.”

Phee had nodded. She’d tried two other meds already with little success and awful side effects. They’d warned her she might have to go through a few rounds of medication and treatment paths to figure out what the hell would work for her. And damn it. She was starting to get pissed at her body’s lack of response.

Phee stepped out of the shower and popped the little blue pill that didn’t seem to do shit but give her migraines and make her nausea worse. She looked in the mirror, long red waves hanging loose around her face, brown eyes bright. Time to Barbify herself.

When she finally finished with her hair she had ten minutes before Clyde was due to pick her up. Her stomach twisted with both hunger and nausea, and she pulled out the turkey melt she’d made last night. She managed a few bites this time before her eyes snagged on a piece of paper pinned to the refrigerator. She narrowed her eyes. A note from Sam. That was new.

Phee grabbed it and skimmed quickly, heart plummeting to the pit of her stomach.

Hey Phee,

Kevin called yesterday and said he’s waiting on your half of the rent again. He wasn’t a total douche but just wanted to remind you. Two months in a row seems to be chapping his ass.

He also told me next month he’s gonna have to raise rent to cover the cost of some of those repairs he mentioned a few months back. The HOA is contracting with a—

Phee didn’t read further. Her eyes screwed shut and there was a twinge along her sternum. She rubbed at the spot, hoping for some relief, but fuck it all, none came. She ground her teeth together, squeezing her eyes shut tighter when there was a knock at the door. Her eyes flew open and she rushed forward, plastering a smile on as she went.

Phee snatched her little heart handbag from the side table and the pink glittery gift bag and threw open the door. Clyde stood, hand propped on the doorframe, leaning into the space with interest lighting up his features. But she wasn’t about to give him a tour.

“Come on then, babe,” she quipped, sarcasm lacing her words. “Don’t want to keep the family waiting.”

It took all of five seconds after crossing the threshold into Jimmy’s backyard for Phee to be waylaid by Mellie. Auburn hair bobbed in ringlets around her face when she bustled over, her little metallic cropped pink jacket catching the sun and momentarily blinding them.

“You must be Phee,” Mellie said quickly. And before Phee could confirm, the other woman was pulling her in for a hug, squeezing her about the shoulders like they were long lost friends. “I can’t tell you how excited we are to meet you. Why Clyde felt like he had to hi–”

“Alright Mel, let the girl breathe for Christ’s sake.” Clyde’s hand wrapped around her bicep and pulled her gently from his sister's clutches. Instead, he tucked her safely into his side and wrapped his arm loosely around her waist, thumb catching in the belt loop of her pink flare pants. The warm, sure weight of his hand settled something desperate and fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Oh god. Was this what it felt like to be nervous to meet a partner’s family? Enough Phee! she chided herself.

Phee reached out a hand, willing it to be steady and firm, “And you must be Mellie. Clyde’s told me so much about you.”

Mellie glared at her big brother, full of suspicion. “Don’t believe a damn word of it. And if he tries to tell you about Harry Harper’s end of the year party and an incident involving a souped up ATV, just know he’s full of shit and there ain’t nothin’ he can prove.”

Phee laughed, letting herself relax into Clyde’s hold so she could look up at him. He was already looking down at her, shaking his head and giving his sister serious side-eye. “She tried to jump a–”

“Shhh!” Mellie shushed, punching him in the arm.

Phee already had a hand covering her mouth, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. She looked back to Mellie, eyes glittering with mischief. “Well I’m sure you’ve got stories about Clyde that are plenty better.” Her eyes darted to Clyde again and there was that smile, tucked into the corner of his mouth, but not daring to peek out. “Maybe something in the way of pre-pubescent embarrassment?”

Mellie grinned wide and there was a predatory gleam in her eye. She nodded to Clyde. “Oo, I like her.”

“Alright, alright,” Clyde wound his fingers through hers, tugging Phee with him and away from Mellie. “No conspiring against me. We gotta go find the birthday girl, Mel, I’m sure you understand.”

Mellie scrunched her nose and flipped Clyde the bird, but turned back to what appeared to be a very soft-spoken hired magician who looked very lost.

Clyde tugged her hand again and Phee fell into pace beside him.

“Well. I see what you mean,” she said.

Clyde’s thumb traced a spot on her wrist. “That my family is mental?”

“That they want to check up on you,” Phee corrected with an eye roll. “And sure, maybe that’s a bit overbearing, but at least they care about you.” Her tone went harsh, a note of bitterness lacing her words and Clyde’s eyes narrowed. He looked like he was just about to open his mouth again to say something when Phee slid her smile back into place and tugged him closer, pointing off toward the little bouncy castle across the lawn.

“I take it Queen Princess Barbie is your niece.”

Clyde’s eyes tracked over to where she pointed and he brought his prosthetic hand up to facepalm himself. “Dear lord.” A dry chuckle escaped him and Phee squeezed his hand. “Yup. That would be our sweet Sadie Mae. Don’t be fooled by the princess garb though. That kid’s as tough as nails and the smartest Logan in the family.” Clyde pulled her forward, weaving between children careening around them at waist-height. Phee hung onto him, trying her best not to get toppled over. Clyde looked down at her, mouth twitching up at the corners.

“She once suckered my brother into the extra large ice cream fudge sundae and then swiped the tiny pack of oreos he got for himself. Leave no sugar unguarded. She’s a vulture.”

Sadie’s hands were perched on her hips as she shook her scepter in a little blonde girl’s face. “You can’t be a unicorn and an Olympic gymnast, Keely! How would you do the uneven bars with hooves?”

Her friend’s face was pinched, reply on the tip of her tongue, when Clyde tapped Sadie’s shoulder with his prosthesis. “Sadie Mae? I don’t wanna in—“

But Sadie whirled on the spot, pink pillowing skirt fanning around her, face split in a wide smile.

“Uncle Clyde!”

Her brown curls bounced around her face as she threw herself into his middle. Clyde wheezed a disjointed breath out. “Jesus Sadie, you’re gettin’ strong.”

“Daddy says I can do peewee wrestling next year.” But Sadie’s eyes catch on their interlocked hands and she follows the source back to Phee. Her eyes practically pop out as she takes in the Western Barbie ensemble Phee managed to piece together from thrift store finds and the dressing room at the Beaver Trap. Was she wearing parts of stripper outfits to an eight-year old’s birthday? Yes. Yes she was.

Sadie’s mouth dropped open and she blurted, “Who are you?”

Phee bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. “I’m Phee,” she said, extending her hand to the little girl who gave it a curious scrunched nose expression. Phee was relieved when Sadie’s small hand reached out to clasp hers, a bit taken aback by the girl’s firm grip and unwavering eye contact.

Sadie glanced back and forth between Clyde and Phee, brows raised in question.

Clyde grumbled something that sounded distinctly like give me strength, finger and thumb pinching along the bridge of his aquiline nose. “Your daddy told you I’d be bringin’ my lady friend.”

Sadie grinned and her eyes crinkled with that telltale Logan mischief Phee was beginning to understand a bit better now.

“You’re girlfriend/boyfriend?”

Phee didn’t hesitate. She dropped to one knee, crouching at Sadie’s level. “Yes ma’am. Your uncle is quite the catch.”

She chanced a glance up at Clyde and it proved to be very worthwhile. Pink patches of heat bloomed along his cheeks and she thought she could even see the red tip of an ear, just visible beneath the mane of his dark hair.

Phee turned back to Sadie, doing her best to contain a giggle and found the little girl bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Do you guys…” Sadie’s eyes darted to her uncle and she leaned toward Phee, cupping her hands around Phee’s ear conspiratorially, “…kiss?” Sadie’s voice was a gentle whisper, tickling the flyaway tendrils of her hair.

Phee laughed and beamed wide. In that moment she forgot about her sadness, her sickness, the loss of dance. For now, she just held Sadie’s hand tugging her close to whisper right back, “We do.” Her eyebrows waggled suggestively and Sadie’s nose scrunched in disgust while her mouth twisted in a bemused smirk.

“Ew! Gross!”

Phee nodded. “I know.”

“Does that mean you love him? My daddy said kissin’ is meant for people in love.”

“Sadie Mae!” Clyde interjected, finally clued in to their whispered conversation. “You can’t just go around puttin’ people on the spot like that. It ain’t right.”

He scratched the back of his neck and Phee wanted to knock his hand away and thread her fingers through the hair there at his nape. Instead, she tore her eyes away from him and turned back to Sadie.

“Your uncle is a very special man who makes me feel so cared for. He’s the kind of man that makes wanting to stick around easy.” Phee’s heart thudded in her chest, entirely unsure where those words had surfaced from. But no point in regretting them as they’d already come out. She didn’t turn to look at Clyde, too scared of what she might or might not see. It didn’t matter anyway. It was all part of the act. She was just in character. Barbie Phee: girlfriend experience.

Sadie threw her arms around Phee’s neck and all but choked her in a tight embrace. Phee tried not to splutter.

“You’re weird. I like you.”

And before Phee could formulate any sort of response to that Sadie ran back to her friends, yelling and giggling at top volume.

Phee turned to Clyde. “Well, at least someone in your family likes me.”

Clyde rolled his eyes. “Shut up. Mellie was practically eating out of the palm of your hand before I dragged you away.”

Phee grinned. “You’re just worried ‘cause all the women in your life already like me more.”

Clyde just glared. “Yeah yeah. Just one more big player we gotta get to.”

Phee nodded, solemn. “Jimmy. But we’ve already met.”

“I don’t know if that’ll help us or hurt us, to be honest. Jimmy is loyal to a fault and if he detects a hint of deception he’ll get all up in arms and make this… unpleasant.”

Phee crossed her arms over her chest. “And you think he’ll expect deception?”

Clyde balked, unsure. “I—um…”

“Because he knows I’m a dancer.” She paused and gritted her teeth. “Was a dancer.”

“Wha—no. No! That’s not what I—“

Phee’s phone buzzed in her purse and she dug through it. Her eyes widened when she read the caller ID.

“I’ve gotta take this,” she mumbled, walking off to a deserted corner of the yard, leaving Clyde standing there with his mouth hanging open in dismay.

“Hello?” she answered, voice carefully calm and even.

“Hi, Miss Sanzaro? This is Cindy from Urgent Care. Dr. Cane wanted me to give you a call about your medication. Unfortunately, the new trial drug he was hoping to get you on isn’t available through a discount program yet.”

Phee’s heart sank. “So… what does that mean? I need to pay out of pocket?”

Phee thought she heard the assistant take a breath. Or maybe it was a gulp. “Yes. I’m afraid so.”

“Ok. Alright. Well… how much is it?”

Cindy paused and Phee wanted to shout at her to just get on with it when the other end of the line crackled back to life. “$800.”

Phee’s hand flew to her chest, rubbing along the pained zing that raced up her sternum. “800? Jesus, will it at least get me high?”

“Ma’am, that isn’t—Vexlar is used to treat—“

“I know what it’s used to treat, Cindy!” Her chest was rising and falling in rapid bursts. Come on, Phee. Calm down. Breathe. “Sorry,” she bit out. “I’m sorry. I just… wasn’t braced for that.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have better news Miss Sanzaro.” Cindy sounded like she was wringing her hands and Phee felt the pit in her stomach tighten from yelling at her.

“Are there… other options?” Phee asked quietly.

“Well… it looks like,” Cindy shuffled through papers. “You’ve tried most of the common medicated treatment methods with little success. Did Dr. Cane talk to you about surgery?”

Phee sighed and rubbed her sternum again. “He did.” But that would be even more money out of pocket. Not to mention time off for the procedure and the recovery. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “I don’t th—well. I have a lot to consider. Thanks for calling.” Her voice was clipped and robotic.

“You have a follow up with Dr. Cane next week and I’m sure he’ll talk you through more options then.” Cindy sounded sad, but Phee couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when door after door continued to close on her. Not when she was running out of options and accruing more and more debt.

“Yeah. Yeah I’ll be there.” She hung up before Cindy could prattle on any more.

Phee’s hands shook as she rubbed her temples, determined not to fuck up her make up. She would not cry. She would not.

“Phee?” A hand on her shoulder made her turn.

It was Clyde. Because of course it was Clyde.

“What’s wrong?” Brown eyes warm and gentle looked down at her.

She shook her head and even that felt like too much. Words wouldn’t come and a damn lump lodged itself right in her throat.

He scanned her body. Looking for abrasions. Or maybe a battle he could fight. But he could only growl in frustration. “Can I help?”

Phee huffed out a laugh, eyes widening in disbelief. “Not unless you have secret mythical healing powers.”

Clyde scrunched his brow. “It was the doctor then?”

Phee nodded. Clyde didn’t hesitate. Just wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her close. “I’m sorry baby. You wanna tell me what happened?”

Of fucking course she didn’t. She hated talking about her problems. Her weaknesses. It felt trivial and frivolous and her father’s voice started in her head. Ungrateful, entitled slu—

“The medication they want me to try is… expensive.” The words tumbled out, said into the swell of his chest. God. Quit being so needy, Phee. He doesn’t want to know this. Doesn’t—

“Mmm.” The vibration rumbled against her ear and his large hand stroked soothing patterns along her back. Despite herself, she felt some of the tension leave her body. “Are there other options?” Clyde asked.

She knew she needed to stop talking. To stop needing and feeling. But the warmth of his arms and the steady rise and fall of his chest lulled her into saying more. “Tried the common ones. The ones that have generics. Now they’re wanting me to consider $800 meds or surgery.”

Clyde let out a long, low whistle. “Well fuck a duck, Phee. That’s some bullshit.”

A surprised laugh burst out of her and she slapped his chest. “We are at an eight year old’s birthday party!” But she couldn’t keep the smile from her face. It felt tentative and fragile, but so very needed at that moment.

Clyde grunted. “Sadie’s heard worse.”

“I know I don’t know the Logan clan well, but with Jimmy, you, and Mellie as her family, that seems about right.”

Clyde’s mouth twitched up at the corner and he reached out, pinching her side. “Easy now.” His hand lingered there, just at the dip of her waist, and Phee relished the warmth of his touch. It was both familiar and electrifying. She felt the blood rushing to the apples of her cheeks and scolded herself. You aren’t some blushing, stammering school girl. You literally take your clothes off for money from strangers. Get a grip!

“So what’re you gonna do then, sweetheart?”

His voice was soft. A rumble at her ear that made her skin prickle and heat. Her heart dropped through her stomach as she contemplated his question. What would she do? What could she do? It felt like she was very quickly running out of options. All dreams of dancing again faded the more she explored different treatment paths. Her throat bobbed and constricted at the realization. Maybe she would never dance again. The horror set in like a hacked off limb. Blunt and bitter.

Phee blinked hard, feeling raw and stupid. She couldn’t cry at her fake boyfriend’s niece’s Barbie birthday. The ludicrousness made her snort. “I have no idea, Clyde. I’m fucked, no matter how I slice it.” She spotted another little girl dressed as a fairy Barbie and a manic black humor settled over her. “You think if I ask fairy Barbie for twenty grand she’d deliver? Hell, I’d even take second-rate commercial insurance with a reasonable deductible.”

She felt insane and Phee was sure Clyde’s eyes would be round and wide, agog at her flippancy. But when her eyes met his, she was surprised to find them fixed on her. Steady and sure.

Phee’s brow puckered. “What?”

Clyde nibbled at the corner of his bottom lip, looking deep in thought, and Phee’s eyes lingered on his mouth.

“Alright. Don't freak out,” he warned.

That made her brow furrow further.

His thumb traced over the knuckles of her right hand and her shoulders relaxed, just a bit.

Clyde let out a slow breath. “Well…” his hand ran through his hair, pushing it back from his face. That nervous tick of his. He leveled her with that intense dark stare and she swore the world went quiet in that moment. The loud happy voices of the little girls at the party. The sizzle of the grill. The bustle of parents chasing after their children. Phee felt the blood in her veins stop rushing, the pounding of her pulse in her ears quieted.

Clyde squeezed her hand. “We could get married.”

And just like that, all the sound came rushing back. A cacophony of deafening noise that made her head feel like it would split in half.

We could get married.

We could get married.

Married.

“We were supposed to get married, Ophelia!”

The words rang in her head, Ham’s voice like a crack of lightning as his hand clamped around her wrist like a vice.

“Let go, Ham! You’re hurting me!” Even to her own ears she sounded shrill and panicked.

Ham’s lip curled in disgust and he shoved her away. The sting of his grip made her rub her wrist to ease the pain. Her eyes pricked with tears, but she refused to let them fall.

His eyes bugged out of his head, wild and protruding, and he spit at her feet. “How does it feel to be whored out by your own father?”

Phee’s stomach twisted painfully and her heart clattered in her chest. “Did you even mean it when you said you loved me?”

A wide, unnerving smile stretched across his face. “Did I love you?” A little laugh escaped him. “That’s what you choose to ask me?”

Phee didn’t know how to respond to that, but she felt the breath shrivel in her lungs. All the air seemed to be sucked from the room.

“Maybe in the way a farmer loves his cattle. You would have served a purpose. You would have been my wife. But now…” he waved a hand dismissively. “This is nothing. You are nothing.”

She could still feel the hot sting of tears on her cheeks. Clyde still held her gaze, waiting patiently for a response. But Phee’s vision swam, her legs turned to jelly, and her knees buckled beneath her.

Chapter Text

“So we scared her off then?” Jimmy asked, slurping his whiskey.

Clyde glared. “She wasn’t feelin’ well which is what I’ve told you about seventeen times now.”

It was Wednesday. Billiards night at The Duct Tape which meant shooting pool with Jimmy. Fortunately, Clyde was on call. And god how he prayed for a downed line somewhere. He couldn’t have this same godforsaken conversation again.

“Haven’t brought her around since,” Jimmy said casually as he lined up his shot on the corner pocket.

“It’s been three days. She’s had work. I’ve had work. Why are you so fucking eager? You’ve already met her.”

“Mmm,” Jimmy nodded. “And I’ve yet to make my mind up about her.”

“You’re judgin’ her ‘cause she danced.”

Jimmy straightened up, fixing Clyde with a narrowed glare. “And you’re not thinkin’ with this head,” he said, poking Clyde roughly in his temple. Clyde batted his hand away.

“I’m able to think for myself just fine. Besides, Mel likes her. Hell, so does Sadie, and she’s the best judge of character out of all of us. You recall when she raked your ass over the coals for bringing ‘round that swindling grifter friend of yours?” Clyde’s mouth tugged up at the corner, hardly able to suppress a bubble of laughter from escaping.

Jimmy glared but sighed, rolling his eyes as he got back to lining up his shot. “Yeah, yeah. She was spot on with that one. Almost bit his finger off too if I ‘member correctly.”

Clyde did laugh at that. “See? And Phee held up just fine with her.”

Jimmy nodded, but his mouth still pinched. He took the shot, but the seven bounced off the far side of the table and skittered to a stop nowhere near the corner pocket. Jimmy let out a frustrated growl. “Just don’t go gettin’ in over your head, alright? Have some goddamn self-preservation for once.”

But Clyde just shook his head. “Who knows where it’s goin’ anyway.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, checking it for the millionth time, but still no text from Phee. No call. No word from her for the past three days at all.

He probably fucked it all up when he suggested a fraud marriage. Why in the fuck did he go and do that? But they were already fake dating. How different would it be to be fake married? Just their names on a certificate and she could be added to his health insurance. And get some of his ex-military spousal benefits. Really, there was no downside. Maybe she’d finally be able to get the treatment she so desperately needed.

But that was a fucking moot point now, wasn’t it? He’d scared her off, she’d practically fainted at his suggestion, and she’d run away from Sadie’s party, saying she just didn’t feel well. But she’d refused to let him drive her home. She’d taken an Uber and hadn’t looked back. He hadn’t heard from her since.

“Trouble in paradise already?” Jimmy joked, but there was concern there, lurking just around the corners of his eyes. That crease of worry.

Clyde shrugged, non-committal. “Never know with women, do ya?” Even as the words left his mouth they tasted like ash in his throat. Fucking stereotyping horseshit that he didn’t even buy into, but what the fuck else was he supposed to say? He couldn’t be too eager and risk Jimmy lecturing him. But he couldn’t dismiss it all and ruin the setup they’d crafted so carefully. He just needed to hear from her. To know she was ok. To know what fucking direction he should stee–

His phone buzzed in his pocket and Clyde practically jumped out of his skin. In his haste to pull his phone out he almost dropped it.

“Easy there, Clyde. It ain’t a gator,” Jimmy crowed.

Clyde bit the inside of his cheek to stop a very vindictive string of swears from escaping. Instead, he swiped to unlock the phone. There, glowing like a beacon in the night, was a blinking little notification. One unread message from Phee.

He walked away from the table with no explanation or excuse. He thought he heard Jimmy let out a cry of protest, but he didn’t stop to look back. Clyde made his way back to the bar’s bathroom and locked himself in a stall, opening the messaging app.

Phee: hey, sorry I’ve been MIA

Three dots appeared just below her text and Clyde held his breath. They disappeared. He let out the breath and his fingers hovered over the keys, but the dots appeared again and his grip became too tight on his phone.

Phee: can we talk? I’m off at 3 if that isn’t too late

Clyde glanced at the time. It was midnight now.

His fingers flew over the keys.

Clyde: Not too late. I’m on call, but if there are no downed lines I’m all yours.

He already hit send and grimaced at his own choice of words. He couldn’t seem to help himself. With Phee he felt spontaneous. Reckless even. And he knew it would only get him hurt in the end. But even the threat of pain couldn’t make him pull back. With Phee it was full steam ahead, bull in a China shop, unapologetic leaping without looking for a second. It made him feel light. Unburdened for once in his life. So he’d chase that high until she put a stop to it. Whatever this strange, concocted ruse was.

Phee: I’ll text when I’m off. Your place?

Clyde: See you then, Red

His heart filled like a balloon as he walked back to the table. Too hopeful and foolish to do anything else.

He lost every single game that night and Jimmy was relentless in his smack talk.

But Clyde could not give a single fuck.

It was 3:02AM and Phee would be here any second.

Clyde had already panic-cleaned his trailer. Then he’d reorganized his Tupperware. Then he poured himself just a small whiskey. And now he was unabashedly staring at the clock. Was the second hand moving backwards?

He was just getting ready to start tearing his hair out when a knock came at his door. Three sharp raps in quick succession. He didn’t even make it across the room before it was pushed open.

Phee came in, already talking like they’d been in the middle of a conversation. “--wouldn’t get rid of all the debt I’ve already got, but then again–” her eyes fixed on Clyde and her mouth snapped shut.

Clyde was 6’ 2”. Yet this petite woman made him shrink with the intensity of her accusing gaze.

“Sit,” she commanded, throwing her bag down and grabbing one of the chairs from his small kitchen table.

His mouth went dry and his palms were sweaty, but he sat on the lumpy brown sofa he’d gotten from Goodwill five years ago. “Phee, I just wanna say–”

“Save it.” She let out a puff of air and sat at his little rickety kitchen chair. “Have you given your offer any real thought?” Her words were like razors, cutting him down to size. “You’re ex-military. And you work for the state. You have great benefits and probably have some real higher ups you have to report to. Even now.”

Clyde nodded. “You might be right.”

“And what happens if our sham marriage is found out? We could face charges. We could go to jail. And believe it or not, prison isn’t known for its great healthcare.”

Clyde didn’t know how exactly to respond to her rapid fire dismissal, one point after the next. All he could muster was a compensatory inclination of his shoulder. As if to say, well yes.

Phee rolled her eyes. She chewed the inside of her cheek and stood. “I knew this would be—“

“Hey now,” Clyde stood as well, hand reaching out and closing gently around her wrist. “At least allow me a rebuttal.”

Her eyes narrowed skeptically.

“I know fancy words too. Hours of watching Jeopardy with my nana really paid off.”

Phee’s mouth pinched with exasperation but just at the corner of her mouth he saw the most miniscule crinkle. As if she was trying her hardest not to smile.

He took this as a good sign to continue and, summoning up all of his courage, tugged Phee onto the couch beside him.

“We already know each other. Definite points in our favor,” Clyde began carefully. “If my former commanders or bosses get nosy.”

Phee’s eyes went wide as dinner plates and he was surprised when a loud snort of laughter bubbled out of her. “We know each other? Clyde. We’ve known each other for what? A month? Two? I don’t know your middle name. You don’t know where I’m from or my favorite color. We do not know each other just because we’ve had some laughs and fooled around.”

Her words stung. Like tiny needles digging into his flesh. A sharp sting that settled into a dull throbbing ache. But she wasn’t wrong. Still, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from continuing.

“Phee. You need medication. You need better treatment or you’re going to do lasting damage. If not like this, how is it going to happen?”

She didn’t dignify that with a response but her glare somehow became more pronounced.

Clyde rested his large hand over her small one, tucking it up into his palm and squeezing. “You need this Phee. Let me help. Please.”

For a long moment (an excruciatingly long moment) there was silence. Phee stared at him and his insides shriveled. He started to spiral. Why did he keep pushing her? Why couldn’t he just let this go? Clearly she didn’t want to be tethered to him. He needed to walk away. Her words had already chaffed and cut him. Did he really want to invite more criticism? More scrutiny? A weight plummeted in his stomach. What if she saw one of his attacks? The thought left a sour bitter taste in his mouth.

Before he could back peddle and play off the whole thing as an ill conceived joke, Phee took a long, fortifying breath. Her glare faltered and for a moment her eyes shone with something. Some tender vulnerability that he just knew most people never caught a glimpse of.

“Ok.” Her voice was shaky.

Clyde’s mouth dropped open. “Ok?”

“You’re right,” she said, a sad sardonic smile twisting her face. “I don’t know how the hell else I’ll ever be able to afford my treatment.” Her eyes narrowed on him, assessing. “Unless you’re having second thoughts.”

“Wha—No! I mean… no.” He finished, more calmly. “I’m in. I’m the one who suggested it.”

Phee looked skeptical. “You have a lot more to lose and nothing to gain from this arrangement. You understand what you’re proposing could lead to a felony charge? Arraignment? They could strip you of your veteran status and reclassify you as dishonorably discharged. You wouldn’t get any of your benefits.”

He clenched his jaw but nodded. “I know what I’m signin’ up for. And you’re forgetting I’m getting the benefit of my family off my back and outta my hair with their nagging and worry.”

A small, genuine little smile peaked through, tipping up the corners of her mouth. “Ok then. We need to figure out how we’re gonna do this then.”

Phee began to outline the where and when and how of their deception, and Clyde twisted his hands in his lap, nodding along.

What he didn’t tell her, what he couldn’t tell her, is that if they were caught not only would he lose his military benefits. He happened to apply to be a lineman through one of the listings reserved for veterans. State and federal jobs always prioritized internal hires and vets. If they were found out he’d also lose his job.

He’d have to give up being a lineman. The job that had become so much a part of him. That helped keep the demons away.

But as he watched Phee talk, her hands gesticulating, and her voice full of passion, he got a little lost. Something tugged in his chest.

He smiled.

This may all blow up in his face, but in that moment he didn’t care one bit. She would be taken care of. And, just for now, just for pretend, he could belong to someone. And maybe for a little while she’d even belong to him.

It took a week to get their marriage license in the mail. A week of spelling out rules like: where they would live (keep their separate places), how they would keep up appearances (she would come to his family functions, he would come to her doctor appointments, and they would give each other facts about themselves in case of questioning authority figures). There would be no physical relationship unless absolutely necessary as part of the ruse.

This was something Clyde requested.

“So we don’t blur any lines of what this is.”

That’s what he told Phee. But honestly? He didn’t trust himself. If he touched her or held her for a second longer than was strictly necessary to keep his family at bay, he knew, just knew he’d be unable to stop himself from escalating things.

And his worst fear was that she would let him. She would let him kiss her and touch her and it would mean nothing to her. A little comfort. Maybe a release. But nothing more.

He didn’t think he could take that. So it was best to not have any unnecessary contact. Phee had agreed of course with a peculiar sort of look on her face he couldn’t hope to interpret, and that was that.

Now he stood in the courthouse lobby with Jimmy, waiting their turn to be called up with the judge presiding.

“She’s not pregnant?” Jimmy asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

Clyde glared, his mouth pinched tight. “For the last time: no.”

“Then why, in God’s name, are y’all runnin’ to the altar like it’s a shotgun wedding.”

“If you must know, asshole, it’s because we’re in love.”

“You barely know the girl, Clyde. You literally met her all of, what?—two months ago?” Jimmy let out an exasperated huff, but Clyde was used to his tantrums at this point.

“You may not know her. But I do. And she’s it.” His heart tugged a bit at the words and he had to swallow hard and clear his throat. “Now where the hell did Mel and Sadie run off to?”

Jimmy glared at the sudden change of topic, but just pinched his nose and let out a long suffering sigh before he replied, “Sadie wanted Mel to put flowers in her hair. She said, and I quote, ‘As flower girl, it’s my duty to dress the part. That means my hair too!’ Mellie has spoiled that child doin’ her hair for the pageants and now it’s expected. I swear that girl is too much.”

Clyde nodded, thoughtful. “Hmm. Wonder where she gets that from.”

Jimmy punched him in the shoulder. “Watch it. You might be the groom, but I’m still your big brother and I can still put you in a headlock.”

Clyde straightened to his full height. He had Jimmy by a few inches at least and it irked him to no end when Clyde looked down on him. “You sure about that?”

“Asshole.”

“Bastard.”

“G rated language boys!” Mellie hissed, tugging Sadie in her wake. “Don’t make me call aunt Rosie to crack your skulls together.”

“Alright, alright, easy now.”

“He started it.”

“Well imma finish it,” Mellie scolded. “Now Sadie,” she said, turning to her niece. “Go run up that hall there. Third door on the right is the ladies room. Go see if Miss Phee and Miss April are ready.”

Sadie grinned wide, and as she ran down the hall in her little white and pink summer dress, Clyde swore she looked like a little angel with the tiny daisies woven into her curls.

“You did a good job, Mel. Always do.”

Mellie smiled at him and hugged him tightly around the middle. “Congrats Clyde.” She pulled away, giving him one of her classic penetrating stares. He always felt like she could somehow read his very soul when she looked at him like that. It was unnerving.

“Now I’m just gonna ask this once,” Mellie said. “You’re sure about this?”

“As sure as the sky is blue and the grass is green.”

She nodded and squeezed him again. “Good. Cuz you ain’t ever gonna do better than her.”

He laughed at that. “Why you think I snatched her up?”

“Mr. Logan?” Clyde turned to the court assistant who’d just emerged from one of the side rooms. “Judge Guildenstern is ready for you.”

Mellie grinned and shoved her brothers. “Y’all go on. I’ll go with the girls.” With a quick wink and a flick of her hair she was gone down the hall Sadie disappeared.

Clyde cleared his throat and followed the assistant while Jimmy fell into step behind him.

It was Phee who suggested having Jimmy and Mellie at the courthouse after two ill-timed back to back phone calls from the siblings. Phee had given Clyde a sad sort of smile.

“You’re close to them.” It wasn’t a question.

Clyde’s jaw had tightened and he nodded. “Dad was in and out of jail since I was in diapers. Wasn’t around much. Ma did her best by us, but we did a lot of raisin’ ourselves. Jimmy was always the ringleader. After Ma passed we got even closer and Jimmy became the man of the family at 17. Not hard to see why he’s so protective.”

A twinge of regret flickered through him. Deceiving Jimmy felt like a betrayal of the highest order. Jimmy had done everything for Clyde. Given him every chance. Made every sacrifice he could to see his brother succeed. And this was how Clyde would repay him? With lies.

But he had to. He may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but he knew this was the right thing to do. She needed this. And he would help however he could.

Phee had smiled at him and squeezed his hand. “They should be there.” Clyde just frowned at her, confused. She rolled her eyes. “At the courthouse. When we get—married.”

He noticed the thick swallow she took before that last word. He couldn’t blame her. “I don’t know,” he hedged. “You really think that’s a good idea? If anybody will be able to spot something hinky, it’ll be those two.”

“One could argue that’s a very good reason to have them there. Besides, I'm fairly certain Mellie might murder you if you don’t have her at your wedding. Even if it is a sham.” The last part was said with a bite. Her words clipped and sharp.

Something about the words struck him as odd. “‘One could argue’? You’re a proper lady, ain’t ya Phee?”

To Clyde’s surprise she turned crimson, her face matching the flaming locks of her hair.

“Wh-what?” she cleared her throat and glared. “Are you joking? I take my clothes off for money, Clyde. I’m about the furthest thing possible from a lady.” But her tone was offended. Angry even.

“Alright seesh. No need to get your panties in a twist. Just seemed like maybe you went to one of them posh schools.”

If he thought she was red before, he was wrong. She shifted to a dark maroon now as she said, “That’s rich. A two-bit whore at a fancy school. Really funny, Clyde. Forgive me for not laughing.” Her jaw was clenched in a grimace and her arms were crossed tightly over her chest. She hunched in on herself and he reached out but she practically bared her teeth at him. “Don’t touch me.”

His gut roiled. He knew she didn’t want this. And even though he knew logically that he was helping her with his insurance he somehow felt like he trapped her into this.

“Phee,” he said gently. “I’m sorry. I know… I know this isn’t your first choice.”

Phee bit her lip and shook her head, unfurling from the tight ball she’d become with arms around her knees. Slowly, her mouth twitched up again, but he noticed it didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t be stupid. You’re helping me. I’m the one benefitting. But we should have your family there. You want me to play dutiful wife with them? It would help our case to invite them. Besides, we need a witness.”

Clyde had nodded and agreed. And somehow, Mellie and Jimmy at the ceremony ended up becoming Mellie, Jimmy, Sadie, and April.

Unfortunately, April had seen through their lie immediately. Probably because she was the only one who knew about Phee’s health condition. Clyde hadn’t been there, but Phee had recounted April’s dogged insistence that she knew exactly why they were faking a marriage. Phee was certain she could trust April’s discretion and Clyde hadn’t really been able to argue the point.

Phee told April she couldn’t attend the ceremony or she’d risk perjury if their deception was ever discovered. April had laughed in her face. “And let you do your own hair and makeup for your wedding day? I don’t think so.”

“It’s a fake wedding, April. It doesn’t matter,” Phee argued.

But April wouldn’t take no for an answer. And now, here they were.

Clyde and Jimmy made it to the front of the courtroom. “Mr. Logan, Judge Guildenstern presiding. Do you have the marriage certificate?” the court assistant asked, holding out his hand.

“Oh. Yea. Yes. Here.” Clyde pulled an envelope out from his jacket pocket. The dark navy jacket was a bit snug in the shoulders. Jimmy had given it to him when his head stopped exploding from the news of Clyde’s sudden marriage.

“It was dad’s,” Jimmy said, voice gruff. “He woulda wanted you to have it. Nicest thing he owned.”

Clyde had balked. “Jimmy. I can’t. Pop left it to you.”

But Jimmy just shook his head. “Take it. Look nice for your girl.”

Now he tugged at the sleeve cuffs to try and hide the fact they were half an inch too short. He stood, heart thumping painfully in his chest and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his sweaty brow.

“You can still call it off you know,” Jimmy whispered. “I can sneak you out the side door and we’ll be gone.”

“I ain’t leaving her. Now shut up and stand there. Hand me the rings when I ask you too and don’t say another goddamn word.”

“Clyde,” Jimmy croaked, and Clyde finally turned to face him. His usually boyish face was scrunched and serious. “You don’t know the pain and shame of divorce. You don’t know the way your heart gets pulled out through your throat and fed through a wood chipper. It’s awful. It makes you both the ugliest versions of yourselves. And god forbid you have kids.” A hand scrubbed down Jimmy’s face and he took a breath. “Don’t get me wrong, Sadie is the best goddamn thing that has ever happened to me. But only getting her weekends and every other holiday? It kills me.” Clyde was shocked to find tears in his brother's eyes. Jimmy’s shoulders slumped and he let out a long sigh. “I just—god I don’t want that for you, Clyde. After everything you been through… you deserve to be happy.”

Clyde’s throat became thick. “Jim—I know,” he chuffed his brother’s shoulder and drew him in close. “That ain’t gonna happen alright?” He gritted his teeth. “She’s it. ‘The one’ or whatever horseshit you want to call it.” The lie felt heavy on his tongue, but he couldn't have his brother worrying when there was no sense to it. It was a sham. Nothing more. He clenched his fists to remind himself. Nothing more.

The doors of the courtroom opened and Mellie hurried in. “They’re all ready,” she said in a rush. Her hands came up to fuss with Clyde’s tie and he batted her away.

“Stop that! I’m a grown man, for God’s sake.”

Mellie just rolled her eyes. “You ready then?”

Clyde gulped. This was it. Now or never. No turning back. He let out a long unsteady breath and nodded.

Courthouse weddings weren’t known for their romance. And this was a marriage of convenience after all. But when he’d called the courthouse to arrange the date he’d made a few requests.

The first was that Sadie would be allowed to be their flower girl, and yes, to drop petals on the courthouse floor like proper flower girls do in churches. When Sadie caught wind of their wedding, there was no deterring her.

When the doors opened and Sadie skipped in he was glad for it. Her dark hair was braided with sprigs of gerber daisies and they were woven into her hair like little flakes of fresh fallen snow. She had her biggest, toothiest grin and it was directed right at him. Like she knew this would be the best day of his life.

The second request was for them to exchange rings. It wasn’t necessary in a courthouse wedding. No part of exchanging rings was part of the legally binding process. But Phee didn’t have an engagement ring and he’d be damned if she didn’t get a wedding band.

He’d been given a box of his nana’s things when she’d passed five years ago. He was her favorite. Had always been her favorite, though Jimmy and Mellie would never admit it.

They had been in there. Nana and Pop’s wedding rings. A pair of plain slim golden bands that they’d worn every day for their forty-six years of marriage. Before his grandfather passed away. Then nana had worn her ring every day after that until she passed as well.

“For me, lovin’ your grandfather was like getting a taste of chocolate pie. Sweet with a bitter edge, and I couldn’t get enough,” Nana had said a few months after his grandfather’s funeral while flipping through channels on a rainy day. “Now it feels like I’ve gone and lost the recipe. And I can’t forget the taste but nothing comes near close to it. All I can taste now is bitter ash.”

She’d died a month after that and left the rings in a box labeled ‘For Clyde’. Jimmy had the rings is his breast pocket now and a lump formed in Clyde’s throat when he realized he’d be slipping his nana’s ring on Phee’s finger. What would Nana say about all this? Would she understand? It made his heart twinge painfully in his chest to think otherwise.

The third and final request he made was being orchestrated by Mellie now. They’d been at his trailer two nights ago, talking about the wedding of course when Phee stopped him. She turned to the radio and started humming along, closing her eyes and lost in memory.

Clyde watched her get swept up for a moment before asking, “What is this?”

Phee smiled. “‘Nobody Gets Me’ by SZA.” Silence fell between them again as she conducted the crescendo in the song. When it faded out, Phee opened her eyes and seemed to come back to herself. “I danced to that song for my senior dance recital three years ago. One of my only solo pieces.” She bit her lip. “It felt… cathartic even then. Impossible. A silly fantasy.” Phee shook her head and put her hands on her knees and stood. “It was stupid. But a damn good song.” She tried to drown out the vulnerable moment with false cheer, and she changed the topic quickly. But it stuck with Clyde.

He found an instrumental version of the song the next day and he called the courthouse within the hour. “We don’t really have an amplification system you can plug into, sir,” the nasally court assistant stated, annoyed.

“Can I bring a little portable Bluetooth speaker then? Just for the one song?”

There was a sigh on the line like she could not be bothered, “Fine. I guess there’s no harm in it. But just a small speaker, you understand. No vibrating amps allowed in the courthouse or we’ll pull the plug on the whole thing.”

Mellie cued up the song and pointed to the court assistant to open the doors. The assistant rolled her eyes but, with all the reluctance of someone paid just above minimum wage, pulled the doors open wide.

April walked in with a floaty pale blue dress that fell just past her knees. Her blonde hair was pinned up with a spring of daisies tucked in to match Sadie. But before he could even acknowledge her as she came to stand near the front, Phee entered. The breath was sucked from Clyde’s lungs and all thoughts fled his mind.

Her flaming red hair cascaded in waves loose around her shoulders with a halo of small braids woven around the crown of her head. In her braid crown were more daisies. Sprigs of white in stark contrast to the blood red of her hair. It made her look younger. Fresher. Healthier. The dark circles that had come to be permanent fixtures under her eyes in recent weeks seemed less pronounced. Her cheeks flushed with a hint of rosy color. She wore a short white dress with a longer lace overlay that swept the floor. It had an indecently plunging neckline and long sheer lace sleeves. Like some sort of 70s flower child crossed with a Grecian siren of the Odyssey. He knew he was in danger of following her off a rocky cliffside to his death and he didn’t care one bit.

Their eyes met and he saw the question there. The guarded fear and uncertainty. He held out his hand and she moved to stand before him. Clyde squeezed her hand and moved a bit closer to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Just that small touch sent a shiver up his spine.

He whispered, “Ready, darlin’?” His thumb brushed along her cheek. He wanted to tell her it was alright. That she didn’t have to do this. That she would be ok and he would take care of her as long as she would have him. So he tilted her chin up and he tried to show it all in that one look. She was so close he felt the warmth of her breath on his cheek. He could count the freckles across the bridge of her nose.

Phee’s mouth curved up in a small smile and her hand found his cheek, fingertips brushing along the stubble. “Yes,” she said it on a slow exhale. He relaxed a bit then, the tension in his shoulders smoothing away. She wasn’t going to run. “I like the song, by the way.” The teasing edge was back in her voice and he smiled.

“All for you, baby.”

She rolled her eyes at him and tugged his tie. “You clean up real nice there, Logan.”

“I was thinkin’ the same thing.” Well… amongst other less than above board thoughts that he would rather die than admit. He tried to think of baseball. Fixing a downed line. Jimmy eating a cheeseburger (the most disgusting and horrific sight). Anything to calm his body down from visibly reacting to her.

Her feral little grin peaked out. “You’re the one who made the no sex rule,” she whispered.

His eyes widened and he wanted to reprimand her, but that's when the judge began to speak.

It was a short ceremony. Perfunctory and to the point. They promised to have and hold. They promised for richer or poorer. Clyde squeezed Phee’s hands when they promised in sickness and in health. Her hazel eyes shone and she squeezed his hand back.

Then the judge pronounced them husband and wife and Clyde didn’t even register reaching for her. Or her stepping into him. Just the brief searing feeling of her warm lips on his. The gentle pressure of her mouth molding to his and their breaths mingling in the space of a heartbeat.

And it was done.

She stared at him, eyes big and bright. They were married. Bound together in deception and lies. But he knew, even if it all went to shit, he’d do it again. If Phee even had a shot at a healthy life—he’d do it again.

Chapter Text

“I want to see you in two weeks to check on how the new medication is working. That prescription is good for a month’s supply,” Dr. Cane said, handing Phee the medication referral print out. Vexlar. 500mg two times a day. It needed to be taken with food in the morning and again in the evening. Side effects include: nausea, vomiting, headaches, insomnia, anxiety and depression. Great. Everything she was already experiencing.

“At your follow up we’ll see how you’re tolerating the medication and if it’s improving your symptoms. We’ll also check your thyroid levels to see if there is improvement in functionality. Any questions?” The doctor’s eyes landed on her, but she shook her head.

“No. I think I’m alright.”

“Excellent. Well, make an appointment on your way out and call the office if you feel your symptoms are worsening. The nurses’ desk is always staffed and there is always a doctor on call.”

Phee nodded and held out her hand to him. “Thank you, Doctor.” He was just about to duck out of the room when she managed to pluck up the courage to ask, “If we start seeing improvement… could I—dance?”

The doctor’s brow quirked up but his face was inscrutable.

Phee rushed to add, “It’s my livelihood and I’ve been dancing since I was seven. I know if I—“

“Calm down, Miss Sanzaro. If you start to show improvement, we’ll talk about what’s possible. It can be a slow process. But—“ Phee leaned forward on the exam table. “If you continue following your care regimen and the medication improves your thyroid levels, I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to dance again.”

Phee felt Clyde squeeze her hand beside her and she turned to him. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. She might dance again. She’d all but given up on the hope that it would even be a possibility.

“Clyde!” she managed to squeak but didn’t know what else to say. A lump had made its way into her throat and her vision had gone watery.

Fortunately, he seemed to understand. “I know, baby. I’m so happy for you.”

This was the first doctor’s appointment Clyde had come to and he’d been the dutifully devoted husband to a T. He’d helped her with the new insurance paperwork. He’d sat by her side in the waiting room. And now he held her hand as they spoke to the doctor. He was calm and reassuring and it made Phee’s stomach squirm.

He was so caring. Attentive. She knew they had to put on a bit of a show to remove any doubt that their marriage was legitimate. But… no man had ever cared for her like this, and it chaffed like her cheap pleather chaps that it was fake.

“It really is wonderful your new insurance covers the trial medication, Miss… sorry,” Dr. Cane corrected himself, “Mrs. Logan. Congratulations by the way.”

Phee felt the heat rise in her cheeks. How she could blush with this stupid little lie when she regularly poured on the fakest sugar sweet act for customers made no sense. She sucked her teeth and schooled her breathing before responding evenly, “Thank goodness for small miracles.”

She felt Ckyde’s eyes on her, but she didn’t turn to look at him. She didn’t think she could handle one more painfully caring glance.

Instead, she rubbed her chest to dull the rapid beating of her heart and prayed this new medication would do the trick.

It had to.

A week hadn’t even passed before Phee started to feel… better. Less nausea. Increased appetite. She didn’t feel so tired and sapped of strength. She even tried a back hook spin on one of the poles before the club opened and she didn’t fall. In fact, she felt good. Solid.

“Babe!” April hissed when she saw Phee practicing part of her old routine. “Were you cleared?” Phee cringed in response and April scuttled over, batting Phee’s hands away from the pole. “Then why the hell are you—“

“The doctor said we’ll check on how the medication is going next week and if it’s good he’ll clear me to dance!” she ended on an inelegant squeal and April couldn’t help a big smile spreading across her face.

“Really?”

Phee nodded.

April didn’t hesitate. She threw herself at Phee, arms cinching tightly around her waist until she was gasping for air.

“You—you’re crushing me, April.”

“Who even cares?” April squealed. “You’re getting better! You’re getting your life back!”

Phee grinned back at her, unable to quell her own excitement. Her heart felt like it was floating in her chest, unhampered by worry or fear for what felt like the first time in weeks.

She was light on her feet all night at the club, adding pirouettes on her way to and from the bar. Not even Handsy Hal could ruin her good mood when he pinched her ass as she sashayed by.

Everything was going to be alright.

Once they came out with a generic for her medication, she’d even be able to get off Clyde’s insurance. Her pace slowed. Maybe he’d want to separate after that. Get a divorce. The thought made her stomach shrivel and twist.

Phee shook her head. She rolled her shoulders back and marched up to the bar with her head held high. Of course he would want a divorce. He’d want his life back without being saddled with a mooching invalid. Then he could get married for real. A muscle in her jaw thrummed when she clenched her teeth.

“Hey Red!” Larry called.

Phee turned sharply and scurried back to the bar at top speed. She mentally chided herself the whole way for getting so fanciful with her thoughts. The past several years she’d gotten good at pushing stupid, idealistic thoughts from her mind. She can still hear her father’s coldly intoned, “You are too sentimental, Ophelia. Far too concerned with what could be rather than what is.” The tick in her jaw became more pronounced.

“What’s up, Larry?”

He grunted, noncommittal, but he flicked the dirty rag he was cleaning with further down the bar. She balked when she saw who it was, hastening over.

“Clyde?” She hadn’t seen him in the club since the night they met. Phee bit the inside of her cheek. Were they doing workplace drop-ins now? “What’re you—“

“We gotta talk Phee. In private.”

Phee’s eyes widened. She wanted to ask what the hell was going on but the look in Clyde’s eyes told her enough that right now was not the time or place to ask that question.

Her mouth pursed but she nodded, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the back exit. She couldn’t exactly justify taking up one of the champagne rooms for a private conversation with her husband. So she led him down some dark back halls and pushed open the heavy metal door of the club’s back exit. It let out into a very grubby alleyway with one flickering lamp post that cast everything in a burnt orangey glow.

Phee turned to him, hands expectantly on her hips. “What in the he—“

“My old commander called me,” Clyde hissed, barely above a whisper. His eyes darted around the alley but he must not have found anything peculiar as he turned back to Phee, one large hand coming up to encircle her bicep. She did her best to ignore the way her skin pebbled under his touch. Clyde’s eyes bore into hers. “He knew about our marriage. Knew we’d only been ‘dating’ for a short while. And he said he’ll be in town this weekend.” Clyde gulped. “He’s checking up on us, Phee.”

“But—“ if it all fell apart now she wouldn’t be able to be cleared. She’d stop making progress. She’d get worse again. No. No no no. That could not happen. “We’ve only just started on those damn questions.”

April had been the one to suggest it when Phee had let on that she and Clyde needed to have intimate, deep relationship-level knowledge of each other. And fast.

“Oh!” April had said. “You guys should do those questions!”

Phee’s brow crinkled in confusion. “What questions?”

“Those ‘getting to know you’ questions!” Phee continued to stare at her blankly and April rolled her eyes. “There’s like thirty-something of them and they get deeper the further you get along. The Times did an article on them.”

“The Times? Since when do you peruse The Times?”

April’s mouth pinched and she let out a theatrical sigh. “Alright, maybe there was a feature in the March Cosmo as well.”

“There it is.”

“Would you just shut up and check them out? I promise it’ll help you guys. I’m sending the link.”

And though Phee gave her a colossal amount of shit, April was incredibly smart and remarkably resourceful. Thus, last Thursday afternoon she had met up with Clyde for coffee and uncomfortably vulnerable questions.

The first round was supposed to be the least intimate. And yet the very first question sent Phee reeling.

“Alright. Question number 1,” Clyde had said, “‘Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?’ Really? They used the word ‘whom’?”

She couldn’t even tease him for his snark. Her hand had tightened on the mug of fragrant black tea she’d selected. Bourbon vanilla on the front end and sparkling pomegranate on the back. But even the delightful tang couldn’t distract her from where her thoughts immediately raced.

Phee carefully stirred her tea, staring into the milky depths. “My mother.”

Clyde choked a bit on his coffee. Black of course. And had to clear his throat and beat his chest to get the liquid down properly. “Oh. Is she…”

“She died when I was two. A freak accident sort of thing.”

“Oh wow. Phee,” he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be. I was really young. I hardly remember her.”

Clyde nodded, leaning back in his seat and looking thoughtful. “What do you remember?”

Her mouth twitched up. “She smelled like honeysuckles in the spring. Soft and fresh. She liked inventing all sorts of different pies. My favorite was this lemon custard one she called ‘Phee’s Drop of Sunshine Pie’. It had lemon and honey and it was just—so good.”

“She sounds like a kind lady.”

“She was. I mean… I think. Like I said, I don’t remember much.”

“Your dad never—“

“No,” Phee cut him off. Blunt and dismissive. Her tone rang with finality. She winced and chanced a look at his face. He bit his cheek and his shoulders were up around his ears. He was tense. She even thought she caught a flicker of hurt flash across his face, but the next second it was gone. And she was left wondering if she’d just imagined it. Phee sighed and added, begrudgingly, “My dad didn’t like talking about my mom after she died. I think it was too hard on him.”

This was a lie.

Her father didn’t often bring up her mother. That piece was true enough. But when he did it wasn’t because he was overwhelmed from a great love lost. Rather he would bite out harsh criticisms comparing mother and daughter.

“You’re wearing that? Just like your whore mother…”

“Don’t be such a bitch, Ophelia. Women should be silent. I had to remind your mother of that often…”

The words still echoed in her ears. She’d learned some time ago that it was better to offer a more sympathetic lie. Less awkwardness. Less pity.

Clyde and Phee made it through five more questions, but if that was the level of intensity from the start Phee worried how they would progress. Phee had become very adept at compartmentalizing parts of herself. Even April only knew the broad brush strokes of Phee. How much could she really share with this man she’d entered into a sham marriage with? How much was needed to pass the charade?

Now that his commander was sniffing about… it sounded like they’d have to be pretty damn convincing.

“Well what the hell are we going to do, Clyde?”

His mouth pinched together, brow furrowed. “He wants to have dinner with us next Saturday.”

“Saturday?” Phee scoffed. “That’s my busiest night here! And I might be cleared to dance by then which would be way more lucrative.”

Clyde stared at her, his brown eyes boring into hers. “Phee, you don’t know you’re gonna be cleared. Don’t jump the gun on that. I don’t want your heart gettin’ broke. I understand Saturdays are busy, but you’re gonna have to ask off. We need to do this Phee. We have to convince him we’re legit.”

“I’m aware,” she snarled back.

His jaw tightened. “Sorry for trying to keep us out of prison.” The last word was hissed. The darkness of the alley made his face jagged. Angular and severe in a way she hadn’t known was possible for him.

And all her defensive walls went slamming back up. “Don’t do that. Don’t fucking guilt me for a scheme you proposed.” Her eyes widened. Men had said much worse things to her. Had threatened and belittled her. She’d never once snapped back. She retreated. She ran. She swallowed feelings and danced. What in the hell just happened?

Clyde was taking none of it though. “Maybe don’t bite my head off then when all I’m trying to do is protect us.”

Her lips curled back in a snarl, even as her logical brain knew he was right. But a sliver of doubt festered in the back of her mind. Clyde’s nostrils were flared and his hand shook. She could see where he was clenching his fist too tight.

“Yea?” Phee asked. “You’re just trying to protect us? That’s all? It has nothing to do with me being able to dance again?” His eyes widened in shock but he hesitated for a beat too long. She let out a humorless laugh. “Wow. Really? So that’s it then? You don’t want me to dance? You’re not seriously jealous are you?” Phee felt the blood pulsing in her veins, heartbeat thudding loudly in her ears. “Newsflash: we aren’t together. And even if we were you don’t get to tell me what to do. Dancing is my life. Get the fuck over yourself.”

“I didn’t tell you you couldn’t dance, sweetheart,” Clyde bit out and she saw the flash of anger in his eyes. Good. She was tired of his Prince Charming bullshit. Men were angry and possessive and shitty. He wasn’t any different and fuck it was a relief.

“But you don’t want me to,” Phee challenged. “And you don’t want me rubbing up on guys until I make them come in their pants.”

“Christ, Phee! I don’t need the mental image ok?”

“I’m a stripper, Clyde. What in the hell did you think would happen when I got better?”

He carded a hand through his hair roughly. “I don’t know.”

She waited for him to call her a slut. Or a tease. She waited for him to grab her wrist too tight. To try and force himself on her. But after waiting for a beat of watching him try to tear his own hair out, she let out an angry huff and started to walk back inside.

“Phee,” he called. “Wait!” She kept walking, hand on the door. “I’m sorry.” His voice was softer as he’d gotten closer, standing beside her but carefully holding himself apart from her. “You’re right. I know how important dancing is to you. I know this isn’t… real,” he said, gesturing between them. “You don’t owe me anything, alright? Sorry if I made you feel like you did.”

Her lips parted. Frankly, she was stunned. She didn’t think a man had ever apologized to her before. It was… strange. But also, validating. Words failed her though and she just stood there, looking dazed.

Clyde reached out for her hand gripping it softly in his, and all the fight drained out of her. “Dancing means the world to me, Clyde.” Her voice came out much softer than she’d intended.

“I know, baby.”

“And just… guys have always tried to possess me. Control me… Don’t do that. Especially with dance.” As an afterthought, possibly because she felt bad for snapping at him earlier, she added quietly, “Please.”

Clyde stared at her for a long moment before letting out a breath and nodding. “Of course.”

Phee leaned against the wall beside him and they stood in companionable silence, shoulder to shoulder. Clyde bumped his shoulder into hers and she looked at him. A small smile turned up the corners of his mouth. She pursed her lips to keep her own smile at bay before she bumped his shoulder right back. A wide grin lit up his face and she felt the dull thudding ache creep back into her chest.

Clyde gnawed at the inside of his cheek, a sure sign he was thinking, before he said, resigned, “But… with my commander coming, we might have to do a bit more than be married on paper.”

Her brow pinched. “What do you mean?”

“What if he stops by?” Clyde asked. “He’s been to my place. None of your stuff is there Phee.”

“Oh. Yeah. Alright, fair enough. Should I… I don’t know. Stay? For the weekend? Just until he’s gone,” she finished carefully.

Clyde’s back had gone ramrod straight and he was stiff. God. He did not want her in his space, cramping his style.

“That would be… fine,” he finished lamely, not sounding at all like it would be.

“I’ll stay out of your hair, I promise. You won’t even know I’m there.”

“It’s fine Phee,” he ground out. “You can move your stuff over on Thursday. I’ve gotta drive down to Kansas City for a training in the morning. I’ll be back Friday in time for dinner. Bring enough to convince my commander you live there.” Clyde turned away. “I’ll see you Friday.”

He walked off without another word and Phee was left standing in the dark alley alone.

Wednesday was busier than usual. Larry had gotten a wild hair to have a buy one get one lap dance special and it had gone over like gang busters. The usually dead weeknight was wall to wall with dudes in various shades of loose sweatpants. Phee grimaced. There was one silver lining to being a bar wench. No floor work. No two-bit lap dance where a guy felt the need to dry hump her ass until he came in his pants.

I need three whiskey sodas to table 3!” Larry barked. “Red any chance you got the all-clear yet? We could use an extra set of—“

“Tits?” Phee shot back.

Larry gave her a withering look.

“Don’t even think about it,” April called out, materializing from nowhere and not even allowing Phee to attempt a lie.

“Judas,” Phee glared at her, but she couldn’t hold the disapproving scowl for long.

“I know you don’t have your appointment ‘til Friday so don’t even try to play.”

“I don’t know why I tell you things,” Phee grumbled, picking up the whiskey drinks and loading them onto her tray.

“Because you loooooove me,” April sing-songed. She sidled up alongside Phee and hip checked her. “So… ready for the big move?”

Phee glance up toward the bar but Larry was already busy slinging drinks for some older guys that looked too fancy for this place but dangerously sloppy. Phee turned back to April.

“No. I mean—yes. My stuff is packed. But I’m just not… ya know?”

April frowned. “Not really, babe.”

“I’m kind of freaking out! Ok?” Phee practically shouted. She swept over to the table of fancy men that had ordered the whiskey drinks, plopped the drinks down without ceremony, and scuttled back to the bar. “I’m taking a break!”

Larry half shouted after her that it was too damn busy for that, but she was already halfway across the floor, making her way to the back exit.

It was times like these she wished she smoked. At least then she’d have something to do with her hands. Instead, she sank to the curb propping her elbows up on her knees and cradling her head in her hands.

“You really are freaking out.”

April sat next to her, long legs sprawled out, giant white platform shoes gleaming in the moonlight. “Alright. Spill. What’s got you all panicky?”

Phee traced her teeth with her tongue and looked up at the stars, mainly to ensure she didn’t have to look at April. “I’ve never lived with a man. Not since my father.”

April stilled. Phee could feel her eyes on her. She’d never talked about him before. April knew a bit about Ham, but not her father. Never her father.

“He… was not a nice man.” Understatement of the century. Controlling. Cruel. Manipulative. So much of her hurt could be linked to him.

“And you’re scared Clyde will be like him?” April guessed.

Phee smiled, sardonic and trite, and shook her head. “No actually. And that’s what worries me the most.”

April’s brow scrunched. “What do you mean?”

Phee took a much needed breath. “Clyde doesn’t seem like my dad at all. He seems like this great guy. He’s helped me out when he didn’t have to. Stuck his neck out just for the chance of me getting well. And yeah. There’s a part of me that thinks every guy is an incontrovertible asshead, and they’ll inevitably treat me like my dad did.” Phee clenched her hands into fists at her sides, staring at a fixed point on the pavement. “But what do I do if a guy doesn’t treat me like shit? How do I stop being scared for the other shoe to drop? Am I even capable of trusting someone? Of allowing myself to care?” Phee felt the words get caught in her throat and she tried to swallow the lump. “I hardly have female friends, and now here I am in this marriage with a guy I hardly know. But I have to trust him things because if I don’t we’ll be caught in our lie and this whole thing will crumble down around us and royally fuck us over.”

April nodded and reached out to squeeze Phee’s hand. “That just about sums it up. You don’t do things in half-measures, Phee. I’ll give you that.”

A surprised high-pitch laugh escaped Phee and she covered her mouth.

“I don’t know if there’s answers to your questions, babe. And there are no certainties in relationships. I don’t think there can be. Will you ever be ready to trust someone? Can you guarantee you won’t get fucked over?” April let the questions hang in the air between them. God she was annoyingly wise when she wanted to be and it was incredibly frustrating. “You won’t know until you try. You can’t control his response but you can control your willingness to put yourself out there.”

“Fuck April. Are you moonlighting as a therapist? You sound just like my shrink,” Phee groused.

April just smiled. “Maybe it’s time to go back to her and pose some of those questions.”

Phee sidestepped that suggestion entirely, instead asking, “You think Clyde can handle it?” The ‘it’ remained unspoken. Living together. Her life as a dancer. Phee and her mess of trauma and complication and brokenness. She wasn’t even sure if she could live with herself.

“What has he shown you so far?”

“Ugh. I hate it when my therapist does that. Don’t answer a question with a question. That’s just a cop out.”

“Or maybe you’re mad because it forces the owness on you, rather than defecting to my judgment.”

“Jesus you’re perceptive tonight.”

April sighed. “If you want my opinion, I think he cares about you, Phee.” Phee’s eyes flew to hers and April refused to look away, holding Phee’s penetrating brown stare. “Did you ever consider that?”

Phee let out a groan. April was missing the point entirely! “And then what, April? We have some laughs? We fuck for a while? Until he gets tired of me leeching off of him. Because what could I possibly offer him? Two for one dances at The Beaver Trap?” Phee laughed but there was a demented edge to it. Broken and unhinged. Drowning in her own doubt.

“Phee,” April said, reaching out for her friend’s hand again, but Phee drew away.

“What if I let myself care and he walks away?”

And god bless her but April knew better than to give her platitudes. To tell her that would never happen. Because though April was sunshine and Lisa Frank rainbow kittens, she was also a realist. A realist who’d been fucked over too.

April let her hand fall back to her side and instead hugged herself for warmth with the slowly dropping temperature outside. “I guess that depends. What do you value more: Keeping things just as they are? Or allowing yourself to want more?”

Phee laughed. “I thought dancers weren’t supposed to talk about the future.”

April just glared. “Fuck that. I have a two year old son. Of course I think about the future. Anyone who tells you different is a goddamn liar.” Phee shook her head, a broad smile tugging at her lips. April smiled back and slung an arm around Phee’s shoulders giving her a squeeze.

“I don’t know about you but I don’t want to be flashing my tits and shaking my ass in six inch stilettos in five years.” April pursed her lips together. “Did you know I’m taking some classes at the community college?”

Phee’s eyes widened. “What classes?”

“Just some prerequisites. For counseling.”

Phee’s face split into the biggest smile, so wide that her cheeks hurt from the effort. “April that’s amazing! You wanna be a counselor? Good for you! Better hours. Probably still lots of drunk assholes.” April slapped her shoulder and Phee laughed some more. “Seriously though. I’m so proud of you babe. God, you're going to be an incredible therapist.”

“Thanks.” April took Phee’s hand in hers and tugged her so they were squared off and Phee had nowhere else to look but April’s face. April squeezed her hand, eyes uncharacteristically stoic. “But that’s just the thing, Phee. If you want to be happy, if you want to let yourself have even the hope of happiness, you have to try. Life doesn’t just work out. You have to grab opportunity by the balls when it presents itself. Besides,” April added. “What do you have to lose?”

Phee balked at that, mouth dropping open just a fraction. God. She didn’t have shit to lose did she? The realization made her heart twinge painfully and April stood.

“We really should get back. Larry’s gonna get pissed real soon if we don’t.”

April held out her hand and Phee took it, hoisting herself to her feet with her friend’s help.

Alright. A few more hours. Then she’d do some packing and crash for the night. Maybe watch a 90’s romcom to fall asleep to. Something with Meg Ryan, definitely.

“Red!” Larry called as she walked back in. April saluted her, heading toward the dressing room. Phee attempted to straighten her spine, prepping herself for the reaming she was certainly in for after she abandoned her post.

“Look Larry, I’m sorry but—“

He waved her off. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve got another visitor. Just hurry up, will you? We’re dying out here.”

Jesus. Of all nights, Clyde just had to show up when they were in the thick of it again. And what could he possibly want? They were about to be living together for the weekend. Surely that was enough quality time for the—

“Ophelia. My, my, my. How the low has sunk even lower I’ve no idea. But here we are, eh?”

Phee nearly dropped the tray she was holding. She sucked air in too quickly, spluttering and coughing in the most undignified way.

“H-Ham?”

Chapter Text

Fuckin’ hell. What a day. What a fucking day.

Two downed lines. Miles apart of course. Harrison needed a bailout. Mitchell ran into a complicated multi-agency clusterfuck with sewage and a severed fiber op cable.

It was a long. Fucking. Day.

Clyde poured a large whiskey and slumped onto the sofa. Maybe he could just catch the highlights from the Jayhawks game. He flipped mindlessly through the channels until he found ESPN groaning as he finally relaxed, fully melting into the couch.

But it didn’t last long.

“Fuck,” he groaned aloud. He still had to pack for that damn training tomorrow. And he needed to leave by 8… He glanced at the clock. 1AM. Christ.

Clyde was just working through his own internal pep talk that it’s better to rip the band-aid off rather than wait to pack when there was a thudding knock at the door. He jumped at the startling noise, spilling his whiskey over his hand, heart pumping in his chest too loud, too quick.

“Clyde!” A voice called through the door. A feminine voice. What the… was that—Phee? “Let me in! Please.”

“Shit!” he cursed to himself doing his best to mop up the whiskey and attempt to make himself look presentable. His hand dropped back to his side as he tried in vain to smooth some of the worst wrinkles from his shirt. Fuck it. What did he have to prove anyways?

Clyde tugged the door open. And Phee shoved her way in without so much as a ‘hello’. She had a large overflowing tote bag and a backpack that was full to bursting as well.

“Phee, what the f—“

“Can I stay here? Now I mean? I know we talked about me coming while you’re at that training tomorrow, but…”

He waited for her to go on but her eyes were glazed. Far off and checked out. Clyde glanced around his place wishing he’d had the foresight to clean it—properly clean it—before she came over. He sighed. No such luck because the universe realllllly seemed like she had it out for him. What a bitch.

“Phee,” Clyde started to ask, and her eyes snapped to his lightning fast. Wide and wild with fear. “What happened?” His voice was gentle and he cringed internally. Quit being such a simp.

“Happened? Nothing happened. I ju—“ but the sound of his trailer creaking made her jump about a foot in the air, her entire body tensing into some sort of defensive position. Clyde’s brows shot up and Phee’s jaw clenched. “Alright,” she relented. “But it’s fine ok? Don’t make it into something it isn’t.”

“Ok…”

“Someone showed up at the club tonight.”

His lips pursed. “I take it not a ‘good’ someone?”

There was a tick in her jaw and her eyes narrowed. “No.” And then, “It’s my ex.”

Clyde’s brain stuttered into static electricity mode. No wavelengths detected. Knock knock, nobody’s home. 504 error message. His fist tightened at his side as some horrible truth clicked into place.

“Is he why you ran away? From wherever you’re from?”

She hadn’t said it in so many words but Clyde had been puzzling out Phee’s backstory for a while now. She’d taken off after graduating high school and there was an edge to it. Like it hadn’t been her walking away from her hometown but running. She was careful though. Never said too much. Never overplayed her hand.

But now her ex showed up after all this time and her first response is to run here? And after they’d had what felt dangerously close to a fight yesterday. Or what would have been a fight if they were actually together.

“Why didn’t you go home?”

For a moment there was a flicker of… something—hurt?—just at the corners of her eyes, but in a second she narrowed them further, pursing her mouth as well.

“Sam was at work. I left her a note to explain, but Ham won’t fuck with her.”

Clyde bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. “But he would fuck with you?”

Phee fell silent, crossing her arms over her chest, defiant as always. But the wide black pupils gave her away.

“You were afraid to be alone.” Clyde doesn’t need to ask. He knew it from the moment she walked in that she was afraid. He’d seen it at the doctor. And right now it was written all over her face.

Any of the remaining anger Clyde had been harboring since their fight leached out of him. His shoulders slumped. “Phee…”

But she held up a hand. “I’m fine, sargeant. And I don’t need your pity—thanks.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but her words didn’t slice him down like before. How could they when she’d been dulled and blunted by her ex showing up? “Just… let me stay on your couch.”

A guffaw bubbled up before he could stop it. “The couch? I think we’re past that sweetheart.”

“I’m not staying in your bed with you and I know you don’t have a spare room here, Clyde.”

He glared. She raised her brows in challenge.

“Are you gonna find me blankets or should I?” Phee challenged.

Clyde stared her down for another several seconds before he let out a huff of frustration. “Don’t be fucking ridiculous. You take the bed. I’m on the couch.”

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “But—“

“I don’t wanna hear it, Phee.”

“Clyde, I’m not gonna—“

“I said,” Clyde growled. “I don’t wanna hear it. Now are you going to the bedroom or do I have to carry your ass in there?”

Phee glared but her chin quivered and, after a moment of Clyde anxiously holding his breath, Phee nodded.

“Alright.” She stood and walked to his bedroom door, standing with her back to him for a long moment. The low bulbs gave her a warm amber glow when she turned back to him and whispered low, “Thank you.”

Clyde just nodded. “Get some sleep, baby. We’ll talk more in the mornin’.”

The ghost of a smile turned up the corners of her mouth before she gently shut the door of his bedroom. Clyde let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Christ almighty, the girl was going to kill him. Woman, he mentally chided himself. Sure as shit she’s got some adult level problems at her doorstep.

He settled in on the couch, turning the TV low so as not to keep her up. He clicked through channels aimlessly and settled on a less compelling knock off of American Ninja Warrior.

It reminded him of basic training. A fond smile spread across his face. He’d been subsisting off of factory jobs since graduating high school. It was alright. Decent pay. Shitty benefits. But consistent, stable work. Boring as fuck, but that’s what work was supposed to be.

Then 9/11 happened and the world fell into chaos. He hadn’t given the ethics of war much thought. His country needed him. He needed to protect the land of the free. The home of the brave.

Basic training was both entirely what he expected and nothing like what he thought.

Clyde propped his feet up on the coffee table and sipped his whiskey again before setting it down. He leaned closer to watch as one of the contestants got a running start to scale a fifteen foot wall. Clyde’s eyes drooped, flickering shut.

Another recruit, Ricky, struggled with the wall in basic for weeks. Clyde and the other guys had given him such shit for it, but Ricky took his lumps well. He knew how to laugh at himself. It was fucking endearing and Clyde smiled at the memory.

“How’s the wall comin’ Ricky Robinson?”

Ricky had turned to him, brow quirked and mouth curving up in a smile at the nickname. “Bout as well as ever, Logan. But just you wait. I’m chasin' that wall down like your momma chases after a Krispy Kreme glazed dozen.”

“Hey now. Don’t you go sullyin’ my momma… we both know she’s an iced chocolate kinda gal.”

Ricky laughed and laughed. But his laughter became odd. Echoed and distorted. Ricky’s face blurred around the edges, shifting and changing. His laugh lines turned into furrows of fear. His smile became a pained grimace and instead of the squelching sound of boots in mud, there were pops of gunfire that rang in his ears and thudded in his chest.

Clyde’s heart jumped into his throat and he wondered if his lungs had disappeared all together. He couldn’t seem to suck in any breath.

He moved to clench his hands but he couldn’t feel them. That’s when he looked down and saw the blood. It ran in thick rivulets down his arm, but before he could yell for help, there was a ground shaking loud bang. Smoke rose in the air and it choked him. He did his best to fan it away, to catch his breath, but the black cloud of smoke made that impossible.

He knew before he could further get his bearings. Knew before the loader in front of them had burst into flames.

“RICKY!”

“Clyde?” the voice was far away. A gentle echo that nudged at the corner of his mind.

“RICKY!” Clyde screamed again, but even as he gripped the handle of the jeep, he knew what he would find.

“Clyde! Wake up!”

A glimpse of startlingly vibrant red splashed across the vehicle. His jaw hung open in a moment of surprise. But Ricky’s blue eyes stared back at him. Cold. Blank. Dead. Dead, dead, dead.

Ricky was dead.

“Clyde!”

The flickering glow of the TV swam before him. He shook, tremors from fear or the sweat that had grown cold in the air conditioned space. He couldn’t breathe. What the fuck was going on?

“Ricky?” he asked weakly into the darkness.

A small warm hand gently patted his shoulder. “It’s me, Clyde. Phee.”

His eyes struggled to focus on her, but there she was. Long red hair in loose flowing waves around her shoulders looking rumpled from sleep.

But how was she here? In the desert? And where the hell was Ricky? His friend’s blank staring blue eyes flashed before him and his hand tightened. Clyde shoved them into his hair, grasping by the roots, begging for the pain to help him focus. His heart hammered under his ribs, trying to escape the prison of his chest. Why couldn’t he breathe?

“You’re in your trailer. You’re safe. It’s just me and you.” Phee’s hands fluttered around him, but refused to land, until she whispered, “Can I touch you, Clyde? You’re shaking. I think you might be having a panic attack.”

Words wouldn’t come but he managed to nod. Fuck. He was spiraling. Out of control and untethered. He might go careening off into nothingness. He might—

One warm hand came to rest on his bicep, the other found his cheek.

“You are safe. Feel the air in your lungs. Your feet on the ground.” Phee took his hand and pressed it to her chest. “Do you feel my heart? Steady and sure. Listen for my breath.” She sucked in a deep breath and held it before letting out a long, slow exhale. “Match your breath to mine. In. And out.”

Clyde felt the rise and fall of her chest beneath his palm. The thud of her heart beating a steady rhythm. He inhaled. He exhaled too fast, but he didn’t feel like his lungs would burst anymore. Another breath. And another.

Kansas. Line work. Mel and Jimmy.

He was back. Back to himself, here and now in his trailer with Phee. His wife.

He let her cradle him, and her hand tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, fingernails scraping along his scalp. His jaw was clenched so tight, but she unraveled him. Undid him. And he felt his body shudder on another exhale. “I’m sorry,” he managed.

Phee’s grip was gentle but firm as her hand came up to cup his jaw. She tilted his face to look straight into his eyes and the green flecks in hers gleamed in the flickering light of the television.

“Don’t you ever apologize for this. You hear me? Not ever.” Her voice was a ragged whisper in his ear. It made his hand tighten reflexively and he was surprised that his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her waist.

She was so close. He couldn’t help his eyes flitting down to her pink mouth. Lips pinched in a determined glare. His thumb smoothed the crinkle between her brow and she looked at him. He couldn’t even begin to pick apart how she was feeling but micro emotions flicked across her face in quick succession. Anger. Hurt. Care. Conflict. And then something entirely foreign to him, something he couldn’t place. But he got caught up in her shining eyes and her sweet mouth, and there weren’t any sane or rational thoughts left in his head.

He leaned forward, breath mingling with hers, and he kissed her. Slow. Sweet. Without an ounce of expectation or demand. He kissed her with his chest aching and his head spinning. He kissed her even though he knew it was a bad idea. A bad idea he’d already sworn off with that stupid, stupid rule. But most importantly he kissed her because he wanted to. Because right now, even if it could only be for this moment, he needed her.

There was a soft inhalation from her. A little gasp of surprise before she pulled him closer and melted further into him. He felt a blush bloom across his cheeks as he remembered the last time they fooled around in his trailer. All hot needy hands and desperate mouths. Fighting for dominance and control.

But now? Soft hands and hard mouths roamed. Every kiss was slow. A graze of teeth, a flat of a tongue, slow movements that trailed and lingered and lit him up instead with something warm and golden. A yearning deep in his gut like he hadn’t known since he was a boy and he just wanted to get that little ginger kitten from the shelter. Something to cling to so he wouldn’t ever have to be alone.

Phee’s hand trailed up his shoulder until she grazed the stubble along his jaw. Her pupils were blown wide. “Clyde?” Her voice was tentative, a hint of disconcerted questioning that undercut her tone.

But he knew what she needed to hear. “Please?”

Her answer came with parted lips and a gentle slide of her tongue along his swollen lower lip. Swollen from her kisses and nips.

Clyde’s arms clamped around her hips as he shifted them, wrapping her legs around his waist and standing. In four steps he had her in his room, kneeling onto his bed with her before he pressed her into the mattress.

His limbs felt heavy, weighed down with lead as his thumb traced along the hem of her crop top. He felt the ladder of her ribs and the hammering of her heart with his. “Is this ok?”

She gave him a small smile. Not quite the gremlin girl smirk he’d come to know. Something softer and warmer and too fucking perfect for the likes of him. “Rules were made to be broken, Tiger.”

Goddamn. It hurt to smile. He felt too tender. Too raw. But when her fingers plucked at the hem of his shirt, he let her push the fabric up and over his head. And quite suddenly he couldn’t bear not to have his skin meet hers. He needed to feel her softness. The warm press of her perfect little tits into his hard flesh.

In a moment he had her naked, skin glowing, the only light the flickering TV in the living room. He wanted to turn on the light. To let it wash over her and expose every dimple. Every freckle. Every scar. But he couldn’t risk breaking this spell. Maybe it was all a too-perfect dream he would wake from if he tried to savor it too much.

“Come here,” she whispered, tugging him forward by the waistband of his shorts. Her quick, nimble fingers stroked him through the fabric and he thought he might come just from this. He was so fucking hard. A growl escaped his throat and she smiled again, undoing the button and zipper. She pulled him out, and her mouth parted as she stroked his shaft. He shivered under her touch but pushed her back again. Hands ghosting down the slopes and valleys of her body, finding the contours of soft, supple flesh until he came to the soft mound between her thighs, warm, wet, and welcoming.

Clyde’s thumb circled the little bud as his fingers swiped along her center before he pushed a single finger into that soft, wet heat. Her walls already squeezed, trying to pull him deeper and he let himself find a rhythm. He kissed her inner thigh, crooked his finger and added another. Phee rolled her hips, chasing the sensation. Her little gasps and moans did something to him and he couldn’t take it.

He moved to kiss her, there at the apex of her thighs, but she reached out and pushed his shoulder.

“No,” she gasped and he stopped, heart plummeting. He pulled back but she whimpered. “No! I just—need you. Inside.”

Clyde relaxed again, hand gripping her thigh, maybe too firmly. “Lay back.” She shifted off her elbows and did as he said. Her hair splayed around her like a holy crimson halo. “You’re so beautiful, Phee.” The words slipped out and he felt the warmth of a blush stain his cheeks. He was already fisting his cock right at the base to keep himself in check, but his stomach flip flopped when he saw a blush creep along her chest and bloomed across her cheeks as well. She was pleased he’d called her beautiful… well he’d say it every damn day then just to see that pretty blush.

He notched himself against her entrance and Phee’s eyes went round, taking in the place where their bodies joined. Her wide eyes widened as he pushed in and the shudder of pleasure that rippled along her body almost made him come right there. God, the sight of her. The feel of her. It was all too much. A low guttural grunt escaped from his throat as he pushed in another inch and another, until he was seated to the root. Phee hummed in pleasure and arched her back, rolling her hips to meet his.

“I need you to move Clyde,” she whispered.

He didn’t need telling twice. Clyde reached down, dropping a lingering kiss to her brow before he began to move. He rolled his hips into hers and holy shit. The pleasure that shot down his spine threatened to overwhelm him.

“Oh fuck,” Phee moaned. “Yeah. Just like that.”

His hand clamped around her waist tighter as he sped up. Longer and deeper thrusts rocking his bed so that the headboard thumped against the wall in rhythmic sound.

“You like that, baby?” He’d meant it to be more tough. More commanding. She seemed to like that. But his words were too soft. Voice too gentle.

Phee nodded frantically and her eyes met his for the first time since he pushed inside. They swam with feeling and his heart tripped and fumbled in his chest at the look she gave him. Like he was a goddamn unicorn or something. Her eyes shone with genuine care, maybe even affection. But something more… trust? Desire? Her hand snaked around the back of his neck and drew him down, catching his mouth in a fierce kiss. Jesus. Her tongue slid over his teeth and her thumb traced along the swell of his lower lip.

He rocked into her harder. Faster. She broke away from the kiss, holding onto his shoulders for dear life and rolled her hips to meet his. She was shaking again and his hand dropped between them, finding her clit.

“Clyde!—“ It’s all the notice he got before her inner walls shuttered around him, clenching and pulsing.

Goddamn it. Her tight little pussy throbbed and his fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs as he held one of her legs up. The fucking angle. Her sweet little tits bouncing with every thrust. The way she said his name.

It was too much. “Baby, I’m gonna come. Do you—fuck, sweetheart—do you want me to—“

“Come on my tits,” she commanded. But her voice was still breathy from her orgasm and didn’t quite pack the same punch it usually did.

Clyde felt the corner of his mouth lift in a half-smile. “As you wish, Princess.”

Another few pumps and he pulled out, gripping the base of his cock before he finished himself off. Milky white ropes of spend shot out, coating her pert dusky nipples. Dear god. It was a religious experience. He would worship at the altar of Phee every goddamn day if he could just see her like this. Skin flushed a pretty pale pink. Mouth open, lips red and swollen. Kiss-stung and tender. And just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, she dragged a finger lazily through his cum, brought it to her lips and sucked. With her hollowed out cheeks and wrecked hair he’d be ready to go again in no time.

He knew his mouth was probably hanging open, but he
could not care. Phee rolled her eyes at him but her smile was so wide. Carefree. “Come to bed, Clyde.”

And lord he wanted to, but first…

Clyde padded to the bathroom and grabbed the first clean washcloth he found, running it under some warm water before coming back and kneeling over her. Her eyes were already half closed, heavy lidded with sleep.

Clyde smiled and dragged the cloth over her breasts, cleaning her gently and she sighed, content. “Mmm.” He tossed the cloth aside and moved to grab his boxer briefs, but her little hand snaked out from the blankets she’d pulled over herself. “Bed. Now,” she demanded.

He let out a soft laugh. No room to argue, he supposed. So Clyde climbed under the blankets basking in the warmth of her body curled next to his. He threw an arm over her waist and she pressed her back to his front, snuggling close.

She smelled like jasmine and eucalyptus and it was so soothing he started to drift off. But before he could, Phee spoke, hardly above a whisper, “I get them too. Nightmares.”

Clyde froze. He didn’t breathe. She felt fragile to him just then. Thin and breakable. He waited a moment to see if she’d continue. She didn’t.

So he brushed the hair back from the nape of her neck and dropped a nuzzling kiss along the swell of her shoulder. “Maybe they won’t be so bad if we’re together.”

Her hand squeezed his. “I never did like sleeping alone.”

He wrapped his arms around her and let his nose get buried in her hair, legs tangled with hers. And they both fell into a quick, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

The sun streamed in, soft and golden, and Phee snuggled further under the covers. Her hand pressed against something firm and warm, rhythmically rising and falling.

Her eyes fluttered open but she remained still, hand resting against Clyde’s chest. He was relaxed in sleep. No furrowed brow or stern mouth. No rigid posture. His hair was soft and rumpled. And if she wasn’t mistaken, his lips were upturned in the faintest ghost of a smile.

It made her heart squeeze painfully in her chest and she rolled away. The previous night’s events swam before her. Fearful shouts. Raw comfort. Sex like she’d never experienced it before. Emotional. Tender. Sweet.

Phee found her panties thrown carelessly over the corner of his dresser and scrambled to tug them on. She chanced a glance at Clyde, but he was still tangled in his sheets. She quietly rummaged in her bag and pulled on a baby blue crop top before she ducked out into the living room. The TV was still on, now broadcasting some antiquated morning show.

Phee sank onto the couch and let it wash over her. But in the flickering blue light of the screen some hard truths came to fester in her mind.

Sex with Clyde didn’t mean nothing to her.

As much as she wanted to deny, deny, deny this thing between them, she couldn’t. There was something about him. Some inexplicable pull that tugged her just behind the naval.

They had fucked at perhaps his most vulnerable moment after he told her he didn’t want to do anything physical.

It made her sick to her stomach. Logically, Phee knew that Clyde had agreed, had asked her even. But he was also in the fucking throes of a horrific night terror if she was any sort of judge. Could he really knowingly agree to sex then? Oh god… had she coerced him? Now she might actually throw up.

Phee’s nails dug into the heel of her palm. She wanted to press so hard there were little crescents of blood left behind. She wanted to scream. To shout. At Clyde? At herself? That remained a mystery but anger roiled in her like the most tempestuous tide.

She’d gone and married the one guy she’d ever really had feelings for and it was a fucking fraud. He was being nice. He’d helped her get insurance. And she was fucking it all up. Just like she fucked everything up.

Ophelia, what the fuck did you do? her father’s words shrieked in her mind and she dropped her head into her hands, pressing her temples hard, willing herself to stop.

“Phee?”

Her head whipped up and she dropped her hands into her lap, folding them neatly. It was Clyde. His boxers were slung low on his hips and she prayed he didn’t clock the shaking of her hands.

She tried for a smile, “Hey.”

Hey? Hey? Her brain screamed at her. Shut up!

“You alright there?”

Phee spluttered, “Psh, y—yeah. Perfectly fine. Peachy keen in fact.”

“You look like you just swallowed a whole lemon, Phee.”

“I love sour fruit, I’ll have you know.”

“You’re puckered like my aunt Tessie after she’s had one too many sherries.”

Phee just glared.

“This wouldn’t have to do with… last night?” Clyde scratched the back of his neck, for the first time not looking adorable and rumpled and too fucking good.

Oh sweet lord. He regretted it. He was backpedaling. Oh my god. Was he ashamed? Of her? Fire rose in her again. “No!” She bit out. His brows rose skeptically. Phee felt her stern facade beginning to crack. “I mean—yes. … maybe?”

Damn him and his stupid perfect hair and his dumb full lips tugged down in a frown. She wanted to smooth the crease between his brow and she hated herself for it. He let out a slow breath, tugging at the ends of his hair. He was searching for something to say. He was going to tell her what a mistake it had all been.

“We shouldn’t have!” Phee burst out.

Clyde blinked. His brow furrowed.

And Phee panicked. “It wasn’t a good idea. We were both vulnerable. Things were emotional. We wanted… comfort.”

Clyde frowned. “Comfort?”

“Well… yeah. My shitty ex came to town and you had your… thing,” she finished lamely. Clyde screaming his friend’s name flashed across her mind and her fists tightened. “It’s normal. To comfort each other.”

“When you say ‘comfort’ you really mean sex, right?”

She stared at him, mouth pursing. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Just wanted to be crystal clear, Princess.”

“You made your point.”

Clyde crossed his arms over his chest leaning back against that shitty, tan linoleum counter. Something creaked. He was too goddamn massive for this place. “That’s what it was to you? Comfort?”

Her eyes widened infinitesimally but her mouth hardened. “Of course.”

Three of the longest seconds ticked by in echoing silence. Then—“Well alright then.”

Clyde shuffled toward the kitchen but Phee saw the tick in his jaw and the taut pull of the muscles along his back. But he didn’t say anything else. Just rummaged around the kitchen pulling out a pan, some battered looking kitchen utensils and a carton of blueberries.

Phee cast about for something, anything to break this horrific silence that had fallen between them. If she didn’t say something soon she’d risk plunging them into the world’s most stilted silence.

And then she remembered. “Don’t you have your training today? The one in KC?”

He got out a box of something and shook the white powder into the big mixing bowl. He added water and the blueberries before looking up.

He had a closed lip smile. Forced. “I’m not goin’.””

Phee blinked. “What do you mean you’re not—“

“You showed up here, in the middle of the night, panicking about your ex popping up, and you think I’m just gonna leave you to fend for—“

“This isn’t your call and you have a job to do,” Phee hissed. She stomped over to him, finger extended, ready to poke him in the chest.

“If you think I’m—“

“Clyde. We have been over this! We’re not together. We’re not—“

“Phee!” His deep voice rang out and she felt the thrumming tug in her chest. Clyde reached out, plucking at her pointing finger and nudging it down to her side. His hand stayed there, warm and calloused. “It isn’t just that. My commander is coming for dinner. Tonight. And I think last night proved we need to hurry the hell up with those questions so we can keep this little charade going. Yeah?”

She gnawed on her lip and scowled. Maybe he did have a point. Clearly there was shit in his past she didn’t know. And hers had just come to stir shit up at the club. She’d bet every last pair of her premium stilettos that that chapter wasn’t closed.

Phee sighed. “Alright. Fine. But I have my appointment today too.”

Clyde held up his hands in mock surrender.

Phee flounced over to the couch feeling pissed off and yeah ok, maybe just a bit pent up. She was having a hard time forgetting his large hand on the dip of her waist and the way his breath tickled the hair at the nape of her neck.

“Fine. Just put a shirt on and I need some coffee.”

His lips twitched up. “Are you seriously telling me to put more clothes on?”

Phee glared but her mouth puckered in amusement. Damn him. She tried her best not to laugh but a little snort escaped and her eyes went wide.

Clyde fully smiled. Raw and warm. A beacon in the night calling her home.

“You really are kerfuffled aren’t you?”

Phee rolled her eyes. “That isn’t even a word. And shut up and get me coffee.”

“As you wish,” he singsonged, grabbing his discarded AC/DC shirt and tugging it on over his head. “Breakfast?”

“Yes.” And after his eyes widened at her reproachfully she added, “Please.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Are you tryin’ to flirt with me? Usin’ manners?”

“Shut up.” But Phee hugged a pillow to her chest, and hid her smile in the truly hideous brown floral print throw pillow. How was this the decor of a bachelor pad? She’d never know. “If you really want to convince your commander a woman lives here we should also probably redecorate this place.”

Clyde added bacon to a pan over the burner and little pops and sizzles met her ears. The smell made her mouth water.

“Wow. Are we doin’ Extreme Makeover: Trailer Edition? You’ve been here for one night and you’re already takin’ over.”

“Clyde. This throw pillow is from the 70s. Time for an upgrade.”

“I’ll let you come with me next time I go to the Goodwill.”

Phee blanched. “Goodwill? For decor?”

He didn’t even give her a side eye. Just kept looking down at the frying pan he’d just added bacon to.

“I got used to secondhand stuff as a kid.” Clyde flipped the bacon, watching carefully. Or perhaps carefully avoiding her curious gaze. He cleared his throat and continued, “I think I told ya my dad was in and out of jail my whole life. He grifted too much and hustled the wrong people. Momma passed when I was fifteen. We’d already been livin’ lean by then. My nana helped out a fair bit with all of us as well. But we just didn’t have the money for fancy stuff. You learn to make do. And then I didn’t know what to do with money when I started actually makin’ it. It felt…wrong—to spend it on frivolous things when momma and nana had to work so hard and had so little.”

Phee didn’t know what to say. “Clyde…” but words failed.

“Well, that was probably worth one of your little relationship questions, right?” There was a bitter tone undercutting his words and it made Phee’s stomach turn.

She wanted to walk over to him. To squeeze his arm and rest her head on his shoulder. She wanted to say, I’m sorry that happened. You were dealt a shitty hand. I was too. But the words wouldn’t come. Stuck in her throat like a wad of chunky peanut butter that made her feel like she might gag and wouldn’t come unstuck.

Clyde plopped a plate down in front of her. Blueberry pancakes and bacon. Sweet, hearty, and warm. She looked at him, wanting to thank him and slap him for making such a fuss. Instead, she took a breath and tried again. For something honest. Because fuck it all that’s what he deserved.

“My ex who showed up—Ham. We were supposed to get married.” And damn that peanut butter lump in her throat was back again making her want to choke. “I was 17. Hadn’t even finished high school. It was too much. And I left.”

Finally, Phee looked up and there they were, Clyde’s dark brown eyes fixed on her. Her hands plucked at the hem of her shirt and she looked away. Had to look away to keep going. “I was scared,” Phee whispered. She scrubbed her hands down her face then left them there, cradling her chin and hiding behind flattened palms.

A warm weight pushed on her arm. Slow and gentle. Clyde’s hand pushed until a sliver of her face emerged from behind the divider of her hands.

“You were a kid. ‘Course you were afraid.”

Phee let out a gasping relieved hiccup. Oh god. She didn’t know how much she needed to hear that until the words were out there, hanging between them. Her chest felt tight, but Clyde wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. She thought it’d feel suffocating, to be held like this, but it wasn’t. Not even a bit.

“You loved him.” It wasn’t a question. Clyde was sure. And it made her heart crack open under the cage of her ribs.

“No. I didn’t.” It still hurt to admit it. To see the anger in Ham’s eyes when he realized. “But I thought he loved me. And I thought maybe… maybe that could be enough.”

Clyde’s brow scrunched. “But… why would you marry him if you didn’t love him?”

Lord how this man was sweet. How a man who had seen such carnage, such destruction could be so supremely naive confounded her. She bit the inside of her cheek. She thought about biting harder. Would the metallic tang of blood help her come back to reality in this moment? Clyde looked at her, pondering, curious. And she decided maybe she’d share one small kernel of the truth—what would he do with that?

“It was my father’s idea. We were… family friends with Ham’s family. And my father is quite keen on his legacy. His progeny was something he discussed at length.”

Clyde looked like he’d been punched in the gut. He even wheezed when he asked, “At 17?”

When she’d asked her father the same question—why did she have to leave school? Why so young? His answer sent a cold ripple of disgust down her spine.

“What do you need school for? You’re a pretty face Ophelia. And you know how to be quiet. That’s what a man’s looking for. I’ve provided you with everything you could want. Everything you need. Don’t I?” There was a vaguely threatening tone in his voice. Like maybe he’d learned to expel poison from each sickly exhalation he made.

“Of course!” she had squeaked. “I just… wanted to be able to make some of my own—“

She can still feel the sting on the ridge of her cheekbone. She’d cried out and her father’s face contorted.

“Your own? YOUR OWN? You don’t have your own anything. I bought this house, our cars, everything you could ever want. It’s all mine.” He grabbed her chin roughly forcing her to look into his brilliantly blue eyes. “You don’t need anything of your own because I will provide for you. Then your husband will. That is final.”

Ham’s father, Orven, was a senator. But Phee heard the whispers at her father’s soirées. Orven was sure to get the bid for the Republican party’s presidential candidate. The power and pull of the highest political office in the United States. Her father would lap up the opportunity to be connected to that. Even if that meant selling off his daughter and funding a political campaign to do so.

Just the thought now made her stomach turn.

“He had his reasons,” she answered, voice hardly above a whisper.

Clyde moved slowly. First a hand, reaching out, but he stopped, uncertain, until she moved into his hold, nudging her cheek into that large rough palm. She couldn’t even continue beating herself up with shame and guilt over whatever this was between them. This was hard damn it, and she would take her reprieve when she could.

“He’s a damn fool, and I’m glad you left,” his voice was a deep rumble in her ear. She basked in the warm press of his hand along her jaw. The stubble on his chin scratched just at the crown of her head.

She stepped further in and was assailed with his scent: cedar and musk and mint. Warm and earthy. Phee smiled, hand tracing the shell of his ear. “Me too.”

That’s when she caught sight of the clock. “Shit! I’ve gotta go to my appointment!” Phee shoveled forkfuls of pancake and took vicious bites of bacon at top speed. “Are you coming?” she managed to get out through a mouthful of food.

Clyde matched her veracity in putting down food and took a healthy swig of too hot coffee. He hissed at the burn but nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it, Princess.”

“Well, Mrs. Logan, it looks like your TSH and T4 levels are back in normal range. We’ll still need to schedule you for an imaging scan just to be sure, but I’m optimistic that we’re effectively managing your Graves’ disease.”

Phee’s hands crept up to her mouth, eyes wide and shining. “Does that mean…”

“Remission,” Dr. Cane confirmed. He still looked tired but the older man’s weathered face creased into a smile.

Phee squealed and she forgot to even feel shame at the emotional exclamation. She threw her arms around Clyde’s neck and squeezed him.

“Congrats baby, I’m so happy for you! Do you think you could maybe let me breathe though? I can’t actually get air in my lungs when you’re crushing m—“

She pulled away and batted his arm, “Clyde Logan, I thought you grew up with more manners and sense than to—“

But warm lips crashed into hers and any protestations died in the back of her throat.

“I’ll give you the room,” Dr. Cane chuckled.

His hand was on the door and Phee’s head was spinning. Giddy from the good news and the feel of Clyde’s lips on hers, but out of the glowing haze, she remembered something.

“Wait! Does this mean I’m cleared? To dance?”

The doctor hesitated in the doorway and glanced down at her chart again. Clyde’s hand clamped on her hip and she was grateful for the pressure tethering her in this moment.

Dr. Cane looked at her, face inscrutable. He was taking her measure and she straightened her spine, willing herself to be stone. Impervious to judgment, a fully imperious glare etched on her face.

He let out a soft sigh and tapped the chart. “I’ll clear you for moderate exercise. Your feet stay on the floor though. No need to risk a concussion again.” The whole world fell away. Her eyes watered. She grinned so hard her cheeks hurt. Clyde squeezed her tight and she squeezed right back. She could dance. She could dance!

The doctor went on though the words hardly registered, “And I want to see you back in a week to check on your progress and make sure your thyroid levels are staying consistent.”

“Of course!” Phee’s voice came out shakey. Relief and emotion threading through the words.

Phee drifted through the lobby on a cloud, she floated down the hall, and out into the parking lot. She didn’t wait. Couldn’t wait any longer. She centered herself, checked her frame, and sank into first position. Second. Third. A pirouette, followed by a double into a running leap with splits mid-air. By the time she landed she was panting.

Clyde marched to her side, hand finding the small of her back. “I don’t think that’s what he meant by moderate. And I’m definitely sure he told you to keep your feet on the ground.”

But she couldn’t even feel the sting of his scolding. She glowed. She radiated joy. She couldn’t stop smiling. “I know,” she hedged. “Sorry.”

Clyde’s brow furrowed. “You ain’t even a little bit sorry.”

Phee beamed again, dragging him after her to the car. “You’re right! I’m not!”

“Don’t you go pushin’ yourself too hard. You might set yourself back. Take it easy, baby, alright?”

Finally she looked at him. Those steady, sure brown eyes filled with concern. Concern for her. Had a man ever been concerned for her before?

Phee squeezed his hand and brought it to her mouth, pressing her lips into the pads of his fingers. Because damn it, she was finally happy and that feeling apparently unlocked the floodgate. Because now she had a taste. Of happiness. Relief. Joy. Worth. And she wanted more.

Clyde tugged her into his side, wrapping his long arm around her shoulders. She felt warm. And safe. When she slid into the seat of his pickup truck, he turned to her, eyes dancing.

“You’re pleased as punch, ain’t ya baby?”

“It’s all I wanted. All I’ve ever wanted. To dance,” she elaborated.”

He glanced at her out of his periphery as he pulled away from the lot. “Yeah? Somehow I don’t think you mean at The Beaver Trap.”

Phee shook her head. “No. I wanted to be a ballerina when I was kid. Started in classes when I was seven. Too old to be a proper ballerina. But that never stopped me from wanting to try.”

Clyde didn’t say anything and the silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable. But there was a weight to it that had Phee looking away, out the window. She watched the flicker of faces along the street as they drove by. Took in the old brick buildings that had been restored over the years. The old oaks and maples that were preserved in single little patches of grass in a sea of concrete and pavement. Witchita was simple. Homegrown. A city with small town vibes. She liked that. Liked it ever since she moved here when she was 17. She needed simple and homey after everything that happened with Ham and her father.

“You’re an angel on the stage.”

Phee turned and Clyde looked at her. Deep brown eyes set and focused.

“Thought so from the moment I saw you. The way you move… it’s unreal.”

A lump formed in her throat and dear god—was she blushing?

She tried to force a laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure you were watching the sweet choreography.”

It was Clyde’s turn to blush. But he gripped the steering wheel tighter and plowed on. “I may have been looking at… other things too, but that’s not what made me stay.”

Phee stared at him and tried to read him but the man was stoic. A furrowed scowl firmly in place.

“I was about to leave. Sneak away from Jimmy and get the hell out of there. Nothing against The Beaver Trap, but it ain’t my normal scene. I prefer pool night at the Duct Tape or my own living room,” he paused, turned on his blinker and pulled onto the highway. His eyes cut to her again, earnest. “But there was something about you. The way you moved. Fuck, even your presence. I just—you were incredible. You are incredible.”

Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth and her mind went blank. What the fuck was she supposed to say to that? Words failed her completely and she felt like an idiot with her mouth hanging open and speech escaping her. But Clyde didn’t seem to mind. Just kept on driving.

Phee was still trying to formulate any sort of coherent thought when he turned onto 29th. Phee blinked. 29th?

“Why’re we going uptown? I thought we were going home.” Her belly warmed. Calling Clyde’s place home felt weirdly right. And it freaked her out and thrilled her at the same time.

Clyde smiled and nodded toward something on the right. The white and blue letters in that big blocky typeface in a warehousesque sort of exterior.

Phee laughed. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack. Somebody questioned my interior decorating.”

Phee mock glared. “Because somebody insists on living in the 70s with brown floral print.”

“Eh. You watch it there, Red. My nana had excellent taste.”

“Pretty sure your nana would want to see you get with the times, sergeant.”

He pursed his mouth but the crinkles around his eyes gave him away. “Alright then, sweetheart. Don’t write checks your butt can’t cash. Time to put your money where your mouth is.”

Phee grinned wide. “Why Clyde Logan, are you giving me full decorating privileges?”

He laughed and popped the gear to park before reaching over and squeezing her thigh. “You bet your fishnets I am. I’ll never hear the end of it otherwise.”

Phee squealed and threw her arms around his neck. “You won’t regret this! Promise!”

Clyde’s hand pressed to the small of her back and lingered there for a moment. Phee felt heat pool low in her belly and her breath caught. But too soon Clyde pulled away, and slid out of the truck. He walked around to her door and tugged it open, offering her his hand like a mock Prince Charming ushering his fair maiden out of her magical carriage.

“Well, come on then, Princess. Show me how it’s done.”

Phee knew it was a mistake. Playing house like this. Clyde wasn’t Prince Charming and she wasn’t a Princess. He was a grouchy war-vet lineman with a fuck load of trauma and horrors haunting his nightmares. And she was a stripper with an autoimmune disease and her own messed up past. They had no business playing happily married kids in love, bargain hunting for home decor in Goodwill.

But when she took his hand and felt the warm weight of it press into her palm, it sparked something in her. Something deep in her chest fluttered and flickered to life.

And she found herself asking a question she’d long since buried.

What if…

What if I could be happy?

What if this could be real?

What if he loved me?

What if I let him?

Phee let the thoughts bounce around in her head, careful not to linger on any one question too long. She had to be careful not to let any of them take root. Not yet anyway.

For now, she was happy to just be with Clyde in this simple, sterile Goodwill and play house a little longer. Maybe that was enough.

Chapter Text

“Well, what do you think?”

Phee stood behind the shitty laminate counter in the kitchen, but… well. It didn’t look so shitty anymore.

Clyde’s eyes shifted around the room, taking in every little change or addition. He’d been there when she’d gotten the stuff, but she’d made him make a trip for some of the non-thriftable items. He’d come back with two loaded down Target bags with a few new kitchen appliances to boot. He couldn’t have been gone more than a couple of hours. But even in that short amount of time, she’d managed to transform the space.

She’d reorganized his nana’s glass paneled hutch. It had the thrifted eclectic stoneware with bold pops of reds and oranges. And on the highest shelf, there were his books. Blocked not by size or alphabetical order but by the color of the spine.

Phee had replaced the shitty brown beat up couch with a much sleeker upgrade in a soft heather grey. Holy shit. Was that the thrifted afghan she’d strong-armed him into buying? And the navy patterned rug? He couldn’t quite understand how all of it worked together, blending furniture and stylistic choices in different eras and different colors but it did. And she kept the things that mattered. His nana’s hutch. The white and yellow patterned china set from her wedding. The family portrait they’d all taken before he’d been deployed for his first tour. His Purple Heart.

“Wow,” he breathed. “Phee this is…” but he couldn’t seem to find the words. Damn it all to hell. She’d never let him live his inarticulate wonderment down. He frowned.

“Oh god. You hate it.” Her voice dipped and her fingers plucked at the hem of her skirt, anxious.

“What? No! No it’s… it’s perfect. You did great, baby.”

Phee turned and beamed at him. One of those full, victorious, happy, heart-melting, soul-stealing smiles that made his heart take residence in his throat.

“I told you ‘modern vintage’ was a thing.”

He frowned. “That’s literally an oxymoron. How can something be modern and vintage? I continue to assert it’s a god damn—“

“Just shut up and tell me it looks good.”

He snapped his mouth shut and Phee’s eyes twinkled. “It looks good,” he grumbled.

“Damn right it does.”

Clyde rolled his eyes and walked over to her, pinching her side. Phee squirmed away, laughing and hooting until he held her firmly by the hips. He gripped the belt loops of her jeans with his good hand to try and anchor himself. To somehow not throw her over his shoulder and carry her off to the bedroom.

Instead, he just looked at her. Those sweet hazel eyes making his insides go all squiggley. “Thank you.”

Phee blinked at him and he thought maybe she hadn’t heard him. Or understood? She looked a bit glassy eyed. Or maybe like she’d be sick?

“Are you o—“

“We should get ready. For dinner, I mean.”

Oh fuck it all. He’d almost forgotten about the meal with his commander. The everything-is-riding-on-fooling-this-one-person-or-we’re-going-to-jail dinner.

Fuck.

He let out a long breath. “I s’pose we should.”

Phee nodded and whatever that moment of tension was between them dissipated into nothing, and he was left wondering if he’d imagined the whole thing.

He dressed, hands fumbling over the slightly less wrinkled khakis and the nicest flannel he owned. This one had no rips or grease stains. Practically fancy in his repertoire. He attempted to tame his hair with some sort of mousse Jimmy’d gotten him for a birthday or maybe Christmas. At least it smelled good. Like sandalwood and pine.

Phee had taken the little pocket office room in the back of the trailer to get ready. She must have brought a mirror or maybe gotten one as part of the decor rehabilitation ‘cause there sure as shit wasn’t one in there prior to today. The door was still firmly shut.

Clyde sank to the sofa, flipping channels aimlessly until he landed on the playoffs. Kansas had been out for some time so there were no stakes in it for him, but he watched mindlessly all the same until he heard shuffling and a creak from a not very well worn hinge. But the sound of a bat cracked on the screen and he stayed focused. Oh, ohhhh—it was over the wall, gone—he turned to exclaim to Phee about the play but all the air was sucked from his lungs the second he saw her.

She wore a long dress with thin spaghetti straps, a soft black that hugged her curves in all the right places. It dipped low but it wasn’t immodest as she had small breasts, rather it accentuated her collarbones and made her neck long and graceful. Like a regal fucking swan, he couldn’t help thinking. And her long red hair was down tonight. Waves of crimson that flowed down her shoulders and made his knees feel a bit weak. Christ almighty—this girl would unmake him.

“Y—you’re—Jesus, Phee.”

She just smiled that shark-like predatory smile, the smile he’d come to know so well already, and she snagged a little cross body bag, settling it over her shoulder. “Alright, Tiger, let’s get to steppin’ and meet this commander of yours.”

Clyde let out a hiss through his teeth. “Hells bells, nearly forgot what the hell we’re doin’.” Or maybe he wanted to forget. To pretend rather. That this wasn’t one giant fucked up farce. He bit the inside of his cheek. “You need to be on your A game for this guy, Phee. He’s known me more’n decade and he is one persnickety asshole. Helluva commander. Ran a tight ship, expected exemplary performance and felt your word was law. Doesn’t much care for liars.”

Phee’s brow knit. “So… what do I do?”

“Sell the shit outta this.” Phee’s eyes met his and he stared at her hard, determined. “There can’t be any question.”

And was he imagining things, or was Phee balking? Hesitation flickered in her expression. “Clyde… I—“

She looked uncertain. Nervous. She wanted to back out. To call the whole damn thing off and leave.

Maybe it was because she was cleared to dance. Maybe the implications of that were starting to settle in. Her grinding on whoever paid the most. Flashing her creamy thighs at whatever piece of shit happened to walk in. Maybe it was her asshat ex being in town. Either way he had a hard time reining himself in when he felt like he could flip a table. He felt the bitterness of it all settle into his chest. It flooded his veins and blood pounded in his ears. Before he could even really think, the words came out.

“You’re a good actress Phee. I know you can do it.” And fuck him, as soon as he said them he felt the twinge of hurt that made her mouth tighten.

There was a beat of silence as the blow settled and Clyde wanted to swallow the words back down. He opened his mouth, fumbling and flailing with excuses but none came. Instead, a little puff of air came out pale and solitary.

“Phee, I’m—“

“I got it. Sell.” She flipped him a mock-salute. “Ay-aye, Sargeant.”

“That’s not—“

“Let’s just get this over with. Shall we?”

She didn’t wait for a response. Phee grabbed a little wrap she slung around her shoulders and marched right out of the trailer.

The car ride to the restaurant was tense. Every time Clyde chanced a glance in her direction Phee was staring out the window, the muscle in her jaw ticking. Well. He’d really fucked himself this time. Now she was pissed. He felt like dog shit. And if they didn’t pull this off they were going to jail. Excellent.

Clyde scrubbed a hand down his face as they parked. Phee moved to get out quickly, probably not wanting to be trapped in a confined space with him for longer than she had to. His hand closed around her wrist. Gently, carefully. And her eyes flashed to his.

“Phee,” he started, but the lump in his throat got in the way. Shake it off, Clyde. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t be. Now come on. We don’t want to keep him waiting.” Clyde tried to tug her back but her face morphed into a snarl. “Let go.”

He dropped her hand immediately and he saw her breathing return to normal. God damn it. He’d just triggered her. He saw it. And he knew that feeling only too well. But she was already walking away.

He jumped out of the car, slamming the door shut and jogged to catch her. “Phee, wait!”

Ice filled his veins when she turned to glare at him but she paused, allowing him to catch up. And he was surprised she slipped her small arm through the crook of his elbow. Phee tugged him along and they walked in together: arm in arm.

“We don’t have time for this. I’ll give you hell about it later. Now focus,” she hissed.

He nodded, only too happy for the temporary truce.

“When was the last time you spoke to him?” Phee asked.

“We grabbed a beer in… February? March maybe? It was cold and shitty.”

She bit her lip in thought. “That was before we even knew each other. Ok. So we’re playing this as a whirlwind romance sort of thing.”

Clyde nodded.

“Alright. Oh god, we didn’t even talk about your dating history. Is there a former ex or anything that we’ll need to explain away or—“

Clyde let out a snort of disbelief and Phee looked at him, brows drawing together in question. “No,” he answered, blunt. “Ain’t no ex.”

Phee’s eyes opened wide. “… ok. But like, something casual? A regular thing your commander—“

He stopped walking and she had to stop too as their arms were still linked. “I’m gonna stop you right there,” Clyde said. “Since I came back ‘bout a decade ago, I have had exactly two hookups, both of which ended more’n several years ago.”

Phee looked stunned. “But…” her eyes raked him up and down. “You’re… “ She seemed to be struggling for the word and swallowed hard. Finally she managed eye contact again. “… so nice.”

The corners of his mouth lifted and he felt a genuine grin spreading. He tugged her forward again and peered at her out of his periphery. “That is not what you were going to say.”

Phee spluttered and twin patches of pink spread across her cheeks. “I—you— it’s not—“

“Perhaps about how handsome—“

“Shut up. You’re infuriating, you know that? Absolutely infur—“

“Good thing you’ve already got me locked down.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and her eye roll was so exaggerated he thought he’d be stuck looking at the whites of her eyes all night.

They made it to the host stand and Clyde stepped forward. “Hi ma’am, I believe we’ve got a reservation under Anderson.”

The hostess looked down at her list and nodded. “Yes sir, it looks like the other member of your party has already arrived.”

“Seems about right,” Clyde mumbled to himself. He grabbed Phee’s hand as they followed the hostess and began rapid fire whispering. “Just be polite. Don’t give too much detail. Vague and friendly, got it?”

Phee nodded. And he squeezed her hand in reassurance. She looked up at him. “Is this gonna be ok? What if he knows?”

Clyde regarded her, wide hazel eyes blinked up at him and there was raw emotion there. Worry. Concern. Fear.

“It’ll be ok, baby. I promise. If you get stuck, just throw it to me alright?”

“Clyde,” Phee pulled his hand and they stopped there in the middle of the restaurant. She dropped her voice even lower, pleading and urgent. “You could get court marshalled. Be dishonorably discharged. I’m not worth all that.”

There was no hope in her tone. Only cold, brutal facts. And it absolutely broke his heart that she thought of herself that way. Worthless. A burden.

He cupped her cheek and a little thrilling zing raced down his spine when she leaned in to his touch. “Let me be clear as I know things are a bit higgledy-piggledy with us at the moment. Even if we weren’t friends or whatever the fuck we are, you’d be worth it. Just by being a human fucking being you deserve the right to health care. It makes no goddamn sense why we’ve monetized people’s health,” he spit out. His thumb ran along her cheekbone. “You’re worth it, Phee. No question in my mind. Stop acting like I’m doing you some great favor. I’m doin’ it ‘cause it’s the right fucking thing to do. End of story. Alright? You don’t owe me shit.”

Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. Her mouth formed a perfect little “O”. And as much as he wanted to bask in this moment of finally getting her goat, the hostess was almost twenty feet ahead of them now, about to disappear around a corner.

“Come on, sweetheart, times up I’m afraid. Now remember, vague and friendly.” With that he tugged her and he took long strides to cover back the ground they’d lost. Phee practically had to skip to keep up.

Once they rounded the corner, the room opened up again. Navy blue walls with crisp white crown molding bedecked this room. It had a high ceiling and the white porcelain place settings made everything look sleek and new. It was nice. Fancy even. And it made Clyde itch. He wasn’t used to such finery.

There, at one of the back tables overlooking a small patio with fairy lights strung along the bannister, was his old commander. Luke Anderson.

He was a man of older middle aged with thinning salt and pepper hair and light eyes. Maybe blue or gray? He was tall and thin and he sat with his back ramrod straight, gaze fanning across the restaurant in a decidedly militarist sweep. Well, you could take the commander out of the desert but… what was the saying?

“Commander Anderson!” Clyde said fondly as they approached the table, but he stopped when they got close, sinking into old military habits, he came to stand at attention.

The commander wasted no time, he rose and saluted. “At ease, Corporal Logan.”

He stuck out his hand and Clyde didn’t hesitate to reach out and give a hearty shake, before reaching back, arm encircling Phee’s waist as he eased her forward. “Commander Anderson, this is my wife, Ophelia Logan.”

“Phee,” she corrected automatically, holding out her hand to the older man. “Pleased to meet you, Commander.”

Anderson shook her hand and waved that off. “No need to stand on formality. Just Luke will do.”

Phee smiled. “Luke then. It’s a pleasure. Thank you for the dinner invitation.”

Luke nodded and sat again, motioning for them to follow suit across the table.

Luke motioned for the waitress to return and they placed their drink orders. Though Luke ordered wine for the table, Clyde knew he wouldn’t drink any. He had to keep a clear head for tonight. They also ordered a few appetizers and the waitress closed her little black book with a snap and whisked away.

Luke’s mouth twitched up in a soft smile, but his eyes remained shrewd. Ever watchful. They used to call him Eagle Eye in the service. Not just because of his killer marksmanship, but his insanely astute observation skills. “How’s the family?”

Phee looked like she was holding her breath and Clyde squeezed her hand. Relax, baby. “Pretty good. Jimmy’s still a scheming idiot, Mellie still relentlessly pesters me about shit that ain’t her business, and Sadie is a treasure.”

Luke laughed, a low deep rumble that made Clyde smile. “That checks out.”

“And you?” Clyde asked.

“Marissa has a list of fixer upper projects for us as long as my arm. Hank and Henry graduate from Mizzou in the spring and Audrey starts at Vanderbilt next month.”

“No shit?”

Luke just nodded.

“Vanderbilt’s a really nice school isn’t it,” Phee asked. Both men turned to look at her, and though her voice was quiet, Clyde couldn’t help thinking that she commanded the space. From her posture to her expression, she was a force to be reckoned with.

Luke nodded, lips upturned. “It is. Audrey wants to be a doctor.”

“College and med school?” Phee was perplexed. “That is impressive.”

“And where did you go to school, Phee?” Luke asked.

Damn it. Like chum in the water Luke scented something.

Phee’s smile faltered for less than a second but like the flicker of a light it was back before he even fully recognized it had dimmed.

“I’m afraid I didn’t have that honor, sir. I didn’t go to college.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry,” Luke said, but it was without any remorse. “Did you move to Wichita after high school then or… you’re not from here are you?”

Phee gulped, but Clyde squeezed her hand and spoke up, “Phee moved here just before she turned 18.”

Luke didn’t take his eyes off Phee for a long moment, but then he turned to Clyde and held his gaze. “I see.” Clyde could practically feel Luke holding up a mental score card. Clyde and Phee - zero.

“And how did you two meet?” Luke asked, leisurely sipping his wine.

“Uhh…” Clyde stammered. What in the hell did he say to that? But he knew lying wasn’t an option. The man was basically a human lie detector.

“At my work,” Phee cut in smoothly. Clyde tilted his head further toward her and squeezed her hand again. Thank you. “I’m a dancer,” she went on. “Clyde came for the show and…”

“It was love at first sight,” Clyde concluded. He smiled at her and he wished she didn’t look so beautiful. Her skin glowed, her hair shone, and he couldn’t stop thinking about every one of her freckles and wanting to map them out over the landscape of her body.

She scrunched her nose at him and rolled her eyes. “What a simp,” she muttered only loud enough for him to hear. He pinched her side and she squealed. Her eyes caught his, bright with mirth and laughter. And he couldn’t help it. His eyes dropped to her mouth and his chest twinged. He could get lost in her smile for days.

The commander cleared his throat and Phee turned to him, guiltily, breaking their eye contact.

“Clearly, he’s a charmer,” Phee said by way of conclusion. Fortunately, the waiter came over with their appetizers and they moved to tuck in. Phee ate slowly, carefully, always hesitant with food at first, and Clyde squeezed her knee under the table in reassurance. She didn’t look at him directly, but he felt the shift of her gaze in his periphery and her mouth twitched up, before she cleared her throat and dabbed at her mouth with a grace and sophistication Clyde didn’t know she possessed.

“Commander, tell me about Clyde when you first met him. What was he like?”

It was a good move. Classic redirect. And he glanced to Luke who took a sip of his wine as he faced Clyde.

“Well. If you can believe it he was like a beanpole. Lanky, gangly. Ears too big for that cropped hair from training. But eager as anything. A lot of recruits join up for the security. The paycheck. The benefits,” Clyde carefully avoided Phee’s eye. “Some do it for pride and honor. And maybe that was a bit of what he was after, but,” he clapped his hand on Clyde’s shoulder. “Logan was different. He was something like I hadn’t ever seen. When I asked him why he enlisted he said, ‘I suppose I did it because I thought it was the right thing to do.’” Luke looked off into the distance with a thousand yard stare before he turned back to Phee. “He’s got integrity, this boy. And a helluva lot of heart. Go easy on him, will ya?

Her cheeks went rosy but she nodded and didn’t break eye contact with him. “Of course.”

The waitress planted in front of them with several food runners behind her. “Thanks so much for your patience.” Each of their plates heaped with food that smelled fresh and well seasoned. It made Clyde’s mouth water. The porterhouse steak they placed in front of him was still sizzling. When the last plate was set down, the waitress bobbed in a brief bow, “Enjoy.”

Clyde tucked in, absolutely famished. But before he stuffed an overly large bite into his mouth he asked, “So when the hell are you retiring?”

Luke shrugged, cutting into his chicken piccata, “Who the hell knows. Maybe when Audrey graduates?” He chewed on a bite, thoughtful, before he swallowed and asked, “You two planning on kids anytime soon?”

Clyde’s brain ground to a stop. His heart raced. His eyes panned to Phee, wide and panicked, but it didn’t seem like she was faring much better. Her brows were almost all the way to her hairline in alarm.

“Umm…”

Wow. He had no words. None. They all went flying out—

“Maybe in a few years,” Phee stepped in smoothly. Clyde wanted to beam at her with gratitude but he managed to maintain a neutral-ish expression.

“When you’ve got your sickness under control?” Luke asked. His eyes cut to Clyde and Clyde’s stomach dropped to the floor.

“Commander—“

“Luke—“ Phee started.

“Did you know?” Luke asked, voice rough. His eyes pinned Clyde in place and Clyde felt his shoulders creep up by his ears. He tried to focus on his breath.

“She’s my wife. Of course I know.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed. “Well did you ever consider that maybe you’re just—“

“Don’t start, Luke. Don’t you even—“

“They’re watching you, Clyde! They’re watching her!” his eyes cut to Phee and she looked like she’d been trying to disappear into the background. “They’re watching how you’re racking up medical bills for a disease that was diagnosed three months ago. That’s one helluva coincidence don’t you think?”

“Are you accusing of us of something, Commander. Why don’t you go ahead and fucking say—“

“Clyde, don’t,” Phee chimed in. “You don’t need to—“

“And you’re seriously going to let him do this?” Luke asked, his eyes boring into Phee. Clyde saw her straighten her spine. To try her best not to bow under the scrutiny. But Luke was relentless. “You’re going to let him be stripped of his title? His medal? And you know he’s going to—“

“Enough!” Clyde hissed, his good arm extended with his hand pressing firmly into the table. “That's enough, Luke.”

At that moment a loud pop resounded across the restaurant though and his scope of vision narrowed. Red and hazy at the corners. His body was clenched, fists balled at his sides as his head whipped from side to side, scanning, searching.

They needed cover. Their position was shit. He’d have to—

“Logan?” It sounded like Anderson’s voice was coming to him from underwater though, muddled and far-off.

Clyde held his hands over his ears, trying to fix his hearing that seemed echo-y and distant.

“Clyde?” A soft hand pressed tentatively to his bicep. “It was a champagne bottle, Clyde. Stay with me.” She moved her hand to lace with his fingers and drew their joined hands to her chest. The hands went up and down on the soft inhales and exhalations of her breath. “Breathe with me. Feel my heartbeat and find your pulse.” Phee’s eyes drifted shut and she took her time with her breaths.

In. And out.

Her face flickered into focus. The dry acrid smell of the desert was replaced with her warm cinnamon skin. He squeezed her hand.

She smiled and breathed again. In and out.

Clyde blinked back to the moment, embarrassed and horrified he’d almost gone into an episode with his former commander sitting right there.

He was winded, still catching his breath and slowing his wildly beating heart. “Sorry about that,” Clyde choked. He stared at the steak. “Must’ve eaten too quickly or—“

“Clyde,” Luke said softly. Like he was imploring him. “I had my own command. I’ve been in charge of hundreds of soldiers. I know what PTSD looks like. Intimately, in fact.”

Clyde’s mouth dropped open. “You… do?”

Luke nodded and his mouth tightened. “I do.” Luke turned to Phee, appraising her in a whole new light. “Glad to see you’ve got someone who understands how it shows up for you.” Luke’s eyes scanned over Phee again. “How’d you learn to do that?”

She smiled, wry. “Believe it or not, I’ve been to a few therapy sessions of my own.” She didn’t offer more, nor did Luke ask. “And I’ve spent enough time with Clyde. It might not be long by your measure, commander. But I know him. I know the good and the bad, and I’m not scared.” Clyde swallowed hard and squeezed her hand again. Phee smiled back, soft and tenuous and trembling, the corners of it wavering. Her eyes were glassy. “I want him, just as he is.” She blinked and turned back to Luke. “The government might be skeptical. You might be skeptical. But it’s that simple for me. And I hope in time you can accept that.”

Good god. She should go into acting professionally, Clyde thought. Truly an Oscar-worthy performance. Luke nodded, staring down at his plate again, cowed by her earnest speech. “Ok,” Luke breathed. “Ok.”

In that moment, Luke and Phee seemed to reach an understanding born of mutual respect and a touch of camaraderie. I see you, they both said without saying.

The rest of the evening was filled with polite conversation, light-hearted remembrances, and shamelessly poking fun at Clyde’s expense. By the time they left the restaurant, it was almost ten o’clock.

Luke squeezed Clyde’s hand in a tight shake and chuffed his shoulder, pulling him in. “You’ve got a keeper there, Logan. Now don’t fuck it up.” But he was grinning. His commander even gave Phee a gentle hug before stepping away and bidding them both good night.

When they got home, Clyde held the car door open for her and then raced to get the door to the trailer as well.

“Clyde…” Phee started, exasperated. “I’m perfectly capable of—“

“This ain’t ‘cause you’re sick, baby. This is chivalry, plain and simple. Let your loving husband get the door for you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she groaned.

“And you were brilliant tonight. I mean you were incredible. I can’t even begin—“

Phee walked past him and kicked off her shoes, slumping onto the couch and kicking her feet up. “Don’t.”

Clyde followed behind, plopping down next to her and grabbing one of her feet, propping it on his prosthetic as he kneaded the arch with his good hand. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t…” she began, flustered, pulling her foot from his grasp. “Don’t praise me for deception. Don’t tell me I’m a good actress. And stop being so fucking nice to me.”

Clyde sat up straighter on the couch, balking. “Did… did I do something wrong?”

“No!” she burst out angrily. “No you didn’t and that’s the fucking problem!”

He let out a sigh, mopping his face with his hand. “Phee. It’s late. You’re gonna have to go ahead and connect the dots for me.”

She was silent for a long moment. He was just about to pack it all in and give up on any sort of talking tonight. He still had to make up the pull out couch after all. And where the hell had Phee put the new linens? His brain was already trying to figure out next steps; he almost missed what she said.

“I lied.”

He halted his internal preparations, staring at her blankly, unsure how to proceed. “Um. Ok. Wh—“

“It wasn’t about comfort. I wear six inch stilettos and grind on a cold metal pole. I practically live in discomfort.”

“Ok. So you’re comfortable? Or… not? I’m confused.”

Phee heaved a disbelieving sigh and clucked her tongue at him. “I meant about the sex. It wasn’t about trying to get comfort. For me.”

Clyde blinked. Was she… was she serious?

“I think this,” she said, gesturing between them. “Could really be something. For real.”

His mind went blank. His stomach roiled. “But… this morning you said it didn’t—“

“I remember what I said!” she almost screeched. Her eyes were wide and wild and he saw her chest rising and falling in quick little gasping pants. “Don’t you get it? I lied.”

“Why? Why would you lie about that, Phee?”

Her eyes gleamed and she looked away. “You’re really gonna make me say it?”

“‘Fraid so, sweetheart,” he tugged her foot and pulled her closer to him again.

She glared and he wanted so badly to kiss the puckering of her brow. “I’m scared, ok? I never… I never had anything real.”

And when he reached out his hand to cup her face, her vulnerability hurt. It stung. Like a paper cut between your fingers. She refused to look at him and it broke his heart. “Phee, darlin’. Look at me, please.”

His chest tightened when she let out a shaky breath, but finally she swallowed and turned toward him. Finally, finally, finally, her hazel eyes focused on him. They were wide. Full of raw emotion. Unguarded. And it was painful, how scared she was. How full of doubt. But it was real, and it had his chest expanding. Seeking. Hoping.

“Can we do real?” he asked, his voice much thinner than he'd wanted it to sound.

Phee let out a laugh/sob. “Do you want to do real? With me? I’m so… I have so much baggage, Clyde. I feel like I’m pottery that’s been broken too many times. I don’t know if I can be whole anymore, no matter how much spackle you try to use.”

Clyde nodded, mouth pinching in thought. “You know how I feel about new shit. Too shiny. I can go for some cracked pottery that’s a little faded and leaks.”

Phee smacked him even as she smiled and cried. “You’re an ass.” But her hands cupped his face and her thumbs traced his cheeks. His chest constricted, the breath leaving his lungs.

“Maybe I want you,” he admitted softly, “Just the way you are.”

Her eyes caught his and she leaned forward, until she was draped over him and her hair fell in a curtain around them, enclosing them, shielding them from the outside world.

She didn’t speak. Just held him. And he held her until she pressed forward, soft and slow and he promised himself he’d savor this. The feel of her warm skin under his hands, the soft exhalation of her breath along his collarbone. The way her eyes were liquid and warm, dappled with honey-gold flecks. Her mouth was pink and soft as it pressed to his and he thanked all the gods, heaven and earth, time and space and eternity for blessing him with this moment.

For blessing him with her.

Chapter Text

“You’re comin’ with me?” Clyde asked. His finger lazily stroked up her ribs until his thumb ran along the underside of her breast. Phee did her best not to shiver, but it was damn near impossible with his large hands on her, stroking her gently after hot fucking-against-the-bedroom-door sex. They couldn’t even make it to the goddamn bed and it was right there.

Phee shook her head marveling at how he could possibly sound unsure when they had talked about this exact scenario approximately one million times. But his uncertainty put a kernel of doubt in her mind.

“Should I not?” she asked. “I don’t have to obviously. I just—“

Clyde looked horror-stricken. “Of course you’re comin’! Christ, I only—“ he ran his hand down his face. “I’m just still not used to… this.” He gestured between them.

It had been almost two weeks since they’d had their talk. Since they’d decided to try being together “for real”. Even though they were already married. It was a bit of a clusterfuck, but it was so perfectly them.

But now that they were in this, Clyde wanted to bridge the Jimmy-Phee gap. Ever since they’d gotten married, Jimmy had been… well—he hadn’t been rude exactly. Maybe distant was the word? Clyde had had enough though.

“You’re sure?” Phee persisted. “It’s your weekly bro time! I’ll be imposing.”

“He asked me to bring you, princess. Besides, Mellie’s coming too.”

Phee rolled onto her side to face him and her eyes widened. “Really? Is this an intervention? For me or for you?”

Clyde tilted his head. “And what the hell would we be intervening on?”

Phee’s brows raised, “For you? Your weird jaw click for sure.”

Clyde pinched her side and rolled her onto her back, pressing her into the mattress and looming over her. “Is that so?”

“For me, it'd be my inability to regulate my body temperature.”

“You do borrow an awful lot of my sweaters,” Clyde teased, dropping a kiss to that place just below her ear that made her hum.

“That’s not ‘cause I’m cold. I do that because they smell like you.”

He grunted as he nuzzled her and she tilted his face, pulling him down to meet her lips. In the ten days since the dinner with Clyde’s commander, everything was going so fucking well. Phee was scared to breathe. To think too hard, lest she upset the delicate balance in the universe that allowed her this level of unmitigated happiness.

Phee didn’t know how or why it all just clicked but it did. Clyde making her dinners. Her sneaking in to join him in the shower. Quiet mornings over coffee and sunshine. It made her heart flutter and her chest ache with how comfortable it all felt. Like she actually really belonged. Here and now. With him.

“Come,” he said again. And she bit the inside of her cheek in faux-consideration. They both knew she’d go. But there was something that sizzled under her skin when she played coy like this. Dangling the carrot before him, not letting him take a bite. But the song and dance had lasted long enough.

“Fine,” she groused, pushing her fingers through his hair and tightening her hold. “But I swear to god, if anyone even thinks about asking me when I’m going to pop out a baby, I will punch them.”

“Noted,” Clyde said, pressing a kiss into her palm before he stood and tugged on his boxers. “God I hope it’s Jimmy.”

Phee pursed her lips in indignation, rolling out of bed. “You do not want me punching your own kin.”

Clyde just chuckled. “I do actually. It would be incredible and I would never let Jimmy live it down.”

“The goal is for him to like me.”

“Woah, woah, woah. The goal is acceptance,” he clarified.

Phee scrunched her nose as she pulled on a navy t-shirt dress. “And you think Jimmy will still accept me even if I punch him?”

Clyde laughed, buttoning his standard flannel. “If you think Mellie or I haven’t punched him…”

“That’s different!” Phee cried. “You’re family!”

“And so are you.” He said, kissing her nose as if to punctuate the statement. It was aggravatingly cute and entirely undermined her point.

Phee let out a huff of frustration and rolled her eyes at him.

He smiled at her and it was so fond it made her disapproving facade melt away in a moment. “Quit it!” she chided him. “You’re compromising my authority.”

“Too bad, sweetheart.”

Clyde walked over to the kitchen to put away some of the clean dishes on the drying rack and Phee shook her head at him trying her best to conceal her grin. He grinned back, the fool, and she let herself get lost for a moment, watching him move around the space. She almost missed the buzz of her phone.

She picked it up on autopilot and she unlocked the screen. Her mouth tightened for a moment before she dismissed the text and put it face down on the counter once more.

“Everything all right?” Clyde asked, looking at her curiously.

Phee had already relaxed her face back into that easy grin. “Yeah. Everything‘s fine. You ready?”

But her nonchalance wasn’t enough this time. Clyde looked at her, really looked at her. It unnerved her when he did this. Like he could see into the depths of her soul. She bit the inside of her cheek and sidled up to him.

“You make me want to pinch this little pucker,” Phee quipped, grabbing at the offending furrow in his brow. “At ease, Sergeant. All is well.”

For a moment Clyde remained tense, but after a beat his shoulders slacked, his jaw unclenched, and his mouth quirked up. “Gotta make sure you’re staying out of trouble, sweetheart.”

Phee scrunched her nose and stepped closer to him, so that they stood chest to chest. Barely an inch between them. She grabbed his shirt-front pulling him down until her mouth hovered over his. “You sure about that?” she asked softly.

His throat bobbed, and his hand clenched around her waist. “Not one bit.”

She rocked up on her toes and kissed him soundly, pulling him into a deep embrace until she was lost in his breath and she managed to pant, “I’ve got an idea for some trouble we can get into together…”.

When they walked into the pool hall forty-five minutes later, Jimmy stormed over to them.

“You’re late!”

Phee felt her cheeks heat but she couldn’t seem to stop smiling. Clyde was no help. An absolute shit-eating grin on his face as he told Jimmy they’d been 'a little caught up'.

Phee elbowed him as Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Behave,” she hissed.

Clyde just leaned further into her and damn him. He smelled like pine and sex. “That’s not what you told me at home…”

“Alright,” Jimmy interjected. “I’m standin’ right here.”

Jimmy’s tone was cool. Posture closed off. Since she was a kid, reading people had become an incredibly useful skill, and Jimmy’s stance right now? Disapproval.

Honestly though, he had every right to be skeptical. She had entered into a dubious fake marriage with his brother after they met at the strip club she worked. It was fair.

But after three rounds of whiskeys, some shameless Clyde-distraction which led to Jimmy winning, and a healthy dose of schmoozing on her part, Phee felt she’d turned Jimmy’s opinion of her.

Jimmy sipped from his glass, watching Clyde show her how to line up a bank shot. She missed spectacularly and Clyde went to fetch some pretzels to soak up the booze.

“Well?” Phee asked, turning to Jimmy.

“What?”

Phee rolled her eyes. “Don’t do that. You know exactly what.” He continued to stare at her and she huffed in annoyance. “Are we good? Are you done sizing me up or whatever the hell it is that you’re doing?”

Jimmy gnawed on the inside of his cheek before both corners of his mouth twitched up in a smile.

“Somethin’ still don’t sit right,” he started and Phee squirmed. “But I supposed that’s how it is when you’re a protective asshole like me.”

Phee tried to remember to breathe. To nod and smile and not have a total meltdown here and now.

“But…” he continued, looking up at the bar where Clyde stood, large and menacing. “You make him happy,” he said. Short, sweet. To the point. “To be honest, I don’t think I’ve seen him quite like this since we were kids. Maybe when dad was home. Or when we went to our Nana’s house.”

She felt the flush rise in her cheeks. Warm and aglow in the light of this revelation. She mattered. She mattered to Clyde and she made him happy.

It seemed too good to be true.

“Just. Don’t hurt him, alright? I been picking up Clyde’s pieces for a long time. I don’t reckon he can do much more breaking apart. Doubt I’d be able to get him back together if you were the one to shatter him.”

“Jimmy,” she started, but he didn’t want her defense.

He held up his hand and she clicked her jaw shut. “He loves you.”

The words struck her. She felt like she was reeling, staggering back from that declaration.

But of course Jimmy believed that. He thought they sprinted down the aisle because they were ass over tits in love with each other. And maybe they were taking a step together. A step forward. But love? She schooled her expression and managed a smile.

“He’s lucky to have you looking out for him.”

Jimmy nodded and slung an arm around her shoulders giving her a one-armed hug. “Little shit doesn’t deserve me.”

Phee laughed at that and watched Clyde bicker with Mellie from across the room. Mellie had shown up halfway through the third game and whisked Phee away for “girl talk” which consisted of interrogations about her relationship with Clyde until Phee threatened to give her a play by play of their favorite sexual positions.

That had shut her up. Mellie had taken to harassing her brothers after that with intermittent heckling support from Phee.

Mellie was talking animatedly to Clyde now, looking as if she was trying to pry information out of him like a not-at-all stealthy sleuth. Phee decided then and there her new nickname for her was going to be Meddlin’ Mellie. She’d earned it.

Just then, Mellie’s eyes went wide and her head swiveled, searching, until her gaze landed on Phee. Clyde shook his head, making to grab for Mellie’s arm, but she beelined it to Jimmy and Phee as fast as she could.

“Phee!” she practically yelled. There were still several feet between them and clearly volume was the only method of communication Mellie deemed appropriate. “Please tell my bone-headed brother he needs to take the promotion. He needs to work less in the field but this idiot—“

“Don’t bombard my wife as soon as you get within earshot. Phee knows how important my work is. She’s supportive. She—“

Clyde had stomped over as well. On Mellie’s heels like a little thundercloud, looming just out of her orbit. Phee tried to focus on Mellie who stood in front of her, hands on her hips, in full demand of her attention. But Clyde, stooped shoulders and soulful eyes, stole her breath. She had eyes only for him. Everything else in the bar—the pool hall patrons racking balls, the jukebox in the corner, the little waitress flitting from table to table, and the grumpy bartender ringing people out—it all fell away. She took his hand and tugged him away from the others.

“We’ll be back in just a sec!” she called over her shoulder.

Mellie let out an affronted huff and Jimmy just called, “For the love of god, please don’t fuck in the alley! It's just unsanitary.”

Phee pulled him into a back hall where the lights were lower and the music was only a distant buzzing. Finally, she was able to ask, “A promotion?”

Clyde looked at her, dark brown eyes meeting her amber ones. His brows rose. “Yeah.” She found herself stepping forward, stepping into him, needing to share this moment, this space. Clyde’s mouth twitched up at the corners and his hand found her belt loop, the prosthetic weaved behind her back and pressed her closer. He nuzzled into her hair. “Kennedy wants me to be a regional supervisor.”

“Clyde!” her breath caught in her throat. “That’s—that’s—oh!” Phee threw her hands around his neck and pulled him down to her, covering his cheeks, his nose, his throat with peppered, feverish kisses.

“I haven’t said yes, woman!” he grumbled but she didn’t even have to pull back and see his expression. She could feel his smile in the way he held her, in the soft jubilation in his tone.

“You don’t want it?” Phee asked.

Clyde scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I don’t exactly know. It’s better pay. Better hours. I wouldn’t be on call so much.”

“That sounds like a good thing,” she said softly.

“It is. But… I guess I like the lines. The problem solving. The consuming work. Keeps me out of my head.”

Ah. So that’s it. “Sergeant, I do think you’ve got other ways of staying out of your head now.”

He huffed a little laugh into the shell of her ear and pulled her closer still.

“I meant the breathing techniques!” Phee laughed.

She thought he might pull her in and squeeze her too tight. Or that he would whisper something about what he’d like to do when they got home.

Instead, he tucked a long red wavy strand of hair behind her ear and let his thumb drift along the pulse point at the juncture of her neck. He dropped his forehead to hers. “I honestly never thought I’d give up the lines, but Kennedy was right.”

“Right about what?” she asked, feeling too warm and perfect in his gentle hold.

“That I’d want to be home. Not work such long hours. Not putting myself in so much risk on the job.”

“I don’t want you to get zapped,” she whispered. And though there was a teasing cadence to her tone she felt the zip of worry shoot through her sternum. “Maybe I want you home. With me.”

He let out a hiss. “See, when you say things like that to me…”

“Yeah?” Her smile was devilish. Coy and teasing. “What’re you gonna do about it, Sergeant?”

“Would you quit trying to impregnate her with your eye-fucking Clyde? Jesus, I can’t look at you two when you’re like this!” Jimmy’s voice cut across the bar, cracking the tension between them until it fizzled and dissipated. Maybe she could think straight again.

“Don’t listen to this grump,” Mellie called, looking pleased as punch at the two of them hunched together in secret congress. “If y’all are talking about baby names, might I suggest Amelia?”

Clyde sighed.

“They mean well,” Phee reminded him.

He sighed again, this time scrubbing a hand down his face. “But do they always have to be so…”

“Involved? Affectionate? Nosy?”

“Let’s go with nosy,” he said. Clyde held out his hand and she took it, solid and warm, as he led her back to his miscreant siblings.

Jimmy turned to Mellie. “You don’t even go by Amelia. When our cousin called you that last Easter you about had a come apart.”

“Willis is a shithead who doesn’t know me and has the skeziest nasal drawl you ever heard. Amelia’s a beautiful name, even if it don’t suit me,” Mellie said. Phee couldn’t help but notice she punctuated each articulated word with a jab of her pool cue into the floor.

Phee shook her head and tried to snatch the pool cue from Mellie’s grasp but her phone buzzed in her pocket. She fished it out and smiled, showing the screen to Clyde. He patted her hip and she drifted away, swiping to unlock the screen.

“Hey!”

“Phee are you watching this? Desmond is going home. Desmond!” April shrieked into her ear by way of greeting.

“Jesus, April! Please don’t destroy my eardrums. I’m too young to go deaf.” Phee pulled the phone further away from her ear and added, “Also, warn someone when you’re about to spoil something.” To be fair, Phee was usually with April Wednesday nights if they both had it off. It was their standing girl date to snack on charcuterie and watch the Bachelorette. A guilty indulgence for both of them.

But when it became clear Clyde wanted them to have Jimmy’s blessing it made the most sense to approach him during pool night. Playing games. Drinking whiskey. His guard was down and he let loose. When Phee pitched the idea to April she was worried she’d be mad at her for missing their sacred Bachelorette time. Fortunately, April was a kind, patient, and understanding friend. With a totally shit memory apparently.

“I told you I’d be at the Duct Tape for pool night with the Logan clan. Remember?”

April groaned. “Oh! Right. Sorry Phee,” she said with a twinge of regret. “I mean, you weren’t much of a Desmond fan right?”

Phee grumped but relented. “He’s no Jules, that’s for sure.”

April breathed a sigh of relief. “All is forgiven then? And I mean you are the one who bailed to be with your fake-husband and family. Or, have we changed his status to real-boyfriend? Can your boyfriend be your husband?”

“Stop before your head implodes, April.”

“Soooo how’s it going with you two?” April asked. Phee could envision her sprawled out on her belly, legs kicking out behind her, face rapt and wide-eyed.

Phee moved further away still, cupping her hand over the other phone. “Shut up. His family is literally right across the room and they don’t know about us.” She shot the Logan clan a furtive glance but Jimmy was lining up a shot and Mellie had gotten a bowl of popcorn from somewhere and was throwing pieces into Clyde’s open and waiting mouth.

Phee smiled into the receiver. “It’s going really well.”

She ducked outside, determined to avoid any more phone-related close calls with the one person who had co-signed this whole fake-marriage situation. Better to be safe than sorry.

“Oh god,” April said. “If I was there would I be fake puking from the cuteness?”

Phee thought about the way Clyde looked at her earlier, with his wide smile, warm and bright, crooked teeth gleaming, hair rumpled from where she’d run her fingers through it. Her heart stuttered in her chest.

“Oh most definitely,” Phee said back, quiet and reverent.

“Ugh. I can hear it in your voice. You are head over heels. Officially down bad for that large, grumpy man.”

“Shut up.” But Phee could feel her cheeks glowing pink.

There was one flickering lamppost back here and a dumpster just further down along the opposite wall. Fortunately, it didn’t smell horrendous, but there was a sort of dank bleakness to it.

A clank of metal on metal rang out from down the alley and Phee strained to see in the shadows. Something shifted or moved. Probably a stray cat. Or another one of those damn gutter raccoons that’d gotten too comfortable lurking in bar or restaurant dumpsters, digging for scraps.

“I’m happy for you babe. Really I am,” April said, bringing Phee snapping back to her friend. April’s voice was far gentler than before, all teasing reprimand gone. “Just… be careful ok? You’ve got a lot to lose if this goes south.”

Phee leaned against the faux-brick exterior and sighed. She had officially moved out of her old place. Her roommate’s boyfriend wanted to move in. Though she’d stayed with Clyde initially to keep up appearances, now she just… didn’t want to leave. And she was saving money on rent since Clyde only had to pay a lot fee for the trailer. So, it didn’t make sense to keep her place.

That, and Clyde’s insurance kept her health from rapidly declining with the previously unaffordable meds. Her ability to finally dance again and earn better money. Yea. If things went bad with Clyde, the stakes were certainly high.

“I know,” Phee breathed into the receiver. “I know it’s stupid and impulsive and… I just can’t seem to stop myself. I’ve never felt like this with a man. Not even close. But Clyde…”

Silence fell and the words hung between them before a crash came from down the alley. Something overturned in the dark. Phee saw someone shuffling away quickly and her skin prickled. Worry. Fear.

Time to go back inside. She pushed through the back door still on edge, April’s voice in her ear, trying repeatedly to get her attention.

“Phee? Phee is everything al—“

But before she could pull herself together, to formulate some sort of response after her whole body was put on high alert, they descended upon her.

“Phee, please get your perfect ass over here and convince my brother that he needs—”

“Phee, don’t let her wear you down. She’s complicit in the conspiracy—“

“It’s the dentist, Jimmy. It ain’t up for debate!”

The worry bled away and Phee couldn’t help but laugh at the Logan siblings’ squabbling. She looked over and Clyde raised his arms in a helpless shrug.

“Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’m tryin’ to stay outta this one.”

“Hang on, April,” Phee said into her phone. She shook her head at the Logans. “Apparently I’m needed to referee some sort of sibling spat.”

April sighed, but Phee heard the relief in it. Phee turned her focus to Jimmy and Mellie, listening to them patiently as Jimmy explained why dentists are con men and Mellie countered that Jimmy was going to need dentures by the time he was 50. At some point, Mellie plucked Phee’s phone from her hand, recruiting April to join in as they terrorized Jimmy and bullied him into making an online dental appointment.

They’re such a funny little family. They tease and taunt and give each other so much shit but the love is palpable. A special sort of belonging that Phee never knew as a child. Clyde rolled his eyes hard at Mellie and Jimmy and his hand sought out her waist.

“Please don’t leave me alone with these idiots again,” he said before snagging Phee’s phone from Mellie who looked affronted. Clyde tilted Phee’s phone and put it on speaker. “April, I do apologize for this. I’m afraid Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb are vying for Phee’s attention something awful.”

April’s laugh echoed in the space, thin and tinny from the inadequate cell speaker. “Alright, fine fine. But don’t you go stealing her on our Bachelorette nights anymore! You got it?”

“Of course, Miss April. Scouts honor,” he said, holding up two fingers in the scout salute.

He took April off speaker and handed Phee her phone again, tugging Jimmy and Mellie away back to the pool table, to give her space to wrap up the call.

It dawned on her at that moment that Clyde was right. This was her family now.

Clyde was her family. Mellie and Jimmy. Sadie. Hell, even April. Her funny little family. Her chest squeezed and her throat went thick but she managed to get out, “I better get goin’, April. My hands are full with this lot.”

April laughed. “Of course babe. You better call me after you watch the new episode though.”

“Of course. Expect much giggling and shrieking.”

“Alright, have fun. Love you, Phee.”

“Love you too.”

Phee hung up and her eyes tracked over to Clyde. He held a pool cue just out of Jimmy’s reach and Mellie looked like she was trying to tackle him from behind. Jimmy ducked out of Mellie’s hold and jabbed Clyde in the ribs. When Clyde curled in on himself, Jimmy grabbed the pool cue, victorious. Clyde rolled his eyes and glared. Phee snorted with laughter and Clyde zeroed in on her. He shook his head and pinched his brow, helpless, as if to say, sorry about these two. Really I don’t think I’m related. Phee hid further laughter behind her hand and closed the distance between them.

“You gonna let Jimmy have a turn?”

His mouth twitched. “Only when he admits I’ve got the superior bank shot.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Jimmy snarled, “Besides I got the pool cue and I’m takin’ my turn. Ain’t nothing you can—gah!” Mellie snuck up behind him and got him in a noogie hold. “Mel! Quit it! We are in public! At least pretend not to be feral!”

Throughout the next two rounds of pool Mellie, Jimmy, and Clyde continued with their sibling shenanigans, each of them trying to get Phee to side with them. She hadn’t laughed so hard in years. Maybe ever. She’d stopped drinking an hour ago and Clyde only had two beers throughout the duration of the night.

She was so very content that when her phone buzzed again, the only reason she pulled it from her pocket was ingrained habit. Mechanically she unlocked the screen and checked the notification.

A message from an unknown number.

She’d just straight deleted the last one. But her face scrunched in annoyance. She opened it so she could have the option to block the number. Not today, motherfucker.

But when she opened the settings to block the caller the message briefly lit up her screen.

We need to meet up.

Another text buzzed through as she scrambled to block it.

You know what’ll happen if you don’t.

Her hands shook, but she managed to report and block the number. The text got deleted but her eyes jumped around the room, startling at any noise out of the ordinary.

She missed her next three shots at the table and cursed under her breath. Clyde moved closer to her and reached out, touching her wrist gently.

“Y’all right there, sweetheart?”

His eyes held concern and she swallowed her emotion. Now is not the time. She took a breath and clenched her fists, then she imagined pushing all the anxious thoughts away. Letting them drift away into space. Another breath. And she shook her head at Clyde. “Fine. Just…tired.”

“Do you need to rest? Did we overdo it? We can leave right now,” Clyde said in a low voice. His hand worried over her face, his arm hooked around her waist holding her close. He was inspecting her. And she let him.

Phee reached up, tracing the line of his jaw with her finger and nodded slowly. “Let’s go home.”

He plucked her hand from his face and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Lead the way, darlin’.”

Phee weaved her way through the bar, pulling Clyde in her wake as they made their goodbyes. Phee was fairly certain she heard Jimmy and Mellie making some sort of pregnancy bet about them on the way out and she glared. But there was no heat to it.

When they were in the car, Clyde turned to her. “Thanks for comin’ tonight. Havin’ you here… well, it felt important. Felt right.”

Phee smiled at him, propping her knees up on the dashboard. “It wasn’t anything special.”

Clyde pressed his large hand over her small one that rested along her thigh. “It was.”

“Giving Jimmy endless amounts of shit? Wrestling Mellie for the last olive? That’s special?”

“Don’t be a brat,” he growled, poking her in the side.

She grinned wide, eyes flashing and mouth wicked. “I may have been a bit of a brat earlier.”

“Oh?”

“I may have changed the notification sound for when one of us texts him. Aaaaand the ringtone when either of us calls. And our profile pictures.”

Clyde glanced sideways at her. “Ok…”

“It’s that picture of us he said grossed him out. The one where I’m giving you a hickey.”

“The one where you’re literally biting my neck skin?”

“That’s the one.”

Clyde rolled his eyes and squeezed her thigh before he seemed to remember something. “What ringtone did you pick?”

Phee grinned and repressed a cackle. “The incredible Salt ‘N Pepper classic: Push It.”

Clyde’s mouth dropped open. He fully swiveled his head and she screeched when he accidentally pulled the wheel as well, steering them a bit into the shoulder of the road. He corrected the car and gripped the wheel tight.

“Push It?” he asked in disbelief.

Phee’s eyebrows rose and her mouth pursed. She unfurled, sitting up straighter in the passenger seat. She turned toward Clyde, eyes wide and unblinking. Stony and serious. And then her shoulders began to bob, right then left, up and down in a shimmy.

“‘Ooh, baby, baby, baby, baby.’”

Clyde almost drove off the road again. His mouth dropped open in horror? Disbelief? It was hard to pin.

They pulled up to the house and Phee kept singing, “Get up on this!”

She made a few choice suggestive movements and Clyde shook his head at her, exasperated and grinning.

“You are—“

She kicked open the passenger door and ran around to his side, pulling the door open and hustling him out. “Now, wait a minute y'all. This dance ain't for everybody. Only the sexy people. So all you fly mothers, get on out there and dance!”

Phee took Clyde’s hand and held it aloft so she could twirl in a perfect pirouette.

Clyde laughed and tugged her into his arms. “So that’s gonna play every time we call?”

Oh she liked that. Liked when he said ‘we’. She beamed at him and nodded. Clyde squeezed her tighter, bending down to kiss her brow.

“You are so damn smart.”

He kissed her cheek, adding, “And funny.”

Finally, Clyde kissed the corner of her mouth, rumbling, “And sexy.” A pleased little purr vibrated in her throat, and he tilted her chin and caught her mouth with his, pressing warm firm lips to hers. He nipped the swell of her bottom lip and his tongue sought entrance, hot and insistent. Phee opened her mouth on a gasp and he was there. Breath mingling, tongue exploring, like he was trying to find all the delicate places along the seam of her lips. She shuttered when his hand cupped her jaw, drawing her in further still, and she whined when he pulled back, those deep brown eyes trying to x-ray all the way down to her soul.

“I love you, Phee.”

It was earnest and raw and genuine. Just like Clyde.

Her stomach turned into a bundle of knots and her pulse raced in her ears.

Oh shit.