Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You linger by the curb outside of the airport here in Austin with your suitcase up beside you. The heat radiating off of the concrete in slow waves. You feel your jeans clinging onto your legs from sweat, immediately regretting not switching to your shorts. At least your tank top is saving you a little bit, not feeling too suffocated. 

At twenty-six years old, it has been years since you last saw your father -- back at your graduation to be exact. The only time you saw your parents together in the same vicinity since their divorce back when you were starting sixth grade. After the divorce, your mother found a job working at OHSU in Portland, leaving your hometown. You never had an issue with your father, he and your mom were just not happy with each other, but you could tell they were holding it together for you and your older brother. But once he graduated, nothing was holding him back to start traveling. His way to escape the stress at home. You've never blamed him, if only you were able to follow him at that time. Once he moved out though, your parents had one less reason to stick together. 

Custody battle was ugly to say the least. You wanted to be with your dad. Your friends were here, plus you and your dad were inseparable, which was something your mother hated. She did everything she could to make sure she won, got a fancy lawyer and everything, and it paid off, she won. 

When you moved, your mom made every excuse she could of why you couldn't go see him, just to spite him. And since he couldn't afford the plane ticket back and forth, it went from months to years since you saw his face. But he made sure to call you, asking about what you've been doing, if you're surviving the rainy weather. He would mention himself from time to time. During junior year, your father brought up he's starting a construction company with two brothers he met through a project he was working on. You were happy that he finally had something good for himself for once, but you just wish you were with him.

You made the best with where you were at though. You made new friends, focused on your schoolwork, took time to work on your photography, something you've had a passion for after you moved. You learned that Oregon was a perfect place to take some really great shots, but your mother never understood it. She wanted you to get into a more serious career, healthcare like her preferably, but honestly anything that was going to make you a good buck. However, you never cared about the money. Photography was your escape, something you were able to create into something beautiful, to put a mask on how shitty the world can be with just a certain angle and good lighting. Nature photos were easy to do, especially around where you lived. Your favorites were portraits, especially with the variety of people you meet in the city, you get a lot of opportunity to show a story with just a simple 'click'

You were ecstatic when you saw your dad at graduation, you have your diploma in hand as you see in the far distance the giant grin plastered on his face, cheering you on in the bleachers. You then glance over several seats down to see your mother sitting there, clapping as well, but distracted by her new beau beside you whispering in her ear. 

Eric wasn't a bad guy. He met your mom at her work. She kept telling you they were just friends, but when he decides to come over for dinner on your mom's days off, then turning into him staying the night off and on, you put two and two together. 

You can tell it bothers your dad some but hasn't said anything about it. When you talked with him on the phone, he would occasionally check in with mom, despite on how bad it ended between the two of them, he cared in some way.

After graduation, you continued with your photography, something you never heard the end of from your mother, talking about how you would never get anywhere with your life going down that path. If it wasn't for your dad encouraging you to keep going, you would've given up on the dream a long time ago. Eventually you found your way out of that home by moving into an apartment with your friend from high school, Brianna. 

She's not too bad, a bit of a troublemaker. Likes to go to parties, bring back guys more often than not. But she's a good friend to you. Tries to get you out of your shell sometimes, tries to invite you out to the parties she goes too, but you were never the type to enjoy stuff like that. You thought lying in bed having a movie night with popcorn or enjoying nature taking photos is better than any night out. Cut to a couple of years later, you just got home from your side job at a coffee shop down the road. Brianna convinced you to go to a frat house party. You don't know how she swayed you, but she did. And that's where you met Jason.

He brought you a drink, put on that charming smile. He was majoring in marketing, something his dad pushed onto him. You both shared a bit in common. You both talked for hours that night and not once did he try to make a move on you, was very respectful, till the end of the night asked to take you out on a date.

He said the right things at the right time. The first date he held the car door open for you, pulled your chair out to sit at the fancy restaurant he took you to. Everything was too good to be true. 

You didn't notice the look he gave to the waiter when he asked a question or two too much or the sharpness in his eyes when you brought up an old friend. Back then, you mistook the control he was slowly gathering for care - mistook the possessiveness he expressed for love. He made you believe the world outside of him was dangerous. 

Jason was the reason you and Brianna got into a big fight. When she was warning you about him, you took it as a personal threat, like she dug the knife into your skin. And he encouraged it more, as soon as he sees you at his front doorstep with a giant suitcase in hand, face all blotchy with continuing tears streaming down, he knew he got you where he needed you. He found a way to make you believe you're safest in his arms.

But safety soon turned to silence. The nights that were filled with love and laughter quickly turned to silence, except for the sound of slammed doors and your heartbeat racing to match his anger. The feeling of walking on eggshells increased. Every argument ended with blame pressed against your chest with apologies escaping your lips you didn't owe to him. You learned how to read his moods before he spoke, how to make yourself smaller in hopes he would calm down, forget you existed even for the littlest bit. Little by little, he convinced you that disappearing was the only way to survive.

Days turned to weeks, then months, and then five years later. You haven't touched your camera for who knows how long, you dropped all contact with your friends, and mostly your parents, with occasional texts to them reassuring them your alive, but nothing else. That night was horrible. Most of the arguments was mostly Jason yelling or degrading you in some way, was never physical until that moment.

His hand grasping your hair and slammed your head against the wall. The cries flying from your mouth doesn't stop him from then throwing your body onto the floor by your hair still, feeling some strands yanking out the process. The sharp pain in your stomach as his foot kicks into you. All of this over one of his drunken buddies hitting on your after going over to their house for football. A place he insisted on you going with, didn't want you home alone. And here you are, withering on the floor for somebody else's actions, contemplating on whether you should just die right then and there. Anything other than being in this moment.

But he snapped out of his right before another blow goes into your stomach. He breaks down, dropping to his knees in front of you. Trying to pick your body up into his lap and kept repeating, "Look what you made me do to you."

You didn't have another choice. He is going to kill you if this keeps happening. You don't deserve any of this. You don't deserve to live this life of pain and torture.

The next morning, Jason acting like the night before never occurred. He leans down to you in bed, kisses your forehead, skipping the goose egg formed on the side of your temple and leaves for work. You get your body up, wincing in the process and start packing the same suitcase you came here with, for you to leave.

The only person you can think of was your dad. You didn't even try to reach your mom, you believe she is still in Hawaii for business trip, but the last thing you want to deal with is her arrogance. Plus, she liked Ryan. She like everyone else didn't see through the mask he put up. Your dad never met him, but as soon as he received the call from you, with the simple question of can you say with him, he was able to detect something has happened, but didn't press, just asked how he could help.

He set up the flight for you, paid for a one-way ticket, declined any payback on it. All he said was he just wanted his baby girl home. He got you the quickest flight out, still hours till Jason gets home from work.

You left your phone behind, letting your dad know in the meantime you will not have it with, but leaving out the details you didn't want that psycho to start looking for you. That you can catch him up on later. Then sent a quick text to your mom that if she needs to reach you to call dad, even though she would despise that, right before you wipe the entire memory on your phone, so Jason doesn't have any clue what your plan is.

Now fast track to now. You see the familiar beaten up truck rolling up in the distance, stopping right in front of you. Your dad gets out of the truck, his eyes meeting yours. You see the greys in his hair now, some facial hair grown out as well. But that same grin that's implanted in your brain forms on his face. He immediately walks over to pull you in for a hug.

You push away the throbbing pain in your stomach from the previous night, instead you wrap your arms around him, accepting the warmth.

"Hey kiddo," you dad says. You feel tears escaping your eyes, with you responding with a tighter squeeze.

He pulls away to look down at you, then his eyes shift over just slightly. Makes you pull back into reality to realize he's looking at the bump.

"What in the--" you stop him, "Pop, it's okay--"

"Did that sonofabitch do this to you?" he slightly caressed the bump, making you flinch slightly. His voice wasn't filled with anger- just sadness and guilt.

"Can we go home? Please? I don't wanna talk about it," you whisper, removing your arms around him to now wrapping them around yourself.

His face softens, seeing you in this vulnerable state, "Of course, sweet pea. Let's go." Your dad grabs your suitcase, "This all?"

"Yeah, only got what I needed," you respond.

The drive was quiet, the kind that felt both comforting and heavy. The city lights of Austin blur pass your window, glowing amber against the glass. Your thoughts keep replaying echoes of arguments, the way his voice used to rise, how you'd shrink smaller each time. 

The low hum of the truck filled the silence between you, and the faint smell of his cologne -- the same one you remember as a kid -- wrapping around you like something steady.

"You hungry?" he asks after a while, his voice gentle, almost hesitant.

You shook your head, eyes still fixed on the passing highway signs, "Maybe later."

He nods his head and turns the radio up slightly to the new station that's currently playing. Your dad didn't press. He never did. One of the many differences between him and your mother.

You both pull up into the driveway, seeing the porch light on. The same house, the same creak of the wooden steps as you climb them -- but it feels different. Like you're stepping into a version of your life you were not sure it still fit.

Inside, everything looked to be about the same. The same furniture, including the worn recliner you remember finding your dad passed out in on his days off of work.

"You can take my room tonight," he said softly, "I'll fix up the guest room in the morning. Sheets probably smell like dust and old paint."

A smile forms on your face, almost surprising you, "Thanks."

He simple nods, the kind that reads I'm here, but I won't push.

Later on, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slow circles above you, the silence finally felt different, not a fearful silence, more peaceful, that you can finally rest. For the first time in years, you feel like you can finally exhale.

Chapter Text

Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, painting soft lines across the quilt spread out on top of you. For a moment, you didn't know where you were -- the quiet, the faint smell of brewed coffee drifting through the crack under the door. The you remembered. Austin. Your dad's house. Safe.

You sat up slowly feeling the stiffness in your shoulders from the night spent curled up in tension. The room was familiar in a faded, nostalgic type of way -- the old bookshelf filled with paperback that haven't been touched by the evidence of a layer of dust on them, a photo of you as a kid sitting on your dad's shoulders at the county fair rodeo. 

Down the hall, you hear the faint clatter of dishes and the low hum of country music playing.

"Mornin', sweet pea," your dad greets you as you enter the kitchen. He was already dressed, mug in hand, the smell of eggs and bacon filled the air, "Coffee?"

"Yes, with cream if ya got it," you answer. He walks over to the fridge, pulling out the liquid creamer from the door, brand new, "I don't use it, but had a feeling you might. Any sugar?" with you replied with shaking your head 'no'.

He hands you the mug, "Didn't sleep too bad, did you?"

You hesitate, "It was... different. Still, if that makes sense."

"I do and it's not a bad thing," he said softly, turning back to the stove.

The room was silent, but not awkward. It was careful, like you both were trying to relearn each other's rhythms. You sit there at the kitchen island, tracing your finger around the rim of your mug, watching the steam rise.

You can hear the neighborhood started waking up by the sound of a lawnmower somewhere down the street, a dog barking, the low rumble of vehicles passing by.

Your dad sets a plate of food in front of you. You didn't realize how hungry you were still you felt the rumble coming from your stomach.

You grab the fork that he set beside you, before you take your first bite, you look up at him, "Thank you. For everything. For letting me, um, come back."

He met your gaze with a small smile, eyes glinting in that fatherly way that says more than words ever could, "You don't have to thank me, kid. You're home."

-----

By late afternoon, the sun hung low and golden, stretching long shadows across the porch. You'd spend the day unpacking what little you brought, folding shirts that still smelt faintly of your old place and trying not to think too hard about it.

Your dad had gone out to the garage to dig out some tools when the sound of a truck pulling into the into the driveway catches your attention. The engine rumbled to a stop, and a door shut with a solid thunk.

"Guess he's early," you hear your dad mutter as he comes back inside, wiping his hands on a rag.

"Who?" you ask.

Before he could answer, the front door swings open, "Didn't trust you to lift that ol' dresser by yourself," a deep southern voice teased. 

You turn towards the voice, half-hidden behind a box of books. A tall man steps inside -- broad shoulders, sun-worn skin, dark hair threaded lightly with gray at the edges.

"This your girl?" he asks your dad, nodding towards you.

"Yep," your dad says proudly, "Sweet pea, this is Joel, remember I mentioned some buddies I start the business with? This is the older, less annoying one of the brothers."

You set the box down and wipe your palms on your jeans before making your way over to the man, taking his offered hand. His grip was firm but careful, like he was used to holding heavy things without breaking them.

"Good to finally meet you," Joel said, "Your dad talks about you more than he thinks he does."

That earns a smile from you -- your first genuine one all day, "That sounds dangerous."

He chuckles, the sound low and kind, "Only good stuff, I promise."

Your dad motions towards the hallway, "Joel's gonna help us get the guest room set up. I figured between all of us, we can get it done before dinner."

Joel glances at you, one brow raised, "You alright with a little dust and heavy lifting?"

You nod, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, "I've had worse days."

Something flickered in his expression, not pity, but understanding. Instead of pressing on further, he just smiles softly and says, "Let's get to it then."

As the three of you worked, the air filled with the sound of moving furniture and the occasional quiet laugh between your dad and Joel. You didn't say much, enjoying the banter between the two. Every now and then, Joel would glance your way -- not in a way that would make you shrink, but one that somehow steadied you. When it was over, the guest room finally felt complete. Maybe it was just the open windows or the clean sheets, but for the first time since you got back, the space actually felt like yours.

The sun had almost disappeared by the time the last box was shoved into the corner, and the tools were packed away. The windows glowed orange with the littlest bit of daylight. You heard your dad clap his hands together, satisfied.

"Well, that's about as good as it's gonna get for tonight," he says, then looks over at Joel, "You stickin' around for dinner, Miller?"

Miller.

Joel brushes the dust off of his jeans, glancing between the two of you, "If you got enough, can't say no."

"There's always enough. She was talking about making some spaghetti," your dad motions over to you. Joel eyes then meet yours, "If that's alright with you."

You give a small smile, "The more the merrier," which earned a smile back from him.

Later, you find yourself in the kitchen, stirring a pot of sauce that smelt of tomatoes and garlic. Joel leans against the counter nearby, the low hum of the radio filling the quiet.

"You've got the same look your dad gets when he's trying to remember where he put the wrench," he says.

You glance at him, amused, "That bad, huh?"

"Not bad," he says with a playful smirk, "Just...thinking too hard."

You shrug, "Yeah, it's been kind of rough lately."

He nods, like he understood more than you'd said, "Sometimes the quiet after everything hits harder than the noise ever did."

That line made you stop stirring for a moment. He wasn't prying, just speaking from somewhere familiar. You didn't know what he's been through of course, you just met the guy. But you could tell, he just knew.

Joel didn't say anything else, neither did you. You both listening to the sounds of the same country station playing in the background.

Dinner was simple, meaty spaghetti with garlic bread and side salad. Your dad jokingly complains of adding greens to the meal, which you respond with waving the salad tongs towards him. You dad breaks open the 6 pack of beers, him and Joel sharing. He brought out a bottle of wine from the cabinet, admitting he got it for Christmas last year, but is not a huge wine drinker, so you took it immediately, pouring yourself a hefty glass. 

The conversation drifted easily between them, full of old stories and laughter. You still listened, hardly chimed in except for the occasional giggles once enough wine was in your system. You enjoyed the distraction, something that was much needed. The one thing you did notice though, was the glances Joel was still making towards you, when his eyes lock with yours, he offers that same warming smile that felt grounding.

When the plates were cleared and the night had settled in around the porch, Joel stands up to leave, "Thanks for dinner." He looks at you, "You've got your dad's cooking beat."

You smile, warmth rising to your cheeks, "Guess I'll take that as a compliment."

"Was meant as one."

He turned to your dad, giving him a friendly clap on the shoulder, "See you tomorrow, old timer."

When his truck rumbles down the street, the quiet that followed didn't feel heavy this time, just calm. You lean against the doorway, arms crossing, watching the taillights fade into the dark.

Your dad comes up beside you, hands in his pockets, "Good guy, that one," he pauses, "Been through his fair share too."

You didn't ask what he meant. You just give him a nod, with the hint of curiosity blooming in you wondering when the next time you'll see him again.

Chapter Text

A week slipped by faster than you expected. Days blurred into small, quiet routines -- morning coffee with your dad, helping around the house, late-night walks when the air finally cooled. It wasn't a new life yet, but it was starting to feel like one.

Your dad hasn't pressured you. If it was your mom, you can imagine her nagging you into getting a job, a hobby, anything to leave the house. But your dad enjoys your company and also knows when to push or not and this was not one of those times to push. 

You feel bad though, feel like you can contribute more. Your dad did offer to talk with Joel about finding something for you to do at the office, but you didn't want them to do you any favors, don't want that pity. Instead of prying, your dad did not bring it up again.

One morning, your dad leans again the doorway, phone in hand, that faint grin he got whenever Joel's name popped up. 

"Joel's having a barbecue this weekend," he says, "End of the summer thing. His daughter's heading back to college to finish her final year and he wants everyone to come by before she leaves."

You look up from the kitchen counter, coffee mug in hand, "Everyone as in...?"

Your dad shrugs, "Couple guys from the company, including Joel's brother of course. Plus some neighbors. He says to bring you if you're up for it."

You hesitate, fingers tracing the rim of the mug. The thought of being around a crowd again makes your stomach twist a little -- too many eyes, too many questions you weren't ready to answer. But something about Joel's invitation, even as indirect as it was, made you curious.

"Yeah," you say finally, "I think I'd like that."

By the time Saturday came, the sun was high and the smell of grilled meat drifts down the street before you even turned onto Joel's road. His house sat on a wide lot framed by oak trees. You could hear laughter spilling from the backyard.

"Looks like he went all out," your dad chirps as he parks.

You step out, brushing invisible wrinkles from your sundress, and followed him around back. You see Joel by the grill, spatula in hand, sleeves rolled up, a towel thrown over his shoulder. 

When he spot your dad, his face breaks into a grin, "There he is! I was about to send a search party!"

His gaze found yours, and something softened in it, a warmth and something else you can't quite put your finger on, "Glad you decided to come along, darling."

The way he said 'darling' makes your stomach all warm and your cheeks flush, but you try to brush it along like it didn't faze you, "Wouldn't miss it," you responded with instead.

You hear someone yell out 'Dad!" and you see a younger gal, maybe a few years younger than you running up to you guys, "Is food almost ready! I'm starving-" she stops herself looking at your dad then at you, "Oh that's right! Hi, I'm Sarah. Sorry to interrupt."

You laugh, "It's all good, it's nice to meet you."

"Dad said you just moved back, right?" she asks.

"Yeah," you said, smiling, "Trying to remember how to handle this Texas heat."

Sarah laughs, "You don't. You just complain about it and pretend it's fine."

Joel shakes his head, "Don't let her fool you. She'll be crying about the cold once she's back at school."

Before you could respond, another voice joins in -- smoother, lighter, with a teasing edge, "Yeah, she got that from her old man."

You turn to see a man carrying a cooler and two beers, his grin easy and disarming. He looks very similar to Joel, maybe a few years younger, but the same dark hair, maybe a couple inches longer. He had that same confidence as Joel, but where Joel's calm came from quiet patience, this man's energy was sharper -- playful.

"Speak of the devil," Joel says with a mocking exasperation, "This is my brother, Tommy. He's the other half of the operation, keeps things running when your dad and I are too busy arguing about permits."

Tommy sets the cooler down, wiping his hands before offering one to you, "Nice to finally meet you. Your dad's been talking you up like you're some kind of saint."

You laugh lightly as you shook his hand, "Guess I'll have to live up to that, huh?"

He held your gaze for half of a second longer than expected, that grin tilting into something playful, "Don't worry, I've got pretty high standards, but I'm a fair judge of character."

You felt your cheeks warm, but his tone stayed just this side of respectful, teasing without crossing a line.

Joel smacks his arm, earning a groan out of Tommy, "Ignore him. He flirts with every new subcontractor too."

Tommy shot back with a grin, "Yeah, but they don't usually blush."

Your dad laughs as he joins them, "Alright, you two. Quit giving her a hard time now."

Tommy winks and lifts up his beer, "Just being welcoming. Southern hospitality and all that."

The tension broke with laughter and soon everyone settled into easy conversation. Tommy kept the group lively with jokes as Joel chimes in by his side from time to time. 

Later, when the sun dipped low and the guests spread into smaller groups, you found yourself by the fence, enjoying the chatter around you. You see Joel approaching you with a full bottle of beer, which you gladly accept, "Thanks."

He nods his head, "Sarah and her friends drank all the Mikes."

"That's alright. Drink of choice involves anything with Tequila," you say.

Joel smirks, "I'll keep that in mind."

You both look over in the direction of the group where your dad and Tommy were at. Joel nods towards them, "Tommy's something else. Harmless, but a handful at times."

You smile faintly, "You seem like opposites."

"Pretty much," he agrees, glancing over at you, "He talks, I build. Works out...most days."

You smile, tracing your thumb along the side of the bottle, "It's nice, though. You've got people who stick around."

Joel was quiet for a moment, watching the light fade through the trees, "Yeah," he finally says, "Don't got many people around anymore, but at least they're good people."

Something in the way he said it -- calm, sure, a little worn -- lingered with you. You remember what your dad hinted it before and even though you didn't know the extent of what he's gone through, you recognize the tone of someone who'd learned the hard way of what mattered.

By the time the sun disappeared behind the trees, the backyard had settled into that comfortable afterglow, half-empty plates on the folding tables, the smell of smoke still hanging in the air, low laughter drifting over from the porch.

Sarah and a few of her friends were sprawled across the grass, talking softly, while your dad and Tommy were deep into another story about some job site disaster that had them both laughing until they wheezed.

You and Joel were still by the fence, the sky deepening to violet above you. Neither of you had said much after the last exchange, but it didn't feel awkward. Just quiet in a way that felt understanding.

"Thanks for coming," Joel broke the silence, his voice lowered now that the noise around you has faded.

The corners of your lips curves gently, "Thanks for having me. It was nice, being around people again."

He looks at you for a moment, then nods slowly, "First week back's always strange. Sure it'll take a bit to feel like you're on solid ground again...but you're doing good."

You study him, the way the porch light hit the edge of his profile, the faint lines at the corner of his eyes that made him look thoughtful, not old.

"You make it sound easy," you say.

Joel's mouth tilted slightly, "Easier said than done, I suppose."

Before you can say more, Tommy appears with two empty beer bottles and that same easy grin of his, "Well look at the two of you hiding from the fun," he teases, "You're missing out on my best material."

Joel chuckles, "I think we'll survive."

Tommy looks over at you with a playful glint in his eye, "You sure 'bout that? Might be the only time your dad lets you hear his bad singing voice. Once in a lifetime experience."

You laugh, shaking your head, "I'll take your word for it."

Tommy smirks, the nudges his brother lightly, "Don't keep her out here all night, old man. Some of us still have charm to spare."

Joel rolls his eyes, "Please, you ran out of that years ago."

"Yet somehow it still works," Tommy replies with a wink before heading back to the porch, his laughter fading into the chatter.

You caught Joel's amused sigh, "See, he's something else."

"He's funny," you say, "But yeah -- something."

When it's finally time to leave, you found Joel near the grill again, wiping down the table next to it with a rag, He looks up as you approach, his expression easy but kind.

"You driving?" Joel asks. You laugh, "Yeah, Tommy's keeping him upright and into the passenger seat as we speak."

Joel joins in on your laughter, following you towards the gate to see Tommy shoving your dad in the passenger seat of the truck, "That man can't hold his liquor anymore," he shakes his head, "But you drive safe, alright?"

"I will," you hesitate, then add, "Thanks again. For tonight."

His gaze held yours for a moment, steady and sincere, "You don't have to thank me. It was good having you here. You fit right in."

You give him a smile, a little caught off guard by that, "I don't know about that. I mean-- you don't have to say that just to be nice."

"I'm not," he says, quiet but firm, the kind of tone that makes you believe him without knowing why.

For a moment, the sounds from the porch faded, just the hum of crickets, the faint clink of glass from inside.

"Well," you say, trying to find your balance again, "I better get to pop before he upchucks all over the seat."

"Good idea," he says, "Glad you had a good time. You needed a good night."

Something in the way he said it made you feel seen, not in a way that made you want to hide, but in a way that made you want to breathe.

"Guess I did, didn't I?" you say.

"Then it was worth it," he admits, that faint smile still on his face.

You didn't know what to say after that, so you just say a quick "goodnight" before turning away.

As you walked further, you felt his eyes on you -- not watching, just lingering -- until you reached the truck where you dad was head down onto the dash of the truck, looking like his was already passed out. Joel was right about him not handling his liquor.

You glance back once more, seeing Joel at the same spot by the gate, hands now in his pockets, he gives a smile and nods his head, and you respond with a small wave, then entering the driver side with the memories of the day still fresh in your mind.