wait for it.

“Huge hits with the ladies, mhm. Something tells me I’ve got more game with girls than you three, but hey, what do I know? I’m just a waitress in a Scottish pub in Mystic, Connecticut. Not exactly the wisest of them all,” she said with a laugh, rolling her eyes at the absurdity of her situation. Never in a million years would anyone have pictured her living in Mystic, but hey– that’s what made life worthwhile, right? Impulsive decisions were the best decisions in her book. “College an hour away? No fucking shit, are you a Yale kid? Jesus, might wanna stay the hell away from me, my mediocrity might be contagious.” Ramona’s jokes might’ve been self deprecating, but it usually worked in her favor. That, and she didn’t know what else to do. She didn’t want to leave this booth, and there was something about that one boy– Kennedy? Was that a last name? There was something about him, the way he looked at her and made her stomach do a somersault and knees feel weak. She couldn’t walk away. Rocking back and forth on her heels, she looked the crew over once more, trying to find something to say, some reason to stay there just a little longer. “I gotta say,” she said, drawing out the words so that she gained intrigue and attention. “I think it’s a little weird that the cute Scottish boy is sitting in a lame Scottish pub on a Friday night,” she admitted, clicking her tongue twice in disapproval. “A little cliche, don’t you think?” 

“Yale boy. Yale boys, but they don’t fit the typical stereotype.” Dexter said, finding his comfort level once more to poke fun at his friends. He could gauge their grins, knowing for a fact that they were more than proud of him for coming around - finally. “For some reason, Mallard, I don’t think you have a single strain of mediocrity inside of you. After all, you’re named after a duck.” He stated with a shy smile, feeling a swift kick to his shin underneath the table. “Son of a b...” Dexter exclaimed before he was grabbing the glass of beer sitting in front of Trevor and drinking quite a bit from it to keep himself busy for the moment. This night was supposed to be something lame and forgettable. He was showing his friends around boring Mystic, a place they would potentially beg him to never return to again, but somehow, the night had turned for the better. And for Dexter. Turning his attention back to the girl before him, he laughed, a smirk appearing on his lips as his heritage was brought back into conversation. He liked her. He liked the way she picked on him. It was different than the type that his friends had been dishing out to him all afternoon and into the evening. “A little cliche, perhaps. Wasn’t my idea to come into said lame Scottish pub, but I gotta say, Miss Mallard, I’m not upset that I was dragged into here anymore.” Dexter’s accent perfectly quipped at the ends of his words, his eyes never leaving the girl’s as he brought the glass back to his lips, never looking away. Dexter Kennedy looked confident and poised for the first time, but on the inside, he was screaming at himself to not choke on the beer.

“Exactly like the duck,” she said with a small nod and a laugh that got lost in the noise of the bar. She was used to the comments on her name, with a last name like Mallard she couldn’t very well expect people to pass up such an easy association. With a hand on her hip, she watched the exchange between the boys at the booth in front of her, finding the entire thing far too amusing to maintain her professional demeanor. “Scottish, hm? I wish I was even half that exotic. Pero mi mama dejó Puerto Rico cuando se casó con mi padre, y yo soy muy americana,” she said, easily switching into fluent Spanish with her authentic accent, thankful she hadn’t minced any of her words while trying to show off. “His accent’s cute. I bet he’s a charmer,” she commented, raising an eyebrow at the boy and giving a little shrug. “I have no intention of ignoring them, pal, sorry,” she said, patting his shoulder to emphasize her statement before launching into some light hearted teasing. “Bet the three of you are a real hit with the ladies. Or I’d think so, but you’re flying solo tonight, so it gives me some doubts…”

An easy laugh fell out of Dexter mouth, staring up at this girl. Where in the hell did she come from? Dexter had lived in Mystic for a handful of years now, and in a town like such? Everyone knew everyone. And yet, she was a stranger. Dexter was feeling himself calming down in her presence - until she started speaking fluent Spanish. Since coming from Scotland at the beginning of high school, Dexter had always felt like an outcast. He always felt some sort of attachment towards anyone who could remotely understand what that feels like. Perhaps, a girl who speaks fluent Spanish in the middle of Connecticut? “I-I,” he started, quickly getting overshadowed by his friends butting in. “We’ve... been huge hits with the ladies. Not Mr. Scotty over there, but yes. We’re in town visiting the Kennedy’s.” With a nod towards Dexter from Trevor, Dexter took the cue to speak. “I... I live in Mystic. Or my parents do. I do too, but I go to college an hour away. We’re... we’re home for break and I... I brought these two idiots along for the ride.” Dexter laughed softly as he stared down at the table again, feeling himself completely out of control in the moment. He didn’t like that, but he wasn’t about to vacate the situation.

Ramona took a moment to look at each boy at the table, letting her gaze settle for just a moment before moving onto the next. But when she looked at the last boy and he was staring intently at the table? Her interest was piqued. Cute, mysterious– and most importantly, nowhere near as belligerently drunk as the rest of his dining companions. Cocking an eyebrow in his direction when he finally looked at her, a half smile crossed her lips- “Coming right up,” she said before turning on her heels, walking away and feeling eyes on her from the booth she’d just left. Making quick work of the order, she was back over at the booth within minutes. “Here we go, plus I brought some waters to make sure no one dies of alcohol poisoning tonight, alright? I’ll check on you guys in a bit, but if you need anything my name’s Mallard.” 

From the moment that the waitress left until she returned, there was an endless charade of playful pestering coming from the two other men in the booth with him. He knew he was making a fool out of himself, so he really didn’t see a need for his friends to point it out further. But, they were drunk. They were excused. “Let’s try and not make me leave in embarrassment, okay?” Dexter asked, practically pleading them with their tone. “Oh, I don’t think you are going to need any of our help with doing that, ya fuck,” Dylan quipped, his words slurring in a way that reassured Dexter that he was about to have his ass handed to him. However, his attention moved completely back to the waitress once more, laughing quietly at her service towards them. Then, his eyebrows were furrowing at her introduction. “Mallard? Like the duck?” He asked, his Scottish accent dripping from his words as he locked eyes with her. “Oh, for fucks sake. Hey, Mallard? Yeah, Mallard, our friend here? Shaky, little Scottish bloke. You hear that accent right? Real charmer,” Trevor said with a wide smile, rubbing the top of Dexter’s head, to receive a glare from Dexter. “Can you just... ignore them, please?”

“Oh, for heck’s sake,” Dexter groaned under his breath as soon as he felt two firm grips on her arms, yanking him into yet another bar. Perhaps Dexter had been away at college, but he could never remember there being this many opportunities for a person to get drunk in the, what he thought was sleepy, town of Mystic. His friends, Dylan and Trevor, were already well passed the common reference of being drunk, and quite frankly, Dexter was exhausted on this night’s turn of being the designated driver. Or more so, the designated I’m-Not-Going-To-Let-You-Make-A-Fool-Of-Yourselves-On-My-Turf. Still, he allowed his mates to weave him through the crowd of people, looking to get their momentary buzz on this warm summer evening, before they were plopping down in a booth.

Dexter glanced around, recognizing some familiar faces and trying to reign himself in. He always got a sense that Mystic was too small for him, and as he was seated in a dingy booth in a Scottish pub in the middle of the town? He knew he was too big. But, he wasn’t raised that way. Or at least, he wasn’t raised to behave that way outwardly. “Oh, fuck it up,” one of Dexter’s friends said, nodding towards the girl that was weaving her way through the group of people, seemingly coming their way. The moment that Dexter laid eyes on her, they were glued to her. He had never seen someone like her in Mystic before. She was the female version of tall, dark, and... beautiful? Beautiful. A doe-eyed Dexter stared up at the girl as she spoke, shaking his head as soon as he realized. “Boy,” he whispered to himself, realizing it was a little too loud before he was staring at the table in embarrassment. When he heard no one talking, he aggressively elbowed Trevor in the ribs, instantly hearing him spill out an order that would be enough for the three of them. Dexter glanced up before making eye contact, momentarily forgetting his name. “Yeah. That.”

He stood up, rounding a corner and coming to a dead halt when his eyes landed on her from across the room. “Yeah. Cop. Yep,” he breathed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation as he watched her notice him. Hanging up his cell phone before she could get a chance to say anything else, Christian walked over and planted himself firmly next to her. “Gentlemen,” he said with a thousand-watt smile at his coworkers. “I know her. I can vouch for her.” After some heavy grumbling on the other officer’s part and massive ass-kissing on Christian’s part, they finally backed off. “Off the hook with them, but now you’re answering to me. No better way to get a girl to truthfully admit why she’s been dodging your texts than to have her in a police station,” he joked. 

Brea watched the moment unfold before her through marijuana stained lenses before she was looking over at Christian. “You’re funny. You never told me you were funny whenever we went out,” she joked before she was tilting her head to the side and staring the boy down. She had been having a good day whenever they went on their date a few days ago. But then she got another round of chemotherapy yesterday and that went up in flames- hence the very large high of medicinal marijuana she was currently riding on. “I’ve been busy with stuff,” she said with a shrug, seemingly deeming that as an appropriate response to his question. “Trust me, Wonder Police Man Boy, I was going to get back to you and got kinda hung up,” she explained, clicking her tongue and pointing in the direction of the men in which he had just dismissed.

“Stop that. You fucking know that’s not what I’m talking about,” Violet said, pacing back and forth across the room trying to think straight. “You never once tried to deny it. Every time a new story came out, a new picture. Pictures of you leaving her room late at night, pictures of her in… less than a decent amount of clothing… I don’t know how you can stand there and just expect me to believe everything when you haven’t given me anything to prove otherwise,” she rambled, running a hand through her hair and sighing shakily. “Is this payback for something? Is this payback for my job? Is this what I get for all the shit I do online… even though you fucking said you were okay with it?” 

“I didn’t think I had to deny anything with you. I thought after all of this time, you would fucking trust me.” Jude said, throwing his arms out before he was glaring her down. He couldn’t believe that this was happening right now. There had been moments photographed that looked bad, but Violet never asked, so Jude always assumed that she trusted him. He assumed that she believed in him that he would never do that. Well, fuck was he wrong. Suddenly, his face dropped and contorted into a look of disgust. “You think I would fucking cheat on you... to get back at you for what you have done in the past? Are you fucking kidding me right now, Violet?” He asked, stepping forward towards her and getting in his face. He couldn’t help but blink rapidly as the visions and memories of watching his parents fight like this occur. “You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think I would cheat on you. And you’re even more fucking crazy if you think I would cheat with a fucking sick motive like that.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she deadpanned, staring at him without an ounce of emotion, trying her hardest to keep her walls up. Rossi knew exactly what Kohen was talking about– the moment they’d first hooked up, something had clicked. And since then, it had all been great. Until her. Until Jayce got in his goddamn head and fucked everything up. She dropped her hand to her side but stayed in his personal space, cocking her head to the side, eyebrows furrowed together. “Do you know the bullshit I put up with from her? How much bullshit I fucking put up with from you when you were with her? Don’t stand here and try to play the fucking martyr, Antoni. I’m not buying that act. Try it on someone else for fuck’s sake.” 

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Kohen started, rolling his eyes without even realizing it before he was stepping closer to her. “You can say whatever shit you want right now, but we both know what was going on with us.” He shook his head before he was looking down and laughing, the noise sounding foreign in the moment. “I was coming over here to tell you that I was done with her bullshit and that I wanted you, and you start acting like a bitch and acting like nothing was going on between us. That’s bullshit and you know it. Sorry you had to put up with bullshit from her and me, but that’s over. I’m trying to move the fuck on so why don’t you fucking join me?”

Christian was sitting at his desk, working the late shift at the station. As one of the newbies, he got stuck with the shitty hours that none of the other guys wanted to work– which was fine by him. Helped keep his mind off things. That, and it’s not like he had anything better to do. His cellphone buzzed on his desk and he looked down to see a call coming from the station. A quick glance around, and he was sure this was some kind of joke, like a hazing thing. It had to be, right? “Hello?” He answered skeptically. And then he heard a girl’s voice on the other end of the line. A voice he recognized, saying words that made sense. “Brea? Wait. Are you- are you calling from the police station? Did you get arrested?” 

A lazy smile spread across her lips whenever she heard the boy’s voice coming through on the other line of the phone... and from somewhere else. She dropped the phone from her ear slightly before she was looking around, spotting him on the other side of the room. “Oh my fucking... you’re a cop.” Brea held the phone against her ear with her shoulder before she was crossing her arms, smirking at him from where she stood. “Can you come over and talk to your apparent lil’ cop pals and tell them I’m fine, Christian? Missed your face, by the way.”

“What am I supposed to fucking think? The second you walk through the door, the only person you can talk about is that… that girl from the opening act. I haven’t seen you in two months, and in the past two minutes, her name has left your mouth over and over and fucking over again, Jude,” Violet said, raising her voice at him as she felt her nerves getting the best of her. “I don’t fucking know! I don’t know anymore! I don’t know what to believe or what’s real anymore!” 

“I am so fuckin’ sorry that I made a friend on the two month long tour, Violet. Really, so sorry for such a monstrosity to occur, but that doesn’t fucking mean that I cheated on you.” Jude was angry, seething. He knew that the media was throwing this story around like they were the gospel, preaching the truth, but it wasn’t. Jude was a lot of things but he wasn’t a cheater. He respected and adored Violet far too much to be a cheater. 

“I never fucking asked you to fight for me,” Rossi spat back at him, all vitriol and spite filling up her tiny body as she took a step closer to him, encroaching on his personal space and throwing down an unspoken challenge. “That’s one thing I’m sure of,” she continued on, poking a single finger into the center of his chest as she looked up for him. “But you twist it whatever way you need to in order to sleep at night, champ.” 

“You didn’t have to fucking ask me to fight for you. If you want to be an asshole and act like what was happening wasn’t happening, then go for it. But that’s on you,” Kohen spat out before he was grabbing her hand and removing it from his body. He didn’t want her to touch him right now, and frankly, he didn’t want a damn thing to do with her. “I broke up with her, you know. I broke up with Jayce so that I could finally man up and be with you and then you pull this bullshit. This is fucking ridiculous.”

Linnea didn’t want to talk about it. She hadn’t left her entire life behind in the dead of night to have the ghost of her past lingering over every waking moment, looming just around the corner in every conversation she had with a stranger. God, she wanted to take the ring off and ward off any unwanted questions. She never wanted to mention her husband again, never wanted to let his name pass her lips as long as she lived. But she was a good mother. Or at least she was trying to be. No matter what, that man was still Greyson’s father, and Greyson didn’t fully understand the situation yet. She’d called their escape a “little trip,” hadn’t mentioned that they were running. How could she? He was four. And although only four, he was keenly observant. If she took off the ring, he’d notice. She couldn’t do that to her baby. 

She held her son close to her, kissing his hair with nothing but love and adoration as Maddox spoke to him, keeping a soft voice and earning a little more comfort from the boy. “What do you say when people compliment you, baby?” she prompted him, holding him back to make eye contact with him for a quick moment. “Thank you, I picked out the colors myself,” he said softly, still refusing to make eye contact with the man. “Mom says that when I’m five I can paint them by myself.” Linnea had hardly expected Greyson to volunteer anymore information than what was crucial to get by, and caught off guard, didn’t know how to react. “That’s right, good memory,” she managed to whisper, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her gaze flickered back up to Maddox when he started giving Greyson advice, a quizzical look crossing her face, one laced with amazement. “Solid advice,” she said with a nod of her head. “Might have to follow that one myself.” 

Maddox was nothing but polite whenever the little boy was talking, nodding whenever he should have and listening intently. He felt more like he was trying to impress the likes of a potential boss more than a four year old friend of his daughter’s and the son of a very attractive woman, but still. He was trying. There was something going on with this family, something that he couldn’t quite put a finger on, but that wasn’t going to stop him or hinder his abilities to talk and make friends. Honestly, Maddox felt some sort of need and want to protect the two of them, even if there was potentially no reason for such actions to be just. His eyes floated from Greyson to Linnea before he was nodding his head in agreement. “I’m sure you both have the prettiest smiles from here to Timbuktu, so I would have to agree.” 

Typically, Emma was the most polite (explosive and sassy, but polite) of little girls, so whenever she was placing her lips near his ear and whispering not so loudly to interrupt him speaking, “Daddy, I don’t want to say goodbye to Gweyson.” Maddox sent a knowing look to Linnea before he was laughing softly to himself. “Would you two be interested in going for some ice cream? Emzi here and I always go to this little ice cream place right down the road whenever I hear she hasn’t bit anyone that day, right Em?” He asked, amusement lacing his words before he looked down knowingly at his daughter. “What do you guys say?”

“Right, I’m a lightweight,” Wade said, looking at the girl with a raised eyebrow. He wasn’t a lightweight in anyone’s wildest dreams, not when he’d built up his tolerance to an almost concerning level over the past few years. He drank on special occasions, he drank on weekends. And, well, sometimes he drank on random Mondays. And Tuesdays. As well as the rest of the days of the week. But hey, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? Wade had it all under control. His life was on track. He knew what he was doing. 

A small chuckle passed his lips as she scowled at the realization of what a frat party actually entailed. He knew it wasn’t going to take much convincing to keep her from going, and thank god for that, because there was no way in hell he intended on hanging out with sweaty college kids almost four years his junior. “Totally not your crowd, Add,” he assured her, looking out the window of the cab as the crowded, downtown apartment buildings shifted to a slightly more upscale side of the city. “Dance?” he shot her an incredulous look, taking the bottle back from her and judging the contents before taking one hefty gulp, a breath, and then another long sip. “I don’t dance, Addison. Two left feet. Skipped prom. Skipped parties in college. Skipped all social events that would have forced me to dance. The day I get married, there’s no way I’m dancing. Sounds like hell on earth,” he exaggerated, keeping the bottle resting on his thigh– he needed it much more than she did right now. 

Taking another quick drink, he sighed, shaking his head. “You like to make my life hard, don’t you? I was just gonna go home, have a couple drinks, read up on some marketing tips and call it a night. And then you showed up.” His gaze lingered on her, moving slowly from her eyes to her lips, studying the features on her face. Though his voice might’ve disguised it, his expression gave him away. He was more than happy to have Addison crash his evening in. Everything was better with Addison. 

“You’re going to dance tonight, Wadey.” Addison quipped, a far too sweet smile gracing her expression before she was tipping her head back with a soft laugh. There was just something about Wade that made Addison strive to bring him out of his shell. He was always so protected and tied down into some sort of comfort zone that was so far away from what Addison was used to. But even so, Addison was smitten. She would never speak a word of such (soberly, at least) but she was. There was just something about Wade that kept her up at night, running over the day’s conversation. She could never lay a finger on it, but she never wanted to. Things were allowed to be simple and just, and that’s what she wanted Wade to be. In the complicated world of the Vanburen’s and their never ending fortunes and fame, it was nice to have someone simple and just for her.

Breathing was easy. Breathing was a thoughtless process, but the second Addison was analyzing the way that Wade was looking at her, seemingly taking in everything etched on her face, she was having to will herself on how to remember to breathe. “I make your life better, please,” she stated, her voice weak before she was practically being thrown into the seat in front of her. “Okay, honestly dude? I’m fucking drunk and I could drive this lug of disgusting yellow metal around smoothe-” Except, she didn’t get to finish her insult before she was recognizing the scenery. They had arrived at their destination and Addison was just really, really inebriated. “I... am sorry.” She apologized, the alcohol muddling with the sincerity of her voice before she was placing a hundred dollar bill on the driver’s shoulder. “Honestly, keep the change, you champion of driving.” It was only seconds until she was crawling her way across Wade’s lap, struggling to open the car door and fumbling onto the sidewalk. “Wadey, are you coming?”

Without a second thought, Sienna was backing away from the man in front of her. She didn’t understand, and she was almost positive that she was never going to understand Ivan. But, that was something that she loved about him. She loved the air of mystery that she felt whenever she was around him, because even though he was filled with mystery, she still felt like she knew him. Sienna felt like she knew Ivan better than anyone else, because at the heart of things, that’s exactly what she had seen- his heart. So why in the world was he trying to throw things away? It was something that she didn’t understand. However, she still brought her phone to her ear, staring out at the street below them in hopes of finding some sort of sign of what the hell she was supposed to do now.

“I’m not putting myself at risk of anything, Iv,” she said, a tone of pleading in her voice. She didn’t want their relationship or whatever they were to end. Ever since she had lost her brother, Ivan was her comfort. He wasn’t just some comfort and security blanket though. Through the pain and agony she felt of her younger sibling dying, she found happiness in a man she had stumbled into on the street. “I trust you, but I can’t go. I can’t leave you alone. I can’t just walk away from this- from us.”