Joel could feel the burn in his shoulders with every swing of the axe. The pile of wood beside him grew taller by the day, and yet he kept at it, as though the rhythm of chopping could drown out the silence in that house of theirs. Silence where once there had been laughter, the smart-mouthed remarks of a girl who never seemed afraid of him, who made him forget the weight he carried.
Now you were nineteen. A woman, really. But when Joel looked at you, he still saw that stubborn kid he’d carried across half the damn country. Still saw you in that hospital bed—saw you about to be cut open. Saw himself pulling you out of there, gun hot in his hand, lying to you afterward because he couldn’t bear to lose you.
He’d told himself it was worth it. Still did. But every day since you learned the truth, you'd looked at him like a stranger. And the truth was, that look cut him deeper than any blade.
The festival was warm and loud, laughter spilling through the rafters of the old church. Joel stood toward the edge of the crowd, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes always drifting toward you. You were dancing with Jesse, and for once you were smiling. The sight of it tugged something inside him. He didn’t go near. Didn’t want to risk ruining it.
Until he heard Seth’s voice.
“Little shit shouldn’t even be here,” Seth slurred, swaying, his words sharp as broken glass.
Joel’s blood ran hot. Before he knew it, he was moving. Pushing through the crowd, jaw tight, until he was right there.
“You watch your goddamn mouth,” Joel growled, shoving Seth back so hard the man hit the floor. “Fuck off.”
The room went still. Music cut. Eyes turned.
Tommy was there in a heartbeat, stepping between them with a hand out. “Joel—hey, hey, that’s enough.”
Maria came too, pulling Seth to his feet, shooting Joel that look she gave when he’d gone too far.
Joel didn’t care. His chest heaved, fists clenched, until he heard your voice.
“Joel.”
He turned, half expecting gratitude, half hoping for it. Instead, he saw your face twisted with anger. The same anger you'd carried since the day the truth came out.
“Everythin’ alright, kiddo?” Joel asked carefully, voice softer than he felt.
You stared at him, her jaw tight. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Jesse stepped up behind you, Dina too, their hands hovering at your shoulders like you might need holding back. Joel felt all the eyes in the church drilling into him.
“He had no ri—” Joel started, but you cut him off sharp.
“And you do?” You snapped, hand twitching upward, like you didn’t know whether to shove him away or just stop yourself from shaking.
Joel’s mouth opened, then shut. He swallowed, words sticking in his throat.
“I don’t need your fucking help, Joel.”
The words hit him harder than any punch ever had. Right there, in front of everyone, you carved that distance between you both like a knife.
Joel’s face hardened, but his eyes betrayed him. Hurt flickered across them, quick but deep, before he dropped his gaze to the floor. He gave a small nod, more to himself than you.
“Alright,” He muttered, voice low, almost lost under the murmurs of the crowd. He turned his back to you, to Jesse, to Dina—all of ’em—and started for the doors.
Tommy called after him. “Joel, c’mon—don’t—”
But Joel just raised a hand, dismissing it. He needed air. He needed space. The cold outside felt better than the heat in that room.