Tim Bradford had this need to control everything.
His childhood, his years in the army, and then the ones patrolling the streets of Los Angeles had only strengthened that need. Rare were the times when Tim Bradford had truly let his guard down.
Like tonight.
He'd decided to break his usual Friday night routine: veterans support group, walking the neighborhood with Kojo, a shower, a beer in front of a movie, fridge leftovers, and then bed. But tonight, after weeks of being asked, Tim had agreed to go out for a beer with the others.
The one beer he allowed himself turned into a second, a third, and the night ended with something stronger.
Tonight, for once, he let go, forgetting to control everything. He thought he could handle the aftermath—until he realized he needed to get home and wasn't in any shape to do it alone.
He hesitated.
Only for a few seconds, before pressing the button.
One ring
A second
A third
A quick, slightly confused exchange. An address.
It was two in the morning when a car pulled up in front of him. He opened the door and slid into the passenger seat before the car took off again.
"Tim, are you okay?"
"Yeah. I'm fine."
"Really?"
"Yeah, Lucy. Really."
"Okay."
And honestly, Tim was okay—the alcohol helped—but the feeling of not being in control, of letting go, was something he needed.
Lucy parked in the driveway. She paused a moment, watching Tim walk to the front door, then shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. She wasn't used to seeing him like this—under the influence, completely unconcerned about how he carried himself.
She quickly joined him when, for the second time, the front door keys refused to cooperate.
"I love you."
"Tim..."
"No, Lucy, I love you. And if you didn't love me, you wouldn't have come to get me."
"You're an idiot."
"I'm right."
"You've had too much to drink."
"But I'm still right."
"Go to bed."
"Thanks..."
"For what?"
"For coming."
"Always, Tim. Always. I'll call you tomorrow."
A nod from him, and Lucy turned toward the door.
"I'm not like him."
A strange feeling of déjà vu.
"Like who?" she asked, turning back.
"My father."
Lucy took a deep breath and walked toward him.
"Tim, having a few drinks doesn't make you the man your father was. I've told you before, and I'd spend my whole life telling you again if I had to: you are not your father and you never will be. And honestly? I'm glad you chose to have fun and push your limits this time."
"Your whole life, huh?"
"Yeah, my whole life, idiot."
"Stay..."
"Tim, I..."
"Please."
"I..."
"You're already in pajamas—no excuses."
"Because of who, exactly?"
"No idea," he started, "Where are you going?"
"To bed. You coming?"
When he opened his eyes, it wasn't the headache that hit him first—it was Lucy. Lying against his back, one arm draped around his waist, the other over his shoulders, her forehead pressed to the back of his neck, her breath warm on his skin.
And to savor that unexpected something, he closed his eyes again and let his hand find hers, fingers intertwining.
Lucy smiled in her sleep, despite herself, at the contact.
Maybe this was it.
Maybe they were ready.
Who knows...
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15.04.25. Hello, Hi :) A little little something :) Take care of you. Don't forget to vote and comment it helps. Thank you ♡
