Always Was Always Will - Part Three: Quiet Fallout

Coming home was supposed to be simple. A place to catch her breath after everything fell apart. But the moment Everly steps back into the house that raised her, nothing feels simple anymore.

Matt was the beginning—the boy everyone thought she’d end up with, the safe choice, the steady future. But Dean has always been the secret she couldn’t admit, the fire that burned just beneath the surface.

Now she’s caught between the weight of small-town expectations and the dangerous pull of a love she was never supposed to want. Some choices tear you apart no matter which way you go. And some loves don’t fade, no matter how forbidden.

Part Three: Quiet Fallout

One brother was her first love. The other is the fire she can’t put out.

The house is too quiet after everyone leaves. Even the hum of the refrigerator sounds louder than it should, like it’s keeping my secrets. I lie awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second of Dean’s mouth on mine. The heat of his hand beneath my shirt. The way he ripped himself away like it cost him something to stop.

I hadn’t planned on staying, but Matt’s mom insisted, pressing fresh sheets into my hands before I could make up an excuse. It was easier to give in than argue, so I ended up in the same guest room I slept in a hundred times as a teenager, lying in a bed that still smelled faintly of lemon detergent and old memories. Luckily I had an overnight bag with me.

By the time sunlight creeps through the blinds, my body feels heavy from lack of sleep. I throw on a sundress, splash cold water on my face, and paste on a smile that feels too thin.

Matt is already in the kitchen, frying bacon like nothing in the world has shifted. He glances up, grinning, and slides a mug of coffee toward me. “Morning, sunshine.”

I force a laugh, wrapping my fingers around the mug to hide the tremor in them. “Morning.”

He studies me for a beat, like he’s trying to place what’s off, but then he shrugs, turning back to the stove. He talks about the cookout, about how good it was to have me there, about how people kept saying how natural it still seemed, me and him, together again.

The words twist in my stomach. Natural. Like the whole town has already written our ending, and I’m just supposed to step into it without question.

I nod along, adding soft little sounds of agreement when he looks my way. But inside, my chest is tight, my mind restless. I can still taste Dean, bitter and sweet, fire threaded into every nerve.

Matt leans a hip against the counter, sipping from his own mug. “Crazy how easy it is, slipping back into this. Feels good, doesn’t it?.”

I swallow hard, unable to answer. My smile falters, and his eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of something sharper slipping through his easy expression. He doesn’t push—not yet—but I can feel the question in the air.

I look away, focusing on the plate of bacon he sets between us. If I keep pretending, maybe it’ll be enough. Maybe the weight of the town’s expectations will anchor me where I’m supposed to be.

But the truth is still there, buzzing under my skin. I’m not anchored. I’m adrift. And no amount of small-town smiles can make me forget whose hands really set me on fire.

Dean spends the day making it impossible to breathe.

He doesn’t slam doors or throw sharp words. He doesn’t need to. His silence is sharper than anything he could say. When he comes in for breakfast, he brushes past me without looking. When I step into the living room, he slips out the back. By midafternoon, it’s obvious, he’s avoiding me.

And it works. Because the more he pulls away, the more I ache. Now that I know what his mouth feels like, what his hands can do, I can’t stand the absence. Every glance that doesn’t land on me is a reminder of the one moment he did.

By evening, I’ve had enough. I find him in the barn, tossing tools into a box like they’ve personally offended him.

“Are you really going to keep this up?” My voice comes out sharper than it probably should, but I don’t take it back.

Dean freezes, shoulders tense. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?” I step closer, heart hammering. “You can’t kiss me like that and then pretend I’m invisible.”

His head snaps toward me, eyes burning in the half-light. “I can’t kiss you at all. Not again. You’re Matt’s.”

The words hit like a slap, but beneath them is something even more raw… want. And it’s threaded into every syllable.

I move closer, until we’re breathing the same air. “I’m not his. Not anymore.”

His jaw flexes. For a long moment, it’s a standoff. Then his hand shoots out, gripping my wrist, dragging me into him like he’s lost the fight with himself. Our mouths crash together, all teeth and tongue, desperate and hungry.

I gasp, and he deepens the kiss, one hand sliding into my hair, the other anchoring hard at my hip. My body betrays me, melting against him, thighs pressing into his. The taste of him wrecks me, beer and heat and something I’ve craved too long.

His thumb brushes the underside of my breast through thin cotton, and I shudder, clutching at his shirt like I’ll drown without him.

But then he rips himself away, breathing ragged, forehead pressed to mine. “I can’t,” he chokes out. “Not when it’s him. Not when you were his first.”

The words cut deeper than the distance ever could.

I stand there, chest heaving, lips swollen, knowing what he won’t say: that wanting me doesn’t change the fact that he’ll never forgive himself for taking me from his brother.

And still, I want him anyway.

By the time dinner’s cleared, I can’t keep pretending. My skin still buzzes from Dean, even though he won’t look at me, and every time Matt’s hand brushes mine I feel like I’m lying.

He notices. Of course he does. Matt’s always been steady, grounded, the one who sees through me even when I wish he wouldn’t.

We’re in the kitchen, stacking plates, when he finally breaks the silence. “You’re quiet tonight.”

I shrug, keeping my eyes on the sink. “Just tired.”

“Evie.” His tone is soft, but firm enough that I have to look at him.

Matt leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching me in that calm, measured way of his. “You’ve been quiet since you got here. I thought maybe it was nerves, but…” His gaze sharpens. “It’s more than that, isn’t it?”

My throat tightens. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He lets out a low breath, a humorless laugh. “I thought maybe… because you were here, we’d be able to start something again.” His eyes search mine, steady but sad. “But I’m starting to get the impression that’s not what you want.”

The words slam into me harder than any accusation. My lips part, but nothing comes out. Because he’s right.

Matt’s eyes search mine, waiting. Hoping.

And all I can think is how unfair it is that he knows me this well, better than anyone, maybe even better than I know myself.

“I…” The words die in my throat.

His jaw tightens, but he nods, like he already has his answer. He sets the plate down gently, carefully, as if the weight in the room is something fragile.

“You don’t have to say it,” he murmurs. “I just needed to know.”

I swallow hard, guilt crashing over me. Because he does know. He’s always known.

After I go to bed, I don’t sleep. Not really. I toss and turn, listening to the creaks of the old house and the steady rhythm of Matt moving around like nothing between us has shifted. But it has. God, it has.

When I can’t take it anymore, I slip downstairs. The hall light is off, but I don’t need it. I know this house by heart, every board that creaks, every dip in the floor.

Dean’s in the kitchen, leaning against the counter like he’s been waiting for me. He doesn’t look surprised. Doesn’t even try to play it off. Just stares, jaw tight, eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them.

“This can’t keep happening,” he says quietly.

My chest constricts. “Then why does it feel like it already is?”

For a beat, we just stand there, the silence heavier than words. Then I cross the room. I don’t think. I don’t breathe. I just grab his shirt and kiss him like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.

He doesn’t hesitate this time. His hands are everywhere, my back, my hips, tangling in my hair. He lifts me onto the counter, sliding between my legs, and I gasp when his body presses into mine, solid and unyielding.

The kiss is rough, frantic, a collision of everything we’ve denied for years. His mouth claims mine, his teeth scrape, and when his tongue dives deeper, I moan into him, clutching at his shoulders like I’ll drown without him.

His hand slips beneath my nightgown, fingers dragging along my thigh, up to the edge of my panties. The heat of his touch is devastating. I arch into him, desperate, reckless, every nerve begging him not to stop.

“Dean,” I breathe, breaking the kiss for only a second. “God, I—”

He cuts me off with another kiss, harder, like he’s punishing us both. His fingers press higher, just enough to make me whimper, to make me want to beg.

And then he rips himself away, chest heaving, forehead pressed to mine.

“This is killing me,” he rasps. “But if I take you, I’ll never be able to give you back.”

The words shatter me more than his hands ever could. I feel them in my bones, heavy and irrevocable.

I slide off the counter, adjusting my nightgown with trembling fingers. My lips are swollen, my skin still burning, but I know the truth.

I can’t choose Matt. I can’t choose Dean. Not without destroying us all.

And it feels like tearing my own heart out.

Dean’s words still hang in the air, shredding me from the inside out. If I take you, I’ll never be able to give you back.

I should walk away. Pretend this never happened. Pretending Matt’s steady smile is enough.

But I can’t.

I grab Dean's shirt again, yanking him back down to me, kissing him hard enough that it tastes like fury and heartbreak. He groans into my mouth, one hand gripping the counter like it’s the only thing keeping him from losing control.

“Fuck it,” I whisper against his lips. “I want you, Dean. I can’t live without you anymore.”

Something inside him snaps. His eyes darken, his jaw flexes, and then he’s lifting me like I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, his cock hard and thick against my core even through layers of fabric. The heat of him makes me shudder.

“We shouldn’t—” he rasps, but he’s already walking, carrying me through the back door, across the cool night grass toward the barn. His mouth finds my throat, biting, sucking, his words muffled against my skin. “Fuck, Evie. You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“I do.” I claw at his shoulders, desperate, needy. “I want all of it. I want you.”

The barn door creaks as he shoulders it open, the scent of hay and oil filling the air. He sets me down on a bale, braced between his arms, his breathing ragged.

“Tell me again,” he growls, eyes blazing.

“I want you,” I say, louder this time, my fingers tugging his belt free. “Only you.”

That’s all it takes.

His mouth crashes onto mine, rough and hungry. He kisses like he’s starving, tongue fucking into me until I’m gasping. His hands are everywhere, skimming up my thighs, dragging my nightgown higher, gripping me like he’ll never let go.

“Been thinking about this for years,” he mutters against my lips, filthy and raw. “Thinking about you spread out, taking my cock, moaning my name. God, Evie, you’re gonna scream for me.”

My core clenches hard, wetness pooling between my thighs at the sheer dirtiness of his words.

He yanks my panties aside, fingers sliding against my soaked pussy. “Fuck. You’re drenched. You wanted this just as bad, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” I pant, bucking into his touch. “Dean—please—”

Two fingers thrust inside me, filling me, stretching me. I cry out, nails digging into his shoulders as he works me hard, curling his fingers until sparks explode behind my eyes. His thumb circles my clit, relentless.

“Always knew you’d be tight for me,” he groans, watching my face, devouring every reaction. “Always knew you’d squeeze me like this. You’re mine, Evie. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I gasp, shameless. “God, Dean—I’m yours.”

He pulls his fingers free, and I whimper at the loss, but then he’s unzipping and freeing his cock. Thick. Hard. Veins throbbing as he fists it once, the head already glistening.

“Wrap those pretty legs around me,” he orders, voice rough.

I do, pulling him closer, feeling the blunt press of his cock against my slick entrance. He thrusts in slow at first, a long stretch that makes me cry out, clinging to him like I’ll break apart.

“Fuck—so tight,” he growls, bottoming out, his forehead pressed to mine. “Been dreaming of this. Can’t believe I’m finally inside you.”

And then he starts to move.

Hard. Deep. Each thrust slams me back against the hay bale, every nerve lit, every moan ripped from my throat without control.

His mouth is everywhere, my throat, my jaw, my lips, filthy words spilling between kisses. “So good. So fucking perfect. Take me, Evie. Take all of me.”

My nails rake down his back, dragging, desperate, as the coil inside me tightens. Every thrust pounds it tighter, harder, until I’m nothing but need.

“Dean—I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he commands, thumb rubbing my clit, relentlessly. “Come for me, baby. Come on my cock.”

The orgasm rips through me, violent and consuming, my scream echoing in the empty barn. I clamp down, pulsing around him, my whole body trembling as he drives into me through it.

“Fuck—Evie—” He slams into me once more, burying deep, spilling inside me with a guttural growl that sounds like it’s been caged for years.

We collapse together, breathless, clinging, sweat-soaked and undone.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our gasps, the creak of the barn settling around us. His hand cradles the back of my head, gentle where he was just brutal, his lips brushing mine softly.

Dean closes his eyes, pressing his forehead to mine, his breath still ragged. “He was your first, Evie,” he rasps. “He’ll always have that.”

Tears sting my eyes as I clutch at him tighter. “Yes, Matt was the beginning, always was,” I whisper, voice breaking. “But you… you are the end, always will be.”

The End

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: September 2025

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