Chapter Text
“I bumped in to you by happenstance
You probably wouldn't even know who I am
But if I whispered your name, I bet there'd still be a spark
Back when I was gasoline and this old tattoo had brand new ink
And we didn't care what your momma think 'bout your name on my arm.”
-Eric Church, Springsteen
The summer before senior year of high school, William Poindexter falls in love.
They meet on the beach, at an illegal bonfire started by the local kids. Billy (because he’s still Billy then) is there with his cousin, their faces and arms burned red from their first week out on the boat, the alcohol after a long day in the sun hitting them harder than it usually does. It doesn’t matter really, Billy is comfortable in a scene like this, surrounded by kids who grew up in blue collared families, families that make this little tourist town possible. He knows most of their names by now, with it being his second summer working here and all. There’s Kelly that works in the gift shop on Main, Mike and Matt, waiters at the restaurant that rich people dock their boats at. Jess is a lobsterman’s daughter, and her boyfriend Dan works for the town highway department. There are more of them, their faces lit by the glow of the flames as they hold cheap bottles of beer to their lips.
And then Rochelle shows up.
She slides down the dunes in her bare feet, hair a mess of wild curls around her head and eyes lit up with mischief. Billy’s knees weaken at the sound of her laughter, echoing off the sand and the waves.
“So this is where the real party’s at!” She half sings, her polished accent so obvious juxtaposed with the slight Boston accents that generally populate the Cape. Billy’s eyes track the trail she came down, leading back through the dunes and the beach roses to the big mansions that line the coast.
“No one followed you right?” Someone asks, Billy can’t be sure who. He’s too caught up in staring like the teenaged boy he is.
“No!” The girl bounces closer to the fire. “My name’s Rochelle, I’m so happy to meet you all!”
And just like that, she becomes part of their little group.
Billy didn’t really talk to her that night, too shy to leave his cousin Jimmy’s side, and not quite drunk enough to take a chance like that.
But the next night as Billy helps his uncle unload the day’s catch, he spots her wandering along the docks. She shouldn’t be there, too pretty and naïve to walk alone in a place populated with rough and tumble men.
“Rochelle!” He calls to her, ignoring the way his cheeks heat up the minute her name leaves his lips.
“Billy? Right?” She asks, eyes shining with a smile. She seems friendlier than the girls Billy grew up with, open in a way that makes her seem almost vulnerable.
“Yeah,” he says pushing a hand through his hair, suddenly self-conscious of the stained t-shirt and the brightness of his hair. “What are you doing down here?”
Rochelle shrugs and scuffs the toe of her sandal across the weathered wood beneath her feet. “Corinne told me not to come down here,” she grins up at him, proud. “So obviously I had to come.”
“Corinne?”
“My mother,” Rochelle’s grin turns sharp. Billy blinks. He can never imagine calling his mom by her first name – unless in jest, and would never dream of directly disobeying her. “She gets pissy when I don’t behave like a good little girl and follow all her rules.”
“I’m not very good at breaking rules,” Billy says, hoping his smirk hides the nerves fluttering in his belly.
“That’s okay,” Rochelle replies, reaching for his hand. “I can teach you.”
Rochelle ends up teaching him a lot of things, how to sneak out at night and how to take shots of expensive alcohol without flinching. She teaches him how to kiss and how to touch, with his hands and his mouth. She teaches him how to love freely, like summer lasts forever and anything is possible.
Billy’s never been in love before, but he thinks he might be. He falls asleep at night thinking about Rochelle’s smile, about the curve of her hips and the taste of her lips. And he’s pretty sure she loves him back too, even though he knows deep down that part of his appeal is that he’d not who she’s supposed to be with. There’s just something in the way her kiss lingers, in the way she holds his hand that makes him think this might actually be real.
They spend the summer driving around in Billy’s old truck, windows rolled down so the sea breeze can ruffle their hair. Rochelle doesn’t seem to mind that Billy can’t afford to take her out on expensive dates or buy her gifts. Instead they park out on a deserted beach and dance to the old tapes Billy has in his truck, holding each other close as I’m On Fire floats on the breeze from the one good speaker.
Everyone except Billy is surprised when Rochelle convinces him to get a tattoo. She got the idea from a movie, or a song, or a poem, but it doesn’t really matter, because Billy’s in love and Jimmy knows a guy who knows a guy who has a tattoo gun and won’t ask questions like ‘how old are you?’ or ‘you sure about this kids?’.
The garage is lit by flickering fluorescent lights. It’s not necessarily clean but it’s not really dirty, and Billy feels comfortable there, surrounded by the smell of grease and oil and the various wrenches and power tools hanging on the walls. He holds Rochelle’s left hand as his name’s inked into the delicate skin of her right wrist. She squeezes so hard his fingers turned purple, silent tears leaking out of the corners of her warm brown eyes. But Billy is so proud of her anyways, his chest going all warm and tight at the sight of William permanently marked on her skin. Billy refuses to flinch when his turn comes around, holding Rochelle’s hand loosely as the needle breaks the skin on his left bicep. He thinks then, through the pain, that this might be what love is all about, this permanence and the way kissing her is all he ever wants to do.
Billy’s good at being the boyfriend from the wrong side of the tracks. He’s good looking in what his sister likes to call “A Backwoods Way”, with his red hair and freckles and nose crooked from being broken too many times. As a child he’d always felt ugly, but he’s grown into his features and put on muscle through hockey and working, and at 6’2”, he looks more like a man than a sixteen year old kid. He can tell her father disapproves, on that one terrible night Rochelle made him put on a button up shirt and come over for dinner. But Billy doesn’t approve of her father either, doesn’t approve of anyone with enough money to spend entire summers on vacation and buy their children fancy foreign cars for their sixteenth birthday. Rochelle’s mother is even worse, with the way she gives him a once over and then refuses to speak to him directly after that, the way she speaks to Rochelle like she’s a client instead of her sixteen year old daughter. Rochelle deserved so much better. Billy longs to bring her home to Maine, to introduce her to all his sisters and brothers and feed her his mother’s cooking. But he’s embarrassed of the state of his parents’ house, the disarray inside and out that so sharply contrasts with the state of Rochelle’s parents’ summer home. They have time anyways, he can still bring Rochelle home, one day.
But time runs out before their tattoos even heal.
Rochelle’s waiting for him at the docks one evening in late August, her hair thrown up in a knot, cheeks stained with tears. She jumps him as soon as he leaps from the boat, her legs wrapping around his waist and face tucking into the curve of his neck.
“I’m leaving in the morning,” she chokes, her breath ragged and wet. “They didn’t tell me on purpose, thought they could get me out of here without saying bye. But I figured them out.” Billy’s throat goes tight, and he holds back his own tears, rubbing his hands up and down the length of her spine.
“It’ll be alright,” he whispers, wishing he could believe those words himself. Rochelle kisses him senseless, right there on the dock, pressing promises into his lips about keeping in touch and how he can come down and visit her at Andover. For a moment, Billy lets himself believe.
They do keep in touch, at first. Rochelle calls him every night for a week, but then it settles down to every other night and daily texts, until finally the calls stop all together and the texting becomes a trickle. Rochelle breaks up with him on a Monday afternoon (of course) over Skype. The door to her dorm room is open, and Billy can hear people yelling through the speakers, and catches the occasional glimpse of boat shoes and designer hand bags.
“I’m not good at the long distance thing,” Rochelle says solemnly, though it doesn’t even look like she’s been crying. “I’m sorry Billy, I just… I think it’s best for both of us. Maybe we can try again next summer?” Billy nods and tries not to cry, wishing her best of luck and slamming his laptop shut when some kid with curly hair and a too handsome face steps into her room on the other side.
Heartbreak hurts more than Billy expects it to. He hides his sadness with anger, taking it out on the ice. He starts skating until his legs won’t work, handing out rougher checks, as if the guys on the other teams are responsible for losing Rochelle. The anger slowly goes from boiling to simmering, mostly centered on rich boys with their perfectly handsome faces and exotic cars they don’t know how to change the oil for. More than anything he misses Rochelle, misses the dimples in her smile and the way her eyes shined when he gave her that necklace made of sea glass and shells. He misses the feel of her fingers threaded with his, misses the way she’d kiss the corner of his mouth and the way she’d laugh at his dry jokes.
But life soldiers on, and the Boothbay Boy’s Hockey team makes it to the playoffs, and William Poindexter earns himself a lot of attention from New England colleges. Billy has already applied to the schools he wants though, UMAINE and the community college and Samwell University. Samwell’s his favorite school, not far from Boston (potential jobs outside of fishing), with Jack Zimmermann on the hockey team. And there was the reputation, “1 in 4, maybe more,” that has Billy pausing, thinking. He remembers junior year of highschool, when he had caught himself staring at Mikey’s lips too many times, when he spent just as much time thinking about boys as he did girls. And not just sex, it was mostly little things, like holding hands and cuddling. For years he’s been trying to ignore it, all too aware of the way most of the people in this town feel about anyone who isn’t straight and white.
Samwell would be ideal, where Billy could just be himself and play some great hockey and maybe move on with his life. But Samwell’s basically an Ivy League, and there isn’t a chance the Poindexters can afford it, not with seven potential college tuitions to scrape up in the next decade. Billy wouldn’t have even applied, but his sister Kat urged him to, shoving scholarship after scholarship in his face. And for a moment, Billy lets himself wish. And then he promptly and purposefully forgets about it.
Billy’s toes are numb and he’s not sure if it’s sweat or snow that’s soaked through all three of his shirts, but either way, it’s uncomfortable. He stands just inside the front door, carefully stripping out of his boots and clothes and attempting not to get snow all over his mother’s kitchen. The woman in question stands over the stove, apron tied around her waist and faded red hair curling around the edges. She’s humming softly with the classic rock playing on the radio, the kitchen filled with the smell of homemade tomato sauce and garlic bread. For a moment, Billy’s overwhelmed with love for his family and this place he calls home.
“Thanks for shoveling kiddo,” his mom says, her brown eyes tired. “Dad will be so happy he doesn’t have to do it when he gets home.”
“It’s not like anyone else was going to do it,” Billy smirks, finally freeing himself from the last of his soaked clothes.
“Kat would have done it if I made her,” his mom grins. “With only her standard amount of complaining.”
“I heard that!” His sister Kat yells from the living room, her voice even more nasally than usual. “And I’m sick, that’s not fair, Ma.” His mom looks like she wants to argue, and Billy has never been more thankful to hear the phone start to ring on the wall.
“Can you get that for me Billy? Unless it’s Grandma I’m not here.”
Billy nods and scrambles for the phone, fumbling it slightly before pressing it against his ear.
“Hello?”
“Hi, this is Coach Hall from Samwell University, is William Poindexter available?”
“Um,” Billy swallows the lump in his throat. “Do you um, mean me? Or my dad?”
“I’m assuming your dad isn’t the one who carried Boothbay High School’s hockey team to the championships?” Coach Hall chuckles, and Billy’s cheeks start to burn.
“No sir, that’s me.”
“Well good, I want to talk to you about coming to play for us at Samwell. We’ve been keeping a close eye on you this year.”
“I… I uh, okay?” Billy stumbles towards the kitchen counter, collapsing onto a stool. He ignores his mother’s searching look, instead fumbling for a pad of paper and pen.
“Well son, I’ve talked with admissions, and while your grades alone are good enough to be accepted into Samwell, it looks like you’re looking for some financial help.”
“Yes sir,” Billy replies, knuckles turning white as his fingers curl tightly around the pen in his hand. “Samwell is a great school, but we can’t – it’s not – it won’t be possible for me without some scholarships.”
“I understand Mr. Poindexter.” Coach Hall clears his throat. “I’ve spoken with Coach Murray, and our current captain-“Billy’s brain shorts out for a moment. Jack Zimmermann knows who he is!! “-and because of your impressive performance both on the ice and in the classroom, we’ll be able to offer you a full ride scholarship. This means that your tuition and board will be covered in full by the university. All you will have to pay for is your books.”
“I… I…” Billy blinks, eyes wide as he lifts his gaze, finally meeting his mom’s curious stare.
“You don’t have to give me an answer right now,” Coach Hall continues, sounding almost like he’s laughing. “There’s an official letter in the mail, you will have a few months to decide, I’m sure you have a bunch of offers coming your way.”
“Um…” Billy swallows again. He’s not about to mention the fact that there haven’t been any other offers, or at least none good enough for him to take notice. “Okay?”
“Well thanks for your time Mr. Poindexter, I hope to be hearing from you soon.”
“Um, thank you?” It sounds like Coach Hall chuckles on the other end, before hanging up.
“Who was that?” His mother asks immediately, her hair frizzing at the temples. “Why are your eyes all big like that? What’s going on Billy?”
“That was… that was Coach Hall from Samwell?” Billy says slowly, his heart starting to pick up speed in his chest. “He um, he just offered me a full ride…” He’s not at all prepared for the whoop Kat lets out in his ear, although he’s not at all surprised when the cry of joy fades into a rather disgusting cough, and she all but collapses into the stool beside him, a blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon.
“Calm down, you look like a gnome.”
“I least I don’t look like a leprechaun.”
“Yes you do, who do you think you’re kidding?”
“Billy!” His mom shouts, wrapping one hand around his shoulder and shaking. “Stop arguing with your sister and talk to me!”
“Jeez Ma,” Kat sniffles, wiping her nose on the blanket. “Keep it together.”
Their mother levels a look at Kat, before her expression clears and settles back on Billy. “Tell me exactly what he said.”
“He said that he’s watched my tapes, and looked at my transcript, and they want me, so they’re giving me a full ride…. All I have to cover is books.” It hits him then, that this could really happen, that he could get a first class education and all he has to do to pay for it is play hockey.
“Oh honey,” his mom pulls him into a hug, her familiar lavender scent surrounding him. “My baby’s going to college!”
“I haven’t accepted yet Ma,” he mumbles into her shoulder, smiling all the same.
“No one cried when I got into URI,” Kat grumbles from her blanket burrito.
“It’s ‘cause no one likes you Kat-Terd.”
“Billy stop it,” his mom swats the back of his head. “You know we’re very proud of you Katherine, I’m pretty sure your father cried.”
“And bought a new laptop ‘cause you’re his little girl,” Billy adds, pulling back from his mom’s embrace to sneer at his sister. She scowls back, her eyes puffy and nose all red.
“We all know Mags is the real princess in this operation,” Kat sniffles, rolling her eyes for effect. “Don’t even act like it’s me.”
“There’s no favorites, will you two stop that!” Their mom huffs, shuffling away and back towards the stove. “This is the time for celebrating, not whining about who’s the favorite child!”
Billy rolls his eyes, but relaxes when Kat manages to untangle one too warm arm from her blanket burrito and throw it over his shoulders. “Proud of you kid,” she whispers, quiet enough so their mom can’t hear. “You’re gonna be awesome.”
It’s strange, to be spending so much time alone with his Dad. They had drove down to Uncle Charlie’s house last night, spending too much time talking and not enough time sleeping. Billy’s eyes feel heavy now as they drive towards Samwell’s campus, but his limbs are full of nervous anticipation.
“You know you didn’t have to take the day off for me, Dad,” Billy says, breaking the relative peace filling the cab of his dad’s truck. “I feel bad.”
“I wanted to come Billy,” his Dad interrupts, reaching across the center console to cuff him gently on the shoulder. “My boy’s gonna be playing some damn good hockey, of course I wanna check the place out.”
Billy smiles at the dashboard, reaching for his cooling cup of coffee and taking a long sip. It’s too sweet and too light, but it has to be, with the way Charlie makes his coffee. He settles back into his seat, willing himself to relax. It’s all going to be all right.
Nothing is alright.
They haven’t been on campus more than five minutes, and he’s already seen more boat shoes and pastel shorts than he ever needs to see in his entire lifetime.
“I dunno Dad,” Billy mumbles as they push open the doors to Faber Memorial Rink. “Doesn’t this place seem kind of…”
“Preppy?” His dad grins at him, throwing a heavy arm around his shoulders. “You’ll be wearing polo shirts in no time.”
“Oh hell no,” Billy groans, all at once annoyed that he forgot to bring his baseball hat with him today. He likes to pull it down low over his eyes and hide himself away from the world.
Unsurprisingly, they’re some of the first people there, apart from an overly excited kid wearing a Shark’s hat and a Shark’s sweatshirt and Billy is pretty sure the elastics on his braces are teal and black. He’s a little over the top, but he seems to be genuine in it. It doesn’t take long for Billy to find out that his name is Chris Chow, and he’s a goalie from San Francisco, and the first place he ever skated was right here at Faber.
“I can’t wait to get a nickname,” Chris says, his face half pressed against the glass. “I follow some of the guys on twitter and they’ve like, got some totally rad nicknames! Like Ransom! How cool is that!”
“Listen up!” Billy is saved from having to formulate a response to that by the arrival of a small girl who gives off a vibe like she doesn’t take any shit. “My name is Larissa, I’m the manager of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team, and I want to welcome you guys to your new home.” She half smiles, eyes flicking towards the top of the bleachers as a few more people file in. Billy follows her gaze, frowning at the boy slouching down into the bleachers. There’s something familiar about him, but what’s more annoying is how good looking he is. It’s rude honestly, and no seventeen-year-old should be allowed to be sporting 5 o’clock shadow like a forty-year-old man.
Billy hates him and his dumb face on principle.
“This joint is top notch kiddo,” his dad says as they follow Larissa through the locker room, carefully stepping around the giant S painted on the floor.
“Yeah I guess.” Billy shoves his hands into his pockets. “Seems a little…” He shrugs. “Preppy.” His dad doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head, but Billy didn’t expect him to respond anyways.
They complete the tour, circling back around to the start. “Right boys, that was the tour of Faber Memorial Rink. Again, my name’s Larissa, I’m the team manager, so if you have any more questions, I can answer them. Otherwise, we’ve got a campus tour starting in a minute.” She frowns down at her clipboard. “If our tour guide decides to show up.”
“Bro.” Chris is back at the glass, his nose pressed against it like a little kid. “Faber’s cooler than I imagined! Can’t you picture it? Being at center ice face off with the big windows in the back?!” Billy frowns and crosses his arms. No, he can’t really picture it. “Well, one of you guys would be at center ice, I’d be in the net.”
“I mean,” Billy glances around, suddenly aware that his dad has disappeared. “I guess it’s alright. But I’m still, uh, leaning towards a state school – or somewhere less…. Preppy.”
“Hey it’s Poindexter – Dex – right?” Chris grins at him, apparently oblivious to Billy’s confusion. “Could you take my picture? I can’t get over how ‘swawesome those windows are!” Billy would have agreed, eventually, though he’s a little caught up on the fact that this Chris kid (god, goalies really are weird) seems to have assigned him a nickname. One that’s admittedly a lot cooler than his old one (The Kid), but still. It feels like one of the seniors should bestow it on him.
“Yeah sure-“
“Goooood morning, my lovely little tadpoles!” Billy flinches, swiveling around to watch two boys make their way down the stairs towards them. The little one keeps talking, words dripping from his lips like honey. “First off, sorry for being late! ‘Specially when we got so much stuff packed in for the rest of the day!” He sets the box he’s carrying down on the bleachers. “My name is Eric Bittle, official Samwell Hockey Hospitality Representative and unofficial Samwell Tour Guide…” He pauses dramatically, brown eyes almost sparkling with excitement. “And I brought y’all goodie bags.”
Billy gets his goodie bag and digs in, rather reluctantly pleased at how good the cookies inside are. He’s kind of surprised that a guy like Bitty is associated with the hockey team – back home he wouldn’t have survived an hour – but then again, Samwell is supposed to be different.
“Nursey!” The other kid that had arrived with Eric, with sick flow and a mustache, begins talking rather loudly to Annoyingly Attractive. “Representing Andover on the Taddy Tour! What up bro?”
The cookie turns to cardboard in Billy’s mouth. He can see it as if it was yesterday, the resigned look on Rochelle’s face as she broke up with him, the guy that walked into her room before Billy closed his computer, all sculpted brows and proud nose and striking green eyes that Billy had hated the minute he saw them.
Of course.
Of fucking course.
His right hand grabs for his left bicep, Rochelle’s name burning against his skin. Billy’s stomach flips and then sinks, skin going cold and clammy. Samwell had been looking pretty good, but if this Nursey is going to be here, the guy that potentially stole Rochelle away from him, it might not even be worth it.
He can barely remember the rest of the tour, though he has vague recollections of possibly rudely suggesting that Eric wasn’t manly enough to be on the hockey team, and possibly arguing with Nursey about politics. How that even happened, he doesn’t know. All he does know, is that he left Samwell even more unsure than when he got there.
He stews on it for a few weeks, running drills at the rink until his legs feel like jelly, lifting weights down in the basement until he can’t lift his arms any more.
“Dude.” He lets the dumbbells drop to the floor with a clank, looking up to find Kat watching him from the basements steps. “The kids are getting worried about you.”
“What are you even doing home?” Billy asks, wiping the sweat off his brow with the bottom of his t-shirt. “Shouldn’t you be in another state?”
“Came home for Dad’s birthday asshole,” Kat snaps, her bottom lip quivering. “What the fuck is your issue? Kelly called me crying last week because you screamed at her for fucking bumping into you in the hall, and Colin said you haven’t even spoken to him or the twins in weeks. And worst of all, Maggie asked me why you didn’t like us anymore when I got home last night! Seriously Billy, what the fuck?”
It’s like a punch to the gut, hearing how much he’s hurt his family over the past few weeks. Billy presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to hold back the tears he can feel burning.
“’M sorry,” he mumbles, his own bottom lip trembling. “I’m just… I… I miss her.”
“Billy.” He can hear Kat sigh but he doesn’t look up, just leans into her when she settles beside him and wraps her arm around his shoulders.
“I just… she was my best friend Kat. And then she was just gone.”
“You could always call her bud,” Kat murmurs, one of her hands pressing lightly between his shoulders. “You’re still allowed to talk to her.”
“I don’t know…”
“You either need to call her, or you need to figure this shit out. It’s pretty bad when your four year old sister thinks you hate her.”
“Oh god,” Billy groans, slapping blindly at Kat when she laughs. “I’m such an asshole.”
“Yup.” He finally looks up, only to find Kat looking unbelievably smug. “Fix it.”
He apologizes to Kelly first, offering to help her with her algebra homework, before joining his brothers and littlest sister in the living room. His mood starts to lift immediately, with Maggie snuggled in his lap and Ben and Dan tucked under each arm. Kat looks smug about it from where she‘s curled up in their dad’s arm chair, strawberry blonde hair falling around her shoulders. She’s annoying but he loves her, loves them all, and couldn’t ask for anything more.
It takes three days for Billy to work up the nerve to call Rochelle. It’s almost midnight when he finally does, surely past Rochelle’s curfew, and he knows there’s a part of him that’s hoping it might go to voicemail. But Rochelle had never been one to let him down, and on the second ring, she answers.
“Billy?” Her voice is even sweeter than he remembers, soft and melodic.
“Hey ‘Chelle,” he whispers, casting a furtive glance towards Colin’s sleeping form across the room. “Long time.”
“Yeah.” She’s whispering too, the sound of blankets rustling like static over the phone. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve been… I um… I wanted to tell you something.” Billy feels his cheeks start to burn in the darkness of his bedroom. There’s no reason to, really, but something about Rochelle always set him on edge.
“What is it Billy?” Rochelle giggles, soft, like she used to when they’d lay in the back of Billy’s truck and look at the stars.
“I uh, Samwell offered me a full ride, for hockey… I just, I don’t know if I should go or not.”
“Billy! You listen to me and you listen good.” Rochelle demands sharply. “Now you’re allowed to do whatever you want, but don’t you dare pass up on this for some ridiculous reason like I’m sure you’re trying to come up right now.”
“But Chelle-“
“But nothing, you deserve this Billy, let yourself have it.”
“Still bossy I see,” Billy grumbles, grinning when Rochelle laughs.
“And proud of it,” he can almost hear her grin. “Oh! And one of my friends is going there too! He plays hockey too! Derek Nurse.” Billy groans internally. “He’s mad chill, you’re gonna hate him.”
“Your friend huh?”
“Oh don’t be like that Billy.” Rochelle scolds. “He’s just my friend. And it shouldn’t matter to you anyways.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, be better,” Rochelle sings. “But I gotta go Billy! Think about what I said!”
And just like that, she’s gone.