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carolmunson · 2 years

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girls just wanna have fun

a rockstar!eddie x actress!reader / boxer!steve/librarian!gf crossover extravaganza.

Get ready for the FEELINGS train, it’s rolling in! Today’s lesson is on minding your own business before you get your feelings hurt. The girls have a girls day after being bored at the gym and we learn a little something about everyone here in crossover land. God forbid I ever write a real happy ending and if you didn’t want Boxer!Steve and Actress!Wife to fuck, you might by the end of this crossover. (One day I’ll write Rockstar!Eddie smut, I promise.) To get the full effect, please listen to Madi Davis’s cover of ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ near the middle to the end. It’s what I listened to on a loop while I wrote this. For context, I might recommend reading ‘Not Givin’ It Up’ part one and part two but long story short, Rockstar Eddie and Actress Wife separated for half a year after a lot of promises of Eddie getting clean and always coming up short. He’s semi sober now, just not doing opiates and we are PROUD OF HIM! I’m not a huge Y/N girl, so for all purposes I’ve inserted the name Stella for actress!wife and Libby for librian!GF as approved by @rollergirlworld who also helped me in the creation of this crossover! WORD COUNT: 9k+ WARNINGS: Swearing, controlling behavior, addiction and drug mention, fighting (boxing), blood, sexual innuendo, some sexy shower stuff but no sex. All around sadness but plenty of cuteness – we stan the girls. Lastly, there’s definitely some mistakes in here and I don’t care. Also, if you’re under 18, don’t read my content.

The drive was longer than you’d hoped, traffic was unbearable, you were sweating — and now you had to go sit in a boxing gym and watch two stupid boys work out and box for who knows how many stupid hours. Your only saving grace was getting to spend a couple days at the beach house and getting to see Steve Harrington’s little woman. The sun beat down on the convertible, a dark cherry red ‘71 Jaguar. It was a gift from Eddie on your twenty-fifth birthday, which was only a little funny because you never really got to drive it.

“Was this secretly a gift for you?” you asked, sliding into the passengers seat to head to your birthday party. “What?” he feigned offense, but he knew you were right, “No, of course not, baby. You just look so good in red.” You rolled your eyes at the lie, but still let a laugh sneak out between your teeth. Today, you wished he hadn’t put the top down, it was too humid. It had been a drizzly month and the rain felt trapped in the air even with the sun out. Thick, sticky, and unforgiving even with the wind whipping your faces. Eddie on the other hand loved watching your hair fan out behind you on the high way. He loved your little squint you made before you’d put your sunglasses on. Big, vintage cateye ones he snagged for you at a big flea market somewhere in Massachusetts on an east coast tour. “Said they were from the 60s, surprised how cheap they were,” he said, passing them to you in the case, “They got a lot of weight to them. I liked the little engravings on the inside. Kinda cool, right?” “I love the tortoise print,” you said, folding them over in your hands. He always rambled when he thought you weren’t going to like something – when the gift wasn’t extravagant. When he was nervous you were going to think something was stupid. It couldn’t be further from the truth of course, there wasn’t anything he could get you or find for you that you would think was stupid. The case balancing on your thigh toppled to the ground. Before you could think, he bent down to pick it up. “You were saying in New York you wanted a pair like that, so – I did my best,” he smiled, still squatting and letting his hand rest on your knee. You tried them on and he dramatically put a hand to his chest, toppling over just like the glasses case. “Oh baby, you’re killin’ me,” he said from the floor, “You look so pretty.” That had been a good day until he got arrested for indecent exposure and public intoxication outside of Rainbow bar. You pleaded with the cops to let him go, that he was just too fucked up and you’d take him home – he didn’t mean anything by it. Eddie couldn’t keep his mouth shut though, “Fuckin’ pigs,” pouring out of his lips in a haze while the cuffs got tighter on his wrists. You bailed him out later and he passed out in the back seat of the Chevrolet, liqour on his tongue and coaine residue still on his nose. You used all of your strength training to help carry his dead weight to bed – only making it to the couch in the main first floor sitting room and covering yourselves up with a cashmere blanket. You kept him on his side and stayed up the whole night rubbing his back until he woke up and ran to the bathroom to puke – starting your day with a cocktail of ibuprofen and electrolytes. You were jostled out of your memory when the car pulled into the gym’s parking lot. You noticed the condominiums that Steve and his little woman lived in were merely steps away. Made sense, you guessed, since he had to train so often – even if they were only here for a few months out of the year. “You okay, sweet thing?” Eddie asked, taking the keys out of the ignition. He reached out to rub your shoulder but you pulled out of his grasp, getting out of the car. The vintage white tennis dress you wore suddenly felt suffocating even while the skirt of it flounced at the tops of your thighs. “Hey,” Eddie said, coming around to your side of the car. His tone changed, more worried while he tried to scan your features through your sunglasses, “Baby, you alright?” You took a deep breath through your nose and nodded while taking your sunglasses off. You reached into your purse and put them back in the case, “I’m okay, Ed.” He reached over your seat and pulled his gym bag out from behind it, slinging it over his shoulder. His wife beater riding up showing off the top of his black shorts and his tight stomach – a smattering of hair trailed down past the band. “You upset with me?” he asked, putting his hand back on your shoulder. He could feel how tense you were under his touch. You both had been practicing being more communicative about your feelings after he got clean. He knew he had a long way to go, that you didn’t owe him forgiveness all the time. He’d beg you to tell him what you were thinking about when you got distant so you could talk it through. He wanted to hear you be mad at him, ‘It’s not healthy to hold that in baby, you gotta tell me. It’s okay if it hurts my feelings, I hurt your feelings first.’ “Just thinking about something from before,” you confessed. He put his gym bag on the pavement, touching the edge of his Converse to the edge of your sandals, your perfectly manicured toes looking so different from his beat up sneakers. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked, eyes so gentle on you that you’d tell him the sky was red if he asked. The way he’d throw away everything to hear one word come out of your mouth. “It doesn’t matter, it was in the past,” you shake your head but he doesn’t buy it. He reaches forward to brush some stray hairs out of your face, his calloused fingers grazing your cheek. “It does matter,” his tone gets serious but his touch is soft, “Don’t say that shit to me, Stell. It does matter if it’s making you upset.” “I was thinking about one of those nights outside of Rainbow,” you mumbled, looking down at both of your shoes. Your arms instinctively crossed across your chest, a habit Eddie caught you developing when you talked about something that made you uncomfortable – like you wanted to protect yourself from the memory. “The night I gave you those glasses?” he asked, nodding down to your purse, “I remember.” You laugh a little, “I’m surprised. You were so fucked up.” Eddie laughed back with you, your smile making his chest swell and his breath catch in his throat a little. He could never get over how sometimes it felt like he was talking to you for the first time all over again. “Come here, pretty girl,” his voice was a little gruff while he wrapped his arms around you, squishing your crossed arms against your chest. “It’s okay to still be mad about that,” he ran a hand soothingly on your back, “I’m still mad at me, too.” “It feels stupid,” you said into his chest. “It’s not stupid,” he said, “Whoever is telling you it’s stupid? Is stupid.” You moved back from his grasp and smiled up him, his boyish toothy grin shining down at you, “You’re stupid.” “You’re stupid,” he challenged back before peppering your face in kisses. The way he knew would make you giggle. “You here to box or you here to kiss cheerleaders under the bleachers, Munson?” Big, Steve’s trainer, was at the entrance door, “He’s gonna be pissed that you’re late.” “By two minutes, you serious?” Eddie hoisted his gym bag up over his shoulder again, reaching for your hand for you to follow into the lobby. Low and behold, there’s King Steve, broody as ever refilling his water bottle. It was clear he trained before this with Big, waiting for his chance to train Eddie after – almost like a pre-game to get the rest of his rage out. Sweat glistened on his shoulders and biceps, down his defined chest. You couldn’t help but feel your cheeks burn a little at the sight of him, boorish but so hot. You would’ve had a poster of him if you were still a teenager in Syracuse. Even just shy of an inch shorter, he loomed big and powerful over Eddie when he approached him. He stared at Eddie down the slope of his nose, “You’re here on my time, Munson. If she’s gonna be a distraction, she can go.” Eddie’s arm protectively reaches for you to pull you in. Steve doesn’t even look at you while he says it.You started to understand why Eddie didn’t like him. Never a kind word to spare anyone except – “Wait! Wait, before you go to the locker room!” Ms. Harrington burst out of the gym doors with a book in her hand getting between Eddie and Steve, “Here.” Eddie took the book, smiled, and looked down at Libby who was gasping to catch her breath after running the length of the gym, “Night Things, Michael Talbot – kind of freaky like Labyrinth but scarier.” “Fitting, considering how much you remind me of the babe,” he sing-songed while fishing a different book out of his gym bag. He ignored Steve’s clenched jaw, but you notice his hands ball to fists by his sides. “Preferred The Elementals, but Babylon was okay – 4 stars,” Eddie said, passing the book back to Libby. She cradled the copy of Cold Moon over Babylon to her chest. “Fair review. I totally agree,” she said, now walking back into the gym with Steve following close behind her, “I’ll try to pull something more Tolkien next time.” “If it’s from you hot stuff, I know it’ll be g–OOF!” You watched it happen in slow motion even with how swift it was. Steve sent a hard jab to Eddie’s abs without warning, sending him hunched over. You stifled a laugh even though you did feel bad, that had to hurt. “That was bare knuckle man, that’s not ever fair,” Eddie gasped, holding onto the door frame, “Holy shit, dude.” Steve didn’t respond, just put his arm around Libby and walked her further into the gym. She turned her head around and mouthed, “Sorry!” to you, but she had nothing to apologize for. “You gotta get a hold of yourself, Munson,” you teased, rubbing your hand on his back while he stood back up to full height, “You okay, handsome?” “I’ll be fine,” he said, stretching out a little, putting the new book in his bag. “Plus, I got a real hot nurse to take care of me at home,” he winked, reaching for her hand again, holding it until they got to the locker room. You watched him disappear behind the double doors with a frown. The leather was stiff on the benches by the ring, you and Miss Harrington sat there with a magazine in your hands while the boys sparred. Sharing eye rolls to each other while they argued over whether Eddie could block or if Steve was just taking cheap shots. (If you’re wondering, Steve was just taking cheap shots.) You watched them for a minute, wincing while Eddie got a right hook to the face – not hard enough to break the skin but hard enough to send him into the ropes. “If you don’t keep your hands up…” Steve started, pulling him off the ropes, “You’re gonna get a concussion.” “Ugh, so right, don’t wanna end up like you,” Eddie loved a sassy retort, spitting blood out into the bucket in the corner of the ring. Eddie put his gloves up in time to block the next roll of punches toward his face. “Y’know his right hook is getting really good,” Libby said from behind her magazine, “He’s a natural at jabs.”

“I don’t know what that means,” you frowned, “But his backhand is getting really good, I can tell you that.” Libby’s nervous giggle floats out from behind the glossy pages in front of her. “Do you always just sit here and watch him practice? Don’t you get bored?” you asked. You hoped she’d say yes so you’d feel less guilty about being bored yourself, you’d already counted the flourescent lights over your head four times. “Oh! Um…” Lib looked at you, then back to the ring where Steve looked over at her. “I’m gonna go get my nails done I think, you should come! My treat,” you offer, “You deserve a break.” “Ah..um, okay, yeah,” she agreed, sliding her Keds back on and leaving the magazine on the bench behind her. “HEY!” Steve’s voice boomed across the gym even though you were only twenty feet away at most. Steve looked menacing, breath flaring out of his nostrils like a bull ready to strike, his eyes fixed on his girl. “Sit back down,” he spat, words coated in dominance, “Where d’you think you’re wanderin’ off to, angel?” “I’m taking her to get her nails done,” you stepped in front of Libby, feeling responsible for her safety. The way he looked at her made you feel uneasy, but you’d been around types like him before. “I didn’t ask you,” he barked, “I asked my woman.” “Woah man, don’t talk to my wife like that,” Eddie yelled coming up behind him, only stopped by a quick gloved jab to the chest. “Shut the fuck up Munson,” Steve turned his attention back to Libby, his voice softening, “Sit back down, honey.” “I think I’m gonna go, Stevie. I’ll be back soon!” she squeaked out, grabbing your arm and taking off in a scurry with you out of the gym. You heard Steve’s exasperated sigh, a stern ‘Learn how to fuckin’ block,’ before the squeak of their sneakers disappeared behind the gym doors. “Whew! Y’know, I just stay cause there’s nothing else to do,” she confessed, a little embarrased. “Not a bad view, I guess. Surpised you didn’t just sit back down,” you said with a little shiver, “With that voice? I would’ve.” “Oh his big bad man act? Please,” she scoffed, adjusting her glasses, “He just wants me to be around to give him a kiss when he’s done.” “We’ll get you back in time for that,” you tossed her a wink, Libby blushing the same way she does when Eddie tells her she’s cute. The air outside is still hot and sticky and with a huff to your banfgs you put the top back up on the Jaguar. “Let’s take my car,” you call over while Libby steps over to their Caddilac. “Steve said it’s a death trap,” she’s nervous to let go of the Caddy’s handle, you can tell she’s thinking about all the things he doesn’t want her to do. “He thinks it’s a death trap because Eddie drives it,” you laughed, “It’s my car. He wouldn’t have bought it for me if he thought I’d get hurt in it, Lib.” “He bought you this car?” she asked, her eyes wide like saucers. Her hand fell to her side from her car’s handle. “He can’t stop buying me cars,” you groaned, popping into the drivers seat and leaning over to open her door, “Don’t act surprised. Didn’t Steve buy you a whole house in Indiana?” “I mean yeah, but that’s our house,” she blushed, bouncing into the passengers seat. The white leather sticking to the backs of her thighs, “It’s for our future. Y’know he wants to open a gym over there? For kids?” “Why? So he can grind their bones to make his bread?” you asked, putting a hand behind her head rest to pull out of the lot. “So sorry, it’s like Ed just spoke through me,” you said, feeling guilty at the joke, but Libby laughed all the same. Her eyes lingered on you, like she couldn’t believe that you looked graceful in everything you did. “No, no, don’t be sorry. He wants to help out kids who were like him,” she explained, “He likes rye bread anyway. I don’t think children come in rye flavor.” “You better hope not,” you laugh back with her, quickly hitting the street to find the closest nail salon. – The scent of acetone was comforting, more so than the plastic, sweat, and blood that filled the gym. You had already gotten started, resting your chin on your other hand while the manicurist filed off your acrylics. You watch Libby nervously look over the wall of nail polishes, reaching out to finger a hot pink bottle only to second guess herself. “Why don’t you do the same red as me?” you asked, “We can match. It’s Malaga Wine.”

Libby turned and smiled, “I’d love to but I just don’t think Steve would like it. He’s already upset that I left.” You huffed to yourself: Steve this, Steve that. You’d rather die than let Eddie have that much influence over your day to day life. It’s supposed to be a girls day. “I think I’ll just get a french,” she meekly told the manicurist leading her to her station. “A french will be so pretty,” you encouraged. You could tell she wasn’t used to this, being told to pick for herself. Being out and about without Steve to hover over her. She kept looking over her shoulder, maybe not in fear but in uncertainty that she was never making the right choice. With Steve, she never had to worry about it, he’d make the decision for her. “So what’s it like,” Libby asked, getting seated at the station next to you, “Being with a rockstar? I feel like I’ve never gotten to sit and chat with you about it.” “Um,” you guessed, “Unpredictable.” “He keeps me on my toes,” you went on, “Total nut case cassanova, but stuttered for thirty minutes on our first date because I was ‘so overwhelming’. At least that’s what he told me.” “He loves you, talked about you all the time at the gym,” she said, “Talked to me a lot about how to get you back when you were away. Which like, was totally justified by the way. Totally on your side.” “I think he just wanted to talk to you,” you were being honest, “He thinks you’re too precious.” Libby’s face was as red as the nail polishes on the wall, a small collection of sweat beading up under her tied up, pre-faded, blue Malibu t-shirt which definitely had been Steve’s before she stole it. She swung her legs on the chair, her white Keds with white socks tucked neatly under them dragging against the bright white tile of the salon.

“And you don’t have to take sides, we both made a lot of mistakes,” you said, never wanting to fully blame Eddie. It was a disease, you had to keep reminding yourself of that. It’s not who he is, it’s who the drugs wanted him to be.

“Does Eddie like red on you?” she asked inching away from the subject. “I like red on me,” you said confidently, “If I like it, Ed loves it. I think that’s why we work out so well. Do you like red on you?” “Y-yeah,” she stammered, “But I don’t know, Steve’s always liked it when I’ve gotten a French done. He always says something about my ‘pretty hands’ when I get a manicure like this.” You guessed it was probably when she was giving him handies in hotels. “Get red for me, next time,” you smirked, “Tell Steve to fuck off.” “Okay, okay, next time I’ll get red,” she nodded, “Just for you, Stell.” “How’re you liking Malibu?” you asked, switching hands over. “It’s um, it’s nice? We walk the beach a lot since we’re so close.” “Just the beach?” “I mean, we’ll drive into LA every now and again and he’ll take me shopping but – otherwise we’re not here long enough for us to go do any real exploring outside of the gym.” “Why don’t you meet up with some friends while he’s training? Have them show you around?” “I don’t…” her voice trailed before she could finish her sentence. Her shoes stopped swinging against the tile slowly until they came to a complete stop. “Next time you’re here for a stretch, if I’m not working on something – give us a ring. We’ll show you the ropes,” your voice was warm, doing your best to soothe her through words. You knew the feeling of being in a new place with no one to run to but at least you didn’t have a five foot ten middle weight on your back the whole time. “That’d be nice.” You spent the rest of the appointment talking about each of your favorite hotels around the country, which ones Eddie is banned from, and where you can get the best mimosas. Giggling up a storm and taking shots at the boys every chance you could, you felt a smidge of normalcy you hadn’t felt in a while. Like when you’d go home to upstate New York and have a girls day with your mom and sisters. Libby protested for the entirety of you paying her her manicure, not even noticing the bulky silver chain attatched to the wallet you pulled out. Eddie never let you go anywhere without all of his cards and cash, “What’s mine is yours, sweet thing.” If he thought for a second you’d paid for your nails with your own money he’d fall into a fury that would rival Steve’s. “I got it, I got it,” you hushed her, “Technically Eddie’s got it, but I got it.” You passed her a fifty dollar bill to tip her manicurist and took out another fifty for yours, Ed’s words from your second date ringing in your ears every time you got a tip ready. “I’d lose my shit if someone even left me two bucks when I was bussing at The Hideout, so I’m always tipping everyone a bunch of money. I mean, I have more of it than I can spend so why wouldn’t I give it to everyone I know, y’know? You never know whose going home to a trailer park like me.” Your next stop was a little cafe you’d frequent every time you were staying at the beach house, cozying up across from eachother in a booth away from the main street windows for privacy. Sure, it was normal to be stared at and you knew Libby was used to it, too. But sometimes, you just wanted to eat a croissant without The Sun talking about how much you love carbs. “Can I get a vanilla latte, please?” you asked, “And a chocolate croissant if you have any left over, I know it’s later in the day.” “I think have a few left, I’ll just make sure. Is almond okay if we don’t have any chocolate?” “Almond is great. Actually, can you just pack me up an almond one either way? My husband loves them,” you gushed. “We know. Eddie finds a way to clear us out every time he visits,” the waitress laughed with a knowing look, writing down the order and looking at Libby, “What can I get you, dear?” “Um, just a coffee is fine – decaf,” she said, pressing her glasses up on her face again. You weren’t much older than her, but she had a way about her that made her seem younger. Wide eyed, like the world was so new. “Anything else?” “No, no, just the decaf. Thank you so much,” she beamed. “Don’t like coffee? I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked where you might’ve wanted to go,” you said, your shoulders sulking. “Oh no, no, I do! It’s just, it’s after twelve and Steve doesn’t like when I –” “Enough about Steve. About what Steve likes, about what Steve wants,” you’re surprised by the short fuse of anger on your tongue, but this was getting ridiculous. “Do you ever get to be yourself? Do you ever get to be Libby?” She shuddered out a sigh, her cheeks reddening. Libby toyed with the frayed edge of her Levi cut offs, “We put green tile in the kitchen.” “But you can’t paint your nails red?” you asked, exasperated, “I mean, Christ Lib, you can pick out kitchen tiles but you can’t have more than one glass of champagne at a New Years Eve party?” “It’s not like that,” she said, sweat beading at her hairline. “Then what’s it like? I mean, he’s got you wrapped around his finger I’m – I’m like – I’m sort of worried about you,” you offer your hands to her over the table, she takes them. Warm and soft after her manicure, her French tips glinting in the low light of the cafe with your red ones. “I know this is so cliche, but it’s just…how he is?” she shakes her head trying to come up with a better explaination, “I know it’s because he loves me.” “Love shouldn’t come with so many rules, Libby,” you urged, sounding like an older sister begging her to see the light. “They aren’t, that’s the thing. They’re just suggestions and I…I like following them,” she blushed a little, “He just makes me feel so…safe? When we’re in Hawkins it’s so different y’know? I have all my friends there, I go out and have girls nights, we do all the things we’d do if I was still around. Here I’m just…I’m just Harrington’s ‘little woman’.” You see her deflate at the title, you didn’t ever have to worry about those things. You were never ‘Eddie Munson’s Wife,’ in fact, it was more common for him to be listed as your husband. “You’re Libby to me,” you assured, “You’re my friend.” “I am?” she asked. “Of course you are,” you let go of her hands while the waitress put your coffees in front of you, a chocolate croissant on a plate placed in the center of the table. Another waitress came over with a bag of almond croissants with ‘Eddie Munson Stash’ written on it and you could barely stifle a laugh. “On the house,” they said while you tucked the bag next to you. “No! No, not all these croissants, he’d kill me if I just took them,” your smile was blinding. “He’s been paying in advance all year, trust me, it’s fine,” she said back to you, “Enjoy, please!” The women walked over to their other tables and you made quick work of ripping the croissant in half and holding it in front of Libby, “Here, they’re to die for.” “Also this,” you said, swapping your coffees, “Best vanilla latte on the West Coast, I can’t have you miss out.” Libby hesitates, taking the croissant and eyeing the latte. “C’mon Lib,” you smirked at her again, “Have a little fun.” “Yeah? I should, right?” she said, seeking your reassurance. “Right! Fuck Steve!” you laughed, cheersing your pastry halves. “Fuck Steve!” Libby’s smile was so broad you could’ve sworn it hurt her cheeks, but it was sweeter than the croissant melting on your tongue. You put the top back down when you got in the Jaguar together, making use of the upgraded sound system and not being shy about it. “OH! I WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY!” “I WANNA FEEL THE HEAT WITH SOMEBODY!” “WITH SOME BODY WHO LOVES ME!”

Did either of you sound like Whitney? Of course not, but all of Malibu was going to hear you both screaming it out of the car and down the freeway to make it back to the gym. You drove too fast and made too quick turns just to watch her squeal and and laugh while clutching the side of the car when your tires skidded to stop. “DON’T YOU WANNA DANCE? WITH ME, BABY.” “DON’T YOU WANNA DANCE? WITH ME, BOY.” “HEY DON’T YOU WANNA DANCE? WITH ME, BABY.” “WITH SOMEBODY WHO LOVES ME!” “Don’t you wanna dance, say you wanna dance, don’t you wanna dance?” you both kept singing after the ignition turned off only to realize you might’ve only sounded good with Whitney’s vocals booming over yours. You both laughed with eachother in the parked car, catching your breath before sliding out of the white leather seats and back onto the pavement. Libby’s hand was still soft in yours when you made it back into the gym, your other hand clutching the bag of almond croissants. The boys perked in the ring, both sitting in opposite corners, shirtless and sweating. “I got the good stuff, baby,” you called, waving it over your head. “Fuuuuck me, yes,” he called from his stool, “You’re so good to me.” “Hi Stevie,” Libby said, letting go of your hand to run to the corner Steve was sat at. He knelt down, putting his head through the ropes to lean down and kiss her. You watched her show him her nails and the knowing look he gave her after he saw them. ‘Pretty hands, angel.’ “You almost done?” you asked, putting a hand on one of the ropes by his calf. Eddie looked down at you and nodded, squatting to meet your eye. “Missed you,” he said, a sweet smile on his face, looking at you through his eye lashes. “I missed you, too, baby,” you cooed, flouncing over to the bench from before. “Gotta be careful in that dress, sweet thing,” he said after you, “You know what you’re doin’ to me.” You turned your head back to him over your shoulder, tossing him a little ‘Who me?’ look. He blushed immediately, but the distraction might’ve been to his detriment – Steve was right, you should’ve stayed home. Before the last round even fully started, Eddie was on the ground with a split above his eyebrow that could’ve given Steve’s a run for his money. “Fuck, FUCK,” Eddie called out, ripping his gloves off, holding his forehead with blood pouring out through his fingers. Steve laughed, “All day Munson, I’ve been beggin’ you to learn how to block head shots. You listenin’? Got a brain under all that hair?” “Fuck off, man, Christ,” he glowered, “Bell didn’t even ring and you went the fuck in.” “Gotta be prepared, Munson,” he shrugged, pulling his own gloves off to reveal taped hands, slinging the gloves over his shoulder. He hops out of the ring and calls Libby over, only she looks a little unnerved. “I don’t think she knows how to fix that,” she says to Steve. “Not our problem,” Steve furrows his brow while guiding her to the locker room but she stops before they get through the door. “Well I was gonna invite them come over for a late lunch but I think we should get him to the house to get him fixed up. I saw how hard you hit him,” Libby was urgent and he couldn’t say no to her. Those sweet saucer eyes, her ache to help others – she really was his better half. Steve ran a hand over his face, “Yeah, yeah, fine.” Libby met eyes with you, “We’ll meet you at the house, I know just how to take care of stuff like that,” she nods toward Steve, “Have a lot of practice.” – The townhouse they have is nice, and clearly recently renovated – in some way still smelling like fresh paint and leather apholstery. “I was gonna make sandwhiches but I really think I gotta take him to the bathroom,” Libby said, looking over at Eddie in the kitchen who was looking particularly white. Back in his regular rockstar get up, shorts and tank back in gym bag hell where they belonged. “I can make sandwhiches, Libby,” you smiled, shoving Eddie lightly towards your little librarian, “Take him.” “Oof, hellllooo nurse!” he said when they were partly down the hall, disappearing into the bathroom. “Keep that door open!” Steve called down the hall, sitting roughly on one of the barstools on the island. His sunglasses pressed hard against his forheaed. “Like a couple of fuckin’ teenagers,” he grumbled to himself.

“Oh, Steve, stop, they’re just playing around,” you said, trying to keep your tone as light as possible. You opened the state of the art fridge to find all the cold cuts and condiments and setting them on the counter. Steve ignores your attempt at friendly conversation, “Breads in the cupboard on the right.” You realize quickly that he’s just going to watch you make sandwhiches. – “Okay, just sit down, I got you,” Libby soothed, wetting a face cloth and wiping all the excess blood away from his forehead. She was gentle while he sat on the edge of the toilet seat cover. “Can you hold that there for second?” she asked, putting his hand over the face cloth. “For you? Anything,” he teased, watching her reaching under the sink and pull out a first aid kit and he clicked his tongue. “Aw c’mon sweet thing, all those bandages?” he asked, his hand motioning toward the gauze and medical tape she was placing by the sink. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with that?” she asked, looking back at him. “Baby, there’s other ways to make a man feel better. That’s all I’m saying,” he shrugged, his cool voice making her shiver, “Shame you gotta do it the right way.” Like clock work she covered her face, making him grin. “I get it though, he’s right down the hall. Don’t want him to hear us,” he egged on, “Maybe next time.” Libby, barely breathing at this point, takes the face cloth out of his hand and tosses it in the hamper at the edge of the sink counter. She holds one hand over his eye leaving the cut exposed, and the other holds an antiseptic spray about two inches away.

“Ah, shit,” Eddie hissed. The sting of the cut cleansing spray hurt more than he hoped. The stingy burn of it pooling from his eyebrow, mixing with blood, and dripping down to his eye. Libby caught it with gauze before it got to his tear duct, so used to this routine after Steve’s fights. “Sorry!” her voice was high and gentle, nerves clear on her tongue, “I’m so sorry.” “It’s okay, sweet thing,” Eddie said, his fingers gently reaching out to graze the side of her thigh in comfort, “You’re jus’ doin’ your job.” “You’re getting good,” she said, trying to bring the conversation to boxing so she could ignore his hand on her thigh. “Your jabs are starting to look like Steve’s,” she enthused, but frowned at the cut over his brow, it hadn’t quite stopped bleeding. Libby turned to grab more gauze, pressing it up against his forehead with a pressure she knew all too well. “Stell said your backhand was getting good, too,” she blushed at her boldness to say something so saucy, but two could play at whatever game he was always playing. He laughed, a soft little ‘too cool for school’ chuckle, pressing the tip of his tongue behind his top teeth. “Did she?” he asked, his voice salacious and syrupy. “Not like, in the face right?” she blurted out, “Oh my God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask that. I don’t know why that came out.” His chuckle got deeper, smooth and dark like seude, “No, no, never in the face. Just a couple on her ass.” Libby blushed, shaking her head, embarrassed at the information. Eddie rolled with her giddy response, unable to ignore his fondness for her bubbling in his throat. “Only when she’s been a bad girl,” he said, looking up at her, his fingers gently moving hers away from his forehead so he could hold the gauze that was soaked through with blood, “You’d know all about that, huh?” She fell into a peal of nervous giggles when he winked at her with his good eye, causing a booming ‘HEY!’ from Steve to ring down the hall. “Ope! Oops, totally forgot, no smiling. We can’t have any fun at all,” Eddie joked, zipping his lips and tossing the key behind him. “No fun at all,” she whispered back with a smile, reaching back to get more gauze only to see that they were out, “Oh shoot, let me grab a couple of paper towels. I’ll be back in a second!” “Don’t go wanderin’ too far, angel,” Eddie said, mimicking Steve’s gruff cadence. “Stop it,” she said with a laugh, turning back to scold him from the door frame, “I’ll be back. Don’t pass out.” “I’ve had worse,” he he sing songed while she walked down the hall. He had had worse – woken up with cuts and slices from some unknown source, praying he didn’t have tetanus. Concussions from falling down flights of stairs drunk on absinthe. Face planting on the sidewalk after a long night at the strip club putting who knows what up his nose. Dick still works, he’d say to himself when he’d wake up hung over and covered in a litter of bumps and bruises. “Hi!” Libby beamed at you and Steve while bouncing into the kitchen. You saw her flushed face, knowing Eddie was in that bathroom working his charm on her. He could never helpself around a nervous girl with a pretty face, she was so easily flustered. Libby’s face fell when she noticed tension in the room, slowly pulling paper towels off the roll. “Everything okay in here?” she asked, seeing the finished sandwhiches on the counter and you leaning silently up against the counter. “Sure is, angel,” Steve said with a warm smile, nursing a cup off coffee – he hadn’t offered to make her one, “You behavin’ yourself in there?” “Steve,” she said with a blush and an eye roll. He reached out to pull her in by the waist while she walked by, holding her close to him while he sat back on the stool. You watched him lean in to kiss her, his arm protective around her, his hand closing over her waist. He kissed her like he was claiming her, the grip on his coffee cup transferring to cup her cheek. You turned away towards the sink, grabbing yourself a glass of water. Their kiss felt like it was supposed to be private. As if Steve wanted it to make you uncomfortable. You heard them separate and a little yelp come from her mouth when he smacked her ass as she went back into the hallway. Always had to claim what’s his. You rolled your eyes, still staring at the backsplash and sipping your water. You started cleaning up, hearing Libby and Eddie’s giggles from down the hall, trying not to giggle yourself. God he was insatiable. You turned back around, seeing Steve’s clenched jaw and the way he gripped the mug in front of him. “Lighten up, Steve,” you said, not even trying to be nice anymore. He hummed, drumming his fingers on counter. “You don’t let her have any fun, of course she’s gonna find it where she can get it,” you said, crossing your arms, “I think I’m plenty fun,” he said lazily. “You know what I mean,” you said, “No caffeine after twelve while you’re sitting here nursing a double shot espresso? I mean for fuck’s sake she was afraid to get her nails painted. Who makes their girlfriend feel like that?”

“You sayin’ I don’t know how to treat my girl?” he snapped, a hand coming down flat and hard on the white quartz of the island. “You’re her whole life, Steve. Every decision she makes rides on you think it’s the right one. Like – damn, y’know? She can take care of herself, is all I’m saying,” you said, still trying to remain sure in your voice while packaging the cold cuts back up. His harshness made you flinch, cold sweat collected at the back of your neck under your hair.

Steve breathed a small laugh out of his nose, “You would say that.”

“What do you mean?” you said, half way in the fridge, “I would say that?”

“Because you take care of yourself,” he said, “You don’t let Munson take care of you.” His tone was matter of fact, like he knew everything about the both of you from such a short time together.

“He takes care of me just fine,” you huff.

“Don’t think he was doing much of that when you left him for me to clean up.” “I didn’t leave him for you to clean up, I didn’t even know he was gonna call you,” you glared, slamming the fridge closed, “And who the fuck are you anyway? He started boxing to work his shit out. All your shit’s still there and you’re fighting every week.” “Oh, ho, ho, there she is,” Steve breaks out in a bitter smile, the agrumentative side of him revving up for a fight. You’re annoyed at him enoying getting a rise out of you, but you’re never one to let it go until you’ve had the last word, “America’s sweetheart with a mouth like a sailor, color me surprised.” “Oh, shut up,” you rolled your eyes, so used to the same comeback from scuzzy men who’d hear you swear at a bar, “Don’t avoid what I said. You got Libby shaking in her boots every time she’s out and about without you. That’s not okay Steve, she shouldn’t be so scared of making you upset. Like i said, you gotta let her have a little fun or you’re gonna lose her.” Steve didn’t like that, you insinuating that she’d leave him if he didn’t let up. He was done pushing your buttons, now he was gonna just get mean. “You wanna tell my girl to go have fun? She can have all the fun she wants, who am I to stop her? But you, Stell, you? You havin’ fun?” He squared his shoulders towards you, hands talking with him while he spoke. He justs his chin towards you while he asks. “Of course,” you say, but your face and the catch in your throat betray you. “Yeah?” his voice is filled with mock concern and certainty, “You havin’ fun when he comes home late? When you gotta bail ‘im outta jail? Don’t know where he’s been or who he’s been hangin’ out with? Whose ass he’s grabbin’ at the bar after he’s done doin’ lines? You havin’ fun when the budgets not matchin’ up and he’s lookin’ a little thin? When he stays in Malibu to train a little longer than usual?” “Stop…” you start, choking on your words. Steve got up, predator to prey, on a roll now, taking slow steps toward you as your press yourself harder against the counter while he gets in your face. He knows he’s right by the way you’re reacting, and with the day he’s had and the giggles from down the hall, he can’t wait to hit more nails on the head. “And why do you think that is, Stell?” he cocks his head the the side, hair coming with him, “Think it’s cause you kept lettin’ him come back every time he fucked up? Cryin’ on his lap like a kicked puppy, beggin’ him to be better for you? Please. Should’ve cut ‘im off for good – now he thinks he can do whatever he wants. How long you think he’s gonna stay clean this time, hm? What happens when you get that late night call, Stella? And you’ll take him right back, won’t you?” “I…” you were at a loss for words, his voice was tight and hard. He scared you. Even with his sunglasses on you could see the tension in his face while he glared through you. His scent like Christmas time and blood, it filled you, it made it hard to breathe. “Keep letting him get away with murder, and you wonder why you’re not sleepin’? Oh yeah, he told me and Libby all about it. Never sleeping, tense all the time. And he can’t imagine why, right? Cause he’s all better now? I know you know better. So be honest with me, huh Stell?” He reached up to peer down at you from behind his glasses, his amber eyes wicked while they met yours – a cool smirk on his face, the tip of his tongue flicking quickly against the inside flesh of his cheek, “You havin’ fun, angel?” You couldn’t hold it in anymore, breaking down into a wracking sob in front of him – something you hated doing, rarely crying outside of acting. At least not in front of people like Steve. He strolled backed to his stool on the island, putting his sunglasses back over his eyes, the sound of you crying perking up a brewing headache. Eddie came in quickly, knowing the sound of you crying better than a mother to her child, “Oh no, no, baby what’s wrong?” He ran to you, almost tripping on his sneakers on the tile, his embrace tight and safe – the safest you felt all day. “What did you say to her?” Ed was shocked to even find you like this, his voice bleeding confusion, his chest vibrating against your ear, “What the fuck did you say?” Libby came in slowly, starting to recognize that the sounds in the kitchen weren’t people having a good time. She stood in the entry way, eyes flitting from Eddie holding a version of you she never thought she’d see, nand then over to Steve. Her gaze turned to ice on him and he felt it. “What did you do?” she asked, a bitter taste still on her tongue from your chat at the coffee shop. “What did I do?” he asked back, incredulous, “You’re down the hall playing doctor with Eddie fuckin’ Munson and you wanna ask what I’m doin’?” “That’s enough,” Eddie said, putting his hand up, the other still wrapped around you, “You wanna be mad at me? That’s cool man, be mad at me. Don’t be mad at her for putting a fuckin’ band aid on my forehead. You’re in here making my wife upset and that’s where I’m drawing the fuckin’ line. Sorry your girl patched me up and Stella took her out without the okay, but you don’t gotta take that out on her. Take it out in the ring man, isn’t that all you’re good for anyway?” “Get out,” Steve’s voice was low and measured. “No, guys you don’t have to leave, I–” Libby’s voice was desperate, aching for them to ignore Steve, but it was apparent that there wasn’t any fixing what might’ve been said. “We’re heading out anyway,” Eddie interrupted, he got close to your ear, “You got your things, baby? Your purse in the car?” You nodded and before you knew it you were back in the Jaguar, Eddie erratically pulling out of the condo lot and onto the road. “Slow down,” you said through you tears, snot pouring down the back of your throat, “You’re going too fast.” “I’m sorry I’m just…I’m so fuckin’ pissed right now,” he hissed, “The fuckin’ nerve of that asshole. Should’ve kicked his fuckin’ ass.” The sun was starting to set over the horizon, leaving a hazy orange pink in the sky over the highway. It should’ve been the end of a good day, maybe you would pulled over and got dessert or a night cap before going home. It wasn’t long before you were back at the beach house, the sky an bright magenta behind the white stone of the mini mansion. He pulled his gym bag out from the back and went to your side of the car to let you out. “C’mere sweet thing,” he held your hand all the way to the door, stepping into the cool air conditioned front hall. He takes you right to the living room, sitting you on the couch while you cry and gets on his knees. He silently takes your sandals off, rubbing your calves after each one, hoping you’ll start to calm down. He knows better than to press you before you’re ready, but he hadn’t seen you like this since your dad passed away. Eddie’s hair tickled your neck while he sat next to you, one arm around your shoulder while he pulled you in against his chest, “What did he say to you, baby? What’s got you so upset?” “I’m n-not having f-f-fun,” you said like you had just realized it yourself. You wriggled out of his hold, sitting cross legged over his thighs. “Today? You don’t wanna come to the gym with me? That’s okay, baby. It’s boring,” he reassured with a little smile. “No, Ed, I – I’m not having fun anymore,” you said, finally looking at him. “With…with me? You’re not having fun with me anymore?” you could see his heart breaking in front of you. Replaying the day you kicked him out in his head all over again. “I just,” another aching cry rolled through you, “When I wake up in the middle of the night and you’re not there it’s like…it’s like I can’t even breathe. Like you aren’t coming home again. Like you’re dead in a fuckin’ punk house or something. If you’re out at the bar too late, what cities you’re playing in where I know you can get oxy easy. I’m always waiting for the fucking call, Ed. I’m always waiting for the call.”

The words just kept pouring out of you, all the fears you’d had since you let him come back, since that night at the beach. “And I just, I’m always scared you’re gonna be in those moods again. Never knowing who you’re gonna be that day. God you were such a fucking asshole when you needed to use. And it’s like, I gotta wake up and be at my call time but you’re in the bathroom for a little too long and I swear I think I hear you doing lines – and I know, I know you’re not. But it’s like I’ll never shake it off, baby. Like I’m always gonna be worrying about it.” Your body aches when you really think about it, and you plead to him with begging eyes, “When am I gonna get to stop worrying about you, Ed? When do I get to have fun?” He’s speechless, looking at you with his full lips slightly parted, his eyes glassy with tears that aren’t ready to fall yet. “I – Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, his hands were shaking, anxious to hold yours but he could tell you didn’t want him to touch you. “I didn’t want hurt your f-feelings,” you whispered, trying to control the lump in your throat. Wishing your tear ducts would just dry up so you could move on from the conversation. Eddie could never let it go until he knew were feeling better. “Stell, I keep saying to you it’s okay to hurt my feelings about this,” he was frustrated with you, the vein in his neck greeting you with a pulse. You wiped your eyes, the weight of the whole day starting to feel heavy on your body, “Why can’t you hear me when I say that to you?” “Can we maybe just talk about this later? I want to go take a shower and wash this whole day off me,” your groggy voice made his chest ache. He could see exhaustion peeking through under your eyes. Eddie slid his hand back and forth over your thigh and leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Yeah, no problem,” his voice was soft, savoring the lull in your tears. Seeing you upset was hard enough when he was shooting up Persian, it was even worse when he was sober, “I’ll go unpack for us, princess. We can order Thai, have a nice little night in, okay?” You didn’t respond outside of getting off the couch and picking up your sandals to drop off in your closet upstairs before heading into the master bath, already shedding your tennis dress by the bed. Eddie would pick it up anyway. You only turned on the mirror lights, a deep warm yellow that barely lit up the room. You didn’t want any aid in feeling awake at all. Your bare feet padded against the tile while you turned the walk in shower on, rain water head and deatchable head hissing while the water hit the ground. You caught yourself in the mirror while you waited for the water to heat up, mascara tears staining all the way down to your neck. “Shit,” you whispered, padding back over to the sink to wash your face spending enough time on it that the bathroom had already steamed up. The steam was welcome, opening up your clogged, post cry sinuses, soothing your throat from trying to choke back your feelings. With a clean face, you step in the shower, letting the hot water totally envelope you. It stings, but it feels deserved. You run your hands over your hair, breathing through your mouth while the water flows over your lower lip – you feel the tension rinse out of your body and down the drain, too. You stand in the water for ten minutes, knowing it won’t get cold, before you reach for the shampoo bottle on the inlet shelf. You hear the door open but continue pouring the liquid into your hands, rubbing them together when you see him through the fog of the glass wall separating the shower from the bathroom. He flicks the stereo on, turning the sound on low before coming around the entrance to the shower. Eddie doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to. He sees the shampoo in your hands and then looks back up at your face, depuffed from your cry from the steam. He’s all muscle and tattoos, a single chain around his neck with a guitar pick dangling above his pecs, hair getting wilder with the humidity. He steps closer to you, the small splatter of his footsteps in the water reverberating off the walls. He can’t keep his hands to himself, reaching immediatley to your wet face hunching over to kiss you with more passion than your wedding day. “You don’t gotta worry about it,” he whispers against your mouth, he weight pressed against you “I’m taking care of all of it, you hear me?” He doesn’t give you a moment to respond, capturing your lips with his, his tongue snaking in past your teeth. You know he doesn’t close his eyes because you haven’t either – looking directly at each other while you kiss. You know he means it, you can feel him mean it. Outside of your heaving breathing, the stereo still plays softly in the background. Steam building in the shower from anything but the heat of the water. ‘When the workin’, when the workin’ day is done. Oh when the workin’ day is done, oh girls. Girls just wanna have fun…They just wanna, they just wanna…’

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