Uncle Ted's House – The Massage That Unravels Everything
The scent of eucalyptus oil clung to the wooden beams of Uncle Ted's home as Percy stepped inside, his shoulders still humming from the rawness of his song. The old floorboards creaked underfoot, a familiar comfort.
Uncle Ted looked up from his massage table, his grin wide and knowing. "Well, look who finally showed up! So? Did you meet Jessica?"
Percy rolled his stiff neck. "Hey, Uncle Ted. Yeah, just came from there."
MJ, perched on the couch and rubbing his shoulders, smirked. "Percy! Here for your usual torture session?"
Percy chuckled, stretching his arms. "Nobody does it like Uncle Ted. I've missed this."
MJ stood with a groan. "Perfect timing—I just finished."
Uncle Ted motioned Percy over. "Come here, boy. Let's see what knots you've collected." His calloused hands pressed along Percy's spine, and he let out a low whistle. "Hah! You're wound up tighter than a fishing reel. What's eating you?"
Percy winced as Ted hit a particularly stubborn knot. "Just flew in today. Was hoping to sleep, but Mom dragged me straight to Jessica's."
Uncle Ted worked his thumbs deeper, the pressure toeing the line between pain and relief. "First time in our town, isn't it?"
Percy exhaled sharply as the tension finally released. "Mmm. Been nearby for work, but never had a reason to visit. Until now."
A knowing glint flashed in Uncle Ted's eyes. "So. Jessica. She's something, isn't she?"
Percy's laugh was soft, resigned. "Gorgeous. Brilliant. Hardworking like my mom. And completely out of my league." He shifted as Ted dug into another knot. "Josh is a lucky man."
Uncle Ted hummed. "You sound just like your dad. Ramon used to say a woman like that's rarer than diamonds."
MJ tossed Percy a water bottle with a smirk. "Speaking of—why'd you never go for Annette? You two were close."
Percy shook his head, smiling. "Annette? She's like a sister. Besides—" He shot MJ a look. "—I may have intercepted a few love letters and chocolates for her back in the day. Knew you were serious about her."
MJ clutched his chest in mock offense. "You knew? And here I thought I was being subtle!"
Uncle Ted snorted, kneading Percy's shoulders. "Nobility runs in their blood. Pity the world doesn't always repay it."
Percy waved him off. "Enough nostalgia. We're here to celebrate Jessica, remember?"
Jessica's House – The Party Cracks
Back at Jessica's, laughter and chatter filled the air, but Annette noticed Jessica glancing at the clock for the fifth time in ten minutes.
Annette leaned in, lowering her voice. "Jess, where's Josh? It's been hours. Maybe we should check if he's okay—what if he's overdone it with the drinks?"
Jessica bit her lip, twisting her engagement ring. "You're right. I'm starting to worry. He said they'd just have 'a few beers,' but…"
Alexa called from the doorway, "Annette! MJ's here!"
Annette brightened as MJ walked in, rolling his shoulders. "Honey! Did you run into Percy?"
MJ nodded. "Yeah, he's deep in conversation with Uncle Ted. Those two could talk for hours."
Annette grinned. "Some things never change. Percy's always been like a second nephew to Ted."
Mrs. Rachel sighed nostalgically. "Just like Ramon and Ted back in the day. Like father, like son." Her gaze flicked to Jessica, who was now pacing near the door.
Jessica's mother smiled softly. "I'll never forget how Ramon helped Ted when he was at rock bottom. Gave him a job, a purpose…"
Jessica suddenly grabbed her jacket. "I'm going to check on Josh. He should've been back by now."
Mrs. Rachel frowned. "Alone? At this hour?"
Jessica's mother nodded toward MJ. "Take his bike. It's faster."
MJ tossed his keys with a smirk. "Hop on, future Mrs. I'll even let you drive."
As they hurried out, the party's laughter faded behind them, replaced by the hum of the bike's engine—and Jessica's unspoken fear that something was wrong.
The Beerhouse – A Truth Too Ugly to Ignore
The neon sign of the beerhouse buzzed angrily, painting the sidewalk in garish red light as Jessica swung off MJ's bike. Inside, raucous laughter spilled through the open windows—the sound of men celebrating freedom's last gasp before marriage.
"Wait here," she told MJ, her voice thin.
The sticky floor clung to her sandals as she pushed through the door. Smoke and spilled beer hung in the air. And there he was—Josh, her fiancé, slumped in a booth with his friends, a half-empty bottle dangling from his fingers.
"—lucky bastard!" one friend slurred, clinking glasses with Josh. "Jessica's a damn CEO in the kitchen! You'll never lift a finger!"
Josh threw back his head and laughed. "Hell yeah! Hardworking wife means easy life, right?"
The words hit Jessica like a slap.
Suddenly, she wasn't standing in a beerhouse. She was seven years old again, watching her drunk father stumble through their front door while her mother scrubbed oil stains from his shirts at midnight. "Your salary's gone?" Mom had whispered that night, her chapped hands trembling. "Then what do I work three jobs for?"
The memory snapped something inside her.
She fled before Josh could see her, the door banging shut behind her.
"Jess?" MJ called as she stumbled back to the bike. "What—"
"They're fine," she choked out.
But nothing was fine.
The Ride Back – A Future Unraveling
The wind whipped Jessica's hair as MJ sped them back toward town, yet she barely felt it. Josh's words looped in her skull, each repetition peeling back another layer of denial.
She'd chosen Josh for his steadiness, his promises of partnership. But that man in the beerhouse—the one who saw her ambition as a convenience—was a stranger.
Her fingers dug into MJ's shoulders. How many times had Mom hidden her tears while Dad toasted his "hardworking woman" at the bar? The parallels coiled around her ribs like barbed wire.
At the next red light, MJ glanced back. "Talk to me."
Jessica wiped her face with her sleeve. "Remember my dad?"
A beat of silence. Then MJ's grip tightened on the handlebars. "Ah."
That single syllable held decades of understanding. MJ had been there the night 14-year-old Jessica found her mother sobbing over a disconnected electricity notice.
"You're not her," MJ said quietly. "And Josh isn't him."
But the seed of doubt had taken root. As they pulled up to her house, Jessica stared at the engagement ring glittering on her finger—a promise that now felt fragile as glass.
Inside, the wedding decorations shimmered under the lights. Tomorrow, she'd wake up and decide: Was this a pattern repeating, or merely a drunk man's careless words?
For now, she pressed her forehead to the cool windowpane and let the tears come.
Uncle Ted's House – Percy's Bittersweet Reflection
Percy exhaled as Uncle Ted's strong hands worked the last knot from his shoulders. The familiar ache of the massage lingered, but his muscles finally felt loose—unclenched for the first time in months. He reached for the cold beer on the side table, condensation wet against his palm, and took a slow sip.
Uncle Ted cracked open his own bottle. "Nothing like a cold one after a good massage," he mused. "Or after a long day of watching the woman you once loved prepare to marry someone else."
Percy chuckled, though there was no real humor in it. "You always did have a way with words, Uncle Ted."
The older man grinned, but his eyes were knowing. "Love's a funny thing, boy. Beautiful when it's yours. Painful when it's not."
Percy stared at the ceiling, the fan spinning lazily above them. "I wouldn't know. Never really had it."
"Bullshit," Uncle Ted snorted. "You've loved. Just never got to keep it."
Percy didn't answer right away. He thought of Jessica—how her laughter had sounded tonight, bright and unburdened. How she had looked at Josh with a warmth Percy had once hoped to earn. "Maybe I wasn't meant to," he finally said.
Uncle Ted shook his head. "You're too hard on yourself. Love ain't about destiny—it's about timing. And patience." He took another sip, then pointed his bottle at Percy. "Jessica almost fell for you, you know."
Percy's grip tightened around his beer. "What?"
"Oh, don't look so shocked. Back when you were still writing her those letters, before you gave up—she'd ask about you. Wondered why you stopped trying."
A lump formed in Percy's throat. He remembered those days—the careful words he'd penned, the way his heart had raced every time her name appeared on his phone. And then, the slow fade when she didn't respond the way he'd hoped. "I thought she wasn't interested."
"She was cautious," Uncle Ted corrected. "Her father left scars. She needed to be sure. And you? You were all fire and poetry, but you didn't wait long enough to prove you'd stay."
The truth of it settled over Percy like a weight. He had loved her, yes—but had he loved her patiently? Had he loved her in the way that mattered?
"So you're saying I lost her because I quit too soon?"
Uncle Ted sighed. "I'm saying some things need time to grow. You planted the seed but walked away before it could bloom."
Percy swallowed hard, the beer suddenly tasteless in his mouth. Outside, cicadas sang in the dark, their chorus rising and falling like the ache in his chest.
"And now?" he asked quietly.
"Now?" Uncle Ted clapped him on the back. "Now you drink your beer, boy. And you learn."
Percy lifted his bottle in a silent toast—to lessons learned, to love that got away, and to the hope that maybe, someday, he'd get the timing right.