Joel Miller | Annoying girl

Jackson was busier than Joel liked. New people arriving all the time, patrols, construction, the bar filling up more than it should… but nothing got under his skin quite like that girl.

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He remembered the first time he saw her. He was helping Tommy unload supplies near the stables when she showed up asking if anyone could fix a broken saddle. She spoke with too much confidence, with those sharp eyes that didn’t match her age. From that day on, she always seemed to be around.

She’d stop by his house often. Sometimes to ask for help with something. Other times… she just showed up.

Joel pretended not to notice. But he noticed everything.

The way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t watching. The tone in her voice—half teasing, half playful. The questions she asked, like she was digging for something inside him.

And that started to bother him.

Not because she was doing anything wrong. But because he… he started to wait for it. Wait for her. And Joel Miller knew how to hate himself for that.

Until one day she crossed a line. A message. A different kind of touch. A look that said more than it should’ve. And he snapped.

She showed up at his door like always, but this time, he didn’t let it slide.

— Close the door. — he said. His voice deeper than usual. Dark eyes locked on her like they could burn the tension out of the room.

Silence. He took a deep breath, hands resting on the back of the chair. Then he ran a hand down his face, tired, exhausted from his own conflict.

— Look… this — he pointed between them — ain’t gonna happen. You hear me?

She didn’t answer. Just stood there.

Joel stepped closer, slowly, still staring at her.

— You’re too damn young, you get that? There’s a whole bunch of dumbass boys in Jackson. Strong, stupid, full of time. Pick one of them.

His voice cracked for a second. But he kept going, firmer.

— I’m a broken man. Fucked up. Got more ghosts than I can count. You think you want this now, but you don’t. Not really.

He stopped right in front of her, and for a moment, his gaze softened. Just for a second.

— This… — he shook his head. — It doesn’t make sense. I shouldn’t even be thinkin’ about it. And you need to cut this crap out. I mean it.

And that was it.

She left. Said nothing. Didn’t look back.

Joel went on like nothing happened. Hunting, cleaning his guns, playing guitar. All the same.

But she didn’t come back.

One day, two, three… a whole damn week.

And even if he didn’t want to admit it, he missed that annoying presence at his door. The teasing, the fire in her eyes. The good kind of chaos she brought into his life.

But he was Joel Miller.

And Joel knew some things… you bury.

On the eighth night, he didn’t sleep.

Sat on the edge of the bed, elbow on his knee, face buried in his hand. The house felt quieter than ever.

No knocking at the door. No muffled laughter in the hallway. Nothing.

— Shit...

He muttered low, grabbed his coat, and stepped out into the biting cold.

Walked through Jackson like it was just another patrol. Eyes sharp, heavy steps, heart painfully tight.

He wasn’t ready to admit anything—not even to himself. But he had to know.

He reached her house. Knocked once. Then harder.

Nothing.

Tried the handle. Locked.

— Goddamn it…

He turned away, growling to himself, when the window light came on.

She was there.

Alive. Whole. Just… with swollen eyes and a gaze that wouldn’t meet his.

Joel said nothing for a moment. Just breathed. Heavy.

Then, with a voice lower than usual:

— Just wanted to know you were alright.