Simon and Johnny| Family Dynamics

Isla Riley-MacTavish’s twelfth birthday had, somewhere between the third trip to the supermarket and Johnny deciding twelve people required enough meat to feed an infantry platoon, become a small military operation.

The garden looked like a pastel explosion. Pink, lavender, and white balloons were tied to every available surface. One had already escaped into the branches of the neighbour’s tree and now bobbed smugly above the fence. Paper flowers decorated the tables. Fairy lights had been strung overhead despite sunset still being hours away, and a glittering banner reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY hung slightly crooked because Johnny had insisted he didn’t need a ladder. Simon had silently fetched the ladder ten minutes later.

The long table near the house was buried beneath presents, crisps, sweets, fruit, paper plates, fizzy drinks, and the birthday cake Isla had very specifically requested be pretty, but not babyish, because I’m twelve now.

There were friends. Family. People drifting between the house and garden. Music playing somewhere beneath the noise. And at the centre of it all, Johnny MacTavish was losing an argument with a barbecue. “Don’t ye fuckin’ start.”

Simon hadn’t said anything. He stood beside him in a black T-shirt and dark cargos, one enormous tattooed arm folded loosely across his chest, a bottle of beer dangling from the other hand. The familiar skull-patterned balaclava covered his face. It had stayed there all afternoon.

Johnny pointed the tongs at him. “I ken that look.”

Simon’s brown eyes remained perfectly flat above the skull. “Haven’t got a look.”

“Bullshite.”

“Burger’s burning.”

Johnny whipped around. “It is fuckin’ no’—”

Simon leaned closer. Said something too low for anyone else to hear. Johnny froze. Then his head tipped back. The laugh that burst out of him was loud enough to carry halfway across the garden.

Not the easy social laugh Johnny gave people because Johnny MacTavish could make friends with a brick wall if forced to stand beside it long enough. The real one. His eyes squeezed shut. His shoulders shook. One hand caught Simon’s forearm for balance while Simon stood beside him wearing the expression of a man who absolutely had not said something deliberately designed to make Johnny lose his composure. Except his eyes gave him away. They always had.

From the garden table, Ollie Riley-MacTavish watched over the rim of his drink. Sixteen years old, already around six feet and still growing, Ollie had inherited far too much of Simon’s ability to stare at something until it confessed. Beside him, Isla stopped halfway through opening a present. Her blue eyes narrowed.

Ollie saw it. “No.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was breathing.”

“You breathe differently when you’re plotting.”

Isla turned an offended look on her brother. “That isn’t a thing.”

“It is with you.”

Across the garden, Johnny was still grinning. Simon reached around him without thinking. One hand settled briefly against Johnny’s waist as he physically shifted him several inches to the left and reached for something on the hotter side of the grill.

Neither man reacted. That was the problem. Johnny simply moved with the pressure as naturally as if Simon had done it yesterday. Because once, he probably had. Thousands of times.

Simon inspected the food. Johnny leaned his weight against Simon’s shoulder. Simon shoved him off. Johnny immediately leaned back.

“MacTavish.”

“Riley.”

“Move.”

“Make me.”

Simon looked at him. Johnny grinned. And there it was. Barely visible above the mask, but Ollie knew his father’s face well enough to recognize the change around his eyes. Isla apparently did too.

Her head whipped toward her brother. “Did you see—”

“No.”

“You absolutely saw that.”

“Saw nothing.”

“Dad smiled.”

“Dad has facial muscles. Congratulations.”

“He smiled at Da.”

“Da is annoying him.”

“He only does that smile when Da annoys him.”

“Da is always annoying him.”

“Exactly.”

Ollie finally looked at her. Isla looked unbearably pleased with herself.

“Oh, Christ.”

“I have evidence.”

“You have a personality disorder.”

She kicked him beneath the table.

“Ow.”

“Birthday immunity.”

“That isn’t a thing.”

“It is today.”

Ollie’s gaze drifted back across the garden despite himself. Because Isla wasn’t wrong. That was the irritating part. She was almost never entirely wrong. The three adults had spent the entire afternoon slipping into patterns they supposedly didn’t have anymore.

Simon had arrived and immediately noticed one of the folding tables was unstable. Johnny had appeared ten minutes later carrying enough food to survive a minor apocalypse, insulted Simon’s arrangement, then proceeded to ask him where everything was despite having eyes. Somewhere in the middle of it all, {{user}} had become the third point in a rhythm none of them seemed conscious of rebuilding.

There was no awkward choreography. No careful negotiation between exes. No hesitation. Just instinct.

Dad knew where things belonged. Da knew what needed doing. Mum didn’t need to explain either of them. One year apart apparently hadn’t managed to erase years of being a family. Ollie had noticed. Isla had definitely noticed. Unfortunately, they weren’t the only ones.

Several metres away, Charlie Bennett stood with a glass in one hand. Her attention wasn’t on the party anymore. It was on Simon. More specifically, it was on Johnny invading Simon’s personal space for approximately the fiftieth time that afternoon.

Charlie had known about Johnny. Of course she had. Simon had never lied to her about what his former relationship had been. There had been {{user}}. There had been Johnny. There had been Simon. Together.

Charlie understood that intellectually. Standing ten feet away and watching it was something else entirely. Johnny stole something from Simon’s plate. Simon caught his wrist. Johnny said something. Simon released him. Johnny ate it anyway.

Charlie watched the entire exchange. Then her eyes settled on Simon’s mask. The skull had been there when he’d arrived. It was still there now.

Six months. She had been dating Simon Riley for six months. And she had never seen the face beneath it.

Across the garden, Ollie shouted something toward his father. Simon looked over. Isla joined in. Johnny immediately involved himself despite clearly having no idea what the argument was about. Something shifted in Simon’s eyes again. The children knew what that meant. Johnny knew. {{user}} knew.

Charlie didn’t. A strange thought arrived before she could stop it.nThey’ve all seen him.nShe looked away.

Near the gift table, Sienna Clarke had problems of her own. She wasn’t watching Simon. She was watching Johnny. And then {{user}}. And then Johnny again.

Johnny called something across the garden. Whatever passed between the adults had Simon turning, Johnny laughing, the easy rhythm continuing without interruption.

Sienna’s jaw tightened. A moment later, she glanced sideways. Charlie happened to do the same. Their eyes met. Neither woman smiled. Sienna’s gaze flicked pointedly toward the barbecue. Then back. Charlie took a slow sip from her glass. Something passed between them. Not friendship. Not yet. Recognition.

You see it too.

Unfortunately for both women, Isla saw that. Her eyes widened. “Ollie.”

“No.”

“The girlfriends are looking at each other.”

“I don’t care.”

“They look mad.”

“Isla.”

“Do you think they’re jealous?”

That finally made Ollie look. He followed his sister’s gaze. Sienna was watching Johnny. Charlie was watching Simon.

At the barbecue, Simon had just reached over and moved Johnny’s beer away from the grill without interrupting whatever conversation they were having. Several seconds later, Johnny reached blindly for it. Found nothing. Frowned. Then took Simon’s instead.

Simon looked down at his now-empty hand. Johnny took a drink. “Cheers, love.”

“That’s mine.”

“Aye.”

“Get your own.”

“Had my own. Ye moved it.”

“Because you’re a fucking hazard.”

Johnny grinned around the bottle. Simon let him keep it. Ollie stared.

Then quietly— “…Yeah.”

Isla practically vibrated. “Yeah what?”

“Nothing.”

“You said yeah.”

“Eat your cake.”

“I haven’t had cake yet.”

“Then go find some.”

“You’re helping me.”

“I would rather enlist.”

“You basically already live with two SAS soldiers.”

“One of whom is unfortunately encouraging you.”

From across the garden, Johnny called, “Stop tormentin’ yer brother, birthday girl!”

Isla immediately shouted back, “I’m not!”

Simon glanced over. Ollie raised his brows. Simon looked at Isla.

She folded her arms. “I’m twelve now.”

“Terrifying,” Simon said.

Johnny snorted.

And for a few seconds, it was so effortless that none of them seemed to notice what they looked like.

Mum. Dad. Da. Ollie. Isla. A family.

Except Charlie noticed. Sienna noticed. And, perhaps most painfully, the children did too.

⸻

LATER — SIMON’S HOUSE

The front door shut behind Charlie with a soft click. Simon barely made it three steps inside before he knew. Something was wrong. Charlie wasn’t dramatic when she was angry. That would have been easier.

She became quieter. More precise. Controlled enough that Simon had learned the tighter that control became, the more carefully he needed to listen.

He set his keys down. “What?”

Charlie put her bag on the counter.“Nothing.”

Simon stared at her.

She exhaled.

“Don’t.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“Wasn’t.”

“You were going to stand there giving me that look until I talked.”

Simon leaned against the counter. “Worked.”

Charlie laughed once. There wasn’t much humor in it. Then silence. Simon waited.

Eventually, she turned. “Is it always like that?”

His brow furrowed. “Like what?”

“You. Johnny. {{user}}.”

There it was. Simon went still.

Charlie folded her arms. “The three of you.”

“It was Isla’s birthday.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“No.”

“No, it isn’t always like that?”

“No. Dunno what you’re asking.”

Her mouth tightened. “You really don’t?”

Simon watched her.

Charlie shook her head. “I knew you were together.”

“Yeah.”

“I knew Johnny wasn’t simply your friend.”

Simon said nothing.

“I understood the arrangement, Simon. Or I thought I did.”

“Wasn’t an arrangement.” The correction came immediately.

Charlie paused.

Simon’s gaze remained level. “It was a relationship.” No embarrassment. No defensiveness. Just fact.

Charlie absorbed it. “Fine. Your relationship.” She hesitated. “But it’s over.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it?”

Simon’s eyes sharpened.

Charlie continued before he could answer. “I watched him spend the entire afternoon practically hanging off you.”

“He does that.”

“I noticed.”

“He’s always done it.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

Simon frowned.

Charlie gave another short laugh. “That’s exactly what I mean. You don’t even see it.”

“See what?”

“The way you are with him.”

Silence.

“He touches you constantly.”

“Johnny touches everyone.”

“Not like that.”

Simon’s jaw shifted.

“And you let him.”

“He’s my mate.”

“Simon.”

“What?”

“He is not just your mate.”

That landed. Simon’s expression changed almost imperceptibly.

Charlie saw it. “He was your boyfriend.”

Something about the word irritated him immediately. Too small. Too adolescent. Too inadequate for years of sharing a home, a bed, children, deployments, Christmas mornings, hospital rooms, fights, grief, sex, laughter, ordinary Tuesdays—

“Partner,” Simon said.

Charlie stared at him. Simon looked away. Wrong correction. Very fucking wrong correction.

“Right,” Charlie said softly. “Your partner.”

“Ex.”

“But apparently not enough of one.”

Simon’s attention snapped back.

Charlie rubbed at her forehead. “Do you know what today looked like?”

“It looked like our daughter’s birthday.”

“Our?”

Simon became utterly still.

Charlie caught it immediately. “I didn’t mean—”

“Isla’s my daughter.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, Simon.”

Her frustration finally cracked through the composure. “I know you raised her. I know you love her.”

“She’s my daughter.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t make the distinction.”

Charlie stared at him. “That’s part of the problem.”

“What is?”

“There are no distinctions with any of you.”

Simon’s brow furrowed.

Charlie gestured helplessly. “Ollie is yours. Isla is Johnny’s. Except Ollie is also Johnny’s and Isla is also yours. {{user}} is your ex except she’s still family. Johnny is your ex except he’s your best friend and your colleague and your co-parent and apparently still has unrestricted access to your personal space.”

Simon’s voice cooled. “They’re my family.”

Charlie stopped. The words had come too quickly. Simon seemed to realize it a second later. Neither spoke.

Charlie swallowed. “Exactly.”

Silence stretched between them. Then Charlie looked at his face. Or rather, what she couldn’t see of it. Simon had removed his jacket. He had removed his boots. The mask remained.

Her expression changed. “And you’re still wearing it.”

Simon went very still. “Charlie.”

“Six months.”

He knew immediately where this was going. “Don’t.”

“Six months, Simon.”

“This isn’t about them.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Has {{user}} seen your face?”

Silence.

Charlie gave a tiny, disbelieving laugh. “Of course she has.”

“She was my partner.”

Charlie’s gaze sharpened. “Johnny?”

Simon didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

“He’s seen you without it.”

“Yeah.”

“Ollie?”

“He’s my son.”

“Isla?”

Simon’s stare hardened. “She’s my daughter.”

“I know that.”

“Then don’t ask like the answer should be different.”

Charlie closed her eyes for a second. When they opened again, the composure was still there. Barely. “So everyone in that garden who belonged to your old family has seen your face.”

Simon didn’t respond.

“{{user}} has.”

Nothing.

“Johnny has.”

Nothing.

“Your children have.”

“Course they have.”

“But I haven’t.”

His shoulders tightened. Charlie stared at the skull between them. It suddenly felt less like a mask and more like a locked door.

“You sleep beside me wearing that sometimes.”

“Charlie—”

“And Johnny knows what you look like half asleep.”

Simon froze. There it was. Not anger. Something worse. Because Johnny did. Johnny knew what Simon looked like asleep. Hungover. Feverish. Freshly shaved. Bruised after deployment. Bleeding. Laughing. Furious.

He knew the scar beside Simon’s mouth. Knew what his face did immediately before a sneeze. Knew which expressions meant Simon was genuinely angry and which meant he was merely contemplating murder recreationally. So did {{user}}.

Charlie watched the silence answer for him. Her voice softened. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

Simon looked away.

“I knew you had history. I knew the three of you had been together. I knew they would always be in your life because of the children.” A pause. “I didn’t understand they still had parts of you I’ve never even been allowed near.”

“It’s not about being allowed.”

“Then what is it about?”

Simon had no easy answer.

Charlie watched him struggle to find one. That might have hurt most. “Can I ask you something?” His expression suggested she probably shouldn’t. She did anyway. “So… you’re gay?”

“No.” Immediate. Flat.

“But you were with Johnny.”

“Yeah.”

“Then what does that make you?”

Simon stared at her for a long moment. “Someone who was in love with Johnny.”

Charlie went quiet. Was. The word should have helped. Instead she remembered the barbecue. Johnny stealing Simon’s beer. Simon’s hand settling instinctively against Johnny’s waist. The subtle change around Simon’s eyes when Johnny made him laugh. The way Simon had moved through that garden with {{user}}, Johnny, Ollie, and Isla as though the five of them possessed some invisible gravitational field that kept pulling them back together.

And now there was something else she couldn’t stop thinking about. Everyone Simon had once called family knew the face underneath that skull. She didn’t. Charlie looked at him for a long moment. “Are you sure about the was?”

Simon said nothing. And this time, the silence was enough to frighten both of them.

⸻

LATER — JOHNNY’S FLAT

Johnny made it approximately thirty seconds through the door. “Christ, I’m knackered.” He dropped his keys into the bowl by the entrance and rolled one shoulder until something popped.

Sienna said nothing.

Johnny stopped. There were certain silences a man learned to recognize. This one had teeth. He slowly looked toward the living room. Sienna was taking off her earrings.

“Right.”

She glanced at him. “Right what?”

“That face.”

“What face?”

“That one.”

“I don’t have a face.”

“Everybody’s got a face, hen. Generally how heads work.”

Normally that would have earned him something. An eye roll. A reluctant laugh. Possibly a cushion thrown directly at his head. Nothing.

Johnny sighed. “What’ve I done?”

Sienna stared at him. “You genuinely don’t know?”

“Oh, brilliant. One of those.”

“One of what?”

“Where I’ve tae guess the crime before sentencing.”

“Your ex was all over you today.”

Johnny blinked. “Which one?”

Silence. His face changed. Sienna’s did too. Johnny winced. “Ah.”

“Which one?”

“That came out wrong.”

“That came out incredibly right, actually.”

“Sienna—”

“No. Seriously.” She stood. “Which ex did I mean, Johnny? The mother of your children or the enormous masked man whispering in your ear while you cooked?”

Johnny pressed his lips together. This was not, he decided, the moment to point out that Simon had been insulting his barbecue technique.

“Sienna.”

“Which one?”

“Simon wasn’t all over me.”

She stared.

Johnny reconsidered. “Alright. Maybe a bit.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“He’s like that.”

“No, you’re like that.”

Johnny frowned.

“You were leaning on him.”

“Aye?”

“He had his hand on your waist.”

“He was movin’ me away from the grill.”

“He could have said move.”

“He did.”

“And then?”

Johnny paused. “I told him tae make me.”

Sienna closed her eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

“You flirted with him.”

“I was taking the piss.”

“You called him love.”

“I call loads of people love.”

“You stole his beer.”

“That was tactical.”

“Johnny.”

“What? He stole mine first.”

“He moved yours because it was beside an open flame.”

“Exactly. Theft.”

She stared at him. Johnny’s mouth twitched. Wrong move. Very wrong move.

“Do you think this is funny?”

“No.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m no’.”

“You are.”

“That’s just my face.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“There she is.”

“Johnny!”

“Right. Sorry. Sorry.” He scrubbed a hand over his face.

Sienna folded her arms. “And then there’s {{user}}.”

Johnny’s humor faded. “There it is.”

“What?”

“Ye’ve been waiting tae get tae that.”

“Of course I have.”

His jaw tightened.

Sienna stepped closer. “I spent the entire afternoon watching you three behave like—”

She stopped.

“Like what?”

Sienna looked at him. “Like you’re still together.”

The room went quiet. Johnny’s smile disappeared completely.

Sienna’s voice lowered. “You don’t even realize you’re doing it.”

He didn’t answer.

“You know where {{user}} is without looking. Simon says half a sentence and you know exactly what he means. Something needs doing and the three of you just… move.”

Johnny looked away.

“No discussion. No asking. You just know.”

“We were together a long time.”

“I know.”

“We raised two kids together.”

“I know.”

“Then what d’ye want me tae say?”

“I want you to acknowledge that it doesn’t look over.”

That shut him up.

Sienna laughed bitterly. “You know what today looked like from where Charlie and I were standing?”

Johnny’s eyes returned to her.

“The five of you were having a family birthday party.”

“It was a family birthday party.”

“Exactly.”

Johnny frowned.

Sienna shook her head. “No. You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it.”

“It looked like your family birthday party.”

Johnny went quiet.

“Mum. Dad. Da. Ollie. Isla.”

Something flickered across his face.

Sienna saw it.

“There wasn’t any room in it for anyone else.”

“That wasn’t deliberate.”

“I know.” The immediate agreement caught him off guard. Sienna’s anger faltered for just a second. “I know, Johnny.” That was somehow worse. “I don’t think {{user}} spent the afternoon plotting how to make me uncomfortable. I don’t think Simon was trying to prove anything. I don’t think you were deliberately flirting with both of them in front of me.”

Johnny opened his mouth.

She lifted a hand. “Don’t argue with the word flirting. Not right now.”

His mouth shut.

Sienna continued. “That’s the problem. None of you were trying.”

Silence.

“It was effortless.”

Johnny stared at her.

“You weren’t performing. You weren’t reminiscing. You weren’t deliberately excluding anyone.” Her voice became quieter. “You were just being yourselves.”

Johnny swallowed.

“And apparently yourselves still fit together perfectly.”

That one landed. Hard.

Sienna looked away. “I thought I was jealous of {{user}}.”

Johnny’s gaze lifted.

“I could understand that. She’s your ex. She’s Isla’s biological mum. She knows you better than I do. You were in love with her for years. You have a child together.”

“Two.” Sienna blinked. Johnny’s expression had changed. “Ollie’s my son too.”

“I know.”

“Do ye?” The words were quieter now.

Sienna stared at him. “Simon is his biological father.”

“Aye.”

“And you’re—”

“His Da.” No hesitation. No qualification. “Ollie is my son.”

Sienna exhaled. “And that’s another thing.”

Johnny’s brow furrowed.

“He can just turn up here.”

“Aye.”

“Even when it’s technically Simon’s week.”

Johnny stared at her. “He doesn’t have a Simon week.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, actually, I don’t.”

Sienna’s frustration returned. “He has a biological father.”

“And?”

“And sometimes I don’t understand why you’re expected to—”

Johnny’s expression changed so quickly she stopped. “Expected?”

Sienna hesitated.

Johnny stepped closer. “Nobody expects me tae parent Ollie.” His voice had gone very quiet. “I parent him because he’s my boy.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I’ve been there since he was born.”

“I know.”

“First steps. First day of school. Nightmares. Football. Broken wrist when he was eight. First time he got pissed and thought chewing gum would hide it.”

Despite herself, Sienna almost smiled.

Johnny didn’t. “He calls me Da because I’m his Da.” A beat. “Same way Simon is Isla’s dad.”

Sienna looked away. Johnny breathed out through his nose. His anger receded slightly. But the conversation hadn’t.

Because Sienna’s next words were quieter. “I know.”

Johnny watched her.

“I know you love him.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that there is no part of your old life that is actually old.”

Johnny went still.

Sienna’s eyes met his. “{{user}} is still here.” Silence. “Simon is still here.”

Johnny’s jaw tightened.

“Ollie and Isla belong to all three of you.”

“Aye.”

“You still work with Simon. You still call {{user}} whenever something happens with the kids. Simon can walk into your kitchen and take something out of the cupboard without asking. Ollie has a key. Isla has clothes here. {{user}} knows what you mean when nobody else understands your accent. You know Simon’s moods before he says a word.”

Johnny didn’t answer.

“And apparently Simon can put his hand on your waist and whisper in your ear and you don’t even notice.”

Johnny looked down.

Sienna laughed softly. There wasn’t any amusement in it. “I spent four months thinking I was competing with one ex.”

His eyes lifted.

“Then today I realized I have two.”

“Sienna.”

“I’m jealous of Simon.” That shut him up. She looked almost embarrassed admitting it. “I am.”

Johnny stared at her.

“And I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with that.”

“There’s nothing going on between me and Simon.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“No?”

“No.” She looked at him. “I said you’re still in love with him.”

Johnny’s head snapped up. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Don’t tell me what I feel.”

“Then tell me I’m wrong.”

Johnny opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

Sienna’s expression crumpled slightly before she caught it. That hurt worse than shouting would have. “Tell me you don’t love {{user}} anymore.”

Johnny stared at her. Again, nothing.

Sienna nodded slowly. “Right.”

“Sienna—”

“No.” She looked away. “I don’t think you’re cheating on me.” That stopped him. “I don’t.” Her arms folded tighter around herself. “That’s almost worse.”

Johnny frowned. “How?”

“Because you’re not sneaking around. You’re not lying. You’re not secretly sleeping with either of them.” She looked back at him. “You’re standing right in front of me loving them.”

Johnny had no answer. Outside, somewhere beyond the windows, a car passed. The flat went painfully quiet.

Sienna shook her head. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to compete with that.”

“It’s not a competition.”

“Then stop making it feel like one.”

Johnny flinched.

Sienna saw it. Her voice softened. “I watched you today.”

Johnny didn’t move.

“I watched the five of you.” A pause. “And I couldn’t stop thinking that I wasn’t looking at people who used to be a family.”

Johnny’s chest tightened.

Sienna swallowed. “I was looking at a family that broke itself apart.”

Silence. Johnny stared at the floor. For once in his life, Johnny MacTavish couldn’t find a joke fast enough to save himself.