Fallout (Wesley Stromberg FanFic)

8

Wes's POV

I've been busy the past few days. Keaton keeps dogging on me about texting Briley so much, but I honestly just love talking to her. It's never boring at all. She's smart, funny, and very flirty. She just makes me happy.

"Wes!" Keaton smacked my head snapping me into reality.

"Huh?" I asked slipping my phone into my pocket.

"Stop texting your girlfriend and pay attention." he groaned.

"She's not my girlfriend." I rolled my eyes.

"Dude you literally can't go an hour without talking to or about her. Why not just make it official?" he laughed.

"Keats I barely know her." That was true to be honest. We never really talked about ourselves. "I do like her, but kinda wanna take it slow."

"I bet you I could find out some stuff about her." Keaton smiled deviously. "What's her last name?"

"Keaton I'm not snooping into Briley's past." I said then glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention to us in the coffee shop we were sitting in. "But if you so happen to stumble across anything about Briley Matthews I would love to see it."

Keaton pulled out his laptop and started typing. "I'll see what I can find."

"I feel like I'm spying." I sighed.

"Dude Wes I'm the one looking and anything in the internet isn't privet. I'm sure she's googled you a time or two right? She is a fan after all." Keaton smiled being correct.

"Touché my friend." I nodded.

Briley's POV

I came home after work to my sadly bare apartment. The walls were a bland cream color and I'd only hung three photos. Two of my mom and I, and one of a sunset I'd taken. Some others where scattered around of me and Seth and my mom but I hadn't placed them in any particular way. My kitchen had just the necessities and my living room just had a couch and a tv. Besides the kitchen table I only had one end table and it was littered with photos and undeveloped film from my current job. It's sad to say but my apparent is boring.

I sat down my things knocking over a folder from the table. Photographs scattered across the floor. I bent to gather them when I saw what the were though I sat down. I held up the few I'd picked up so I could look at them.

One was of me and my dad when he was home for Christmas. He'd missed my fifth birthday for work that year. The next one was of me as a baby and my dad was holding me in uniform, because he was probably heading to work. Another picture was of me and my dad together at the zoo, and to be honest I don't even remember that day because I was so young. Even in that picture though I could see the gun in the back of his pants.

Tears formed in my eyes clouding my vision. All kinds of kids come from divorced parents but none come from a family like mine. My dad wasn't married to my mom, he was married to his fucking job. He lived and breathed police work. I remember being eleven years old and seeing his picture in the paper because he was being honored for an achievement on the force. He was the lead detective in some special task force, but since I was so little when he left us though I don't know much else about what he did other than what I read in the papers or saw on the news whenever mom wasn't watching.

I was sobbing harder and harder into my knees as I threw the pictures back on the floor. Why hadn't me and my mom been good enough for him? Why did my dad and her fight so much? And why the hell wouldn't anyone tell me how he fucking died? They just ruled it a suspicious death an no one ever talked about it.

My phone rang and I threw it across the room shattering it on the wall. Great now I need a new phone and Wes is going to think I'm ignoring him! I need to suck if up and stop moping over something that happened a long time ago. No one else cared so why should I?