There's No Coldness In California (Patrick Stump/FOB Imagine Short Story)

Part 14

The bassist swings his car into one of the only open spots lining the crowded, slushy snow-covered street and looks at his passengers - Andy in the front seat and Joe and Gabby in the back. "Are you ready guys?" He asks, a faked but believable enthusiasm in his voice.

"I wish Mommy could see me," Gabby mutters, the corners of her lips curling down into a frown. Your boss refused to give you the day off, even after you told him it was for your daughter's recital and she had the solo and it would kill her if you weren't there to see her. However, fortunately, the guys were able to clear up their schedules to fill in for you.

"Hey, don't be so down," Joe replies, ruffling up her hair that still needed to be styled a bit, "Your mom said she'll come as soon as her shift ends."

"Yeah," Andy tacks on, "She might even get to see you dance your solo!"

The frown on Gabby's face begins to disappear, slowly starting to be replaced with her infectious smile. "Really?"

"Yeah, Gabs," Pete interjects, a smile appearing on his face too, "Your mom wouldn't miss your solo for the world."

Now with a full grin on her face, Gabby proclaims that she's ready and jumps out of the car, wearing her brand new tutu that's been adjusted to fit her and a small, matching puffy jacket to keep her warm. The three guys get out and walk her into the studio, where they see the moms they've grown to dislike sitting in their usual spaces, talking about who knows what. All of the girls are missing, preparing themselves for the recital about to occur.in another room whose door is opened a crack, and Elisa's not there yet. Your daughter looks up at the men towering over her, a nervous expression on her face.

"You'll be okay, Gabby," Pete assures her with a pat on the back, taking her jacket and motioning her to the room her fellow dancers. She takes in a deep breath and trudges into the rehearsal area, the door closing behind her.

The three former band members make their way over to the chairs, instantly receiving glares from the dancers' moms who all have cupcakes in their hands. "What is this?" Joe whispers into Andy's ear as they and Pete sit in seats farthest away from the mostly middle-aged women, which isn't that far considering the size of the studio, "A cult?"

"Seems like it," Andy mutters in response.

"I haven't see you three together in a while," One of the mothers speaks out, attracting the incomplete band's attention, "Sorry I didn't make enough cupcakes for you. I didn't think any of you would be coming."

"Well it's okay. I don't want to poisoned cupcakes anyways, Tania," Pete sneers in response. It's obvious whose mother Tania is. She nor her daughter are strangers in the studio.

Bethany's mom scoffs, brushing the bassist's remark off and inquiring, "So where's (Y/N)? Running late again?" An annoying laugh emanates from her mouth, the other mothers she's taken under wing starting to laugh too.

"Actually, she's working," Joe responds, folding his arms over his chest, "Something I don't think you're familiar with."

The other mothers continue to laugh, whereas Tania's laugh comes to an abrupt end. Theirs fade out soon after, though, realizing the joke isn't funny (at least, in Tania's eyes). With a roll of their leader's eyes and a pivot of her torso, the dance moms go back to their various conversations, ignoring the three - and only - men who, if they didn't care so much about a little girl that wasn't theirs, would've gotten up and walked away.

"Let's just hope this show starts soon, because I'm this close to getting us kicked out," Pete grumbles, the other two nodding their heads in agreement.

Meanwhile, Elisa's slamming on her car's horn, growing irritated with the traffic keeping her from her studio.

"You know, honking your horn isn't making the cars move any faster," Patrick mumbles from the passenger seat of the sports car, the side his head resting against the frosted window. The driver glares at him. "What?" He sits up. "It's not!"

She rolls her eyes and sinks back in her seat. "You don't understand, Patrick. This recital...my girls have been looking forward to it for weeks. It's the only reason they come to dance every week. If I'm not there, the show can't go on and all of the works those girls put in will go to waste. I can't let that happen!" She punches the steering wheel and a quick, loud burst of sound resonates from the vehicle.

"Well if your dancers are stuck in the same traffic as we are, the show can't go on anyways," Patrick states the obvious, at least to him. Elisa slowly turns her head and narrows her eyes. "What do you want me to do, Elisa? Magically make all these cars disappear so you can get to your studio?"

"Yes, Patrick, that's what I want you to do, because you suddenly have magical powers," She retorts sarcastically, resting her head in her hand attached to the arm resting on the car door and heaving a sigh, "Maybe if you had magical powers, we wouldn't be here right now."

"What's the supposed to mean?" The singer inquires.

"All you had to do was give me a little bit of your time, Patrick," She murmurs, her gaze locked forward in a blatant attempt to evade the singer's gaze as she finally confesses the thoughts she's kept to herself for years, "All I wanted was a few minutes out of your 'crazy' schedule. But no, you couldn't give me the time of day."

He stares at her with furrowed eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"

"Us, Patrick!" The evidently upset dance teacher snaps, her brown eyes meeting his bluish green ones, "I'm talking about us, you and me. We wouldn't be in this predicament if you just spent a little time with me. We wouldn't have broken up. You wouldn't have met (Y/N); you wouldn't have had your daughter. You wouldn't have gone to California and lost everyone who actually gave a shit about you!" The driver's chest rose up and down rapidly, her cheeks growing red as she stared at her ex in the passenger's seat. "For fuck's sake, Patrick, you keep all of these mistakes and then act like it's okay. Like you and everyone can just move on and everything will be fine. But nobody's moving on and everything's not fine, everything's-"

Just then, another car's horn sounds and brings Elisa's attention back to the road before her, where there's a large amount of space between her and the car that used to be stopped in front of her. She places her hands on the  wheel and slowly pulls her foot off of the brake pedal, the car inching forward.

"You just need to realize that your actions do go without consequences, Patrick, and not just for you," The dance teacher mutters in conclusion to her rant.

"Wait, I thought you didn't want to be with me," The singer whispers, his brain trying to comprehend the pain-filled words it was just bombarded with.

"I don't," She clarifies sharply, her grip on the steering wheel growing tight and the red in her cheeks intensifying.

"But you-"

"Look, Patrick, all I'm saying is that you really need to apologize to (Y/N). You missed your chance with me, don't miss your chance with (Y/N)." The car comes to a slow halt, the traffic stopped once again. "That is, IF WE EVER GET TO THE GODDAMN STUDIO!" She yells, pounding on the car horn once again and causing Patrick to flinch. "COME ON! I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY HERE!"