(May 1986)

When Max Mayfield opens her door and finds a distraught Sadie Carver standing on the front step, she immediately starts to assume the worst. Something is wrong with Jason. Lorraine Carver has sent her to get Max because something happened to her mother while the two women were closing up at the bank. Sadie has finally lost her marbles completely and is here looking for Billy. Or, more likely, the marbles are still lost but it is because of a secret relationship with Billy, and he has finally snapped and hurt her.

All of these things are flashing through Max's mind as she steps to the side to allow Sadie to come in, but just as quickly she is shoving them to the side as soon as she sees a familiar figure lurking dejectedly on the porch of the trailer across the way.

"What did he do?"

"He?"

"Munson. What did he do?"

"Oh. No, Eddie didn't—no, this—this is all me," Sadie stammers, padding over to the couch to perch on its edge while Max takes care of shutting the front door, "I just—I messed up."

"How?"

Sadie snorts before she can stop it, and Max's eyebrows lift towards her hairline in response, the redhead's curiosity only growing as she waits for her unexpected guest to elaborate further. Max doesn't have a clue what happened, or how Sadie could have possibly messed up as far as Eddie is concerned.

All she knows is that, from what she remembers seeing the other day when the two older teens had taken her to dinner, it seems fairly obvious that they adore one another. That if they aren't a couple yet, they will be soon.

Of course, Max doesn't have to wait long for the explanation she needs, the soft sigh Sadie gives sounding a lot more dejected than the situation seems to warrant, at least based on what Max already knows.

"Did you—did you hear what happened to my locker?"

"You mean did I hear that some asshole graffitied it?" Max asks, aware of Sadie's slight wince, though the older girl isn't put off enough to try and look away, "Yeah I might've heard something about that. But if Eddie seriously bought into that I'll kick his ass myself."

"He didn't."

"Okay? So—why do you think you messed up, then?"

"I just—I wanted to forget. To just—have one moment where I didn't have to think about that, or what happened to Chrissy, or—or any of it."

"And?"

"And I threw myself at him," Sadie admits, once again watching as Max's brows lift, the skin of her cheeks flushing and forcing her to bite down on her lower lip as her gaze drifts from Max, down to where her fingers are digging into the skin of her thighs instead, "It was—it was stupid, and he didn't want me to do it, and I just—God, I don't know what I was thinking!"

"Did he actually say he didn't want you?"

"Max, I—"

"Did he say the words? Did he say 'Sadie Carver, I never want you to touch me again'?"

"I—well, no, but—"

"Okay then. Looks like I don't have to kick his ass after all," Max decides, a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth as soon as she realizes Sadie is looking at her as though she is finding significant reason to doubt her sanity, "Look, I just mean that you shouldn't take it as a rejection."

"Max, he literally said 'don't do this'."

"Maybe he was trying to protect you."

"Protect me? Protect me from what?"

"Yourself?"

Max can see Sadie's shoulders sinking in defeat. She frowns as the older girl drops her face into the cradle of her hands and emits a faint, dejected groan. But just as soon as the idea that she somehow said the wrong thing comes to her mind, Sadie is straightening again, her fingers flexing against her knees before she summons the wherewithal to speak.

"Why would he need to protect me from myself? I—"

"Have it all together? Everything is under control?"

"God, no."

"That's why," Max shrugs, her expression seeming to indicate the explanation should be the easiest thing in the world to understand, despite the persistent furrow between Sadie's eyebrows, "What?"

"I just—I'm sorry, I'm not sure I follow."

"Okay. You're usually like—perfect. Straight A's, cheerleader, friends with like—everybody, even if they aren't who the other cheerleaders think are 'cool'," Max explains, emitting a small huff as Sadie's confusion only seems to grow, "And I'm probably not wrong for saying when everything is that perfect, you don't usually throw yourself at guys. Even if that guy happens to be your boyfriend."

"Eddie's not—he isn't my—"

"Did you ever do this with Andy?"

"No," Sadie sighs, slumping back against the couch cushions, and exhaling in a rush before going on, "Definitely—definitely not."

"Right. So it has to be pretty obvious, even to someone like Eddie, that you're not—yourself."

"Someone like Eddie?"

"You know what I mean."

As much as Sadie would love to pretend she doesn't, she knows almost immediately that Max will see through absolutely any attempt at denial. And so, she remains silent, her fingers running idly over the fabric of her jeans for a moment before she decides to speak again.

"When did you get so smart, huh?"

"Since I started dating Lucas Sinclair. Trust me, he does so much stupid shit, I've pretty much seen it all."

"And yet you still seem to love him."

"What? No, I—I never said that," Max stammers, a flush coloring her cheeks as she bites down on her lower lip, Sadie's answering grin causing her to avert her gaze to her toes, "He's an—an idiot."

"A loveable idiot?"

"Shut up."

"Well I think that answers my question," Sadie teases, grinning faintly as Max shoots her what is a clear attempt at a glare, though it falls a bit short of the mark as her own shoulders shake in amusement as well, "It's okay to admit that, you know."

"Yeah, I—I know that."

"Even if he hasn't said it first."

"Did you love Andy?"

The question catches her off guard so quickly that Sadie cannot formulate an immediate response, her amusement fading as she picks at an invisible loose thread on her jeans. She thinks back on everything she shared with Andy. Or rather, everything she participated in because he insisted. She compares that to what she can recall seeing between her parents, her nose automatically wrinkling because some instinct she cannot fully explain is all but determined that those displays have absolutely nothing to do with love.

Sadie tries to picture what her life might look like in ten years. Imagines what it might be like if she didn't break up with Andy. Big house. Two or three kids. Endless dinner parties and professional basketball games, and her, the trophy wife on his arm to make him look just that much better than his friends.

"Do you love Eddie?"

"I—I mean, we aren't—Max, we're not—together."

"That's not what I asked. I asked if you loved him," Max corrects, the flush that returns to Sadie's cheeks serving as enough proof of a confession, even if she hadn't said the words directly, yet, "It's okay to admit that, you know."

Whether it is childish or not, Sadie can't seem to resist the urge to stick her tongue out at Max's almost perfect repetition of her own earlier words, laughter bubbling up again even though she knows Max will likely take it as a confession in seconds, flat. The redhead is already smirking, and Sadie can feel the heat of a blush beginning to bloom against her cheeks.

"I knew it."

"Knew—knew what?"

"That you and Eddie were more than just friends. I mean you're so cute together it's kind of annoying."

"Annoying?" Sadie repeats, lifting a brow at Max's answering snort, and eager nod, "Come on, we can't be—we're not that bad."

"So you're admitting it then."

"Admitting what?"

"That there's a 'we' involved to begin with," Max concludes, the smirk she wears unmistakable as she watches Sadie, and the older girl flounders for a moment, trying to come up with some reasonable means of denial.

"I—no, that's—we aren't—I'm not—"

"God, you look like you're going to have a stroke."

"Maxine Mayfield, I do not!" Sadie protests, already suspecting that her friend will not buy her attempts at denial, "I just—"

"Love Eddie Munson, apparently."

"No, I—"

"Oh, so you don't love him."

"I didn't say that, I just—"

"Broke up with your douchebag of a boyfriend and threw yourself at Eddie instead because—you hate his guts?" Max quips, suppressing another laugh as Sadie drops her head into her hands with a groan, "Right. So, you love him."

"Max!"

Laughter is the only response Sadie receives to her exclamation, and her own shoulders are shaking with amusement even if she plans on denying that fact to her grave. She can feel the sofa cushion beside her dipping as Max sits down at her side. But before she can think of anything to say, impending denial notwithstanding, the front door is slamming open, both girls jumping as Sadie looks up to find herself face to face with Max's step brother. One of Andy's newer friends.

Her stomach twists at the blatant look of distaste he gives Max, his mouth opening to deliver what she can only predict will be a scathing remark. But then he notices her. Does a double take. Smiles.

Sadie is still trying to remind herself that the Mayfields—and Billy—had moved to the Forest Hills trailer park not long after Neil Hargrove left them, forcing their mother to take a second job just to make ends meet in the smaller mobile home. She is trying to remind herself that such a change can't have been easy, and hoping maybe that is what contributes to the tension between siblings.

She doesn't want to believe Billy's expression could be truly genuine, but beneath the weight of his smile, she can't figure out if the reality is far different from what she would prefer, her eyes blowing wide before she can stop it as Billy shifts to stand right in front of her, that devilish grin still fully in place as he speaks.

"Well hello there. Susan never told me she'd brought you in as a baby sitter. Gotta say, you're uh—a hell of an improvement over the last one."

Sadie can't think of a single thing to say in response to that, but one thing she does know is that no matter how embarrassed she is about what happened with Eddie, she is suddenly wishing she never left the trailer at all.

(Present Day)

"You burn any more of that bread and I'm gonna have to run to the store to get more."

"Sorry," Eddie mutters, tossing the charred pieces of what had originally been an attempt at toast into the trash can at his feet, a frown marring his features as they land amongst several other slices already disposed of in kind. He probably should have known he was in no state to even attempt cooking—something he possesses only mild skill in, at best, even on a good day. But he had been searching for a distraction ever since returning from the failed outing with Sadie…

Searching, but not quite finding.

"Somethin' on your mind, son?"

Eddie knows the question is a harmless one, at least theoretically. He knows his uncle is able to see that something is not quite right. That Wayne will go on believing that, even if he never says a word.

He doesn't know if he can say the words, though. They've been repeating on a loop in his mind ever since he left Sadie with Harrington, and he can't even count the number of times his distraction nearly caused him to total his van on the way back home.

"Thought you were seein' the Carver girl tonight," Wayne presses, clearly not at all willing to allow Eddie to remain silent, even in spite of how he can't miss the way his nephew's shoulders seem to tighten just a bit in response, "Somethin' come up?"

"You could uh—yeah. Yeah, you could say that."

"Everything okay?"

"No. No, it's pretty—pretty God-damned far from okay," Eddie blurts, dragging a hand across his face, and then turning to face Wayne head-on, his fingers moving to grip the edge of the countertop so tightly his knuckles crack beneath the pressure, "I—I fucked up. Bad."

Wayne does not immediately respond, and Eddie quickly averts his gaze, already anticipating any number of things Wayne could say as a result of his ill-timed confession. And he knows he deserves every single insult that may come. He deserves that, and more.

His uncle never made it a secret how he adored Sadie Carver, and somehow Eddie feels as though if he explains how she ended up pregnant with his kid, and then took off out of some misguided desire to avoid bringing him down, Wayne would only wind up admiring her even more.

"Well? You gonna tell me what you did, or should I just start tryin' to guess?"

"She had a kid."

"Lotta women tend to do that, son," Wayne remarks, lifting a brow in response to Eddie's almost immediate snort, "So if you're here to tell me you got mad at her for doin' what's natural—"

"She's my kid, Uncle Wayne. And Sadie didn't—she never told me until just now."

"When did she know?"

"Before she left. With Andy."

"You mean when you told her about the producer."

Eddie knew that his uncle would put the pieces together almost immediately. He can practically hear the older man's thoughts tumbling around, as though Wayne is just waiting to find a way to suggest what Eddie already knows to be true.

He's already started to blame himself for her apparent inability to come clean. Started to wonder if his excitement had somehow seemed overwhelming. If it had kept her silent. Terrified her enough to push her right back into Andy's waiting arms.

Eddie doesn't want to face that. To face the implications of his own exuberance and how it botched things, perhaps beyond repair. Ever since Sadie told him the truth, he can't seem to stop going back to that night. The night before she left. And he can remember every last minute of it. The moment he told her about the producer. The hesitant expression that flickered across her face before she replaced it with a smile that, at least at the time, seemed genuine.

He can still remember what it felt like kissing her that night. Holding her. Being with her in every way he could, and feeling like she was holding a part of herself back the entire time.

For someone who always liked to think he knew Sadie better than she knew herself, Eddie is starting to realize he has fallen woefully short.

And of course if the look on Wayne's face is anything to go by, his uncle is starting to think the same.

"Son, did you even give her a chance to come clean?"

"Didn't know I had to, then."

"That's not what I'm askin'."

"I didn't," Eddie admits, trying to ignore how the understanding that is so apparent in Wayne's gaze seems to dig the nails of his guilt even deeper beneath his skin as a result, "But I think even then, I—I knew. That something wasn't right."

"She tell you why she's back?"

"Didn't really give her the chance."

Eddie doesn't need to look at Wayne's expression to see the disappointment there, and he knows he's more than earned it. But before he can even try to explain why he had shut things down after learning the truth—before he can even begin to fathom the myriad of reasons behind it, himself—the sound of tires crunching over gravel distracts him, his attention turning to the window beside the door as a familiar BMW drives into view.

Harrington.

"Someone here for ya?" Wayne inquires, aware of how Eddie's jaw seems to clench, a muscle twitching in his cheek for a moment before he shakes himself out, his expression suddenly nothing but neutral while he moves to open the door.

"Steve Harrington."

"Ain't he your friend?"

"Technically," Eddie nods, watching as Steve gets out of the car, his features unreadable, at least until he catches Eddie watching him, and tenses just a bit in response.

"But right now, I think he's here for Sadie. Not me."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were here to kick my ass, Harrington."

"Yeah. Not entirely convinced I won't do that anyway," Steve quips, closing the distance between himself and Eddie, while simultaneously jamming both hands inside the pockets of his jeans, "We going in, or—"

"Nah. If you're gonna do that eventually, I'd rather we didn't force my uncle to see it."

"Picnic table?"

"Good enough for me."

Steve snorts, but falls in beside Eddie as he leads the way over to the aforementioned table, plopping down on the side that will put his back to the trailer while Eddie takes the opposite end in next to no time at all. And he waits. He waits for Eddie to speak up first. For him to try and defend what happened, or to make another joke about Steve itching for a fight.

Eddie's silence is nearly deafening though, and so Steve emits a somewhat frustrated sigh, dragging a hand through his hair before attempting to start the conversation himself.

"So you know."

"Yeah. Guess it's pretty safe to say I know."

"All of it?"

"I was kind of there when it happened, Harrington."

"No. Yeah, no, I—I get that," Steve stammers, trying to ignore the flush that brands his cheeks at the obvious insinuation in Eddie's remark, in favor of steering them back on track, "I'm talking about all of the shit that happened after she left."

Eddie frowns because the conversation is suddenly so eerily similar to the one he had with Wayne not five minutes prior. But he knows Steve is expecting an answer. That he won't exactly back off just because he is met with nothing but silence.

With that in mind, it doesn't exactly take long for him to tell Harrington the exact same thing he told Wayne.

"Didn't really give her the chance, man."

"Maybe you should've."

"You don't think I already know that?"

"If you know, why'd you—"

"Right, because King Steve never knew what he should do, and ended up doing the opposite anyway," Eddie scoffs, shaking his head and rubbing both hands across his face to try and scrub away his mounting frustration before he says something else he knows he will regret, "It's like you don't remember I'm pretty good at putting my foot in it."

"No, I remember that. You just never did it with Sadie."

"Yeah, well, I guess there's a first time for everything."

"Found a way to fix it yet?" Steve questions, the look Eddie gives him in response answer enough, even with how he still manages to give a verbal reply.

"Not yet."

"Are you even gonna try?"

"You really think she's gonna let me?"

Steve can't miss the desperation—the guilt—hidden beneath the words, even if he desperately wants to. And he hates that Eddie even has to feel such a thing at all. Because he's been there. Maybe not over a kid, but he knows what it feels like to run up against a wall. To be backed into a corner, with no feasible way out that doesn't end in someone getting hurt.

He feels like Sadie will forgive Eddie for this, but he doesn't know it for sure. He can't promise it.

And Steve knows more than most exactly how devastating it can be when forgiveness isn't actually something a person can earn.

"Looks like I'm not the only one that feels like she's never gonna look at me the same way again."

"Why do you think she was so nervous around you, huh?"

"What do you—"

"Why do you think she was on eggshells the entire damn time at that restaurant?" Steve persists, watching as Eddie stands and begins pacing a narrow path between the edge of the overhang covering the picnic bench, and the bench itself, "She's spent four years assuming you're gonna hate her for this, and then you just hand her the proof."

"I don't hate her, man."

"No. You just found out what she's been keeping from you because she was trying to protect you, shut down, and then drove her back to my place like it was easy."

"That was—okay, that was not easy."

"She was guilty as hell! She hated keeping that from you."

"And you know that because she told you," Eddie states, some small part of him bristling at the idea of Sadie confiding in Steve at all, whether or not he realizes that he hasn't exactly given her a lot of reasons to come to him instead, given everything that just transpired, "Of course she did."

"Don't put this on her, okay?"

"I'm not. I'm putting it on me."

"Okay, you're not—you're not making any sense, Munson."

"I mean how dumb can I be, not realizing you were just gonna swoop in and save the day? Again."

"Okay, first of all, I was there for her because I'm her friend. That's it," Steve begins, ignoring Eddie's look of obvious doubt, because if he acknowledges it at all, he is honestly afraid the conversation will devolve even more than it already has, "Second, you can do a little of that saving yourself if you give it a chance."

"From what you've said, I've only made it worse."

"So make it right by coming at the problem from a different angle."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

"Get to know your daughter, man. Be there for her, and Sadie'll realize you don't hate her after all."

"I couldn't—I could never hate her."

"Then show her that," Steve suggests, holding out a hand to waylay Eddie's obviously impending protest, though he does feel some small bit of relief when his friend sits across from him at the picnic table, rather than continuing to pace in front of it, instead.

"Show her you don't hate her. That you're gonna be there for that little girl, and maybe her guilt will go away long enough for her to let you in."

Eddie doesn't know if he can do what Steve is suggesting. Not because of any inherent reluctance to get to know his little girl, but because he doesn't know if he can allow himself to hope for Sadie somehow finding it in herself to let him back into her life, only to be disappointed in the end. But he knows, as much as he may hate to admit it, that Steve is right. That if he sits back and does absolutely nothing, he is going to lose her for good.

And whether he would have come to this conclusion on his own, without Steve's help, or not, Eddie knows one thing for certain.

He isn't about to let this unexpected shot at a family slip through his fingers without a fight