When she’s not pushing someone toward something better, she’s making herself smaller so it’s easier for everyone else to swallow.
I take her hands before I’ve decided to. Just hold them until she looks up at me.
“Scottie Quinn.” I wait until her eyes are actually on mine. “The only thing that should hurt your family is how much they’re hurting you.”
She doesn’t answer.
She doesn’t pull away, either.
And I stand there holding her hands in her kitchen, the garbage truck finally reaching her street, the world outside exactly as loud as it always is—and I think about watching over her last night, think about my dad stroking my mom’s hair on all those quiet nights, and how painful it is to be exactly what someone needs …
And none of what they’ll ask for.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lucas
Scottie’s mom calls before she can say anything back.
She pulls back her hands, sniffs, and takes the call, walking into another room more slowly than usual, but faster than she should.
And that leaves me and Pinto, who’s currently strutting across the counters with zero regard for hygiene. I’ll have to wipe down the counters before I make her dinner.
That is, if she lets me stay that long.
I glance around the kitchen again, really seeing it this time—clean, efficient, everything where it needs to be and nothing extra. No clutter, no mess, no warmth. Even the dust motes floating in a single, weak beam of sun seem to move with a purpose. This is a kitchen that exists to get a job done. Yesterday, when I made the chicken noodle soup, I noticed the same thing: one good pot, two sharp knives, and spices lined up in tidy rows. Nothing forgotten. Nothing indulgent.
The only thing that doesn’t blend in with the rest of it is the onyx tumbler Kayla gave Scottie last year. It’s strong and sleek, with a subtle animal print that’s only noticeable in the light.
It feels like her—not meant to draw attention, but striking if you look closely.
I lean against the counter, trying to push aside what I see and instead wonder whatScottiesees when she looks at her kitchen, her entire place. Does she notice how little she’s allowed herself to make life easier? Or does she save that perspective for everyone else?
The look on her face only five minutes ago haunts me. Something tells me her family would dismiss it as the flu—dark shadows under her eyes, ashy skin, nothing more. If so, they’d miss the real change—how the life in her eyes and the bite in her tongue were just … gone, like she was running on dying fumes.
But they’ve been missing a lot about her for a long time. I don’t think they’re bad people—they sound great in other respects—but they’ve let themselves believe Scottie’s lies.
The lie that she doesn’t need anything. That she’s happy to help. That her problems are nothing compared to everyone else’s.
I can’t pretend I see the whole situation more clearly than Scottie does, but she’s collapsing under the weight of being Jake’s prop. It makes me want to find every member of her family and force them to look at her until they realize how much of her has disappeared. I want to make them see that she’s worth inconveniencing themselves for, worth going out of their way to find and to love.
I don’t know if they love her the right way. I’m not sure she does, either.
I hear the soft murmur of her voice through the drywall. Whatever face she’s putting on right now, it isn’t the one from five minutes ago. That one’s already packed away.
I won’t hold her unless she asks me to. I won’t pressure her to break things off with Jake or confront her family about how they’ve sacrificed her for him.
But she doesn’t get to disappear on me. Not the way she does for everyone else.
No, with me,she’llbe the one who comes first, the one whose comfort matters most, whose happiness isn’t considered a luxury but a necessity.
I don’t know if any of that’s something she’ll let me give her. I don’t know if she’ll let me be more than the guy who showed up with coconut water and stayed too long.
But I’m here. And I know what I can do next.
It starts with coffee.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
