Tucker steps inside without permission, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
“It wasn’t nothing,” he repeats his words from earlier with a little less rage with each word. “And for the record, I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
I shake my head. “You can’t say things like that,” I whisper, the anger draining out of me. “Not if you’re not going too?—”
“Not going to what?” he challenges, but his voice cracks.
I hate that my eyes sting.
I hate that my chest feels tight.
I hate that I’m seconds away from either crying or kissing him, and neither option is acceptable.
When I don’t answer him, his jaw flexes again. For a moment I think he’s going to open the door and leave. I assume he’sgoing to do the thing men always do when things get complicated and turn this into a joke.
But he doesn’t.
He exhales. “I’m not trying to act like nothing happened back there at the house.” With every word, his tone rises and my heart stutters. “I’m fucking trying here and every moment with you kills me more and more. You keep acting like you’re alone in this but?—”
“I am!” I cut him off before he can finish the thought forming on his face. Every time support came with rules and expectations. My mom showing up only when I performed well. My dad believing in me but failing to protect me from my mother’s constant disapproval.
A career where I had to work extra hard to be taken seriously.
His face shifts like I hit something, but then his gaze turns darker.
The air between us shifts. I open my mouth to apologize for my outburst or say anything else, but steps closer. “You ran today.” I shake my head. “You ran because you felt it.”
“Felt what?”
His eyes lock on mine harder than before. “Me.”
My breath leaves my body and he takes another step closer. And another. I should move and put space between us but my body betrays me and stays right where it is.
“You have to stop saying things like that,” I whisper with a bit of an edge to my tone.
“Why?”
“Because…”
“Because it scares you, Scottie?” he finishes for me. He waits a moment for me to say something, but when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. “It fucking scares me, too. You scare me. Every time you look at me it terrifies me because you unknowingly knock down another wall I’ve put up to protect myself from this exact thing.”
“Tucker,” I breathe out, looking away from him.
“No,” he says, gripping my chin hard and forcing me to look at him. “Look at me.”
I am.
I can’t find it in me anymore to look anywhere else.
His hand lifts, hovering near my waist without touching me. It feels like he’s asking and giving me a choice. Despite what my head is telling me, my skin aches for his contact.
“I’m going to need you to tell me to fucking stop. Because I don’t know if I can on my own. Not this time. Not again.”
I should.
I should use the same restraint I’ve used before, but… “I can’t,” I whisper.
His eyes flick down to my mouth again while his hand lands on my waist. Heat flashes through me instantly. My entire body reacts like it recognizes him as something dangerous and familiar all at once. His grip isn’t harsh, but it’s firm.
