Harrison
I’m already grabbing my keys before he finishes speaking.
I don’t need details. I don’t need him to explain what happened or how bad it is, because I can hear it in his voice. In the way the words barely make it out, and in the silence that follows, like he’s holding everything else back just to keep from breaking apart completely.
“My dad told me to leave.”
That’s enough.
“I’m here,” I say immediately, forcing my voice to stay calm even as something heavy settles low in my stomach. “Where are you?”
“Outside their house.”
“I’m leaving work now,” I tell him, already reaching for my keys. “Go home, okay? I’ll meet you at the cottage.”
I don’t wait for him to argue.
Don’t give him the chance.
I end the call and move without thinking, grabbing my jacket off the back hook near the employee door while I cut through the stockroom toward the front of the store.
“Everything okay?” Denise asks when she sees me moving too fast to be casual about it.
I barely slow down. “Emergency. I’ve gotta go.”
Concern flashes across her face. “Go ahead. We’ll cover it.”
“Thanks.”
I’m already pushing through the door before the word is fully out. The only thing that matters right now is getting to Scott.
The drive drags on forever, my nerves stretched tighter with every mile, but I keep thinking about the sound of his voice on the phone.
He didn’t shut me out or pretend he was fine. That matters more than he probably realizes.
When I turn onto the gravel road that leads to the cottage, I spot his car already in the driveway.
He’s sitting there with his head bowed forward, his hands braced against the wheel in a way that makes something sharp twist beneath my ribs before I even get out of the car.
I don’t hesitate.
I cross the distance between us quickly and pull his door open. The second he looks up at me, I see the weight of it.
Not just what happened inside that house, but what it cost him to walk in there in the first place.
“Hey,” I say quietly, softer now, because anything louder feels like it might crack something open in him that he’s barely holding together.
For a second, he just looks at me like he’s making sure I’m real.
Then he exhales sharply, and I stop thinking altogether.
I reach for him automatically, one hand sliding to the back of his neck while the other wraps around his shoulders as I pull him against me.
He comes willingly.
No hesitation.
No pride.
He just folds into me like he needs something solid to hold onto. His arms tighten around me hard enough that I can feel the slight tremor running through him.
And Christ, that alone almost breaks me.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur against his hair, keeping my voice low and steady while I hold him tighter. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
He shakes his head slightly against me, his grip tightening for a second before loosening again.
“They didn’t…” he starts, then stops like the words hurt too much to finish.
I don’t push him.
I don’t need details right now.
I just keep holding him there beside the car in the fading evening light. One hand moves slowly along his back while he breathes through the initial shock.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are red. “I didn’t think it would go like that,” he says quietly.
I nod once, even though part of me knows it often does.
“I know.”
He runs a hand through his hair and glances toward the dark outline of the lake beyond the cottage, and for a second, he looks completely untethered.
Like he walked into his parents’ house hoping for one version of his life and came back carrying the weight of realizing things might never fit together the way he wanted them to.
I hate that look on him.
“Come here,” I say quietly, reaching for his hand instead.
His eyes lift to mine. There’s no hesitation or uncertainty. They’re tired in a way that goes deeper than exhaustion.
I lace my fingers through his and give his hand a small pull. “Come inside.”
Something about the words feels different tonight. Like I’m offering him more than just a place to sit for a while.
He stares at me for another second before finally nodding.
“Okay.”
I let him take his time following me up to the cottage. I don’t want to rush or crowd him while he tries to pull himself back together piece by piece.
The night air is cooler now, the lake quiet behind us except for the occasional soft movement of water against the dock. By the time we step inside, the cottage feels different from the way it did the first night he invited me here.
Warmer.
More lived in.
More like us.
I flick on the lamp near the couch, soft golden light filling the room while Scott lingers near the door.
I don’t push him. Instead, I move into the kitchen and grab him a glass of water. When I hand it to him, our fingers brush briefly, and he lets out a slow breath before taking a few small sips like he’s trying to steady himself from the inside out.
“They didn’t ask me to stay,” he says after a while, his voice softer now, more controlled. “They didn’t try to stop me.”
I don’t answer right away because I know that isn’t really what he’s saying.
“They need time,” I say finally.
It isn’t an excuse. And it isn’t a promise. Just the truth as I understand it.
He nods slightly, like he’s trying to hold onto that even if he isn’t sure how much comfort it actually gives him.
“I keep thinking I should’ve said something different,” he admits quietly. “Explained it better. Given them more time before I just dropped it on them like that.”
I step closer, enough that he has to look at me. “You told them the truth,” I say. “There’s no better way to do that.”
His eyes lift to mine, uncertainty still lingering there beneath everything else. “It didn’t feel like enough.”
“It was.”
I make sure he hears the certainty in my voice.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
Then he steps closer. Like something inside him has finally stopped holding back.
“I didn’t want to come back to an empty house,” he says quietly.
The words hit me harder than they should.
“You didn’t.”
That’s all it takes.
He reaches for me first, his hands settling against my sides as he leans in. I meet him halfway. My hands slide around him as I pull him closer.
The kiss is slow from the start.
Not rushed or desperate.
Just grounding.
Steady.
His mouth moves against mine. I can feel the tension slowly easing from his body the longer I hold him there. The longer I kiss him like I’m trying to remind him that whatever happened tonight doesn’t change this.
Doesn’t change me.
Keeping one hand at the back of his neck, the other settles against his waist, holding him close enough that I can feel the slow exhale that leaves him when he finally lets himself stop carrying the weight of everything alone.
When we finally pull apart, he keeps his forehead resting lightly against mine, his breathing steadier now.
“I’m here,” I say quietly.
His eyes close briefly before he answers. “I know.”
Those two words feel like everything.
So I lead him toward the couch and sit beside him, close enough that our shoulders stay pressed together while the quiet settles around us again.
Only this time, it doesn’t feel empty.
It feels like home.