Chapter 12
Gavin
YOU’RE NOT A LOT
“The first and only rule,” Scottie says as she pulls onto the highway, “is we never lie to each other.”
“That’s easy. Done. I would never lie to you.”
She fiddles with the AC, hardly paying attention to the road, and I suddenly regret not offering to drive us back. It’s her car, but I’m not convinced we’ll make it to Red Mountain in one piece.
“I’m serious.” She tosses me a questioning glance. “Trust is huge. If we’re going to do this, I have to know we’re on the same team—and that you’ll catch me if I fall. Metaphorically speaking. Meaning you have to have my back, always.”
I meet her gaze so she knows I mean it. “Always, Scottie. I’ve always got your back. You can trust me.” I mess with my glasses, a nervous tick. “Which is why I owe you an apology.”
Her attention flashes to me, forehead creased. “For what?”
“For kissing you,” I blurt. “The other day you told me about that guy—about what he did—and then I went and did the same thing. That’s not me. I’m really sorry. I wasn’t thinking about how it might affect you.”
I hope my words sounds sincere, and not like some prick who doesn’t mean it.
She smiles—soft, small, and absolutely not what I expected. “I don’t usually appreciate getting kissed out of the blue, “but you’re not some drunk asshole, or worse, a sober one who is knowingly being predatory. You’ve never made me feel unsafe.”
Relief flows out of me with a long exhale, some of the tension in my shoulders releasing.
“Besides,” she adds, grinning. “I know your mother. I know your sisters. If I was worried I’d just sic them on you.”
I laugh under my breath. “Yeah, that would not go over well with them.”
She nods, agreeing. “Definetely not.”
It’s quiet for a beat, Wallula Lake fading behind us.
“So,” Scottie says after a moment, “what’s our story?”
I tilt my head. “Story?”
“Yeah—our love story. If we’re going to see those people again, they’ll ask questions that go deeper than surface level. We need to be prepared.”
She’s right. This all happened so fast, I hadn’t thought much beyond us looking like a convincing couple.
When I don’t answer right away, Scottie clears her throat. “Let’s not make it complicated. We’re already lying enough, so we might as well use as much truth as we can.”
“So that would be…we’ve known each other since we were kids, because you’re best friends with my sister. And then what?”
Scottie shrugs. “And then we went our separate ways for a while, didn’t see each other as often—until I moved back and we realized there was a spark.”
Her version is nearly true, which makes it easy to remember. My version is something I’ll keep to myself. Because revealing it would definitely make her uncomfortable.
The truth is, I’d just come home from a long stretch of travel, and Elyse was struggling.
She’d recently finished college, but the past few years had been rough, and I thought surprising her with a visit might be nice.
I hadn’t seen Scottie in a long time—probably not since she and Elyse graduated high school.
I remember it clearly. I’d walked into the house expecting to see my mom or one of my siblings, but it was quiet. I was about to head upstairs and check whether my parents had converted my old bedroom into a gym or something when I heard a voice.
A woman’s voice.
It drew me in before I could stop myself. The sound led me to the sitting room—the one we weren’t allowed in as kids—so even as an adult it felt wrong stepping too close.
A woman stood there with her back to me, red hair cascading over her shoulders, a sheet of paper in one hand as she gestured animatedly to the empty room.
I must’ve made a sound, because she turned, startled—and it took me a second to realize it was Scottie.
She wasn’t the kid I remembered. Her body had softened and curved, her hair falling in soft, deliberate waves instead of wild tangles—as if the years between then and now had been shaping her into someone I’d never been ready for.
And when she smiled, it hit me low in the gut.
I hadn’t known it was possible to miss a version of someone you’d never met until now.
Recognition lit her eyes, and a nervous laugh slipped out. “Sorry—I didn’t think anyone was home.”
Before I could say anything, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me. The hug caught me off guard. We’d never hugged before. Not once.
“It’s been so long,” she said, her voice muffled against my shoulder.
Her body pressed into mine, and every coherent thought went up in smoke. All I could manage was “Yeah.”
The warmth of her curves, the faint citrus scent clinging to her hair, the brush of it under my chin—I forgot how to breathe.
And with her close enough that I could feel her breath against my collarbone, I didn’t know what to do with the sudden rush of awareness—the pounding in my chest, the heat crawling up my neck.
I didn’t know what to do with any of it. I just knew something had changed, and pretending otherwise wasn’t going to be easy.
When she finally pulled away, her eyes met mine—soft at the corners, her smile familiar and new all at once. And that’s when I knew I was fucked.
“What—what are you doing?” I winced inwardly at the stutter. I’d known Scottie basically my entire life and never once thought of her as anything more than my sister’s best friend. Until that moment.
“I wasn’t talking to myself, if that’s what you thought,” she said quickly. “I’m running lines for an audition. I’m nervous as hell I won’t get it, so I’ve been practicing every chance I get.”
“Want some help?” I wasn’t sure why I offered—or what I was even thinking—only that I wanted to keep talking to her.
“It’s for a TV pilot,” she said, lifting the paper a little.
“A quirky workplace comedy about a car dealership. I’m up for one of the supporting roles—nothing big, but still, it’s something.
” She shrugged, though her eyes sparkled like it was anything but small.
“If I land the role and it gets picked up, maybe I’ll actually be able to afford that L.A. rent.”
“L.A.?” I repeated. “As in Los Angeles?”
“Yes!” She practically vibrated with excitement. “I’m moving there next week.”
I nodded, pretending to be supportive instead of selfishly disappointed.
I’d spent years traveling from one place to another, never staying anywhere long enough to miss anyone—but in that moment, I hated that I’d just come home, only to find her on her way out.
I hadn’t planned on sticking around, but if she were, maybe I’d finally have a reason to.
“That’s great.” I smiled even as my stomach sank.
She laughed softly. “Yeah. Scary, too. But it’s a start, you know? New city, new people, new everything.”
“Well, I’m happy for you,” I said, hoping she couldn’t hear the crack of something breaking in my voice.
“Okay, ready for version one?”
I nodded, stepping back to give her the room.
She took an inhale, squared her shoulders, and it was like a switch flipped. Suddenly she was someone else—her voice crisp, posture poised, the kind of presence that couldn’t be taught.
She ran through the scene once, and it was funny in a sharp, quick-witted way that took me by surprise. Then she dropped the page, exhaled, and shook out her hands.
“Okay, version two. Same scene, but different energy.”
This time she leaned into it—sarcastic, almost flirty, her delivery quick and lively. I had no idea what the scene was actually about, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t look away.
Her laugh, her timing, the way her eyes lifted at the end of a line—every part of it felt effortless. She was magnetic, and my pulse raced like I’d been sprinting for miles.
When she finished, she looked at me expectantly. “Well?”
I blinked, still catching up. “They were both great.”
“That’s not helpful,” she said, grinning. “Which one felt better?”
I cleared my throat, stalling. “Honestly? Go with your gut. Trust your instincts.”
Satisfaction flickered across her face as she gathered her pages—just as the front door burst open.
“Scottie? You still here?” Elyse’s voice rang through the house.
Scottie’s head snapped toward the sound. “Back here. Coming.” She tucked the script under her arm and darted toward the hall. “Thanks for your help.”
Before I could respond, she was gone, disappearing around the corner.
I stood there for a moment, still staring at the space she left behind, reeling from my reaction to her.
Whatever that was, it didn’t stand a chance. Not when she was about to start a whole new life and I’d spent mine drifting from one place to the next.
That was the start of me keeping my distance from Scottie. Between weekend visits and holidays, I made sure our paths rarely crossed. It was easier that way.
Until now.
“Did you hear me?” Scottie’s voice snaps me back to the present. She’s looking at me from the driver’s seat, one eyebrow raised. “Coffee. How do you take it?”
I scrub a hand down my face, trying to focus. “Black.”
She makes an exaggerated gagging sound. “Gross. Why do all men take their coffee black? It’s like you all hate joy.”
A laugh tumbles out of me. “It’s just easy. We can only do one thing at a time.”
“That sounds about right.”
“What about you? How do you take your coffee?”
“If Ariana is making it, then it’s a half-sweet, sugar-free white-chocolate-coconut Americano with extra ice and cream.
But if I’m making it at home, it’s drip or some overpriced pod with sugar-free flavored creamer.
It has to be sugar-free. I’m not sure if you remember, but I have type 1, so I have to manage my carb intake. ”
“Of course I remember.” How could she think I wouldn’t? Am I so far removed from her memories that she’s forgotten I was there the day she passed out?
Her eyes lock with mine for a brief moment, wide and maybe even a little unsure, like she doesn’t know what to do with the fact that I remember.
She looks back to the road, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, pretending the moment never happened.
“But yeah,” she says after a second, her voice lighter now, like she’s steering us both away from whatever just passed between us.
“Type 1 diabetic. And, you know, ADHD—because apparently my pancreas and my brain decided to team up against me.” She laughs softly, shaking her head. “You’ve probably noticed. I’m a lot.”
The humor in her tone doesn’t land the way I think she wants it to. It’s deflecting. And all I can think is that at some point, someone made her feel like the things she can’t control—the illnesses that are probably exhausting to live with every single day—are too much. I hate that.
And I hate whoever made her believe it.
“You’re not a lot.”
Her smile slowly eases, softening at the edges before it disappears altogether. She doesn’t look at me, just keeps her eyes on the road like she’s concentrating too hard on the white lines ahead.
For the rest of the drive back to Red Mountain, we keep the conversation light—swapping quirks, weird habits, favorite colors, and favorite foods.
It’s twenty questions on steroids, and by the time we pull into my driveway, I’m mentally drained.
I’m not sure how much of it I’ll actually retain, but I’ll try.
Scottie surprises me by getting out of the car when I do.
“I need to stretch,” she explains, rolling her shoulders. “My neck is killing me. Plus, your sister dragged me to some torture class this morning, and my body is protesting.”
I watch as she lifts her arms overhead, letting out a groan that sends a bolt of heat straight through me, my cock pressing uncomfortably against my zipper.
“If you stayed here, you wouldn’t have that issue with your neck.”
That earns me an eye roll.
I huff out a laugh. “Being stubborn won’t make your neck feel better.”
Her lips lift into a devious grin, eyes bright. “Maybe not, but it keeps my pride intact.”
She turns to leave, offering me a wave without bothering to look back. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
She’s halfway to the driver’s side when she stops and spins back around, finger lifted like she just remembered something important.
“Wait—if we’re supposed to be a couple, we need nicknames. Cute ones. Something believable.”
I cock my head and pretend to ponder it. “Funny you should say that. I was actually thinking about that earlier.”
Her eyes narrow, suspicious. “You already have one. Don’t you?”
“Maybe.” I let the corner of my mouth tilt up.
She crosses her arms. “Care to share with the class?”
“It’s cheesy,” I warn. “Like incredibly cheesy.”
“Gavin.” She says my name like a threat and a dare.
“Starlet,” I say. “Since you’re an actress. It’s a little different than the basic sweethearts and honeys.”
She blinks at me like she’s not sure what to make of it.
“Well, I don’t hate it,” she concedes. “Which is honestly a miracle. I just really appreciate that it’s not something cringey like ‘kitten.’”
I school my face into disappointment. “Damn. That was my second choice.”
She makes the most dramatic gagging noise I’ve ever heard. “Okay, well, good to know. I would’ve annulled our fake marriage immediately.”
I laugh—and then I ask, “Alright, your turn. What are you calling me?”
She taps her chin, pretending to think. “Hmm. Let’s see. I could go with something suave. Something rugged.” She pauses, eyes sparkling. “But I’m feeling…Daddy.”
I choke—very attractively, I assume. “Absolutely not. My daughter used to call me that. I can’t—no.”
She completely loses it—full head thrown back, laughing. “I was kidding. I could never say it with a straight face. Even I’m not that good of an actress.”
I give her a flat look. “At least we can agree on that.”
She tries to sober up, pressing her lips together to stop smiling. “Alright, alright. How about Gav? And sometimes your last name since I already do that anyway?”
“Works for me,” I say. Because I’m pretty sure I’d let her call me whatever she wants.
Even Daddy.
Not that I’m ever saying that out loud.
She steps back, giving a little mock-curtsy. “Starlet and Gav it is.”