Chapter 25
Scottie
DARKNESS IS A STRANGE THING
Turns out I’m a terrible rule follower.
Not only did I get possessed in the middle of the night and literally put the moves on Gavin, but I did nothing to stop him from reciprocating.
I’m not sure what came over me. One minute we were watching the movie, and the next I woke up wrapped around him.
I must have gravitated toward him in my sleep because we definitely didn’t start out that way.
I wasn’t thinking clearly. All I know is that when I woke up, I felt amazing.
He was warm— that perfect mix of solid and soft.
I felt protected. I felt like being in his arms was the feeling I’d been searching for my entire life.
And so I made one move, and then another, and then another, and when my eyes connected with his, all bets were off.
Darkness is a strange thing, because it makes you think there aren’t any consequences.
I’m not sure what I was expecting from him, but it definitely wasn’t what happened—and what we almost did. And then there was what happened later, after he spoke to Lily. It was like he knew my body, like he owned it, like he was familiar with it.
And now I’m being the ultimate coward, unable to face him. I’m not sure where we go from here or what it means. We’re married. I live in his house. I’m best friends with his sister. His family may as well be my family. There are too many strings between us—we couldn’t detach them if we tried.
He might’ve just been looking for physical relief, and maybe I was too, but it was also more than that for me. And now I’m worried we had two different experiences. There’s just no possible way he’s feeling what I’m feeling.
I wish I could disappear, hide away forever, rather than be forced to come face-to-face with Gavin. But that’s not an option. I have to deal with this. We have to deal with it. So I’m going to be a grown-up and do just that.
I don’t have to be at the real estate office until this afternoon, so I get ready, maybe putting a little extra care into my appearance.
An extra swipe of mascara, that lip gloss I always get compliments on, a top that highlights my two best assets.
If I’m going in there to have the world’s most uncomfortable conversation, then I’m going to look good doing it. It’s called armor.
I can see Gavin through the kitchen windows as I approach. He’s making one of his green juices.
That man is just too healthy sometimes.
Taking a deep breath, I push through the door, wearing my easiest smile. Because I’m fine—and if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s looking like I’m one hundred percent fine. Because I am.
“Hey,” he says, looking at me over his shoulder, wearing an equally unbothered smile.
Maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought.
He stalks toward me—calm, relaxed, not at all embarrassed or conflicted or regretful or experiencing any of the myriad emotions I was anticipating.
But he doesn’t stop at a respectable distance.
He keeps going, until I’m backed up against the wall, his body so close to mine I’m forced to tilt my chin to meet his eyes.
The ability to breathe leaves me; the rationale to step away is nonexistent.
All that’s left is me, trapped in his gaze with zero desire to move.
“How’d you sleep?” he asks, innocently, like we’re talking about the weather. Not that he left me so satisfied I fell asleep almost instantly.
“Good.” I swallow.
The corner of his lips lifts into a smirk as his eyes lazily wander the length of me.
I’m slowly turning to putty, my brain to mush. “How—how did you sleep?”
“Good. But I could’ve slept better.”
Another swallow—except this one goes down wrong, burning me to the point of needing to inhale a sharp breath. A move I immediately wish I could take back because it’s pure pine—pure Gavin—and now I’m convinced it’s laced with something that makes me dizzy.
“How could you have slept better?” I ask quietly, under my breath.
“With you.”
A warmth spreads through me, a full-body awareness. I think I might still be sleeping.
“What are you saying right now?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
His hand comes up to the side of my face, cradling my jaw as he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. It’s a soft, gentle movement that makes me want to lean into his palm. His eyes are staring so deeply into mine, I think he might be able to see into my soul.
“I like you.”
My eyes flicker rapidly, blinking in disbelief. There’s no way I heard that right. I imagined it. I must have.
“I like you,” he repeats, like he knows I’m struggling to comprehend the simple words that are anything but simple. “I’ve liked you for a really long time.”
“How long?” It comes out breathless, as if I’ve been overexerting myself, when really it’s my heart tumbling and stumbling—doing cartwheels in my chest.
“Years.”
Years.
My head rears back. My mind shuffles through memories. He hardly spoke to me—actively avoided me. It doesn’t make any sense.
“I don’t understand.”
“Remember that day I came home to surprise Elyse and you were practicing for your audition?”
I nod, unable to speak, but I do remember. I remember I hadn’t seen him in years and thought the crush I’d harbored had faded—but then there he was, and so was that flutter in my chest.
“Something changed that day. I didn’t want to stop talking to you.
I wanted to get to know you—the adult you.
But you were moving to L.A., and I wasn’t sticking around.
After that, being around you was hard. I didn’t know how to be your friend and not want more, so I kept my distance.
I tried to stop thinking of you, tried to convince myself it was just a crush.
So I kept traveling, kept myself distracted.
And then Lily was born, and the dream of you faded further and further away.
But my feelings never did. And now I just can’t—”
“You can’t what?”
“I can’t move on from you. You’re all I want. All I think about.”
I stare up at him, pulse pounding, trying to find something to hold onto. A thought. A breath. A word. Anything.
But all I can manage is, “Gavin…”
He doesn’t give me room to backpedal. He doesn’t let me run. His thumb strokes once along my jaw—slow, reverent, like he’s memorizing me.
“I have an idea ,” he says quietly. The kind of quiet that holds gravity. That asks to be taken seriously.
My heart trips. “Okay…”
“This weekend,” he says. “While we’re at Wallula Lake.”
I blink. “What about it?”
His gaze flicks down to my mouth before returning to my eyes—steady, unflinching. “Maybe we try it.”
My breath stops. He waits.
“Try what?” I ask, even though I think I know. At least I hope I know.
“Us.” His voice is warm velvet. Sure. Anchored.
“I know it’s fast, but life is short.”
It is fast. But if anyone knows how quickly everything can change, it’s me.
“No pretending,” he continues. “No holding back. No dancing around whatever this is. We’re supposed to be a married couple anyway. We are legally married. So what if we just try it? See how it feels to really be together.”
I feel every word like fingertips trailing down my spine.
He continues, softer now, vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen from him.
“Away from my family. Away from expectations. No prying eyes on us. No pressure. Just you and me. Being. And afterward, we’ll know. We’ll know if there’s something here. If it’s worth pursuing. If it’s real.”
My chest tightens, breath shaky. “But what about when I leave?”
He doesn’t look away. Not even for a second.
“I have no intention of getting in the way of your dreams,” he says.
“You’ve worked your whole life for them.
I would never take that from you.” His jaw works, emotion thick in his throat.
“But I also don’t want to lose you. And if there’s even a chance that what we have is worth holding onto—it might be worth trying. ”
My heart lurches. Reaching for him like it’s been waiting for this moment. For him.
“I don’t want to get hurt,” I whisper. “I’m scared.” I didn’t mean to admit it, but it’s true.
“I know.” His hand slides from my jaw to the side of my neck, thumb resting just below my ear. “And I don’t want either of us to get hurt. I’m terrified of that. But I would rather risk the pain than spend the rest of my life wondering what could’ve been.”
I exhale shakily, because he’s saying all the things I’ve always wanted to hear.
Everything I’ve ever wanted.
All the things I told myself I couldn’t have.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” he says quietly. “And I’ll stop. I’ll never bring it up again, I promise.”
I look at him.
At the man who has held me.
Chosen me.
Seen me.
Wanted me.
I want him. I want this.
My voice is barely a sound.
Barely a breath.
“I want to try.”
His expression shifts—like something inside him breaks and heals all at once.
He leans in, not to kiss me.
But to rest his forehead against mine.
“Okay,” he says. “As soon as we’re in Wallula Lake, you’re mine.”