Chapter 21
YOU CAN PUT IT DOWN.
Tucker
It’s been two days.
Two days of replaying our evening in the bathroom on loop.
Thankfully, the bar is busy tonight, as it always is on Friday nights. But even with the packed room and a bar full of regulars, nothing could drown out the memory of Scottie’s breath on my mouth seconds before her phone rang.
Or the look on her face when she came out of that call, a different person than before she picked up. Even today, working on the house all day before I left to come to Seven Stools to work my evening shift, she wasn’t the same Scottie.
I fought all day to ask her about it.
Hell, I cracked more jokes than usual to try to get a rise out of her.
Nothing.
Scottie gets under my skin in ways no one ever could.
Every wall she builds I want to knock down.
It’s been a constant battle with myself to get to this point, because one minute I felt a ping of regret for crossing the line, knowing she would see the deeper parts of me.
Then the next minute, I want her to see everything. I want to give her everything.
I pull into my driveway and sit there for a second while I let the quiet hum of the truck drown out my racing thoughts.
I turn my head toward my garage loft, where a single lamp glows behind the curtains of the window facing my house.
It looks way too inviting for a man who should know better by now.
I tell myself I’m just checking to make sure she’s okay.
I kill the engine, step out of the truck and shut the door behind me.
The night is cooler than usual, and crickets buzz somewhere in the woods.
I look toward my house, the dark shape against the sky, with not a single lamp left on.
It’s not as inviting as the loft apartment.
When I turn around again to face the loft, off to the other side of the property line, it feels like its own little world.
Her little world, for now.
I’m just about to turn for my house when I pause, doing a double take when I see her.
She’s not in the window looking outside.
She’s sitting on the bottom step of the staircase with her legs pulled up and her arms wrapped around her shins like she’s holding herself together by sheer force.
She is wearing cotton shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, and her hair is pulled into a messy bun.
She looks…tired.
“Scottie?”
Her head jerks up. Even in the dim light shining from the top of the stairs, I can see it—red-rimmed eyes and a shine of tear tracks down her cheek. She scrubs at her cheeks quickly, like she can erase the evidence before I catch it.
“Hey,” she says, voice cracking as I walk across the driveway to where she sits. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be out here and bother you after working all day. There’s no seating on the deck, and I wanted to be outside for a bit.”
Shit. I should have put some chairs up there for her.
I should have told her she can use the ones on my porch.
“Bothering me?” I stop in front of her, crouching down until I’m eye level with her. “You’re sitting on the stairs, and I was the one who called your name.”
A tiny huff of sound leaves her that resembles a ghost of a laugh. Then it dies, and the weight settles back in her shoulders.
“I figured you’d be asleep,” I continue, trending carefully but also wanting to make her laugh. “Or inside, plotting new ways to bully me about wall color.”
She stares down at the ground for a moment and then shakes her head.
This is not the Scottie I know.
I reach forward, resting a hand on her knee. My palm on her bare skin sends chills through my body at the same time her head snaps up, eyes meeting mine. She looks so fucking tired.
“What’s going on, Scottie?”
She sighs. “I just can’t sleep.”
“Why?”
She eyes me curiously, like she’s not sure if she’s ready to tell me more. Like she’s not ready to open up to me. I don’t blame her. We have an agreement for the show and nothing more.
“Is this about the show?” I ask when she doesn’t answer.
“All of it,” she says, swallowing. “We have so much left to do in the next two weeks. It’s starting to hit me that maybe I won’t be able to do this and that I’m in over my head.”
“You can,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her eyes flick up, startled.
I move to sit down beside her on the bottom step, leaving a few inches of space between us. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off her. Close enough to smell the soap she used in the shower and whatever floral thing she uses in her hair.
“The tile demo is done, the leak in the ceiling is fixed, and the tub is on its way to resurrection,” I tell her honestly. “You’ve knocked all the big projects off the list. You’re doing it.”
She laughs, but it’s forced. “It’s not enough.”
“It is,” I counter.
She shakes her head, wrapping her arms tighter around her legs. “You don’t get it. It can’t just be okay. This has to be incredible. The design, the reveal, all of it. If it’s not perfect, the network won’t care, but my mom will say she told me so.”
And there it is.
That last part drops heavier than the rest.
“I spent my life making sure everything I did was enough,” she whispers, pain laced in her voice as she looks at the ground between us. “I’ve been working so damn hard to be taken seriously in this industry and I feel like no matter what I do, it’s never going to be enough.”
“Scottie,” I say sharply, urging her to look at me and she does. “You are enough.”
Her body goes tense, even without my hands on her, I can feel it.
“You don’t know that.”
I grip her chin between my fingers so she doesn’t look away. “I don’t have to know your whole story to see your worth.”
Her lips part, and I can see the argument building in her eyes the longer she stares back at me. I see all the ways she wants to say I’m wrong.
But she doesn’t.
“I-I hate this,” she says, releasing a trembling breath. “I hate that everyone expects me to be polished and happy at all times. And now, here I am, crying on a staircase.”
“Most people cry on much worse furniture.”
A startled laugh slips free. She presses her lips together quickly though, as if she didn’t mean to let it out.
I feel my mouth curve into a smile. “See? Still human.”
She scoffs. “I don’t think I’m allowed to be that. Certain expectations have been set for me and I have to fight like hell to live up to them.”
“That doesn’t sound exhausting at all,” I say sarcastically.
That earns me a genuine smile, one that doesn’t feel fake and averts her gaze from me—eyes bouncing between her hands and the driveway.
“It’s so tiring, Tucker. I went from making sure the world saw me for what they want, to getting this show and the producers telling me to be myself.
But what they really want is the version they can sell.
” She blinks, a single tear escaping her eyes.
“And if I mess up, it’s not just a bad day.
It’s going to be on everyone’s TV screen.
Then I’ll have a lengthy phone call with my mom saying ‘I told you this was too big for you.’”
The words tumble out of her like a dam that just broke.
“I’m terrified I won’t finish on time,” she goes on.
“The timeline is already so tight. We still have to work on that mess of a yard, the master bedroom, the entryway, and that ridiculous wallpaper. There’s…
so much.” She drags in a shaky breath, facing me again.
“What if we can’t pull it off? What if this whole town, the crew, you…
what if you all see me fail and realize I never deserved any of this? ”
She breaks when she says it—deserved.
Her hands cover her face, and she releases every emotion she’s held in for probably the first time in front of someone.
It fucking destroys me inside that this is everything she’s been thinking about since she got here.
She’s bottled up all these emotions and kept them to herself so no one would see her differently.
But I see her.
I fucking see all of her.
I don’t think after that, I just move. I shift slowly, closing the gap between us before she can flinch away.
Sliding an arm around her waist, I guide her gently onto my lap.
She stiffens and gasps in surprise, but doesn’t fight me.
Her hands bunch in my shirt, holding on like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.
“Hey,” I murmur, one hand splayed across her back and the other cupping the back of her head. “Breathe for me, babe.”
She does—ragged and catching on every inhale. She’s half on my lap and half curled against my chest with her head ducking into my neck. It should feel like too much, but it doesn’t.
It feels inevitable.
It feels like some part of me has been waiting to hold her exactly like this.
“Strong looks good on you, Scottie,” I whisper against her hair. She pulls back, tear filled eyes meeting mine. “But you can put it down.”
“And what if you see too much?”
“I already have,” I answer honestly, reaching up to swipe a loose tear from her cheek with the back of my finger. “And I’m still here.”
Her eyes search mine, looking for the lie and hoping she doesn’t find one. She won’t because it’s the truth.
I’m still here.
I want to be here.
I’m finding that I’ve slowly become addicted to her.
“You know you’re allowed to just…be,” I say honestly, making sure she understands she can be herself with me. “Mess included.”
She stares at me as if she’s trying to decide whether she believes me. My heart pounds loudly in my chest, and I know she can feel it. Her hand lifts, and she hesitates before cupping the side of my face. Her touch is so light, but it’s undeniable.
“Everyone gets a version of me. Mostly the put-together one.”
“And what do I get?”
She swallows, still holding me. “The one I’m scared to hand over.”
“That’s the one I want.”
“Even if it’s ugly?”
I reach up, this time taking her head between my hands. Hers fall from my face and I bring our mouths inches apart. “Especially if it’s ugly, Scottie.”