Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Scottie
The thing about pretending you’re fine is that it only works until it doesn’t.
Until reality crashes into you and sends you sprawling.
This—right now—feels like a twenty-car pileup inside my brain. A wreck of too much feeling, too much wanting.
Last night was supposed to be simple. It was supposed to be physical. A one-time detour into bad decisions are fun territory. No strings. No expectations. Just heat and hunger and letting ourselves get reckless for a change.
I wasn’t supposed to kiss him like I meant it. When I climbed into bed, it was supposed to be casual. Casual . . . instead, I lost myself in the way his hands knew exactly how to undo me.
You know what else I wasn’t supposed to do? I wasn’t supposed to wrap my legs around him, my fingers gripping his shoulders like lifelines, while he drove into me slow and deep, whispering my name like a prayer he didn’t deserve.
I wasn’t supposed to let him touch me like I was something precious. Something his hands had memorized even before he ever laid them on me.
I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep against his chest. The sheets tangled around us, my body aching in the best possible ways.
His arm thrown over my waist like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go even in sleep.
His breath warm against my hair, like a promise he didn’t know how to say out loud yet.
And I definitely wasn’t supposed to wake up to him looking at me like I was his entire goddamn world. Like one night had rewritten everything he thought he knew about us. As if he was already all in, even if I was still standing on the shore, terrified to dive.
And I certainly wasn’t supposed to hear him say he was just as scared but ready to fight for us.
Jason Tate doesn’t play small. He never has.
He wants everything.
And apparently, he wants me.
Which would be overwhelming enough on its own, but no. Of course, the universe wasn’t done.
Cue Leif, big brother, who appeared strolling by a mid-makeout session with Luna and enough fury to power a small city. If it hadn’t been for my baby niece blowing raspberries and looking adorable, he probably would’ve strangled Jason right there on the grass and made me watch.
Leif didn’t make a huge scene—because even he knows a fistfight in Central Park, in front of a stroller, would look bad for the team. He’s not stupid. He’s just . . . furious. And disappointed. And plotting my boyfriend’s slow and painful death.
Boyfriend?
Ella, what has gotten into you?
I can’t even think of that word without wanting to crawl out of my skin.
My stomach twists as I replay it all—the way Jason’s hands felt on my body, the way his voice went rough and low when he said my name, the way he kissed me like we had all the time in the world and none at all.
I drag my hands through my hair and let out a strangled sound that’s half groan, half whimper.
This is too much.
Too much wanting.
Too much hope.
Too much everything.
I’m Scottie fucking Crawford. I’m supposed to have a plan. I’m supposed to keep things clean, contained, and manageable. Not get dragged into whatever this is—this messy, gloriously-terrifying thing blooming between us like wildfire out of control.
And the worst part?
The really, truly horrifying part?
I don’t even want to control it.
I somehow want to dive into it headfirst like the reckless idiot Jason thinks I already am. Even when I shouldn’t, I want him.
Not just for one night.
Not just for a kiss behind closed doors.
I want the whole stupid thing.
Even if it means risking everything.
Even if it means handing my heart to a man who’s probably going to wreck it beautifully.
I close my eyes and press the heels of my hands into them until stars bloom behind my lids. It doesn’t help. Nothing’s going to help.
Jason Tate wasn’t supposed to look at me like I was it, but he fucking did. It’s as if I’m everything he didn’t know he needed until I crashed into his life wearing bad ideas and stubborn pride.
And the worst part—the part that’s still unraveling me right now, hours later, as I pace my apartment like a lunatic—is that when I met his eyes this morning, still tangled in his sheets, still tasting him on my lips . . .
I didn’t look away.
I didn’t run.
Some tiny, desperate part of me leaned closer instead. The same reckless part of me wanted more.
More of the way his hands curled around my waist like I was breakable.
More of the way he kissed me afterward—slow, lingering, almost reverent—like sex wasn’t the end but the beginning of something bigger, scarier, better.
I’m so fucked.
Because if Jason decides to fight for me—and let’s be honest, he already has—I don’t know if I have it in me to fight back.
Not really.
Not when everything inside me already feels like it’s folding toward him without permission.
Not when the memory of his mouth on my skin still burns hotter than the sun pouring through my windows.
The knock on my door feels like a divine intervention. Or at least a temporary break from spiraling myself into a full existential meltdown. I frown, wondering why the doorman didn’t call up first—unless . . .
I groan, dragging a hand down my face.
There are precisely three groups of people who can bypass security and show up unannounced, among them my parents, and .
. . I groan because this has to be one of my brothers.
Yep, Leif complained, and now I have to deal with him or possibly Killion.
Maybe both. If it’s Leif, I’m going to need alcohol or at least a pound of chocolate just to survive the first five minutes.
When I open the door, it’s my adorable sisters-in-law. Well, there are three of them, but that’s plenty. Listen, I love them, but right now, I’d prefer not to deal with anyone.
Hailey, Cam, and Valentina enter my apartment without waiting for an invitation.
Hailey’s carrying a bag from the fancy bakery down the street.
Cam’s got a bottle of wine in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
Valentina’s got a giant tote bag slung over one shoulder and . . . a blender?
I blink at them, pointing at Val. “You’re supposed to be in Boston.”
“Not today,” she says breezily, stepping inside like she owns the place. “I came down for a client meeting. I was at Jacob’s office when . . .” She trails off with a shrug like it naturally explains why she’s here.
I narrow my eyes. “Did someone die?”
“Yeah,” Hailey chirps, dropping the pastry bag on the counter. “You. Of emotional constipation.”
Cam pops the cork on the wine with a dramatic flourish and immediately pours it into the nearest coffee mug. “We’re here to save you.”
Valentina drops her tote on the counter and starts setting up what looks suspiciously like margarita supplies. “Or stage an exorcism. Whichever gets results faster.”
“An exorcism with tequila?” I arch an eyebrow.
“And lime,” she says solemnly. “The lime is crucial, my friend.”
I cross my arms, glaring at them. “I’m fine.”
All three of them laugh like I just told the best joke they’ve heard all week.
Hailey moves first, grabbing a blueberry scone, breaking it cleanly in half like she’s proving some kind of point. “Your brother came home pretty pissed about this morning’s . . . events.”
She says events like it’s code for something scandalous and not just me kissing a man we’ve known for years.
“His sister kissed a guy,” she continues, sarcastically. “In public.”
“The horror,” Val deadpans, tossing some ice into the blender.
The blender whirs to life with a roar as if adding an extra exclamation point to the scene.
Once it settles, Cam holds up her mug of wine. “Someone who’s ‘fine,’ doesn’t ignore twenty-seven texts from her brothers demanding to know if she was making out with Jason Tate.”
Valentina taps a manicured nail against the counter like she’s delivering closing arguments. “Fine, it doesn’t look like she’s one bad memory away from taking a flamethrower to her life and starting over on another planet.”
I open my mouth to argue—because that is wildly unfair.
Immediately close it.
Because . . . okay, yeah. I could try to figure out if there’s life on Mars or . . . somewhere closer. And perhaps they’re right, but I have been spiraling a little.
I snatch the first margarita Valentina pours and a scone like they’re flotation devices on a sinking ship. If my mouth is full, I don’t have to explain myself. Great plan, honestly.
“Exactly,” Hailey says, sitting on a stool and leveling me with the look. The same look she usually reserves for Leif when he’s doing something infuriating.
“Don’t worry,” she adds. “We’re gonna sort your life out.”
“I don’t need sorting,” I grumble, but even to my ears, it sounds more like a toddler insisting they don’t need a nap mid-meltdown.
Cam props her chin on her hand, grinning like she’s got front-row seats to the world’s best soap opera. “You’re in love with him.”
“I am not.” The denial rips out of me fast and defensive, like she just accused me of murdering someone.
Valentina snorts into her margarita. “You just choked on tequila at the idea. That’s not a ‘no,’ sweetie. That’s a full-blown panic response.”
I glare at them, cheeks burning, but they’re already laughing, clinking their drinks together like they’ve won a bet I didn’t know we were having.
And maybe they have.
Because even with all the tequila and denial in the world . . .
I don’t think I can lie to myself anymore.
“I’m not—” I start, but my voice cracks traitorously. I clear my throat. “I don’t care for him. Jason is okay.”
They all stare at me.
“I just—” I gesture helplessly, scone crumbs flying. “—like him. Sort of. Maybe. A little.”
Hailey’s eyes soften immediately. “It’s okay, you know. To like someone. To want more.”
Cam leans forward. “You’re allowed to be scared and still try.”
Valentina, predictably, goes for the kill shot. “You’re just so used to surviving that you don’t know how to thrive.”
It hits like a sucker punch.
Right in the gut.
I look away, blinking hard, trying to stay upright under the weight of it all.
“I’m not scared,” I lie poorly.
“Sure,” Cam says, sipping her wine like she’s watching a slow-motion trainwreck.
Hailey’s hand slides over mine, where it’s clenched around the counter.
“You’re scared because he makes you feel safe,” she says quietly. “And you don’t know how to trust safe anymore.”
I hate it a little that they’re right. This is entirely true.Just one night, Jason makes me want things I promised myself I’d never want.
Hope.
A future.
And . . . that’s not normal.
“I don’t . . .” My voice cracks again. I swallow it down. Try to find words that don’t make me sound like I’m about two seconds away from crying. “I don’t know how to stay. Anywhere. With anyone. Without waiting for it to blow up.”
Silence falls.
Thick. Heavy.
Not judgmental—just sad.
Cam hops off her stool, walking around the counter until she’s standing in front of me.
“You know what staying is?” she says, tipping my chin up so I have to look at her. “It’s waking up scared every day . . . and still choosing to be part of the best thing that’s happened to you because not having it hurts more than being afraid ever will.”
If anyone knows about that, it’d be her. Cam and Killion dated back in college, and he chose to leave. It seemed easier at the time, but every day he was away from her, he hurt. Those fourteen years were wasted because he led his love life with fear.
Hailey nods, squeezing my hand like she’s trying to will some of her bravery into me.
“It’s not about being fearless,” she says, her voice rough around the edges. “It’s about being brave anyway.”
Valentina smirks, cocking her head like she’s about to drop the truth hammer.
“And honestly? You’ve survived the Crawford men your whole life.
Love my man, but let’s not pretend they’re not all emotionally constipated at best and walking red flags at worst.” She sighs, exaggerated and dramatic.
“Between your circus of a family and all the crap life’s hurled at you?
You didn’t just survive—you built something better out of the wreckage.
You lost your career and still figured out who you are.
If you can do that, you sure as fuck can survive falling in love. ”
A laugh punches out of me, broken and a little too watery to be dignified.
Usually, I make pretty good decisions when it comes to my life.
But it seems like in the love life department, I’ve been just floundering.
More like avoiding it, but it’s because .
. . “I don’t know how to be enough,” I mumble.
“Not without losing myself in the process.”
“You already are,” Hailey says, fierce and wild-eyed like she’d brawl the whole damn world for me if she had to.
“Trust yourself. You’re not that lost girl anymore,” Val adds.
“Just . . . be you,” Cam chimes in, nudging my foot under the table. “The version of you that doesn’t have to fight every goddamn second just to breathe.”
Val taps my forehead like she’s trying to knock some sense into me.
“And for fuck’s sake, stop overthinking. You’re gonna overanalyze yourself right out of your happy ending.”
I suck in a breath. It wobbles in my chest, but it’s real, like a window cracking open after being sealed shut too long.
“I’m scared,” I admit, voice low, almost ashamed. Like maybe if I say it too loud, it’ll make it more real.
“Good,” Hailey says, smiling through her tears, unapologetic and beautiful in that raw, gutted way only true friends can be. “It means it fucking matters.”
Maybe she’s right.
Maybe it does matter more than I want to admit.
Maybe it’s supposed to scare me a little.
Because the truth is, love isn’t a perfect fairytale or some glossy magazine cover—it’s this messy, aching, real thing. And maybe if it’s with Jason Tate, it’ll be just right for the two of us.