Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Scottie
I pick up the used tissues that missed the trashcan, open my windows to let in some air, and then take a hot shower.
The water hits me like a hundred tiny massages, easing the ache that’s been living in my bones for two straight days. I stand there longer than I mean to, breathing in lavender steam and trying to feel like a person again.
I finally pour shampoo into my hand, work it into a creamy, bubbly lather, and rake it through my hair, scrubbing my head longer than normal.
Then I rinse and put on conditioner, smoothing it over my strands and running my hands through my hair in a way that normally feels nice but now feels … insufficient.
A memory of Lucas’s hand grazing my hair this morning surfaces, and my fingers slow in the conditioner.
I drag them across my scalp and through my hair again, trying to recreate the feeling—
WAIT.
This morning, his hand only skimmed my face and hair once.
So why does my body remember him running his hands through my hair on repeat?
Is this wishful thinking?
Or an actual memory??
My breathing speeds up as memories come in rapid flashes.
Lucas’s hands in my hair.
His low, soft voice.
His breath close enough to stir the tiny hairs on my face.
His voice in the dark:
Why are you dating him?
And then my voice—
He needs me.
PR fix.
… fake dating …
My hands slap against the tile wall.
That’s not something I would imagine. Not something my brain would invent while half asleep, feverish, and miserable.
Something cold cuts through the steam.
His hand in my hair.
The way he went quiet afterward.
The way he smiled last night but didn’t push.
The way he stayed.
I suck in a sharp breath, the steam suddenly too thick, the shower too hot.
No, no, no, no, no.
I remember his nearness. That pause. The way his fingers stilled for just a second before continuing, like something suddenly clicked into place.
My eyes fly open. My knees go weak, making me sway fully into the stream.
I gasp, water spraying my face as the truth crashes down all at once.
HE KNOWS.