Chapter 6
SIX
TINY
I’m lying on my couch when my phone buzzes on my chest. I don’t move right away.
Moving sounds like a terrible idea and breathing already feels like work.
My head is stuffed, my throat is raw, and every muscle in my body aches.
I’ve got a blanket tangled around one leg, a half-empty bottle of water on the floor beside the couch, and a bowl of soup on the coffee table that Tessa bullied Cole into dropping off a few hours ago even though I told her I was fine. I am not fine.
My phone buzzes again. I crack one eye open and lift it off my chest, expecting another message from the old lady group chat telling me to hydrate, take my meds, or stop being dramatic. Instead, Scarlett’s name lights up the screen.
Scarlett: I asked Lucy if I could give you her number.
Everything in me goes still. My nose is still clogged, my body still aches, but for one second none of that matters. Lucy, the girl from the clinic with the pretty hair and those hazel-green eyes I haven’t been able to get out of my damn head since yesterday.
I sit up too fast and immediately regret it. “Son of a bitch,” I mutter, pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead while the room spins. My phone buzzes again before I can steady myself.
Scarlett: She said yes by the way
Me: She’s sure?
Scarlett: I asked twice.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Scarlett: Don’t be weird.
I scowl at the phone.
Me: I’m never weird.
Scarlett: Tiny.
Me: Fine. I’ll be normal.
Scarlett: You don’t know how to be normal. Just don’t scare the poor girl.
She sends Lucy’s number before I can come up with something mature. I save it in my contacts and just sit there staring at her name. Lucy Parker.
I should text her. That’s the normal thing to do.
A woman says yes to giving me her number, and I text her.
Except my hands suddenly feel too big. These same hands that rebuild engines and take men to the ground and hold crying kids at club barbecues have never made me nervous before.
Now I’m trying to figure out what to say to a girl who blushes when she smiles and probably thinks I’m insane.
I open a new message. Close it, then open it again.
Hey, it’s Tiny. Too boring.
Hey, Lucy. This is Tiny from the clinic. Still boring. Also, I doubt she’s met another man named Tiny in the last twenty-four hours.
Hey, sweetheart. Absolutely not. Too much. Too fast.
I toss the phone onto the cushion beside me and drag both hands down my face, then immediately regret it because my skin feels like sandpaper. “Get it together,” I mutter to my empty living room. “It’s a text message, not a marriage proposal.”
Tessa: DID YOU TEXT HER YET?
I glare at the screen.
Me: How the hell do you know?
Tessa: Scarlett told us.
Hadley: Be normal.
Erica: Do not lead with the soup commercial thing.
Tessa: Actually, lead with that. It was vulnerable.
Hadley: Do not listen to Tessa.
Scarlett: I trusted you with her number. Don’t make me regret it.
Me: I hate all of you.
Tessa: Text the girl, plague prince.
I throw the phone down again, but this time I pick it right back up because they’re right. I go back to Lucy’s contact. My thumb pauses, and for once I make myself think before I act.
Lucy said yes carefully. I know that without anyone telling me. I saw enough yesterday to know careful is built into her. She apologizes before anyone accuses her. She helped me like I mattered, then looked surprised when I thanked her for it.
So I need to go easy. I need to go slow and not be the version of myself that gets loud at the bar because my brothers are happy and I’m lonely and I’d rather turn it into a joke than admit it hurts.
I type before I can overthink it again.
Me: Hey. This is the giant idiot from the clinic yesterday. I survived. Barely.
The message delivers, then nothing. That’s fine, she has a life, but it doesn’t stop me from checking my phone every thirty seconds anyway.
When it finally buzzes I drop it on my face trying to read it. “Mother fucker!” I growl, rubbing my forehead.
Lucy: I’m glad you’re not dying.
I grin so hard my face hurts. It’s sweet and simple, and I can hear her soft voice in it. A little amused and probably shy.
Me: It was a close one there for a while.
Lucy: Sophie said you’re very dramatic.
Me: Sophie has a business degree, not a medical one. She needs to stay in her lane.
Lucy: So you aren’t dramatic? ??
Me: I was brave.
Lucy: With tissues in your nose?
I laugh, and it turns into a cough halfway through, but I’m still smiling when I type back.
Me: Those tissues were a tactical decision.
Lucy: Tactical?
Me: Essential survival equipment.
Lucy: I’ll remember the next time a patient comes in with a cold.
Me: If he’s six-seven and suffering heroically, be kind to him.
Lucy: Like I was kind to you.
Me: No, your brand of sweetness is saved for me. You can be respectfully kind, in a distant kind of way.
The three little dots appear, then disappear. They appear again, then vanish. I wait, thumb resting against the side of the phone, and I don’t send anything else because I can feel her thinking through the screen.
Lucy: I was just doing my job.
I frown.
Me: Getting me checked in was your job. Being kind like that was all you.
She doesn’t answer right away. I wonder if I said too much. Maybe that was too heavy for a first conversation. I start typing something dumb to soften it, but then her reply comes through.
Lucy: ?? Sorry.
She doesn’t say it like someone who hears compliments often. She says it like she doesn’t know what to do with one.
Lucy said yes carefully. I know that without anyone telling me. She apologizes even when she hasn’t done anything wrong. She helped me like I mattered, then looked surprised when I thanked her for it.
I lean back against the couch and rub one hand over my jaw. I don’t know much about Lucy Parker yet, but I know she’s soft-spoken and sweet, and there’s something careful around her edges that makes me want to pay attention instead of barrel straight through her defenses.
Lucy: Are you feeling any better?
Me: Some. I still look terrible, but I’m told my personality makes up for it.
Lucy: Who told you that?
Me: Nobody reliable.
Lucy: ?? Tessa?
Me: Definitely not Tessa. She told me I look like ??
Lucy: That’s not very nice.
Me: Accurate though.
Lucy: I didn’t think you look like shit.
I sit there staring at that sentence, and I know I should not read too much into it. I read too much into it anyway.
Me: What did you think I looked like?
The dots appear. Disappear. Appear. This time the pause stretches long enough that I almost regret asking.
Lucy: Sick.
I bark out a laugh.
Me: Brutal.
Lucy: ?? Sorry.
Me: Don’t apologize. I walked into that one.
Lucy: You did.
There it is again, that tiny flicker of humor. It makes me want to keep going just to see if I can coax more of it out of her.
Lucy: I should probably study.
The words are normal. Responsible. But something feels off.
Me: Everything okay?
The delivered sign pops up, and then nothing. I wait. The longer the silence stretches, the more certain I am that I hit something.
Finally, the dots appear.
Lucy: Yeah, it’s okay.
That’s a lie if I’ve ever seen one. I know lies like that because I’ve told enough of them. Then another message comes in.
Lucy: Family dinner with my parents was a lot.
There’s a whole story sitting behind those words. Everything in me wants to ask who made it hard. Who said something. Who made her sound like this through a text, but I don’t.
Me: Want me to distract you? I’m very good at being ridiculous.
Lucy: I noticed.
Me: Excellent. That means my best qualities are already shining through.
Lucy: Being ridiculous is your best quality?
Me: Top five, easy.
Lucy: What are the other four?
Me: I can’t reveal all my secrets in the first text conversation.
Lucy: That seems fair.
Me: But I’ll give you one.
Lucy: Okay.
Me: I’m very good at eating soup dramatically.
Lucy: How does someone eat soup dramatically?
Me: Only if the soup doesn’t respect the performance.
Lucy: I don’t think soup can respect anything.
Me: That’s because you haven’t met the right soup.
She sends back a laughing emoji, just one, and I stare at it longer than any grown man should. Because somewhere on the other end of this conversation, after a family dinner that was a lot, Lucy Parker is smiling.
I don’t know what happened tonight, but I know this, I want to be the place Lucy can breathe. I don’t want to fix her life. I just want to make it a little lighter.
Me: How’s studying going?
Lucy: Honestly?
Me: I mean yeah. What’s the point of texting if you can’t be honest? What are you studying?
Lucy: Terrible. I keep rereading the same paragraph. I’m going to school to be a nurse.
Me: Need help?
Lucy: Do you know anything about anatomy?
Me: I know where most of my parts are.
Lucy: Most?
Me: I’m sick. Some organs may have relocated.
Lucy: You should probably ask Sophie about that.
Me: She’ll call me dramatic again.
Lucy: She might be right.
Me: Betrayal.
Lucy: You barely know me.
Me: Still betrayal.
Lucy: I should really go study now.
Me: Okay. Text me if you need another distraction.
Lucy: Goodnight, Tiny.
Me: Goodnight, Lucy.
After I send it, I keep holding the phone like she might say something else. She doesn’t, and that’s okay. I set it down on my chest and stare at the ceiling, the soup still ignored, the blanket half on the floor, my body still aching.
The group chat buzzes.
Tessa: WELL? DID YOU TEXT HER?
I groan, then pick up the phone.
Me: Yes.
The group chat explodes.
Hadley: And?
Erica: Did you behave?
Scarlett: Don’t make me regret trusting you.
Tessa: DETAILS, YOU GIANT COWARD.
I look at the ceiling, still smiling despite myself.
Me: We talked some. And then we said goodnight.
For once the chat goes quiet for almost three whole seconds. Then Hadley sends a heart. Tessa sends twenty-seven.
Erica: Don’t mess it up.
Scarlett: Go slow.
I stare at that last message from Scarlett for a beat longer than I should. Go slow. Yeah. I can do that. Even if everything in me wants to barrel forward like I usually do.
My eyes drift to the framed photo on the shelf across the room. Me and my old man at some charity gala years ago, both of us in suits that cost more than most people’s cars. Blood doesn’t always make family. I learned that a long time ago.
Lucy.
I pull up her contact and save her as just “Lucy.” I’m not playing games here, I already know she’s important to me.
Then I close my eyes, still smiling like an idiot, and let the exhaustion finally pull me under.