Chapter 10
TEN
TINY
When I finally get home from dropping her off after our date, I can’t sit still.
The apartment door bangs shut behind me harder than I mean it to, echoing in the small, dim space.
I pace the narrow living room like a caged animal, boots heavy on the creaky floorboards, fists clenched at my sides.
It feels too fucking small right now, like the walls are pressing in while my blood’s still roaring from the ride.
I pull out my phone unable to wait for her to text me.
Me: Baby, tell me you’re okay. I’m losing my fucking mind over here.
Me: Lucy, answer me. I’m about to come drag you out of there.
Me: I swear if your dad touches you wrong I’ll burn the whole damn street down.
Nothing. My stomach knots tighter. I fire off another.
Me: This silence is killing me. Come on, Buttercup.
The phone stays quiet in my hand. I set it down and lean forward, elbows on my knees. The TV noise fills the room but all I hear is her dad’s voice telling me to get the hell off his property.
Then it buzzes. Her name lights the screen and the knot in my chest loosens.
Buttercup: I’m so sorry about tonight. He ruined everything.
Me: Don’t be sorry, baby. I just needed to know you were okay. Is there anything I can do?
Buttercup: No. I’m going to bed. Hopefully when I wake up this will have all calmed down.
Me: Goodnight, my Buttercup
It’s afternoon the next day and I haven’t heard from her since last night.
Some old bike race replay flickers across the screen but none of it registers.
I hated leaving her there last night. I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.
The way her dad stepped out on the porch, face hard, and ordered me to leave or he’d call the police still burns in my gut.
I stood there with Lucy gripping my cut, while he pointed at my bike like I was the fucking devil.
Told me I had no business near his daughter after the trouble I bring.
I wanted to put my fist through the wall.
But her eyes begged me to go, so I backed off.
Rode away with my hands shaking on the bars and my chest ripped open.
I’m sitting on the couch with the TV on when my phone buzzes against my thigh. I grab it instantly only to find that it’s Scarlett’s name is on the screen.
Scarlett: Big fight at Lucy’s last night.
I read it three times. My stomach drops. I sit up straight, the remote sliding off my lap and hitting the floor. I don’t even pick it up.
“Fuck,” I say out loud to the empty room.
I type back fast.
Me: Yeah, it was pretty bad when I dropped her off. She hasn’t told me what happened.
Me: Is she okay? Did he hurt her?
The three dots appear right away.
Scarlett: No. Just yelled. She stood up for herself though.
I stare at the screen until it goes dark.
My jaw is tight. I can picture it too clearly.
Lucy in that house, her dad standing over her the way he probably always does, voice getting louder, her shoulders pulling in the way they do when she’s nervous.
And she still told him about me. She still chose to stand there and say my name.
I rub my hand over my face. My chest feels heavy.
I open my chat with Lucy. I don’t want to push. I don’t want her to feel like she has to explain everything or defend me again. I just need to know she’s okay.
Me: Hey sweetheart. You okay? I’m here if you want to talk.
I set the phone on the coffee table and stand up. I walk to the kitchen, open the fridge, close it without taking anything out. I walk back to the living room. The phone is still dark. I pick it up again anyway.
It buzzes in my hand.
Buttercup: I’m okay. It was bad. But I don’t regret it.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I sit back down on the couch, elbows on my knees.
Me: You sure you’re okay?
Buttercup: Yeah. Just tired. He was really angry.
I type and delete three different versions of what I want to say before I settle on something simple.
Me: I’m sorry you had to go through that because of me.
She answers fast this time.
Buttercup: It wasn’t because of you. It was because I finally said what I wanted and I’m glad I did.
I stare at those words for a long minute.
My thumb hovers over the screen. I want to ask her if she’s still scared.
I want to ask if she needs anything. I want to tell her I’ll pick her up right now and bring her here where no one can yell at her.
But I don’t. I keep it light because she already has enough pressure on her.
Me: You want to get out of the house for a bit? I can come pick you up after your shift tomorrow. We can just drive around or park somewhere quiet. Just you and me.
The three dots stay on the screen for a while.
Buttercup: I get off at five. I can tell my mom I’m going to the library to study. She won’t question it. Where should I meet you?
My heart picks up. I type back before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: I’ll park a couple blocks from the clinic. Black truck. Text me when you’re walking out and I’ll pull up.
Buttercup: Okay. See you tomorrow.
The rest of the day drags. At four-thirty the next day, I grab my keys and head out. I’ve been thinking about her nonstop since her last message.
I park two blocks away and leave the engine running low so the air stays on. I keep the radio off and just wait for her.
My phone lights up.
Buttercup: Walking out now.
I pull around the corner. She’s standing on the sidewalk in her scrubs and that big cream cardigan. Her bag is over one shoulder. She looks both ways, then spots me and walks fast to the passenger side.
She climbs in. The cold air comes with her. She shuts the door and turns to look at me.
“Hi,” she says. Her voice is soft. Her eyes are a little red. She’s trying to smile anyway.
Hell. She shouldn’t have had to fight that hard just to spend an hour with me.
“Hey.” I reach over and touch her cheek, just my thumb brushing there. She leans into my hand a little. That small movement makes something in my chest loosen and tighten at the same time.
I don’t rush. I just look at her for a long second. “C’mere.”
She slides across the seat. I pull her into my arms and wrap her up tight. She melts against me, face tucked into my neck, and for a while we just stay like that. No words. Just her breathing against me and my hand rubbing slow circles on her back. She feels small and tired and so damn brave.
“You sure you’re okay?” I finally murmur into her hair.
She nods against my shoulder. “I am now.”
We stay like that until her breathing evens out a little. Only then do I pull back enough to look at her. I cup her face gently. “Can I kiss you, Buttercup?”
She nods. I lean in slow, giving her every chance to pull away.
The first kiss is soft, careful. Her lips are warm and slightly parted, still tasting faintly of mint from work.
She sighs against me, the sound so quiet and needy it shoots straight through me.
I kiss her again, still gentle at first, but she leans in harder this time, her fingers curling tight into my jacket like she’s been waiting for this as long as I have.
We stay like that for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, sharing the same heated breath, until the pull between us becomes too strong.
I kiss her deeper, slower, savoring the way her mouth opens for me.
Her tongue brushes mine shyly and then with growing confidence, sending heat pooling low in my gut.
One of my hands slides to her waist, gripping the soft fabric of her cardigan, while the other cups the back of her neck, thumb stroking the sensitive skin just below her ear.
She shivers against me, a full-body tremble that makes my grip tighten instinctively.
She doesn’t pull away. If anything, she presses closer, her chest brushing mine with every quick breath.
I can feel the rapid beat of her heart through her scrubs.
I want more. I want to pull her fully into my lap, slide my hands under that cardigan and map every inch of warm skin, hear what other sounds she makes when she really lets go.
But I don’t. I let her set the pace, pouring everything I’m feeling into every kiss instead: the relief, the hunger, the fierce protectiveness that’s been building since the day she steadied me in that clinic.
She sighs again when I kiss the corner of her mouth, then the line of her jaw, and her fingers slide up to fist in my shirt, tugging me closer like she can’t get enough.
The windows are fogging fast around us, turning the truck into a private little world that smells like her, faint soap, coffee from her shift, and something sweeter that’s just Lucy.
Every small sound she makes, every hesitant roll of her hips against the seat, has me fighting to stay in control.
I rest my forehead against hers again. “I was worried about you.”
“I know,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t text sooner. I was at work and then… I didn’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. But if you need to talk about what happened with your dad, I’m here.”
She’s quiet for a minute. Her fingers trace a line on my jacket.
“He told me I couldn’t see you anymore. He said I was throwing my life away and that men like you ruin girls like me.
” She swallows. “I told him he could ground me, but he couldn’t change the way I felt.
Then I left before he could say anything else. ”
I hold her while she talks. I just listen. She tells me about her mom standing there silently, about the ultimatum, about how exhausted she feels trying to be perfect all the time. I tighten my arm around her and let her get it all out.
“I don’t want to be like that,” she says quietly. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life nodding and smiling and letting someone else decide everything for me.”
“You won’t,” I tell her. “You’re already not like that.”
She lifts her head and looks at me. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”