Harrison
Iknow something’s wrong before Scott even says anything.
He’s standing at the sink in the cottage kitchen staring out toward the lake with a dish towel hanging loosely from one hand. He’s been washing the same plate for at least five minutes.
The water’s still running even though the plate is already clean. And Scott, he’s somewhere else entirely.
I watch him for another second before crossing the room.
“Hey.”
He startles slightly when my arms slide around his waist from behind, like he didn’t hear me move closer.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, shutting the water off. “I guess I got lost in my thoughts.”
“I know.”
I rest my chin lightly against his shoulder, my hands flattening against his stomach beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, and for a second, he just leans back into me with a tired exhale.
That alone tells me how bad it is.
Scott’s never been good at leaning on people.
Not until me.
Even now, months later, there are moments when I can still feel him fighting the instinct to carry everything alone.
“You wanna tell me where you disappeared to?” I ask quietly.
He’s quiet for a second too long. Then finally, “My mom called today.”
I loosen my hold enough to turn him gently toward me, and the second I see his face fully, my chest aches.
There’s grief there.
Not fresh anymore.
Worse.
It’s the kind of grief that settles into someone slowly and deeply.
“What did she say?”
Scott swallows hard before answering. “She asked if I was still ‘doing this.’”
The words land like a punch.
Anger flares instantly. It’s hot and sharp beneath my ribs, but Scott just laughs softly under his breath before looking away.
Not because it’s funny. Because it hurts enough that he doesn’t know what else to do with it.
“She said Dad still won’t talk about me,” he adds quietly. “Apparently, every time my name comes up, he changes the subject.”
I cup the side of his neck gently, forcing his eyes back to mine. “That’s not your fault.”
“I know.”
But the thing about Scott is that he says I know the same way other people say I wish I believed that.
Brushing my thumb along his jaw, I watch the way his expression softens just slightly beneath the touch.
“He’s missing out on you,” I say quietly.
Scott’s eyes close briefly. “You know what the worst part is?” he murmurs after a second.
“What?”
“I spent so much of my life being terrified they’d stop loving me if they knew.” His voice catches slightly. “And now I keep wondering if they ever actually knew me at all.”
The pain in his voice hits hard enough to steal the breath from my lungs for a second.
Because there it is.
The real grief beneath all of this.
Not just rejection.
Loss.
Loss of the version of his family he thought he had.
I pull him closer, one hand sliding into his hair while his forehead rests against my shoulder.
“You wanna know something selfish?” I murmur against his temple.
He lets out a tired breath. “Always.”
Part of me smiles. Only Scott could sound exhausted and affectionate at the same time.
I hold him tighter before speaking again. “I hate that you never got to meet my parents.”
He stills against me. “Harrison—”
“No, I do.” My throat tightens unexpectedly now, too.
“My mom would’ve fed you until you physically couldn’t move,” I continue softly, smiling faintly despite the ache building in my chest. “And my dad would’ve pretended not to get emotional about us getting married while absolutely getting emotional about it. ”
Scott lets out a shaky laugh that almost sounds like it hurts. “I would’ve liked them,” he says quietly.
“You would’ve loved them.”
The certainty in my voice makes his eyes fill with tears.
“And they would’ve loved you right back.”
Silence settles around us after that, soft and heavy and full of things neither of us quite knows how to fix.
“I hate that your parents aren’t here for this,” he whispers after a moment.
I swallow hard.
There’s a framed picture of them on the bookshelf across the room, taken years before either of them got sick, both of them smiling at each other instead of the camera like they forgot anyone else existed.
Sometimes the grief still hits me out of nowhere. Tonight’s one of those nights.
“My mom would’ve cried during the ceremony,” I say softly, my voice rougher now. “Before the ceremony, probably. Honestly, maybe during dinner too.”
That finally gets a real laugh out of him, small but genuine. “She sounds dramatic.”
“She absolutely was.”
Scott smiles faintly before his expression shifts again, softer this time. “I wish I could’ve seen you with them.”
The words hit somewhere deep enough that for a second, I can’t answer at all. Because the truth is, I wish that too. I wish my parents could’ve seen this version of my life.
Seen me loved like this.
I clear my throat roughly before speaking again. “They would’ve been obsessed with you.”
Scott laughs softly under his breath. “You don’t know that.”
“Oh, I absolutely do.” I brush my thumbs beneath his eyes, gently wiping away the tears. “My mom spent years telling me I needed somebody soft enough to love me and stubborn enough to survive me.”
That earns another quiet laugh from him. “She sounds smart.”
“She was terrifyingly smart.”
The smile lingers on his mouth for another second before fading again into something quieter.
“I don’t want to wait anymore,” he says suddenly.
I blink slightly. “Wait for what?”
“For our life to start.”
The words settle heavily between us.
Scott steps closer then, his hands sliding slowly up my chest before resting against my shoulders while he looks at me with an openness that still catches me off guard sometimes.
“We keep talking about someday,” he says quietly. “Someday we’ll get married. Someday we’ll have a family. Someday things with my parents might get easier.” His throat works hard around the words. “But I’m starting to realize there’s never going to be a perfect time for any of it.”
Emotion climbs hard into my chest because he’s right. And because I know how much it costs him to say that out loud.
“I wasted so much time being afraid,” he whispers. “I don’t want to waste any more of it.”
I kiss him before I can stop myself.
Slow.
So emotional that it hurts.
When I pull back, my eyes close for a brief second. “Then let’s stop waiting.”
His breath catches. “You mean that?”
I open my eyes immediately. “Scott, I’d marry you tomorrow.”
The look on his face nearly wrecks me. Not because he doubts me, but because he believes me completely.
I can actually see the moment the words settle inside him. The way his guarded expression softens all at once, like he wants so badly to trust this, to trust me, but still isn’t fully used to someone choosing him without hesitation.
Scott’s spent so long waiting for the people he loves to pull away once they see the parts of him he’s kept hidden. Waiting for disappointment. Waiting for the moment someone decides loving him is harder than they thought it would be.
And even now, after everything we’ve built together, there are still moments where I catch traces of it lingering beneath the surface, that quiet instinct to brace himself before something good can be taken away.
But not now.
Right now, he’s looking at me completely unguarded, every bit of emotion written plainly across his face. His breathing is slightly uneven, like he still can’t fully process being loved for who he really is.
His hand slides into mine, his fingers tightening hard enough that I feel the emotion behind it, and when he finally speaks, his voice comes out quieter than before.
“You really would.”
I lift our joined hands and press my mouth against his knuckles gently before answering.
“There’s never been anybody else for me, Scott.”
The emotion that crosses his face after that is so open and unguarded it almost hurts to look at him directly.
In that moment, every wall he spent years building around himself finally crumbles.
When he kisses me again, it’s achingly slow and full of everything he doesn’t quite know how to say out loud yet. I hold him tighter as the realization settles deeper in my chest that I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.
“I love you,” he whispers.
The quiet honesty in his voice hits me hard enough that for a second, I forget how to breathe.
Then, I slide my hand against the back of his neck and kiss him again. Standing there in the middle of our kitchen with the man I’m going to marry wrapped tightly in my arms, I realize something that feels almost painfully clear.
Love doesn’t erase grief.
But it gives you somewhere safe to put it.