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Courtney willed every last ounce of resolve she possessed into place, staring the door down as though it might come to life at the slightest indication of fear. She held one hand poised to knock, the other tightly clenched at her side. It was just another challenge, she told herself; and damn, was she good at winning those. She’d handled four painfully long seasons of that trainwreck of a reality show, she’d graduated top of her class, and now she was well on her way to passing her bar exam. She could handle meeting her boyfriend’s parents . Hell, this would be a walk in the park compared to some of the things she’d endured. So why, then, did this seem harder than all of those combined?
Her hand wavered where she held it, and she frowned. She wasn’t weak ; people loved her. There was no reason for her to be so worked up about this. And yet here she was, unable to so much as knock , a lifetime’s worth of self-doubt worming its way through her thoughts.
A clipped “get on with it, princess,” paired with the brush of a broad shoulder against her own slender frame was enough to startle her back to reality. “You’re not helping,” she retorted, only to be met with a hearty chuckle, and a large, callused hand folding itself into the one she held clenched at her side. It was all she needed. It was all she’d ever needed, really. A reminder that despite being a big, selfish, violent oaf, he believed in her. A reminder that he cared . She gripped his hand tightly, squeezing it once, twice; more for her own peace of mind than anything else. These were his parents, after all. He wasn’t the one who needed encouragement.
Finally, she knocked. A sigh of relief slipped through her facade, and she turned up to face her boyfriend, wanting to gauge how he was feeling about all of this.
He was staring straight ahead, blue eyes focused on the door, his gaze steely enough that she was sure he could bore a hole through the metal if he really tried. He must’ve sensed her looking at him, because he turned, his gaze focused on her now. It was funny, she thought, the way his gaze would soften so quickly, before he could will it back into that hard-edged, indifferent state he seemed to prefer. They’d both spent so long with walls up that they often found themselves forgetting it was okay to be vulnerable, even with each other. So she relished those brief moments where his gaze turned tender, full of affection he reserved just for her. It pained her, sometimes, to wonder if Gwen had ever seen that side of him.
They had been so young, so reckless and impulsive and entirely untested when they’d first met. And on national television, no less. She’d known it was a bad idea right from the very start - right from that first moment Chris had announced the teams. He just had that look of heartbreak waiting to happen. And while there was nothing in the world she would change it for now, at the time, it’d seemed like the worst possible thing. She resisted it for so long, that magnetic pull, setting more and more boundaries for herself the closer she came to truly caring for him. That was the thing about Duncan - he made her want to break rules. Not just in general, but the rules she’d set for herself, too. She’d broken her biggest rule of all when she kissed him for the first time. It was everything she’d thought it would be; more, even. And she’d suffered her first heartbreak that very same night when she’d been sent packing, never to see him again. It had hurt more than she’d ever care to admit, being pulled away from him. She’d fought so hard to get back on the show - winning was a part of it, of course, but some tiny part of her just wanted to see him . Just once, even if he had been wrestling about in the dirt with that goth-girl wannabe.
She’d resisted then, too. Made it all the way back onto the show just to stay as far away from him as she possibly could. As minor a transgression as it had been in hindsight, seeing them comfortable in a way he’d never been with her had taken a mighty blow to her pride. They were so similar , interested in the same things, with the same sense of humor, that she’d wondered if she could ever compare. And like it or not, he’d broken her trust. How could she ever know that they were just friends? How could he ever be just friends with a girl like that? With someone who seemed to fit him so well? So she’d kept her distance, putting her all into winning this time around. He pushed her buttons still, and she reacted, her temper a loose fuse after what he’d so blatantly done to hurt her. But seeing him hurting like that, after losing Scruffy, after she knew what had happened to his dog and was now seeing happen all over again, it had weakened some part of that iron will of hers.
Her walls had been rebuilt, though, in that time apart. And they were taller and stronger now than they had ever been. She would not, could not let herself get hurt again. She handled it the only way she knew how - with list after list of his faults, 32 pages worth of every reason she should never let herself be seen with a loser like him. It had been all too much for Duncan, and so he’d voted her off. She’d thought they were done for good, that time. She was a fool to think she could ever stay away, and she realized that the moment he came bursting through those studio doors, so close to winning. She’d acted on instinct when the confetti fell, had wrapped herself around him so easily, and played it off just as fast. They’d been together for a while then - even gotten matching tattoos, the ink on her bicep still a proud reminder of their relationship. They’d split up again, of course. They were a power couple , according to every media outlet in Canada. The paparazzi followed them everywhere. Her innate need for perfection and his innate need to rebel had clashed under the pressure of the limelight, and she’d ended it, just as messily as could be expected from the two. They’d barely been apart for a month when that same magnetic force had pulled them back together, and together they’d stayed, even through his immediate departure in the third season. She’d missed him the entire time, and had even bonded with Gwen - things finally seemed to be going her way when they found him again, and brought him back to the show. She’d even kept her emotions under control - for the most part - and found the strength to tell him just how much she cared. She was beyond in love with him, at that point, but all the time spent apart had allowed him to reflect on the way she’d treated him. He’d gone straight to Gwen. By that point, she’d lost count of how many times he’d broken her heart. Everything she’d feared had come true, and fuck, it hurt . She’d given him a piece of her soul and he’d taken it and ran. A thief - living up to his delinquent ways.
When Scott came along, she thought she’d gotten lucky. Duncan had been… eliminated for unsavory behavior. Any chance she’d had at getting back with him had gone out the door the moment he blew up that cabin. And Scott seemed to be her type - he was cute, there was no denying that, but he was also a Grade-A douchebag. She’d seen Duncan’s soft side, and so he had to have one too. Plus, he’d been interested, so she’d jumped at the opportunity for a rebound, beyond the shameless flirting with Alejandro in the third season. As it turned out, Scott was just a douchebag. No soft side in sight.
That had been what pushed her over the edge. There truly was no one else like Duncan out there, and she’d be lucky to find so much as a close second. She’d reunited with him shortly after his stint in jail, hesitant at first to let herself fall again. But he’d proved he was all in, and so she’d taken the leap, too. The rest was history.
Her ponderings were soon interrupted, and she pulled herself away from his gaze to find a pretty woman at the door, no doubt Duncan’s mom. “I can’t believe you weren’t born on the concrete floors of a prison,” she whispered, flashing him a quick smirk before following her inside. It was weird to think that he came from a family of police officers - poetic justice, she supposed, given the way he turned out. His mother certainly looked the part, sporting a clean, blonde bob cut, and a stern, though not unpleasant expression. And she loved Duncan, despite, or maybe because of his many, many faults. They had that in common.
“You look nice,” his mother noted, eyeing Duncan’s outfit. Rather than his usual cargo shorts and layered tee, Courtney had stuffed him into a decent, if worn pair of jeans, and a plain black button up. Duncan opened his mouth as if to complain, which she silenced with a sideways glance. “It took a lot of… bribing ,” she admitted, eliciting a chuckle from his mother - Laura, if she remembered correctly. “Oh, that I’m sure of,” Laura responded. Courtney grinned at that, earning an eye roll from Duncan. “There’s nothing wrong with how I dress,” he protested, much to Courtney’s chagrin. “You dress like a thug, Duncan. You’re lucky I made you look presentable.”
“Yes, babe, I’m so lucky,” he shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. Courtney didn’t bother validating him with a response. She turned instead to face Laura, keen on getting to know the woman who had raised the piece of work seated next to her. “How did you manage to put up with him all those years? I can barely handle him now , and you had him for nearly twice as long. During his delinquent phase, no less.” “Excuse me, I am a delight ,” Duncan protested, though he was silenced again by another of Courtney’s scathing looks.
And so it continued for another thirty minutes or so, Courtney attempting to make civil conversation with Laura, ignoring Duncan’s protests and shutting down his dirty jokes with the occasional withering glare. He’d told her on more than one occasion that she could kill someone with just one glance, and she prided herself on it. He not-so-secretly found it incredibly sexy when she glared daggers at him. Luckily, her multiple threats earlier that evening to keep his conversation as near to PG-13 as was humanly possible for him seemed to be working - likely because she’d promised him significant compensation should he comply.
Duncan’s father announced that dinner was ready in what had been his first appearance of the night, and after a few hasty introductions on Courtney’s behalf, the group filed their way into the dining room. The conversation stalled shortly afterwards. It seemed that Duncan’s father - George - wasn’t much of a conversationalist. He was a hardened looking man, with salt-and-pepper hair and a face strikingly similar to Duncan’s, had he smoked a pack of cigarettes a day for the past twenty years and scowled the whole while. Courtney got the impression that every glance in her direction was a carefully calculated move, designed specifically to set her on edge. What the old man didn’t know was that she thrived under pressure. Each judgemental scan of his eyes served only to up the ante for her. He wanted to play hard ball? So be it. She’d play harder.
They ate their meal in silence for the most part, minus the occasional moment where Laura or Courtney attempted to make conversation. George and Duncan merely sat in silence, the latter staring so intently at his plate that she worried it might split in two.
She’d had enough after about fifteen minutes. If he didn’t like her, fine - but she refused to let him intimidate her. She’d dealt with Duncan long enough to have learned better. “George, I love your son,” she announced, reaching a hand under the table to squeeze Duncan’s thigh when he stiffened. “And if you don’t think I’m good enough for him, then fine. But let’s not make a lovely meal awkward.”
Courtney had braced herself for a lot of reactions. Among the worst had been the possibility of screaming, getting kicked out; even continued silence. But she had never expected him to laugh . And laugh he did.
It was a deep, throaty laugh, the kind of laugh one gives when someone says something so outlandishly hilarious that milk shoots out of at least one person’s nose. But she’d been dead serious.
“That’s rich ,” he guffawed, an odd sight to see from someone so stoic. Features seemingly carved from stone were not meant for laughing the way he was now. “What’s so funny?” She asked, staring him down. “That you think you’re not good enough for my son. You’re going to be a lawyer , of all things. Surely you’re smarter than that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She shot back, eyes narrowed.
He laughed again. This time, it seemed mocking. “A lawyer, and a felon. Do yourself a favor, darling, and find someone good enough for you . Don’t let my son drag you down. You’re wasting your time on him.”
It was the final straw for her. She stood up, shoving her chair back roughly, one small hand clenched tightly around Duncan’s wrist. “We’re leaving,” she hissed, and he had the decency to look at least a little startled.
George, on the other hand, merely chuckled again. “Suit yourself,” he told her, his gaze turning steely, though not the same steel she found oddly endearing on his son. No, this was something worse. It was hardened and edged with anger, and fuck it made her want to bash his brains in. “Just don’t blame me when you realize you’ve made a mistake.”
She snatched her hand away from Duncan’s wrist before her nails could carve little crescent moons into his skin. She balled her hands into fists at her side, willing herself to stop shaking. “That is your son you’re talking about,” she spat, holding his gaze and returning every ounce of anger she saw reflected there. “You could stand to have some decency. Granted, from everything I’ve heard, I wasn’t expecting all that much, but this is just cruel. Duncan is a fantastic man, for your information, and you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone better. And you ,” she hissed, noting the smug, half-grin edging its way onto Duncan’s face, “don’t look so pleased. We’re leaving. Now.” She fit her hand into his, shooting one last glare in his father’s direction before stalking towards the door, Duncan trailing alongside her like a leashed puppy. “Thank you for the lovely meal, Laura,” she snarled, before shutting the door behind her.
She waited until they were in the car to slump at the wheel. “That could’ve gone better,” she sighed, pulling the mirror down to check her hair. She was surprised to find tears tracked through her makeup, and she moved to wipe them away so that Duncan wouldn’t see. He grabbed her hands before she could, holding them in his as he cradled her face. “You did pretty well, all things considered,” he told her, and she laughed half-heartedly. He pressed a tender, appreciative kiss to her forehead before letting her go. “My ma is a saint, but my dad-” “Is a real piece of work?” She interjected, earning a grin from him. “I was gonna say an asshole, but that works, too.”
She pulled away with another sigh, putting the keys in the ignition. “Want me to drive?” She turned to him with a laugh. “The last time you got anywhere near the steering wheel you almost killed us both. If you want to make it home with all your favorite parts intact, you’ll let me drive.” He pretended to look wounded, and she flipped him off in response. “Hey, it’s your favorite part too,” he scoffed, earning an eye roll. “Yeah, because it hurts the most when I kick it,” she responded sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “Christ, woman, just drive.”
It was strange, they way they could bounce from whatever that whole experience had been, right back to their normal bickering. Not that she was complaining. He liked to push her buttons, and she liked to push his - it always resulted in them being enormously pissed at the other, but they enjoyed winding each other up. That was the way it had always been, even if it had mellowed somewhat compared to their teenage years.And as an added bonus… the make-up sex was always incredible.
She tapped her fingers against the wheel, humming absentmindedly along to whatever was playing on the radio. Usually Duncan would have been protesting the pop music by now - clearly dinner had left him more shaken than he’d admit. She worried about him, sometimes. His father got to him in a way no one else could, that perpetual disappointment chipping away at his self-esteem until he had to lash out again just to keep himself sane. He needed time right now - she’d get him to talk when he was ready.
“Have I told you how sexy it is when you yell at people I don’t like?” She spared him a sideways glance, scowling at the shit-eating grin on his stupid, smug face. “You think it’s sexy when I yell, period, otherwise you wouldn’t piss me off so damn much.” “Maybe, but it’s better when it’s with my dad. And when you call me fantastic ,” he teased, flashing her a wink in the mirror. She groaned. “I knew that one would come back to bite me in the ass.” “It’s not all that’s going to be biting your ass tonight.”
It was going to be a long drive home.