by Mari Carr
Tucker sucked in a deep breath, grateful that most of the guys had wandered to the back of the room to watch the pool game and place bets on the outcome. The only men remaining at the table with him were Wade and Joel.
All the guys on the team knew about his dad’s problems with drinking. The asshole had been escorted out of no less than three games during their senior year for drunken belligerence, picking fights with anyone and everyone, before he was finally issued a No Trespass warrant and prohibited from stepping foot on school property. Tucker had started to breathe easier—and play better—with the knowledge his dad couldn’t come to his games anymore.
The guys had always commiserated with him, been sympathetic without making Tucker feel pathetic. They’d looked to him as their leader—on and off the gridiron—and that didn’t change just because his dad was a drunken shithead.
It was these guys who’d come to his mother’s funeral and stood up for her—and Tucker—as pallbearers. He’d never forget the way they’d rallied around him the week of her death. He owed them all for that support.
Neither Joel nor Wade stood to leave and if Tucker hadn’t been so anxious about this unwanted reunion, he’d have grinned at the way they were flanking him in true we-got-your-back fashion.
“Tucker.” His dad’s voice was surprisingly clear, despite the glassy-eyed expression that revealed just how deep in the drink he was. “Heard you were back in town.”
Tucker didn’t move. “Looks like you heard right.”
“You couldn’t pick up a phone and call?”
Tucker frowned. “Why would you expect me to do that?”
The years hadn’t been kind to his dad. Or, Tucker thought, the alcohol hadn’t been. What hair remained on his dad’s head was gray, thin, scruffy. He’d lost that large, imposing stature that had intimidated Tucker so much when he was younger. He seemed to have shrunk a few inches. His dad now had a large beer belly, saggy jowls, and dark circles under his eyes.
“Thought you might have outgrown some of your damned selfishness. That you might wanna see how your old man was doing.”
The words would have tweaked Tucker’s temper more if they hadn’t been so slurred. His father was a complete asshole when he was wasted. Tucker was sure a meaner drunk had never walked the planet. He also knew his father enjoyed goading him, or whoever was in shouting distance when he was drunk, hoping to instigate a fight. Tucker wasn’t willing to give his dad the satisfaction.
“You look like you’re doing the same as always.”
His father narrowed his eyes. “Still a smart-mouthed little prick, aren’t you?”
Tucker considered standing up to prove to his father exactly how little he wasn’t, but Dad would see that as an invitation to brawl. Tucker wasn’t going there. Coach’s words from a few days earlier still rang in his ear. Courage wasn’t marked by who threw the hardest punch.
Tucker picked up his beer and took a sip, pleased by the steadiness of his hand. Years in the NFL had honed his nerves, taught him how to control his emotions under pressure. “Are we finished with this reunion?”
His father didn’t acknowledge his question. Clearly he wasn’t finished. “You know I almost lost the house.”
Tucker shrugged. “So?”
Dad’s eyes narrowed, radiating the same malice Tucker had faced so many times when he was younger. “You saying you don’t give a shit that the bank almost foreclosed on the home you grew up in? All that money you make in the NFL and you couldn’t see fit to send me some after everything I’ve given you?”
That comment struck a nerve. Tucker laughed, though the sound wasn’t one of pleasure. “I’m supposed to pay you for the black eyes? The bruises? The bloody lips? Because that’s all I ever remember you giving me.”
His father stumbled slightly and for a moment, Tucker thought he might fall over. He’d seen his dad drunk more than sober, but it was apparent so many years of abusing alcohol had taken its toll.
Once his father recovered, he lifted his hand and pointed a finger at Tucker. “You could’a sent me some money, could’a made sure your old man didn’t get kicked out on his ass. But you always thought you were too fucking good for the family. A big shot, looking down on us.”
Neither Wade nor Joel had spoken during the entire scene, but Tucker felt the tension in the way they held themselves. They really were ready to defend him if Tucker needed it. Knowing his friends had his back helped. He wasn’t sure he could have remained as calm as he was without their presence.
“Well, it sounds like you didn’t lose it. Which means you either got a job or, more likely, you moved a girlfriend in and you’re making her pay all the bills.”
His father lurched forward, catching himself on the table. Sadie suddenly appeared next to them. “Mr. Riley. I told you, you can’t come in here drunk and expect me to serve you. You need to get on home. Want me to call Wanda?”
A sharp pain pierced Tucker’s chest, realizing Nelson had probably asked that same question all those years ago. And his father’s reply had gotten his mother out of bed and across town, had led to her death.
“Call a taxi,” Tucker said.
His father turned, scowling. “I don’t have money for that.”
Tucker reached into his wallet and pulled out a twenty. “This will get you home.”
For a moment, his father looked at the cash as if it were a snake waiting to bite him. Then, slowly, he reached across the table and took it.
Sadie nodded approvingly. “I’ll make that call.”
His father didn’t move away from the table.
The last time they’d spoken, his dad had admitted to slapping Tucker’s mom as she drove him home from the bar that night. Then he’d had the nerve to say his mother had it coming. That she’d been nagging him. Tucker’s vision had gone black and the next thing he knew, he’d thrown a powerful right that had knocked his dad out cold, leaving him bleeding on the kitchen floor.
Tucker had left him there, grabbed his duffel bag and car keys with the intention of getting out of Quinn. He’d just closed the trunk when Lela had appeared. Tucker had forgotten about their plans to go out for one last lunch before he left. He’d handled the goodbye badly, but all he could think about was getting the fuck out of there before his dad came to. Tucker wasn’t sure he’d have stopped with one punch if his father had come out of the house and the fight had continued. He could have murdered his dad that day and it had scared the shit out of him to realize he had the strength and the desire to do so.
Somehow his anger toward his father during those immediate weeks after his departure had made its way to Lela too. She hadn’t done anything wrong, but Tucker had walked around for nearly a month after that scene outside his house, his vision covered in a haze of blinding, red-hot hatred—of everyone and everything.
His college coach had recognized the anger and known about his mother’s death. He’d suggested Tucker talk to a counselor. It had taken several more months before he’d been able to drag himself away from the black rage that followed him. By then, too much time had passed and he hadn’t known how to contact Lela, to explain, to apologize. Silence, though a coward’s way out, had been much easier. The distance between them had helped as well.
His father muttered, “Don’t know why the fuck you bothered to come back at all.”
“I’m here to help Coach.”
His dad all but snarled. “Oh, that’s right. You run home to take care of the sainted Coach Carr, but God forbid you lift a phone to check on your father.”
Tucker struggled to remain calm. “I thought I made it clear the last time we talked that you’re no father to me.”
“I see. Well, then I guess that makes us even. Because you’ve never been much of a son either.”
His dad stumbled away from them. Tucker followed his movements, relieved when the old man left the bar.
Neither Joel nor Wade spoke. Instead they let Tucker have some time to come to grips with what had just happened
.
Sadie came over to the table. “I’m sorry, Tucker. I told him he couldn’t come in and I thought he went away. He must have snuck in when I went back to the storeroom for some more napkins.”
“It’s okay.” He needed to get out of here. Get away from all the shit that had just crashed down on his head. Tucker wanted to find some peace. “Sadie. Do you mind calling for another cab?” Tucker asked at last.
Sadie shook her head. “No, but the hotel is only a few blocks away. You could walk.”
“I’m not going to the hotel. I’m going to Lela’s.”
Sadie smiled. “I’m on it.”
As she walked away, Joel took a sip of his beer. “Just getting reacquainted, huh?”
Tucker grimaced. “Bite me, Joel.”
His friend chuckled, and then slapped him on the back. “It’s good to have you back in town, man.”
Tucker said his goodbyes, then left the bar, relieved to see his father was already gone. He stood out in front of the building and tried to talk himself out of what he was about to do.
However, no amount of reason or common sense would convince him to alter his course. When the cab arrived, he climbed in the back and gave the driver Lela’s address.
He was being selfish. He knew it. But it didn’t matter. He needed something only Lela could provide. He’d been cold and alone and miserable for too fucking long.
He needed her. Wanted her.
This trip had been a mistake. He couldn’t see any way it wouldn’t end in heartbreak for both of them again. And yet he didn’t tell the guy to turn the taxi around. Instead he closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer.
Please be there, Lela.
Chapter Five
Lela was curled up on her couch in her pajamas by six. She’d seriously considered giving up on the day and heading straight to bed, but the last thing she wanted was to be wide awake at four a.m.
Why was it things that bothered you always felt a gazillion times worse in the middle of the night?
Seemed like all she could do lately was think about Tucker. About that set-the-house-on-fire kiss and the past and that little voice in the back of her head that said he was hiding something from her. And worst of all, that broken boy who’d left her didn’t appear to be any more put together as a man. He was hurting about something. She wished he’d confide in her like he had when they were younger, but what right did she have to expect that? It had been twelve years, for God’s sake. They were different people.
Except…they weren’t.
Her feelings for Tucker hadn’t changed one iota since the day he’d left Quinn. She’d always tried to dismiss them, blaming her inability to get over him on those rose-colored glasses that tinged first love. But seeing Tucker again made her realize those feelings she’d dismissed as a teenage girl’s crush had never been that at all.
She may have been young, but her love for Tucker had apparently been the real deal. And that realization had her reeling as she examined, then reexamined every romantic relationship she’d had since then. She had always found a reason to push away the men she was dating, be it chronic tardiness or no sense of humor or—as in Carl’s case—a bad state of boringness. However, now she was starting to think the only reason she’d had for dumping the guys was the fact that they hadn’t been Tucker.
Which made her way more pathetic than she wanted to admit.
Her phone beeped with an incoming message. She glanced at the screen.
“Want to come over for margaritas? Randi’s with me. I’m inviting the other girls too.”
The text from her friend Annabelle made Lela smile. Annabelle made great margaritas. Lela was tempted for two heartbeats, then realized she wasn’t fit company for anyone.
“I’m in pjs,” she texted back. “The bra is off.” That was pretty much code that one of them was in for the night.
“So come without it. It’s just us girls,” Annabelle returned.
Lela laughed. Annabelle was the most conservative of their group. Not that it took much to be more conservative than Lorelie and Miranda who were wild as the wind. Lela lumped herself in with the other girls, Hollie and Paige, who were more middle of the road—somewhere between crazy and conventional.
Annabelle was a nice girl the others had been working to loosen up for a long time. She’d been a quiet, mousy thing in high school and the women hadn’t really gotten to know her well until she’d returned to Quinn after college. She was a real hoot though and a true friend.
“Rain check.” Then Lela considered Annabelle’s sudden reason for alcohol. “Jackson driving you crazy?”
“I’m so stupid,” came Annabelle’s reply.
Lela frowned. “How so?”
“I really like him.”
Oh boy. Jackson was a hell raiser. So not Annabelle’s type. But Lela understood. Didn’t all women go through a bad-boy phase? Annabelle’s was just happening later in life. She’d get over it. Probably.
Then she considered her own inability to get over Tucker. Man…they were both screwed.
“It’s the sex,” Lela responded. Annabelle had shared that she and Jackson had gone parking—that was exactly what she’d called it too—and that he was amazing. “Eyes on the prize, girlfriend.”
Annabelle’s so-called prize was supposedly Carter, a really nice guy Lela had thought was perfect for Annabelle. Until Jackson had reappeared in town.
Damn. This was exactly why Lela wasn’t going for drinks. She was too screwed up to offer anyone advice tonight. Who knew what she’d suggest if she got tipsy on too much tequila?
“Yeah, I know. Hence the margaritas instead of more Jackson.” It was hard to read tone in texts, but Annabelle’s reply was easy. Disappointment.
“I’ll text you tomorrow,” Lela promised.
She and Annabelle texted their goodbyes and Lela flipped on the TV. She found a Meg Ryan marathon, You’ve Got Mail and Sleepless in Seattle, on one of the movie channels and let herself escape into the romantic comedies. For five whole hours, she managed to put away thoughts of Tucker, grateful for the blissful nothingness provided by the lighthearted movies.
Lela had just turned off the lights and was about to head upstairs to her bedroom when she saw headlights turn into her driveway. A quick glance at the clock told her it was nearly eleven.
“Who on Earth?” she muttered, though a small part of her suspected who her visitor was. She walked to the front door and peeked out the window. Tucker was climbing out of a cab, paying the driver for the ride.
She unlocked the door and had it open before he hit the top step of her porch. She started to ask him what the heck he thought he was doing, visiting so late, but the question died on her lips when she saw his face.
She didn’t say anything as he approached her. Tucker didn’t stop moving. Instead he placed his hands on her waist and propelled her backwards into her house. He kicked the front door closed with his foot a split second before his lips descended on hers.
Lela fell into the kiss. Not that she was given a choice. Tucker’s grip was resolute, firm, unyielding. He didn’t have to try that hard. She wasn’t about to push him away.
She opened her mouth to his, their tongues meeting. One of his hands slipped beneath her shirt to touch the sensitive skin at her waist as his other cupped the back of her neck. After years of lackluster dates and lukewarm kisses, Lela wanted to kick her own ass for settling for anything less than this. This moment. This perfect kiss.
Several minutes later, Tucker pulled away—just an inch or so—and looked at her. She couldn’t quite figure out the look in his eyes. The usual bright-blue orbs were suddenly dark with so many emotions, they took her breath away.
“I need you.”
Three simple words, but the pure agony behind them was more than Lela could stand.
She took a step away from him. “Lock the door.”
Tucker held her gaze for only a second, and then he turned, throwing the deadbolt on her front door. She hel
d out her hand and led him upstairs to her bedroom.
Ever since his return, they’d promised to talk, to try to sort out the past. But now, Lela could see, at this moment, it didn’t matter. It would still be there tomorrow. All that she cared about right now was what happened next.
She hadn’t taken two steps into her bedroom, hadn’t had time to reach for the light switch, before Tucker released her hand and took charge. He pushed her gently against a wall, his hands on the waistband of her sleep shorts. He followed them down, his face level with her pussy as the cotton of her pajama bottoms and panties hit the floor. His hot breath added even more heat to the fire raging. Her inner muscles clenched as her heart raced.
Tucker lifted one leg until her knee rested on his shoulder. She was completely open to him and he took full advantage. His tongue stroked her, starting at her opening and continuing forward until it landed on her clit. He pressed against the sensitive nub, a cry falling from her lips. Lightning raced along her spine as he continued to lick her. Then he upped the ante.
With his fingers, he held her pussy open and pushed his tongue inside her.
Her hands had been clenched into fists, pressed against the wall. When he began to thrust his tongue into her, she needed more purchase, something firmer to hold on to. Her head flew back as she gripped him, her fingers tangling in his hair. She was vaguely aware that she was tugging it too hard. Tucker grunted once, the sound producing the most delicious vibrations against her aching flesh, but he didn’t shake off her grasp, didn’t ask her to let go.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to release him. With just his tongue, he was driving her to the edge of sheer insanity, a white-hot blissful paradise where she would gladly buy property, build a house, and live forever.
Tucker used his thumbs to tease and pinch her clit as his tongue continued to glide in and out, in and out.
Beads of sweat gathered at her brow and Lela wondered if she’d suddenly come down with a fever. Her body was on fire, almost aching with the unquenchable need.
