by Tucker, RH
Read My Heart
RH Tucker
Copyright © 2019 by RH Tucker
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by Melissa Ringsted of There For You Editing
Cover design by James at GoOnWrite.com
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Thank You
About the Author
Also by RH Tucker
Chapter 1
Jackson
“You suck, man. Seriously.” I keep my phone between my shoulder and ear, talking to Lucas. “I can’t believe you.”
He laughs. “Stop being a baby. This semester is just hectic.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble as I carry over a box of potato chips to a small stand in the deli.
I can’t be too annoyed with him. He’s my best friend, so I know he goes to UC Irvine, plus he has a girlfriend. Me, on the other hand …
“So, what are you getting into?”
“You’re looking at it. Er …” I look around the deli. “You know what I mean.”
It’s a small deli that my father has owned for years. A few short aisles, with necessities and snacks, it’s a local spot but doesn’t get too busy.
“Hey, did you give any more thought to that night class?” he asks.
I sigh, rolling my eyes. He told me about an adult learning class at Irvine Community. He doesn’t bring it up much, but ever since I told him I’m dyslexic last year, he’ll mention things here and there. I know he’s doing it to be helpful, but school sucked in high school, and I really don’t want to voluntarily fight with my brain. I get along fine as I am.
“Yeah, I did,” I answer.
“And?”
“And like I said, I don’t need a night class. I’ve got the deli. I don’t need any diploma or certificate to get some fancy job.”
“Dude, it’s not about that, you know that.”
“Yeah, then what’s it about?”
Turning around, I grab a new box of chips to stock. Opening it up, I start to stock the shelf with mini-bags of Doritos, when the small bell attached to the front door dings. I look over and see Mrs. Harold entering the shop.
“Hello, young lady,” I deliver my normal line to her, along with a super cheesy grin. She gets a kick out of it every time.
The deli offers sandwiches, but it’s also a small stop for certain groceries. And since working here, I’ve learned my dad caters to a large customer base of retirees. Mrs. Harold is seventy-two and comes to the shop three times a week. She always keeps herself so proper with her grayish-blue, curled hair, a long coat, and usually some type of floral dress. Today it’s sunflowers.
She’ll come in twice to get her salami and ricotta sandwich … on wheat bread. She’s very specific about that. The other time she usually picks up milk, eggs, and a few other grocery items. Since I know she came in yesterday for her groceries, I take the box of chips to the back, and head behind to counter to start on her sandwich.
“It’s about you,” Lucas continues as I put him on speaker phone and set it down next to the meat slicer. “You dumb ass.”
Cringing, I look over at Mrs. Harold, who chuckles. “Sorry,” I whisper.
“Jacks, when are you going to figure it out and stop messing that thing up with Cindy?”
“Dude, I’m not messing anything up. It’s done,” I reply, then look to Mrs. Harold. “Are you getting your side of pickles today, Mrs. H?”
“Yes, please.” She smiles. It’s enough to make me feel like I’m a kid again and visiting my grandmother, who’s probably my most favorite person in the world.
“Oh, you’re not?” Lucas asks. “You guys have been on and off for the past year so much, it’s bordering on psychotic. I know she’s into you, but you push her away every time, and I know why you do it.”
“Yes, yes. You’ve very smart, Lucas. I can’t wait until you get your psychology degree and you can help me work out all of my issues as my therapist. Oh, wait … you’re not getting a psychology degree. You’re going to school for business!”
Mrs. Harold chuckles, and I start dressing the bread for her sandwich. “This guy,” I say under my breath, pointing to my phone, making her giggle again.
“Fine, you’re right. I might have my head up my ass and not have a clue what I’m talking about.”
“Thank you!” I yell out, wrapping up the sandwich.
“But I do know you want her, no matter how much you try to act like you don’t. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have passed up that BJ last month from Nikki, when we hit up that party. Stomach flu? Bro, what self-respecting guy turns down a blow job because you’re getting over the stomach flu?”
He starts laughing and my face drops. Mrs. Harold’s eyes pop open, and they jump from the phone to me.
“I’ll call you back!” Quickly picking up my phone, I end the call. “Sorry about that, Mrs. H.”
She nods, and I finish preparing her sandwich before grabbing her usual item of sea salt potato chips, and putting them in a bag. As she reaches into her purse to pay, I stop her.
“Oh, no. Please, on the house today. Again, sorry about that.”
Seeming to turn back to normal, she chuckles, taking the bag. “It’s quite all right, Jackson. I was once young and full of vibrance.”
“Oh.” I know I was blushing before, and I’m positive I’m crimson now. “Right.”
Shaking my head at Lucas’ stupid comment, and my even stupider act of keeping him on speaker phone, I reach for my phone as the doorbell dings.
“Jackson?” she calls back, standing in the doorway.
“Yeah, Mrs. H.?”
She chuckles under her breath, keeping her eyes on me. “Lucas is right.”
My eyes double in size. “What?”
“Alfred’s been gone a few years,” she starts, grinning from a memory she’s having. “We had a great life together. So many things we did and places we saw. So many memories. But you know what else I remember?”
“What’s that?”
“He loved …” After everything, she finally looks away, and a shade of pink hits her cheeks. “Well, he loved certain things.”
The blood completely drains from my face.
“If you turned something like that down, I think your friend is right. You must like whoever that girl is.”
I swallow the ball of embarrassment in my throat. “Uh, thanks.”
Returning to her conservative, loving disposition of a sweet grandmother, she nods with a smile, and leaves.
“Damn you, Lucas.”
Chapter 2
Cindy
It’s a month into a new semester at Irvine Community. I had a full-ride scholarship to Oregon State, Berkley, and Purdue. But here I am, starting my second year at a community college.
The nice thing is that even though one of my best friends is off working on getting her marketing degree, and she continues her all-things-nerdy YouTube channel, my other best friend is going to school with me. She’s kept me sane, even if she doesn’t know it. A
ll things considered, I don’t know how I would’ve handled it if I had left home for university.
“Daddy, I’m starting the teaching assistant group tonight, so I won’t be home until late, okay?”
Waiting at the front door, I look over to see him nod. He’s sitting on the couch, the same cushion he always sits in, so much so that it’s caved in. He used to enjoy other things. Rock climbing, jogging, even the occasional night out to see a movie. Of course, that was when my mom was still here. Now, if he doesn’t force himself to go to work, he just sits there. Like a zombie, watching the television. It kills me.
Drawing in a deep breath, I head back to the living room, and take a knee on the sofa cushion next to him. I wrap my arms around him, and he reaches over, running one hand over my arm, while keeping his eyes locked on the TV. It’s I Love Lucy. I don’t know why he still watches it. It was his and my mom’s favorite. They’d laugh hysterically at the show sometimes. After she left, I was shocked to see him turn it on a week later.
“I love you, Daddy,” I say, leaning my head on his shoulder.
“Love you, too, honey,” he responds, but it’s almost monotone.
Sometimes I wish he’d work seven days a week in his office. His mood doesn’t seem to change when he goes to work, but at least he’s doing something. Placing a quick kiss on his cheek, I get back up and head over to the door. As I take one last glance behind me, I notice his vision never wavers from the screen. Letting out a soft sigh, I head out to my BMW coupe, and drive off to campus.
Meeting up with Veronica, we hit up the café on campus, and I grab a large iced latte with an extra shot of espresso. It’s going to be one of those kinds of days.
“Vero, did Micah pick out those pants you’re wearing?” I ask after a long gulp of my iced latte.
She quirks an eyebrow, before scanning her legs and her dark blue capri pants. “Um, no. Why?”
“Because they make your ass pop.” I giggle and she instantly starts blushing.
She begins shaking her head. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Why?”
Laughing to herself, she picks up her books and we exit the café, heading toward our building. “No, he didn’t pick them out, but when I left his place last week he started laughing and said these were his favorite pants of mine. I asked him why, and he said ‘just cuz’. Lame-o.”
We laugh and say our good-byes, as she heads the opposite way on campus to her class. Veronica’s always struggled with her weight, but I know her boyfriend loves her regardless. And she’s gotten a lot more confident in herself since high school. Turning a corner, I head to my biology class where I’m met with a dimple-laced smile from Joe as I enter and go to my seat.
“Hey, you,” he calls over, and takes his seat next to me.
“What’s got you in such a happy mood?” I ask.
“What? Can’t a guy smile when he sees a gorgeous girl?”
Direct and to the point. It’s been that way for weeks with him. He’s already asked me out, but that was a month ago and I’d just ended it with Jackson. Again. I didn’t tell him why I said no, only that I was taking some time for myself. That didn’t dissuade him, and even if he hasn’t asked me out again, I know he’s definitely interested. He’s probably waiting until I blatantly flirt back, which is why I haven’t.
“Oh?” I quirk an eyebrow. “Anyone I know? Leti’s cute.”
He stares at me, unimpressed. “I’ve seen cuter.”
“Please don’t tell me you have a thing for hot, Asian girls?” I give him a point-blank stare. “That’s both cliché and a little creepy.”
“I wasn’t sure what you were. Especially since your last name is Cosgrove.”
“My dad’s white.”
“That’s racist,” he quips, and it gets me to laugh.
“Anyway …” I push his arm, and his dimpled-smiled lingers. “Any plans for the weekend?”
“Not really? Unless you’re asking me out, then I’m all yours.”
His remark gives me pause. I don’t know exactly what my deal is with Jackson. We’ve had this up and down thing for so long now, but it’s incredibly draining. In the beginning, I have to admit that it kind of had an allure to it. He seemed mysterious. But after those first couple of months of actually going out, it just got annoying. He’d act like he was falling for me, then the next moment, he’d act like I didn’t exist. I wouldn’t hear from him for days.
The only thing that’s kept me orbiting around him is that there’s no denying our chemistry. Regardless of the push and pull between us, when we’re together …
I glance over at Joe. He’s taking notes as our professor starts his lecture. At five-foot-nothing, every guy I date is taller than me, but Joe is a giant. I think he’s a couple of inches taller than Jackson. The differences continue from there. Jackson has a light brown, shaggy hair look—almost like surfer/bedhead, which of course matches his slightly tanned skin—and dark brown eyes. Joe’s hair is styled; combed back and to the side. Every once in a while, he’ll show up to class with some stubble, but usually he’s clean shaven, which just amplifies his hard jawline and those dimples even more. And the blue eyes are enough to make girls hit on him. I’ve seen it between classes.
Maybe I should just go out with Joe. Get over Jackson once and for all. If I was still in high school, I might be thinking differently. The way I’ve felt around Jackson, it might’ve even made me feel like I’m in love with him. But high school’s over. And when it ended, my mom left.
It absolutely wrecked my dad, and it opened my eyes. No matter who you think you know, even if someone looks like they are completely in love, you never really know what’s going on in the other person’s head. My dad sure as hell didn’t know what was going on in my mom’s. And I don’t know what Jackson has been thinking all of this time. Does he even really like me? He’s said he has in the past. He never told me loved me, but there were times I thought he might. But then he wouldn’t talk to me for days, so what do I know?
I look back over at Joe, and this time he catches it, giving me a sideways smirk. I lean over to him. “What would we do?”
He smirks morphs into a smile. “Whatever you want.”
He has my number because we’ve had to team up with a few other students on a group project, so I pull out my phone.
Me: Tomorrow night. Let’s have some fun ;)
His phone vibrates and he glances in my direction, before looking down at his phone.
Joe: You got it
Chapter 3
Jackson
I’m waiting in my beat-up Toyota Corolla with a weathered black paint job, picking at the cracked dashboard. My eyes flick up over to the library entrance for the fourth time. Maybe it’s the fifth. It’s ten minutes past seven, and the parking lot still has some cars in it, but the vacant spots do nothing to put my mind at ease.
After Lucas mentioned the class again, I finally decided to research it. It’s mostly done online, though they do have helpers located in the college library if you need some guidance. Once a week you come in and submit your paperwork for the professor to review. Even though you can sign up online, you still have to come in and fill out a form and take an initial test.
“This is stupid,” I whisper to myself. I reach for the door handle, but recoil.
It’s not so much that Lucas has been telling me about this class, it’s Cindy. He’s right. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right.
In the past, I did everything I could to keep my distance from girls after a certain point—being dyslexic is a struggle. If anything, I should look at my dad as an example. He’s the same way. However, he created his own business and married my mom. It should all be a sterling example for me, but it’s not.
I’ve broken up with girls in the past so they wouldn’t find out. Lucas tells me I’m crazy. Hell, even my father has said that to me. Maybe they’re right, but it doesn’t change how I feel.
Then there’s Cindy. It’s been forever since
I told a girl about me. The real me. And when Cindy and I got together, there were times I felt like I could tell her. That I wanted to tell her. But I never did. Her parents are doctors. She has this amazing life, and I know she had scholarships to more than one college. She’s as smart as she is beautiful, and that just reinforced my own insecurities.
I don’t know why she decided to stick around and go to a community college instead of some prestigious university, but she’s way too good for me. And that’s not my insecurities talking. Okay, maybe a little. But she is amazing. I’ll never have a college degree. Not that I really want one, but still. Those things make people look good. I’ll never have that. Or a fancy job. Or a luxury car.
I’ll be working in my dad’s deli, probably taking it over when he decides to retire, and I’m fine with that. She’s got the litter to choose from, whether that’s guys, schools, or careers. You name it, she can have it. What would I have to offer?
Stop being stupid.
Lucas’ words ring around in my head. He’s told me that on more than one occasion when I’ve confessed these insecurities to him. He’s the only one I’ve ever told everything to. And when he pushes me on things, like this class, I know he’s doing it because he’s my best friend.
Glancing back at the library doors, I watch as a girl walks out.
“Screw it,” I whisper to myself, and get out of the car.
What do I have to lose? It’s just info, right? And I haven’t spoken to Cindy in a while. She pretty much told me to drop dead the last time I messaged her, and I can’t blame her. We hooked up and then I didn’t text or call for four days. If nothing else, and I do actually do this, then maybe I can actually string together a few coherent words to the next girl I text message.
