by Doyle, Jen
Of course, that made it sound like there might be a “someday” in their future and Karen was still very much on the fence about that.
When she turned into the parking lot of her building, she waved him over to the visitor spots, which were all empty. They always were. In fact, the lot itself was usually pretty empty, too. The management company had even been so efficient that there was no trace at all of the six inches of snow from yesterday.
He grabbed a gym bag out of the back of the cab and came to meet her by the door.
“What?” she asked warily, although she had a feeling she knew what he was about to say.
It was a fairly generic corporate apartment building in an area that mostly had other generic buildings that looked exactly like it.
Rather than reply right away, he took her hand and smiled down at her. “I didn’t say anything.”
Not with actual words, no, but if he didn’t like the outside, he absolutely wasn’t going to like the inside.
Karen sighed.
They took the elevator upstairs to what Karen liked to call her penthouse suite, although it was basically just the fifth floor. When she opened the door, even she saw it as pathetic. “It’s, well, a little beige.”
He laughed. “There is that very bright splash of color.”
She looked over to her couch, with its hot pink Snuggie laid over the side. “True.”
She did have some nice photographs framed and stacked against the wall, although they’d been there for, okay, yes, maybe the entire time since she’d moved in, over a year ago. As had the piles of boxes up against the wall that she’d never bothered to unpack because one day she’d get a real apartment. And once again, although it had never bothered Karen before, now it just seemed sad.
The entryway into the kitchen was covered with Christmas cards...from last year. But that one was a choice. Without a lot of family of her own, it made her happy to see the families of college and medical school friends, not to mention patients—especially the patients. It meant everything to know that the lives she’d touched had gone on at least in some ways. She’d take them down as the new ones came in; it was one of her favorite rituals.
Tuck either didn’t notice the out-of-date cards or didn’t care. He’d gone over to the couch and picked up her Snuggie. “Is this a blanket?”
Had he never watched TV ever? “It’s a Snuggie. Like a blanket and a robe all in one. You know, for when you watch television.”
“Okay,” he answered, laying it back down. “You don’t watch sports, though.” Clearly, he remembered her comment.
She shrugged. “Sometimes I watch them on Dancing with the Stars.”
The look on his face made it clear he couldn’t quite comprehend that statement. “You’re serious.”
Well, of course she was—she’d told him as much over dinner at Deacon’s that first night. But maybe it would be better not to mention she and Ryan had a weekly Housewives of various cities date. Or that she was aware it was yet another pathetic thing, that Tuck had this rich and layered life, whereas hers was somewhat...flat. But his way of life still bothered her a bit, with his work spilling over in so many ways. It felt almost frightening in its familiarity, in fact. Reminiscent of long ago memories of what it had been like before her father had died; before her mother had stopped living. Would she want a life like that? Could she truly manage it?
There was still quite a ways to go before even thinking those thoughts, though. She went over to the kitchen area, separated from the living room by the breakfast counter. “Do you want some hot chocolate? It’s my specialty.” She even stirred it with peppermint sticks—one of the few redeeming qualities of the impending Christmas season.
He raised his eyebrows, and shrugged his bag off his shoulder. “Sure.”
Of course, as she boiled the water and tore open the packets, she realized that wasn’t up to snuff, either, even if she added actual cream. “I bet Dorie and Fitz make it with real melted chocolate. And they probably have some secret spice-type thing they put in that makes it all perfect,” she muttered. She sighed as she waited for the water to boil.
Tuck sat across from her on one of the stools. “Dorie and Deke are really the ones who cook. Sometimes Nate. Fitz doesn’t even attempt it.”
Karen turned her back to Tuck. Perfect. And now she was the sexist one.
Just as she was opening the refrigerator and realizing Tuck would probably want something more than yogurt and fruit, he came up behind her and put his arms around her waist. “It’s not a competition. And I’m pretty sure that if it was, being a brain surgeon beats us all hands down.”
“Neurosurgeon,” she corrected automatically, closing the door to the fridge. “I probably win in takeout menus, too.”
He smiled again.
They placed an order for pizza, and Karen began to feel even more self-conscious. By this point normally she’d be on her couch watching reality TV and with completely synthetic hot pink material wrapped around her. With Tuck here, all she could think of was why she didn’t do this with men. And that she wasn’t cut out for it. And that last night had been amazing, but she shouldn’t get greedy and think about all the things she might someday want to have, because then when they were all taken away from her—
“Karen.”
She looked up to see him standing right in front of her. She hadn’t realized he’d even moved. He backed her against the refrigerator. And then as if he could tell she was working herself into a state, he kissed her until she was breathless.
When he’d distracted her sufficiently, he pulled away. “Better?”
Not at all proud of the fact, she nodded. His touch was soothing. Settling. Like it put a damper on all the noise in her head except for the sound of birds chirping and bees buzzing. “Do it again?”
His grin lit up his face as he went back in. She closed her eyes, thinking back to how perfect it had been at his house, in his bed. She felt him lifting her up, his arms going around her, and then carrying her once again as if she weighed nothing at all. As if she didn’t carry the world on her shoulders.
“What about you?” she asked as he sat them down on the couch. “What’s the weight you carry?”
Because he didn’t wear it the way she did, but it had to be there.
“I don’t know. I never really thought of it that way.” He settled back into the couch, pulling her over and playing with her hair. “I want people to be happy. I try to make it so that they are. I can’t fix them the way you can, and I know I have only a very little slice of the world, but if I can give the people who live there the same chances they gave me, then that’s good enough.”
“Like Taylor and Gabe?” Karen had called Fitz again yesterday just to check in and to see if there was anything else she could do. She’d also taken the opportunity to find out how Tuck was involved, only to learn that Tuck had spearheaded it. He’d gotten babysitters lined up, people to drive the kids to their various places, and friends who could make sure that Thanksgiving and Christmas cooking and preparation would be covered. And since Taylor loved to read, he was working with Dorie, who was apparently the local librarian, to build the fund at Taylor’s library for audiobooks.
Tuck mentioned none of that of course. He just shrugged.
“Nate Hawkins, too,” she said. Because although it was painfully obvious Karen had no clue in that area, she’d done her research on the town’s benefactor. And she knew now that he’d grown up without a father, too, although his had left willingly. Tuck wasn’t that much older than Nate, but as Deke had mentioned that day in the bar, he’d been one of their coaches back then and, Karen was guessing, a bit of a father figure even though they weren’t that far apart in age.
But again Tuck shrugged.
Was that what he wanted—”good enough”? She almost asked, except she managed
to stop herself right before she actually said the words.
Because that conversation was too much too soon. They barely knew each other, and it was far too early for her to be asking what he really wanted for the rest of his life. If maybe he truly did want her, and it wasn’t just some passing thing. Except no one had ever wanted her that much—needed her to help make their own life whole, not unless she had a scalpel in her hand, at least. Not even her own mother. So a part of her would have liked to know how he truly felt.
But a part of her was terrified of that being the case. It was better not to get too attached. To be so important to someone that their life would come to a crashing halt if she died—it was too much of a responsibility. To have someone who meant that much to her was even worse. Things were probably better left the way they were.
Whether he saw the fear in her eyes, or had enough questions of his own, Tuck just looked at her for a minute. She had a feeling he knew every one of her thoughts and dreaded the moment he called her on them. It would kill the mood entirely. She’d done more than enough of that by bringing him here. So it was with great relief that she saw the spark reappear in his eye as he upended her, spilling her onto the couch and surging up over her.
“I don’t want to talk about me. Or Taylor and Gabe. Or Nate or anyone else. I figure we have twenty more minutes before the pizza is here. So let’s get those clothes off of you.”
* * *
What weight did he carry. It wasn’t really a question Tuck had ever asked himself. He did the things that appealed to him and he was lucky enough that he didn’t need to make a lot of hard choices in that regard. His job and his life flowed in and out of each other in a way that had always matched, that made it feel like any burdens he bore were manageable.
Take basketball, for example. It had always been his escape. And thanks to his job, he was able to run tournaments, support the coaches, and be there for the kids. Thanks to his friends he was able to play no-holds-barred games on a weekly basis, and it was never too hard to find someone to play a pick-up game. He liked baseball, too, and hanging out with everyone at Deacon’s, and being a part of their lives.
But there was also his ranch house all the way out of town, and knowing he could head next door to Ella’s, saddle up one of those horses, and ride for hours whenever he needed to. It made him feel free, like he wasn’t quite so bound to the earth and to the town and to the rules he was sworn to uphold. Because although there wasn’t much he missed about Denver, every once in a while he just wanted to be another anonymous speck on the face of the earth. Just let himself go completely. To not worry about how it might look or the message it might send or if anyone else in the world gave a good Goddamn.
Did he want more out of his life? Did he really want that with Karen? A wife and kids to round out the picture? It wasn’t one of his life goals, but at the same time he wasn’t averse to it. Or at least he hadn’t thought he was. But he had kind of kept women at bay. He liked the companionship of dating and having someone he could call, because, yes, he also did like sex. A lot. But he’d become much less interested as he’d gotten older, realizing that he’d rather be alone than with someone he couldn’t love the way his father had loved his mother—to the point of tirelessly working three jobs in order to give her the best life he could.
Except now there was Karen. And that did scare him. Not that he was afraid to fall in love, but she wasn’t the kind of person he’d thought he would fall in love with. He couldn’t quite imagine her being content with life in Inspiration. He truly did love it there. But he didn’t think she would ever feel the same.
He should have left it at that. Let unknowns be unknowns, at least for the time being. Except he didn’t. After they’d had dinner and made love again—in her equally colorless bedroom—he watched her from the living room as she popped a bag of microwave popcorn in preparation for what was apparently some “awesome” reality TV. And he stupidly asked, “Do you think you could be happy in Inspiration?”
She turned off the microwave, took out the bag, and poured it into a bowl. It all seemed very deliberate, as if she knew the answer to the question but didn’t want to tell him because she also knew it was bigger than it sounded. She brought the popcorn over to where he was sitting on the couch, and sat up against him, pulling the Snuggie thing up over her as a blanket. When she ran her hand up his chest, he knew the answer she gave wasn’t going to be the one he wanted.
“I think I could be happy with you.”
And, yes, the happy little bubble he’d been living in evaporated into thin air. Because he wasn’t sure who he was without Inspiration, and her answer left him wishing for more.
Chapter Fourteen
The week following the nights they’d spent together was...odd.
When Tuck was with her, he felt euphoric. The mid-November weather was cold and miserable, but everything felt like it was in hi-def color. The sun was a bright yellow, the cardinals a striking red, and even the muted colors of the sunset were vibrant against the stark white of the frosted fields.
But when he wasn’t with her, the doubts crept in, and everything was exactly as it looked outside. Gray. Brittle. Cold.
He’d asked her what she was doing for Thanksgiving, thinking that although he did have to work a double shift that day, if she were in Inspiration, maybe she could hang out with his friends and he’d come find her on his breaks. Or with Sox and Seeley in front of the fire. Preferably naked.
But she worked that day, too. She said if her patients and their families had no choice about spending their Thanksgiving in the hospital, then the least she could do was be there with them, even though from what she said she was only with her patients for ten or twenty minutes at a time to check in. He admired her for it. He loved that she cared so deeply. And he knew that it was hypocritical to the nth degree. But, damn it, it did make him wonder if they could truly mesh. If their lives could ever be in sync.
The night after Thanksgiving was a little better. It was the town’s annual bonfire to kick off the Christmas season, and it brought in a huge crowd, including those who had moved out of Inspiration long ago but were back in town to visit family. Since, yes, drinking was involved, it could never just be a social thing for him. There was always at least one fight that needed to be broken up, and too many people thinking they were perfectly fine to drive.
He was appreciative that she made the effort at the bonfire even though she seemed to really dislike Christmas, something she made no bones about. That was less of a concern to him, however, than her major discomfort once she realized that some of Tuck’s—which also meant Gabe’s—high school classmates were here. And not only was Taylor’s illness a topic of conversation, it was part of what Tuck needed to get done. Connect with those he’d already spoken to and maybe drum up a little bit more in the way of donations and support. So, yeah, it blurred the lines further.
But he probably should have been a little less irritated when he overheard her say to one of his friends, “Oh, we’re not dating. We’re just having—”
“Dinner regularly,” Tuck cut in with. Because he’d really prefer she not make it sound like it was just about sex. Or let it get out about how they’d met. But, whatever. He knew this would be an uphill climb and he was okay with that given that he had to do some thinking, too.
Because he and Karen were different. Maybe too much so. His job was his life and vice versa, so connected it was hard to separate one from the other. He didn’t want to separate them. Karen, on the other hand, kept things segmented. She stayed removed. She made anonymous donations from the comfort—or not; Christ, he needed to get her something for that apartment—of her home.
But he couldn’t shake her. And he kept coming back to something his father had told him a long time ago.
Only once had they ever really talked about it, and even that wasn’t until Tuck was fully
grown and trying to make sense of his parents’ marriage. Although, come to think of it, he’d probably been all of twenty-three. His mom had been going through a particularly bad bout, and sometimes she got mean enough that Tuck wondered how his father had managed to stay with her for all of those years of backbreaking work with what seemed like little reward.
His father had said, “You’re too young now, but I hope someday you’ll understand exactly what I mean. When I come home and lie down next to her, and she puts her arms around me, everything feels better again. And I don’t think too hard about what’s happening next week or the week after that, because as long as she’s there at the end of every day, I know I can get through.”
Of course, Tuck realized now that the youth part had nothing to do with age. Because his dad and mom had been teenagers when they met, and Tuck hadn’t felt that way about anyone in all of his thirty-nine years. Until now. Until Karen. He’d known her for far too short of a time to be putting a label on it, but she’d worked her way so deep inside him that the thought of giving up was almost physically painful.
So on the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, after several days of frustrating missed calls and ambiguous texts, Tuck arranged to have a meeting in Ames in the afternoon so that he could just go off duty as of noon. It meant he could have lunch with her and spend the night, both of which she seemed to be avoiding again.
He’d come to know her well enough by now to plan on some maneuvering. So instead of getting in touch with her first, he texted Ryan to make sure he had the timing down. Then he picked up a couple of sandwiches from a place near the campus and headed over to the hospital to park before calling her.
“Tuck.” She definitely sounded surprised. “Is everything okay?”
He was growing a little too fond of having someone ask how he was. “I just happened to be in Ames and wanted to see what you were doing for lunch.”
