by Willa Okati
“Right. You’re better than that. I know,” Cade said. Said it with a venom that Tuck didn’t understand and never had. A blind man could tell those escorts made Cade’s skin crawl, but let one guy say something against them and boom. Was he for them or against them? Why did it matter this much?
Cade turned away when Tuck had no response. “If that’s all you have to say, we’re done here.”
Oh, fuck this. Tuck advanced on Cade, not letting him back down and knowing he couldn’t back away without flipping off the bridge. “What really happened between us, you and me? Don’t tell me it was the job. I’m not as smart as you, but I’m not that stupid. Ten years doesn’t just snap its fingers and vanish over a job. And don’t tell me it was because I tried to surprise you. I hid birthday presents before.”
Cade favored Tuck with the kind of long, flat look that promised the splintered flash of lightning and a roll of thunder not far off. “If you think you can compare the two—”
“No. I know I should have done it different. I got caught up. I was stupid.”
“Yes. You were.” Cade turned his back on Tuck. He spoke softly but not so much so that Tuck didn’t hear him say, “And so was I.”
See? It was things like that. Bits and pieces escaping Cade that kept Tuck hoping. If Cade had those things tucked away in his heart, then it couldn’t be as over for him as he wanted Tuck to believe.
Or maybe Romeo just hadn’t gotten any brighter over the years. Who knew?
All Tuck could be was himself. That meant taking chances. Gambling on a prayer.
And so, without letting himself question the move, he covered Cade’s hand with his and held tight. “I miss you.”
Cade drew in a deep, slow breath and let it out. His hunched shoulders broadened as he pushed himself up off the rail and looked away at some fixed point a thousand yards away that Tuck couldn’t see. Retreating inside himself to some place where Tuck couldn’t follow him. “It’s not that easy.”
“Then tell me why not,” Tuck pressed. “How can I believe you when you won’t explain what that means? And I don’t, you know,” he said, sure of it even as he said it out loud for the first time in months. “I don’t believe you.”
Cade’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Tuck turned Cade around to face him once more. He palmed Cade’s cheek as gently as he could. Felt so good, that warm skin beneath his touch. So right. “And you know how I know?”
Cade swallowed, the long smooth line of his throat working. Tuck could see the question in his eyes, and the wish he wouldn’t let himself make.
Tuck pushed closer still, pressing into the inch of personal space Cade had left, lining their bodies one against the other. He feathered his thumb over the pulse in Cade’s wrist.
Cade watched him with the same sort of wary fear as a cat trapped in a corner, in the back of an alley.
Tuck didn’t ease up. This mattered too much to back down now. These were things Cade needed to hear. To feel. “This. This is how I can be sure.” He laid his hand on Cade’s chest, over his heart, just the way he used to, and felt how fast it beat. He felt Cade’s body reacting to him being this close too; that, he let that pass. For now. “I know because I know you.”
Cade stood very still, too still, save for an abrupt and bitter twist of his silent lips.
Tuck would have minded, if he hadn’t had more to say. “That hole, Cade, we keep digging. Both of us. But I’ll stake my life on it. We are not done. And I do still know you, because I know you’re dying to ask how I can be so sure.”
Slowly—as slowly as he’d opened the window that first time, that first night at St. Pius, no surer now of how to get this ball rolling than he had been back then—he slid his arm around Cade and spread his fingers wide at the small of Cade’s back. He’d grown too warm standing in the sun, and this close, pressed body to body now—almost—God, Tuck couldn’t think straight. Not with Cade close enough to taste the sweet raspberry and bitter black cherry on his breath.
Tuck didn’t stop there. He traced a path up Cade’s chest, his throat, the sharpness of the dent in his chin and the sandpaper stubble dusting Cade’s cheeks. “This,” he said. Their lips almost brushed. He kneaded Cade’s hip, craving more, still more, and Cade yielding to him as he met Tuck’s eyes, dark brown to deep gray. “This is how I know.”
Now or never again.
Tuck slid one leg forward, drawing their hips into alignment. The hard line of Cade’s dick bumped against Tuck’s, and even though they were separated by jeans and boxers, they both hissed at the rough contact.
Tuck didn’t stop there. He let his hands roam over Cade’s chest, then down to curl his knuckles below Cade’s navel, the heat of Cade’s dick burning his fingers. Not touching. Teasing. Tempting. A girder would hide them from any Peeping Tom eyes, but Tuck honestly couldn’t be bothered to move or to risk startling Cade out of this moment he’d worked so hard to catch.
He brushed his lips over Cade’s, softer and sweeter than most anyone would believe he could be. He drew back to see how Cade was taking it. Only for a second.
This time when he kissed Cade, he crushed their mouths together, hard and hot, deep and wet, filthy and holy, everything that made him and Cade them. Cade shuddered, no doubt doing his damnedest not to—
Cade groaned when he yielded. His hands were as strong and desperate as Tuck remembered, tangling in Tuck’s hair so hard his scalp prickled, kneading his hip with a merciless force sure to leave bruises. He pulled Tuck against him, grinding his hard-on, just as needy as his hands had been, against Tuck.
Then—he pushed Tuck away just as roughly as he’d been snatched up, his lips strung apart and kiss-swollen a dark red.
Breathless, Tuck stared Cade in the eye. “There. Now you can kick me over the rail if you want, or you can tell me if that feels like the end to you.”
Tuck could hear Cade grinding his teeth. “It’s. Not. That. Easy. I’m not like you, Tuck. Leaping without even thinking about looking. You turn everything upside down the way it’s not supposed to be.”
“Says who?”
“Says me. It’s my life.”
“I know.” Tuck eyed him. “But you know what? You’re my life. Still. So where does that leave us?”
Cade flat-palmed Tuck’s chest, probably meaning to push him away. But as he did, the envelope slipped free of Tuck’s pocket and caught between the two of them, pressed as close together as they were.
Whatever Cade had started to say died unspoken. Uncertainty seeped back in.
To his own credit, Tuck didn’t like playing unfair. Sometimes, though, it was the only way. He took the envelope by one edge to keep it safe.
“Everything Megan and Hannah know about love, they learned from watching us at St. Pius and afterward,” he told Cade. “You know it’s true. I’m not going to call them less than a month before their wedding to give them this kind of news, and I’m not going to miss the chance to see my sisters get married. Look me in the eye if you can and tell me if you want to hurt them in any way when they should be happier than they’ve ever been. I won’t take it away from them. Will you?”
Cade’s hands were knotted into fists, held at his side. His wrists were white from the pressure and restraint and his shoulders tight as muscle cramps. “There’s nothing else we can do.”
“Wrong.”
Cade stood on that thin edge right between fight or flight. Now or never. “How can there be a right choice?” The way he said that, with a quiet sort of despair, betrayed more about Cade’s state of mind and heart than Tuck knew Cade would have wanted on display.
More, it told him Cade didn’t want to let the girls down either.
So here went nothing—and everything. Tuck took a deep breath and laid his cards on the table, plain and simple. “They don’t know, and they’re happy that way. Ignorance is bliss, sometimes. They don’t need to know, so we…” Tuck tried to find a way of saying this that sounded better and co
uldn’t. “We don’t tell them. That’s the only way.”
Cade stared at him. A stare so blank and protracted that Tuck shuffled his feet and crossed his arms, trying to keep his mouth shut and not make things worse. “You’re not joking, are you?”
“No.” Tuck could almost read Cade’s mind at the moment, and he didn’t disagree with any of the thoughts no doubt racing through it. This was madness, but he’d challenge anyone with a living, beating heart to come up with anything better. Cade wouldn’t be able to.
That didn’t mean he’d fall in line. Only seconds passed before Tuck knew he’d called that one right.
“No. Fuck no.” Cade sounded paper dry and iron hard. Rusted iron, but still too strong for one man to break. “That’s what you call simple? Lying to them?”
“Saying nothing isn’t telling a lie.”
“It’s a lie of omission.”
“Then what am I omitting?”
“That we’re—” Cade started, then stopped.
Tuck knew what the man refused to let himself finish saying. Suited him fine to take over. “That we’re over, or we’re not over? Tell me, Cade. Which one’s the lie?”
Cade glared at Tuck, but beneath that narrow heat was the kid Tuck remembered from St. Pius, lonely and scared and on the very edge of what he could cope with.
“The way you feel about me, and the way I feel about you?” Tuck gentled his hold on the man he loved, the man who drove him crazy in so many ways. “That’s not over. I’ll say it as many times as I have to until it sinks in.”
Cade shuddered. God, the poor guy was so torn. Anyone could see it.
“You break my heart, you know that?” Tuck asked him.
Too much, damn it. Cade would take anything but a blow to his pride. He met Tuck’s eyes with deadly intent. “Get your hands off of me, now,” he said, each word crisp and clear, “or I swear I’ll get them off for you.”
He meant it too. Perversely enough? Tuck liked it. He’d take mad over sad any day. Mad got things done while Sad sat in a corner crying and let the world pass by. “Go ahead,” Tuck said, not releasing his hold. “You want to take a swing? Do it.”
“Fuck. You. I can’t do this anymore.” Cade covered his face briefly and came up angry. “Happy now?”
“No. Matter of fact, I’m not.” Tuck refused to back down now. “It hurts me to see you hurting. You don’t want to hear it? Doesn’t make it any less true. I swear to you, Cade, if there was any other way—but there isn’t. I need you. I can’t do this on my own.”
“God!” Cade shoved Tuck away, rough as a bear and sharp as the report of a gunshot. “I can’t hear any more of this—I—” He tried to run his hand backward through his hair, as he’d been wont to do when frustrated beyond his limits, and swore under his breath when he encountered nothing but half-inch bristles. “Do what you want with the invitation. The girls. Tell them whatever you like, but leave me out of it.”
“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t. You wouldn’t raise your voice or lose your cool if that were true.”
Cade wouldn’t look at him. “No. You’ll be enough for them; you don’t need me.” He warded Tuck away with an upraised hand. “I’ve got to go. Don’t follow me.”
Tuck wanted to, but that’d be another thing Cade wouldn’t forgive, and the list was already too long. Even after ten years, when Cade got this worked up he’d damn well lick his wounds in private and to hell with anyone who got in his way. No matter how much he needed them.
Let him go. Tuck would think of some other way to make this work. They weren’t over, and now that Tuck knew that for sure…well. He had a fighting chance, maybe. He’d take it.
Tuck watched Cade walk away, calling after him only once. “If you change your mind, you know where I’ll be.”
Cade looked back over his shoulder. Once. He wanted to come back. Tuck could read it in him as if the wish were words written on a page. Stupid, stubborn, beloved ass. “I know,” Cade said. “But don’t expect me to come.”
And then he was gone, walking away from Tuck. Off the bridge and into the deepening dusk, putting hard distance between them as fast as he could.
Tuck watched until Cade vanished from his line of sight. The cool of the early night seemed far colder without him there.
Yeah, so. That went well.
Chapter Two
Tuck tasted the sauce on the tip of his spoon. Needed something. Pepper, oregano…basil? He had bigger things on his mind, but sometimes it helped to go back to the basics. Food was comfort. Ergo, he should have been comforted by pulling out all the stops to make his favorite dinner.
Funny how it hadn’t worked out that way. Every time Tuck turned to grab a knife or open a drawer, he saw in his peripheral vision the invitation he’d stuck to the fridge with a magnet.
Curled up at his feet where she knew she’d be guaranteed to get in his way, Suzie-Q lifted her muzzle off her oversize puppy paws and whined.
“You’ll get your share, don’t worry.” He hadn’t started browning the meat yet, but she knew what was coming. No telling what breed Suzie-Q was, maybe half spaniel and half good old Americanus muttus, all spotted silky fur with floppy hound ears. She was about beagle sized but had a long muzzle that would only have looked right on a much bigger dog. Cute as hell, sweet as heaven, and smart as a Mathlete from the streets.
He tapped the spoon on the rim of the pot, splattering tiny droplets of tomato and herbs about, making a face at them. The date on the wedding invite was less than two weeks away. Damn; sure would have been nice to have gotten this earlier, huh? Had to have been Hannah who’d gotten the date wrong. Megan was the one who’d turned out to be a genius when it came to numbers.
Too late to RSVP now; hell, the girls probably already did think he and Cade had blown them off. And if they’d tried to call, well. After the first month apart, Cade got a new cell with a new number he didn’t share, and Tuck started letting everything go to voice mail, promising himself he’d deal with it later.
Truly a dumb-ass move. Hurting his girls was second highest on Tuck’s never-do list, right after hurting Cade, and he’d blown that one right the fuck out of the water. He tapped his spoon too hard against the rim of the pot, the clang it gave off making him flinch.
Suzie-Q whined at Tuck. Great; he’d probably hurt her ears. “Sorry, baby. Calm down.” Tuck bent to scruff and jostle her gently, the kind of puppy play she liked best. “It’ll be okay.”
As soon as he let go, the dog laid her muzzle on her paws and sighed. She wasn’t sure, but she chose to trust him. Just like Cade. Go figure. Just like Hannah.
Heh. Tuck chuckled to himself. Hannah and Megan. Who’d have thought? But once you thought about the pair, they fit, their fiery Megan and sweet Hannah. Spice and sugar. Odd couples matched one another’s missing pieces. They made the impossible work.
Granted, he’d thought that about him and Cade too.
Cut it out. Hannah and Megan would be fine.
God, he had to decide what to do about that damn invitation.
Tuck gave the pot a savage stir, far too hard, churning up a miniwave of sauce that sloshed over the back of his hand. He swore and lifted it to his mouth to lick it clean—faster than unspooling a paper towel and neater than wiping his hand on his jeans.
At least the stuff tasted good. The richness of the sauce—salt, of course, that’s what it needs—had just registered with Tuck’s taste buds when a tapping at the door made him flinch and threatened the fate of his food all over again.
Who the hell…?
Suzie-Q popped up like the door was a magnet and she was iron shavings, making a beeline. Ah. Had to be Ms. Nell. She hadn’t stopped making him casseroles since Cade left, as if there’d been a damn death in the family. Most of them went straight to the dog’s dish. Ms. Nell had a weird fixation on tuna in everything and an endless parade of nephews she’d try to sneak into every conversation.
She meant well, sure, but of all the things Tuck
was in the mood for tonight, matchmaking ranked right about at the bottom of the list.
“Chill, girl,” Tuck muttered. He almost tripped when the dog darted between his legs and ducked ahead of him on his way to the door, sitting down hopefully on the mat and all but sitting up to beg. “What’s gotten into you? Go lie down.”
Suzie-Q did not budge. Maybe too smart a girl, huh? Or dumb as soup. Good thing she had “cute” in her favor.
“Ms. Nell, thanks, but maybe a rain check?” Tuck asked, opening the door. He made it about halfway before he—stopped—and God help him if he could have budged an inch.
Cade stood outside, hands stuffed in the pockets of an old pair of washed-soft jeans, his shoulders hunched, saying nothing but that didn’t matter when he was there. Home.
Time ceased and space closed in, leaving nothing but Cade in Tuck’s world.
Until Suzie-Q barked.
The shock back to reality wasn’t a pleasant one. Traces of spaghetti sauce tasted thick and sticky in Tuck’s mouth. He couldn’t swallow the bitter flavor down. “What are you doing here?”
Did Cade laugh? Not quite. Almost. “You have tomato all over your face.”
“I what? Oh, hell. Shit.” Tuck raised his arm to his mouth to use his long-sleeved T-shirt as an impromptu napkin. “Cade, seriously, what are you—”
“Maybe you should let her lick it off.” Cade looked down at Suzie-Q, happier than if she’d been let loose in a generous meat shop, both paws planted on his legs and panting up at him for attention. There he faltered. Tuck could tell—anyone would have been able to—that he itched to reach down and pet her. He’d been the one who wanted a pet. Always had. “Since when do you have a dog?”
