by Rae Kennedy
I nod.
He lets out a small breath. “But at home, she’s been the same. She hasn’t come out to the living room or kitchen that I’ve seen. I don’t think she’s eating. She mostly stays in her room and sleeps. Actually, she’s been sleeping in Cade’s room.”
I know she’s a private person, but maybe I should try to call Haley again before break.
“Have you tried to talk to her?”
Tuck shakes his head. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, I feel awful she’s in pain and it kills me that I’m the cause of it. I made him leave. I broke them up. But I’m not going to apologize for it. I’m not sorry for protecting my sister from him. He’s no good for her and if she didn’t end up hurt now, she’d have ended up with a broken heart later.”
“She’s an adult. That was her decision to make.”
Tuck’s eyes dig into mine and his jaw tics. “You’re probably right, but that doesn’t make it any easier.” The tension in his jaw relaxes. “It’s hard for me to see her as anything but my baby sister.”
We each take several sips of coffee as we sit in silence for a minute.
I can’t tell if he’s mad at me or not.
“You still want to go running with me tomorrow?”
The corner of Tuck’s mouth curls up. “Absolutely.”
* * *
I throw my keys on the counter when I get home from my last class.
I hear the crunching before I notice Caleb sitting at the table in front of a huge bowl of cereal.
“Cereal for dinner?”
His mouth is full, but he jerks his chin up to me.
“That sounds good.” I pour a bowl for myself and sit next to him.
Caleb is wearing a fitted black shirt, black jeans, and a bright red pair of sneakers. Boy has more shoes than me—by a lot. He’s obsessed. He also keeps his hair short and meticulously trimmed around the edges.
The front door opens.
“Oh good! You’re both here.” Nick walks in with a gleeful look on his face. “I want you guys to meet Gilbert!”
He pulls out the tiniest ball of orange fluff from inside his coat. The itty-bitty ball of fur promptly lets out little “mew.”
“You got a cat?” Caleb says flatly.
“Technically, he found me and I couldn’t say no. I mean, look at him!” Nick brings him to us, handing me the kitten who lets out a little cry when I take him in my hands.
He’s small enough I can hold him in one hand. He has giant blue eyes and white patches on his chin, chest, and paws. The rest of his fur is fine and fluffy, light orange with darker orange stripes around his face and on his legs and tail. He sniffs me with his heart-shaped pink nose, whiskers tickling my face and neck. I hold him against my chest and he tucks himself up under my chin and starts to purr. I pet his little body and the vibrations of his purring increase.
“Don’t you love him!”
“I do.”
Nick beams.
“Do you even know how to take care of a cat?” Caleb asks.
“I took care of my baby sisters growing up. I think I can handle a kitten.”
“Your parents trusted you with babies?”
“I am excellent with babies. In fact, I would make a terrific male nanny—a ‘manny,’ if you’d prefer.”
“Nope.”
“Oh, stop being such a Negative Nancy. Here—” Nick takes the kitten from his new perch on my collarbone and hands him to Caleb. “I’ll go get his stuff.”
Nick proceeds to bring in bags of kitty accouterments. A bed, litter box, brush, little toys with bells, little toys with feathers, a scratching post, and two matching bowls. All the while, Caleb is holding Gilbert in an awkward football hold while the kitten squirms and mews.
Nick fills one bowl with water and the other with food. He adds some water to the food to soften it, explaining to us it will be easier for him to eat while he’s still so little and losing baby teeth.
“Cats have baby teeth?”
“Yep. And they’re sharp, so be careful where you step the next few weeks.”
Caleb looks down at the kitten that has burrowed into the crook of his elbow and apparently gone to sleep. The bright pop of orange fur stands out against the black of Caleb’s shirt and the dark ebony of his skin.
“Oh Gil, come to Daddy.” Nick takes the sleeping kitten from Caleb’s arms. “You’ve had such a big day. Let’s go take a nap.” He carries him down the hall, nuzzling his face and giving him kisses.
* * *
I didn’t sleep much again last night. I lay awake in bed until my dad’s call at five then get up and get dressed for the run. Then wait. And wait.
Five thirty comes and goes.
At 5:45 I text.
Me: We were meeting at my place right?
No response.
At 6:00 I head out the door.
As I jog up to Tuck and Haley’s house, I see Tuck’s red truck is parked along the street in front. He’s home, that fucker. I run up the pathway to the front porch, under the large maple trees which are still holding on to the last few red and brown leaves of the season.
I knock on the front door, but nothing sounds from inside. I knock again. Still no answer.
I should probably just go on with my run and be done with it, but what if something’s wrong? Damn, now I have that insidious thought in my head and I can’t just leave.
I lift the black doormat. No key. I look under a couple of rocks near the front step. Also a bust. Then I spot a little clay flowerpot on the porch next to the house. It has some dirt in it, but no plant. The key underneath the pot is a little dirty but it fits in the lock.
When I step inside, the house is dark and quiet.
“Hello...Tuck...Haley?” I walk through the tiled entry to the living room and spot the hall to the bedrooms. Am I being a total creeper right now? Most definitely yes.
The first door on the right is open. It has soft blue walls and white lacey bed coverings. The bed is unmade, but no one is in it. This must be Haley’s room.
The next door down is also open—the bathroom.
The door across the hall from Haley’s is shut. I shouldn’t open it. I’m being weird. But I have to make sure everything is all right.
I open the door a couple of inches. “Tuck,” I whisper. The room is dark, but I can make out the dark wood headboard, band posters on the walls, and a navy blue comforter piled on the bed. This is for sure, a guy’s room.
A hand is poking out from under the comforter—a delicate hand, and then some hair—long dark hair. Oh god, does Tuck have a woman in bed with him? Shit. I should not be in here.
Then the blankets shift, and the woman turns over giving me a glimpse of her face. I immediately recognize her soft features. Haley.
Oh yeah, Tuck did say she’s been sleeping in Cade’s room. I back out and shut the door as silently as I can.
That leaves the last door at the end of the hall. It must be Tuck’s room.
Before I even reach his room, I can hear him. He’s snoring. Not a loud or obnoxious snore, but a deep and steady sound.
I open the door and the room smells like him. Like clean laundry and cedarwood mixed with a very manly musk. Like his scent after one of our runs.
The room isn’t large, but it has two windows that span floor-to-ceiling with thick wood casings with matching tall baseboard and crown molding, all in a rich dark stain that contrasts with the light walls.
The bed takes up most of the room and Tuck is there, quietly snoring. He’s sprawled on his back, arms up over his head and one leg draped over the side of the mattress. His covers are a bit askew and come up to his waist. There is only a faint light from the windows but it cascades over his peaceful face and his broad chest and arms, which are, whoa. I can tell he is muscular, athletic. But his muscles aren’t all ripple-y and chiseled. Tuck is solid, not like any of the boys I’ve seen undressed. Tuck has a man’s body.
Okay, that’s enough staring. Now that I see nothi
ng is wrong—he’s just sleeping peacefully, I’m a little perturbed. He asked to run with me and he is not getting off the hook that easy.
“Tuck.” No movement. I step closer to the side of the bed and say louder, “Tuck. Wake up.”
Nothing.
I poke his arm.
I put my hand on his shoulder and jostle him a bit. “Tuck. Wake the eff up.”
His eyebrows knit together, and he stops snoring, but his eyes are still closed. He grumbles quietly, wraps a hand around my wrist, and rolls over, taking me with him.
His arm is wrapped around me, half of his body weight pins me between him and his pillow. His pillow smells good. Like him.
He murmurs something that sounds like “sleep” then buries his face into my neck.
Is he trying to spoon me?
His big body wrapped around me does feel nice—I haven’t cuddled with anyone in...maybe ever? But I don’t let myself enjoy it for more than a moment.
“Tuck, no.” I try to sit up but man, he’s heavy. “Not sleep time. Time to get up.” I smack the bicep laying across my chest.
“Hmm?” His voice is groggy and then he jerks, shooting up. “Court?”
I sit up, finally.
His head is tilted, one eye still closed.
“You are so hard to wake up. Like, fuck.”
He laughs. “I’m a deep sleeper.”
I’m jealous.
“How?” He looks around, trying to piece something together. “Why are you in my bed and how did you get in here?”
He thinks I’m creepy too. Great.
“You didn’t show up for our run, I was worried. And the key under the flowerpot is pretty obvious.”
He checks the time on his phone. It’s 6:17. “Ugh. Sorry, Court.” He looks as at me with his damn pretty eyes. “Honestly, I’m so fucking sore. Can we just go get breakfast instead?”
“Giving up already? It’s only day three. Plus, I’m going home for break this afternoon. It’s your last chance to run with me for a week.”
His shoulders slump a little and he runs his hand over his head, still waking up.
“Tell you what,” I say, “we’ll do a short run today and get breakfast after.”
“You’re on.” His smile turns in to a yawn. “Let me get dressed.”
I’m still sitting on his bed and he is isn’t moving, but staring at me.
“Do you want a show?” he asks.
“What?”
“Well, I’m naked, so...”
“Oh!” Shit. “Sorry, I’ll just...go wait in the living room.”
I don’t know if it’s being tangled in bedsheets that smell like a delicious masculine man or being in said bed with said man that has me such a mess, but I apparently cannot form rational thoughts right now.
* * *
We run a quick two miles before heading back to Tuck’s house so he can shower and dress for work before breakfast.
“Now I feel underdressed,” I say as he emerges from the hallway in charcoal gray dress pants and fastening the last button on his crisp, white dress shirt.
“You look great.” He checks his watch and grabs his coat off a hook by the front door. “And I’m starving. After you, darlin.’”
We go to The Bistro, a little restaurant that’s only open for breakfast and lunch. It’s impossible to get a table on the weekends but this morning it is quiet. There are a couple of older patrons at the counter chatting with the waitress as she refills their coffee cups. A man in his thirties sits by the large front windows, reading the newspaper.
“Seat yourselves,” the plump waitress from behind the counter yells to us.
I walk to a booth near the back, Tuck following closely behind and to my right. Just like he does when we run. But this time his fingers are lightly touching the middle of my back.
The red vinyl seats squeak as we slide in across from one another. I idly tap my foot against the center table leg as I glance through the menu.
“Have you had their cinnamon rolls?” Tuck asks.
“No, I’m more into a savory breakfast,” I say as I eye the build-your-own-omelet section.
“Oh man, I live for the sweets.”
“What can I start for y’all to drink?” The young server has curly brown hair, round cheeks, and thick-framed glasses.
Tuck squints at her nametag. “Chrissy, I’ll have a black coffee and an orange juice.”
“Water and tea—breakfast blend—for me.”
“I’ll have that right out!”
She returns quickly with our drinks and takes our order.
I tap my foot on the table leg to the beat of the oldies station playing overhead and Tuck smirks at me as he empties a sugar packet into his coffee.
“What are you studying in school?” he asks.
“I got my Bachelor’s degree in elementary education. I’m getting my Master’s right now with an emphasis in counseling and administration.”
“So you want to be a teacher? That’s awesome.” He takes a gulp of his orange juice and I notice how thick and tan his neck looks against the collar of his white shirt.
“What about you? What do you do every day in your fancy suits?”
“I’m a lawyer. Work at a firm in the city.”
“A lawyer? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
He shrugs. “It’s a good career. I do mostly contract work—mergers and acquisitions.”
“Why don’t you live in the city, if you don’t mind me asking? It’s a long commute.”
He shrugs. “I’m not a big city kind of guy, I guess.”
Chrissy comes to the table, a large tray wobbling on her shoulder as she sets down our food. “Here is your side of sour cream, and some ketchup and hot sauce just in case.”
“Thank you, Chrissy,” I say, looking at my steaming spinach and mushroom omelet covered in melted Monterey cheese with a side of fresh fruit.
I’m quite pleased with my selection until I look at Tuck’s plates. One has crispy, golden hash browns with a towering side of glistening sausage and bacon. The other plate is for his cinnamon roll. It literally takes up the entire plate and is dripping with icing and butter, sticky cinnamon filling pouring out from between the layers of soft bread.
“Oh my god.”
“I tried to tell you.” He rips off a chunk of the gooey roll and hands it to me.
It’s amazing. It freaking melts in my mouth.
He slides the plate to the middle of the table and we share the cinnamon roll while we eat the rest of our meal.
“You’re going to give me a bruise.”
“What?” I ask.
“Well, at first I thought you were playing footsie, albeit very poorly, but I don’t think that’s what’s going on.”
I bend to look under the table. No center table leg—just Tuck’s leg. Which I’ve been kicking. The whole time. I’m mortified.
I’m just about to apologize when Chrissy arrives with the check.
“We’ll split it,” I say.
“I’ll take it,” Tuck says as he holds out his hand. She looks between us for a second then hands it to Tuck—it’s probably the suit. But then her elbow knocks over Tuck’s glass of orange juice which splashes spectacularly across his nice white shirt.
“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry!” Chrissy pulls out wads of napkins, handing them to Tuck and tries to wipe up the wet table surface before it spills to the carpet. I grab some napkins, too, and help her wipe the table, moving plates and cups out of the way.
Tuck dabs his shirt, but it’s a total loss.
Chrissy looks like she is about to break into tears, apologizing profusely to Tuck.
Tuck has a soft smile on his face. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” he says, his hands up, trying to console her.
Tuck hands her the bill with his card and she hurries away.
“Thank you for buying me breakfast. You didn’t have to.”
“It’s not a problem. Anyway, I suggested it.”
&
nbsp; “And if it had been my idea?”
“I would pay then, too.”
“You’re so old-fashioned.”
“I prefer chivalrous.”
“Argumentative.”
“Lawyer.”
Damn.
A man in his late forties with thinning hair walks briskly to our table. “I heard there was a little mishap.” He looks at Tuck’s now creamsicle-colored shirt. “I’m so sorry, your server is still very new–”
“In that case,” Tuck cuts in, “you should give her a raise because she did an excellent job. She was very friendly, knows the menu, kept our coffee and water full, she remembered the extra side of sour cream requested by my lovely companion.” He winks at me. “And she brought me hot sauce for my hash browns I didn’t even know I needed and now I can’t imagine eating them without.”
The manager blinks rapidly a few times, “Oh, well...I apologize for the drink. We would like to compensate your meal—"
Tuck puts up his hand. “Not necessary at all. The drink was my fault. I had it too close to the edge.”
Having been thoroughly lawyered, the man just sort of smiles and nods and bumbles away.
Chrissy brings back the check with a bashful smile and wishes us a nice day. I notice Tuck leaves her a ridiculously high tip.
He insists on driving me home even though I know it will make him late for work now that he needs to change his shirt.
But when I point this out, he comes back quickly, “If I’m already going to be ten minutes late, what difference is two more minutes?”
I’ll have to remember not to argue with a lawyer because I hate losing.
CHAPTER 5
I turn off the two-lane highway with my music blasting. The dirt road is half-frozen and bumpy and I’m going at least fifteen miles over the speed limit, but my Jeep can handle it. And it’s not like there are speed limit signs posted anyway. Or other cars.
Home is only two hours away from the university but it might as well be in another era. It’s so rural, if I didn’t know one of the country’s largest metropolitan areas was just over three hours away, I wouldn’t believe it.
There’s nothing but open land as far as you can see. Wide pastures crisscrossed by worn-out wooden fences and dotted with brown and black cattle.
I turn right onto a gravel road which is marked by nothing more than a mailbox that’s leaning slightly, its red paint chipping off the old metal surface.
