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He hated the look on her face. Hated it. But he hated the feelings warring inside him more. He told her he wanted to talk. He’d been ready then. Now he wasn’t. He couldn’t pretend the last hour hadn’t happened.
“Tucker, please.”
“Blythe, if you don’t get out of the truck, you’re gonna end up going with me, and right now, I don’t know where I’m headed.”
“Back to Spain?”
He looked away from her.
“Don’t leave this way.”
Was she kidding? He’d given her every opportunity back at the inn to talk to him. Every opportunity. It was too late in the game for this play. She needed to let him leave.
“I’m going to give you sixty seconds to get out, and if you don’t, you’re going with me.”
“Tucker—”
“Get out of the truck, Blythe. Now.”
She did. Thank God. He wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if she hadn’t. The door was barely closed before he threw the truck in reverse and peeled out of the driveway.
He saw her in the rearview mirror. The look on her face would haunt him, but he couldn’t let himself turn around. He’d been in this situation before, but last time, the girl had gone with him. He’d learned his lesson. It was better to drive away.
As soon as he got far enough from the house that he knew she wouldn’t be able to see him, he pulled over. He got out and stopped himself a second before he slammed his fist into the side of the vehicle. That would be all he needed. Work was his only outlet. If he hurt his hand, he’d have nothing.
He’d wanted to talk to her about this thing between them. He wanted to tell her how long it had been since he felt this way about anyone. That he never thought he would again. She had no idea how hard it was for him to come that close to opening up to her.
Why had she gotten upset when he said it was time for him to go home? It was. There were things he needed to take care of. Had she listened, he would’ve told her that he’d be back, and when he was, he wanted to spend time with her. He’d even started to think about how they could be together all the time. He wasn’t sure if that meant she should come to Aspen, or if he would come to Monument.
When she’d asked him about Thanksgiving, he almost felt as though he could tell her the story. If they’d talked about everything else, he may have. Now, he didn’t know if he ever would.
He wanted to leave. That was his modus operandi after all. Pack. Leave. Repack. Leave again. Get as far away as he could. He’d never found a far away far enough, though.
“Hi,” said Bree.
r /> Blythe jumped. She hadn’t seen her sister sitting on the front porch.
“Hi.”
“He left in an awful big hurry.”
“Yeah. I guess I made him mad.”
“You guess?”
Blythe couldn’t tell if Bree was making a joke by stating the obvious, or asking her a question. She sat down, leaned over, and put her head on her sister’s shoulder. Bree hugged her closer.
“I should be comforting you,” said Blythe.
“You did plenty of that. My turn to take care of my little sister.”
Tears ran down Blythe’s cheeks, which only made her feel worse. She was crying because she and Tucker had a fight. He hadn’t died, like Zack had. She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, Bree.”
“It’s okay to cry. There isn’t a scorecard. I don’t have any more crying points than you do. What happened?”
“I don’t know. I just wish he hadn’t left.”
“Tell him that, right now. Call him, text him, however you can reach him. Tell him. Don’t let him leave this way.”
