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“Just about an hour ago.” Hurt flashes through his eyes, and I hate myself even more. “I wasn’t sure that you’d want to see me.”
“Are you kidding me? I’ll always—”
“Just listen, okay? You did a lot of talking last week, now it’s my turn.”
“Okay.” He crosses his arms over his chest and watches me with an impassive face. “Go ahead.”
“You were right,” I begin, hating every damn word coming from my mouth. “This isn’t going to work.”
I don’t know how to make it work.
“I mean, we’re great together. I love you so much. And Chloe, too. But I also love my career. I don’t want to give it up, and you don’t want to bend either, to work it out. You want so many wonderful things, and I just don’t see how I can give them to you. I promised you that I’d be here last weekend, and I couldn’t make that happen. I felt like shit. I still do. It wrecked me. And it hurt both you and Chloe. You’re right, it might happen again, probably more than once. Because my life is crazy. I don’t live in a sleepy little town where everyone knows everyone, and you fall in love and get married and have a quiet life. That’s just not me.”
I hold my hands out at my sides as if to say, “what can I do?”
Tucker takes a hesitant step forward, panic and desperation flashing in his eyes.
“But that is you, Tuck. That’s so you. You deserve all of the Sunday dinners and evenings on the porch swing. Babies and dogs and a life that fulfills you.”
Tucker’s eyes grow suspiciously glossy, and I’m tempted to throw myself into his arms and tell him that everything I just said was a lie. But that would only hurt us more in the long run. And I don’t want to hurt Tucker any more than I already have.
I have to swallow hard over the words I’m about to say next because, God, I don’t want to say them. It’s just about killing me.
“Someone can give you that,” I whisper, my throat hoarse. “But she’s not me. And we both know it.”
“So, you’re just going to walk away? Throw in the towel?”
“What else am I supposed to do?” I watch him for a long moment, wanting to reach out for him, but that would be cruel to both of us. So, I turn to go. But before I can even reach for the door, I’m spun around and pinned to it, and Tucker has my jawline in his hands and is kissing me for all he’s worth, pressing that hard body of his against mine, making me come alive from head to toe in the way only he can.
When neither of us can breathe anymore, he pulls away and watches me with hot eyes, panting.
“Don’t leave, not like this.”
“It’s too late, Tucker, I’m already gone.”
I cover my lips with my fingertips. And, without another word, I walk through the door.
It’s been three days since I walked away from Tucker. Three days of confusion, tears, and anger. Three days of wishing I could have a do-over and wondering what the heck I would say if that wish came true. Three days of trying to figure out how to move on with my life when all I want is to be with Tucker: in his home, in his life, in his arms.
I’m sitting in the kitchen with my guitar in my lap, strumming through the fourth song I’ve written since I walked away from him. Apparently, what I said to Chase weeks ago is true. I may not end up with Tucker, but I might get a hit single—or four—out of our breakup.
Sure, every song is sappy and describes in one way or another how much I miss him. And love him, and hate him, and miss him. Did I mention that I miss him?
More than once, I’ve found myself picking up the phone to call him and Chloe, only to remember that I no longer have that privilege. And rather than find a way to fix our mess, I simply gave up. But as the minutes turned into hours, and the scribbled words on paper turned into songs, I started to formulate a plan.
“Goddamn water heater,” Dad grumbles as he walks into the kitchen.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, setting my guitar to the side.
“The pilot light keeps going out,” he says. “The damn thing is fifteen years old. I should replace it.”
“Why didn’t we replace it when you had all the work done five years ago?”
“It wasn’t fifteen years old then,” he says calmly. “And at the end of the day, this place is getting older. Things are going wrong, one by one. The roof will need to be re-shingled this fall.”
“Why didn’t I know any of this?”
