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I probably stared at his message the longest of all.
For a split second, fury filled me. How fucking dare he do this? And it wasn’t because he’d trespassed on my property or violated my privacy. It was because of the warm feeling inside me, like thawing in front of a fire after being stuck playing in the freezing cold, had nowhere to fucking go. Tucker and I weren’t anything, and we never could be. So why the fuck would he do something like this?
I shouldn’t even acknowledge it, and I resolved to do just that.
That resolve lasted about an hour, but those damn lights flashed in every window of the house, reminding me of their presence, reminding me of Tucker. I grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen, bathed in their glow, then said fuck it and poured a tiny glass of whiskey and picked up my phone.
“Hey.” Tucker’s voice was thick with sleep and all the sexier for it. I suddenly forgot what I was going to say and reverted to the obvious, the words almost catching in my throat.
“You flew out here.”
“Yeah.”
“You decorated my house with Christmas lights.”
“Other decorations, too. The stockings were a cute addition. They have our initials on them.” He sounded pleased with himself, but instead of matching it with gratitude like I knew I should have, or even just a laugh and a joke like we often did, I stumbled.
“I… Why would you do that? Leave your family and…” Tucker’s family was more important than anything else to him.
“I told you in my note you deserve colored Christmas lights. If you’re not going to give them to yourself, I’ll damn sure be the one to make sure you have them.”
My jaw hung open, and once again, all the good manners I’d been trained on growing up eluded me. “You’re fucking with my head.” It was an admission of truth and fear at once.
“You’re fucking with mine, too,” Tucker replied, but in a way that made me unsure he’d fully grasped what I meant.
“You don’t have to…you shouldn’t do shit like that,” I said. God, I sounded like an asshole. Iwasan asshole. “I just mean we can fuck without you doing anything like that.” It made things confusing, but I didn’t want to say that aloud. “I don’t want you to do that.” Because I was clearly a Scrooge, and Tucker confused the fuck out of me.
“I’ll do whatever I want, Patrick.” Tucker barked out a laugh. “Merry Christmas.”
Before I could interject, he’d hung up the goddamn phone, though I couldn’t say I blamed him.
I dumped the rest of my drink down the drain and got ready for bed. My room was cool and dark as I pulled back the covers. It was at the back of the house with a view of the canyons I’d always loved. But as I crawled into bed, I kept thinking about the Christmas lights. After five minutes of staring at the ceiling, I threw the covers back and walked into the guest room that hadn’t been used in maybe ever. Situated at the front of the house, a shifting kaleidoscope of colors twinkled through the closed curtains. I pulled them open, then crawled into the guest bed, turning toward the window.
As I lay there, letting them lull me to sleep, the tiny seed of warmth inside me exploded into a bright burst that suffused me, filling me with a glow even brighter than the lights outside.
Just before I fell asleep, I snapped a photo and sent it to Tucker along with a message.
Me:It’s beautiful. Thank you.
* * *
Playoffs
“This is your third interception returned for a touchdown this season. The fifth of your career. Are you trying to break records?” The blonde reporter smiled as she pushed the mic toward my face, and it took every ounce of focus to resist scanning the crowd on the opposite side of the field for Tucker.
The Royals had just bested the Rush in divisionals at the tail end of the game with my interception turned touchdown. Exhaustion hadn’t set in for me yet, but I knew I’d hit the wall at some point. Right now, I was running on an adrenaline high, and yet the only thing I could think about was Tucker. It was a huge loss for them. I’d held my focus the entire game, not even allowing myself to look his way for any reason other than trying to anticipate their next play. And I knew he’d given his all, too. He always did. Our communication had been a little more limited lately, but we also had both been hyperfocused on the upcoming game. Or at least that was what I’d told myself. After Christmas, Tucker texted me almost daily, but I didn’t always respond because I didn’t fully grasp what the hell we were or what we were doing, and eventually, his texts ebbed before stopping altogether. The kicker was I wasn’t sure how I felt about that either.
I leaned in a bit so the mic would pick up over the crowd and chaos happening around me. “It’s not an intentional goal, but if it happens, I won’t cry about it.” The reporter laughed, and I continued. “I’m just trying to do my part to get the Royals to the Super Bowl. Anything on top of that is a bonus.”
The reporter gave me a subtle nod and another toothy grin that let me know she’d gotten the sound bite she wanted before she stepped aside to talk to LaForge.
Finally. I spun around, casting my gaze over the field, but aside from Ramsey and Cullen, who were still being interviewed, the rest of the Rush was heading for the locker rooms, and I couldn’t spot Tucker among them.
After Coach Grant went through our recap, we showered and changed. A bunch of the guys were going to some club and then probably a strip club afterward. I stepped aside before committing to fire off a text to Tucker.
Me:Hey. You played a great game.
Tucker:Not good enough. It’s fine.
