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“You have to leave,” I say quietly before he even opens his mouth, and his jaw hardens as he nods. “I’ll get my stuff.”
“I want you to stay.” He curls his hands into fists at his sides.
“I want that too,” I reply softly, taking a step toward him and wrapping my hand around his fist. “But I doubt you know when you’ll be home, and I don’t have the fancy thing on my phone to use the elevator if you’re not here in the morning when I need to leave for work.” I reach up and touch his cheek, and he curves his hand around my waist. “You can come to me when you’re done.” When he jerks up his chin, I lean up on my tiptoes and touch my mouth to his. “I’ll be right back.”
It doesn’t take me long to gather my stuff since I never unpacked and meet him at the door, where he takes my bag from me and grabs my hand. When we get outside, the sun has already set, and there is a chill in the air that wasn’t present when I arrived earlier.
After putting my bag into my trunk for me, he opens my door and towers over me. “I’ll call when I know what time we’re looking at or send a text if it’s late.”
“Just call me. I don’t care what time it is,” I say, and his expression gentles before he captures my face in his hands and presses his lips against mine.
“Let me know you made it home okay.”
“I will.” I slide in behind the steering wheel when he lets me go, then start the engine after he shuts the door. As I pull away from the curb, I look up in the rearview mirror, finding him standing in the middle of the street, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes on my car. And my gaze stays locked on where he’s standing until I turn the corner at the end of the block and lose sight of him.
A heavy weight of worry settles in the pit of my stomach. The worry isn’t anything I ever experienced over the years when I was with Bowie. Because in my head, I know that chances are Tucker will be okay physically, but by morning, he’ll likely have another weight on his shoulders and, a family somewhere will be grieving the loss of someone they love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
miranda
Wrapped in my robe with my hair still damp from my shower, I rush to the door when there’s a knock and swing it open.
The moment my eyes lock on Tucker’s exhausted ones, I walk into his arms and let out a breath when he engulfs me in a hug and walks me backward so he can shut the door. Last night, I slept like garbage. No matter what I did, sleep eluded me as my mind kept wandering off to what he was doing and if he was okay.
“I can’t stay long,” he mumbles against my neck where his face is tucked, and I lean back so I can look at him.
“Do you want coffee?”
“Maybe in a minute. Right now, I just want to hold you.”
“Okay.” I lead him down the hall to my bedroom and climb onto the bed. I pull him down with me and cuddle against his chest. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“A young mom of two boys was murdered last night by her ex after he tracked her down at her grandmother’s house.” His hand slides up my back, then his fingers tangle in my hair at the back of my head.
“Tucker,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes closed, not wanting to but still picturing two young boys who are now going to be without their mom.
“This world is fucked up, baby.”
My throat gets tight, and I curl my body around his, hating that he’s right.
His phone rings, and he sighs. “It’s probably Miles.” He says, sounding tired, and I sit up as he takes out his phone so he can check the screen.
“I’ll get you some coffee,” I reply as he answers the call, and he gives me a soft look as I get off the bed.
Going to the kitchen, I grab the pot I made earlier off the heater, then I pour a cup for him and one for myself as I check the time. I have about an hour and a half before my first client should arrive at the salon, which means I need to start getting ready for work pretty soon. Just when I’m about to carry both cups of coffee back to the room, he walks into the kitchen, stopping at the high counter that divides the space from the living room.
I take him in. “Everything okay?”
“I have to take off and meet Miles at the station.”
