Page 30 of Coming Home Country
Returning the frame to its place on the mantle, I moved to view the next one. It featured Tucker’s parents standing alongside him on what appeared to be his graduation from med school if the white coat were any indication.
The next three of them had my chest tightening. They were all of me and Tucker. One from his junior prom—I’d skipped mine because he’d been away at college. One of us both atop a single horse on Sullivan Ranch. And one of us sitting in his truck bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms, not even looking at the camera, so lost in love that we hadn’t even noticed the picture being taken.
I could still remember that day. It had been one of the last few before everything fell apart, right before I went off to California with Aspen and Tucker returned to college in Baltimore. That happy girl in the picture had no clue how much heartache was headed her way at the hands of the boy holding her, the one she never thought would hurt her.
Letting out a shaky breath, I couldn’t face him when I asked, “Why?”
Tucker moved in so close that I could feel him standing at my back. “These are the people who are most important to me in the world.”
Couldn’t he just let me go? Let me move on with my life? Why was he acting like he still cared when he was the one who’d run off and married someone else, divorce be damned?
Blinking back the tears, I whispered, “You shouldn’t have brought me here.”
His exhale was heavy. “Maybe not.” I caught sight of the bottle of red wine he held up in my periphery. “Shall we finish up and head back?”
“Yeah. We’re probably running tight on time.”
“Right,” he agreed. “This way.” Tucker stepped toward a back door that led from the family room onto a back deck.
We crossed the stretch of grass between the house and garage, the warm spring wind whipping my hair around my face wildly. I struggled to keep it out of my eyes to see where I was going.
Once inside, he set the bottle on a wooden workbench and retrieved the blow torch. He also brought over a pair of safety goggles, offering them to me, muttering, “Just in case.”
Well, if that didn’t instill a ton of confidence. My eyes might be protected from potential shattering glass if this went sideways, but what about the rest of me?
Affixing the thick elastic band over the back of my head, I adjusted the goggles before pulling out my phone.
We didn’t speak as he lit the torch, placing the flame near the curve of the bottle closest to the neck. I held my breath as I watched the wine bubble as it heated. Then I saw it, the tiniest movement on the cork. Slowly, it inched higher and higher above the lip of the bottle until suddenly, it burst free, shooting into the air.
I was so surprised that I let out a little squeal. “Can’t believe that worked!”
Bending to retrieve the discarded cork, Tucker’s voice held a trace of humor. “Me neither.”
“It was your idea!”
He shrugged, opening his mouth to retort, but before he could, an alarm blared so loud that I winced, fighting the urge to cover my ears.
“What the hell is that?”
Tucker pulled his phone out, jaw locking tight. “Tornado touched down in the area. We gotta get to the storm cellar.” He gripped my good wrist and began to tug me toward the door.
“No.” I wrenched my arm from his grasp. “There would be a siren for that.”
He whipped around, his eyes hardening. “Yeah, well, a lot changes when you don’t come home for ten years.”
Oh no, he did not get to guilt me for that.
“Fuck you, Tucker,” I spat. “You know exactly why I left and stayed away.”
Shaking his head, he huffed, “Now’s not the time for this, Bex.”
I threw my arms out wide. “Then when? Should I schedule an appointment?” My voice rose over the volume of the alarms coming from our phones.
The air whooshed from my lungs when he dropped his shoulder and pressed it into my belly. It took a minute to process why I was bouncing upside down with Tucker’s ass in front of my face.
“Put me down!” I screeched as his long strides ate up the distance between the garage and the house.
“Not when you’re trying to get yourself killed!” he shouted back.
