Page 30 of Words I Couldn't Say
EVEN THOUGH MY DAD ANDmy brother continued to chant my name, all I could do was watch Tucker’s retreating form. Long after he’d walked inside, I stared after him. Wishing he’d come back outside to explain himself. More than half tempted to follow him and pick up right where we’d left off in that tree house all those years ago.
“Ava and Tucker, sittin’ in a tree…”
Now, all three of my brothers were outside and the Banks men were doing their best to embarrass me.
I took one last longing look at the Manning home before turning away. Still stunned at his revelation, I slowly made my way to where my parents were standing on the front porch, their eyebrows raised in either suspicion or curiosity. My brothers were running around the yard, continuing to sing. My littlest brother, Pacey, had only been two when I’d moved to California, but even he’d been coached to make fun of Tucker and me.
The unruly Banks family welcome was enough to make me snap out of my daze. Oh yeah, I was definitely home again.
“Sorry to interrupt your reunion, honey, but I’ve missed my baby girl,” my dad said, bringing me in for a tight hug as soon as I was close.
The scent of his familiar aftershave brought tears to my eyes as I hugged him back. God, I’d missed my family more than I’d allowed myself to let on. I’d always been a daddy’s girl, which made it even more ridiculous that I’d thought I’d never want a man like him or a love like his and my mom’s. What a fool I’d been.
Mom came in for a hug, and after promising never to stay away for so long again, I spent the next few minutes greeting my anxious brothers. Pacey, of course, asked what I’d brought him from California.
Aunt Lexi, Uncle Jace, and their brood were also in the living room, waiting for me. I shouldn’t have been surprised that they’d made their way up from Tennessee to visit me. I couldn’t get over how old my cousins were. Maya was almost eighteen, entering her senior year of college, and she was the spitting image of her mom, but she had her father’s vibrant, blue eyes. Many people thought we could pass for sisters, and it was true.
Jackson, Maya’s younger brother by three years but still half a foot taller than she was, had obviously gone through a growth spurt since the last time I’d seen him. As much as Maya looked like her mom, Jackson was all his father’s son. His shining, ocean-sky-colored eyes were brilliant, paired with his messy, midnight-black hair.
“You’ve nearly grown a foot since I last you,” I laughed as I struggled to wrap my arms around his neck for a hug. “What have you been eating, Jackson?”
He squeezed me tight then pulled back. In true fourteen-year-old-boy fashion, he puffed his chest up. “Everyone calls me Jax now.”
Oh boy. I knew exactly how that was going to go over.
Aunt Lexi quickly shut it down. “I did not go through thirty-two hours of labor, seventy-five pages of baby name books, and thirteen arguments with your father before we settled on Jackson for you to turn around and call yourself Jax. No son of mine will ever be a Jax! Not in my household.”
Jackson rolled his eyes then gave his mother a goofy smile. “That’s okay, Mama. We’re in Aunt Sierra’s,” he reminded her. Then he shot my mom an innocent smile.
Having full knowledge of this dispute thanks to years of listening to my mom complain about how Kurt Sutter had ruined Jax Teller, I knew which side Mom was going to take.
She folded her arms and shook her head. “Sorry, Jackson, but I’m with your mom on this.” She paused and looked over to Aunt Lexi. “How could he?”
Just like that, our moms had yet another commiserating meltdown over how some ancient motorcycle club show had ended some twenty years ago. You’d think they’d have gotten over it, but nope.
Our moms were drama queens when they liked to be. I never had to wonder where I’d gotten it from.
Dad snuck off to the bar and poured two glasses of whiskey before handing one to Uncle Jace. Not that they weren’t used to the way their wives were when it came to their favorite television shows. Uncle Jace crossed the room and brought me in for a quick hug.
I loved my Uncle Jace. He and Aunt Lexi had gotten married when I was five years old. One of my favorite memories was being the flower girl at their wedding, and just like every other time the whole family was together, photo albums were dug out and old home movies were streaming on the television. All thoughts of Tucker and his revelation evaporated during the next few hours, which were spent both reminiscing and catching up on everyone’s lives since we’d all been together in Tennessee last Christmas.
It wasn’t until later that evening, while sitting on the back porch, that I had time to wrap my mind around it what he’d revealed.
Little Bird.How had I missed it? I had known that something was familiar, but I hadn’t put it together. How had I pushed that memory from my mind?
God, it was all so surreal. Tucker Manning, my best friend and first—and only—love, was T.A. Bankman, the man behind the pen.
He’d writtenThose Three Words.
It was mind-blowing. His words, Tucker’s words, had touched the lives of so many people across the globe. Heck, they’d touched me. Not only that, but his words had been deemed incredible enough to be brought to life on the big screen.
And, somehow, I was considered fit to portray Abigail, the character he’d created, whose fierce loyalty and love were nothing that mirrored my own.
