Mabie decides to throw her bottle again and serenade us with her screams. The girl is clearly over football and the car ride home. Quickly, I unbuckle my seatbelt and climb into the back.
“Ow, ow, ow,” I howl as I contort into a small enough ball to get over the console.
By the time I’m settled next to her, she’s quit crying and stares up at me in shock. I do my best to keep her calm and love on her to soothe her cries for the remainder of the drive.
“Thank you, Blue.” Joe glides open the van door, and Mabie squeals when she sees her face. “You need something to eat and take your meds.”
“Okay.”
My phone dings in my pocket.
Tuck: You okay?
Me: Yep, just got home.
Tuck: The boys want to go hang out at Coach’s house.
Me: Go for it. I’m so tired and want to lay down.
Tuck: Okay. Dream of me.
Me: Seems I’ve been doing that the past few months.
Tuck: Sweet dreams, Blue.
Joe whips up a couple sandwiches for us, and I inhale one and then have pills shoved in my direction.
“You’re the best, Joe.”
“Get your ass to bed and let that gorgeous body of yours heal up.”
“Thank you.” I wrap my arms around her and pull her into a tight hug. “For everything.”
She slaps my ass, and I laugh at her. “Get to bed.”
“Yes, Momma Joe.”
The house is extremely quiet with the boys gone, making the creaking of Tuck’s door deafening as I shut it behind me. His room is filled with his scent, and I become drunk on it, allowing it to overtake my senses. My pants slide to the ground, as does my shirt. I glide between his sheets and love the feel of my skin on his bedding.
I decide to send one final text before dozing off, but this time it’s a picture text with some extra body parts in it to ensure Tuck knows I’m safely snuggled into bed. I’m not sure if it’s the effect of the medicine or sheer exhaustion, but I fall deeply asleep before I get the chance to see how he responds…or if he responds.
Chapter 22
My eyes are open, but darkness fills the room instead of sunshine. I search for my phone in the sheets as I force myself to wake up. Holy shit, it’s past seven o’clock at night. I’ve been asleep for over five hours. Tuck did end up texting me back hours ago.
Tuck: Damn
I giggle at his simple response. It takes a few moments for me to crawl from the bed and gain my bearings. I stretch lightly from side to side, and then crack my neck. A loud ruckus roars in the living room, and it’s a sure fire sign the boys are back. Using the flashlight on my cellphone, I locate my clothes and pull them on.
As soon as I open his door, a strong aroma of fresh tomato sauce fills my senses and my belly growls. I walk across the small hall to the bathroom and freshen up before going out to see everyone. And when I look in the mirror, I’m thankful I did. My hair is plastered to the side of my face, along with wrinkles from being pressed into the sheets. It’s obvious I didn’t move a muscle while sleeping.
The hallway is dimly lit with the kitchen light shining brightly ahead, and I spot Joe cleaning up the kitchen.
“Hey.” My hand glides along the dark mahogany dining table.
“You’re up.”
“Man, I was out.”
“How do you feel?”
“Good, actually. Really good.”
“Hungry?” Joe holds up a plate piled with pasta, green salad, and a fresh breadstick.
“You sure know the way to a girl’s ass.” I grab the fork and dig in, taking a few quick bites. “I want to go say hi to the boys.”
“Careful, I think its WrestleMania in there.”
“I can only imagine.” I snag the ice-cold glass of milk in front of me and down it.
When I round the corner, she was right. It’s like all hell has rained down on the poor living room with bodies intermingled and all sorts of elbow drops falling down. Ruger soars off the couch, landing on Tuck’s back, and then does his best to wrap him up in a headlock. Mabie squeals and claps from the couch as she sits on her daddy’s lap. Austin is more interested in what’s on television than the wrestling match while he swigs on a beer.
A holler from Ruger catches my attention, and I look back to the wrestling match on the floor. He stands with his arms flexed and hollering in victory. He has Tuck’s shirt pulled up and over his head like they do in hockey, exposing all of Tuck’s back. A loud gasp bursts from my lungs, but is drowned out by all of the other ruckus filling the small living room. The scars cover the entire surface of his skin, and they aren’t just scars—his skin is marred and barely recognizable.
I cover my mouth as I fight to hold back the tears. Joe comes up behind me and places her hand on the small of my back. When I look down at her, she just offers me a feeble smile.
“I don’t think you have to worry about him running. It’s you he’s afraid will run after you see all of him.”
Thought after thought races through my mind, making me dizzy and nauseated. Here for months I thought I wasn’t good enough for him, he was a manwhore, an asshole, and so many other off the wall theories to answer why he was being so reserved and running from me.
“Blue, watch me kick Tuck’s trash.”
Ruger waltzes up and lands a kick right on Tuck’s ass. The tension in Tuck’s back is visible when Ruger speaks, and I watch as he slowly raises up on his knees and pulls down his shirt.
“Play time over, buddy, I need to go make a call.”
Tuck doesn’t make eye contact as he storms out the back door.
“Tuck.” My voice is weak and barely audible to my own ears.
He doesn’t stop, and I’m in motion before I realize it. My feet move quicker than my brain.
“Tuck,” I holler.
His hunched silhouette shines in a sliver of moonlight on the picnic table, and I walk closer without thinking about any of the consequences and grab his clutched hands from his lap. I make sure each knuckle brushes over my lips, and then I drop them back down into his lap and make the boldest move of my life and grab the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. It’s as if he’s lifeless, allowing me to expose him. The front of his chest mirrors the back, with burnt flesh covering every surface. Some spots are deeper than others, and when he flexes back down on his knees, resting his elbows there, I spot the scars running down his arms.
“Tuck,” I whisper.
He refuses to look up or answer me back, so I place my hands on his back and feel my palms collide with the ridges and waves of his skin. He shudders at my touch, and then I hear him sob. I refuse to let go of this. I begin exploring every part of his skin until he’s breathing out of control and ready to explode. My lips brush along the tortured skin and place delicate kisses on him.
“Look at me, Tuck. You told me I could have all of you. Did you lie?”
He remains silent, and I put my lips on his skin and feel his shame on them. I don’t back down and push him even harder.
“Talk to me.” This time my voice comes out as a desperate plea.
He raises his head slowly, glaring at me. “You wanted all of me, so here it is.”
Tuck raises his arms to the heaven, exposing all of his scars covering every single part of him. A long incision line runs from one of his armpits down his entire ribcage, dipping into his pants.
“You lied, Blue, you so fucking lied.”
My brain tries to keep up, processing all the pain this man had to have once suffered, and it’s also trying to figure out why he’s calling me a liar. Before I have the chance to ask, he is up on his feet and glaring down at me.