“Excuse me.”
They both look up at me.
“Did I hear you say something about a blonde?”
“Listen, super jock,” says the first volunteer, who was less than welcoming. “Get the hell out of here and move on.”
Something catches my attention, and when I turn, I see a mass of blonde hair. Walking closer to the corner, I can make out a frail body huddled in the corner with matted blonde hair draped over most of her legs. Stepping close to the person without invading their personal space, I feel something I haven’t in months…hope.
My hearts stills in my chest when I see the scars on her knees, and then my breathing hitches when I spot the large freckle peeking through the dirty, messy blonde hair hanging over her forearm.
“Blue.”
The figure doesn’t move a bit.
“Blue, it’s Tuck.”
A deep, husky voice comes from the huddled mess. “Leave me alone.”
“Sir, please don’t talk to her. We need to call the cops. She’s a mess.”
I don’t rise to my feet or quit staring. This is Blue, and it takes everything inside of me not to tug her face to look up at me.
“It’s Tuck, Blue. Your boyfriend. I love you and have looked for you every day.”
“My name isn’t Blue.”
I feel a light tapping on my shoulder and turn slightly to see the friendly volunteer.
“She doesn’t know her name or who she is. We’ve kicked her out for soiling herself and not trying to better her situation. She’s beyond malnourished, and needs help. We are turning her in tonight.”
“Please.” It comes out louder than I expect. “Call the cops now.”
I turn back to the person huddled in front of me, and this time I touch her. The moment my hands touch her skin, I know it’s her. I feel that electric connection and the way she used to make me feel. Then I spot the Preston logo on her shorts and begin to panic, but try to keep my cool on the outside.
“Blue,” I cry. “Look at me.”
In slow motion she lifts her head, and I watch as each thick, matted dreadlock falls to the side of her face. Eyes I once knew stare back at me, but are so far away with nothing behind them. Her gaze darts away an instant later. Her fingers tremble upon her knees.
“Blue, look at me.”
“I’m not Blue.” Urine seeps out onto the ground as her body begins to shake violently. “Lea…lea…leave me alone.”
I can’t help but grab her hand and hold it in mine, trying to calm her poor body. I have no doubt this is my Blue, and I can’t even begin to process what in the fuck got her in this condition. I place my other hand on her cheek and gently force her to look in my eyes.
“Look at me, Blue, I’m here for you.”
She nestles her head into my touch, relaxing into my palm, and her hand stops shaking so rapidly. Tears form in her eyes and begin rolling down her cheeks.
Turning around, I see the two volunteers staring at us. “Call 911 right now, and the cops.”
My voice comes out harsh, and I feel Blue tense in my hold once again, so I go right to calming her back down.
“Blue, do you remember me?”
She’s frozen and slowly drifting back into a dark state.
“You’re a cheerleader. I play football. You make me do your homework.” I ramble on and on, trying to remember everything about us. “You loved me, Blue, and I love you. I was an asshole.”
She eases back into my hand, resting her cheek in it, and closes her eyes. I take her trembling hand and bring it to my shirt. Lifting my shirt, I run her palm up and down the ripples of marred skin she used to worship on a nightly basis. Blue opens her eyes, lifting her head to look at me, and then her gaze goes straight to where her hand is placed.
“Tuck,” she whispers.
“Yes, Tuck. Blue, I’m here for you.”
Her body convulses again. I swoop her up into my arms and roll her into my lap. Blue buries her head in my chest, burrowing into a tiny ball. Her body doesn’t still as she repeats my name over and over again. I sob into her filthy mess of hair as I feel her wet herself again. I keep talking to her while we wait for help.
“Your mom and dad are looking too, Blue. We never gave up. I love you. Fuck, I love you so much and was such an asshole. Fuck, I hope you can forgive me. I’m never leaving you again.”
My last sentence strikes a nerve with her, breaking the trance she’s trapped in. Her hair flies up, and then her hollow face is in mine. She’s beyond unhealthy. The word fragile doesn’t even begin to describe her.
“You put a curse on my heart, Tuck. I can only love you.”
I watch in slow motion as her eyes roll back in her head and her entire body goes limp in my arms. Sirens and flashing lights fill the room in the next moment. Emergency workers swoop in and take her from my arms. Before standing, I grab my phone from my pocket.
“I found her. She’s alive.”
Blue’s dad’s response is a click of the phone, and I know he’s on his way here. I fall back on the floor, staring up at the water-stained ceiling tiles, and squeeze my temples and finally feel for the first time in months. I found her. Blue is alive.
Epilogue
“Mommy, what does that say again?”
“The curse of my warrior.”
“Tell me the story again.”
I ruffle little Will’s hair and scoop him up in my lap. There’s plenty of time before the game starts, and we really don’t have much to entertain ourselves in the bleachers, and I never miss a chance to stare in his beautiful and very curious eyes.
“Remember, silly boy.” I poke the tip of his nose. “It’s part of my vows from my wedding day. I got it tattooed on my arm to never forget.”
“But who’s your warrior?”
This little four year old’s questions never get old, and it still amazes me how curious he is.
“Your daddy.”
“But then who am I?”
“My hero.” I ruffle his dark hair again and wait for him to swat my hand away.
“Grandma,” Will yells with absolutely no control on the level of his voice. Tuck is constantly worried he’ll grow up and want to be a cheerleader the way he can yell. It’s our running inside joke.
Will bounds down the bleachers and flies into the arms of my mom. I’d like to think I was his favorite person on this Earth, but that would just be a lie. My mom and Will are inseparable. They are always a bittersweet picture of perfection, yet my heart cringes every single time I see them embrace.
My dad was diagnosed with a fast-acting cancer when I was three months pregnant and passed away three months after that. The man who raised me, loved me unconditionally, and forced me to get back to living after my attack simply wasted away before my eyes. Tuck stood by my side while I lay in bed with my dad day after day and watched him lose the fight.
Tuck and my dad became best friends after finding me, and were shits at times, but completely lovable shits who adored me. We spent three sweet years together with my dad and mom before he passed. It’s those memories I cling on to. My father walking me down the aisle, handing me off to Tuck, then wrapping Tuck up in a hug before turning to sit with Mom. It’s not tradition, but he gave away Tuck that day as if he were his father. It had nearly all of the attendees at our wedding in tears. I’ve seen Tuck Jones cry three times in my life. When he opened up to me about his past, the day my dad hugged him at our wedding, and when Will came into our lives.
Yet my selfless king stood by me the entire time, watching my father fade, and then held me through grieving, never being selfish even though he was hurting as badly as I was. When my little wild child miniature Tuck came shooting out in the world, there was only one name suited for our perfect prince, Will W. Jones. And since the universe never gets tired of playing jokes on me, he has my dad’s sense of humor, intelligence, and Tuck’s athletic abilities. The boy is constantly wandering the house with a pigskin tucked under his arm. My dad would’ve had the boy running plays already.