Too late to determine that now.
Tucker knocks on the door, and I open it before the second rap. He’s wearing a half smile, but his eyes are glassy. “Jason’s friend at the Fire called. He says they want me. They’re going to make me an offer.”
I take in a deep breath, unable to say anything except for one word. “When?”
“Jason’s right. They’ll want me for the first of the season. If it all gets worked out, I might leave next week.”
I nearly stumble with the news. My head bobs in acknowledgement even though I’m dying inside.
He grabs me and kisses me with all the grief and pain I feel. I’m barely aware of him closing the door as his hands slide up the back of my shirt, his cold hands erupting goose bumps on my arms.
We go into my bedroom and I cling to him, hating myself for it. I’ve become the very thing I hate. My mother. She always picked men who were either derelicts or destined to leave.
I’m no different than her.
Instead of analyzing it, I surrender to my feelings, surrender to this man, even though I know it’s emotional suicide. But he already owns half my heart anyway. I’m merely handing him the rest.
We’re both silent as he strips off my clothes, then takes off his own. No words are necessary. We both know this is goodbye.
We stand together naked, our bodies pressed against one another, and I catalog every feeling, every sensation. When he’s gone, at least I’ll have the memories of him.
He’s looking into my eyes, his hand sliding from my cheek to my neck. “I love you, Scarlett.”
The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t say them. My heart burns with grief and love. Those three words are the last piece of my soul, and even though I’ve given him everything else, I’m not sure I’ll survive if I hand over this final piece.
I close my eyes, and his lips press against mine. He lowers me to the bed, and we make love with tenderness and regret. How can something so beautiful be so devastatingly sad?
Tucker holds me close, brushing my hair from my face. “Marcel was my foster brother.” His voice breaks on the last word.
I turn to look up at him in surprise. Tucker’s eyes are closed.
“He was a foster kid, too. We were in the same foster home together. I was a year older than him and he looked up to me.” He sighs and a tear falls from the corner of his eye and slides into his hair. “His mom died too, like mine, but unlike me, he had a good mom. Her boyfriend got drunk one night and accused her of sleeping around. He shot her right in front of Marcel. The guy tried to shoot Marcel, but his gun jammed and Marcel got out the back door.” Tucker takes a deep breath. “The Browns were his first home, but they were my third, so I knew the drill by then. He’d cry himself to sleep every night, missing his mom, wishing he’d died, too. The other kids made fun of him, but I tried to look after him. I got a few black eyes for it.” He smiles but it’s wobbly, and his chin quivers.
I put my hand on the center of Tucker’s chest and he places his hand over mine.
“Marcel had an aunt who lived in Texas, but she couldn’t afford to come to Nashville to get him. The Browns were mean sons-of-bitches, but most foster homes for kids our ages were rough, and Marcel was soft. He had no business being in foster care. So I decided we needed to find a way for Marcel to get the money to take a bus to Texas.” His laugh is hard. “God, I was stupid.
“The problem was that thirteen-year-olds can’t get jobs and in the neighborhood the Browns lived in, the neighbors didn’t exactly hire boys for yard work. Marcel was ready to give up, but things were getting worse at the Brown’s house. I could have turned them in, but we’d most likely be split up and sent to different foster homes.”
He pauses, and his chest rises and falls. His heart races beneath my palm.
“We passed a convenience store every day walking home from school. One day, I remembered that my dad got two hundred dollars once, robbing a store. Two hundred dollars would be more than enough to buy two bus tickets to Midland, Texas, because we’d both decided we were sticking together, no matter what. I was going with him. We even did a stupid secret blood-brother ceremony.” He shakes his head with a derisive laugh.
“Marcel didn’t know what I planned to do before I went inside the store. I told him to stay outside and keep watch. I didn’t have a gun, but I figured the clerk didn’t know. I put my hand in my jacket pocket and pointed it at him, telling him to hand me all his money. Marcel came in a minute later to see what was taking me so long—just moments before the police showed up.”