I sigh and tuck my phone into my pocket. Home. That's exactly what it has felt like. Returning home. To Tucker. Damn Logan. He's the reason it feels a lot less exciting now.
Logan succinctly brought all my fears to the forefront of my mind and I'm not ready. Not ready to wonder if my life with Tucker is transient. Not ready for him to ask me nicely to leave with a "Thank you very much, Emma, but my heart will never be yours." Not ready to have my heart shatter and wonder if I'll ever be whole again.
I'm not ready to be let go, and I'm not sure I ever will be.
***
When I pull up to the house, there are almost blinding lights blasting in the living room, making the whole house look like it's harboring the sun. Confused, I grab my bag and head in. I drop my stuff onto the kitchen counter and make my way to the living room where there's music playing-One Direction, ha!-and lamps pointing toward the fireplace where two bare-chested men wearing tool belts and rocking a fireplace kneel on the ground. Tucker has a pencil tucked behind his ear, his hair all askew as if he's been running his hand through it, and Racer is sporting a backward baseball cap.
Both men rival each other in the muscle department, their chests bronze despite the winter months, their backs rippling as they place a very light colored rock on the fireplace. The room has also been painted a pale grey, making it feel light and airy. How long was I studying that they could get all of this work done?
"Just put the mortar on the damn thing and give it to me," Tucker says, holding his hand out.
"You've gotten to put all the rocks on, I should get to do some too."
"Stop being a little bitch and hand me the rock. I want to get this done before Emma gets home."
"I'm not being a little bitch." Racer sits back on his heels and points to his tightly flexed chest. "You're being the little bitch and not sharing. Sharing is caring, Tucker."
"You put them on crooked."
"The fuck I do. They call me the fireplace master back at the job site. You're lucky I'm here helping you without charge. I could be invoicing you one hell of a bill if I wanted to."
"The amount of pizza and beer you shoved down your throat while painting will cover that bullshit invoice. Now hand me the damn rock."
"No." Racer seems to put his foot down.
"For fuck's sake, Racer." Tucker pulls on his hair in frustration. I was right, he has been yanking on those beautiful strands and I can guess the reason why.
I decide to step in.
"Just let him put the rock on," I say, turning the music off at the same time, startling both of the six-foot-three men right out of their construction boots.
"Fucking hell," Racer says, dropping the mortar-covered rock right on the hardwood floor.
"Jesus, Racer." Tucker picks it up and yells, "Quick, wipe that shit off my floors."
Tucker places the rock on the fireplace and then stands, wiping his hands on his low-slung jeans. Despite the anguish I'm feeling, which is making my stomach do all different kinds of flips, I can't help but take Tucker in. He looks just like that meme that floats around the Internet of the man standing on the bed, shirtless, fixing a light. The meme reads, "I don't know what he's fixing, but mine just broke."
When he starts toward me, all I can think is, yes, mine broke too, whatever the hell it is and I want him to fix it.
With purpose in every step he takes toward me, his muscles shift and flex, giving me one hell of a show. "You're home early, babe. I thought you would be studying later."
So did I.
Feeling a little off-ish-thank you, Logan-I say, "Yeah, we ended early tonight." I scan the room and nod. "Looks good in here." I lean to the side and say, "Hey, Racer."
He scrubs the floor and then pulls up the rag and waves it at me. "Hey, Emma." Then he tosses the rag at Tucker and says, "Your precious floor is fine, dickhead."
Tucker ignores him and takes a step forward, but I step back, unsure of how I'm feeling right now. He doesn't seem to like my retreat from the way he narrows his eyes at me.
"Uh, I'm tired. I'm going to get ready for bed, call it an early night. Don't worry about making noise or anything. Nice seeing you, Racer."
"Have a good night," he calls out as he starts laying rock on the fireplace, unsupervised. From here, he seems to be doing a fine job.
I turn back to Tucker and meekly smile at him. "Night."
His face turns in disapproval, but before he can say anything, I go back in the kitchen, snag my bag, and go to my bedroom where I quietly shut the door.