I keep catching myself leaning in closer to him. It’s muscle memory. My body must remember what it’s like to be near him because I can’t seem to pull myself back from trying to get as close as I can.
Swallowing down the desire to burrow under his arm like I would have ten years ago, I take a step away from his warmth. “Yeah, I couldn’t imagine doing anything else,” I finally answer. “And I love getting to work at The House. It’s such a simple but effective idea.”
Tucker nods, but he doesn’t answer. Is he thinking how different his life might have been if he’d had someone like Rylee and Corporate Cares to go to the many times he was put in foster care as a kid? My heart clenches at the thought of him as a little boy, not having anyone to turn to.
Sensing the mood has taken a turn, Tucker paints a fake smile on his face and keeps on walking. I want so badly to go to him, to give him some comfort. To pull him into my arms and kiss away the darkness that passed over his face.
It’s a stark reminder of who we are to each other when I realize that doing any of those things is not an option.
Not anymore.
CHAPTER TWELVE
TUCKER
“Looks like your boy is back.” I hear Becks give a hoot of laughter through my headset as I push the car faster and faster around the twists and turns of the track. Adrenaline fuels each movement, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I'm not stuck inside my own mind. My focus is on the car and the track laid out in front of me.
“Finally pulled his head of his ass then?” Colton joins in over the radio.
“I can hear you, assholes,” I mutter, not letting their ribbing pull my focus from the car.
“Good to have you back, Tuck.” Colton's voice is sincere, and fuck if it doesn’t feel good to have him say that to me.
Thankfully, the rest of the test drive passes with no more wise-ass remarks from the crew. A few hours of meetings later, and I find myself with a long afternoon with nothing to do. I’m not hanging around the track and giving those jackasses any more opportunities to make me the butt of their jokes over the goofy grin I’ve had on my face since seeing Brooke last week.
It's been six days since I saw her last. Giving her space has been a killer for me, but I’m positive she needs it. If she’s still anything like the Brooke I knew all those years ago, she’ll be overwhelmed by me being back in her life. Hell, I’ve hardly had the best reaction myself. We can both probably benefit from taking a step back and assessing everything that’s happened.
After our walk on the beach, I was almost desperate to make plans to see her again. There she was, standing in front of me for the first time in forever, and it was almost like we’d never been apart. The familiarity, that pull I always had toward her was there and just as strong as it ever was. As much I wanted to grab ahold of her, I managed to control the impulse. For now, at least.
Pulling my phone out, I scroll through the few messages we’ve exchanged. Just a good morning or good night here and there, small talk that doesn’t leave room for me to inadvertently piss her off. It might not be anything groundbreaking, but it’s enough to spark a thread of excitement in me. I want to see her. Sporadic messages aren’t enough anymore.
It's time to put my get Brooke Nash back plan into action.
***
The bunch of flowers in my hands are surprisingly heavy and should probably be the first hint that I went a little overboard. They’re huge. It took a bit of persuasion, but I managed to get Rylee to tell me the times Brooke would be at The House this week, so I know she should be walking out of that door at any minute.
I’m leaning against the side of her Jeep when the front door opens less than five minutes later, and a gang of little legs are running in my direction.
“Tucker! You're here!” Jacob shouts when he’s the first to get to me.
“Are you here to play ball with us?” Calvin, one of the older boys, asks, trying to act cool but failing to hide the hint of anticipation that is showing all over his face.
“Not today. Sorry, boys.” There’s a round of disappointed groans.
“Pretty flowers.” My head snaps up at the sweet voice that floats above the boys’ protests. She’s leaning casually against the door frame, one long tanned leg crossed over the other. The dress she’s wearing has what looks like miles of toned flesh on display.
“Pretty flowers for a pretty girl,” I say, earning a chuckle from her at my cheesy line. There it is, that thump in my chest that steals a breath from me every time I see her smile. “Are you free this afternoon? I have something I’d like to show you,”
