Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 61723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
They don’t disappear. Just he quiets the storm inside me.
And then the calls start. At first, I tell myself it’s spam. The first one comes on a Tuesday while I’m wiping down the diner counter before the lunch rush.
Unknown number.
I answer because it might be school, or the shop, or one of the million things that can go wrong when you’re a single mom trying to keep too many moving pieces balanced.
But all I hear is breathing. Then a click.
I stare at the phone. Call dropped.
Weird.
The second one comes two days later, just after I put Quinn to bed. Unknown again. This time there’s a voice. Male. Low.
Too familiar and not familiar enough all at once. Clint goes quiet when he finds a new woman. I assumed that’s why I have had the freedom of these last few months. It’s been nice to build something with Tucker minus the background noise of my past. Nothing stays down for long, especially not a man like my ex.
“You can keep running, Luce, but I’m gonna find you.”
The blood drains from my body so fast I have to sit down. Then the line goes dead. I don’t sleep much that night.
The third call comes the next afternoon while I’m in the stock room at the ice cream shop.
Same thing.
Unknown number.
Same voice. “Thought you could hide out in little towns forever? All you do is piss me off more.”
Click.
My hands shake so badly I nearly drop the phone. I don’t tell Tucker right away. I know that’s stupid. I know it even while I’m doing it.
But part of me needs to be sure. Needs to know I’m not overreacting before I hand a man like Tucker a threat and watch what he does with it.
Because there is a part of him that still unsettles me sometimes. Not because I think he’d hurt me. I don’t. But because I’ve seen the violence in him. The way it waits close to the surface when someone crosses a line. And right now I don’t know if this is a temporary thing because Clint is bored, or if he will chase me down again like before.
So I keep it to myself. For three days. Three stupid, stressful, exhausting days where every unknown number feels like a strike to the ribs.
And then, of course, it happens in front of him.
It’s early evening. I’ve just gotten home from work, and Tucker is already there. Of course he is.
Leaning against the hood of his SUV in my driveway with a paper bag from the seafood place by the marina and two sweet teas sweating on the hood beside him.
Quinn is still with Marlaina for another half hour because I had to cover an extra shift at the diner, and for once the house is empty when I pull in. They were having fun since Quinn thinks having one of her teachers take her home is the coolest thing ever, Marlaina offered to bring her home in about an hour.
Tucker slides off the hood when he sees me.
“You look tired.”
“Hello to you too.”
He takes my purse before I can protest and follows me toward the porch. “Long day?”
“Two customers argued over whether strawberry is a real ice cream flavor.”
He nods like that’s serious. “Well, if you put it in the machine, mix it, and call it that flavor, how is it not real ice cream?”
“Exactly.”
I unlock the door and let us in. The house smells faintly like lemon cleaner from the frantic wipe-down I did before work this morning. He heads for the kitchen with the bag while I kick off my shoes by the door.
“Brought you food,” he calls.
“Because you think I forget to eat.”
“You do.”
I laugh and then challenge back, “I resent that.”
“It’s still true.”
I smile despite myself and head into the kitchen. He’s already unpacking containers onto the table. Fried shrimp. Fries. Hush puppies. Coleslaw he won’t touch, but I plan to enjoy.
I’m just reaching for a tea when my phone rings.
Unknown number.
My body goes cold so fast it feels like falling through ice.
Tucker sees it.
Of course he does. He sees everything. His gaze drops to the screen, then to my face. Something inside him goes still.
Not calm. Worse.
Controlled.
“Lucy.”
I can’t seem to speak.My thumb hovers over the screen. Answer or don’t answer. If I don’t, the dread stays. If I do—Tucker’s voice drops. “Put it on speaker.”
I look at him.
Really look.
His face has gone hard in a way I haven’t seen directed at me before. Not scary exactly, but close enough that my muscles tighten instinctively.
And he sees that too.
The anger in his eyes flashes sharper for one second. Then he reins it in so fast it’s almost invisible.
I answer and hit speaker before I can lose my nerve.
For a second there’s only breathing.
Then the voice. “You think he can save you?”