The mental picture of him being stalked by other men sends a swell of panic to my chest. He was in danger…of so many things. Horrible things. I think of how unsafe I felt in that convenience store with the man in the parking lot. Tucker felt that way behind bars…probably felt that way his entire life. Hunted. It’s an ugly thought.
“I wasn’t about to escape my father’s clutches,” he says, “only to fall to my knees for one of those clowns. I did what I had to do to protect myself.”
“Like what?” My voice is so very small.
His eyes bore into mine. “Don’t, Morgan.”
“You don’t want me to know?” I need to understand what he’s been through.
“I don’t want you to look at me any differently than you’re looking at me right now.” He smiles softly. “Let me have that.”
I can’t deny what he asks. It’s the least I can give him.
“Tell me more about you,” he says, surprising me. “What have you been doing while I was locked up making license plates?”
“Did you really make license plates?” I ask with a smile.
His grin is infectious, and so much better than the haunted look in his eyes a moment ago. I can’t tell if he’s teasing me or not, but I don’t care.
“I was taking college classes,” I say. “But then I took a break. Now, I work for my dad part-time.”
“What were you going to school for?”
I smirk. “Law.”
He is still smiling his sweet smile but lifts his eyebrows in an expression I can’t decipher. Either he thinks it’s poetic that I attempted to follow in my father’s footsteps, or he suspects the truth: I started law school because my dad wanted me to.
Dad wasn’t the only reason.
“Drew is studying to be a lawyer, too,” I say.
“Divorce lawyer?” Tucker’s expression has an edge to it. I like seeing that protective edge. I was fishing for a reaction. Drew was wrong to do what he did to me, and it’s nice to know he was wrong in more eyes than just mine.
“I don’t like law,” I admit. “And I don’t like working in my dad’s office. It’s not because of the busywork. I don’t mind filing, and sometimes the cases are kind of interesting. I just feel as if I could do more good elsewhere.”
He strokes my cheek, an achingly gentle brush. “So do something else.”
A strangled laugh leaves my throat. “Just…do something else.” Like it’s that simple?
“Sure, why not?”
A million reasons. Letting my father down. Admitting all the money he paid for college for me so far has been wasted.
“What do you really want to do?” Tucker asks.
I hesitate for a moment, biting down on my lip. I want to teach. I like children. I like the idea of a school that lets out in the summertime. I like the idea of shaping young minds. I trail my eyes over Tucker’s beautiful face and wonder if he or Jeremy had ever had a teacher who noticed their marks or bruises. I could be the one who helps a child in need someday. That sounded way more rewarding than getting some joker off for a B and E.
“No idea,” I say. I’m not sure I want to admit to what I want just yet. Tucker doesn’t pry.
“You’ll figure it out, Morgan. You’re smart. Capable.” His fingers draw a sensual line down my neck and over my collarbone. “Very capable.”
At his husky tone and lilting challenge of his voice, I shake my head. “Tucker Noscalo, what have I done to you?”
There is a flash of darkness in his eyes, and his smile slips some.
“Call your father,” he says gently.
I challenge with “That’s not what you want to say.”
He looks away like he’s embarrassed. It’s endearing. Charming, even. “No, it’s not.” He sneaks a kiss. “Call him.”
I stroke his hair away from his face, and he closes his eyes. “What are you going to do?” I whisper.
“Sleep,” he answers, and he does sound tired. “And trust you.”
He lowers his head to the pillow and closes his eyes. He’s so vulnerable like this. At peace. His breaths grow deeper, and I stay and listen to the soothing sound reverberating from his chest. He trusts me. Do I trust him? Enough to go downstairs, make the call he suggested, and then return to this bed?
Or do I take advantage of what may be my final chance to sneak out. My eyes stray to the duffel bag. The car keys rest on top of his clothes. I take one last look at Tucker’s sleeping face and slide off the mattress. He’s still and his breathing steady. After a moment of wavering, I palm the keys quietly, leave him to sleep, then as silently as I can, climb down the ladder and out of the loft.
—
According to Tucker’s flip phone, I’ve been downstairs for an hour. It’s the first time I’ve touched it, and now that I know what time it is, I set it on the table once again. The car keys are next to a jar of Snapple I bought on our earlier shopping excursion.
I take a sip of the now lukewarm lemonade, wavering about what he’s asked me to do. If I tell my father everything, he’ll likely hate Tucker and try to keep me away from him. I don’t want to be away from Tucker. But I also want to help him. My eyes go to the loft.
Tucker hasn’t moved as far as I can see or hear. He must be exhausted, and I understand why. So am I.
Help him, or keep him? Has it really come down to this? I bottom out my lemonade and stare at the cellphone for the count of three. Then I make the decision I should have made before now, sweep the phone off the table, and slip outside.
Just before I shut the door behind me, I watch for movement upstairs. Nothing.
The woods are eerily dark, the moon high and bright in the black night.
I flip open the phone and punch in my dad’s mobile number. He answers the phone on the first ring, in spite of it being almost midnight. Not surprising. He often works late.
“Morgan.” His voice is weary and guilt eats at me.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Hey, honey. How’s Adrienne?” he asks around a yawn.
I debate whether I should tell him the truth or not. Then I decide I will. “I’m not at Adrienne’s, Daddy. I, um, I lied about that.”
“Where are you?” His voice goes hard, adopting the tone he uses when he’s disappointed in me. After a round of Are you hurt? Can I come get you? Julia’s here, honey, tell us you’re okay, I feel my eyes fill with tears. I didn’t realize how much I missed him these last few days. How much I want to be home.
“I’m…with someone else, but I’m okay. I’m safe,” I tell him. What I am is worried. Worried he won’t listen to me about Tucker. That his only concern will be for my well-being.
“Tell me everything, sweetheart, but start with where you are.” He is studiously calm now, and I know better than to try to fudge the truth.
I say a silent prayer as I look back at the house shrouded in the darkness a few yards from where I stand.
“That’s the thing,” I say. “I don’t know where I am. But I have to tell you something. Promise you’ll believe me.”
After a lengthy, and what I assume is stunned, silence, he promises, but I can tell he’s unsure if he can keep it. This goes against everything I want, but I do as Tucker requested, and tell my dad about him, about Jeremy, about his father.
Chapter 15
One Last Time
Tucker
I wake alone, and in a way, I’m not surprised. Sitting up in the dark, I blink to adjust to my surroundings. Morgan’s soft hair isn’t tangled around my fingers, her cheek isn’t resting on my chest. My heart aches at her absence.
What did I expect? I pull a hand over my tired face and push my hair off my forehead. Did I expect her to ignore my deplorable past? Once I gave her free rein, I knew she’d leave. And leave me on my own.
Deep down, I wanted her to. She deserves to be free, not hinged to my psychotic upbringing or my problems. Once I go back to my father’s house and get the videotape, I won’t be able to keep the truth from her for long
. She’ll never see what’s on the tape if I can help it, but I can’t be sure her father won’t share with her the essence of what is on there.
My stomach sours. If she sees even part of it, she’ll know I’ve been twisting the truth. She’ll find out that those deplorable acts happened to me. Knowing she’ll see me as a liar combined with her absence is a hard pill to swallow, but I choke it down.
I love her.
The air in my lungs burns. I’m completely unprepared for the dart of pain precise enough to slice me in two. Even if she did use me so she could leave me behind and escape—I can’t fault her. I still love her. So damn much. I can’t see a reason for me to stop loving her as much as I can’t see a reason for her to ever start loving me. Here, we made sense. But out there? Outside of this cabin, in the real world, we make no sense.
I climb out of bed, wishing those beers would have made it home after all. I haven’t had a beer in years, but I could use the buzz, the numbness.
Downstairs, I spot the car keys on the table. My brow mars in confusion, then in further confusion when the door pops open and Morgan walks in. I blink in disbelief. The girl I love is standing on the threshold of this shitty cabin with tears drying on her cheeks, my cellphone in her hand.
She didn’t leave.
For the life of me I can’t figure out why.
“Morgan.” My voice is rough. I stand stock-still, waiting for her to vanish into the ether like a mirage. I can’t grasp why she’s in front of me. Why she hasn’t taken the Dodge and driven to the nearest town.
“Hi.” She wipes the tears from her cheeks.
I glance at the phone, and my pulse skyrockets. She did it. She called her father and told him everything. Part of me didn’t think she would. Part of me was scared to death that she might. “Call someone?”
“My dad,” she confirms.
My stomach bottoms out.
“I told him.”
My knees go weak, and I grasp the rung of the ladder for support. It’s not enough. I take two steps to a small love seat and collapse into it, staring blankly at my hands on my knees.
It was the wrong thing to ask her to do. I should’ve had her wait to tell him. His knowing the truth means her father could go to my father and tell him everything, which would put us both in danger. Or maybe Aaron Young believes I brainwashed her. Harmed her or drugged her.
My stomach twists.
I’ve done all those things.
I accidentally knocked her head on the trunk and drew blood. I brought her to this cabin. Kept her tied. Taped, for God’s sake. I drove her to take two Xanax; convinced her to make love to me….
Bile burns the back of my throat.
“He believes you,” she tells me, slowly approaching.
I blink at my fingers, which are clutching my knees. I couldn’t have heard her correctly.
She squats in front of me a second later and rests her hand over mine. “I told him everything you told me. And he believes you.”
I squeeze my knees harder even as she gives me a reassuring pat. Soft amber eyes meet mine, tears swimming in their depths.
“Then why are you crying?” I ask.
“Because I’m happy.” Her smile is intact, but part of me thinks she’s lying. She has no reason to, not when she’s still here. But something about her expression is…off. She lovingly strokes my jaw. “You should be, too. You’re safe.”
Safe. Talk about a feeling I can’t trust. Adults are the other factor I can’t trust. Her father knows the truth and believes me? That’s difficult to accept.
“I did tell him a little white lie.” Morgan pulls her teeth across her bottom lip.
My eyes snap to hers, and her palm moves from my face to my chest. I clasp her hand. Never has touch been this welcome. This good. This necessary. Without her here, I don’t even want to imagine what would be going through my head.
“I told him we had the tape.”
I start to tell her that’s some minor infraction, then I focus on one word that puzzles me. “We?”
“We’re going to get it.”
“Not we, Morgan. I’ll get it.” Her hand still rests against my chest. I hold it there. I need her to hear me and I don’t want to stop touching her. “You’re off the hook. I needed you to convince your father. You’ve done that. The rest has nothing to do with you.”
“I’ll help.” Her eyebrows pinch like I’ve hurt her feelings.
“You aren’t helping.” Morgan coming to my childhood home? I’d rather die. “I’ll drop you at your house, and I’ll get the tape myself. There’s no reason for you to go.”
She shakes her head, and it’s my turn to comfort her. I brush away the cool tears drying on her cheeks. “Thank you for being here for me. For telling him. For believing me.”
Her voice is barely a whisper when she asks, “What happens after?”
After. There’s no good answer. After I hand over the tape, after my father is revealed as a pedophile, a court hearing and a sentencing could take months. Years. Who knows how long?
“Things are going to get ugly,” I tell her. Uglier than they are now, and that’s saying something.
“I won’t let you do this alone.” Her eyes are fierce, her voice strong. That’s why I love her. It’s also the very reason why I’m going to do this alone.
No matter how much she wants to be by my side, no matter how much I want to keep her there, I could never ask her to stand by my side while my father goes to trial. I’ll have to take the stand and recount every horrific act and I don’t want Morgan knowing any details. I don’t want her learning the gory truth. I never want her to stop looking at me the way she is now.
But she will, eventually. Everything will change after the truth surfaces. Our hometown won’t look at my family the same. Won’t look at me the same. And right now she doesn’t see the extent of things to come, but I do. And I’m going to save her from it.
“Thank you.” I manage a sad smile. Sad because I’m going to miss her. I didn’t think it would be possible to miss anybody as much as I know I’m going to miss her. I drop a kiss on her lips. It was supposed to be short and sweet, but the kiss turns heated. I can’t help myself. She’s a drug and I’m an addict. Forcibly, I pull away.
“We leave tonight.” If I don’t say it now, there’s no saying it. “Get changed.”
She’s wearing my T-shirt. I can’t send her home wearing my clothes. I need to return her the way I found her. Then I consider what we’ve done together and figure that’s impossible.
“Now?” She tugs her hand away. “We’re going now?”
“Nighttime is the safest for travel. I’m not sure how much longer we can stay here without being found.” I tip her chin and give her the most encouraging smile I can manage. “Morgan, please.”
She nods, then, hands on my knees, pushes herself to standing. She starts up the ladder, and I’m glad. Not to see her go, but because I don’t want to fight with her. Not in our last moments together.
“What did you tell your dad…” I start. I can’t help my curiosity.
She steps down the two rungs she climbed and turns to face me, her eyebrows raised. “About us?”
Her smile turns sad, and again, I can’t understand why. Something niggles at me. There is something she’s not telling me, and that premonition is more instinct than anything.
“I told him we were friends in high school and I ran into you at the convenience store on Ninth Street.” So she didn’t tell him the actual street we were on. She didn’t mention Pinky’s. “I told him we got to talking and you were upset and I offered to come with you because you were sad.”
Because I was sad. A stretch. To say the least. Considering I kidnapped her and drove her to the woods. I’m relieved she didn’t tell him that. He probably would’ve told me to take my tall tale about my father and go.
“And he believed you.” I narrow my eyes. I wouldn’t have. Not for a minute.
“Yes.” She grasps both my han
ds and tips her chin for a kiss. I can’t deny her that. I press my lips to hers briefly. “Of course he does. It’s the truth.” With a wink she adds, “Sort of.”
Yeah. Sort of.
Upstairs, I pack quickly and Morgan helps. At her insistence, I stop a few times to accept a hug or a kiss, but the last kiss gets a little out of hand. She pulls at my hair with greedy fingers while our tongues tangle. My hand finds its way from her lower back to her ass.
“One more time,” she breathes against my mouth. I shake my head as she nods. “Please.” She holds on to me with both arms, arching her back like she’s going to pull me down onto the mattress. My mind fills with memories of what we’ve done here. Her soft moans of pleasure, my name rolling off her tongue, the feel of her warm, giving body, open and willing. How, exactly, am I supposed to resist?
But I have to. We’re on the clock and I need to get her home. I need to somehow get the videotape. I need to start creating the distance between us necessary for me to get through this portion of my life. It won’t last forever, but part of me fears Morgan will forget me by the time it’s over. Or will have moved on to someone else. Someone who isn’t a criminal. Someone who wasn’t sexually abused. It’s no less than she deserves.
She kisses me again, but I set her away from me, my hands gripping her hips firmly over her very short shorts. “We can’t.”
“We can.” Her fingers find the waistband of my jeans and slip inside. I back away.
“Morgan.” My voice is tight. Like my pants. “I’m serious.”
“I know you want to.” She reaches for me again.
“Of course I do, but…” Words fail me as she expertly strokes my cock over my fly.
“What if it’s our last chance?” Her playful laugh fades. Her hand slows, her seduction intentional rather than teasing. “It might be. For a while.”
A long while.
She continues stroking me until I’m hard as steel. Powerless, I come closer, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her flush against my body. I tug off her shirt and strip her out of her shorts. Her hands climb my torso and spread across my chest as the blood roars through my veins.
Forgotten Promises (Lost Boys #1) Page 14