“You can’t blame yourself for that. Men haven’t exactly been a stable force in your life,” Nicole says matter-of-factly, but Carl continues like she didn’t even hear her.
“It wasn’t until spring break that he told me how he felt, and we were actually, you know, official. And I was thinking to myself that I was finally ready to tell him about, just, everything. But he told me before I had the chance. About his dad being Dad’s client.”
My heart stops beating in my chest. I told her? No. She knew the whole time. That’s what she said. She knew. That was the whole fucking point.
“I mean, he didn’t know he was talking about Dad. He just called him Stanley, and all this stuff about how he deserved worse than prison. And then that his family deserved to suffer like Tuck and his mom did.” Carl chokes on a small sob, and I want so desperately to see her face and know for certain that what she’s saying is real. But I can’t. Because I can’t be caught eavesdropping, and because my world is spinning so fast I’m not sure I could find my footing.
“And how is that your fault?”
Carl’s deep breath is audible even in the hall. “I should have just told him,” she says resolutely. “The second I realized what he was saying. The second he said Stanley. I should have told him. I should have told him a hundred times since. And I tried. I really did. But every time I opened my mouth, I just saw that hate in his eyes all over again, heard those angry words. I didn’t think I could bear him looking at me like that.”
Nicole mutters something I can’t make out.
“Turns out I could bear it, though. Since he ended up hating me anyway.”
“I thought you were friends now.”
“I guess.”
Carl huffs before dissolving into some rant about how Billy should be able to talk about his life and his family to whoever he wants, and how Nicole should be around more, but I stop listening.
Or I can’t listen anymore. Because it’s all muffled by the sound of my blood rushing through my ears as I try to make sense of what I just heard.
Carl didn’t know until Miami?
No. That’s impossible. I fucking asked her. I asked her and I will never forget hearing the sound of the two words that clawed my fucking heart out of my chest, leaving behind a worthless, gaping, bloody hole.
I knew.
But…when did she know? And does it matter? She said it herself—she should have told me that morning in Miami. She should have told me a thousand times since. I shouldn’t have had to find out the way I did.
But as I recall our exchange that morning on spring break, the hateful words I hadn’t known were about her own father—about her—I’m not sure I can even blame her. I’m not sure I would have done things any differently if it had been me in her position.
Fuck.
I need to move. I need to make sense of what I just heard. Because my entire life was destroyed on those two words—words that told me she’d known all along—and if they aren’t true…then I might have ended us for nothing.
I make my way through the automatic double doors, desperate for the frigid late-November air to breathe some life back into me.
I think about the morning I learned the truth. When Cap came over that morning, it took all of two seconds of seeing his face for me to know my world was about to be catapulted off its axis.
He didn’t want to tell me what his father had discovered. But more than that, he didn’t want to witness what he knew it would do to me, and I had to practically bulldoze it out of him.
I lived less than ten minutes from Carl, but that drive took an eternity. The whole time I kept telling myself she didn’t know. She couldn’t know. Her parents must have woven an elaborate lie about why her father was in prison. Or at the very least she couldn’t have known about his business alias. That when I’d told her what happened to my dad, said the name Stanley, she hadn’t made the connection. I told myself she was innocent in all this. She had to be.
I knew it was crazy, but no crazier than her being the one weaving the lies. Or so I told myself.
But one look at my face told her why I was there, and one look at hers shattered my pathetic, delusional fantasy.
And in that instant, we were destroyed. I’d never had a whole lot of faith in relationships in general, but I had all the faith in the world in my girl, and she obliterated it with those two words.
I knew.
But she didn’t fucking know. Not the whole time, at least. Not until I’d decided to unload my family’s dirty laundry on her back in Miami, and inadvertently told her it was her own father who’d ruined mine, before I ever even knew it myself.
I lean back against the brick façade of the hospital, still trying to make sense of what I’ve done.
But my mind is still lost in that morning, battered by the memory of my own scathing rant, and the stunned look on Carl’s face as I watched her cry freely, telltale tears of guilt just rolling down her beautiful face.
I was so sure she’d earned that guilt. That she’d known all along what her father did to mine. That she’d kept it a secret to manipulate me—to trick me into believing she was really the perfect princess I’d always seen her as—desperate to maintain the picture of wealth and success she and her mother had painstakingly painted all these years. The one where her father’s only crime was neglecting his daughter in favor of creating more wealth and success.
I let myself believe she’d done it all on purpose. Taken advantage of my affection for her, skillfully played the role of the poor little rich girl to steal my sympathy. That she’d fucking conned me into loving her.
But even as I try to rationalize my thought process that day—and so many days since—I know I was disastrously wrong. What’s worse is realizing I should have known it all along. Because everything I’ve ever known about the girl has been at odds with the narrative of manipulation and betrayal I’ve tried to piece together since that morning. The truth is it never fit Carl. And now I fucking know why.
Regret and frustration buzz through me, and I turn to face the wall, searching for the calm I need to go back upstairs. But it evades me, and instead of finding composure, I slam my palm into the unforgiving brick in front of me. Because how could Carl have just stood there and let me say that shit to her? Why didn’t she fucking defend herself?
But I already know why.
Carl thought I was right. That she deserved my wrath and my contempt. So that morning, when I asked her if she knew, she had no idea I’d meant all along. She’d known since I told her in Miami and never spoke up, and in her mind that alone was an unforgivable betrayal.
And I didn’t help things any when I called her a liar, and—fuck—accused her of spreading her legs to distract me like she was some kind of goddamn common whore. And yet she’s spent months accepting my scorn as if she fucking deserved it.
I think of the horrible things I’ve said to her, the way I’ve treated her, and I can’t fucking breathe. I told her she was a stranger. That we were fucking nothing—that we never were.
I don’t know what the hell to do. Carl is up there thinking I never even really loved her; meanwhile it was just hours ago that I finally realized I never stopped—that I never could. And now—now I find out I never had a reason to try to stop? What the fuck do I do with that? Run up there and beg her forgiveness?
I know what I should do. What a better man would do. He would accept his failure, and let her go. But I already know I’m not capable of that. I’m far too selfish.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Are you still giving blood? 8:52 am
God, I suck. I’m supposed to be here for her, and I fled like a damned coward.
All done. Was a little lightheaded, went outside to get some air 8:53 am
Are you ok?? 8:53 am
And now I’m making her worry. Fuck me.
I’m good Princess. On my way up now. Billy ok? 8:54 am
Yeah, just waiting for him to wake up 8:55 am
; When I walk through the door to Billy’s hospital room, Carl is curled up in an armchair, texting. She startles when she notices me staring at her from the doorway. She’s so beautiful, even in her uncertainty, and it takes me a moment to pull myself together. She stands up, smoothing my shirt, and I can’t help my small smile. The sight of her affects me in the usual, physical way, and I hope it isn’t noticeable. Her gaze darts between mine and the phone in my hand as it buzzes with a text.
You don’t have to stay, if you don’t want.
I frown. “Do you want me to go?”
She quickly shakes her head, uncharacteristic nerves etched in the creases around her eyes. She thinks I’m here out of pity, and why wouldn’t she? I look at Billy, so small in the hospital bed. He’s got tubes running every which way and he looks like he may never wake up. Before I can even process the horror of that thought, I hear someone say my name, and I get the feeling it’s not for the first time.
“I said hello, Tucker.”
My shoulders tense and I try to conceal my distaste. I offer a cordial nod. “Mrs. Stanger.” Stanley.
Carl’s anxiety is palpable, and I don’t want to be the cause of it. I don’t know what role her mother did or didn’t play in her father’s crimes, but I know the woman well enough to suspect that even if she didn’t encourage him—which I find hard to believe—she more than likely knew what he was up to.
A smile as artificial as her lips themselves stretches wide, no other part of her face moving so much as a twitch. “You can still call me Nicole. No need to be formal just because you and Carleigh aren’t dating.”
No thanks.
Carl pulls nervously at a loose thread on the hem of her—my—shirt, glancing between her mother and me as if anticipating some sort of blowout. Her mother scarcely notices.
“Rory’s coming in a bit,” Carl murmurs, and I recognize she’s offering me another out.
“Oh good,” her mother replies without so much as peeking up from her phone. “Have her stop by the house and bring you something to wear. And perhaps some makeup and a hairbrush. Since you obviously rushed out of bed.”
I have to hold in my snort. Nicole Stanger can’t see that her daughter is a nervous fucking wreck, but this she notices.
Carl chews her bottom lip, a rare demure blush painting her cheeks, no doubt recalling just whose bed she rushed out of.
“Carl looks beautiful,” I challenge, unable to stop myself, and they both stare at me.
Nicole turns back to her daughter and gives her an obvious once-over. “Surely you’d agree that she could make herself a bit more…” She gestures breezily. “Presentable,” she finishes.
I can’t help my eye roll. I sure as shit would not agree. Carl looks gorgeous as fuck in my shirt. But Nicole’s attention is already back on her phone.
“Do you want to grab a cup of coffee?” I ask Carl, wanting to get both her and myself away from her obnoxious mother.
Carl nods. “You want some, Mom?”
“Hmm. I doubt they have anything remotely drinkable here.”
Carl doesn’t argue. She seems just as eager to escape that room. “Text me if Billy wakes up before I’m back.” And she grabs my hand and pulls me away.
“You okay?” I ask her.
She breathes out a long-winded sigh. “Yeah. Just…You know how she is.”
“Sure do,” I agree. “Can’t fucking stand how she criticizes you.”
Carl shrugs. “Whatever, I’m used to her. Honestly, Tuck, I don’t even care right now. I’m just glad Billy’s going to be okay.”
Yeah, me too. It would’ve absolutely killed me to watch Carl go through that—to see her suffer that kind of anguish, completely powerless to do a damn thing to fix it for her. But beyond that, I really do love that kid. And after last night, I realize I didn’t just bail on Carl, but I abandoned Billy, too.
It’s just more regrets to add to the pile—the fucking landfill—and more mistakes I vow to correct. That is, after I kick his ass for taking such a stupid fucking risk and scaring the living shit out of his Carl. And me.
Speaking of correcting mistakes…
I spot a small, empty waiting room and change direction without warning, pulling Carl inside. “I’ve been thinking about what you said back at Cap’s—”
She shakes her head anxiously. “We don’t have to do this, Tuck. I get it—”
“You get nothing.”
She blinks at me.
“You’re wrong.” Shit. I’m in such a fucked-up position. I need to apologize—to tell her I was wrong for doubting her. For assuming the worst, and letting myself vilify her when I fucking knew better. But it’s not the time for that. And until it is, I can’t exactly tell her she was wrong back at Cap’s, either. Instead, I need to work on rebuilding our friendship. I need Carl to start seeing me the way she used to. As someone who cares about her, someone she can lean on—someone she can trust, and talk to—instead of the guy who only ever spits spite at worst or ignores her at best.
In the back of my mind I realize I’m doing the same thing I crucified Carl for—waiting until I’m ready to confess something that might affect us both deeply. I only hope she can forgive me for it in turn.
I blow out a slow exhale and offer her an apology far less sufficient than the one she deserves. “But look, you’re also right. I should be more sensitive. And I’m sorry, okay?”
“You’re sorry…” Carl looks like she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing.
More fucking sorry than you know. I take a step forward, suddenly standing too close for the friend I insisted I could be.
I’m scared she’ll retreat. But she doesn’t. Her breathing picks up and she licks her lush, pink lips, making my blood rush south.
My hand cups her face all on its own volition, and between the blood donation and my hard-on I’m lucky if there’s any blood left for my brain to function. But mercifully there appears to be just enough to stop myself from doing something dangerous like kiss her.
But my thumb strokes her cheek and I start to get lost in my favorite emerald color. Carl gasps at my touch, and my T-shirt slips off of her shoulder. And there goes the rest of the blood. Other than our mutual labored breathing, the room is blaringly silent, so the sound of Carl’s phone buzzing in her hand is sudden and jarring.
My gaze automatically lands on the source of the interruption, and though I honestly don’t mean to peek at the screen, some words—or names—just jump out at you.
Zayne.
I try to keep the snake of jealousy in its coiled slumber, but that fucker has the same reaction to Zayne’s name as I do. To strike.
“You should take that,” I murmur, fighting not to let my emotions show as I walk out the door.
I wait in the hall, because I told her I wouldn’t leave until she told me to, and I won’t abandon her ever again. But I’m not going to beg for her attention either. If she wants to talk to Zayne, then what the fuck does she need me for?
Chapter Twenty-six
Tucker
Present Day
We linger in the cafeteria after we finish our coffees, but I know Carl wants to be there when Billy wakes up, so we head back to his room before too long. It’s still a few hours before he finally stirs, and I hang back in the corner while Carl and Nicole crowd his bed, softly calling his name and trying to get hold of his attention.
Rory, Cap, and Beth showed up sometime during the past couple of hours, and they decide to go down to the gift shop to “find something to brighten up Billy’s hospital room.” It’s a thinly veiled excuse to give the Stangers some family time, and rationally I know I should go with them, but I need to make sure Carl is okay first.
A nurse comes in and checks Billy’s vitals, which appear to be strong, and warns us to “keep the excitement down.” It isn’t until she’s long gone that Billy starts with questions about his accident, and Carl bursts into tears.
She sobs through her account of Thanksgiving night and
the following morning, but Billy remembers most of what led him to be in that car with Kyle. I was worried he might hold on to his resentment from his fight with Carl, but he doesn’t. He apologizes and apologizes, still pretty dazed, and I take their emotional exchange as my cue to give them some privacy after all.
I take a walk around the hospital, unable to stop myself from wondering if Carl actually still wants me around. I head back to Billy’s room for the third or fourth time—I’ve lost count—and find Nicole out in the hall talking to a doctor, and Carl still at his bedside, the two siblings laughing about God only knows what.
I hang back in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt them, especially now that they both seem to be in better moods. But Billy spots me, and I wait an interminable beat for his reaction to my presence. But he doesn’t say anything, he just stares, gaze impassive, if a little unfocused from the drugs.
“Glad to see you giggling like a little girl again,” I tease him. I can’t help it. This is the ball-busting brotherly relationship we’ve always had. At least until the breakup.
To my great relief, Billy’s mouth twists into an uneven smirk. “Whatever, Mother-Tucker. You’re just jealous they gave me the goooood drugs.”
I make my way to his bed, standing beside Carl, who looks up at me with a relieved smile. I crack a few more jokes through a strained smirk, and Billy and Carl laugh and laugh like last night—or this morning—never even happened. Nicole pops her head in to tell us she’s going to Kitchen Cabaret to pick up some soup so Billy doesn’t have to eat the “hospital garbage.”
My phone buzzes with a text from Cap saying they’re on their way back up. Good. They can keep Carl company while I talk to Billy.
I brush my palm over Carl’s partially exposed shoulder, rubbing my thumb into the muscle at the base of her neck the way she likes. She automatically turns into my touch, and meets my gaze.
“Cap texted that they’re on their way up. Do you think I could have a minute with Billy?”
In Ruins Page 27