by Voss, Deja
“We have a girl,” she says. “I’ll call her up here shortly. She can come and do your hair and make-up for you. And you will look nice either way. You’re a very pretty woman.”
“Thanks,” I say, biting into the perfectly crisp bacon. “I started doing a little research last night, but I feel like I’m not getting anywhere. I scoured missing persons reports in Colorado, and nothing is coming up. I tried to dig deeper and find something that has to do with his tattoo. It’s the only real ‘thing’ I can think of that stands out on his body.”
“And?”
“You’d be surprised at how many men have the same one. It’s like the calling card for hot muscular guys with perfect abs.”
She laughs as she raises her eyebrows. “I’m sorry; that’s inappropriate.”
“It’s fine. He has a doctor’s appointment when we get home. I’m sure we’ll find something out.”
“If he doesn’t unravel on his own before then,” she says, shrugging. “You’re a brave woman taking this on. He seems like a decent guy. If he was closer to my age, I’d be all over him, but you must care about him a lot to want to try and make it work with someone who has so many issues.”
“He doesn’t have issues,” I say. The way she’s poking and prodding is starting to wear on me. We were doing so well back at home, living in our ignorant little state of bliss, and now he’s out in the woods doing lord knows what while I’m straining my eyeballs out on my laptop, trying to figure out who the heck he actually is without him knowing.
This vacation is hell.
“He does,” she says.
“You don’t know him,” I tell her.
“Neither do you.”
I get up from the table without saying a word. I’m sure she’s looking out for my best interest, but right now she’s overstepping. Who knows what she even said to him to make him run off. I go back upstairs. I just need to hide out until we can go get this awards ceremony over with and go back to our normal lives.
I need to get out of stress mode. I haven’t felt this way in so long. Not since I was in college, trying to be the perfect student, trying to be the perfect daughter, trying to be everyone’s best friend. I begin to fill up the giant claw-foot bathtub. No sense in letting a romantic weekend go to waste, even if I’m spending it alone. I dig out some bubble bath from under the sink.
I stare in the mirror, waiting for the water to fill the tub.
These bags under my eyes do look like shit.
* * *
“Hey,” he whispers, poking his head in the bathroom door.
I didn’t fall asleep in the tub, but I’ve definitely overstayed my welcome. My fingers are shriveled, and the water is about room temperature, bubbles long gone, but I just don’t have it in me to move. I offer him a thin smile.
“Where did you go?” I ask him.
“I wanted to check out the trails behind the house.”
“Why didn’t you take me?” I whisper sadly.
“Molly, you were sleeping. I figured you needed your rest after the long drive. Plus, I could tell you were up all night working by the way you were cuddling with your laptop like it was your dog or something.” He kisses me on the forehead, sticking his hand in the bathwater. “You’re gonna freeze to death if you don’t get out of there,” he warns.
He grabs a towel from the rack and holds it out. It does look warm and inviting. He helps me from the tub and blankets me in the big fluffy towel, helping me dry off.
“Are we going to talk about what’s going on with you, Tucker?” I ask him. “Something isn’t right.”
“Everything is fine,” he insists.
“It’s not,” I remind him. “You’ve been here with me in body, but not in mind. You slept for damn near twenty hours before you ran off into the woods. You called Bailey by the wrong name and told her you had asthma?”
“I’m worried,” he says, hugging my towel covered body to his. “Something about this place is making me crazy.”
“You’re not crazy, Tucker,” I say, pressing my lips to his shoulder. “You’re just not allowing yourself permission to be who you are. You’re trying to suppress something inside of you and it’s not healthy.”
“You have no idea who I am,” he says. “No more than I do. I don’t know what I’m suppressing, but if I let it out, it could change everything. Everything that we have. It’s scary, Molly. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“The only way you can hurt me is if you hide from me. If you leave me. I want to stand beside you and help you fight your demons. I want to be there when you wake up from this… whatever this is. I love you, Tucker, but me keeping you as you are is not fair to you. It’s not fair to the people you left behind.”
“I had a dream about my dad last night,” he says, his face solemn. “I don’t remember much, but I do remember that I love him very much. And he loves me.”
“We have to get you back to him,” I whisper. “He’s probably going nuts. Do you remember anything else?”
“Mary,” he says. “I remember Mary.”
A chill runs down my spine. He called me Mary yesterday, of that I am sure. But who is this girl? Is it his wife? Does he have kids? Am I wrecking a family with my own selfishness?
“Guys?” I hear a woman’s voice in the hallway. “Is everyone decent?”
Tucker hands me a big white fluffy bathrobe hanging from a hook on the wall.
“Hello?”
“We’re in the bathroom,” I say. “Be with you in a minute.” I stare into his eyes. He’s not blinking, but he’s not looking at me. He’s staring far off into space, as if the answers to all of his questions are hovering there behind a screen of smoke.
“Is Mary your wife?”
“No,” he says, point-blank.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tucker:
“I heard somebody needed a little bit of spackle on the barn before her big awards ceremony tonight,” the perky little blonde girl says as we walk into the bedroom.
“Oh honey,” she grabs Molly’s face and brushes her hair out of her eyes, “I don’t know what Bailey was talking about. You’re gorgeous, girl. You’re both gorgeous. You two look like a movie star couple. I don’t know how you guys keep your hands off each other. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”
I can see Molly is trying to fight back tears and it makes me feel awful all over, like physically pained. Shit is getting really heavy and it’s all my fault.
The blonde starts opening up briefcases full of brushes, make-up, and curling irons. “I brought the works, just in case. What are you going to wear tonight, love?” she asks Molly.
“I’m gonna go hop in the shower,” I say as Molly escorts her to the closet.
“Hold up,” Molly says, handing me my navy blue suit, shirt, and tie.
“You want me to shave?” I ask her.
“No. You’re perfect just like that.”
She’s right. She’s already getting a look into the mind of a stranger; dramatically changing my appearance would probably just push us both over the edge. I get into the shower and let the hot water pour over me.
It’s time to take inventory of my thoughts. Or at least the things that I think are my thoughts. No wonder my head is pounding. I’ll indulge until the hot water runs out, and then it’s back to being Mr. Supportive Boyfriend.
Things that I know:
I like to hunt.
I have a dad.
(I’m thinking those things are not super helpful to my plight, but we gotta start somewhere.)
I have asthma and am allergic to aspirin. (Good to know. What other fun secrets do my medical records hold?)
I had a maid named Suzanne who always made me uncomfortable with her tendency to baby me. (But I was poor in my dream?)
Mary??? Mary is the wildcard. I dreamed she broke up with me, but for some reason, I don’t think that was the end. I can’t see her in my mind. The only woman I see is Molly. The only woman I want is Molly.
/> I get out of the shower and begin dressing myself.
Something feels so good about a perfectly tailored suit. The pinstripe button-down shirt and the gold tie make me look like a man who knows how to handle business. Take away the beard and I’m your garden-variety CEO.
While we were out shopping, Molly was kind of baffled by my choice of style. She said it was like I was used to dressing like this. That no man would just pick out something like that for himself at random.
I had to fight back the urge to tell her that it’s a cheap mass-produced polyester blend that no self-respecting man would choose to wear unless they had to. She was just so happy with me that I didn’t want to burst her bubble.
When I asked her where I could get it tailored I thought she was going to faint.
Who am I to be a suit snob? Just a few weeks ago, I was sleeping in a hammock and washing two pairs of jeans that I have no idea where they came from in a creek every other day.
Strange things are happening. And I can’t tell if they’re real true memories or just my imagination, little scraps of things I picked up from watching TV or things I might have overheard somewhere.
I walk into the bedroom and the young blonde is putting the finishing touches on Molly’s hair, spraying her elegant updo as she shields her eyes. I have to pick my jaw up off the floor seeing Molly in that sexy black dress. It’s floor-length with slits up the sides and is strapless, accentuating the curves of her perfect breasts that I’m going to have to avoid trying to bury my face in for the duration of this shindig. Basic black. Completely elegant.
“Well look at you,” Molly smiles. “You sure do clean up nice there, mountain man,” she quips with her fake southern drawl.
“You look amazing,” I stammer.
“And I’m getting out of here,” the blonde says. “Now that mascara is waterproof, but the rest of your face isn’t. So no sloppy kissing til after your speech.”
Molly blushes as she thanks the girl, and she disappears down the hallway.
I want nothing more than to rip that dress off of her right now. I circle her like my prey as she stands there almost shivering, the tension between us undeniable. Maybe we’re going through a rough patch, if that’s what you want to call it, but I know the exact look to give her to get exactly what I want from her.
I’m not going to fuck her right now, but I am going to spend the rest of the evening teasing her, playing with her, making sure she’s absolutely begging for it by the time we get back here this evening.
She leans in to kiss me but I keep my distance. Exactly two centimeters of air are all that separates our lips. I feel my pulse beating in my neck. I smile at her and reach into my pocket.
“You look absolutely perfect, Molly,” I tell her. “But I feel like you might want to wear this tonight.” I hand her a jewelry box and she makes that face I’ve seen before. That face that shows me she’s not used to getting presents. It’s sad and cute and I’ll never get sick of that look.
“You know you don’t have to buy me stuff, Tucker.”
“Just open it.” I wink.
She gasps as she pulls the necklace from the box. It’s nothing fancy, just a silver chain with a bright green piece of peridot that hangs from it.
“It matches your eyes perfectly,” I say. “It reminded me of you. I had to get it.”
“I love it,” she sighs. “Put it on me?”
I step behind her, running my hand down her perfect bared shoulder, admiring the curve of her neck, and I can’t help but smother it in kisses. God, this girl is so sexy. I feel her skin goose-bump under my lips, and she lets out a light ‘oh,’ that makes my eyes roll back in my head.
I’m trying to think of anything I possibly can to fight off this painful erection that’s growing in my pants. I clasp the ends of the chain together.
“While you’re back there,” she says, teasingly, as she begins to slowly pull up the back of her dress, her legs so curvaceous and long in those black high heels. She flashes her black lace thong and pulls the string aside. “I figured I’d wear the other accessory you got me, too.” She giggles, tapping on the base of the glass plug wedged in that amazing ass of hers.
Just like that, she slides her skirt back down. She turns and grabs my face in her hands, staring me in the eyes, mischief all over her face.
“I see the way you’re trying to tease me, Tucker. Two can play that game.” She hovers her lips just over mine, and just the feeling of her breath on my lips is enough to make me damn near jizz in my pants.
“How’d you pull that off with whatshername here?” I ask.
“She stepped out when I got dressed. I had to be pretty sneaky.” She winks. I kiss her on the lips and she moans into my mouth. My hands grab her waist, move up her back, down to her ass, all over her, exploring every inch of her body, desperate to run my hands over anything that isn’t the black stretchy fabric of her dress. “Oh my God, Tuck,” she sighs. “We gotta go.”
“I know,” I say, dejectedly. “but when we get back…”
“Or maybe when we find an unoccupied bathroom stall,” she teases. “My only obligation is to show up on time and accept this award. The rest of the night is ours.”
“I like the sound of that,” I say. “Oh shit,” I mutter as she hands me my jacket.
“What’s wrong?”
I feel in my pants pocket. I run to the desk and open the drawer. I grab our suitcase and dump it on the bed.
“Tucker, what the hell are you doing?” she asks.
“My cufflinks.”
“Your what?”
“You know I don’t go anywhere without them. The gold ones with the deer heads.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Max gave them to me when we closed our first deal. The ones with the diamond eyes.”
Her face is lit with fear and confusion. I grab my temples, my headache raging.
“Molly, I don’t know what I’m talking about. Just gimme my jacket. We have to get going.”
She doesn’t say anything, just stands there chewing nervously on her lip.
“Relax,” I tell her.
“You can’t keep doing this to me,” she says. “I can’t just relax.”
“We’ll deal with this soon. I promise. This night isn’t about me. It’s about you. Don’t worry anymore for now, ok?”
“Who’s Max?” she asks.
“Molly!” Bailey’s voice rings from downstairs. “Your ride is here, dear!”
“Later,” I whisper, sliding on my jacket.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Molly:
I’m glad this place has an open bar because, honestly, the only way I think I can get through tonight is if I’m half in the bag. I’m really clueless as to what I’m supposed to do with this man who seems to be snapping in and out of two different realities. My mind is telling me to take him to the emergency room right now, but my heart is telling me that it’s ok.
That it’s just Tucker.
Or whoever.
It doesn’t matter. It’s the man I love.
The man who opened the car door for me and made small talk with my agent the whole ride like they were old college buddies. The man whose hand hasn’t left the small of my back since we walked in the building except to shake hands with everyone he’s met.
I can’t forget about the fact that I’m willingly violating myself in public, mine and Tucker’s dirty little secret. Being in a constant state of arousal really messes with your head. It’s delicious and fun, but given the fact that I’m already a nervous wreck, it’s just another layer of emotions that I’m struggling to process.
“Tequila and club soda with a lime, please,” I tell the bartender. My beverage of choice for nights when I need to shut off my smart brain and let Molly the Mess come out to play. Molly the Mess doesn’t care that she’s got a stranger on her arm who doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be wearing cufflinks or sleeping in a cave somewhere in the mountains
. Molly the Mess is totally down with that.
“Nervous for your speech?” Tucker asks, giving me the side-eye as I suck down my cocktail, grimacing all the way.
“Sure,” I say with a shrug.
He’s nursing his beer, the same one he’s been drinking since we walked in the door.
“You ready for another one, old man?” I ask him. “Or you gonna stand around sipping your backwash for the rest of the night?”
“Molly, we’re not at a wedding reception. We’re not at a bachelor party, and we’re definitely not in Tijuana, so maybe you need to take it easy on the tequila?” he suggests. “You can get as blacked out as you want when we get home. You know I don’t mind, but these people might not be as impressed.”
“I know, it’s just…”
“You’re worried about me,” he says. “You’re confused and upset. I get it, I really do. But this isn’t the place or time. Sometimes you just have to slap a smile on your face and suck it up. It’s just one of the realities of life.”
It’s not like him to say something like that. The Tucker I know lives life on his own terms. He isn’t afraid to be himself. He doesn’t care about conventions or society. He’s a Vagrant.
“Ms. Hill,” the elderly gentleman in the tuxedo says to me. I do what Tucker says and turn my frown into something more resemblant of a smile, more like a stretched out line across my face. “It’s so good to finally meet you. I’m Harold Kellerman, the president of the SPJ. Thank you so much for making the trip to join us this evening.”
“It’s my honor, sir,” I tell him, extending my hand.
“Is this your husband?” he asks.
“Boyfriend,” Tucker says, smiling. “Nice to meet you, Harold.”
“My word, son, you look strangely familiar,” he says. “Have you spent a lot of time in Washington State?”
“No, sir, I haven’t.”
“Well, thank you for coming. Dinner should be starting here shortly. I have you two sitting with my wife and I, and Josh and Laura at the front table. Why don’t you come join us?”