by Emilia Finn
I look to Tucker. Save me.
He grabs the man’s shoulder in a tighter grip, and turns him away so his back is to me. “I’m doing this deal,” Tucker rumbles. “My money, my car, my engine.”
“Well, you’re gonna want to head over that way.” The man points to our right. “Four rows back, you might find something.”
“Okay, good.” Releasing him, Tucker walks back to me, and extends his hand toward a growling Galileo. “Stand down, bud.”
Instantly, though his hackles remain high, Galileo’s growling cuts off with a snap.
Tucker takes my hand, not a full wraparound hold, but the kind where our fingers lace, and my heart goes galloping. Good gallops, and bad gallops. Nerves and anxiety mix and swirl until I can’t tell the difference between the two.
“Let’s head on over. Merv.” He nods for the man with the belly, and walks a wide arc around so I don’t have to get so close.
The poor man has never done anything to hurt me, and yet, Tucker somehow knows that the stranger’s dark cap of greasy hair sends me spiraling back to my nightmares. The man’s sausage fingers, like those of Abel Hayes. His smile, the kind that never reaches his eyes, sends icy shards of panic skittering through my blood.
Tucker cannot know that ‘Merv’ reminds me of a poorer, less well-dressed Abel Hayes. But like Galileo, he still senses the slick ball of dread in my stomach.
He pulls me around and away from the rusting building, and behind us, Galileo prowls with shoulders broadened, and ears pointing – which should be almost impossible for a mongrel dog from a litter whose mother was a Cocker Spaniel.
For some strange reason, Tucker can stand just a foot in front of me and shout in my face, and Galileo will only smile and curl up to sleep. But this other man merely looks at me, and Galileo is on guard to save my life.
“How are you doing?” Tucker murmurs as we put space between us and the building. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not shaking.” I try to snatch my hand from his iron grip. “I’m not– Let me go.”
“Let me hold on a minute more,” he counters in a deep voice littered with compassion. “Do you know that man back there?”
I shake my head and quit fighting his hold. “Nope. He and I don’t have a problem. I’m just…” I grunt out my frustrations. “I’m screwed up in the head. But you knew that already.”
Frowning, he looks down at me. “You’re no more screwed up than the rest of us. I mean, honestly, is there a single grown adult in the world that doesn’t have some kind of mess hidden in their closet?”
“So I guess we judge on the degree of fucked up, then?” I huff and let him lead me through rows of busted cars. “We all have a little something that we feel bad for ourselves about. A little ‘feel sorry for me, I’ve been unfairly treated,’ but only some have genuine fucked-upness to compete with.”
“So what’s got you all fucked up, huh?” He pulls me in close, and throws his hand over my shoulder so our fingers are still linked, but now we’re… shit, we’re walking and hugging. “Talk to me while we find your engine.”
“I don’t wanna talk.”
“Sure you do. Everyone wants to share their fucked-upness. Everyone wants to be acknowledged as the worst off and most pity-worthy.”
Narrowing my eyes, I hate how I’m not sure if he’s insulting me, or genuinely wondering about my story. But still.
“No.” I draw in a deep breath like I did earlier in my car. Draw it in, in, in until it fills my chest, then I let it out again and sigh. “I pay someone else a lot of money per hour to listen to my mess. I’m not gonna just hand that out for free.”
“Okay, well…” He wrinkles his nose and shrugs. “I’ll tell you about me.”
“I didn’t ask—”
“My mom and dad were very much in love, right up until the day they died.”
“Fuck,” I sigh. “Why’d you have to tell me that?”
He chuckles. “Because I wanna win this game of pity. So Lorelai – yup, like the Gilmores – and Allen…” He shakes his head. “Not like the Gilmores. Well, they were very much in love. Teenage sweethearts, the gooiest kind of public kissers. My dad was gaga for his wife, and his wife was gaga for him. Then they went all cliché and made a really amazing fucking kid.”
“Humble,” I drawl as he leads me toward a line of cars that look like mine, except these have been smashed in various ways. “You must have been the most beautiful, cherubic, cutest baby in the world, of course.”
He scoffs. “I hear your sass, young lady. But no. That beautiful, cherubic, cute baby was my sister.”
I pull back to look into his eyes. “What?”
He winks and pulls me back in. “My mom, daddy, and sister died on the same day, in the same accident, on the same stretch of road, at eleven-thirty at night in the rain. It’s quite romantic, really.”
“Tucker!”
He snorts, then turns serious. “Not romantic at all, except maybe for the fact that my sister didn’t have to die alone. My mom and dad were there with her, they held her, comforted her. Then they crossed the rainbow bridge together.” He frowns. “Is the rainbow bridge only for dogs?”
I sniffle. I’m going to cry for him and his family! “I don’t know. But I’m really sorry you lost your family.”
He shrugs. “Shit happens, right? Sometimes, the shit really fuckin’ happens.”
I think of my sister. Of Abel fucking Hayes. “Yeah, shit really does happen sometimes. How old was your sister?”
“I was fifteen, she was sixteen. She died in her prom dress.”
“Oh no.” Tears escape my eyes and slide over my cheek. “I don’t wanna compare fucked-upness anymore. This game sucks.”
He releases me when we stop by a car that looks exactly like mine. He leaves me standing where I am, and moves forward to study the engine. “I told you, we’ve all got some bullshit in our lives. It’s just a matter of comparing it and winning the prize of most pitied.”
“I don’t want a prize.” I bring a hand up and swipe beneath my nose. “I don’t wanna play this game.”
“The game started the first time you shouted at me in the hall, and I wanted to find out what the fuck was up with the beautiful woman from 4A.” He turns to me. “This game is Jumanji, and we can’t stop now that we’ve begun.” He drops his voice to a deep, ominous tone. “We must finish.”
“You’re an idiot.” I turn away, because I’m weeping for people I never knew. “I’m sorry about your sister,” I rasp out. “That age is just…” I shake my head. “Damn, that’s rough.”
When Tucker pushes away from the SUV – unimpressed with the engine, I suppose – he takes my hand and continues his search along the line.
“Where were you that night?” I ask quietly.
He clears his throat. “I was in the car, right beside them.”
He grabs my hand extra tight when I want to snatch it away.
He tugs me in close and wraps his arm over my shoulders until I have no choice but to hug him back. “Don’t panic,” he murmurs by my ear. “I’m right here, alive, safe and well.”
“It was a car crash so bad there were three fatalities,” I choke. “But you’re standing right here?”
“Magic?” He jokes. “Divine intervention. God’s will, if that’s your jam. I was my sister’s date, because her boyfriend dumped her the day before.” He looks to the sky and shakes his head. “The fucking day before. He figured he wanted to take this other bitch to prom, so I took my sister.”
“But you guys never made it?”
“No, we did. The accident was at nearly midnight,” he reminds me, reaching around to tap my nose. “What time did your prom start, silly?”
“I didn’t go to prom.” I swallow, and wrap my arms around his hips. “So, you made it to prom. Tell me she won prom queen and flipped that asshole off.”
“Nah…” He smiles. “She wasn’t even nominated. That other bitch was, and what’s more, she won.”
/>
“I hate her,” I seethe.
He laughs. “But I belted the snot out of the guy when he tried to hit my sister up in the hall. He was with the prom queen, he had his own scepter and crown. He probably figured she’d stay home, ya know? No date, no guts. Well, he messed up, because I donned my funeral best, I escorted the shit outta my sister, I tore that motherfucker’s hand from her skirt in the hall, then I sent him to the emergency room in need of a nose realignment.”
“Good,” I whisper. “I’m glad he got his comeuppance.”
“Though, some people would say we got ours too,” he murmurs. “I sent him to the ER, then I ended up there just two hours later. I wore my funeral best…” He draws in a heady breath. “Well… you know where that was leading.”
“I’m so sorry.” I drag in breaths deep enough to fill my chest and send my vision spotty. Then I let them out again and nod. “You win this round.”
He smiles. “Not such a fun game, huh? Why didn’t you go to your prom?”
My pulse skitters and races. “Didn’t wanna. Were you injured from the accident?” I pull away and try to look at him with new eyes. “You have all your limbs. No visible scars. Nothing seems odd.”
“I’m odd all over,” he laughs. “Ask anyone, and they’ll tell you.”
Stopping in the middle of the row of cars, and bending forward, he pulls up the left leg of his jeans and shows me a long scar that runs from his ankle to the back of his knee. “Got me good there.”
“What happened? Like…” I shake my head. “Obviously, I know you were in an accident. But I mean, what specifically happened?”
“You’re cute when you’re trying not to be awkward. And you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Wouldn’t believe what? The scar?”
He smirks. “I could offer you a trillion dollars, and you would never ever guess.”
“Wow…” I fall into step when he lets his pantleg drop, and we continue on. “That’s quite the challenge. A trillion dollars is a lot.”
“You will never guess.”
“I don’t wanna try,” I admit on a softer murmur. “I don’t want to hypothesize all the horrible things that could have happened inside that car that night.”
“I stole that motherfucker’s scepter, so karma got me back and stabbed me with it.”
“What?” I bounce back from him in horror, but that turns to peeling laughter in a second. “You’re lying!”
“I’m not.” Laughing, he grabs my hand and twirls me – he seriously twirls me like we’re dancing to music. “I stole it straight out of his hands, might’ve whacked him with it a couple times.” He smirks. “It felt good. Then I tossed it to the floor of my parents’ car when we got in. My mom and dad made it a date night, the kids were at prom, so they went out to dinner. Someplace nice, fancy. They picked us up at the end of prom… or, ya know, when the principal called and told them I was fighting.”
I laugh.
“But no one was mad. My dad high-fived me just before I got in the car.” He turns serious. Swallows. “I was fighting, I stole, I got my sister kicked out of her own prom, but my father high-fived me when he got the details.”
“You did the right thing,” I whisper. “That douche had no right to hurt your sister like that.”
“Yeah, well…” He shrugs. “Some folks get to hug their loved ones before death. Others get profound declarations of love. There are all of these romanticized notions about the final minutes before death, right?”
I nod.
“The last time my dad and I touched, it was a high-five, and he said he was glad I beat that prick up, because if he’d done it, he’d probably go to prison for hitting a minor.”
“You took care of your sister. That’s pretty romantic.”
His lips quirk up into a small smile. “I guess. She got to see that asshole cry, my mom and dad got a last date, they were all dressed up and so beautiful. Then they died together, holding each other, whispering their love.”
“And you?” My voice cracks. “You didn’t whisper your love?”
He considers my question. Frowns while he thinks. “You know, I just didn’t think to speak. We were T-boned at an intersection by some asshole going way too fast and not paying attention. We were just… driving, ya know? Minding our business. Then we were flying. Around and around and around. Until we settled back on our wheels.”
He buries his face in my hair and inhales. “I remember thinking that was convenient. Which is so strange, but…” He shrugs. “I was numb all over. So I kinda just… sat back and chilled while shit was going crazy outside. It was like a dream, like I was in a bowl of jello. My mom was crying, and my dad was telling her it would be okay. My sister didn’t say anything at all.” He swallows. “She didn’t get to whisper anything. My mom and dad, childhood sweethearts, got to hold hands and be together. They kinda just… went to sleep, I guess.”
“Tucker…” I press my face to his chest, and wipe my tears on his shirt. Behind me, Galileo presses his shoulders to the backs of my legs in comfort. “I’m so sorry.”
He wraps both arms around my shoulders, and holds me close. “Anyway, turns out my body was numb because, well, apart from everything else, that scepter got me.” His chest bounces with muted laughter. “I was bleeding pretty damn fast, so the jello feeling was just my subconscious drifting. I was dragged from the car, laid out on the road in the rain while paramedics poked and prodded and shit. The firemen had to cut my car open to get my sister out. Then…” He inhales and sends goosebumps right down to my toes. “I spent the next few days in the hospital. I was released in time for the state-provided funeral, then I was placed in foster care, because, ya know, minor and all that.”
“You had no other family?”
He shakes his head. “None that would be able to care for me. I was fifteen with a busted leg, busted arm, my wrist was broken in a few places, my shoulder was jacked-up, and I was missing half my hair, because apparently, I’d hit my head, and they needed to see how bad it was.”
“Jesus, Tucker.”
He fakes a snicker. “I hung around until I could walk properly again. Then I ran, because fuck them. I didn’t want to be a foster kid. I was old enough to be on my own.”
“So you ended up here?”
He nods. “I walked for a little while. Days. Weeks. I dunno. I didn’t pay attention to how long. I didn’t have a phone, no watch. So I had no sense of time. I just wandered for a bit.”
“That sounds…” I consider, and settle on something that surprises me. “Honestly, kind of healing.”
“It was.” He smiles. “Back home, the state was on me every day about being good, about my school exams, about treating my fosters well. Everything was so fuckin’ noisy, so demanding, so I walked out. I don’t know that I was planning to leave for good, I was only going for a walk around the block, but I just didn’t stop.”
“Maybe I should call you Forrest Gump.”
He snorts. “Basically. My leg was how I decided I was done for the day. It hurt by late afternoon, which is when I knew to sit down and chill for the night.”
I frown and think of that boy camping on the side of the road. The boy with long arms and legs, with a single set of clothes, since he hadn’t intended to run away, and an aching leg by the end of a long day.
“No one came looking for you?”
“I’m sure they tried, but everything to do with my case was so blurred, so busy, I figure I kinda slipped through some gaps. I ended up here, walked into Ang’s garage. He walked me back out again and took me to his best friend.” He grins. I can feel it in my hair. “Scotch and Sammy have a history in child welfare cases, so they did whatever it is they do.”
“They snitched?”
He barks out a loud laugh, and finally releases me so we can continue walking. His hand remains twined around mine. His smile pushes his cheeks up. “They totally snitched. But they snitched on the provision they could help me. They did… someth
ing.” He shrugs. “I don’t know what. But they made it so I could stay here. Ang gave me a job, Scotch became my big brother of sorts, and Ang never forced me to speak if I didn’t wanna.”
“Angelo is a pretty quiet guy.”
“Yeah, he is. He’s a good man. He’s like my second dad, ya know? He’s not actually old enough to be my dad, but that’s how I think of him. Which,” he chuckles, “makes you a filthy snitch, with that complaint card back at the garage.”
Laughing, I reach down when Galileo butts his nose against my leg for attention. I scratch his ears, and nibble on my bottom lip in thought. “I’m probably still gonna submit my complaint,” I admit. “I’m gonna be the metaphorical scepter in your leg.”
“So fuckin’ cold,” he barks out. “I should buy you a crown. You’re always acting all high and mighty and shit.”
I roll my eyes at his teasing, but then my gaze stops on a silver SUV. “This car?”
We stop in front of an SUV that looks just like mine, but the back is folded almost like an accordion.
“Someone wasn’t watching the traffic like they’re supposed to.” He releases my hand, and studies the engine.
A thought occurs to me while he looks under the hood. “Does it bother you to be here?”
“Be where?” He reaches into the engine and fiddles with something I’ll never learn the name of.
“In a wrecking yard. All of these broken cars. All of these car accidents. Does being here hurt you?”
“Nah. You visit a therapist when you’re feeling overwhelmed. I walked away my worries more than a decade ago. I’m all better now, and my way was cheaper.”
“Heh.” I fake a laugh and fold my arms over my chest. “So, you’re like…” I furrow my brow. “You’re fine? You don’t get all messed up in your dreams and stuff?”
His shoulders bunch a little, but he smooths them out like he knows I’m watching closely. “Um… not really. I kinda prefer to face my fears head-on. Prove that they’re not as scary as my brain wants me to believe. So I spend my days with fucked-up cars, I spend my weekends racing. I refuse to hide away in my apartment and let my monsters make it worse.”