by Rae Kennedy
“I had a lot of help. You want to come in and see the progress?” I start up the steps but he doesn’t move.
“You love this house.”
It’s not a question. Just a statement filled with sadness.
I touch his arm. “It’s just a house.”
“It’s not, though. You want to know what I was thinking that first night you brought me here to see it?”
“What?”
“Well, the first thing I thought was that it’s definitely big enough for five kids.”
I hiccup and smile as another tear hits my cheek.
“But when I went into that front room—I saw it. Our life. I’d refinish the shelves and get a big-ass desk. The perfect office. There’s even a separate entrance to the porch. I could see T.L. Collison Law etched in the glass. I’d be able to stay home with the kids when they were little. You could walk to work and we would come visit you on your lunch breaks.” His brow creases and he closes his eyes for a beat before looking back to me. “I’m sorry I can’t give you that life.”
Tears are threatening to spill again. “That does sound perfect. But our idea of perfect can change. We’ll create a new perfect life. Together.”
* * *
He went home to tell Ali last night when she returned from her business trip. But I haven’t heard from him today. I try to focus on grading and give him the space he needs to deal with what’s going on but I can’t help wondering, is he okay? Are we still okay?
I’m in bed half asleep when he calls.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. Hearing your voice is good.” His voice is shaky and his words come out too fast.
“Tuck, what’s wrong?” Did he change his mind? No. He promised he would always choose me. He promised. “Are you all right?”
His deep chuckle is anything but relaxed. “No. I am not all right. Not at all.”
“What happened?”
“Can I tell you in person? Tomorrow? I don’t want to tell you over the phone. I just needed to say I love you.”
“I love you too. Tuck?”
“Yeah?”
“Are we... are we still good?”
“Yes. God, yes. You are the only thing right in my world right now.”
* * *
I told Tuck I’d be at my house doing some yard work and that’s exactly what I’m doing late Sunday morning when his red truck pulls up. He’s pulling a large trailer and the bed of his truck is filled with boxes.
I brush the dirt off my jeans as I stand and Tuck rounds the front of his truck, sprinting for me. He picks me up and spins me around.
“I’m so much better now that I’m with you.” He sets me down. He’s smiling but it’s not quite as big, like it’s being weighed down.
“Tell me what happened—when you told Ali about wanting a divorce.”
We sit on the steps and I reach for his hand. He laces our fingers together.
“I didn’t even get the chance to tell her about the divorce.”
What?
He continues. “I told her we needed to talk, she agreed. But before I could bring it up, she served me with annulment papers.”
Annulment papers? “I don’t understand.”
“I was confused, too, when she handed them to me. I thought she must have realized she was as unhappy as I was. When I looked through the documents, I expected ‘marriage not consummated’ to be checked as the grounds for annulment, which is technically true—”
“You two never...?”
He shakes his head. “Not since that night in May. She was pretty sick in the beginning and even after she started feeling better, she never brought it up and neither did I.”
I try to swallow but my throat is too tight. “What was the reason then?”
“Fraud.” He looks at his hands, fingers gripped at his knees.
I can tell by his reaction that this is what he’s been so upset about.
“She lied. About the baby. It’s not mine.”
A choked gasp escapes from my mouth and Tuck’s knuckles go white when he mentions the baby.
“She told me she’d last slept with her ex a few weeks before we hooked up, but it was actually more like ten days. When she found out she was pregnant, she didn’t know who the father was initially, but at her first appointment she learned the window when the baby was conceived was at least a week before we were together.”
My stomach clenches as if being rung out. I’m nauseous and heat creeps up my neck as anger takes over my thoughts.
“She lied? Why?”
Does she not realize how wrong and horrible that was? Does she not know how much pain she caused? Just looking at Tuck’s face right now is heartbreaking.
“She wanted to trick you into marriage, for what? Your money?”
“No, not money. Her family is well-off, and even if they weren’t, she’s a prosecuting attorney. She makes plenty.” He sighs heavily and looks out past the trees. “She didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t want to raise the baby by herself and, apparently, her ex isn’t a good guy. She believed our chance meeting at the bar right around the time she got pregnant was more than a coincidence—she saw it as a sign. It was as if Fate was giving us a second chance and her the opportunity to right the mistake she felt she had made when she broke up with me.”
I’m quiet for a minute. Angry.
“It’s not okay. What she did was wrong.” My voice is starting to shake.
“I know, believe me. I’ve been through so many emotions this past thirty-six hours and anger was a prominent one. But try not to be angry with her. She didn’t know what she was taking away from me until she saw me with you and your family at the hospital, and now she’s trying to make it right.
“The papers are signed. I made a lot of money when I sold my house, but she isn’t asking for anything. We have no shared assets to split. So if a judge agrees the marriage is voidable, it should go through quickly. If not, we’ll start divorce proceedings.”
“So...it’s over? Just like that?”
“Yes. I spent all day yesterday packing and moving out.”
I still can’t believe what he’s telling me. It was a lie. A lie that almost ruined our lives. Then I remember when she told me at the hospital that she loved him. And I get it. Tuck is her Wes.
I think about Ali and how desperate and alone she must have felt when she found out she was pregnant in order to lie about it.
And now she’s all alone again.
I get the feeling her family isn’t very supportive and my instincts are to help her.
“Maybe we can help Ali. I happen to know someone looking for a place to stay and a new job who would make a perfect live-in manny. Does she like cats?”
Tuck smiles, liking the idea too. “I don’t know. But, speaking of needing a new job—I quit mine.”
“Oh my god, are you serious?”
He nods with nervous laughter. “I have no place to live, no job, and no clue what the fuck I’m doing. But I’m sitting here in front of the girl of my dreams and I know if I’m with her, none of that matters.”
He wipes a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I hadn’t even noticed it—I’m too busy smiling so wide my face hurts. Tuck’s lips quirk up, showing his dimple, and I lean in.
He rushes in, eager, and our mouths meet. The kiss is warm, soft, needy, perfect. I wrap my arms around his neck, I want to be closer. He scoops me up into his lap, never breaking the kiss and holding me around the waist. I melt into him. Everything else disappears. The world could burst into neon flames all around us and we wouldn’t even notice. I have Tuck and I’m never letting him go again.
He deepens the kiss and I am lost in the taste of him, the feel of his tongue, his scent. His large hands curl around my hips and slide up my back possessively. His erection is growing beneath me and I rock against him, rubbing exactly where my ache and need for him are blooming between my thighs.
A low noise reverberates from his chest as he pulls his lips awa
y from mine, panting. “You have a bed in there?”
“Nope,” I say, grinding on him harder, smiling when I remember neither of us has had sex for months.
His eyes roll back. “Damn. You have walls right? You want to be fucked up against a wall?”
“Mmm hmm.” So much.
He stands as I cling to him, legs still wrapped around his waist and he carries me toward the front door.
“Tuck, wait—”
He halts, the pulse in his neck is as fast as the beating in my chest. I place my hands on either side of his face. I’m not wasting another second of my time with him.
“Tucker Lee Collison, will you marry me?”
His head tilts to the right, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t you think that’s a little fast?”
I shake my head no.
He bites his lip, trying to control his huge grin as he pulls something small out of his pocket.
I burst at the sight of it. The beautiful antique ring I saw in Tuck’s drawer.
My ring.
He holds it up between us.
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rae has always been a creator. She has degrees in Architecture and Interior Design but also loves to draw, paint, bake, and, of course, write. A hopeless romantic, she’s been married to her high school sweetheart for ten years. Together they have three children and live in the Pacific Northwest.
For more info and a complete list of books, visit http://www.raekennedyauthor.com
TO BE YOUR LAST
CHAPTER 1
My sister is stunning. Walking down the aisle with our grizzly bear of a father, her slender arm wrapped in his, all eyes are on her. Even my dad, who should be looking ahead, can’t help but beam down at her. Unshed tears glisten in his eyes and the apples of his cheeks protrude from his thick, red beard in a big grin that crinkles his features.
The lace and beads of her simple, white column dress shimmer in the sunlight. Tendrils of blonde hair soften the edges of her face while the rest of her long, blonde hair is braided into a knot at the nape of her neck. The setting sun bathes her in warm light and she is glowing. Everything from her bright blue eyes to her megawatt smile is radiant. Perfect.
And now she is marrying the perfect guy, and together they will have the perfect life. They will have gorgeous children and live in their beautiful, newly renovated mansion where he will work from home and coach basketball on the weekends and she’ll be an elementary school teacher. Everything about them—perfect.
Many people might say I’m perfect too. I'm just as blonde, blue-eyed, and bubbly as my sister—maybe more so. A cheerleader. Popular. Straight-A student. And that was all true—when I was in high school.
Since returning home from my first year at the university last week, everything has been so hectic and everyone so focused on Court’s wedding that they haven’t taken much notice of me. But that will all change tomorrow. Tomorrow, everyone will finally find out how much of a failure I, Gracie Gallagher, truly am.
* * *
The moon is a bright white spotlight and stars are just starting to dot the expansive navy sky. A hazy green glow beyond the distant hills is all that lingers from the forgotten sun. The night air is warm but the breeze that washes through my thin peach chiffon bridesmaid dress is cool. It ruffles the little cap sleeves, creating goosebumps on my bare shoulders reminding me that though it’s the end of May, summer is not quite here yet.
My stomach grumbles, finally surrendering to hunger. I haven’t had much of an appetite these last few weeks.
I walk across my parents’ backyard. The lush, green expanse of lawn sloping gently toward the festivities. People are gathered in groups. Some standing chatting, laughing, yelling over cups of beer and champagne glasses. Others sitting at tables, eating dinner by the flickering light of the tiny votive candles in the centerpieces.
The tables are scattered around the yard, surrounding the stage and dancefloor in the center which is brightly lit by thousands of string lights crisscrossing above head. Each strand painstakingly put up by my three older brothers yesterday. It took them all day, a case of beer, and only one almost-fist fight. Impressive, really.
I make my way to the food table—it’s next to the dance floor, directly across from the stage. I peruse the buffet. My mom and I made all of the food. Planning, shopping, prepping, and cooking it all in our century-old, tiny farmhouse kitchen. Beef short ribs, brisket, glazed carrots, potato salad, corn on the cob, giant slices of watermelon, and buttery cornbread muffins. It all looks wonderful but nothing sounds good to eat. Maybe I’ll just wait for cake. The bride’s cake is white angel’s food with a lemon glaze and the groom’s cake is a chocolate pound cake covered in thick dark chocolate ganache and white chocolate shavings. Definitely going for the groom’s cake.
“How is everybody doing tonight?”
I turn toward the voice—it belongs to a guy walking across the stage carrying a mic and a guitar. Mom had made a comment about the band Court and Tuck decided to go with being “unconventional” but looking at this guy, I don’t see it.
He’s in a black suit, black tie, white shirt. Average height and build. His brown hair is curly and tousled back out of his eyes in a carefree sort of way. Like he just rolled out of bed and ran his fingers through it. He has big brown eyes and even a little dimple in his chin. His face has a sweet, boyish charm to it, though he’s probably in his mid to late twenties. He’s cute.
He waves out to the guests and flashes a big white smile. He’s really cute, actually.
“Are you ready to have some fun?”
A couple people hoot from their seats and the guy on stage points them out and winks as he continues. Other guys in the same black suits come on stage and take their places but I’m focused on bed-head guy and his amazing smile.
“We are Wicked Road and weddings aren’t our normal gig, but we’re friends of the Best Man and are excited to entertain you and celebrate love.” He slings the bright red guitar over his shoulder and runs his fingers through his disheveled hair. His curls look like they’d feel nice and soft between my fingers. Wow. Chill out, Gracie. “I’d like you all to welcome, for their first official dance as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Tucker and Courtney Collison.”
Everyone claps as my sister and her new husband step onto the dance floor hand-in-hand. All eyes are on them as the music begins to play. It starts slow, with a simple baseline and rhythmic guitar. It’s a familiar tune but I can’t quite place it.
Court is statuesque as she wraps her arms around Tuck’s broad shoulders and he beams down at her, whispering something in her ear that puts a dazzling smile on her face.
Then the drums start in, low and then hard. I dig the beat. I glance to the stage and whoa. The drummer’s arms are a blur of bright color. He’s not wearing a jacket, the sleeves of his white dress shirt are smashed up revealing arms covered in tattoos in brilliant shades of red, orange, and green. His face is squinted in concentration, a neon yellow mohawk on top of his head. Okay, maybe this is what my mom meant by “unconventional?”
The man standing front and center at the mic has his head bowed to the ground. I assume he’s the singer but he hasn’t started singing yet and I can’t see his face. He sways slightly to the melody.
Just beyond him is the bassist. He’s in the same black suit and he has the same dark brown eyes as the guitarist. But while the guitarist seems to have a partial smile on his face while he plays, the bassist wears a scowl. He has the same brown hair, but his is shorter and slicked back. He even ha
s the same chin dimple. The bassist, however, has a metal piercing above that chin dimple, another one in his septum, and in the bridge of his nose. Their faces are so similar, yet different. Brothers, maybe?
A deep, smooth voice pours into the air, overwhelming everything else. Chills immediately prickle down the back of my neck and raise goosebumps on my arms.
I snap back to the front man as he sings a cover of Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time. The tone of his voice is unique and haunting. It’s beautiful and just, wow. I want to close my eyes and listen to him sing, concentrate on the steadiness and clarity, the easiness with which he changes pitch, but I can’t look away from him.
He's in the black suit, skinny black tie. His hands hold the mic stand, black tattoos swirl out from his jacket cuffs, covering the backs of his hands to the knuckles. More black tattoos twist out from his crisp white collar on the sides of his neck, disappearing behind his ears.
Big, black gauges are in his lobes. His hair is also black and cut very short. His eyes are shadowed under heavy eyebrows, almost menacing. He has a square jaw and a square nose. His lips are pouty and pink and ohmygod so pretty.
He lifts his head and he looks out beyond the dance floor, which is now full of guests slow dancing. His eyes are the most amazing shade of royal blue I’ve ever seen, surrounded by thick, black eyelashes. They are...mesmerizing. Hypnotic.
My eyes are locked on his and it is like he is looking right into my soul.
Is he...is he looking at me?
Yes. Yes, he is staring directly at me.
And I’m staring right back. I should look way, right? Act like I’m not caught in a gooey trance watching him.
But it’s like he’s singing to me. Only me. Each line, word, note, is meant just for me to hear. An invisible connection. There’s an undercurrent of melancholy in his voice. And desire. Need.
“Oh there you are Gracie Lou!” Mom walks up to where I’m perched against the buffet table and I jump up, quickly tearing my gaze away from the singer and his blue eyes.