Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I know you didn’t. It’s all good or it will be when she’s gone. I can stop hiding in my office and driving out to Jesup to go to the fucking gym.”
Tucker’s words felt like a dull blade sawing through my insides. Each pass mangling flesh instead of slicing clean.
I knew when I woke up with a hangover from hell I should’ve stayed in bed and worked from my hotel room.
Three drinks with Carter and two more alone at the hotel bar to get the courage to call Tucker had been three too many.
And I probably would’ve stayed in bed if Shannon hadn’t called to ask if I’d seen the seminar cancellation and what my thoughts were on a secondary plan. Since I didn’t know anything about the cancellation until Shannon had told me, I didn’t have a secondary plan or thoughts on how I was going to get an invite to a retreat, or better yet, the compound.
“Good, you’re here,” Carter said from behind me, and like the eavesdropper I was, I flinched at his much too loud voice.
I had yet to come up with a practical solution—say like sprint past Carter and exit stage left or right or however the hell that stupid saying went. Perhaps turn and smile and pretend I hadn’t been listening in on Tucker’s private conversation. Fake being lost and looking for the restroom might’ve worked, too, but I didn’t get the chance to do anything before Tucker came to the door and caught me.
“Um, yeah, just got here.”
Tucker narrowed his eyes at my lie.
Shit .
“And you thought you’d creep in my doorway?”
Ass. Hole .
“I wasn’t creeping. I was walking down the hall.”
Tucker looked to his left where the hall ended about fifteen feet from his office door, making his point without words.
“To see if you were in your office,” I rushed to add, which was the truth, just not all of it. “Shannon called me.”
“Dylan and Nick are waiting in the conference room,” Carter thankfully rejoined.
I took that as my cue to make a hasty exit.
The five steps I’d successfully made were halted when Tucker called my name.
“Yeah?” I asked, looking over my shoulder—something I wish I hadn’t done. Some of the anger had ebbed from his features, yet enough remained to express his irritation I’d heard something he didn’t want me to hear. He just didn’t know how much I’d heard.
It’s all good or it will be when she’s gone.
I hadn’t heard a lot but I’d heard enough.
And what I’d heard meant it was time to pivot. We’d lost our chance to meet Mackenzie at the seminar. A blessing in disguise. I could now move on to a plan that did not involve Tucker.
“Tucker?” I prompted.
“Nothing.” He shook his head and dipped back into his office.
A few minutes later I was in the conference room with a much-needed cup of coffee in hand. Normally this would’ve helped my mood tremendously. Unfortunately, I’d learned in real time that nothing, not even a fantastic cup of joe, eased the pain of learning the man you’ve loved for a really long time was officially done with you. Making matters worse, knowing it was your fault he hated you was altogether a different kind of pain. It was agony. Tear your soul out of your body torture.
It was good I was leaving.
If nothing else, I could give Tucker that—what he said he wanted.
It’s all good or it will be when she’s gone.
It was time to make my exit.
I pushed away from the wall near the coffee setup I’d been leaning against, vaguely listening to Carter and Jason discussing Nick’s profile, thinking I was happy I had a copy because it was going to be put to good use when I found a way to get some face time with Mackenzie. I was also thinking about Shannon’s update on what Frank had found in Tennessee. Part of that update was her ruminating her disapproval of my hopefully soon-to-be-ex partner.
Greg had made several phone calls to Shannon, none of them happy, all of them detailing Frank’s lack of professionalism and Greg’s serious doubts about Frank’s continued employment at the ATF. Unfortunately, as with any government agency it wasn’t easy to fire someone without first jumping through hoops. One could hope—so that’s what I was doing, hoping Frank got canned or transferred and I wouldn’t have to put up with him for much longer. But Frank—or more than likely—Greg, had made some progress.
“Sorry to interrupt.” All eyes came to me, including Tucker’s, momentarily making me forget what I was going to say. But when Tucker shifted to cross his arms over his chest, I remembered—I was leaving, giving him what he wanted. “I need to head out.”
“Head out?” Tucker challenged.
I wasn’t about to tell him I was going to the hotel to pack my shit, then book a flight to Tennessee, but I had to tell him something.
So I did what I’d been doing and lied through my teeth.
“I have some calls to make.” Not a lie. “And files I need to grab.”
Tucker held my gaze, not buying my lame excuse for leaving. Any other time, I would’ve had a plausible explanation. Normally I was quick on the fly, but right then staring into his gray eyes, I didn’t have it in me. There was nothing left.
It’s all good or it will be when she’s gone.
I did that to him, to us, to myself.
I made Tucker, my Tucker, hate me.
My gaze swept the rest of the room and without another word, I left.
It was a shit thing to do. Dylan, Nick, Carter, Jason, and Tucker had put time and effort into this case. I owed them a thank you, a show of appreciation, something. I’d let Shannon handle that. She was good at putting out fires, she’d just never had to put out one of mine.
My phone rang as soon as I was in my rental.
I ignored it.
It rang again as I was clearing out the bathroom, tossing my toiletries into my suitcase without care, just wanting to get everything packed. I ignored it then, too.
I ignored the tears that were threatening to break free. I ignored the stabbing pain in my chest, the way my heart hurt, the way my lungs burned. Everything.
It’s all good or it will be when she’s gone.
The banging on my hotel door stole my attention but the “Open the door, Liza” had my back snapping straight.
Shit .
“Liza, open the fucking door!” Tucker demanded.
I didn’t open the door. I didn’t move from my position by the bed, suitcase open, clothes and shoes haphazardly thrown in, no mind to how everything would fit. I traveled a lot, I knew how to pack a bag to maximize space. Rolled, folded, tucked just right, I could fit a week’s worth of clothes into a carry-on. Thrown in, the case wasn’t going to zip.
I should’ve left the clothes and shoes behind. I should’ve gone straight to the airport. A few pairs of jeans, slacks, and face wash wasn’t worth seeing Tucker again. Not even my new thunder-gray suede wedges were worth the confrontation.
I didn’t open the door but that didn’t mean it didn’t swing open and bang against the wall as Tucker prowled in.
His gaze went to the bed, his face went hard, and his rumbly, jagged voice hit me like a smack.
“I see you’re doing what you do best.” Tucker’s eyes snapped to mine. “Or second best seeing as you lie like a pro.”
That hurt but I didn’t tell him that.
“Why are you here?”
“Why am I here?” he parroted. “Are you insane?”
Yes.
Evidence was suggesting I was indeed crazy.
When I didn’t answer he went on.
“So this is it.” He slashed an arm wide, indicating the bed. “History repeating itself.”
I held his eyes and my tongue, too afraid if I spoke I wouldn’t be able to keep the tears at bay.
For his part, the anger sparked and flared to life in a way that shocked me. I’d seen him angry; as it turned out, I’d never seen him furious. And seeing it, feeling it crowd the room, take on a life of its own until that fury made it hard to breathe, I stepped back.
“Say something,” he bit out.
I stayed quiet.
“Say. Something!” he exploded.
The ferocity of it devoured me. The unwelcomed side effect of being clobbered by rage and emotion was that it loosened my tongue.
“I’m giving you what you want!” I shouted back.
It was his turn to stay mute.
It’s all good or it will be when she’s gone.
“You want me gone,” I reminded him. “So I’m leaving.”
“You’re leaving.”
Not a question, a scary statement, and it was that because his voice rumbling those words made it so.
“The seminar’s a bust. I have no reason to be here anymore, so yes, Tucker, I’m leaving.”
“Ghosting me again. Lied to me, my team, and slunk out of TC on some bullshit errand.”
He was right, I had lied—repeatedly. To him. To myself. To good men who didn’t deserve it. I didn’t think it’d win me any points reminding him I’d tried to tell him the truth last night and he wanted no part of it.
He’d shut me down and shut me out.
Something I’d been on the receiving end of my whole life, something I never thought I’d get from Tucker. Knowing I’d done it to myself didn’t make it sting any less.
I was exactly who my father accused me of being—a coward.
“I tried?—”
“You tried,” he spat.
“Yes, Tucker. I called you last night to talk. You made it painfully clear you had no interest.”
“Right. You called me last night drunk off your ass to tell me you lied. This after I tried repeatedly to get you to talk. And your response to that, to me being a dick to you one time is to cut and run. You don’t even have the guts to confront me, to ask a fucking question, to call me out. You just bail. Again . The first time you did this shit to me, you got away with it. This time, I’m not letting you off that easy. This time, you’re gonna tell me what the fuck your problem is.”
My problem?
I didn’t have a problem—I had numerous problems. I’d done exactly what my father had predicted and made a mess of my life. I wasn’t even strong enough to stop reaching for his approval, hoping one day I’d finally earn the great Craig Monroe’s love and respect. Deep down I knew that day would never come, yet I still tried, only to get smacked back and told to leave him to his work, or his dinners with clients, or his vacations, or whatever else it was that my father did with his time that was more important than me.
“You want me gone. I’m giving you what you want.”
“Christ!” he roared. “What I want is for you to stop playing this fucking game and talk to me.”
At this point I would tell him anything to get him to leave. Absolutely anything to stop the pain. To stop my heart from hurting. If I thought my father telling me I was a waste of time hurt—knowing I’d pushed Tucker to the breaking point was excruciating. The only way to stop the agony was for him to walk away from me so I could run away.
Again.
Always running from my problems. I’d had years to build mental stop signs, then more years learning how to abide by the rules, to never roll through one.
But right then, with the need to escape Tucker, I sped through those posted warnings.
“I couldn’t handle it, you turning me down, the way you did it. So I ran. Didn’t even wait until morning. As soon as the door closed behind me, I packed. Checked into a different hotel across town, waited until my team was ready to roll out, and met up with them. At first I read your texts and listened to your voice mails because if that was all I was going to have of you I’d take it. Then I read and listened to them to punish myself for being such a coward. For not saying goodbye, for not accepting all we’d ever be was friends. I told myself I was doing the right thing. I told myself I needed to let you go so I could find a way to get over you and move on with my life. I told myself I had to do that because one day you’d find a woman who would be yours, and since you were my one, the man I knew no one could or would ever come close to being, I knew when you found her it would kill me. So I ran.”
In the face of his fury I went on.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. So obviously I didn’t handle things all that great.” Understatement . “I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. You pushed and I lashed out.”
Tucker’s eyes narrowed.
“It was wrong… I was wrong. Then in my panic I lied and that was wrong, too. The more I lied, the farther I got pushed into a corner, and things snowballed. And now I’ve ruined everything. You hate me and I have to live with that, but what makes this worse is, you have to live with it, too. Everything we had, the memory of that is tarnished. So, yes, I’m running. Again. Because I don’t know how to deal with the mess I’ve made. I don’t know what to do with what I’m feeling. I just know it feels bad and I want it to stop.”
He had something to say to that.
“Did you stop to think that the way to make it stop would be to…” He leaned forward, lifted his hand, and jabbed a finger at his chest. “Talk to me.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, I tried that two years ago. I put myself out there and it backfired in a big way. When rejection hits, I hide or run or both. That’s me. That’s who I learned to be.”
That’s just the way he is, Liza.
My mother’s words, words she’d said many, many times. A statement of fact that all these years later I still didn’t understand. A statement that was nothing more than an excuse to blow off my father’s behavior filled my head. The justification never helped, never made me feel any better, never made his rejection hurt any less until I learned to hide from it.
“Rejection?” he asked with less rage but no less irritation.
Oh no .
I’d said enough. Besides, he knew what he’d done. He’d done it as gently as he could but he still did it, and he knew it, so there was no reason to go over it.
When she’s gone.
Why wasn’t he leaving so I could get gone?