Chapter Six #4
Tucker smiles, eyes lost in a memory again. “Yeah, we keep in touch a bit. He’d asked me to join him on the most recent tour, but Anthony, well.” Tucker stops himself and rolls his lips into his mouth. I try to wait him out, but nothing ever comes.
“There will be more tours.”
“Maybe,” Tucker hesitantly agrees. He sits back in his chair, tangling his fingers over his stomach, and eyes me curiously. “Do you have anything for dessert?”
“I bought some ice cream. Double-checked it’s celiac safe.”
Tucker tilts his head curiously. “What flavor?”
“Vanilla. Bought some cookies to crumble into it.”
“Now you’re speaking my language.”
I stand to take the plates into the kitchen, but Tucker holds on to his and follows me to the sink.
We wash our plates separately, then I load them into the dishwasher while Tucker pokes around.
He finds two bowls and two spoons, setting them down on the island with an expectant air.
He’s cute. I return to the island with the ice cream and cookies, letting Tucker inspect them before fixing our desserts.
Once they pass approval, I scoop us some ice cream and crumble some cookies onto mine.
Tucker copies me and crumbles his cookies into the ice cream with a childish grin that makes my heart skip a beat.
“S’good,” Tucker says around a mouthful of ice cream.
I just nod instead of replying. A crack of thunder fills the air and Cupcake howls like she usually does.
Although she’s not terrified of storms, she believes she could fight them and win.
Tucker smiles toward the sound and licks his spoon.
Jesus. This is going to be difficult. He stands and heads toward the sink.
“Let’s play some guitar.” Tucker fills his bowl with water in the sink while looking at me over his shoulder. “Did you practice?”
“I did. I can play all of ‘American Pie’ now and even tried some strumming.”
“Overachiever,” Tucker mumbles under his breath, but loud enough so I can clearly hear.
“Hey! I’m a good student.”
“Sure.”
Tucker’s muscles flex under his shirt as he walks toward the living room, guitar case in his hand.
Another flash of lightning, followed quickly by a crack.
The storm must be right over us now. The rain pelts the roof with heavy droplets, the sound echoing around the house, until Tucker strums his guitar and the sound overwhelms me.
I distantly recognize the song as a deep Nolan Hastings cut.
One of my favorite songs from his Beautiful Things album.
He’d made it in the midst of his depression, the words full of fear and anxiety.
Tucker hums along but I know the words, so I sing them, surprising Tucker enough so he pauses before picking back up again.
Flowers on my ribs
Rot in my brain
Not sure I’ll make it out again
Even with you on my mind
I’ve seen so many places
Heard so many voices
But your eyes are the best sight
Best sight I’ve ever seen
Won’t you love me always
Won’t you love me true
I only ever want to be seen, seen by you
Tucker finishes the song without my joining in, and we mutually agree through silence to not address the song at all.
I tug out my guitar and play through “American Pie” a couple of times, doing my best to strum.
Tucker watches on like the patient teacher he is and leans forward once I’m done, fingers wrapping around my right wrist to show me the right way to strum.
“Strumming patterns come to you as you listen to the song. You’ll know, but ‘American Pie’ has one of the easiest strumming patterns ever.
Just a basic up and down, pretty fast. Try it like this,” Tucker says, moving my wrist to get the right strumming pattern.
It takes me a few tries, but I kind of get it by the end.
Mastering strumming while playing chords will take some time.
Probably easier for me than others considering my athletic nature though. “There you go. See? Not so hard.”
“Says the guitarist who played with Nolan Hastings.”
Tucker hums thoughtfully. “Once you get this down, we can move toward integrating some harder chords into the rotation. Bar chords will be a bit of a challenge.”
“I’ll try really hard,” I promise with a teasing smile.
Tucker clucks his tongue. “Maybe one day we’ll be able to play together.”
“That’d be fun.”
“No ‘Freebird’ though. I draw the line with that one.”
“Understood.”
Tucker packs up his guitar, stands, and throws his guitar bag over his shoulder, only remembering he’s wearing my clothes when he makes it to the front door.
He aims a look at me over his shoulder that would make weaker men go to war but just makes me wish to tug him close and feel his breath on my neck.
“I’ll give you the clothes back tomorrow.”
“It’s still raining,” I say as Tucker opens the door and steps outside. The rain lightens when he steps outside as if by magic, as if maybe he knew. “Well, I’ll be.”
Tucker waves at me over his shoulder before disappearing into the dark.
Cupcake stands at the door barking, and I wonder if Tucker is looking back at us in the dark.
A bonfire tomorrow. I’m not sure I’ve ever been to one, but I’m doing lots of things I’ve never done now.
All of my new life experiences seem to revolve around Tucker James, and I’m not too upset about it.