Chapter Ten
CHARLES
Idon’t pay much attention to the news. Not to be that guy, but it stresses me out so much.
Most of my news comes via word of mouth rather than the internet these days.
But on Monday at physical therapy, it’s hard to avoid everyone talking about the approaching hurricane.
I’m in the middle of strengthening exercises to help with knee rotation and stability when my therapist winces.
“Did I do the movement wrong?” I ask Eric, looking down at my knee and expecting to feel pain. But all is well, as has been the case lately.
Eric shakes his head, clearly distracted. “Nah, dude. Sorry. I just saw the hurricane upgrade on the television.”
I glance behind me at the television hanging in the busy workout room.
Sure enough, the news has upgraded it to a four, when it was supposed to be a mild two when it rounded the coast. I guess I’ll need to get some things ready this evening.
I leave physical therapy with a lack of pep in my step, my knee always aching a little extra after putting it through the wringer.
Between the beach runs and physical therapy, my knee is saying take it easy, but I’ve never known how to take anything easy in my life.
You can take the boy off the farm, but not the farm out of the boy it appears.
Made me a great football player but a lousy patient, or so most of my doctors have told me over the years.
I immediately let Cupcake out into the backyard when I get home. Arms crossed over my chest, I stare out into the cloud-free horizon. It’s always amazed me how it can be the most beautiful day ever one day, then absolutely devastating the next.
I keep the news on as I get ready to cook an early dinner. I don’t know much about hurricanes, but I know keeping a stocked fridge is kind of stupid if the power might go out. So, I’ll need to use up some of the meat in my freezer just in case to avoid spoiling.
A knock at the door interrupts me just as I’m about to get going, and I have no idea who it could be.
But I can’t hold back the grin that splits my face when I open the door to find Tucker, all pink-hair glory of him.
My smile instantly fades when I notice the severe look on his face.
He looks angry, and I don’t particularly like that look aimed at me.
“You aren’t answering your phone.”
“Oh. I have Do Not Disturb on. Did something happen?”
Tucker blinks slowly. “Your house isn’t prepped for the hurricane that’s hitting tomorrow.”
“Prepped?”
Tucker tiredly buries his head in his hands, makes a frustrated noise, then wordlessly pushes past me into the house.
The sky is turning pink and purple from sunset, the water glistening out beyond the dunes.
Tucker’s hair kind of matches the sunset, pink and happy.
I miss his blond curls, but the pink is really starting to grow on me.
It makes his bright blue eyes even brighter, makes the flush on his cheeks somehow even more maroon.
“You’ve got to bring all your outdoor furniture in, close the shutters.”
“Oh.”
“You’ve never been through a hurricane?”
“No,” I answer honestly, making my way through the living room to stand beside him. Hands on my hips, I turn to look at him, but he’s steadfastly avoiding my gaze, a muscle in his jaw ticcing. “Don’t they evacuate if it’s bad enough?”
“Eh, the eye isn’t coming for us, just the bands. There’s a voluntary evacuation order. My parents are leaving.”
“What about you?”
Tucker turns to look at me now, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What about me?”
“Are you going with them?”
Tucker shakes his head furiously. “Nah. I’ll either stay at the house or go to River’s.”
“Stay with me.”
Tucker’s gaze lifts to mine, a question in them that I’m prepared to answer, but I’ll save it for another time. Something about Tucker says runner, and I don’t have it in me to endure him running, not yet.
“Okay,” Tucker agrees, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
I bite my lip and tuck my hands into the pockets of my sweatpants. “So, what do we do?”
Tucker blows another raspberry, his cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk’s. So fucking cute. “Let’s shore up the outside, then close the shutters. Where’s Cupcake?”
At the sound of her name, Cupcake sits up from where she’d been curled up in her dog bed in front of the fireplace. Her tag rattles as she slowly makes her way over, tongue hanging out of her mouth at the sight of Tucker.
Today he’s dressed in a lime-green cardigan, black skinny jeans, and all-black Chuck Taylors.
He’s adorable compared to my sweatpants and ratty shirt that’s seen much better days.
I watch as he dips down to carefully pet Cupcake’s flank as if he’s still a little afraid of her, but not enough to stop himself from giving her some well-deserved love.
Just when I’m about to say something, Cupcake sticks her nose against his cheek, huffs, then licks a stripe up his face.
Instead of reacting with annoyance, Tucker just giggles. Straight up giggles.
I want to know everything about him, I want to spend all my time with him, I just want him.
But he’s still coming out of what sounds like a very toxic relationship, so I have to prove I’m a good guy over time.
Let him really see me. I need to earn his trust, then spend years proving I’ll never break it.
Tucker presses a kiss to Cupcake’s nose, which she seems to love because her tail beats an electric current against the floor. He stands, hands on his hips, as if he’s on a mission from God.
“Well,” Tucker says. “Let’s get to business.”
“As long as we can cook dinner after.”
Tucker raises one eyebrow, making my stomach flutter. “Sure enough, Captain.”
Oh, I kind of like that.
We move all the outdoor furniture into the garage, close up the back shutters, and even move any plotted plants inside.
It takes us an hour or so, and by the end we’re both covered in a light sheen of sweat, Tucker having taken off his cardigan a long time ago.
I grab us both cold waters, pressing his water against his arm.
He takes it with a grateful grin before chugging it in a few quick moments.
I drink my water slower, doing my best to not watch him out of the corner of my eye.
His shirt is a little tight, showing off the slight softness of his stomach, the soft muscle of his pecs.
I can see a slight glimpse of his tattoos through his almost see-through white T-shirt, and I wonder what the story is behind each one. Can’t hurt to ask.
“What’s your favorite tattoo?” I ask as we slowly cool down on the back porch.
Tucker makes a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. “My Ninja Turtles.”
“What! You have to show me.”
Tucker purses his lips while he scratches his jaw. “They’re part of my thigh piece.”
“Okay?”
“Well, I can’t just take my pants off.”
Oh. Right. “Do you have pictures?”
Tucker grabs his phone, scrolling through it for a bit before locating a picture.
He hands it over to me with no pretense, and I zoom in on the screen.
The ink is fresh, a little red still on the outside.
But it’s a fun fucking tattoo. All four turtles are posing with grins on their faces, two dipped down, two standing in the back, and one of them even has a piece of pizza between their teeth.
“Cool as hell,” I say as I hand his phone back to him, sad when our fingers don’t brush.
“Made me happy when I got it. My favorite is Raphael. Yours?”
“Mikey.”
Tucker snorts. “Very fitting.”
“Hey, what’s that mean?”
“Mikey is the nicest of them all.”
“And Raphael is sarcastic and sullen.”
Instead of getting irritated or mad, Tucker just sends a blinding grin my way. “That’s why he’s my favorite.”
“Of course.”
“No tattoos for you?” Tucker leans heavier against the side railing, his thighs bulging under his jeans, arms holding him up. My gaze gets stuck on his stomach for a moment before snapping back up to his confused gaze. “Charles?”
“Sorry, I… What?”
“Tattoos? You?” Tucker asks with restrained laughter in his voice.
“No, I’m scared of needles.”
“Aw, sad day.” Tucker pushes away from the side railing and turns to the beach, holding his hand up over his eyes to block out the dying light of day. “Looks so calm now. Hard to imagine this time tomorrow we’ll be getting one-hundred-mile-per-hour winds.”
“Yeah, hard to imagine.”
Tucker turns toward me with a cute frown. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing, just nervous about the storm.”
“Still want me to stay?”
“Yes. Yes, stay.”
Tucker tilts his head to the side, almost like Cupcake when she’s trying to figure out what I’m saying. I tear my gaze from him and look out at the ocean, eyes caught on the swelling waves.
“I’ll go grab some clothes, some emergency supplies too.”
“I have a whole-house generator.”
“We’ll just have to turn the lights off and light candles to pretend so you get the real hurricane experience,” Tucker says as he leaves me behind, disappearing out the front door. Cupcake comes to me in question, as if wondering if he’ll be back.
I head back inside and inspect the house to the best of my abilities.
It’s pretty clean, and everything is in order.
Same light oak floors, dark furniture, and light blue walls that make the house feel as homey as possible.
Tucker doesn’t even knock when he comes back, just strolls into the house with his guitar slung over his shoulder along with a duffel bag at his hip.
Just as I’m thinking about saying something stupid like I want to kiss you, taste your breath, know what you sound like when you toss your head back and come, my phone rings.
Of course, it’s Rafe.
“I gotta take this,” I say, not wanting Tucker to think I’m ignoring him.
He waves me off. “Go on.”
“Hey.”
“You’re not still on that island, are you?” Rafe asks, an edge of urgency in his usually neutral voice.
“Yep.”
“It’s a category four!”