Chapter 7
Tuck
I doubt she’d admit it, even to herself. But beneath the free-spirited, colorful facade, Penelope believes in rules. In absolutes. Not shades of gray—black and white. Right or wrong. Nothing in between.
Penelope is all about saving the world, one good deed at a time. She’ll go out of her way to recycle, buy secondhand, ride her bike instead of driving—like she can tip the scales just by making the right choices.
It’s admirable, but not anything I can buy into seriously. Because I’m a realist.
Just like the fashion industry’s sustainability narrative. Every other top brand brags about using dead stock—those piles of leftover fabric hoarded by middlemen from overproduction, printing errors, or missed deadlines. They claim they’re saving it from landfill.
Please. That fabric’s never getting buried; it’s too valuable. Using it lets companies dodge safety standards on new materials and avoid paying for actual eco-fabrics. Polyester isn’t such a vile synthetic once you slap “reclaimed ” on the label.
Penelope believes in the good she’s doing. There are no cracks in her conviction. And maybe that’s what gets me—how she sees things so clearly, so purely, when all I see are the loopholes.
Because there is no truth. Only perspective . Debating taught me that in spades—to tune into the experiences of others to make a strong point.
Like the time I had to argue against the patriarchy.
I’m not so arrogant to claim I understand the female experience. But structurally? The math is simple. Men hold more power, so they make the rules—which align with their needs. So, if men gave birth, the world would look different.
Paid parental leave? Unlimited. Sanitary products, birth control, formula, childcare? Free and accessible. Every public space would have plush breastfeeding hubs with flat screens and refreshments.
It’s not radical, it’s just the way life is—those who own the narrative get to make the rules. And those who make the rules— win .
And winning is important to me. I’ve always been a bit of an asshole like that. I never saw honor in losing. If I could shape the game, I would. I do .
Which is how I came to break Pen’s nose.
She doesn’t know about the fallout of that incident because her mother swore me to secrecy. And I can definitely be a prick sometimes, but I’m still a man of my word.
Except circumstances have changed. Pen’s mom is dead. It doesn’t exactly release me from my promise, but I figure her reasons for secrecy are well past. And why leave Penelope in agony, thinking she wasn’t loved?
The whiskey is exactly where Pen said it would be—the kitchen’s uppermost shelf, in a ceramic vase. I grab it and pour us both a generous nip. Then I sink onto the sofa beside her, feeling sure that sharing what I know is the right move. Because Pen’s memories are cut and dried. She sees all the bad, almost none of the good. And the way that extends to believing her mother didn’t love her? That cuts deep.
“She didn’t,” Pen insists again, her voice ragged, resigned. “She wasn’t a terrible mother. She was practical. And she did what was necessary. But never truly loved me. I don’t know what you could possibly say to change that. I’ve been sitting here trying to think of one time, just one, where she actually showed it. And I can’t.”
“That’s not true,” I assert, turning my body to face hers, angling my arm over the back of the sofa. “I know for a fact your mom loved you. Fiercely.”
Pen lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head.
“Yes, I do.” I reach forward, tracing my finger down the bridge of her perfectly straight nose.
I stop at the thin, faint scar above her upper lip.
“This is the evidence. You remember how it happened?”
“Of course.” She smirks, just a little. “The WWE finals. Brady—sorry, ‘Johnny Nitro’—was out. It was ‘Lita’ versus ‘Punk’. And you said: “Let’s make the trampoline the ring.”
I nod. “Exactly.”
It’s true—and I’m ready to admit to everything right now if it stops Pen’s heart-wrenching tears.
“But not only that—I came up with some stupid rule to make things harder for you. I said you couldn’t do your ‘finisher’ unless you took an elbow drop from me first.”
Pen’s eyes narrow. “Hmm, I kind of remember that…”
I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah, I wanted to win so bad, I didn’t think about what could go wrong. You jumped at the wrong angle, and I…my elbow…” I gesture toward her face. “I clipped you, and you hit the metal frame face-first.”
Penelope blinks, her hand instinctively grazing her nose.
“Your mom came running from next door like she had a sixth sense.” I grimace at the memory. “She didn’t even look at me, just got you sitting up, tilting your head, making me go grab a bag of frozen peas.”
Penelope stares blankly, then shakes her head, disappointed. “It’s nice of you to try, Tuck. But I never said she was neglectful. That’s like Mothering 101. Of course, she came to my aid and took me to the ER. It doesn’t mean—”
“Hang on,” I interrupt. “That’s not the part you need to hear.”
Pen angles her head, hopeful.
“A week or so later, she came to meet my parents after dinner,” I share. “I listened in from the stairs, but then they explained to me later anyway.”
“Explained what?” Pen frowns.
“Someone reported your black eye and got child services involved. And your mom was terrified. She was so desperate to protect you, Pen. She broke down, saying she couldn’t lose you. That you were everything to her. You were her life.”
Pen’s dark eyes widen, rims tinged red. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. Because days later, we had to go to where she worked, the lawyer’s office in Newcombe, to give statements. Since my parents were your teachers and neighbors, they were considered important witnesses. And I had to explain exactly what happened; how you got injured.”
I pause, searching her face. “I know you don’t feel like you have a lot of happy memories of her. But I’m telling you, Pen, she loved you. If you’d seen her that day, you’d know it too.”
Pen sets her glass down on the coffee table before burying her head in her hands.
“God, I had no idea what she was going through. When I was younger, I knew too much—every fight, every argument about Dad’s affairs, his drinking, spending the rent money. I couldn’t escape it. But when we moved here, everything changed. Mom kept it all to herself.”
I lean forward, rubbing Pen’s hunched shoulders. She turns to look at me, her eyes glistening.
“How come you never told me that?”
“She asked me not to, Pen. And as an adult, I get why she was so scared. Think about it. The years with your dad—the instability, always being on the road. Maybe there were earlier reports of neglect, maybe that’s why you moved so much. Maybe that’s why she finally left him. To protect you.”
Pen wipes her eyes and exhales sharply.
“There’s more,” I say. “Not long after that, she pulled me aside for a serious talk about respecting girls. What that meant. What it really meant. I was so embarrassed, I didn’t even jerk off for a month after. Felt like she could see every dirty thought I ever had about you.”
Pen’s head jerks up, eyes wide. “ Whaaaat ?! She did that?! Wait, what dirty thoughts?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Not doing this.”
“Oh, come on.” She folds her arms. “My mother just died. You’re trying to comfort me. You cannot stop because you’re a little embarrassed.”
I groan. “You were there. You know what happened.”
“Remind me, Tuck.”
“Nah—”
“Tuck.” She leans in. “Tell me.”
I sigh. “Fine. The WWE moves didn’t stop after your broken nose. I mean, for a while they did, while you were recovering, living off soup and ice cream. But once you were healed, we started up again.”
Pen’s smirk deepens, like she knows exactly where this is going.
“And yes— I encouraged you to practice moves with me because it turned me on. And don’t lie, Pen. You knew. The evidence was pretty damn clear. And that’s how we ended up kissing for the first time.”
“And then you started dating Cathy Roberts,” she says flatly, drilling me with her eyes.
“Only because you didn’t want to be my girlfriend! You swore me to secrecy.”
“Well, I wasn’t supposed to have a boyfriend until I was sixteen. Mom would’ve flipped.” She huffs. “But boy, did she make sure I knew about protection. Got that lecture at thirteen. ‘Don’t end up like me, ruin your life, blah, blah.’” She shakes her head. “No wonder I felt unwanted.”
“I think it was her way of protecting you. And I can vouch, you knew your stuff. You sure came prepared the night — ” I meet her gaze. “The night you demanded I take your virginity.”
“Let the record show that was after you and Cathy broke up.”
“Yeah, because you were all like: ‘Did you do it with her? Do you know how?’” I mimic a high-pitched girl’s voice.
“I wanted someone experienced. Is that so wrong?” She counters.
“You snuck into my bedroom with a mountain of condoms and demanded to know my full ‘intercourse credentials ’ beforehand.”
A smile tugs at Pen’s lips. “It wasn’t bad for my first time. Actually, it was pretty good.”
“Is that why you keep coming back for more, Pen?”
She slumps back on the couch, locking eyes with me, her dark gaze stirring something in my chest. “Like you never instigate it? You never show up on my doorstep with condoms in your wallet, hoping to get laid? You treat me like I’m a sure thing, Tuck. Should I feel used?” She gloats.
“Huh. If anyone’s getting used here, it’s me,” I say, testing the waters.
“Oh, please.” Her voice is low and mocking, doing something to me it shouldn’t. “I’d love to hear you explain that, Tuck.”
“Well…” I bide my time, considering. “You’ve always been like that. Kept whatever this is between us in the background. Why do you think we’ve never actually given it a real shot? To see if we could work?”
Her gaze intensifies, steady but guarded, like she’s calculating her next move in a game she doesn’t even want to play. For a long moment, there’s no laugh, no comeback—just silence.
Then, with precision, she slices through the tension with a peel of high-pitched laughter.
“You’re unbelievable. Us ? Together? Seriously Tuck—great sex can’t make up for total incompatibility!”
“Opposites attract—it’s a well-known thing, Pen.” I keep my tone casual like I’m not putting everything on the line here.
“Tuck, this isn’t like opposing forces that somehow complement each other—like dark chocolate and beer…or stilettos and cargo shorts. Us as a couple would be a terrible combination—more like pineapple on pizza, white sneakers with jeans, or tequila shots before a joint. It’s just…wrong!”
“Chocolate and beer are not a good combination, Pen.” I grimace.
“See what I mean? We can’t even agree on simple truths!” She throws her hands up dramatically. “In what reality could an actual relationship work when we’re always disagreeing? Plus, we’re both catastrophically bad at long-term stuff. Why would you even consider gambling what we do have?”
“And what exactly do we have?” I fold my arms.
“You’re my much-loved, frenemy with benefits, who just cheered me up immeasurably. And for that, thank you. Seriously, thank you. Now…” She springs to her feet, brushing the conversation aside like lint off her sleeve. “Should we go see your parents? Your mom’s been amazing with all the arrangements at the funeral home. I really need to thank her.”
She’s already moving, her energy suddenly bright and unyielding, as if she hadn’t just ripped through the heart of my question and left it in pieces on the floor.
And I sit silenced. Still feeling the sting of her deflection, trying to regroup.
Because coming here wasn’t some noble decision—I had to. The idea of staying away felt unbearable. All because Stella’s comments about what Pen really means to me have been ricocheting around my head like a rogue pinball. No off switch. No escape.
Thoughts that hijacked my sleep, wrecked my concentration, chewed through all my carefully laid plans. Thoughts that gave me no choice—I had to take it seriously. Had to at least consider the possibility that this thing between us isn’t just about stolen moments and sarcastic banter.
Maybe, just maybe, it’s more. And maybe I’ve been an idiot who’s late to figure that out.
Meanwhile, Pen simply batted it away—a clean, decisive backhand.
So it’s on me to come up with a different approach.
The clock’s ticking.
And if I can’t change the strategy, I’ve already lost the game.