Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
TUCKER
N ew Hope, South Carolina.
Population 6,129.
I know every soul represented in that number. Not a single one of them drives the shiny red Mercedes that just went speeding by.
Seventy-five in a forty-five.
I flick on my lights and press on the gas, sending my cruiser flying past the city limit sign and the godawful billboard that sits directly behind it; the one declaring New Hope home to country music superstar, Scarlett Kincaid.
It wouldn’t be a big deal if this were actually her home. It’s not. Scarlett may have been born here, but her fancy boots haven’t landed on this soil in over a decade.
All it took was one call from a hotshot music executive to send her packing before the ink was dry on her high school diploma. Scarlett flew from this town fast enough to leave our heads spinning. Before any of us could process what had happened, little Scarlett Kincaid—the same girl who used to build forts with me in my living room while my mama made us mac ‘n’ cheese—had a hit single sitting at number one on the Billboard charts.
She went from homecoming queen and most likely to marry a rich spouse in our senior yearbook, to the queen of country music.
The country loves her. Hell, the whole world loves her.
New Hope…not so much. And it’s high time that fucking sign comes down.
But first, I have to deal with this speed demon in the sexy red car.
I sound the sirens, and the car pulls to the side of the road and waits while I walk to the driver’s side window. It’s still up, the heavy tint preventing me from seeing inside. With a hand on my holster—because you never know what you’re going to walk up on—I knock on the window.
The dark glass lowers.
My first thought: this woman is absolutely gorgeous . Long, dark hair. Pouty lips. And a tiny pink dress. Her eyes are covered by oversized aviators, but I’m sure they’re as pretty as the rest of her.
My second thought: what crazy excuse is she going to come up with to try and get out of this ticket? It never ceases to amaze me the things women are willing to do to keep from getting into trouble. I’ve been offered everything from a blowjob to a pay-off to marriage.
“Do you know why I pulled you over today, ma’am?”
“Tucker?” The woman smiles, then pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head. And that’s when I see the brown eyes I’ve spent more than a decade trying to forget. “Tucker Andrews, is that you?”
I step back and square my shoulders. “You can call me Officer Andrews. Do you know why I pulled you over today, ma’am?”
“Tucker.” The woman laughs and shakes her head. “It’s me, Scarlett.”
At the mention of her name, I’m met with an onslaught of flashbacks. Running hand and hand through the neighborhood with her, laughing and playing, only to have her ignore me the second we got to school. The popular crowd versus the nerds who desperately tried to fit in. She the former, me the latter, and the pain it caused every time she acted as though she didn’t know my name. For years, I pretended it didn’t bother me because I knew that when I got home, Scarlett would meet me at the fence, and the awkwardness from the day would dissipate as though it never happened.
But it did. Day after day after day. I was a glutton for punishment. There was nothing in the world I loved more than Scarlett Kincaid, and it didn’t matter how badly she hurt me, I was always willing to forgive her.
Her smile and laugh might’ve gotten to me in middle school and high school, but I refuse to let it affect me now.
“I know who you are.”
Her smile falters. “Don’t sound so excited to see me.”
“Should I be? Twelve years ago, you got into your car, drove out of town, and never came back. Not a phone call. Not one single letter. Not a fucking word.” She opens her mouth, probably to try and put me in my place, but I hold up a hand, stopping her. “It’s funny that you showed up today because I was just thinking about you.”
That has her perking up in her seat. “You were?”
I don’t miss the way her eyes roam over my uniformed body. It’s something I’ve gotten used to over the years. All of my friends filled out around their eighteenth birthday. It took me until twenty to ditch the scrawny nerd appearance and start to look more like my dad and less like…well, my mom.
The pimples disappeared, I ditched the shaggy hair, packed on about fifty pounds of muscle, added the police uniform, and the rest is history. And there’s something about a man in uniform that women can’t seem to resist.
That’s not me being cocky, it’s just the God’s honest truth.
“Yup.” I nod, offering her a fake smile. “I was looking at that billboard back there, the one with your face on it, wondering how hard I’d have to work to convince the city council to take it down.”
“Take it down?” She shakes her head, clearly confused. “Why on earth would you want to do that?”
Resting a hand on her doorframe, I lean down. “Where’s home to you?”
She furrows her brow but answers the question. “Nashville.”
Point made. “That sign back there says this is your home, and since you’ve just stated it’s not, I see no reason to keep it up. We should clear the space, allow for some other advertising to go up and draw people into the town.” And also because how in the hell am I supposed to forget how potent your smile is when I see it every goddamn day?
Confusion and anger flash behind her eyes, and for about a millisecond, I regret my tone. Until she opens her mouth. “What did I do to piss you off?”
“Sweetheart, that list is so long, we’d never get through it.”
She opens her mouth again, and for a second, I think she’s going to fire off a comeback. Instead, she snaps her lips together and looks out the front windshield. “Are we done here, officer?”
“Not quite. I still have to issue you a ticket. License and registration, please.”
Her head snaps toward me. “Are you serious? We’re three miles from town. There isn’t another car in sight.”
“Doesn’t matter. Law’s the law, and you broke it.”
Scarlett rolls her eyes. It’s a gesture I often hate. But for some reason, when she does it, I find my dick getting hard, and that pisses me the fuck off.
“You were going seventy-five in a forty-five.”
“Come on, Tucker,” she pouts, and I know she’s about to start with the plea to get out of her fine. “If I remember correctly, we broke that law every night for a week straight when you turned sixteen.”
“And we got pulled over three times.”
Her red lips tilt up. “But not once did we get a ticket.”
“Because Officer Perry was a sick fuck and allowed the little bit of cleavage you flashed him to get us off the hook.”
Scarlett’s eyes flare to life. I’ve seen that look a thousand times, which is why I shake my head. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I wasn’t.”
Yeah, right. She thought about it, and I couldn’t say that I wouldn’t have enjoyed the hell out of it. “You could’ve killed someone.”
“Tucker—”
“Or yourself. License and registration. I won’t ask again,” I say with an air of authority.
“For some reason, I don’t think you’d care,” she mumbles as she digs around in her purse and glove box. When she retrieves what she’s looking for, she slaps the cards into my hand. “You’re not really going to give me a ticket, are you?”
“This isn’t L.A. or Nashville or New York, or wherever the hell you normally are. Your name and your money won’t get you out of this.”
“God,” she growls, tossing her hands into the air. “I wasn’t using my name or money to try and get out of anything. Why do people keep saying that?”
Instead of answering, I pat the side of her car. “Sit tight. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“I have places to be,” she yells, sticking her head out the window.
“Don’t we all, sweetheart?”
She huffs, and I can’t help but laugh as I climb into my car. I pull up my computer, punch in a few numbers, and take a whole hell of a lot longer to go through the process of issuing a ticket than it would normally take—just to piss her off.
When the clock hits five, indicating the end of my shift, I slide from the car.
“Slow down next time,” I say, handing her the ticket along with her cards.
She rips them from my hand, tosses them on the front seat, and rolls up the window without a word.
I watch her pull onto the road before climbing into my car and following behind her. Not because she’s done something wrong or because I’m trying to keep an eye on her, but because I’m certain she’s heading to her dad’s house, and I happen to live next door.
I’m sure that’ll tick her off.
I grin, enjoying myself more than I have in years.
It only takes us about ten minutes to wind our way through town. Scarlett pulls into the driveway of her childhood home, and since my brother’s car is in mine, I park on the street.
My eyes are drawn to her toned legs as she climbs out of the car.
Scarlett fucking Kincaid.
If she weren’t standing in front of me giving me the stink-eye, I’d swear I was seeing things.
“You didn’t need to follow me home,” she says, with a hand on her hip. “In case you didn’t notice, I went the speed limit.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t following you.”
“Really?” She lifts a well-manicured eyebrow and crosses her arms over her chest.
She’s as untouchable now as the day she left.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” I say, leaning a hip against the back of my car.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” Fighting a grin, I shake my head and walk up my driveway toward the house at the same time my brother steps onto the front porch.
“I don’t have time for this shit. I’m going in to see my dad.” She grabs something from her car, locks it, and heads for the front door.
“You’re heading in the wrong direction.”
She stops, her purse clenched tightly in her fist. “Excuse me?”
“Your dad’s not here. He had a stroke yesterday.”
“Yes, I know. Why do you think I’m here?”
I want nothing more than to make some offhanded comment about her being so disconnected from her family and the life she left behind that she doesn’t even know where her own father is, but the thought of Rick lying in a hospital bed waiting to see his little girl stops me.
Richard Kincaid is one of the best men I know, and it’s not his fault that his daughter is a selfish brat.
“He’s at New Hope General. He’s getting released after the doctor makes evening rounds.”
Scarlett lifts her eyes as though she’s shocked that I know more about her dad’s whereabouts than she does. Or maybe it’s disappointment. Who the hell knows?
“How do you know he’s getting released?”
“Lexi called me.”
“Lexi,” she laughs. “Since when do you call her Lexi ? You used to hate my sister.”
“You’ve been gone a long time. A lot has changed.” Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I turn toward my house. “Welcome home, princess.”