Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
TUCKER
“ H ey, sweetheart. How was your sleepover?” I grab Chloe’s bag from her hand and wave to Jessica’s dad as he pulls out of the driveway.
“We had fun.”
“What’d you do?”
She shrugs. “Stuff.”
“Stuff. That’s it? What kind of stuff?”
“Just…girl stuff.”
Okay. This conversation is going nowhere fast. “What do you want to do today?”
“Can I play on my iPad?”
“Twenty minutes. It’s nice outside, and you’re not going to waste your Saturday staring at a screen.”
“None of my friends’ parents limit their electronic time.”
“You’ll thank me later.”
“Probably not.” Chloe grabs her iPad and curls up in the corner of the couch.
My little girl is growing up so fast. Long gone are the days of her following me around the house, begging to play dolls or have a tea party. There’s no more water gun fights or digging in the mud. These days, she’s all about her friends and clothes and makeup—which I refuse to let her wear. Maybe when she’s twenty we’ll talk about it, but eleven is way too young, and I don’t give a shit what other girls in her class are doing.
What I wouldn’t give to rewind time and relive the earlier days of her childhood. The ones where she didn’t back-talk or roll her eyes. The ones where I was her hero and could do no wrong.
Everyone told me to enjoy it while it lasted. At the time, I thought they were crazy. How in the hell was I supposed to enjoy fatherhood? It was never-ending: the sleepless nights, crying, bottles, and an endless number of poopy diapers. Oftentimes, I walked through life like a zombie, praying that I’d get more than four or five hours of sleep. So, yeah, at the time, I wasn’t enjoying parenthood.
But I was also a single father working a full-time job and taking care of a house entirely by myself. It was exhausting. Still is, albeit a little easier without a tiny rug rat attached to my ankle.
Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and I see now what everyone was talking about.
“Hey, Chlo?”
She doesn’t even look up. “Yeah?”
“Do you wanna shoot some hoops?”
“Nah.”
“We could have a water gun fight. I’ve got those old Super Soakers in the garage.”
“I’m good.”
“Afraid you’ll lose to your old man?”
Chloe finally glances up. She looks so much like her mother that I sometimes have to blink to remind myself that it’s not Valerie sitting there. “Dad, I just wanna watch this YouTube video.”
Damn. “Okay. I’m going to be outside.”
“Okay, Dad.”
I’m just finishing up changing the oil in my truck when I hear a muted curse. I grab a towel from my workbench and walk outside in time to see Scarlett kick her dad’s lawnmower.
“Stupid piece of shit.”
“Everything okay over there?”
Scarlett looks up. She blows a chunk of hair out of her eyes and waves me off. “Fine. Everything’s fine.”
This is going to be entertaining. I grab a lawn chair from the garage and park my ass in the middle of the driveway.
When Scarlett sees me sitting there, she stops fussing with the mower and glares at me. “What’re you doing?”
“Watching you.”
“This isn’t a fucking show, Tucker. Go back to whatever it is you were doing.”
“I’m done doing what I was doing. Now, I’m watching you.”
My words prompt her to flip me the bird. “I hate you, Tucker Andrews.”
“The feeling is quite mutual,” I lie.
Because I don’t hate Scarlett Kincaid. Not one bit. I sure as hell wish I did because it would make things a lot easier. But after lying in bed awake half the night thinking about her, I realized one thing; despite all the anger I’ve carried around, my feelings for her haven’t changed. She’s still the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. She still drives me absolutely crazy. And she knows how to press every button I have. I’m utterly and completely smitten by the girl, attitude and all.
And for the first time in twelve years, I find myself smiling for no reason.
“What the hell are you smilin’ at?” she huffs.
“You. You make me smile.”
That has her standing up straight. “Are you drunk?”
“Nope.”
“High?”
I laugh. “I wish.”
Scarlett just shakes her head and goes back to the lawnmower. I could tell her that it’s not starting because it’s out of gas, but what would be the fun in that? I’m actually kind of glad I forgot to fill it back up after I mowed Rick’s lawn two weeks ago.
It won’t hurt her to figure something like that out on her own. I bet Scarlett hasn’t mowed a lawn since she was seventeen. If I had to guess, I’d say there’s a lot of things she hasn’t done, like go grocery shopping, change a light bulb, clean out a drain, or plunge a toilet.
Yeah, I’m totally not telling her it’s out of gas.
I kick my legs out in front of me and relax in my chair, content to sit there and watch her figure out what the problem is.
She pushes on the choke several times and tries to start it. Nothing. She flips the lawnmower over and meticulously cleans out every blade of grass from underneath and then tries to start it again. Nothing. I choke back a laugh when she digs out the manual and tries to troubleshoot it that way. Nothing.
After thirty minutes of failed attempts, Scarlett puts her hands on her hips and marches toward me.
“Well, are you going to help me or not?”
“I’ve just been waiting for you to ask.”
She gives me a well look.
“What’s the magic word?”
She growls. “You drive me insane.”
I grin. “Nope, that’s not it. Let me give you a hint. It’s one word. Chloe has been using it since she was two, so I’m confident you can, too.”
“Please,” she says between gritted teeth.
I push up from my chair and walk across the yard. “I would love to help you out, Scarlett. Why did you wait so long to ask?”
She grumbles something as she follows behind me. I grab a gas can from the garage, fill up the lawnmower, and start it on the first pull.
“Voila.”
Scarlett’s jaw drops. “That’s it? It just needed gas?”
“Yup.”
“Why do I feel like you knew that all along?”
“Because I did.”
“Dad!”
Scarlett and I turn at the sound of Chloe’s voice. She’s standing at my back door, looking toward the garage.
“Over here, Chlo,” I holler.
Chloe swivels around and darts across the yard barefoot then skids to a halt a few feet in front of us. “Can I please have more time on the iPad? I promise I won’t— whoa . You’re…” Chloe blinks several times. Her eyes dart to mine and then back to Scarlett. “I…I can’t believe it…You’re…”
“Chloe.” I swat her arm. “You’re being rude.”
“Dad, that’s Scarlett Kincaid.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“ The Scarlett Kincaid.”
“I’m sorry about Chloe,” I whisper to Scarlett, embarrassed. “She’s normally not like this.”
“It’s okay.” Scarlett wipes her hand off on her shirt and holds it out to Chloe. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Chloe’s jaw hangs open as she clasps her hand around Scarlett’s. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I’m a huge fan. Like a huge fan. My dad has told me so much about you.”
Scarlett lifts a brow and looks at me. “He has?”
“She means your dad.”
“No, I don’t.” Chloe shakes her head, drops Scarlett’s hand, and looks at me. “You told me all about her.” She turns her attention back on Scarlett. “He said you were his best friend and that he knew you’d be a star one day. ‘She was born for it,’ isn’t that what you said, Dad?”
Scarlett’s eyes search mine, looking for the truth, and I feel my cheeks heat.
“Your dad talks about you all the time, too,” Chloe says, continuing her one-sided conversation. “He’s so proud of you. Sometimes, we just sit and listen to your music. He knows every song of yours word for word, just like me. And a few months ago, he let me play that old guitar that’s under your bed.”
Scarlett’s head whips toward Chloe, and I’m thankful for the momentary reprieve of her knowing gaze. “He still has that?”
“Oh, yeah. And it’s in perfect shape. Rick cleans it regularly and makes sure all the strings are in good condition. He’s even had it tuned a few times.”
“Why would he do that?” Scarlett asks softly, although I’m certain her words weren’t meant to be said out loud. Chloe answers anyway.
“Because he was waiting for you to come home.”
“He…what?”
“Well, he didn’t say that exactly, but that’s the vibe I got. He wanted to make sure it was ready for you when you came home.”
Scarlett blinks and looks down at the ground. There’s a long pause, and then she glances up. Her wide, brown eyes are swimming with tears. “And I never did.”
“Chloe, can you go inside and…do something?” I ask.
“Do what?”
“I don’t care. Something. Wash your hair.”
“But my hair is clean.”
“Do your homework.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“Chloe,” I snap.
She holds up her hands. “Okay, okay. I’m going.”
I wait until she’s out of earshot to turn to Scarlett. A tear trickles down her cheek, and I fight the urge to wipe it away.
“You were right.” Her voice cracks. “I was selfish. I am selfish. I left without a second thought and broke my daddy’s heart.”
“Scarlett—”
She shakes her head and swallows. “Please, don’t. Don’t try to justify my actions.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.” She brushes away the tears and looks up. “I’m gonna go in and get cleaned up.”
“Okay.”
She steps away, and I reach for the lawnmower.
“You don’t have to do that. I’ll finish it later. Just not right now. I need a minute to myself.”
“I don’t mind. Go take a shower and relax. I’ve got this.”
Her bottom lip quivers, and she nods before slipping into the house.
It only takes about twenty minutes to mow Rick’s lawn, and then another ten to weed-eat. When I’m finished, I top both tools off with gas and make sure they’re ready to use next time. When I’m stepping out of the garage, I notice Scarlett standing by her dad’s back door.
Her wet hair hangs over her shoulders. Her eyes aren’t red or puffy, but they hold a sadness that tugs at my heart.
“The yard is good for at least another two weeks.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Hey, Tucker?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you and Chloe like to come over for dinner tonight? I’m cooking.”
“You?” I fight back a grin and expect a smart-ass comment, but it never comes. Instead, Scarlett’s back stiffens, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean?—”
“Six o’clock. Come or don’t come. I don’t care either way.”
She darts back inside before I have a chance to tell her we’ll be there.
“That was amazing.” I wad up my napkin and toss it on the plate. “I’m stuffed.”
“You did a wonderful job, sweetheart,” Rick says, rubbing his belly. “And you didn’t even burn the house down.”
Scarlett chucks her napkin at her dad, and we all laugh.
“What’s for dessert?” Chloe asks.
“Chloe—”
“What? Like you weren’t thinking it.”
I give her a pointed look. She knows better than to be impolite at someone else’s dinner table.
“It’s okay. I actually have two dessert options.” Scarlett walks out of the room and returns a minute later with a dish in each hand. “We have apple pie and cherry cheesecake.”
She sets both desserts down in the middle of the table, and I groan. “Cherry cheesecake is my favorite.”
“I know.” She smiles. “That’s why I made it. And apple pie is Dad’s favorite, although I didn’t make it. Sorry, Daddy, yours is from Scooter’s.”
“I don’t care where it came from, Scarlett girl, so long as I know where it’s goin’.”
“Where’s it goin’?” Chloe asks.
Rick pats his stomach. “Right in here.”
Scarlett rolls her eyes. “He’s totally not joking. What’s your favorite dessert, Chloe?”
“Double fudge brownies.”
“Ooh. Good choice. Next time, I’ll make some.”
“Really?”
“Heck, yeah. Who doesn’t love double fudge brownies? But since I don’t have them tonight, which would you like to have?”
Chloe contemplates for all of two seconds and blurts, “Cheesecake.”
“More pie for me,” Rick says, sliding the apple pie across the table. He grabs his fork and goes to dig in.
“Dad!”
“What?”
“Aren’t you going to share?”
“Would you like a slice, sweetheart?”
“No, but we have guests.”
“Chloe already asked for cheesecake, and you know what Tucker is havin’, which means…I get the pie.”
Scarlett just shakes her head when her dad scoops out a bite and shovels it into his mouth.
We’re all laughing and talking when the front door opens. Alexis walks in with two Tupperware containers and stops when she sees us sitting around the table. Her smile falters as her eyes sweep past Scarlett, and while I understand where the animosity comes from, it pisses me off. Scarlett deserves some credit for trying, and Alexis seems unwilling to give it to her.
“What did you guys have for dinner?”
“Grilled chicken, loaded baked potatoes, and asparagus,” Chloe says, looking proud since she helped Scarlett cook.
“Tucker, you didn’t have to cook for them,” she chides.
“I didn’t. Scarlett did.”
Alexis laughs and then sobers when she realizes she’s the only one. “Wait. You’re serious?”
“As a stroke.” We all look at Rick, and he shrugs. “Too soon?”
“Way too soon. And you are talking about my sister, Scarlett, right?”
“Why do you find that so hard to believe?” Scarlett asks.
“Because you don’t cook.”
Scarlett pushes away from the table and stands up. “How do you know? You don’t even know me.”
“I know you well enough. You don’t cook. You don’t clean. You don’t come home. In fact, I don’t know what you can do other than prance around and look pretty.”
The defeated look Scarlett wore earlier is right back on her beautiful face, and I could kill Alexis for putting it there. We all sit stunned, watching the sisters stare each other down. Twelve years ago, it would’ve ended in a screaming match, but Scarlett seems to have lost that fire inside of her.
Or maybe she’s just matured more than any of us have given her credit for.
The thought rolls through my head at the same time Scarlett grabs her plate and disappears into the kitchen. I hear her put it in the sink. A few seconds later, the back door opens and closes.