Chapter 9
Tucker
Ipace across my house for the tenth time, peering out the front window to frown at my empty driveway.
Ruth and Birdie were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago, and I’m starting to get worried she’s changed her mind.
I didn’t think Mariah showing up yesterday was a big deal, but maybe she got spooked.
Saw the reality of what we would be doing and decided it wasn’t worth the hassle.
It’s the most logical assumption, but it doesn’t sit right.
I don’t know Ruth well, but she doesn’t seem like the kind of person to bail without at least telling me to go fuck myself.
Maybe not in those words, but I still think she would let me know.
If for no other reason, so I would make good on my promise to pay her regardless of her participation.
And I would. Because she’s a good mom and deserves to have a good life.
Turning away from the window, I cut another path down the main hall, passing the formal living room, office, and dining room before reaching the kitchen and breakfast room.
I pause, thinking maybe I heard the sound of an engine outside.
My hopes start to rise, until I realize it’s only the hum of my refrigerator.
So I start walking again, moving into the great room where I straighten Birdie’s toys—also for the tenth time. Tipping over and testing the new bubble machine I bought, to make doubly sure she won’t end up covered in slippery liquid again, I finally head back the way I came.
When I reach the front, Ruth’s SUV still isn’t in my driveway.
She’s twenty-two minutes late. Is that late enough for me to call? Text, maybe? I know what we're doing is fake, but I feel like we have some semblance of a friendship started. And I would definitely call to check on my friends after twenty-two minutes.
I’m digging my phone from the pocket of my jeans when it starts to ring in my hand. I flip the screen toward my face, and my stomach drops as I quickly swipe to connect the call. Pressing the speaker against my ear, I try to keep the panic out of my voice as I ask, “Ruth? Is everything okay?”
Chances are good she’s calling to tell me our little charade is over, but that nagging feeling that something’s wrong won’t leave me alone. My feet are moving toward the garage before she even replies.
When she does answer me, they move faster.
“I didn’t know who else to call.” Her words are barely a whisper, and shaky in a way I’ve never heard them.
“What’s wrong?” I’m already in my truck, punching the button to open the overhead door as I start the engine. “Where are you at?”
Her SUV isn’t new—it’s also not extremely old—but even the best cars break down. I’m mentally going over the tools I have in the back, trying to decide if I should grab anything from Toby on my way out.
But then Ruth’s tone fully registers. The hushed way she spoke. The wavering of her words. She doesn’t just sound upset.
She also sounds scared.
And that has my foot on the floor, engine revving and tires squealing as I wait the few seconds it takes for my phone to connect to the bluetooth of my truck. It feels like it takes for-fucking-ever, but Ruth’s voice finally carries through my speakers.
“I’m at my apartment.” She’s so quiet it’s hard to hear her.
“What’s going on?” The question has barely cleared my lips when a loud thudding echoes in the background. “What the fuck is that sound?”
“There’s a guy banging on my door and he won’t leave.” Her breath hitches. “I thought maybe he’d go away after a while, but he just keeps getting louder and louder, and I’m afraid Birdie’s going to start making noise and he’s going to realize we're in here.”
Something about this is off. Why would a random man stand outside Ruth’s door, attempting to beat it down long after he should have assumed no one was home? “Do you know who it is?”
“Technically…” She hesitates. “No.”
That’s a weird fucking answer if I’ve ever heard one.
“But I probably know why he’s here.” Her admission is choppy and low. One she clearly didn’t want to have to make.
I want more information. I need to know what’s going on so I can figure out how to fix it. But now is not the time to grill her. “I want you to hang up and call the police. Get someone there right—”
“No.” For the first time since she’s called, her voice is loud. “No.” She’s quiet again. “I can’t call the police about this.”
Fucking hell. What is going on? And who has she pissed off?
Ruth’s breath sounds suspiciously sharp and ragged. Like she’s crying. And it could send me into a spiral if I’m not careful. I hate when women cry. Do my best to make sure I never have to deal with it.
It reminds me of—
“He stopped knocking.” There’s a hint of hope in her voice. “I think he left.”
The grip I have on my steering wheel eases the tiniest bit. “Stay where you are. I’m getting there as fast as I can.”
It still feels like it takes fucking forever for me to reach Ruth’s apartment.
I make her stay on the phone with me the whole time, ears straining for any strange sounds in the background.
When I finally make it to her place, I pull right up into the fire lane at and park, because I don’t give a fuck. I will happily pay for the ticket.
Leaving my truck running, I jump out and race to the third floor, taking the steps two at a time. I continue to scan my surroundings, looking for any sign of the man who just scared the shit out of her. I reach her floor and gently knock. “Ruth, sweetheart? Come let me—”
My eyes land on her door, and all the air is sucked from my lungs by what I see scrawled across it.
Watch your back bitch
I’m staring at the letters, written in bold black Sharpie, as the door opens. Ruth’s skin is pale, her eyes wide and red rimmed. Her shoulders sag when she sees me, body seeming to curl in on itself.
“It’s okay.” I reach out to pull her against me, holding her tight against my chest as she gulps in shuddering breaths. “Everything is going to be okay.”
She shakes her head, face rocking against my sternum. “It’s not. He’s going to come back.”
She is right about that. Whoever was here is absolutely going to return. He left it in writing.
But everything is still going to be okay. Because Ruth and Birdie won’t be here when he does.
“Let’s go get your stuff. You’re coming to stay with me.” I don’t normally boss people around—especially women. But I’m not budging on this. Aside from the current state of her empty apartment, it’s also obviously not safe here. “You and Birdie will be more comfortable at my house.”
They’ll also be close enough I can make sure no one touches them.
Ruth’s head tips back, mouth slack as she shakes her head. “I can’t ask you to do that. You’re already—”
“First of all, you didn’t ask.” I give her as much of a smile as I can manage to soften my next words.
“I demanded.” I struggle to release her, not quite ready to let her go.
She still looks so vulnerable. “Second, we are working on a condensed timeline here. It will probably help my cause for everyone to think I’ve moved you in. ”
I honestly don’t give a shit about my cause at this point. My only concern is making sure Ruth and Birdie are safe while I figure out who the fuck has the balls to show up on a woman’s doorstep and scare the shit out of her before leaving a threat in permanent ink.
And I will figure it out. Heidi won’t take any convincing at all when I explain the situation, and it will only be a matter of time before I know whose ass I’m kicking.
I finally manage to loosen my grip so I can turn Ruth back into her apartment, strategically stepping in front of the door as I do so she won’t see the messy words scrawled out.
I know I can’t hide them from her forever, but I don’t want her getting distracted if I can help it.
I want her out of this place as fast as possible.
Luckily, since she’s moving anyway, her place is prepacked.
So while she gets Birdie together, I start grabbing the boxes marked as containing essentials, carrying them down and shoving each one in the bed of my pickup.
I’m on my fourth trip when she meets me at the threshold, the weak smile on her lips vanishing when her eyes zero in on the chipped surface of her door.
Any color she’d managed to reclaim drains from her cheeks as she pulls Birdie tighter to her chest.
“Keep moving, sweetheart.” Instead of grabbing another box, I take the diaper bag off her shoulder, leading Ruth and her daughter down to her SUV.
I stay right beside them as she buckles Birdie in and gets behind the wheel.
Once her engine is started, I point to where my truck is still idling.
“Go pull in front of me. I’ll go lock up and then I’ll follow you to my house. ”
Ruth nods as she hands over her apartment keys, lips pressed into a flat line as she closes her door and buckles up. I point at the door. “Lock it.”
She does as I say, the safety measure clicking into place.
I watch as she backs out, following behind while she gets herself positioned in front of my truck.
Once she’s in place, I quickly race up the steps one final time to secure her apartment.
Pausing in the hall, I snap a few pictures of the door and the writing, then head down to my truck.
After closing the tailgate, I get behind the wheel and dial Ruth’s number. We’re staying on the phone this whole drive, just to be safe.
She answers, and I tell her it’s time to go, angling my truck behind her SUV as she pulls out of the lot.
It’s not until we’ve pulled out onto the road that I remember what happened the first time I came here.
The guy in the expensive car who was staring at her building like he wanted to burn it down.
I can’t help but think there’s a chance he’s connected to this, but it’s yet another conversation that will have to wait.
Ruth is quiet as we drive, but I can hear Birdie in the background, babbling at the top of her lungs. It eases a little of the tension building in my shoulders. Calms a little of the agitation crawling over my skin.
When we finally pull into my driveway, I punch the opener, motioning for Ruth to go in. I’ve got a big garage with plenty of space for her little crossover. Plus, I’ll feel better knowing it’s impossible for anyone to see she’s here.
At one point that wouldn’t have been a concern. Uninvited visitors were unheard of here. Until Matt showed up and gave me yet another thing to fucking worry about.
And I’m going to worry about it. Especially when I don’t know what the fuck is really going on.
Once my truck is parked and the engine is off, I climb out, closing the door as I go. Ruth is still strangely silent as I help her get Birdie out of her seat and into the house. She pauses for just a second when her eyes land on the highchair I ordered.
There will be plenty of time to explain all my recent orders—and for me to ask the questions I have—but right now I just want to get her settled somewhere she will feel safe.
“The guest room is up here.” I carry Birdie’s diaper bag up the stairs, passing my room and the hall bath before leading Ruth into one of the spare bedrooms on the second floor.
It’s almost as big as mine, and the bathroom is just as nice, so there should be plenty of space for both of them in here.
Which is good, since it’s the only bedroom besides mine that’s furnished.
The rest are big open spaces I vacuum once every few months, but other than that, get no activity.
"Oh." Ruth steps into the room, her eyes roaming over the king-size bed and small attached seating area. "This is beautiful." She sounds shocked.
I get it. It doesn't offend me. I know I'm not exactly the kind of guy most people would expect to have a well-decorated house.
Unless they know my mother.
"Don't be too impressed. I didn't have anything to do with this room." I set the diaper bag on the surface of the refinished chest of drawers my mother found in some antique store. "My mom is the one who handled this room."
It wasn’t suspicious at the time—or maybe I was simply oblivious—but when she wanted to furnish one of my bedrooms just in case family ever wanted to stay, I didn't think anything of it. Neither did Titus, which makes me feel a little better about my own lack of awareness as far as my mother’s new obsession with fixing all of us up is concerned.
Thank goodness she started with my oldest brother. It's given me time to head her off. Make her think her job here has already been done.
Ruth lowers Birdie to the floor, pinching her lower lip between her teeth as she studies the drapes and small sofa. "I'm not sure it's a good idea for us to stay here." She shakes her head. "This isn't really a kid friendly sort of room. Everything is so expensive and nice."
"Everything is kid friendly in this house." I don't want her to think I’m the kind of person who would get his panties in a twist over a few handprints or broken items. "Nothing in here is irreplaceable, so don't worry about it." I shrug. "If something gets broken, it gets broken."
I know the opinion I have on that is a luxury. Not everyone can feel this way about their home and belongings. I'm lucky to be in a position where I can afford to replace anything Birdie might destroy.
But even if I wasn't, I would never be pissed at a kid for being a kid. Shit happens. Life is short. Childhood ends in the blink of an eye.
Sometimes long before you're ready.