My throat tightens.“I can’t.”
“I know.”That’s all he says.
But it’s enough.Because he does know.And I have a feeling he’s been outside for nights watching and waiting.One thing I’ve learned with this man he reads people well.He doesn’t invade until necessary and then he goes in without hesitation just like the first night we met.Something that once would have scared me now gives me comfort because I know I’m safe with him.He crosses the room and pulls me into him, one arm wrapping around my shoulders, the other coming up to cradle the back of my head.I go.
No hesitation.No pride.No pretending I’ve got this handled.
“I keep thinking,” My voice breaks.“What if I hadn’t called?What if you hadn’t rallied the boys or whatever you call it?”
“She’s home,” he states firmly.“Safe.”
“But what if?—”
“No.”The word cuts through everything.
I pull back slightly, looking up at him.“No what?”
“No what ifs,” he state.“We deal with what is.And what is, is she is here.With you.”
My chest tightens.I nod.He brushes his thumb under my eye, catching a tear I didn’t realize had fallen.
“I’m not leaving tonight.”
The relief that floods me is immediate.Overwhelming.“Okay,” I whisper.
That becomes our new normal.Tucker stays.Every night.Not always in my bed.Sometimes on the couch.Sometimes stretched out in the chair in the living room like a guard dog who refuses to fully relax.
But he’s there and not on the porch.And because he’s here—I sleep.
Not deeply at first.Not without waking up in a panic and reaching for Quinn.But I sleep.
And slowly, over days that turn into weeks, the sharp edge of fear dulls.Quinn starts laughing again.
Really laughing.Not the forced, careful kind she did the first few days after everything happened.
The real kind.The loud, uninhibited kind that fills the house and makes it feel alive again.
She talks about school.About friends.About a new game she learned at recess.
And sometimes—she talks about Tucker.“Mellow says motorcycles can go faster than cheetahs if they try really hard.”
I look at him over her head.He doesn’t even flinch.
“That’s not how that works,” I share.
He shrugs.“She believes me.And the right tune up backed by enough balls makes it true.”
“She’s five.”
“Exactly.”
I roll my eyes.But I’m smiling.Because this feels like something I never thought I’d have.
Peace.
It’s not perfect.It’s not untouched by what happened.But it’s real.And Tucker is at the center of it in a way I don’t even try to fight anymore.
He makes dinner sometimes.Fixes things around the house without asking.Walks Quinn to the door in the mornings and watches until we disappear down the driveway.
