“You’re worth speeding for,” he said and hung up before I could argue.
By the time we returned to my apartment, the sky had shifted into a dusky gray-blue, and the city felt quieter than usual, like even the noise knew I wasn’t in the mood.
Tucker shoved my ass into the shower the second we got back, insisting that it would make me feel better.
He wasn’t wrong. The hot water did ease the knot between my shoulders, though it didn’t quite reach the one in my chest. Steam curled around me as I stood under the spray, letting the water beat against the back of my neck like it might wash the indecision away. My forehead rested against the cool tile, my eyes closed, chest tight. I could still hear Tucker’s voice from earlier—teasing, warm, steady—and it made my gut twist tighter.
I needed to tell him about the offer. I knew that. But saying it out loud meant acknowledging what it could mean for us. And I wasn’t sure if I was ready to find out what would happen after that.
By the time I emerged from the bathroom thirty minutes later, the scent of garlic and melted cheese drifted in from the kitchen. I dried off, pulled on a T-shirt and sweats, and padded barefoot into the other room.
Tucker was plating dinner like it was something he did every night—barefoot, shirtless, one dish towel slung over his bare shoulder like he worked the line at a bistro.
A guy could get used to this.
“That smells incredible,” I said.
He looked up and grinned. “I know you eat vegan-ish, but I also know that cheese—along with showers—cures all wounds, so I made eggplant parmesan with a cashew béchamel. Deal with it.”
My chest tightened—not from stress this time, but from something warmer, more dangerous.
“You didn’t have to do all this.”
“Of course I did.” He set the plates down on my dining table set for two. “You had an off day, and nobody wants to cook dinner when they’ve had an off day. Besides, I owe you for the bubble bath.”
I sat down across from him, trying to find something clever to say, but all I could manage was, “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
We ate in the quiet comfort that only came when someone actually gave a damn. I hadn’t realized how long it had been since someone had made me dinner without expecting anything.
Halfway through the meal, which tasted as delicious as it smelled, Tucker looked over at me. “You gonna tell me what happened today?”
My fork clanked against the plate harder than before. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it yet.”
He nodded. “Is there anything I can do?”
I swallowed my pride and tilted my head up, enough to meet his concerned gaze. “Believe me, you’ve already done enough.”
“Okay,” he said gently. “I just want you to know that I’m here if you want to talk.”
I studied him for a moment—barefoot in my dining room, hair still damp from his rushed escape out of my bathtub, eyes steady and patient. Tucker had this way of giving without asking for anything in return. Maybe that was why the guilt pressed so hard against my ribs.
He deserved more than silence. He deserved the truth.
I took a breath, dragging my fingers through my hair. “I don’t have the best relationship with my dad,” I started, staring down at the half-empty plate in front of me.
“I thought this might have been a work—”
“No, today was a work thing, but there’s more to it.” Tucker was quiet, letting me talk. “My dad has always had this . . . idea of who I’m supposed to be, what I’m supposed to do and write, and for as long as I can remember, every time I hit a milestone, he just moves the goalposts.”
Great. I had taken to using football metaphors with a baseball player.
“When I got my job with thePress, he told me not to get comfortable, that I would never make a name for myself doing sports recaps.When I got promoted to head sportswriter, it was, ‘Anyone can do color commentary, Brock. You should be chasingrealjournalism.’ And now, I’m being offered an editing job—bigger paper, more money—and all I can think is . . . even if I take it, it still won’t be enough for him.”
“You ever tell him that?”
I snorted. “You don’t tell my dad anything. He’s the kind of man who says things like ‘tough love builds character’ and means it.”
Tucker nodded slowly. “Sounds exhausting.”
