And that was unacceptable.
5
Chapter Five
Five Days Before Christmas
Tucker had survived the rest of the night with Kenzie. They’d played their respective parts like band members who could predict each other without even a word.
That was two days ago. Today they were going to have lunch at The Ivy. Jessica and Leah had picked the location to be sure Tucker and Kenzie were seen by the right photographers.
He sat up, giving up on sleep. The blanket he’d tossed across his lap last night bunched at his waist. He’d shipped his bed back to Colorado weeks ago. As a certified rocker, sleeping on the couch shouldn’t have been playing such havoc on his back. How many nights had he passed out on a random sofa in a random penthouse?
His spine cracked and twinged in response.
He wanted his damn bed back.
What he really needed was to be at his ranch, not surrounded by the corrugated cardboard boxes he’d started packing weeks ago. He’d kept the bare minimum in his high-rise Los Angeles apartment. Usually, he put up at least a tree for Christmas. Not this year.
A slow inventory of the few items left in his studio apartment: his guitar, sofa, kitchen shit. He wouldn’t miss the floor-to-ceiling windows—not when his ranch had the same thing, with a view he preferred. Wouldn’t miss access to every possible thing a guy could want within walking distance—not when his ranch had everything he needed. And he sure as hell wouldn’t miss sharing so much space with so many other people—not when he’d be living in a town with a population of 693. Soon to be 694.
His phone buzzed from the coffee table. He grabbed it, checked it, clicked the green call button, and held it to his ear.
“Dad.” He sat to attention. His father never called. That duty was delegated to his mother.
“I just fixed your mother a kale smoothie.” His father’s ranch-hardened voice sounded like he’d gulped a mouthful of gravel. “It’s green.”
Tucker scrubbed a hand over his face. “Do I want to know why you’re making Mom smoothies?”
“Because she and Betsy started a running club. It’s icy at the buttcrack of dawn.” A pause. “Both of ’em fell on the ice. Twisted the shit out of her ankle.”
Tucker’s stomach began the slow sinking he knew wouldn’t end well. His mother didn’t run. She didn’t drink healthy stuff. And she didn’t have his father call when she could do it herself. “Why the hell is she running and drinking kale?”
“Saw you on the television. Then the reporters started calling.” There it was. Damn. She’d been chatting with the reporters. “She got wind you’re bringing home that actress.”
That actress. He couldn’t help the film running through his thoughts. The way Kenzie had looked in that dress. The way her mouth had fit so perfectly against his. The way she’d tasted like peach lip gloss. “I’m not—”
“Son.” His dad paused. Tucker could almost see him pinching the bridge of his nose. Not willing to tell his wife no. But also not buying into the drippings that came along with Tucker’s fame.
“Dad, I’m not bringing her home. We don’t give specifics about our plans because, if we do, there’s a camera shoved in our face everywhere we go.”
“I don’t get involved in your life. But your mother hasn’t been this excited about anything in a long while. You ran off to sing your songs, we supported you. I’ve never asked for anything from your career. But if you can get that actress to come visit her, you’ll have made her decade.”
No. Nuh-uh. No way. Bringing Kenzie home to the folks was the opposite of keeping it light. “Dad—”
“First thing tomorrow, I’m driving an hour to town to stock up on more goddamned kale. Swear to heaven, you don’t bring that girl to meet your mother, and I bought all this green shit for nothing, there will be tears on Christmas. Do you want tears on Christmas?”
Tucker did not want tears on Christmas. He also had no claim on Kenzie or her Christmas whereabouts.
“I don’t expect we’ll be together much longer.”
“Well, that would break your mama’s heart.”
“I figured you’d want me and Kenzie to break up so you can stop making vegetable drinks.”
“Seeing how your mama’s eyes light at the possibility of you bringing her home? Well, I’ll feed her all the vegetable juice she wants.”
This was bad.
