As Tucker pulled up to the bunkhouse, I was already unbuckling my seatbelt, ready to throw myself from the cab, but the look in his eye stopped me dead in my tracks. I couldn’t place it, but I knew in my bones it meant I needed to hear whatever was on his mind.
But instead of saying anything, we hung there, staring at each other and breathing the same polluted air. Each second seemed to tick on longer than the last, my skin crawling with the restlessness of upsetting him the longer he stayed unwaveringly impassive. Finally, I popped the door open just enough. Just to at least ventilate the space.
“I’ll see you at dinner?” I asked, hand on the door but still not taking my eyes off the unreadable expression Tucker wore. For some reason, it felt important to ensure he’d be there; that he knew I’d learned from my mistake, and he didn’t have to run from it anymore.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, but then he nodded his head. “Tallie tell you the schedule?”
“Breakfast from six-thirty to seven-thirty, no exceptions. Dinner from seven to eight. Lunch optional, but typically from noon to twelve-thirty.” I smiled, remembering the stern way Tallie had tried to insist she wouldn’t feed any stragglers, but something told me she wouldn’t let anyone go hungry.
Tucker gave a quick nod of approval. “Right. See you at dinner, Jackson.”
Heat pulsed through my chest. I gave my own quick nod of understanding before hopping out of the truck. I told myself I wouldn’t watch him pull away. Wouldn’t bother with waving him off. Wouldn’t wait till the dust had settled before going into the bunkhouse. It was childish. He was my boss, and there wasn’t anything I could do to fix the hurt I caused except listening to him and following through.
But damn if he didn’t wave back. And damn if it didn’t make my stomach flutter.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TUCKER
Ever since Raleigh died, it felt like there was a hole in my chest. It was perfectly his size, and it would never heal. Day after day, my body tried to close the gaping wound left in my heart, but there was no way. In the beginning, I’d coped by holding onto anything and everything that held any sense of him—no matter how small. His clothes, the pillow that still smelled like him, every birthday card, and mundane feeding schedule he’d ever written.
I’d pack all of them into the cavity inside me, hoping to staunch the bleeding. To hopefully ease the pain.
But then I learned it never went away.
Time healed all wounds was a bullshit sentiment spoon-fed to those looking for hope in a sea of agony. It wasn’t based in reality. Time made the weight of your loss easier to carry because your muscles became accustomed to it. Time dulled the ache because your nerves were desensitized.
But the hurt? The pain? It was still there. Encapsulated and forever memorialized.
Nothing made it go away. You just learned to live with it.
Normally when I spoke about Raleigh, especially with peoplewho never knew him, it tugged at the edges of my wound and reminded me how raw I still was. Any tentative scabs I had would crack open, and they’d bleed and ooze while I struggled to hold myself together. After, I’d slink away to slowly mend the damage that’d been done knowing it’d never fix the problem.
But talking with Jackson hadn’t felt that way. Maybe it was because he’d so thoroughly mangled my heart earlier, or maybe it was because I’d still been numb to the pain after my outburst on the kitchen floor. Either way, the trickle of nostalgia had felt welcome for the first time. It hadn’t been buried under layers of anguish and devastation, which allowed for me to finally bask in the warmth of those early memories once again.
To feel them with something other than the jagged edges of grief.
And even when Jackson hadn’t said anything at all, he’d spoken volumes.
I learned early on that my loss was a burden to more than just myself. It was insidious and grew roots that traveled. I watched the way it sucked the life from the people around me until they finally tore the weeds of my misery out. When they were able to move on, I was left alone, planted in a never-ending nightmare.
But Jackson? He’d sat with me. He’d held space for Raleigh and me.
Sure, he’d fumbled at the beginning, trying to soothe it over with social niceties, but in the end, he’d treated those memories with the same care you would a newborn animal—gentle and reverent, knowing they meant something to someone else. Cradled to your chest to protect them from the world they now found themselves in.
His hands were kind, and they’d been an anchor. At first, I’d expected that hand on my shoulder to drag me down into the depths of my sorrow. But instead, its heat had seeped into me and settled somewhere in the spaces between my ribs. It fed a tinder in my mind that slowly burned at the marred edges of those once pleasant memories, and what was left behind was a feeling closer to what they’d been originally.
Not quite the same, but close.
When we’d separated, it felt like maybe my burden was just a little lighter than before. Like whatever muscles were holding up my heart were just a little stronger, and that took some pressure off my lungs. I could finally take a breath without feeling every ounce of the weight three years put on me.
So when it started to pile back on from the distance he held, I almost wanted to cry. When Jackson held me at arm’s length after learning of Raleigh’s death, it was the first time I worried how it affected someone else.
Was he uncomfortable? Did he look at me differently now that he knew?
He’d asked questions, but was he just trying to be polite? Had I shared too much?
Uncertainty wasn’t a feeling I was used to having when it came to Raleigh. It swirled thick in my gut, making bile rise high, and all that kept going through my head as I drove him back to the bunkhouse was I needed to apologize—to ask for forgiveness for the waymy lossmade him feel. But that was crap.
