Tucker

 

I pull into the driveway of a house a little more than an hour away from me and double check the address. There’s really no need, since I see Devon, one of Striking Back’s bodyguards, heading my direction. Mason called me this morning to see if I could work today. Devon has been guarding a woman and her two school aged children for a few days and needs a break so I agreed.

It seems like an easy assignment with little risk, not that I’m afraid of a little danger. It would liven up my boring little life.

“Hey, thanks for relieving me,” Devon says, shaking my hand. “Mason fill you in on the details?”

“Abusive ex-husband. Active no contact order. No violent priors,” I rattle off.

“That about covers it. He’s a drunk. He’s not a big guy, but he was abusive to her and the kids. He has also showed up at their school trying to bully his way inside, so it’s not unlikely he’d try here again.”

That’s the reason Striking Back likes to relocate the family, but the woman refused. She doesn’t want to uproot her kids, and I understand. Why should they have their lives interrupted by some asshole who can’t take no for an answer? If Mason had seen any real chance of a violent outcome here, he would’ve insisted, but the only felonies on this guy’s record are DUI charges.

“If he does, I’ll take him down and call the cops.”

“Damn straight,” Devon replies, heading to his car. “You can go on in. The lady’s name is Robin. She’s expecting you.”

“Thanks.” A thin woman with dark skin and darker eyes gives me a cautious grin as I approach her door.

“Robin? I’m Tucker. I’ll be keeping an eye on things for the night.”

“Thank you,” she replies, showing me inside. I take a quick look around the place, assuring myself everything is locked up tight.

“It’s been a few days since I heard from him and he hasn’t shown up at the school or anything,” she says. “I think he may have finally gotten the message.”

“I hope so.” I don’t want to disagree, but that’s not usually how it works. He’s probably backing off for a bit and trying to think of another way to skirt the restrictions. These entitled assholes never give up.

She peeks over my shoulder. “The school bus should be here any minute.”

Nodding, I accompany her outside.

It’s getting colder by the day now that we’ve moved into November, and an icy wind rakes across my face. A large school bus turns the corner and stops right in front of the house. I’m sure Mason has made arrangements for them to be delivered to their door instead of a nearby bus stop.

A boy who looks around seven and girl in her early teens climb off and start for the door. “Really, Mama? More security?” the girl scoffs, flipping her hair off her shoulder. “Daddy isn’t going to do anything.”

Ignoring the girl’s attitude, her mother nods to me. “This is Tucker. He’s here for the night until Devon returns tomorrow.”

“Peachy,” she mutters, slamming through the front door.

Robin looks at me. “Sorry, this has been hard on Daysha.”

“Wow, you’re big. Do you have a gun? Can I see it?” her boy asks.

Robin puts her hands on his shoulders and he steps back against her. “This is Kevin. Who knows better than to ask to see your gun.” She looks down at him. “Didn’t Mr. Devon talk to you about guns?”

“Yes,” he mumbles, looking disappointed.

“Good, now go inside and have a snack. I made brownies.”

“All right!” All his disappointment over not seeing a gun forgotten, he darts indoors.

The rest of the evening drags by. While Robin feeds the kids, helps them with their homework and gets them to bed, I pace the house, occasionally peeking out to watch the street. I’m out of my element around kids and I’m not sure what to do with myself.

Finally, they all go to bed, and I sit on the couch, watching TV with the sound low. A little after ten my phone beeps with a text from Leah.

 

Leah: Everything okay?

 

Hmm. Maybe I should’ve mentioned I’m working all night. I’m not used to having anyone who would give a shit if I don’t come home.

 

Me: Fine. Working. Won’t be home until morning.

 

For some reason, picturing her at home alone makes me nervous. It’s ridiculous. This whole thing started with her house sitting while I was gone. Why do I care now?

I spend a few minutes flipping through TV channels but there’s nothing on this late. I can’t stop thinking about Leah and I wonder if she locked the house up. The last thing I usually do at night is go around and make sure the windows and doors are locked.

Finally, I give in to the anxiety and text her again.

 

Me: Be sure to lock up and arm alarm.

 

A minute or two passes before I get a response.

 

Leah: Aw, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re worried about me.

 

This woman can be infuriating even by text.

Before I can think of how to reply, my phone beeps again.

 

Leah: Doors are locked and alarm is on. I’m letting Humper sleep inside with me. It’s cold out.

 

Humper usually sleeps inside in the winter. I forgot to tell her, so I’m glad she thought of him.

Me: Don’t let him hump my chair.

 

Leah: He has already had a romantic time with your chair. He’s now making sweet love to your pillow.

Damn dog. She might be kidding, but it’s entirely possible.

 

Me: And you just watched instead of stopping him?

 

Leah: Who am I to stand in the way of love?

 

I’m wearing a stupid smile on my face and it suddenly occurs to me what I’m doing. Why am I lying on the couch texting like a teenage girl with a crush?

She texts again.

 

 Leah: Ayda said to tell you that we’re having Thanksgiving at their house this year. So don’t make any plans.

 

Shit. I hate the holidays. The guys and their families always try to get me to join them when I’m in no mood to celebrate.

 

Me: Tell her I already have plans, but thanks.

 

Leah: Tell her yourself. What plans? Staying here and eating takeout?

 

Me: Go to bed, Leah.

 

Leah: Confession time. I’m in your tub. I couldn’t resist. It has jets.

 

Fuck. Why did she tell me that? My cock responds instantly to the picture in my head of her slim, naked body lying in my bathtub. I can’t think that way. It’s wrong for too many reasons, the least of which is that she’s Dare’s baby sister. That doesn’t keep me from picturing her bent over the edge of my tub, though, wet and slick while I plunge inside her.

When I fail to answer, she texts again.

 

Leah: You’re picturing me naked aren’t you?

 

I feel like I’ve been caught red handed when there’s no way she could actually know.

 

Me: You aren’t funny.

 

Leah: Nope, but I’m nude and soapy.

 

Fuck. Me. I have to end this now.

 

Me: Good night, Leah.

 

Leah: Killjoy.

 

Sighing, I lay my head back. Leah drives me insane sometimes with her peppy attitude and enthusiastic energy, but I’ve grown used to her. At first, I was just counting down the days, and the plan was to avoid her as much as possible, but it’s like she’s a shiny piece of metal and I’m a magnet.

I’m drawn to her sunny optimism despite my own gloomy outlook. Maybe because of it. She’s the first bright spot I’ve had in my life after a long, dark period. I’m attracted to her. I doubt there’s a man who wouldn’t be, but it’s not my desire to fuck her into next week that worries me. Lust can be fought.

No, it’s the way I think of her when I shouldn’t. The way I wait for her to join me in the living room in the evenings even though we don’t talk much. I just like having her there, typing on her laptop or reading from her tablet.

During my evening runs, my mind would always wander to the past, to everything I’ve done. The war, the fellow soldier I killed, my time in prison, and especially her; the woman whose life I ruined.

Since Leah has started running with me, I’m not so tortured by the memories. I’m listening to her laugh when she thinks she’s winning or watching the way her ponytail swishes back and forth with the beat of her feet on the dirt.

She brings me something I haven’t known in too long.

She brings me peace.

But I don’t deserve it.

And I can’t keep her.

That doesn’t keep me from thinking about her, though.

It’s after two a.m. when I think I hear something in the hallway. I haven’t heard a vehicle approach or anything, and I suspect it’s just one of the kids out of bed to go to the bathroom, but I still need to check it out.

The house is silent as I walk past Kevin’s room and the master bedroom where their mother sleeps. When I get to the end of the hall, I hear whispers from the girl’s room. Pressing my ear to the door, her words become clear.

“I miss you too, Daddy! No, she still has some big guy here. He’s in the living room.”

She’s obviously on her cell phone with her father. There is supposed to be no contact until the court date next week. I feel sorry for her. She’s too young to understand the danger posed by him. She just misses her father.

I have every intention of letting it go and just telling Mason that the guy is still trying to make contact until I hear her next statement. “Really? You’re here? Yes! Just come to my window. He won’t know you’re here.”

The motherfucker is using his kid to break in.

As quietly as possible, I let myself out the back door and creep around to the corner of the house to watch. A man strolls across the yard as if he belongs there and goes straight for Daysha’s window.

I’m a soldier. I know how to walk quietly and the guy doesn’t seem too concerned with monitoring his surroundings. I hear the window slide up. As soon as he braces his arms on the windowsill, I tackle him and he goes down like a wet sack of hair. Within a few seconds, I have him sitting with his arms above his head, his hands zip tied to the fence. Rule number one when you’re providing security, always have your gun, phone, and some zip ties.

He’s letting out a string of curses a mile long and his daughter is screaming and crying in her room while I make a quick call to nine-one-one and report the situation.

“They’re my fucking kids! This is my house! I can come home whenever I want. You aren’t a cop. I know what you’re doing here. I don’t care who she’s fucking now. You can have her. But the kids belong to me.”

I ignore his ranting, and Robin looks out of the bedroom window. She blinks, trying to comprehend the situation when she’s been pulled from a dead sleep.

“He was climbing through Daysha’s window. He called her, and she let him in.”

This instantly causes an argument between them. While they scream at each other, blue lights strike the side of the house, and I wave to the officer, who parks out front.

“He’s breaking a no contact order. Caught him climbing through the window,” I explain.

The cop nods. “We were informed Striking Back was providing security. Does he have a weapon?”

“I didn’t search him. Figured he was incapacitated and if he’s carrying, it’d be better for an officer to find a weapon than a civilian when it comes to the court case.”

The officer stands him up and pats him down. “Well, what were your plans with this?” he asks as he pulls a handgun from the man’s ankle holster.

Glaring, the guy doesn’t answer. By the time the arguing inside ceases, the officer has the guy in his cruiser. “We’ll need you to stop by the precinct tomorrow to sign a statement.”

“No problem. If he’s released…”

“We’ll inform his wife.”

As the officer pulls away, Robin approaches me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d let him in. She’s watched him hit me for years.” She rings her hands. “Maybe it would be better if we were relocated until this is over.”

“It’s probably for the best,” I tell her. “I’ll get in touch with Mason.”

“I’ll start getting us packed. Both of the kids are awake now anyway. I don’t think anyone is getting any more sleep tonight.”

Mason answers his phone quickly, though it’s obvious from his voice I woke him. “Tucker? Everything all right?”

“Everyone is safe. The asshole ex showed up and his kid was going to let him in her window. I took him down, held him for the cops. He’s locked up, but I don’t know how long they’ll keep him. He had a gun. Loaded and ready.”

“Fuck. Okay, he’s a felon, which makes the gun illegal, so he won’t be out right away.”

“Robin says she’s ready to relocate. She’s packing up now.”

“Good. I’ll make the arrangements and send someone for them in a few hours.”

“I’ll let them know.”

Mason chuckles. “Devon’s going to be pissed. He was complaining about how bored he was. You relieve him, and the guy actually shows up.”

Chuckling, I shake my head. “He didn’t miss anything. Guy was half my size. Couldn’t have been easier.”

 

* * * *

 

It’s been a shitty day and I’m headed home much earlier than usual for a Saturday. I never get sick. Didn’t get sick once the entire time I was homeless, but something has got ahold of me now. My head aches and my stomach is queasy. My throat seems to get more raw with every breath I take and all I want is to get home and sleep off whatever this is. Thankfully, I don’t have any upcoming assignments for Striking Back.

Snow flurries begin to fall as I exit the highway onto a county road. That’s not a good sign. Having any snow this early in the year usually means we’re in for a rough winter. My foot taps the brake when I see a group of people, some wearing orange prison jumpsuits, picking up trash along the edge of the road.

A bag blows across the street, and I stop to let one of them chase it. It’s not until she looks up and gives me a wave that I recognize her.

Leah.

What the hell is she doing out here? I yank the wheel to the right, pulling over to the side of the road and hop out of the truck.

“Hey!” she calls, as if she’s not scooping up refuse with a bunch of criminals. “What are you doing here?”

What am I… “What the hell are you doing out here?”

Her smile drops and she takes a step backward. “Picking up trash,” she replies, like she’s talking to a dull child.

“With prisoners?” I demand.

She rolls her eyes. “I volunteer at the recycling center. We pick up recyclables around town. Sometimes they get the inmates or people assigned to community service to help.”

“Get your ass in the truck,” I say through gritted teeth.

The little vertical line that always appears between her eyes when she’s angry becomes visible and I know this isn’t going to go well.

“I don’t know what the hell your issue is, but I’m not leaving. I’ll talk to you at home.” She turns and heads back to the group of orange clad people across the road.

The hell she is.

“Tucker!” she screeches. “Put me down!” It wasn’t a conscious decision to throw her over my shoulder, but she ended up there just the same, kicking and pounding her little fists against my back.

“Hey!” A correctional officer approaches us. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“She lives with me. I’m taking her home.”

“Not unless she agrees, you’re not,” he says, pulling out what looks like pepper spray.

Leah stops fighting and calmly says, “Fine. Put me down, Tucker, and you can take me to my car.” She turns to the officer. “It’s okay, Gary. He’s my roommate. He’s just being an ass. I’m going to go. I’ll see you next week.”

“We’ll be on Main Street, spreading mulch on the playground,” he replies, still looking at me like he’s afraid I might jump him. He should be afraid. Pepper spray or not, I’d have no problem handling this guy.

Leah shoots me a hateful look and stalks back to my truck. “My car is parked at the recycling center on Green Street,” she says, glaring out the window.

“That’s all you have to say? You were hanging out with prisoners! You have no idea what those men are capable of!” My face heats up but I’m not sure if it’s from my fever or anger.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but they are all low level non-violent offenders and in case you’ve forgotten, my brother was once a prisoner too. It doesn’t make them any less of a human being! And you have no right to embarrass me like that!”

I was a prisoner too, but she doesn’t know that. It does make my actions a little hypocritical, but I don’t care. My stomach roils but unfortunately, it’s not from anger. Jerking the wheel to the side, I pull over and get out just in time for my lunch to make a reappearance.

Fuck.

“Tucker?” Leah gets out and walks around the truck.

“Just get back in,” I croak before heaving again.

Ignoring my demand, she produces a pack of baby wipes from her purse and hands me a couple. She returns to the truck and gets in the driver’s side, leaving the door open to watch me as I catch my breath and try to let my stomach calm. When it settles enough to return, she points to the passenger side.

“We can leave my car for tonight.” A soft, cool hand lands on my forehead. “You’re burning up. I’m driving.”

I feel too shitty to argue so I just do what she asks. She may be worried about me now, but she’s still pissed, judging from the grumbling she does under her breath. “Out running around when he’s sick and I’m the one who can’t take care of herself.”

“I can hear you.”

“I hope so.”

I have to fight the urge to grin. I can’t help it. She’s fucking adorable when she’s angry. My eyes fall closed and the next thing I know, she’s shutting off the engine and opening her door.

I’ve never been so glad to be home.