Molly:

I don’t know what inspired this change in him, but I can’t stay mad at this gorgeous man who I’ve grown to love.

While he was out, I called my agent, Josh, and explained to him the gun situation. I explained to him the whole Vagrant issue as a whole and how I’d be doing a disservice to society by glorifying these men. He begged me to call the police, and I promised him I would. He even offered to cover my advance for me, but I told him I’d pay him back, that I’d find him a story that would make up for it and write it pro bono. It’s my own damn fault for biting off more than I could chew and then trying to put on a charade for so long. I know he’ll be able to salvage my career. Stuff like this happens all the time.

Now that that weight is lifted off my shoulders, I can focus all my energy on Tucker for the time being. I told him I was done with the story, and even though he felt bad, I could tell he was relieved that I wasn’t going to be doing any more digging around his crew. There’s no sense in staying angry, not at the Vagrants or at him.

Not when he’s doing exactly what I asked of him. Actively participating in the search. Even instigating it. And he brought pizza. I don’t consider myself easy, but bacon and green peppers seem to hit me right in the feels every time.

I told him all about the search I did while we were on vacation, and that I tried looking for missing persons on every possible website database I could find, typing in the specifics that I had to work with: hair color, eye color, approximate age, deer tattoo.

Nothing’s coming up.

I take a picture of his tattoo with my phone and do a reverse image search. Still nothing relevant.

He describes his dreams and flashbacks to me, and while they’re all very vivid, they aren’t specific enough. I have a list of first names and none of them are really coming together.

We come to the conclusion that the only logical thing for him to do is turn himself into the authorities. Surely they have access to information that we don’t.

“At least you’re not on any FBI most wanted lists,” I tease. “That’s comforting. To me, that is.”

Tucker’s such an amazing man, at least the Tucker I know. I can’t believe no one is looking for him. I can only imagine the sadness his family is going through.

Still, I can tell he’s getting more and more frustrated as we continue our search.

Eventually he just sprawls out on the bed and closes his eyes.

“It’s going to be ok, Tucker,” I tell him, I try to assure and comfort him, but he’s lost. “Do you have a headache?”

“It’s fine,” he says. “Can we just try again tomorrow?”

“Sure,” I say, curling up next to him. “After your doctor’s appointment.”

He turns and faces the wall, and I feel like he’s trying to send me a message.

I understand he’s frustrated, but I want results.

I grab my laptop and start working on a new story.

Something that will get me what I need. I’ve been hanging onto this as a last resort since the day I met him. A new story. Something that will bring attention to him and hopefully get him back to his family. And hopefully, that family will be accepting of his girlfriend, her dog, and the bus they live on.