SWNOVELS Truly Madly Deeply: Chapter 66
“Surely she’s not going to stay this ugly forever, right?” Dylan peered at Gravity, who nestled in my arms in my mom’s kitchen. “Neither Tuck nor I have a Gonzo nose.”
“Dylan!” Mom flapped the kitchen towel, marching toward her from the laundry room. “Da oggi si cambia musica!”
Dylan hopped off the counter stool, dodging the towel smacks. “My kid, my opinion! Also, I’m the one whose boob she’s attached to twenty-four seven. I’m sacrificing my killer cleavage for her.”
“She’s latching beautifully.” My mother’s face softened in an instant, and she started folding the towel. “I’m proud that you didn’t give up.”
“How could I?” Dylan sighed. “She’s not vying for a Miss Universe title with this face, is she? I have to make sure her IQ is higher than average. Apparently, breastfeeding does that.”
“Come ti ho fatto, ti distruggo!” Mom was back to chasing Dylan around the house. “I should wash your mouth out with soap.”
I peered down at Gravity’s little face. She was sound asleep in my arms. At three days old, most of her forehead hair had fallen off, but she still looked like an old, stern man. Contrary to Dylan’s opinion, I thought she looked a lot like Tuck.
“She doesn’t know your struggles.” I nuzzled my nose in her cheek. She smelled so pure. “You’re going to grow up to be beautiful and brave, and Uncle Row will be ready with a baseball bat when that happens.”
Gravity stirred in my arms, sniffling. Dylan zipped toward me in a flash, already unstrapping her bra under her oversized shirt. “Shit. She hasn’t snacked in two hours. She’s going to maul me.”
I handed my niece over to her like she was a hot potato. My life was miserable enough these days without adding watching my baby sister flash me to my list of unfortunate incidents.
“I’ll be in my room, feeding her.”
“I’ll be upstairs doing the laundry.” Mom planted a kiss on my forehead. “Should I stop by your room and do yours?”
“Thanks, Ma. Already done mine.”
I’d moved here the minute I had gotten discharged from the hospital. There was no point returning to the inn after I’d signed Tate’s contract. Word had gotten out fast, and everyone in town was officially done with my ass. Just as well, as Descartes was entering its last days of operation before shutting down.
On the flip side, it looked like Menchin had finally started taking his job seriously. When he’d visited me at the hospital, he had promised there’d be a police car outside of Descartes until we closed shop and had made good on his word.
“I’d have started inviting people over for interviews, but Mayor Murray seemed eager to lay this case to rest,” he’d said during his visit. “She doesn’t want small business owners and elderly women getting arrested. Can’t say I blame her.”
But I could. Fucking Allison. Optics meant everything to her, justice be damned.
There was a knock on the door. I wasn’t in the mood to see anyone, but it could have been Rhyland, about the restaurant. I swung the door open. It was Cal.
I hadn’t seen her in three days. Not since we’d had mind-blowing oral sex, and I’d declared my love to her and gotten slammed with a rejection. She had little plastic butterflies holding her hair together, coveralls, and a stripey sweater. Her glacial blues set my heart ablaze as soon as they landed on my face, blinking repeatedly to tell me that she hadn’t been expecting me, that she was nervous. She stumbled backward at the sight of me, and I itched to catch and steady her.
“How are you doing?” Her voice was soft.
“Good. Better.” Shit. Worse than ever before. Why are we not together? I know you want to. You trust me. You’re open with me. I make you laugh. I make you moan my name. What more can you ask for? Why am I never fucking enough?
Unfortunately, I was too much of an ass to ask how she was doing.
“Is Dylan home?” She cleared her throat.
I stepped aside, jerking my chin upstairs. She ducked her head as she passed me, avoiding eye contact. Every second in her presence felt like a sucker punch straight to the gut. When Cal stopped in the middle of the small living area, I noticed the tips of her hair were dyed flint. Somewhere between purple and gray.
“Actually.” She twirled on her boots to face me, and when our gazes clashed, it felt like a fucking car crash. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“What do you need?” I asked woodenly.
I hated how transparent I was with her. An open fucking book. And a shitty one at that.
She worried her bottom lip, shooting me an uncertain look. Jesus. Had she changed her mind? Was there still a chance? “We need to get ahold of Tucker.”
Why the fuck?
“We do?” I parked my elbows on the counter behind me languidly.
“Yeah. He doesn’t know he became a father. As much as I dislike him, this seems unfair. And I also think a lot of the reason Dylan is stressed out is because she isn’t sure where they stand.”
“That all might be true, but there isn’t much of a signal in the middle of the fucking ocean.” I fished my cigarette pack out of my front pocket. It was surreal, talking to her about anything that wasn’t us right now. Especially that idiot, Tuck, who didn’t deserve my sister nor Gravity.
“He should be close to shore at this point,” Cal insisted, ocean eyes clinging to my face. “We need to at least try. We owe it to Dylan. She went through the last few weeks without the father of her baby.”
I worked my jaw back and forth, too distracted by her face to pay any real attention to the conversation. She was so fucking beautiful and the thought that, in two weeks, I’d return to not seeing her at all made my skin crawl. How the fuck did people live their lives not having a dose of Cal in it? Insanity.
“Fine,” I bit out.
“Thanks.” Cal’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Do you have his number?”
“Yeah.” I pushed the cigarette into the corner of my mouth and fished my phone out of my pocket, tossing it into her hands. She caught it. “What’s your passcode?”
Your birthday.
“Here. I’ll open it for you.”
“Great. While you’re at it, please refrain from spreading your cancer stick fumes inside a house where a newborn lives. Now and until you leave. Thankssomuch.”
I found Tucker’s number and passed the phone to her. She put it on speaker. It went straight to voicemail, just as I’d expected. When I went to grab my phone back, she yanked it away. “Do you know his captain?”
“Sure do. He’s one of the key service providers for Descartes.”
“Let’s call him. Maybe Tucker forgot to turn on his phone when they reached a signal.”
She hit the search icon on my phone and inserted his name, tapping it with her finger. The line went through.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
We both stared at each other, mouths agape. The line clicked, and a croaky voice filled the air. “Row, my boy. How’re you doing?”
Cal’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. I thought on my feet. “Hey there, Sanders. Good. You?”
“No complaints. Filled all eight hundred traps we sailed with. Shame about Descartes shutting down. These lobsters would’ve earned you another Michelin star.”
“Uh-huh.” I traced my tongue inside my inner cheek. “When are you heading back?”
Silence. Normally, I was a fan. But I had a feeling this quiet was the result of mental scrambling on his part. Sanders gulped audibly. “What do you mean, back?”
“When are you scheduled to arrive in Staindrop?”
“We’ve been back for a couple days now.” Sanders coughed, and I heard him fumbling with food wrappers, cracking open a can of beer. “Is Tuck not home?”
“No,” I said, jaw flexing. “He is not.”
More silence. My blood bubbled in my veins, reaching a dangerous temperature.
“Any idea where he might’ve gone?” I pushed. Cal was turning a pale shade of green.
A rustling sound came from upstairs. “Aw! Nice burp, Grav. Your daddy’s daughter, indeed.” Dylan whistled, impressed, while descending the stairs.
Cal gasped, pushing me out to the front yard so we could continue this conversation in private. She shut the door behind us. As soon as we were out, I lit that cigarette.
“Th-that ain’t really none of my business,” Sanders stammered.
“No.” I exhaled smoke through my nostrils. “But it’s mine, and if there’s something I need to know, you better tell me now.” Then, to bring my point home, I added, “Dylan gave birth three days ago. We need to find Tucker and let him know.”
“The little idiot…” Sanders muttered, sighing. “Congratulations to your sister, son. Children are the greatest gift of all.”
“Sure about that? Because I can think of one gift that’s even better—sparing you from boycotting your business. If you don’t spill the beans right now, I’ll tell all my East Coast chef friends not to fuck with you because you’re a flaky sonovobitch. Spit. It. Out.”
“Look, once we arrived at shore, he got picked up by someone. I told him to go straight home to his pregnant girlfriend. That no-gooder didn’t listen. I thought it wasn’t my business, and it still isn’t, but goddamn. The boy ain’t the sharpest pencil in the pack, is he? What the hell is he thinking?”
“Who picked him up?”
“Row…” He sighed.
“Sanders.” I smacked the wall of the house, about to lose my shit. Cal gasped. “Answer me.”
“It was Mayor Murray.”