Fixated On You (Torn Series #5) (32 page)

Tucker clears his throat, startling me. He tightens his arms a little to keep me from falling. His chest expands as he takes a deep breath. Maybe he’s getting ready to answer my question from earlier.

Tucker says, “All right, I’m gonna talk and you listen, okay?” He waits until I nod my agreement before continuing. “I’m gonna start at the beginning.”

“Okay.” I whisper.

He says, “I remember the day we met like it was yesterday. I was helping Dad unload the truck and I looked up to see the most beautiful sight I’ve ever laid eyes on. You wore pair of grass stained, worn out jeans, a pink T-shirt, and your boots.”

Much like I am dressed right now, minus the grass stains, but I don’t say a word, not wanting to interrupt him.

“You ran right up to me and said, ‘My name’s Brenna, what’s yours?’ I told you my name and from that day forward we were inseparable. That is, till the day I saw you run past the field and I ran after you. The day you told me you were moving.”

Tears pool in my eyes at the memory. Tucker takes another deep breath, as though he is fighting his own emotions, before he continues.

“Brenna, it felt like my world stopped that day. I was so afraid I’d never see you again. I know now that it was irrational or whatever, but I was eleven years old, and to me, it was the end of us. I didn’t think about the fact that I still lived here and you could still visit. After y’all moved, I sat in this tree every day, staring across the fields, thinking any minute I’d see you running toward me.”

I sniffle a little at this because I know how he feels. We were best friends, and I felt like I lost a piece of me right here on this farm that day. I wait for a few minutes for Tucker to say more, but he doesn’t say anything else. It’s my turn to speak now.

“Tucker, I missed you every day. I used to beg to come here every time school was out, but most times I either couldn’t, or by the time I got here it was too late to see you. And then the next day, we seemed to always miss each other. Like something was trying to keep us apart.”

I hear Tucker make a noise behind me. I try to turn so I can see his face, but he tightens his hold again, stopping me. We sit there in our tree, both lost in our thoughts.

Finally, he says, “Scoot forward some. I wanna show you something.”

I move forward and turn to can see what Tucker is doing. He swings his leg over so he can step onto the branch below us and motions me back over. I scoot back toward him to look where he is pointing. It’s too dark, so I pull out my phone to shine the light on the tree trunk. I gasp in surprise when I see it.

Carved into the tree are our initials inside a heart. I glance at Tucker, who is staring intently at my face. A tear rolls down my cheek, reaching up he catching it on his thumb. Instead of wiping it off on his jeans, like I expect, he rubs his fingers together absorbing my tear into his skin. 

“When did you put this here?” I ask with a shaky voice.

“The summer you were fourteen.”

“That’s the summer you stopped all communication with me.”

“Yeah,” Tucker drops his head, and after a few seconds he starts to climb down the tree.

“Why?” I whisper.

He had to hear me, because he pauses before dropping to the ground. “That’s a story for another time, Brenna.” Holding his arms up to me he says. “Come on, jump, I’ll catch you.”

“You better!” I yell before I jump.

Tucker catches me in his arms, holding me close. I wrap my arms around his neck, giving him a squeeze. He holds me against him, staring into my eyes for a few short minutes, before lowering my feet to the ground. I let my arms fall and step away.

“Why can’t you tell me now?” If he’d just tell me, I know it’ll be a revelation that will change everything.

“It’s not time for that yet. I need you to remember everything else first. Then I’ll tell you.”

Tucker is leaning against the tree. I step closer to him so I can see his face in the fading light as the sky continues to darken.

“Promise?” I ask.

“Yeah, I promise.”

I smile up at him. Even though he won’t tell me now, everything else today has been wonderful. It’s almost like all the years have fallen away and I have my Tucker back.

“I’m glad we ran into each other yesterday.” I blurt.

“Me too. Saved me a trip.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was getting tired of waiting for you to come back home.” Tucker shrugs.

“Okay, so… what? You were gonna come looking for me?”

“Yeah. Something
like that.”

“Why?”

Tucker snorts. Yes, he snorted. “Because I was tired of waiting.”

Before I realize what’s happened I’m pulled back into his arms, his finger hooked in my belt loop. Tucker lifts my chin so my eyes look directly into his. He lowers his head toward mine and I think he is going to kiss me. But instead, he touches his forehead to mine.

“What are you doing next weekend?”

“Nothing, besides maybe studying. Why?”

“I’d like to come and see you.” he says in a soft voice.

“I think I’d like that.”

Tucker lightly grazes his lips across mine. No more, no less. Just a soft, sweet brush of his lips before he wraps his arms around me and hugs me like he’ll never let me go.

“Come on,” he says. “It’s getting late and you have a long drive tomorrow.” He runs his hands down my arms and laces his fingers with mine as we begin our walk to my SUV.

As I open my door, Tucker hands me his phone and tells me to enter my number and call my phone so I have his number as well. I do and he hugs me one more time before he tells me goodnight. I watch as he walks back across the lane and opens his door on his truck. I wave as I drive past him and see a smile on his face. I already can’t wait to see him next weekend.

It’s Him

MGM Villar

Part I

Chapter One

Georgina Wallace

This is it! I am finally going to London! When I next set foot in LA, it'll be with a British accent and an MFA in scriptwriting. —
at LAX

@ginawallace23

London bound! #London #lovingLondon #iloveLondon

Georgina64
listened to

London Calling—
The Clash

My new apartment was a university accommodation in the area made famous by Sherlock Holmes, just a few steps from Baker Street Station. Even more exciting than that, I was going to be living close to the gorgeous Regent’s Park and just a stone’s throw from the southern end of Edgware Road, renowned for its unique Middle-Eastern atmosphere. The
flat
, as the Brits call them, was also walking distance from Oxford Street, where the lights during the holiday season are to die for. Or at least that’s what the guidebooks said. I read half a dozen of them on the ten-hour flight.

It was raining when my plane landed in London. I know they say the Big Smoke wouldn’t be as charming without a welcoming rain, but we’re not talking about a light drizzle or even gentle raindrops, but a heavy downpour. I took the Heathrow Express to Paddington Station, but found myself obliged to take a black cab the rest of the way.

“Whereabouts are you from, luv?” The cabbie asked in a thick Essex accent as I climbed into the cab. My pants and coat were soaked, and I was dripping all over the backseat. 

“California,” I replied, “Los Angeles.”

“You traded your beautiful weather for
this
?” He asked with a chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Well, I'm doing my
post
graduate studies at University College London,” I answered, remembering to use the British term for a master’s program.

“Ah, I see. Well, luv, better get used to the rain. It's been goin’ like this for days. The weather report is always wrong; listenin’ to it is doin’ me ‘ead in.”

I smiled politely and gave a small nod of agreement when his eyes met mine in the rearview mirror.

“They say winter is comin’ early this year, so I hope you ‘ave enough warm clothes wiv you.”

“Me too! But I guess I can always go shopping if not.” I was already noticing that British people really seemed to like talking about the weather. The English guy sitting next to me on the plane had also warned me, at length, about the unpredictable and often dreary London climate. We pulled up in front of my flat a few minutes later and the cabbie got out to unload my luggage.

“That’ll be a tenner,” the cabbie said, straightening up after setting my last suitcase on the sidewalk.

I handed him a bill. “Thank you.”

“Any time, luv. Good luck wiv your studies. I never did ask what you’re studyin’?”

“Scriptwriting.”

“Ah. Well, enjoy London.” The cabbie smiled warmly before climbing back into the driver’s seat and pulling away.

I turned to the building, where a handsome guy about my age leaned against the doorframe smoking a cigarette. He stared at my luggage. “I hope you're not on the sixth floor, because the lift’s not working at the moment.”

“Lift? Oh, you mean the elevator.”

“Yes,
elevator
,” he teased, mimicking my accent.

“Well, I’m on the fourth floor, so it shouldn’t be so bad.”

“If you’d like, I can help you carry your things up. I live on the fourth floor as well.”

“Really? Thank you so much. My name’s Georgina Wallace, by the way. You may call me Gina, or Georgie, if you like,” I said brightly, extending my right hand.

He shook it, his grip strong and firm. “I’m Antony de Lucca. Call me Tony. So where are you from, Gina?” He asked, picking up my two largest suitcases as I took the smaller ones. “Wait, let me guess. California?”

“How did you know?” I asked, genuinely curious. He pulled open the door and ushered me into the building ahead of him, pointing to the staircase.

“Your accent. I have a few friends from California.”

During the climb to the fourth floor, I learned that Tony was from Sicily and was studying to be an architect. He had a job at a café nearby. I also learned that the fourth floor was actually the fifth—by American standards.

“What you call the first floor is the ground floor here. Then the numbers start,” Tony explained cheerfully as we rounded the
third
floor landing and kept climbing. “You’d think for the price we pay in this place, we would have a working
elevator
,” again he mimicked my pronunciation. “It’s supposed to be fixed by tomorrow, though.”

“A lot of good that does me,” I quipped, breathless.

“Where I lived in Italy, my apartment was on the twelfth floor. After a week of going up and down, I had legs like Arnie.”

“Who?”

“Come on, California girl, your former Gubernator.”

“Oh, right.
Of course. Though I think you mean Governator.” We reached my door and Tony set my luggage down as I fished for my key. “Tony, thank you so much for your help. I don't know how I would have managed to carry all these without your help. I hope to bump into you again.”

“Of course! And you have to meet my flatmate. You’ll like each other. He’s American too, and he’s studying cinematography. Maybe you’ll be in some of the same classes. We should all hang out some time.”

“Oh? Okay.” I unlocked the door and set the bag I was carrying inside, then turned back to Tony. “
Grazie mille
.”

“You speak Italian?”

“
Cosi cosi
,” I answered shyly.

“
Bene
! Well, I’ll let you settle in. Welcome to London, Gina.”

“Thank you, Tony. See you soon!” I pulled my last suitcase inside and shut the door, waving as Tony strolled down the hall to his own apartment. And that is how I met my first new friend.

Georgina Wallace

I am finally here! London is such an incredible city. And I’ve already made new friends.
—in London, England

@ginawallace23

Unpacking in my new flat in #foggyLondontown

Georgina64
listened to

A Foggy Day (in London Town)—
Michael Bublé

Baker Street—
Gerry Rafferty

Hours later, after lengthy phone conversations with my father and best friend Mel, I was finally unpacking my things and setting up my room when a knock came at the door.

“Yes?” I called. “Come in.”

The door opened a crack and a pretty girl with long brown hair and dark eyes poked her head in. She smiled and held out a hand. “Hi, you must be the American. I’m Ashley Worthington, the Australian. I’m your flatmate. Which I guess is rather obvious. Why else would I be inside the flat?”