Page 15 of Won’t Let You Get Away

As I make my way to Tucker’s truck, the cool, crisp early spring air brushes against my face. Taking a deep breath, I focus on calming my racing heart.

Tucker stays silent, joining me by the truck and opening the passenger door with a polite nod. I welcome the moment to gather my thoughts.

Just as he begins backing up, my parents’ front door swings opens. Noah steps onto the porch, his arms crossed and his jaw tight. Our gazes lock, and he scowls in response.

Maybe I should have lingered a bit longer, given him an opportunity to follow me and address things privately.

My stomach flips at the thought of what I could have done differently.

Or maybe it was just the baby disagreeing with the extra two pieces of garlic bread.

Regardless of the “should haves” and “could haves,” if we had spoken tonight, it would have ended with either yelling or crying.

I needed time to find a way to set aside the pain he caused by leaving like he did before we could talk. Because this wasn’t about me, it was about the baby. If he didn’t want to be involved in our child’s life, it was his loss. However, if he did want to be included, we would need to figure out how to co-parent.

The close proximity of our location would make that easier.

Letting out a deep sigh, I rest my head against the headrest.

If we were going to handle all of this like mature adults and not traumatize our child with our own issues, we both needed to be able to have calm conversations. Unfortunately, I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for that now.

“It’s the end of the night,” Tucker reminds me when we’re halfway to the cabin.

“It’s been a very long day,” I huff in response. He remains silent for a few moments, and I don’t say anything more, allowing him to decide if he still wants to ask his question.

“Wanna talk about why you hate a man you just met?” he asks bluntly.

“What are you talking about?” I retort, feeling self-conscious and flustered.

“I mean, it’s either you hate him or want to sleep with him,” Tucker continues, oblivious to my discomfort. My cheeks flush with embarrassment at his words, knowing he’s referring to Noah.

“That’s not true,” I deny, turning away from him and staring out the window. “And I definitely don’t want to sleep with anyone who was in that house tonight.” The lie slips easily off my tongue, but even I can tell it sounds fake.

“Sabrina,” he says firmly.

“Tucker,” I snap back, sinking into my seat. “Ask your question from earlier.”

“I think I’m nosey enough to want to know the answer to why you hate Noah Dawson more than my original question.” He pauses, quickly glancing at me. “Well… maybe. I also want to know that you’re okay…”

“Ask the question, Tucker.” My voice is quiet, practically drowned out by the crunch of the tires over the dirt road.

As we slowly approach the cabin, Tucker lets out a heavy breath.

“Are you okay?”

“He’s the father,” I blurt out without thinking.

Tucker slams on the brakes and we skid to a stop in the middle of the road. My seatbelt locks and digs painfully into my chest, taking away my breath momentarily.

“What the hell?” I gasp, turning to glare at Tucker. Only it’s then that it finally dawns on me that I had been so distracted by my thoughts of Noah, that I willingly got into the passenger seat.

“Say that again,” he demands.

“What the hell?” I say sarcastically and try to ignore the way my stomach churns as he slowly drives up to the cabin.

“Sassy.”

“You heard damn well what I said, Tucker Harris.”

---