Page 7 of Won’t Let You Get Away

He bumps me playfully with his shoulder, flashing me a smile. Addison rolls her eyes.

“Hate to break it to you, but there are onlytwoseats in that truck. Sabrina is the driver, so there’s no room for you.”

She smirks victoriously, thinking she has the upper hand as they engage in a silent glare-off.

But I’ve known Tucker for over fifteen years and don’t need to look at him to know what he’s about to say. Hell, even Addison should know better by now.

I’m making my way towards the driver’s seat when Tucker finally speaks up.

“You did your math wrong, Addy-Cakes. There’s a seat for all three of us.”

I roll my eyes, smirking as I turn to watch my sister’s face.

“Did you hit your head on a barrel, Tucker?” Addison holds up her pointer finger. “Driver’s seat for Sabrina,” she adds another finger, making a peace sign and waving it dramatically. “Passenger seat for me.”

Tucker flashes a cocky grin, raising his hand and holding up a finger. “Driver’s seat for Sassy.” He adds another finger. “Passenger seat forme.” A third finger goes up. “And my lap is the seat reserved for you, Princess.”

The sound of my sister sputtering in anger only makes me laugh harder.

“Oh my god,just park the truck!” Addison yells.

We’ve only been driving for five minutes, but with the way my sister complains, it feels like hours.

“Relax,” I tell her, assessing if I can actually turn the truck around. “I don’t want to hit anything.”

“That’s fine,” Tuck offers, his Southern drawl a comforting presence in the tense atmosphere. “You can park it here. I’ll turn it around and back it up closer to the cabin to make unloading easier.”

“Thank you,” I sigh in relief, parking the truck without hesitation.

Driving in New York City traffic? No big deal. Driving twelve hours from New York to South Carolina? Piece of cake. But backing up this moving truck without taking out a fence post or hitting the cabin? Not a chance.

Addison throws open the door the moment the truck is in park, practically flinging herself out as if she’s on fire. I just shake my head, gathering my purse and a couple of bags that hold what’s left of our road snacks.

To this day, I don’t actually know why Addison hates Tucker so much. When he first started working at the vineyard after our senior year, they got along without a problem. But somewhere between when I left for college and when Addison left a few years later, something happened. She just never told me.

With the few bags loaded up, I’m about to open my door when Tucker’s hand shoots out to gently grab my arm. I expect to find him smiling and ready to crack a joke, but when I glance at him over my shoulder, my breath catches in my throat. He’s watching me closely, brows knitted together and a rare frown marring his handsome face.

“I’m only gonna ask once,” he states seriously, causing my heart to pound heavily in my chest. “And whatever answer you give me is what we’ll go with and I won’t push it again.”

Tucker and I were in the same grade together, hung around a lot of the same friend groups, and spent a lot of time around each other. In all the years I’ve known him, I can count on one hand the serious conversations we’ve had. Not because I feel like I can’t talk to him, but because somewhere along the way we made an unspoken agreement to distract each other when life gets tough.

But this time, distractions and ignoring the problem aren’t going to cut it.

“What’s up, Tuck?” I try teasing, but it falls flat. Sitting back in my seat, I rest the bags on the ground and wait for him to answer.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, and before I can respond, he holds up a hand and continues. “I don’t just mean physically. Don’t get me wrong, we’re all grateful you’re back home. But something happened that pushed you back here, and something tells me it was a lot more than just the breakup with Paul.”

Trying to hold back tears, I bite my lip and turn away from Tucker. The past week it has been a struggle not to cry, especially with Addison around to help me pack. But now, alone with Tucker, the emotions threaten to overflow as he simply asks if I’m okay.

After a moment of silence, Tucker speaks up again. “You don’t have to answer me if you’re not ready. Just know that I’m here for you.”

Meeting his gaze, I can’t help but smile at his concern.

He smirks back. “And just so you know, if someone hurt you, Tommy and I will come up with a game plan for body disposal.” A small chuckle escapes me and I reach for my bags once more.

“I’m serious, Sabrina.”

The use of my full name catches my attention and I pause again. It’s not that I don’t want to answer him; it’s just that telling him the truth is more complicated than a simple yes or no. If I told Tucker that I’m not okay but I’m figuring it out, he’ll only be more curious.

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