Page 22 of Fall Wherever They May

“Hey, umm . . . yes, you hear laughter. And you’re on speaker.”

The laughter is so contagious, I start laughing too. We bust up and don’t stop. I’m wheezing, tears are flowing, and I’m trying to talk between laughing, but it’s no use. After several minutes of my now best friend again being patient, I finally collect myself.

“Okay, I’m good now. Uh, paparazzi got wind of who Aspen is and got rough with her and Tuck outside of the bookstore. I have them, but I’m going to need you to meet us at her house to pick up keys and ride with me to grab her car.”

He’s silent for a moment. “Hi Aspen. Hi Tucker. Are you both okay?”

“They are okay. Just meet us there.”

“I’ll be there,” Carter says.

“Thanks, man.” I end the call.

Releasing a deep sigh, I shake my head in disbelief. “I’m sorry this happened to you guys.”

As we come closer to our neighborhood, a large crowd, gathered around our security gate, comes into view. What the fuck? As we pull in, cameras are flashing, there’s shouting, and people are pounding on my truck. Anything to get a damn buck. I swear these guys are leeches. Several armed security guards stand at the gate, forcing the crowd back so we can drive through.

We pull into Aspen’s driveway, and a blonde is standing outside, bouncing from foot to foot. She runs to back, flings open the door. “Oh my gosh, Aspen! Are you both okay?”

He nods his head, and Aspen answers as they climb out of the truck. “Yeah. It just scared us . . . Wait, how did you know?”

“It’s all over the local news! Someone was recording the paparazzi with their phone from a window. I saw your profile, then I saw Tucker go down, and then The Hulk over here swooped y’all up. I tried texting and calling, but you didn’t answer. I’ve been so worried!” She says with a southern drawl.

Aspen is explaining to the girl about her phone being buried in her purse when Carter pulls into the drive. He gets out and strolls over to us. He pulls a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet and slaps it in Tuck’s hand.

“The gate is a shit show. Security almost didn’t let me in.” He eyes the blonde.

“Oh! This is my sister, River. River, this is Callan Miles, the one you call “Frat Boy,” and Carter Graham, the one you call “Fight Club.”

I bust up laughing. I then realize River is the girl Jerome and Carter were going on about at my barbecue. Aspen introduced her as her sister, but the two don’t look anything alike. She could be her stepsister. She shakes my hand, then turns her attention to Carter. River raises a brow as he stands in a wordless stupor staring at her. He reaches out his hand to shake hers. She’s reluctant but returns the handshake. As the three of them stand there talking about the events that went down today, I squat down to Tuck’s height.

“Hey, Tuck,” I say in a low voice. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“My arm is scraped, but it’s okay.” He shrugs, then shows me the scrape on his left arm.

I check him for other injuries. Seeing he’s okay, I stand and address Aspen.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Yeah, sure.” She saunters over to me, and I send Tuck to his aunt.

“I know I have no right to say anything . . . I mean, I have no place here . . .” I stumble over my words and run a hand through my hair, pacing back and forth. Today was stressful and terrifying. Seeing Tuck on the ground like that scared the fuck out of me. “What I’m trying to say is, I know I’m not his dad, and I’m not sure what he thinks about—”

“His dad isn’t in the picture at all,” she cuts me off.

“Tuck never talks about him, but I wasn’t sure. Either way, I think with all that’s happened, if he’s not in private school, he probably should be.”

She casts a glance at Tuck, nibbling on her bottom lip. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll take off next Tuesday.” She nods. Then a huge smile lights up her face. “Look at us, Hotshot, finally agreeing on something.”

Aspen hands me her car keys, then ushers her family into the house. Carter and I take off, making the drive to the bookstore. He’s abnormally quiet as I drive. Usually, I avoid talking about things, but today the silence in the truck is smothering. I need to get this off my chest.

My thumb taps the steering wheel as I contemplate how I want to start this conversation.

“I want to talk.”

He turns his head. His expression, shocked. I exhale a deep sigh, continuing, “I feel terrible, dude. I said something to Aspen before all this shit went down with the paparazzi, and her reaction didn’t sit well with me. Before, we just said whatever the fuck was on our mind, and no one’s feelings got hurt. But today, what I said hit her differently. I feel like the biggest asshole. Thethings I said to her were far worse than what I usually spout off when we have our little tête-à-tête. Now, I don’t know how to make it right. She just . . . she gets under my damn skin, and it’s like I can’t help it. You know me; I’m a man of few words, but when she’s around, years’ worth of built-up shit comes spewing out of my mouth.” Nervously, I run my fingers through my hair while resting one hand on the wheel. “Spit it out. I know you have something to say.”

“For once, I’m speechless.” He chuckles, unwrapping a piece of gum, then popping it into his mouth. “What did you say to her that you feel guilty about?”

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