Page 142 of The Goal

I gnaw nervously on the inside of my cheek. “The right time for what?”

Is he breaking up with me?

Oh God.

I fight the urge to vomit all over the inside of Tucker’s clean truck.

“For this.” He stops the pickup in front of a corner bar. It’s classic Boston with its redbrick exterior, green awning and a postage-stamp-size patio toward the rear.

“I can’t drink while I’m breastfeeding,” I remind him.

“Yeah, hold that thought,” he says, and then slides out of the truck.

As he’s pulling Jamie out of her carrier, I climb down and meet him on the sidewalk. “We can’t bring a baby into the bar.”

“We’re not.” He places his hand on my lower back and steers me toward the side of the small building. There’s a set of stairs leading up to the second floor. “Go on,” he says when I hesitate.

“Did you rent an apartment?” I try to keep the worry out of my voice. It’s his money and he should do what he wants with it, but renting a place by himself because I’m having problems at home seems like a waste of his money. “Because Ray’s all talk and no action.”

“Right. Like him attacking you in your bedroom was all a bunch of words.”

“He was drunk.” Jeez. Why am I even making excuses for that psycho?

Tucker gives me another shove. “Are you going to drag your ass upstairs or do I have to carry the both of you?”

“I’m going.” I cave. The doorknob turns under my hand and I notice a freshly installed electronic keypad.

“It works via near-field communications,” Tucker informs me.

“English, please.”

“It unlocks when a paired device is close to it. That way if you have your hands full, you can still get in.”

“Cool,” I say faintly. And that’s only the first of many surprises.

Upstairs, I find a huge two-bedroom apartment. The kitchen is small and the appliances are old, but there are windows everywhere. The living room is filled with dust and exposed brick.

“I’ve been tearing down the drywall.” Tucker gestures at the walls. “I haven’t touched the bedroom because I figured you’d want a say, but the stuff in here was rotting. Come on.”

This time he takes the lead. Down the hall are two bedrooms. He pushes open the first one, drops the carrier inside the door, and then kneels down to pull sleepy Jamie out. The little pill always falls asleep in the car.

I creep toward the door as if there’s a serial killer behind it. But the only thing I find is a beautifully decorated nursery.

“Oh my gosh,” I breathe.

It’s painted a pale pink. White curtains hang over the big windows. An off-white crib sits against one wall, and a dresser with a changing table is pushed up against another. Between them is an upholstered glider, one that I’d sighed over and posted on my Instagram account.

I shoot an astonished look at Tucker, but he’s too busy loving up Jamie. God, he’s too gorgeous for words. His biceps is bigger than her head, but he’s as gentle as a lamb with her.

That whole picture is Tucker, though. Strong, steady, with exactly the right touch to make his ladies melt. I know I do.

I wrench my gaze away from his bent head so I don’t launch myself athis poor unsuspecting frame. To my right, at the end of the room, a door sits slightly ajar. I head over to investigate and find an en suite bathroom. It’s too much.

“What’s going on? Did you win the lottery?”

He gives me a crooked smile. “Nope. I bought a bar. This came with it.”

“This?” I wave my hand around the room. “The pink room, the crib, the electronic keypad entry!”

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