Page 25 of Fierce Love
“I have to go.” He stands, a little unsteady on his feet, and makes his way with intention toward the exit.
I rise from my seat, grabbing my purse off the table.
“I hope he’s not driving,” I mutter as I make my way through the bar.
“He’s not.” An older man is hovering near the exit door, the waitress next to him with a pay machine. “I’m driving him. Not to worry.”
“Oh,” I say, stopping abruptly. “I guess it… I mean, it wouldn’t have been like him to drink and drive.”
“One of the more reasonable and responsible Tuckers,” he says, glancing over his shoulder before shifting his attention to me. “Usually.” He holds out his hand to me. “I’m Bill, one of the drivers the Tuckers employ.”
“Hollyn Davis,” I say, taking his hand.
“Oh,” he says, and the edges of his lips tilt into something that’s not quite a smile.
It’s pretty obvious he’s heard of me, and I’m not sure what to make of that, but it also means that Nate is outside, waiting in a car.
I stand for a beat, unsure of what I should do. There’s still something there between us, and I want to seek it out like a source of heat in the dead of winter. The intensity that unfurled between us when he touched me feels necessary and real, unavoidable. As though the string connecting us is made of the strongest steel, not delicate and fragile like I assumed. Despite the years, despite how badly I let him down, Nathaniel Tucker is under my skin, nestled in so deep that I didn’t even realize he was still there.
But tonight has made it even clearer that I can’t stay on this island for even one more day. Tomorrow, I set everything in motion to get us back to New York.
Chapter Eleven
Hollyn
Anger surrounds Kinsley like a living, breathing thing. A dragon in the room. But I’m too busy purging my aunt’s history, as though I’m literally on fire, to take much notice.
I cannot stay on this island, and I was a fool to think it was possible, even for a second. Letting myself sink a single toe into the quicksand that is Nate Tucker was a massive mistake.
Last night, I kept dreaming of him, over and over. Each time I woke up, I’d reassure myself that it couldn’t possibly happen again, only to find myself trapped in some forgotten memory warped by my subconscious. If the dam of my Bellerive history had cracks in it before, it’s a full-blown crisis now. The flood is coming, and I need to get to the higher ground of New York before I drown.
Even if Nate still desires me after what I did back then—and I think that’s possible given what pulsed between us last night—our history is so much more complicated than a simple ghosting.With my aunt gone, one string has been cut in the web, but I don’t know what wrath will fall on my head if I tell Nate everything.
“Shannon said I can stay with her for a few weeks if I want,” Kinsley says.
“Shannon shouldn’t have said that, because Shannon has no legal authority,” I say, dumping one of my aunt’s drawers onto the bed and sorting through the contents. “You need to go back to New York and back to school.”
“As soon as I’m eighteen, I’m taking charge of my own life,” Kinsley says.
“Wonderful.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I, Kin. I’m not being held hostage by your bad attitude. The job didn’t work out. I have a job in New York. We have a life there, even if it’s not ideal right now. If I could have takenthisjob, I would have, but I can’t. Your pouting isn’t going to change the facts.” After last night, I’m more relieved than anything that I can’t take the job, that Nate put down his foot and said he wouldn’t work with me.
From under the pile of mostly clothing, my phone rings. I dig around until I find it, but I don’t recognize the number. It’s likely a telemarketer, but between talking to a pouty Kin or speaking to some stranger trying to scam me, I’ll take the scam.
I click on Accept, and I hit the speakerphone icon.
“Hello?” I pick up a shirt, examine it for stains, refold it and put it in the donation pile.
“Is this Hollyn Davis?” a male voice asks, one with a Bellerivian accent.
“This is she,” I say, a frown creasing my brow, and I try to remember if Aunt Verna had any outstanding bills that I haven’t taken care of yet.
“It’s Felipe Sousa calling. We spoke last night about the television series. I’m one of the producers.”
“Oh, right, yes.” He’s probably called to apologize for how epically bad things went with Nate.
