Page 36 of P.S. I Miss You

God damn it.

I text him to pack a bag. At least it’s the weekend. He can stay with me until Sunday night, then I’ll have to take him back so he can go to school.

I can’t count how many times I’ve reported Dad to CPS. The first few times, they’d show up at random times, but usually before he’d go to work or right after he got off – he wasn’t drunk then and the house wouldn’t be in total disarray. The last few times, I think they stopped taking me seriously. Their investigations were always “unfounded.” Turns out you can’t take a child away from a parent simply because the parent drinks too much sometimes. It didn’t help that Rhonda vouched for his “character.” They’d interview Tuck as well, but he was always too scared to give the full details. He knew if he did, Dad wouldn’t waste any time making his life a living hell as soon as the CPS worker stepped out of the house.

But enough is enough.

I rise, drawing in a hard breath.

“Where you going?” Christian asks.

“I have to pick up my little brother. You guys are going to have to take this to Kai’s or something,” I say, checking my phone to make sure Tuck got my message, and then I make my way to the kitchen to pour out my wasted beer.

When I’m done, the guys are headed to the door.

“Where are they going?” Melrose stands at the base of the stairs, halfway between the front door and the entrance to the kitchen. Her wine glass is empty and her hair is piled into a messy bun on top of her head. Sexy black leggings with angled cut-outs hug her legs, and a loose lavender tank top hangs over one shoulder, exposing a neon yellow bra strap.

“I have to go get Tuck.” I drop the rinsed beer bottle into the recycling bin. I’ve only had a few sips and I’m fine to drive, but I hate that Tuck might smell beer on my breath. Even though there’s a huge fucking difference between getting shitfaced and beating up your girlfriend and destroying your house … and having some drinks with friends … I can’t help but feel hypocritical.

“Is he okay?”

“What?” I buy time, trying to decide if I want to tell her the truth or some variation thereof. “Yeah.” I exhale. “He’s fine. I just … my dad likes to drink. He’ll be better off here.”

“Want company for the drive?” Her question is a surprise left hook.

I turn to face her, wondering if I heard her right. “Really?”

She shrugs before rinsing out her goblet in the sink. “I remember Tuck telling me it was over an hour each way. And it’s kind of late. Thought maybe you’d want some company for the drive? Plus, I want to get out of the house. I’ve been cooped up all day preparing for an audition, and I could use a change of scenery.”

“Uh. Yeah. Sure. If you want to.” I make damn sure I don’t sound over-enthusiastic … but I’d be lying if I ignored that microscopic-sized part of me that’s almost … kind of … likes that she’s tagging along. Even if I don’t exactly know why.

“DOES THIS HAPPEN OFTEN?” I ask when we reach the highway. Sutter’s truck rumbles along an open stretch of pavement, the surroundings getting darker and darker as we grow farther removed from the city. “You having to pick up Tucker?”

“Depends.” His hand tightens at the top of the steering wheel. “What’s your definition of often?”

“Have you ever thought about being his guardian or something? So he could live with you?”

“All the time.” He pauses, like he’s lost in his own head for a moment. “It’s not as simple as it seems. Dad won’t let him go because Tucker’s his key to milking the system.”

“Ugh. I’m so sorry. That must be so frustrating for you. I never had any siblings growing up, but I was really close to my cousin, Maritza, and being the older one, I was always protective of her. I can’t imagine wanting to help someone and feeling so powerless.”

Sutter says nothing, and a solid minute of silence passes between us before he messes with the radio, tunes into a classic rock station, and settles the volume on low.

Aerosmith’s Love in an Elevator croons through the speakers, and Sutter takes an exit that leads us to another highway.

I want to ask him more about his childhood, why he’s never mentioned his mother. There are layers to him. I can tell. And I’ve barely broken through the first one.

Maybe if I knew more about him and about his past, it could explain his hot-and-cold antics, his distance and guarded personality.

“So no brothers or sisters?” he asks out of nowhere a few miles later.

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