Never Say Never (Haven Harbor #3)

Chapter 7

SEVEN

TUCKER COLLINS DETOX

D aisy

I hurriedly walk through the doors of Dream Bean café, sighing when I see the lineup of people in front of me. I join the line, checking the time on my phone because I need to get back to the clinic. But I also really need my Americano.

When I left Hazel at the office, the phones were ringing off the hook and appointments, not surprisingly, were running 15 minutes behind. I absolutely knew Hazel was in over her head, but I had already skipped lunch, and a coffee break was non-negotiable if I was going to survive the rest of the day.

I spent most of last night tossing and turning. It was Will’s last night in town, so we went out for dinner and a movie. At the end of the night, I said goodbye and gave him a hug, but that was where it stopped. When I closed my apartment door, I was frustrated at how relieved I was. When I first met Will, I was pretty sure that I wanted a one-night stand with him—okay, maybe a four-night stand— but in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

There were plenty of opportunities, but every time Will made a move, I could feel my body shutting down. In the moment, I couldn’t explain it, but last night as I lay in bed alone staring up at the ceiling, it clicked into place. Will is missing the tattoos that are inked on Tucker’s arms. He’s missing the playful smirk that spreads across Tuck’s face when he’s teasing me. And Will definitely doesn’t turn me into a quivering, crumbling mess like Tucker does every time I notice him watching me. And that’s a problem. A huge one.

I’ve never been able to understand what happened with Tucker and I after we kissed all those years ago. I was pretty sure I loved him back then. So much so, I would have done anything to be with him. That night, I had gone to bed feeling a high that set my soul ablaze. I replayed the kiss over and over in my mind, remembering the look in his eyes and how it made me feel. I was sure he liked it as much as I did. I felt it. At least, I thought I did. But what a stupid girl I was. The next day Tucker told me it was a mistake, said that we were friends and nothing more. He didn’t want me. It felt like a curse, knowing what it felt like to have his hands on me, his mouth, then to be told I could never feel that way again. I was crushed for a very long time. I’m not sure I ever got over the sting of his rejection.

I built that kiss into something that it wasn’t, and all these years later, I continue to allow him to take up way too much space in my mind.

Somewhere around 1 a.m., I decided it had to end. I would stuff every salacious thought I’ve ever had about Tucker into the darkest, deepest trenches of my brain. To do that, I need space. No more private chats at parties, no more Sunday dinners with him and his family. I’m on a Tucker Collins detox until I know without a doubt that I can be in the same room as him and not be turned on by his charm.

But first, coffee. A lot of it. I inch forward in line, trying not to think about the chaos that is probably unfolding at the clinic right now. The door opens behind me, and I turn to see—

You have got to be kidding me.

Tucker.

The universe has a really awful sense of humor sometimes. Damn it , I mumble under my breath.

“Daisy.”

He has a way of saying those two syllables like a love note.

He’s wearing a short-sleeved Outlaws polo, and his team baseball hat is pulled low on his forehead. I let my eyes roam over the tattoos on both of his arms, the ones I can see so clearly when I close my eyes.

Tucker joins the line behind me, the scent of leather and soap filling my nostrils. It’s masculine, strong. Uniquely him.

Stop it, Daisy . I remind myself that I’m still mad at him after the stunt he pulled at the dock party. And I’ve officially started my detox.

“Tuck.” I scowl before turning my back to him, taking another step forward in line.

“I know you’re mad at me. Let me buy you a coffee. Think of it as a peace offering.”

I cross my arms over my chest, giving him a view of my back. My annoyance deepens. “I’m absolutely mad at you. And I don’t need you to buy me anything.”

“If this is about the dock party, I’m not going to apologize for worrying about you.”

I clench my jaw and ignore him, praying the person in front of me would hurry along with their order.

“Fine. I’m sorry,” he says.

“Sorry for what?” I ask, wanting to hear him say it.

“Really, Dais? ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t enough?”

“No.”

“Okay, fine,” he grumbles, taking a step forward so that he’s standing right next to me, forcing me to look up at him. “I’m sorry for acting like you can’t take care of yourself.”

“And?” My voice softens just a little.

Tucker arches an eyebrow. “And I’m sorry for interfering with your love life.”

“Great. Don’t do it again.”

He gives me a small nod, and for once, Tuck actually looks remorseful. I can’t help feeling victorious; maybe I finally did get through to him this time.

“I’ll still buy you that coffee to make it up to you. What’ll it be? Your usual Americano?” he asks, throwing an arm around my shoulders and hauling me into his side. It takes an effort to peel his muscular arm from my body, but enjoying the heat of Tucker’s skin is definitely not part of my detox.

“Tall, please.” With my body now a safe distance from his, I relax a little.

“Have time to drink it here?” He waves a hand toward an empty table near the window.

“I need to get back to the clinic.”

“Come on. What would 10 minutes matter?”

“A lot.”

He gives me a disappointed look before turning his attention to the guy at the counter. After he gives him our order, we walk over to the counter to wait for our drinks.

Tucker seems noticeably stressed. He anxiously checks his phone, then scrubs a hand though his thick hair and over the back of his neck. My gaze lands again on the ink on his arms. I shouldn’t like his tattoos as much as I do. I remember sitting at family dinners, my eyes searching his forearms for his latest tat, wanting to ask him about each one.

I force myself to look away, mentally shaking the thought from my mind. I will not look at Tucker that way again. Ever.

“Busy day at the clinic?”

“Very.” In all the years I have worked there, I have never felt this overwhelmed. At one point this morning I had two phones going, a lineup of three patients waiting to be checked in and a 5-year-old who had vomited on the waiting room carpet. Hazel, of course, was nowhere to be found. I’m assuming she was wherever Scott was.

But as stressed as I am, Tucker looks worse. His eyes are tired, lacking their usual intensity.

“Are you okay?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

I’ve known him long enough to know he’s lying. “Are you gonna make me drag it out of you?”

“Drag what out of me?”

“Whatever it is that’s eating at you.”

“Just a big game tonight. I guess I’m wound a little tight.”

“It’s going to be great, Tucker. The Outlaws play their best ball under pressure. And they’ve got a great coach,” I add.

“That they do,” he says with a smirk, that playful spark returning to his eyes. It hits me square in my chest, but I refuse to get sucked in by him.

“Get over yourself.” I roll my eyes at him as I shove my phone in my back pocket.

“So, are you coming?”

“Where?”

“To the game tonight.”

Normally I wouldn’t hesitate, but I’m not sure going to cheer on Tuck’s team fits with my self-imposed Tucker Collins detox. Faking a headache might be the better idea.

“I’d like to, but I have a list a mile long of things I need to get to.”

“Daisy—”

“The groceries aren’t going to buy themselves,” I deadpan, crossing my arms over my chest.

He tilts his head at me pointedly, eyebrows raised. Something about the way he looks at me feels so familiar, like we have shared a moment like this a thousand times before. No matter what has happened between us, no matter what else is going on in our lives, Tucker and I know each other almost as well as we know ourselves. He pushes my buttons, and I allow him to get under my skin. It’s what we do. But underneath all of that, we are a constant in one another’s lives.

He waits for me to say something, not breaking eye contact. Wordlessly, I stare back until he caves and breaks the silence.

“It’s a big game, Dais. I really hope you’ll be there. But if not, then I’ll see you when I pick you up for dinner on Sunday.”

Just then, the barista calls Tucker’s name, placing our drinks on the bar. He picks them up and turns to me, his eyes catching mine as he smiles. It’s not forced or awkward. It’s the smile I remember from when we were kids that assured me, we were okay.

I smile back as I reach for the cup in his hand, and his fingers brush against mine as I take it. My skin tingles at the contact. He pauses, his eyes dropping down to my lips before returning to my eyes.

Neither of us move. This can’t be happening. He isn’t going to kiss me in the middle of the coffee shop. Or is he? My heart drops to my stomach.

Tucker reaches out and softly places his hand on my forearm. “Daisy.”

The years since that kiss seem to unravel and I am back on that day, on his parents’ couch, when I was just a girl, and he was everything I ever wanted.

I’m not sure which of us breaks eye contact, but I manage to speak first. “I think I should go,” I say quietly. I watch Tucker’s hand fall from my forearm and pretend I’m not affected by the loss of his touch. I yank my purse up onto my shoulder, dismissing the pesky flutter in my belly. I need to get out of here before I give into temptation and break my pact with myself.

“I’ll see ya,” I say in a hurry.

“I’ll leave tickets for you and your parents at will call,” he calls as I slip out the door.

Then I’m walking away from him. I need air. I need to breathe. I need to be as far away from his damn blue eyes as possible.

The stadium is packed with Outlaw fans wearing green and gold. The excitement coursing through the air so thick tonight it’s palpable, the whole place is buzzing with anticipation. I join the rest of the fans who are on their feet cheering wildly as the team files out of the tunnel one by one, followed by Tucker and the rest of the coaching staff.

My heart bottoms out when I notice the tension in his jaw, the focus in his eyes, the undeniable love he has for the game written all over his face. At Dream Bean this afternoon, his need to win was evident but tonight as he stalks to his position on the sidelines, there’s no mistaking just how badly he wants it.

It doesn’t surprise me. I know Tucker better than anyone. Coaching is his life, and he will do everything he needs to do to make sure the Outlaws take this victory. So far, he’s done a damn good job; the team leads the state in points and are the favorite to win the conference championships.

The burst of pride I feel for my friend is so strong it nearly brings tears to my eyes. I’ve always loved coming out to support our football team, but never more than when Tuck took the job as their head coach.

My plans to stay at home tonight went awry when my mom called and mentioned that Tucker had left tickets for us at will call. I tried to squirm my way out of it, but she pushed, and I relented. My parents are just back from their vacation, and it’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve seen them. My detox would have to wait one more day.

So, thanks to Tucker, we are sitting in the third row behind the team. We have our own little cheering squad: me, Briar, my parents and my Aunt Daisy and Uncle Mark.

I’d been relieved when my dad told me that Uncle Mark would be at tonight’s game. It isn’t often that Tucker’s dad makes the effort to show up and support him. But this is a huge game; it seems like the whole town is in attendance tonight.

“I’m so nervous, I can hardly stand it,” my mom says, leaning into me so I can hear her over the roar of the crowd.

“You and every other Outlaws fan,” I reply, my own nerves twisting a knot in the pit of my stomach. “How’s Aunt Daisy doing?”

I lean forward to look over at Tucker’s mom, who’s wearing an Outlaws jersey with her wide-legged linen pants and silver Gucci loafers. She always looks perfectly polished. Her light brown hair is styled in a long bob at her shoulders and the diamond choker that Uncle Mark gave her for their 20 th wedding anniversary is around her neck.

I remember that night. My family had joined the Collins’ for a two-week vacation in Hawaii. Uncle Mark paid for everyone to go to a fancy restaurant for dinner to celebrate the milestone and Aunt Daisy’s jaw had dropped when she opened the jewelry box.

Things with Tucker were still normal then; we swam in the ocean together during the day, walked down the boardwalk for shaved ice after dinner. At night, he and I would sneak out of our hotel rooms to swim in the dark. We’d only drag ourselves out of the pool when we started shivering, or when we were caught by a security guard. I wonder if Tucker remembers that trip.

We hadn’t kissed yet. That would happen six months later, but we both came up with endless excuses to touch one another. Tucker was my first crush, and even all these years later, no one else has even come close to making me feel the way he does.

“It’s nice to see her supporting Tucker,” Mom says, looking at Aunt Daisy. “He’ll appreciate it. Your Uncle Mark, on the other hand, looks like he’d rather eat glass than be here. Stubborn ass.”

I roll my eyes before returning my gaze to Tucker, tracing every curve of his beautiful face. I have memorized every line. After tonight, Operation Detox resumes, so I figure it’s okay to get my fill in now.

“I wish he’d ease up on him,” I say to Mom, shaking my head. “Stop being so serious all the time.”

“I wish he would too, my darling. But it's just his nature. It’s part of the reason he’s so successful.”

Maybe my mom is right, but I’d be willing to bet Uncle Mark would be happier if he spent more time laughing and less time being so stressed about everything. Will he ever realize that he got it all wrong with Tucker? Will he ever just let his son make his own choices and live his own life?

The game passes in a nail-biting blur, and by the fourth quarter, the Outlaws are leading the Kodiaks 13-10. Both teams have played their hearts out tonight, but Tuck’s team almost has it. Their only job now is to defend our lead and hold them off for a few more minutes.

The whole place erupts as the clock runs down. Fans are on their feet, cheering, waving flags as our quarterback looks for his receiver then sends the ball soaring high over the field.

I steal a quick glance at Tucker, who is standing impassively, eyes locked on the field as he adjusts his baseball cap on his head.

With my heart beating wildly in my chest, I will the ball to land straight into the arms of our wide receiver. “Come on,” I murmur to myself, saying a silent prayer, positive I’m not the only one talking to God in the stadium right now. And when he catches the ball and heads straight for the end zone, the cheers of the crowd are deafening.

Touchdown.

We still have a field goal to kick, but it doesn’t matter. The Outlaws win.

He did it! Of course he did. Tears of joy prick at the back of my eyelids as I watch Tucker do what he was born to do. On the sideline, he throws a fist in the air as the assistant coach, Jesse, tackles him from the side.

Briar throws her arms around my neck, and then both of us are jumping up and down. My mom joins us in a group hug, followed by high fives from my dad and my aunt. We are all here for Tucker. We always will be.

I look to the field to find Tucker standing in the middle of a throng of people, staring up at me. The moment our gazes lock, his eyes wrinkle at the corners and his thousand-watt smile spreads across his face. On a normal day, Tucker is handsome. But this Tucker—joyful and filled with pride—is magnetic.

I smile back and we stare at each other in silence for a moment, the sounds of the crowd slipping away, until Jesse tugs at his arm and points him in the direction of a local reporter.

Tucker turns away and a rush of breath escapes my lungs. This is bad . I gather my jacket and bag, returning my attention to Briar and my parents. I need to get out of this stadium and away from Tucker. I need to go home and forget all about the way he just looked at me.

I take one last look at the field, my heart racing when I spot Tucker walking across the turf toward the tunnel. Butterflies erupt in my belly. How has he always managed to make me feel this way?

His stride is confident, but relaxed. It’s so Tucker. Just as he’s about to disappear into the tunnel, he turns back toward the stands, searching the crowd until his eyes find mine. A ghost of a smile touches his lips and then he’s gone, off to the locker room to celebrate with the team.

And all I can think is, I wish.

I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish things with Tucker could have been different. I wish this didn’t feel like a goodbye.