“By all means,” Tucker says, motioning for Bostic and me to come in. I try not to look around. I really, really do. I mean, do I need to see if they’d resumed their fuckfest on the floor? No, I do not. But I look anyway. And thankfully, it’s all gone, and our once sparse living room is back to normal. Not ours. Theirs. As in, not mine anymore.
I push my way past Bostic to my room, where I start throwing everything I can into my suitcase without hesitation. No need to stay here any longer than I have to.
“Do you need any help?”
That’s Bostic, not Asshole.
My head drops to my chest in a big sigh. “I don’t know.” This is all happening so fast. It’s like I’m living someone else’s life. My room. My things. I’ve spent the last two years within these four walls and in seconds it’s all gone.
I take a seat on the edge of my bed with my head in my hands. “I don’t have anywhere to take all this stuff. What am I supposed to do with my bed?” I mean, really. What’s the point in packing? I have nowhere to put it. Maybe I should give it away? Or perhaps I should drop out and go home. Find a community college closer to home where I’ll have food in my belly and a roof over my head.
I look up at Bostic through bleary eyes.
I’m not going to cry. I can handle this. Think of it like when you had a Father’s Day event at school and no father to have doughnuts with you. The initial pain hurts, but you get used to it. Eventually, you won’t even care.
“We’ll figure it out, kiddo. Right now, just grab what you need for the next few days.” Bostic says this like he has a plan, or maybe he’s just saying what he thinks I need to hear, so I don’t lose my shit again and cause another fire.
Either way, he’s right. There’s nothing I can do about the bed and the larger items. Essentials. I just need essentials until I figure out my next step. I don’t really want to go home, but if I have to, I have to. The important thing is I can’t let Tucker win. He can’t know that he’s turned my life inside out. He can’t see that I have no idea who I am at the moment or what I plan to do with myself.
Tucker just needs to see me pack up clothes and makeup. Oh. And a toothbrush—definitely a toothbrush.
I nod. “You’re right. I’ll find a new roommate in no time. We’ll just hope Taylor doesn’t stash a dead fish in the mattress before I return.”
Bostic’s eyes go wide, like the viciousness of women is new to him. Ha. He has no idea.
I wave off my comment. “I doubt she will, though. She’s a vegetarian. Touching a fish is like wearing drugstore foundation to her. Just forget I said anything.”
His nod is slow and wary, but he seems to move on from it after a few pained seconds.
“We can load up my truck with as much as we can fit today. I can ask some of the guys to come back and help take the bed apart. I could store it in my garage for the time being.”
Ah, shit. See? I knew I scared him with all the dead fish talk and watery eyes.
“Don’t worry about it, Boss—” Ooh. I like that nickname. “It’ll be okay. You’ve already done so much for me.”
He scoffs, but I ignore it and go back to shoving the contents of my dresser into my suitcase. Stuffing in everything I can, I finally manage to zip up my suitcase with Bostic’s help.
“All done,” I say, taking one last look around.
Bostic nods, grabs the suitcase with one hand, and proceeds out to the living room with a firm grunt and a “Let’s go.”
Can we just note that he doesn’t bother with engaging the wheels? It’s like he doesn’t want anything slowing our exit from this hellhole.
Let’s also note that Bostic needs a stuffed sea lion named after him. Pronto.
I refrain from flipping Tucker and Taylor off as we pass by, but then I feel a soft touch at my elbow. “Ainsley. I’m—”
“Get your hands off of her.”
And that’s why his nickname is Boss.
I let a smirk stretch out over my face as Tucker slowly backs away with his hands up. Bostic’s growl is pretty freaking scary.
“Do not come near her ever again,” he threatens, looking from Tucker to Taylor. “Either of you.”
They both nod but it’s forced. They don’t want to piss off the big man, but they haven’t finished saying all they need to say to me, and that’s fine. I sure as shit have more I would like to say to them, but I won’t. Not now. Because whatever I did to deserve Bostic’s help at this moment, I’d like to keep it. And him, because he’s just amazing.
Without another word, Bostic turns and heads out the front door. I follow dutifully but not before placing my hand behind my back and flipping off the two love birds. Screw them.
“You can shower at the fire station,” says Bostic, descending the stairs with a hundred-pound suitcase hanging from his fist.
“Are we eating breakfast there too?”
He pauses when we reach the bottom of the stairs. “Yes. Is that okay?”
Uh, yeah, it’s okay—more than okay actually. I’m starving.
And okay, for those of you who are skeptical, I know all the talks about stranger danger, and I don’t plan on getting a ride in Bostic’s truck, no matter how helpful he’s been. But the fire station can’t be that bad, right? I mean, they do background checks on these guys. If there was any place I could shower and get some breakfast, the fire station should be on the list as being safe. I figure if the law allows you to leave your baby there, then they have to be good guys, right?
“Yep. That sounds good to me. I’ll even wash dishes as payment for letting me squat for the morning.” I’m not a taker. I’ll do my fair share.
“That won’t be necessary.”
I shrug when he starts walking again. “The offer stands should you change your mind,” I call out to his back.
Bostic shakes his head like he isn’t sure what to do with me. And that’s fine. Most people aren’t. I’ve grown accustomed to it.
“Come on.” He tosses my bag in the truck. “Do you know how to get to the station?”
“Nope.” GPS could probably help, but there are several fire stations around here. What if I pick the wrong one? I doubt they have the station numbers listed on the map.
Bostic rubs his forehead like a headache is brewing. “Follow me then.”
I can do that. “Yes, sir.”
I’m betting he regrets offering me anything at this point. And while I’m still in a state of shock, I realize that maybe my eccentric personality could have been part of the issue between Tucker and me. Tucker is calm. Reserved. Well-bred, so to speak. Not that I’m not well-bred, but I can’t tell you who is a pro golfer and what charity my mom donates to every year. Tucker is exceptionally well-rounded. That’s it. Well-rounded. And well, I’m not.
An ache in my chest knots up under my underwire. Today is a new day, though. Today, I can be anyone I want to be. I can start over. I don’t have to worry about impressing anyone or worrying if they like me or not.
I simply don’t answer to anyone anymore.
It’s a freeing feeling.
At least I hope it will be a freeing feeling once the ache in my chest wears off.