Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 93096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“I don’t get why you have to leave.” And okay, maybe Walker wasn’t quite to that point yet himself. The pain in his voice made Tucker reach over, pat his shoulder.
“Because sticking around here with you and Mary Anne isn’t happening.” Wade punctuated his words with crisp movements as he plated some pancakes for Tucker and himself. “And U of O isn’t exactly knocking on my doorstep to play Division One ball either.”
“It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love us,” Tucker interjected before Wade could make things worse. And that was another truth he knew in his bones. Luis not wanting to move didn’t mean he didn’t love Tucker. And maybe it meant Luis loved him more, not willing to give him an unhappy, bitter version of himself, resentments stacking up until eventually the whole thing toppled.
“Ha.” Walker didn’t sound convinced. “Just because you struck out with Mitch’s sister doesn’t mean you couldn’t be happy here.”
“Sure I could.” Wade shrugged as he finally took a seat next to Tucker. “I just don’t want to.”
Ah. That right there was the heart of his argument with Luis. Tucker knew he could be happy here. If Luis would only let himself...but he simply didn’t want to. And that was valid. After all, Tucker didn’t want to move and uproot his family, and if he was being totally honest with himself, he hadn’t even considered the possibility of going to California. Not since he’d had notebooks filled with facts about smoke jumpers and pictures from Luis of a life they could have, sunny and open, no more cold and gray days. This could be us. Oh, how he’d treasured that picture. And there he was back to being seventeen again himself, world full of shiny promise and California starring in all his big dreams.
“Must be nice to have options.” Walker’s voice was a combination of dismissal and longing.
“You could—” He started, but Walker cut him off by holding up his hand.
“No. I couldn’t.” Hunching over his plate, Walker stabbed his last piece of pancake. His eyes were pained, and Tucker’s heart ached. He couldn’t fix this. Couldn’t make Walker choose differently, even if he could see the bitterness coming. All he could do was rub his shoulder and hope he figured things out before it was too late.
He might not. Tucker weighed that possibility. And just as he’d seen future Wade owning that Midwestern college, he could see Walker staying in place, always wondering what might have been.
Like me. Did he truly want to grow old here alone, watching Walker navigate through regrets, wallowing in his own? Wasn’t that the real question? Did he want to be here missing Luis forever? And if the answer was no, why wasn’t he fighting more to keep him, whatever it took?
Next to him, Wade was thumbing through the catalog again, a little smile on his face. Risk taker. He’d always been one. Tucker not so much. He’d stayed here once even when his dreams had pulled him elsewhere, even when he’d fallen asleep every night senior year dreaming of a different life, one full of adrenaline and sunshine. But he wasn’t a risk taker, and he’d had reasons for not packing up the day after graduation. Wade wouldn’t have. Wade would have loaded the car even before the ceremony. Wade wouldn’t leave that dream unchased.
And no amount of lecture was going to sway Walker. Nothing might, but what kind of example was Tucker setting for both of them? He needed to sit with that question, really sit with it. He’d assumed for twenty years that good men stayed, that he had no alternatives, but was that truly the case? He simply didn’t know. And he needed to unearth some answers quickly before it was too late for him. For Luis. For them. Before he let his second chance slip away.
* * *
Luis had often wondered what it would be like to be one of those people who lost their appetite when feeling down. Not him. He’d lost track of how many teeny kitchens he’d attempted stress cooking in, how many times he’d tried to convince himself that making some comfort food would solve the ache in his chest. His usual healthy eating resolve went out the window when disappointment reigned supreme, all other emotions fading into a big mass of regret.
Thus, Sunday morning he was attempting to use his tiny hotel kitchenette to make chilaquiles the way his abuela always had—lots of tortillas and sauce and plenty of queso fresco. Of course, the whole time he wished he was cooking for Tucker, and when his phone buzzed, his heart leaped. Might be ill-advised, but if it were Tucker, he was going to answer. Simply going this many hours without contact was hard enough.
But the call was Mami. And further fool that he was, he answered, making it through the pleasantries on autopilot. Yes, he was fine. No, he wasn’t sure of a return date. Yes, he’d heard about the fires. Yes, he wished he were there to help. All truths and yet so far from the whole story.