Marry Me Again (The Second Chance Love Series, Book 1) (12 page)

They were both grateful when the clock ran out on that play. Seventeen grubby little boys ran off the field to the sidelines and their coaches—all of them except Sammy.

He sat down in the grass on the field, right there in the spot he hadn't left for the entire time he was in the game.

Then Sammy put his head down in his hands and sobbed.

Chapter 7

They drove home in silence and misery.

Sammy refused to talk about what happened, and he wouldn't even look at Tucker. He did permit his mother one too-brief squeeze.

Next, they tried to bribe him out of his somber mood. He didn't want ice cream or pizza or even a double chocolate soda.

They finally gave up and let him be. When they got back to the house, Sammy went straight to his room and wouldn't come out.

He refused to let his father into the room, but finally let Rebecca come in.

Tucker went downstairs and stared at a bottle of vodka and two different kinds of gin lined up on top of the refrigerator.

Not his drinks of choice, as if it mattered, anyway. It wasn't one of the two days a year he let himself have a drink. But he was tempted. He was torn up enough inside to be very tempted.

He leaned over the counter and let his head rest on one of his hands, then tried rubbing out the knot of tension forming in his forehead.

That weight had returned, pressing relentlessly against his chest, crushing his lungs and making every beat of his heart seem like an insurmountable task. It was a good thing it took more than sick fear and guilt to kill a man—otherwise, he'd be dead for sure.

Tucker stood there with his eyes closed and his head pounding, and all he could see was a miserable little boy sobbing on a soccer field.

What in God's name was wrong with his little boy? That was all Tucker could think about. What was wrong? And was he to blame?

* * *

Tucker was pacing again by the time Rebecca came back downstairs. She was going to have to replace the carpet if he came to visit regularly.

"Well?" He stopped just long enough to ask the question, then nervous energy had him pacing again.

"Sammy said the coach told him to stand in that spot, so he stood in that spot."

Tucker looked incredulous, and Rebecca wondered how in the world she could explain their son to him.

"Remember when he first went on the field and got confused?" she asked. "The coach came out and took him to his spot and told him to stand there. He said that was Sammy's spot, so Sammy stayed in his spot."

"Come on, Rebecca." He went to the bookshelf and paused in front of a picture taken at the beach when Sammy was three.

"I know it sounds silly, but he didn't want to mess up, especially not in front of you. And then there were all those kids going in different directions, and the ball and those people in the stands looking at him. He couldn't remember what he was supposed to do next. It was all a little too much for him."

"It was a soccer game, for God's sake."

Rebecca had to count to ten. It was a tactic she used with Sammy, but it would probably work on ex-husbands as well.

"Sammy's... He's very precise. He listens carefully and tries hard to remember everything and to do what he's told. But sometimes it just gets all jumbled up inside him. And rather than take a chance that he might be doing the wrong thing, he just freezes up. Because more than anything, he doesn't want to do the wrong thing."

"What's the matter with him?" Tucker said, very quietly.

She risked a brief glance at him, and the intensity, the fury in him had her wishing she hadn't looked. He'd always been like this. It was never calm or quiet when Tucker was around. He didn't simply get happy. He was thrilled. He seldom got mad, but when he did, simple anger wouldn't do. He got furious.

Most people found some emotional set point in the middle and went toward happy or sad from there. Tucker never found that midpoint. He gravitated to one end or the other.

He was so intense, so strong-willed, so overwhelming. It had excited her at first. But later, it had simply exhausted her.

Judging from what she'd seen over the weekend, he was still the same. And she was sure it made it impossible for him to understand their son.

"Nothing's wrong with Sammy," she told him.

Tucker turned back to face her. "You want to explain what happened out there, then?"

"He's just a little shy, a little insecure, especially about sports."

"He was scared to death out there, over a silly kid's game."

"Well, it was his first game. Lots of people were watching. He just got scared, Tucker, and confused. Little kids get scared."

"Those other kids were fine. It was their first game and lots of people were watching them. They did just fine."

"They're not Sammy."

"No, they were fine. All of them."

"Yes, but they're not Sammy, and it's not fair of you to compare him with the rest of them."

"Oh, come on, Rebecca. He was terrified out there, and you can't tell me it's normal for a soccer game to scare a little boy to death."

She lost her patience then. She didn't have to explain anything to this man.

"You just don't know him, Tucker. You don't know anything about him."

He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. His lips stretched into a thin, taut line.

Too late, she realized what she'd said. She'd wounded him, and though he might deserve it, she did regret it.

"Look, I'm not trying to hurt you. Honestly, I'm not. I think we've hurt each other enough for three lifetimes at least. But you have no right to turn your back on him for all those years and then come storming in here and telling me there's something terribly wrong with Sammy and demanding that I explain—"

He put his fingers to her lips, singeing them but succeeding in stopping her words. She almost fell as she tried to back away too fast.

He caught her by her upper arms, holding her just enough to keep her from falling, then carefully letting her go once she righted herself.

"Just tell me this," he said quietly. "Do you think it's because of me?"

"Of you?"

"Because I was never around. I mean... "

Rebecca didn't hear any more. She withdrew deep inside herself and let herself simply feel. How did he do this to her? How did he find that direct line, right into her heart, and tug at her emotions like this? He knew just what to say, what to do, how to touch her, how to get to her. He always had. He still did.

She'd been furious at him for years, and here he was stripping it all away, cleanly, quickly, efficiently. She wouldn't have believed it was possible, but he disarmed her of all the anger she wore like a protective shield. He left her open to him, vulnerable in a way she never wanted to be again.

"It's not about you, Tucker. I mean, he's been upset the past few months when Jimmy Horton's parents split up and then got back together again, and that kid started filling Sammy's head with all this garbage. But before that he was okay with it."

"Then what about today?"

He simply asked that time. He didn't demand or accuse, and Rebecca tried her best to explain it to him again.

"Sammy's different, but that's all right. He doesn't have to be like all those other kids. He never has been, and he's never going to be like them."

Rebecca sighed heavily. She'd spent years explaining Sammy to other people, and she was so tired of trying to make them understand.

"Look," she said, "I know it's hard for you to understand, but some people aren't born with the confidence and self-assurance that you have. Some of us spend years just trying to find a fraction of the self-confidence you have."

Lord knows it had taken her a long time to find it. It had been long after they'd separated, had come only after she'd found the strength to build a life on her own with her son.

"He's just..." She struggled to explain it to him. "He's a lot like me. Is that so bad?"

"No—"

"I mean, I know I wasn't what you wanted in a wife, but—" Rebecca whirled around to put her back to him and clamped a hand over her mouth. It helped to stifle her groan.

How could it still hurt after all these years that she'd failed him as a woman, that she hadn't been able to be the kind of wife he wanted? How could she have said that to him? How could she let him see that it still hurt her?

"Rebecca?"

He put his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off.

"Do me a favor, Tucker. Just forget I ever said that, okay? It... I don't even know where it came from. I don't want to know, and I don't want to talk about anything to do with us. Okay?"

"Okay."

She found the self-control necessary to turn around and face him. She was stronger now, so much stronger than she had been during their brief, miserable marriage. She could handle this.

"So, it's getting late. I'm not sure how long Sammy's going to be up there or... Don't you have to get back?"

"Yeah, I guess I do."

She wanted to let him go without another word, but it couldn't be that simple. She didn't even know how to ask the question, but Sammy would ask, and she'd need an answer for him.

She let him get all the way to the door before she found the words. "Tucker? Is this it? I mean—did you just want to see him once? Are you coming back?"

"Yes. I'm coming back."

He was angry, but she didn't care. This was too important to let go, and she pressed on. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

And for some reason, she believed him. It scared her, just thinking about the harm Tucker could do to Sammy if he became a regular part of Sammy's life, and it scared her, too, to think what it would do to Sammy if Tucker never came back again.

"Look, it's not that late, and I have some time before I have to head back. Is there a sporting goods store around here somewhere?"

"Next to the mall."

"Good. I think Sammy and I need to get some soccer equipment and see if we can make him feel a little more confident on the field."

He was nearly out the door when he turned back once again, crossed the room to stand by her side and took her hand in his—the way he had at the game when they'd both been so worried about Sammy.

"Rebecca?"

She wouldn't look up at him, didn't want to see what was in his eyes. It was hard enough to have him touching her this way. She stared at the hand holding hers so tenderly.

An awareness crackled between them, still, that she couldn't understand. It caught her off guard, so much so that she stood there, staring at her hand in his, wondering why she allowed his touch and how he could make her feel so much by simply holding her hand.

"Rebecca, I wish I'd been there for him all those years. I wish things had been different."

He waited, with more patience than she'd have believed he possessed, until she could get the words out.

"Just don't hurt him this time, Tucker."

"I won't." She went to pull her hand away, but he wouldn't release it, not until she looked up into his beautiful brown eyes, the ones that were so familiar because they were so like her little boy's. "I won't hurt you, either, Rebecca. Not again."

Tucker kissed her then. He brushed his lips against her cheek, a butterfly kiss, like he'd given her so long ago on the first night they'd met.

She'd felt that kiss for days, felt her cheek blazing on that very spot, so long after his lips were gone.

She felt the sensation still as he turned and walked out the door.

Her cheek was warm and tingling from his touch, and she was speechless. She didn't know what to make of his promise. Was it the guilt talking? Or a real desire to have acted differently all those years ago? Did he honestly long to recapture what he'd lost?

She wondered what Sammy would have been like if Tucker had been around, what kind of difference Tucker could have made.

She didn't have any answers.