Page 4

Chapter Three

TUCKER

I blinked awake, the world a blur of shadows and hushed sounds, my mind still tethered to dreams. I squinted against the dim light that seeped through curtains I didn't recognize, casting a pale glow across the room. My heart beat a staccato rhythm as I tried to piece together where I was and why the air smelled faintly of baby powder.

The weight in my arms shifted, a tiny sigh slipping into the quiet, and my disorientation shattered like thin ice underfoot. Chloe. Her small frame curled against my chest, her breathing even and deep in sleep's embrace. Memories flooded in, unbidden, cruel—Zach and Brooke’s smiling faces, their laughter, all snuffed out in a single, shattering moment.

A lump formed in my throat, thick and suffocating, as the reality of their absence hit me anew. My brother, my confidant, the guy who knew me better than anyone was gone. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, a silent testament to the gaping hole left behind. I tightened my hold on Chloe, this tiny reminder of their love, and my chest ached with a mix of sorrow and fierce protectiveness.

“Hey there, little one,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Uncle Tucker's got you.” It was a promise, a vow whispered into the darkness of a room that suddenly felt too large, too empty. Swallowing hard, I brushed a kiss atop her head, her baby-fine hair tickling my lips.

In the cocoon of that unfamiliar room with its unfamiliar sounds, holding my niece, Zach's daughter, I let myself feel it all—the pain, the loss, the love. And I knew, no matter how far I roamed or what adventures awaited, this sweet little girl would always be a priority.

A sigh escaped me, a mix of exhaustion and relief. The flight from Bangkok to Michigan had been the longest of my life—not in hours, but in the weight of anticipation pressing on my chest. From taxiing runways to bustling airports, every step was a race against time, each mile bringing me closer to Chloe. I needed to see her, hold her, ensure she was alive and safe.

Leaning back, I closed my eyes, allowing my mind to drift through the jet lag. It was hard to believe just days ago I navigated the crowded streets of Bangkok, the air thick with the scent of spices and the vibrant sounds of the city. And now, here I was, in the quiet hush of a Michigan evening, a world away from everything familiar.

“Safe,” I murmured, tracing a finger along Chloe's soft cheek. “You're safe.” The words were a mantra, a conviction I clung to amid the chaos that had upended our lives. My promise to protect her felt as innate as breathing—she was the last piece of Zach, and I'd guard her with my life.

Death and I had met before, a couple of times. My thoughts wandered, unbidden, to another loss. Mom and Dad had been the heart of our family, the ones who taught Zach and me about love and loyalty. When cancer took Mom, it was like watching a vibrant flame reduced to embers. Dad followed soon after, his heart literally broken. Those twin blows had shaken our world, but in their aftermath, Zach and I found solace in each other.

Our weekly Skype calls were filled with laughter, life updates, and the comfortable silence that comes from shared understanding. His voice, always so full of life, echoed in my head—a cruel reminder of conversations that would never happen again.

I shifted slightly, careful not to disturb Chloe, and let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. The loss of my parents had taught me to seize life with both hands, to chase every experience life had to offer because we only got one chance. The nomadic life had been an easy choice—a choice to chase sunsets across continents, to lose myself in languages I couldn't quite pronounce, and to code from cafes that knew me by my order rather than my name.

“Life's too short for just one view,” I'd argue whenever Zach ribbed me about my wandering ways.

“Just make sure you keep in touch, okay?” he'd remind me.

“Always,” I'd assure him, because no matter where I roamed, home was never a place—it was people; it was Zach, then it grew to include Brooke and, eventually, it was Chloe too.

But now, in the hushed stillness of the nursery, my adventures were lost behind the tidal wave of grief. I gazed down at my niece, this tiny being with Zach’s nose and Brooke’s eyes. My heart clenched, a mix of sorrow and love knotting together in a silent promise.

With Chloe cradled gently in my arms, I leaned over the white oak crib, its bars cool and smooth under my touch. The room was steeped in moonlight, casting a serene glow across her delicate features. Carefully, I lowered her down onto the cloud-soft sheet, her tiny fists uncurling like petals as she settled into sleep.

“Sweet dreams,” I whispered, adjusting the plush rabbit so it watched over her. Watching her chest rise and fall with each breath, I felt anchored for the first time in what felt like forever. The wanderlust that had etched itself into my bones was quieted by this newfound purpose—here, in Lakeside Ridge, with Chloe's innocence filling the room with a purity that rivaled any foreign sunrise I'd witnessed.

I had no idea what the future held—who my brother would have chosen to raise his daughter in his stead. One thing I did know for certain was that I would always be a part of her life. No matter where she went or who she was with, Chloe would always have her Uncle Tucker there to watch over her.

Stepping out of the nursery, I pulled the door closed behind me, just enough to keep the light from the hallway from disrupting her slumber. The living room was draped in shadows, the only sounds were the house settling and the soft snoring coming from the couch. Bryson was sprawled there, one arm hanging off the side, his chest rising and falling in an exhausted rhythm that spoke volumes of the day he’d had.

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I remembered his earlier flustered attempts at pacifying Chloe's cries; his usually neat hair had stood on end, hazel eyes wide with a mix of panic and determination. For someone who thrived on order and predictability, he had dived headfirst into the chaos of caring for a grieving child with a courage that was both touching and comically endearing. I couldn't help but feel a warmth towards him—a brother-in-arms type of bond forming amidst the messiness of our shared sorrow.

“Sleep well, Bryson,” I murmured, my voice carrying none of the weight it had in the nursery. Instead, it was infused with a touch of humor. As I turned to go outside, I realized that despite the heartache, the laughter we'd shared was a balm, a tentative step towards healing in a world that had tilted off its axis.

I grabbed my bags from the rental car and quietly carried them inside, trying not to wake Bryson as I shut the door, but his eyelids fluttered open, his gaze blearily attempting to make sense of his surroundings. I set my bags down and leaned against the door frame, arms folded across my chest.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” I teased gently, “How about we crack open a couple of cold ones? Kinda feels like we could use it.”

His lips quirked into a soft smile, and he rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand, the dimple in his left cheek making a brief appearance. “Sounds good. Lord knows I could use something to take the edge off today.”

In the kitchen, I reached for two beers, the cool glass fogging up instantly in my grasp. There was something reassuring about the ritual, simple as it was. Bryson shuffled in after me, slumping into a chair at the table with an exhausted sigh.

“Thanks,” he said, wrapping his fingers around the bottle I slid towards him.

“Anytime.” I took the seat opposite him, the familiar, slightly bitter scent of hops filling the air between us.

“Chloe finally asleep?” His voice carried a tinge of worry.

“Out like a light,” I confirmed, tipping the bottle back for a sip. The beer was refreshingly crisp, chasing away some of my weariness. “You did good with her today, you know, despite how rough it got.”

“Did I?” Bryson hesitated, the self-doubt clear in his expression. “I feel so out of my depth, Tucker. Like I'm fumbling in the dark trying to do right by her, but nothing I do seems to help.”

“Hey, you're doing better than you think. Chloe's been through a lot. We all have,” I whispered the last part.

He nodded, taking a slow drink. “It just... it doesn't seem real, you know? Her parents... Zach and Brooke...” His voice trailed off, the weight of the words too heavy to carry on.

“I know,” I murmured. “We'll get through the next few days together.” And with those words, the bond between us seemed to tighten just a fraction more, an unspoken promise that neither of us would have to face the coming days alone.

We both fell silent for a moment, the only sound between us, the gentle clink of glass on wood as we set down our drinks. The quiet hum of the refrigerator played softly in the background, a comforting domestic drone in the stillness of the night.

“Chloe's probably missing her parents right now,” I said softly, breaking the silence. It was a truth that hung in the air, unspoken yet ever-present, like a delicate glass ornament that threatened to shatter at the slightest touch.

Bryson's eyes met mine, and I saw the pain there, raw and real. “Yeah,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I can't even imagine what that feels like for her.”

“Neither can I,” I admitted. “But we're here for her, and that's what matters.”

A profound sense of understanding passed between us. We were kindred spirits in that moment, bound by the love for a little girl who had unwittingly brought us together.

“Thanks, Tucker,” he said after a moment, his voice steadier. “For everything. For coming all this way... for Chloe.”

“Family sticks together,” I replied simply. And there it was—the crux of it all. Family, whether by blood or by bond, was where we found our strength.

The rhythmic tap at the door snapped us out of our reverie, and I glanced at Bryson, his brows lifting in a silent question. I shrugged and stood up, making my way to the entrance as another series of knocks followed, this time with more insistence. Pulling open the door revealed an older woman, her arms laden with what smelled like heaven. Her shoulder length hair was streaked with gray and the smile on her face was warm.

“Evening, boys,” she greeted, her eyes crinkling with concern and kindness. “I heard about Zach and Brooke—God rest their souls—and thought you could use some of this.” She motioned to the casserole dish swaddled in a thick towel.

“Thank you, uh....”

“Susie. I live next door,” she informed us, shoving the casserole dish into my hands. “And you must be Zach’s brother. You look just like him, but even more handsome.”

Her words made me chuckle, knowing Zach would have rolled his eyes at her description. “Tucker Murphy. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thanks for the food,” I replied, taking the dish and catching a whiff of cheesy potatoes—a small town comfort staple if there ever was one.

“Can't have you two wasting away,” she said, stepping past me into the house as if it were her own. Her presence filled the room with an instant coziness that seemed to push away the chill of loss, if only for a moment.

“Hi! You must be Bryson. I’ve heard so much about you,” she called out, moving toward him. “You look beat. Sit down, sit down. No reason to stand on my account.”

Bryson offered a tired smile and obeyed, collapsing back onto his chair. “Susie, you're a lifesaver,” he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “We haven't really thought about food much.”

“Which is exactly why I'm here. And listen,” she continued, pulling a piece of paper out of her pocket and handing it to me. It had a phone number on it. “If you need anything—day or night—you call me, okay? I've got plenty of time on my hands, and Chloe is just the sweetest little thing. I'd be delighted to help out.”

“Really appreciate it. We'll keep that in mind,” I told her, grateful for the offer.

She patted my hand then busied herself with scooping food onto plates and handing them to us, along with forks. It was obvious by the confident way she moved around that she was familiar with the kitchen and where everything was.

The three of us chatted while we ate, weaving some much-needed threads of normalcy through the evening. When we were finished, Susie made her exit with promises to check in soon. I watched her go, the door closing softly behind her, and turned back to Bryson. The lines of strain on his face seemed even more pronounced in the wake of her departure, as if her energy had been a temporary shield against reality.

“Hey,” I said gently, moving to sit beside him. “You should get some sleep. I can take the night shift with Chloe.”

His eyes met mine, a flicker of resistance there before it was washed away by sheer fatigue. “You sure? You’ve been traveling all day.” he said, rubbing at his face in a way that told me he was running on fumes.

“Positive,” I assured him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I've got this. Go crash.”

He nodded slowly, the gratitude in his gaze mingling with something deeper—a recognition of shared grief and the unexpected solidarity we found in each other. It was a bond neither of us had anticipated, but as we both looked toward the hallway where Chloe slept, I realized it was one that was needed in that moment.

“Thanks, Tucker. Really,” Bryson murmured, pushing himself to his feet. “For everything.”

“Anytime, man,” I replied, watching as he trudged toward the guest room.

I settled back onto the couch, the cushions hugging my form as I listened to the quiet creak of the floorboards as Bryson's footsteps faded away, and I was left alone in the dimly lit living room, with only the ticking of the wall clock for company. The house felt alive with a gentle energy, a testament to the lives it had cradled within its walls.

As I gazed out the window at the soft glow of the streetlights in Lakeside Ridge, a sense of warmth enveloped me. It was strange how life's cruel turns could lead to unexpected connections. I'd come to Michigan on a wave of panic and desperation, but now, sitting here, there was something like solace in the silence.

The reflection of my own face stared back at me from the darkened glass—a man who had thought he understood what it meant to live fully, to grasp each moment before it slipped away. But holding Chloe in my arms, I wondered if maybe there was more to it than traveling all over the world.

As I sat there in the quiet of the night, my thoughts drifted to the life I'd been living before this moment. The thrill of stepping off a plane in a new country, the rush of adrenaline as I navigated unfamiliar streets, the satisfaction of closing a deal from a beachside café halfway across the world. It had all seemed so important, so vital to who I was.

But now, with the weight of loss pressing down on me and the responsibility of Chloe's future resting on my shoulders, those adventures felt... different. Not less significant, exactly, but somehow less urgent. The world I'd been chasing suddenly seemed to have shrunk down to the size of this town, this house, the little girl sleeping in the nursery.