Page 23 of Fierce Love (Tucker Billionaires)

Chapter Nineteen

Nathaniel

I can count on one finger the number of times I’ve wanted something and not gotten it, where money or perseverance hasn’t given me the result I was after.

Initially, I planned to pursue Hollyn whether she agreed or not, but as I let that idea percolate for two weeks, I couldn’t get it to filter properly.

There are people I will railroad into doing what I want, but the truth is that pursuing her relentlessly didn’t work out for me the first time.

Ignoring her objections didn’t get the result I wanted, and I have to be mindful not to make the same mistakes.

When I was a kid, I was content to be the one who could see a clear future together laid out before us.

I always thought she’d catch up—one day, she’d wake up and realize what I already knew—but instead, she woke up and realized she wanted out completely.

Even now that she’s told me why, her reasoning refuses to fully settle in my mind or my heart.

This time, if I’m going after her, I want her to be choosing me too.

She doesn’t have to want our future together the way I do—not yet—but I don’t want to convince her we’re worth another shot.

I want her to acknowledge what I already know.

There’s something undeniable between us.

Turns out years, distance, and truckloads of hurt feelings changed nothing.

Not for me, and I swear to fucking god, not for her either.

Instead of pressing her for an answer when we get to my car, I let us ride in silence for a few minutes. The air is dense with tension, with the things we’re not saying, the truths we’re not quite giving.

I remember when we first started dating last time, what a delicate balance it felt like in the beginning.

Pursue her but not so hard that I’d put her off or scare her away, and that’s what I’m feeling now.

If I push harder than she’s comfortable with, she’ll tell me no.

There’s steel underneath her that wasn’t there when we were kids.

Back then, she was too used to bending to other people’s whims and wills.

To survive in her family, to keep her job, that’s what she had to do.

A true people pleaser, at least with everyone else.

I’ve seen the change in her the last couple of weeks while we’ve worked together. She’s learned to say no and to be firm in her opinions, to trust her gut instincts. I’d rather circle around a yes than draw a straight line to no.

“There never used to be any animals at the campground,” Hollyn says, staring out the window as the ocean scenery passes us by. “How long have they had a dog?”

“It’s recent. Uncle Victor was against animals on the property, but since Cal has taken over, things have changed. He has some chickens, a couple of goats, and some bunnies in a small petting zoo–type area. Campers love it. The dog came from my sister.”

“Which one?”

“Maren. Her newest charity project is the animal shelter, rescue, whatever you want to call it. She tried to talk me into taking one of the animals too. Get them out of the kennels and into a home. Make them more adoptable.”

Hollyn’s lips twitch, and it feels like she’s trying to hold back a comment.

“Say it.”

“You’d be a terrible foster parent,” she says with a slight smile.

“What?” I splay my free hand against my chest while my other continues steering the car. “I’d be an incredible dog parent. You need to explain yourself.”

“Maren wants to make them more adoptable? By whom? You? Once a dog is in your house, it won’t be fostered. It’ll be adopted. So you’re right. You’d be an incredible dog parent, but a much less successful foster dog parent.” She laughs. “Rescuing wounded things is totally your thing.”

Even though I know she’s right, I press back. “Name one time.”

“I can name several times.” She raises her five fingers and starts to count them off.

“One time, you rescued an injured pigeon from traffic in the middle of downtown Tucker’s Town.

A pigeon . To be fair, watching you do that was probably one of the funniest things I’ve ever witnessed.

For an injured bird, it was pretty spry. ”

“I couldn’t just let someone run over it.” But she’s right. For a bird that couldn’t fly, it was alert and agile and fucking hard to catch. If I close my eyes, I can still remember the sound of her laughter floating out my vehicle window while I tried to outwit the thing. “I suppose that’s one.”

“I’m not done,” she holds up her hand. “Anytime you saw a homeless person, you gave out gift cards to Donuts and More, the biggest coffee-and-food chain on the island. Like the cards appeared magically in your wallet, but you obviously went out of your way to make sure you always had some.” She pauses for a second and then says, “The reason you started chopping wood at the campground was because Cal broke his arm one summer and couldn’t do it.

Instead of Victor hiring someone, you took over the job.

It wasn’t like Cal’s dad couldn’t afford to get help. ”

I can feel her searching my profile while I’m focused on the road, even though I could drive the route to the campground in my sleep.

“You organized a clothing and toy drive to support all the women’s shelters across the island before I even met you. I found that out from Aunt Verna.”

“That was a Tucker family initiative.” But it was my idea—mine and Sawyer’s, and I was the one who pitched it to my parents. A goodwill gesture that would benefit a lot of women and children. My parents only appreciated charity endeavors that raised their profile.

She takes a shaky breath. “And then there was me.”

“You were not wounded,” I say, a reflex.

“I was. You know I was. In so many ways. In ways you never heard about, in ways you did. I survived in Bellerive, but I never thrived.”

“You were my Helen of Troy, Hols. I would have waged all the wars for you.” I can’t keep the husky emotion out of my voice.

“The people who pushed you around, tried to manipulate you, I would have stood at your back and let them know there was a brick wall they couldn’t cross or scale or knock down.

” I let out a whoosh of air. “If you’d let me, I’d have done it even more than I did. ”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” She’s staring out the window again when I glance at her. “You tried to help me, and you were also the only person I could say no to.”

“I like to think I was the only person you knew you could say no to. That I wasn’t going anywhere. I would never punish you for saying no.”

“I made so many mistakes,” she whispers.

“We were young. We were bound to make mistakes. But our older selves don’t have to keep paying for those mistakes. We can move past them.”

“Can we?” When she looks at me, there are tears in her eyes.

“We can.” I keep my voice firm, but her tears are making my heart expand in my chest, make me want to pull over the car and soothe all her hurt.

I want to tell her that whatever spooked her back then is long gone.

But I’m worried if I remind her too much of the past, she’ll dwell too closely on why she left.

And I want her in the present, in this moment, where the air between us is filled with sadness, but also possibilities. We’re on the cusp of something.

“I just don’t see how you can forgive me,” she says, her voice thick with unshed tears. “Not this easily. It doesn’t make any sense. I ruined everything.”

“Not ruined,” I say, and I pull over to the side of the road so I can face her fully. The balance here is delicate, and I need to give her my full focus. “Delayed, not ruined.”

“There are things…” She visibly swallows. “There are things that happened back then that might change your mind.”

I take a beat to search inside myself for what could have possibly happened that would cause me to believe we were ruined. There’s only one thing. “Was there someone else?”

Hollyn goes pale in the bright sunlight streaming through the window. “What?”

“Did you leave because you cheated on me?”

“No!” Her eyes go wide, and she looks genuinely shocked. “No. Never. I can’t… Even after I left, there was no one for a really long time.”

I want to tell her it was the same for me.

That she ripped my fucking heart out and I was never able to give it to anyone else the same way again.

But a guilt trip isn’t going to get me what I want.

Whatever she’s not telling me left a deep wound in her, the same as it left in me.

At some point, maybe we’ll talk about those wounds—we probably have to—but I need her to trust me again first. I need her to understand that I’m not going anywhere.

Maybe it’s rash and sudden and completely ill-advised, but I’m in this, as deeply as I was the first time.

She’s still in my blood, and while this feeling might have lain dormant for years, it’s back raging through me again.

The last two weeks, it’s been painful to pretend we’re merely colleagues.

I can’t just let her walk away a second time.

Her phone rings in her bag, and she digs through it, sniffing. “It’s Kin,” she says to me, a hint of apology in her voice. “Hello? Yep. No. We’re almost there.”

With reluctance, I put the car back into drive and signal onto the highway.

“No, no, I’m fine,” she says, but I can hear the wateriness in her voice, the same thing Kinsley must hear or sense.

“Allergies, probably.” She listens for a few minutes, but she’s shaking her head as she does.

“We’re going back to New York in a few months.

We can’t keep a puppy. It would be miserable in our apartment.

” She listens again for a beat and presses her fingertips to her forehead.

“Yes, we are going back. Look—we can talk about this when I’m there, okay? ”

She hangs up, and heaviness settles between us again. We haven’t resolved anything, but we can’t move forward unless she wants to.

“Maybe the clean slate should be erasing the hurt but keeping the connection,” I say.

It sounds so simple, and right now, on the edge of something new with her, I think I can let go of the past. If there is more to why she left and she never comes clean, I won’t care enough to seek out the truth.

Why would I prod that wound? But if I really let myself consider that, it’s na?ve to think I never will, but I also have no desire to head in any direction that puts a second chance at risk.

I want her. I want what we once had so badly that I’ll negotiate anything.

If she wants me to pretend the past doesn’t matter, that her reason for leaving doesn’t matter, I’ll grit my teeth and do it.

As I pull into the parking lot of the campground, Hollyn’s wounded eyes see right through me.

“There’s no world in which you can just erase hurt, Nate.

Hurt can’t be ignored. Maybe you think you can set that aside, but I know from past experience that hurt coats everything, even when we don’t realize it.

” She opens her door and leaves before I can say anything else.