Page 36 of Little Pieces of Light

Emery

“I want to go home,” I muttered, my words drowned out in the chatter of a hundred conversations, clinking glasses, and the blaring of cable news channels from at least six different flat-screen TVs mounted on the walls of Newport’s private club, the Regency.

The mood among Senator Hill’s election watch party guests—his family, friends, and donors—was muted. The numbers coming in weren’t good; Jerome Hill was likely going to lose.

Why am I here?

The answer, of course, was simple: My father had demanded it.

He and Mom were set to come together, but Tucker had picked me up—business as usual.

It didn’t matter that I’d already broken up with him.

Not to him or my father. I’d tried to claim some agency over my own life, yet I was still steamrolled into coming here.

A final show of support for the Hills from the Wallaces, just in case the numbers turned around.

Because Dad himself hadn’t even shown up.

He must’ve gotten wind of the early returns and decided to make a clean break, leaving me to do the dirty work of pretty smiles and goodbyes in my little red cocktail dress. What the heck was I supposed to say?

Hi, Senator Hill. You’re no longer useful to my dad but thanks for the nice party?

But an uglier, more insidious thought twisted my insides. My father had used Jerome Hill, just as I’d been his tool. His pawn. Taught to obey. Never make waves. Jack made waves and look where that got him. Cast outside the circle of my dad’s approval.

Now I know why Grant walked out the door.

Outside, the rain came down in buckets, spattering the tall glass windows that overlooked the bay. Just south, the Regatta Gala would be in full swing at the Castle Hill Country Club. Xander would be there, celebrating their win. Maybe I could escape this terrible party and go to him…

Just the thought of being with Xander chased some of the sadness away.

But he’d told me what he wanted, and it wasn’t me.

He’d torn down our day at the park seven years ago and reduced it to rubble, even if his eyes had told a different story—that he was protecting himself from more hurt, more rejection, by making us into nothing.

“He can’t do that,” I murmured, still standing alone at the window. “We’re entangled.”

A commotion erupted at one of the TVs, and a man hushed the crowd. “This is it,” he said, and everyone quieted to listen to the cable news host.

“CNN is now making the call: in a stunning upset, Rhode Island’s incumbent Senator Jerome Hill has lost his bid for reelection to media mogul and billionaire Charles Harrington. Analysts point to Harrington’s aggressive media campaign and widespread financial backing as key factors to his success…”

The atmosphere in the room deflated, then a round of applause went up for Senator Hill, and toasts were made to soften the blow of defeat.

It was over. I was officially free. Now my little defiance didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t even mine anymore.

Anger flared, burning away some of the fear that had lived in me since I was a kid—the constant stress of trying to please my dad and the terror of what would happen when I didn’t. I set my water glass down and headed for the coat check. I’d just put on my black peacoat when Tucker found me.

“Babe, there you are.” His eyes were shadowed and glassy.

“I’m going home.”

“I’ll give you a ride.”

“No, I’m calling an Uber.”

“What? Why?”

“ Why ?” I spat, incredulous. “Can no one hear me when I speak? Do I have any voice at all?”

“What the hell are you talking about? I hear you just fine—”

“Tucker, we are not together anymore .”

His expression hardened. “Because my dad lost, right? He’s no longer useful to Grayson, so fuckity-bye-bye, is that it?”

“I’m sorry about the election, but I told you on Halloween night that we were over.”

He exhaled through his nose and ran a hand through his blond hair. “Look, Em. It’s been a crappy night. Just let me take you home and we can talk shit out, or whatever. Please?”

I bit my lip. My dad used me, but he’d used Tucker too. And now Tucker’s dad had lost his job. “Fine. But straight home.”

I waited in the lobby of the Regency, sheltered from the pouring rain, while Tucker fetched his truck and picked me up. He pulled onto the road, and a minute later, withdrew a flask from inside his blazer pocket.

“Tucker, it’s a fucking hurricane out there. You shouldn’t be drinking. You shouldn’t ever be drinking and driving, but especially—”

“Like it matters,” he said. “The cops will give me a pass for one more night before word gets out that I’m not the son of a senator anymore.”

“You’re a lot more than that, Tucker. Nobody is only one thing,” I said, my heart aching to repeat Xander’s words. “But you need to stop driving. It’s too dangerous.”

Tucker ignored me, taking a long pull from his flask as he drove into the black night with rain coming down so hard, the windshield wipers could barely keep up. Soon, I’d lost all sense of where we were.

“Tucker, stop the truck. You’re scaring me.”

“You want me to stop the truck? Sure, no problem.”

He drove on for what felt like another mile and then abruptly pulled off onto a shoulder. Through the truck’s headlights, I saw nothing but trees, muddy road, and slants of rain coming down like bullets to pelt the cab.

He took another shot from the flask—whiskey, by the scent of it—then turned to look at me. He was much drunker than I’d realized, his bleary gaze grazing me up and down from my short dress to my ample cleavage. I tightened my coat around me.

“You wanted to talk,” I said, my heart pounding. “Let’s talk.”

“Nah, changed my mind.” He slowly put the cap on his flask, set it on the dash, and turned to me. “I’m tired of talking. I’m tired of being used. You used me, Emery, same way your dad used my family.”

“I know, Tucker, and I’m sorry. But that doesn’t mean—”

“I don’t want to hear any more Wallace bullshit,” he said, moving toward me. “I completed my service. Now it’s time I got paid.”

He took my chin in one hand, wrenching my mouth open for a kiss while his other hand slid up my thigh.

“No…stop it!” I cried, twisting and turning, pushing at his chest. It was like pushing on a brick wall. “Tucker, don’t…”

“Come on, Em,” he said, his breath stinking of whiskey, his huge body crowding me against the door. He undid my seatbelt and then reached for my thigh again. “Let’s have one good fuck before calling it quits.”

“ No! ” I stopped pushing at him long enough to bring my right hand around in a stinging slap that caught him full on the cheek.

“Fuck!” He reared back, holding his face. “Goddammit, Em…”

“I told you no,” I said, my voice shockingly steady. “Now take me home.”

He sat back, considering. “No. I don’t think I will. Get out.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” He reached across me and opened my door, giving it a shove. “Get the fuck out.”

“I…I don’t know where we are. And the rain…”

“Not my problem.” Tucker took a long drink from his flask, then glared at me. “Well? You’re letting water into my truck.”

“Tucker…”

“Get. The fuck. Out.” He cocked his head. “Or you can pay up. The choice is yours.”

I felt tears sting my eyes, but I gathered my coat around me and stepped into the downpour. The night was black with no streetlights. Tucker yanked the door closed and tore off in a muddy spray, his headlights revealing an oak tree in the distance.

I hurried for the tree, the mud soaking my shoes, the cold rain drenching me to the bone, plastering my hair to my cheeks and making me shiver until I thought my teeth would shatter.

Under the relative shelter of the branches, I pulled out my phone to check my location.

I was somewhere in the Bend, too far to walk home in the storm.

I called Harper. No answer.

With trembling fingers, I found the number I wanted first anyway—the only person I wanted—and pushed call .