He didn’t cuddle Chelle. He gave her that until she fell asleep and then he set her away.
He’d fucked her over, huge. He’d tried but a dead man felt nothing. Creed had nothing to give. He wanted to, she deserved it but it just wasn’t there.
He couldn’t sleep next to Sylvie, his Sylvie, and not hold her.
So he didn’t.
Chapter Eight
I’m Creed
A cold, dark autumn night in Kentucky, twenty-six years earlier, Creed is thirteen, Sylvie is eight…
Bootsie yapped and I opened my eyes.
Darkness.
Silence.
Then I heard it, like a tap on the window.
Oh boy. This had never happened before.
I threw the covers back, jumped out of bed, ran to the window, threw it up, stuck my head out in the cold and looked down.
Tucker was standing in our side yard.
Wow! This never happened before!
I waved then pointed to me and down. He nodded and started walking toward the backyard.
I pulled the window down and ran to my closet. It was cold and I went to Tuck’s once without mittens and a hat and he got mad at me. So even though I had to be quiet, I pulled on socks, boots and my coat over my nightgown then added my mittens and a hat.
I bent down to Bootsie. “This is different, Bootsie. You don’t get to come this time.” She whined a bit and I put my mittened finger to my lips and said, “Sh.” I dropped my hand and continued, “I’ll be back real soon, promise.”
I gave her fur a ruffle, kissed the top of her head then super careful but as quick as I could, I dashed down the hall, the stairs, through the house and outside.
Tuck was standing at the partially opened back gate.
I ran across the yard and when I was close enough, he reached right down, grabbed my hand and pulled me through the gate. He closed it slowly behind us then he moved, real fast, dragging me with him through the woods.
It was then I knew this wasn’t fun. This wasn’t like meeting him at the lake. This wasn’t like when I went to his house with the squirt guns, got him out of bed and we had a squirt gun fight at night, in the dark, in the woods.
This was something bad.
When we were well away from the house and no way Daddy could hear, I asked, “Tuck, what’s the matter?”
He let me go but he didn’t stop walking. He walked to a tree, slammed his opened hand on it then slammed his shoulder into it and turned around. He then slammed his back against it and slid down to his behind, pulled his knees up and dropped his head.
Oh yes. This was something bad.
I rushed to him and got down on my knees beside him.
“Tuck, what happened?” I asked.
“Sheriff brought Mom home.” He told his lap, stopped then kept going, “Again.”
I got it then. His Mom got drunk all the time and she got pulled over for driving that way. Tuck told me they took her license away. Now she had to walk, take a bike or get a ride everywhere. It put her in a bad mood and she took this out on Tuck.
I got closer and put my hand on his knee. “Oh, Tuck, I’m sorry.”
His head came up, turned and his eyes came to me. “She lost her job, Sylvie. Two days ago.”
I didn’t know a lot about these things but I knew that wasn’t good. They didn’t have a lot already. I knew, Mrs. Creed without a job, now they’d have less.
“Tuck,” I whispered.
He shook his head. “Not Tuck. Creed.”
“What?”
“Sheriff’s deputy had a partner. They got Mom in on the couch but I heard ‘em talkin’ outside. Said they didn’t get it. Said she was a mess. Said she always was a mess. Said, ‘cept her bein’ pretty, they didn’t get why Dad liked her. Said she was trouble. Too much. Not worth it. Even too much for Brand Creed. Said she was good for nothin’. Said they hoped her boy, me, was more like Brand than her.”
He stopped talking so I whispered, “Okay.”
“Mom gave me the name Tucker,” he told me. “Dad used to tease her. Said she was crazy, namin’ me Tucker. ‘Least I gave him Creed,’ he’d say, laughin’, grinnin’ big at her, makin’ her roll her eyes right before she’d giggle and give him a hug. So that’s who I am. I’m not what my Mom gave me. I’m what my Dad gave me. I’m Creed.”
“Creed,” I agreed.
He looked away and muttered, “Done bein’ Tuck. Done bein’ crazy, drunk Winona’s boy. I’m Brand Creed’s boy. I’m Creed.”
“You’re Creed,” I told him.
He turned his face further away and I had a feeling he was trying not to cry or not to let me see him cry so I gave him that. Boys did that and I didn’t know why but I did know it was important.
I sat next to him though, got close, shoved my shoulder into him and started wiggling it so he had to put his arm around me. When he did, I pressed even closer. He got kinda stiff for a second then he relaxed and his arm curved tight around me so I rested my cheek against his shoulder.
But I didn’t say anything. Sometimes, when I was trying not to cry and someone said something, it’d make me cry.
So I just pressed close.