Years Ten & Eleven | The Visit

Reader Note: The Contract is not a romance. It is Tucker Meyer’s origin story and a prequel serial to the spicy BWWM age-gap romance Together Exclusive Official by Stevie Alison.

Year Ten — Christine

After spending a couple of weeks crashing in Sofia’s spare bedroom, which I am so grateful for, I have moved into a two-bedroom apartment around the corner from the bank. After a few weeks, I’m finally unpacked, my place is furnished, and I’m ready to entertain.

It’s now a week before Christmas, a month and a half since I filed for divorce.

“Oh, this is quite a nice place,” Xiomara says while visiting me, along with Leila. “Very spacious.”

“Thanks, girlie. It’s nice to get something I like, and it’s convenient, too. Near work and shopping, it has lower level parking and a fitness center. This is gre—”

My phone buzzes. I look at it and sigh.

Leila comments, “Christine...don’t tell me it’s fucking Tucker.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah. He’s texting me.”

“Why?” Xiomara asks. “You two are done and over with. At this point, if he has something to say, that’s what the lawyer’s for.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure he won’t tell his lawyer to pass along that he misses me. You know, the crazy thing is, he was fine with us living separate lives when we were ‘together.’ Now, he just gets more of what he wants,” I muse.

“All the more reason to hit the block button.”

She’s right, but the truth is, I can’t bring myself to do it. In the week following the filing, he called me several times a day. After that, he moved to text. I couldn’t hear his voice because it was too much and I feared not keeping my resolve. But admittedly, I have responded to some of his texts. He sends me memes, “I love you/I miss you” messages, and occasional thirst texts. The latter are the worst, because sex was the one part of our marriage that thrived.

“Anyway,” Leila asks, “what are your plans for the holidays?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I say. Briefly, I considered returning to Clairborn for Christmas and New Year’s, but my parents will be out of town. Apparently, they’re going to Europe for vacation.

She sighs. “I think most of us will be out of town for Christmas, but Roddy and I are having a New Year’s party. You should come.”

“Eh, I’m not sure if I can make it.” The idea of being newly separated, surrounded by all of these lovely couples, doesn’t thrill me.

“If you’re wondering, Sofia and Pete will be there, and so will our other single friends. You’ll be in good company.”

“Sofia and Pete...I’m surprised they haven’t become something already.”

Xiomara laughs hard.

“What’s so funny? You don’t see it?”

“Christine...no. Sofia’s not really looking for a relationship. She’s one of those people who says she likes being single and actually means it. And besides, and even if she wanted to be with someone, she’s not Pete’s type.”

A part of me wants to ask what his type is, but I’m going to leave that alone. He’s a great friend, and if I were meant to know his type, he would tell me.

I shrug. “Wow. Anyway, I suppose I’ll come.”

“Awesome. Now, listen — over Christmas, if you’re tempted at all to get back with Tucker, please call one of us. I’m sure that we’ll carve out time to talk you down from it, okay?”

I slide my phone in my back jeans pocket. “I will.”

One week later, it’s Christmas Day. I’m in my living room watching It’s a Wonderful Life, while enjoying brownie batter ice cream. It’s nice to enjoy my own company.

Unsurprisingly, my phone buzzes. It’s on the nightstand. I’m hoping it’s one of my nieces or nephews, but I know better.

When I check the screen, it’s not a text, it’s a call.

I can’t talk to him.

But it’s Christmas.

Ugh.

“Hello,” I answer.

Over the receiver is an exhale, then, “Hi, Christine. Merry Christmas.”

I take a deep breath. “Merry Christmas to you too, Tucker.”

“Are you in Clairborn?”

“No, I’m in Las Cruces. I’m at my new apartment by myself.”

Ugh. I’ve already shared too much.

“I know things are what they are between us, but it’s Christmas. Nobody should be alone on Christmas.”

“Sure, but if you want to come over, that’s a no.” The last thing I need is my past contaminating my current space.

“Don’t worry, I’m not inviting myself over. I was just thinking that maybe we can get dinner. It’s on me. Nothing else. Just you and I keeping each other company for a little while,” he suggests.

My brow furrows. “Nothing’s open on Christmas.”

He snickers. “Not nothing. I know where we can go. I’ll come get you.”

My mouth responds before my brain catches up. “Sure. Do you have my address?”

Huffing, he reminds me, “Your new address is on our court papers.”

“Right.”

“I’ll be by in an hour.”

At Wok Inn Restaurant, I sit across from Tucker. He’s wearing a short-sleeved navy shirt tucked into belted khaki pants, and looks a little worse for wear. Small white hairs are forming along the edges of his temples, and his face is looking a little scruffy, as if he hasn’t bothered to shave in the past couple of days. But he’s still Tucker, and damn, I still love him.

He studies me with his brilliant blue eyes, skimming my face, grey blouse, and navy skirt. “You look good,” he comments before digging into his beef and broccoli dish.

I smile lightly. “Thanks.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go back to Ohio for Christmas.”

“My parents are vacationing in Prague right now,” I share, stirring Szechuan chicken and rice around my plate with a fork. “To be fair, though, you’re still here, too.”

“I am. But I’ve got that development with Shane.”

“Shane’s in Ibiza with Xiomara and the kids,” I point out. “If he can leave the continent, you could’ve found something to do.”

He shakes his head. “You’re right. Honestly, you are a lot of the time. I’m bad at listening. Guess that’s why we’re in this situation, huh?”

“Yep,” I say, not letting him off the hook, even for pity’s sake.

“But, us...when we were an ‘us,’ we weren’t all bad, were we?” he asks softly.

I look into his melancholy blue eyes. “We weren’t. A lot of times, we were good. Remember that one time when we decided on a whim to go to Montreal?”

“Yeah, the weather was perfect that summer, and that trip was a blast. We stayed in that nice, classic hotel.”

“Uh-huh. It was quite plush and pretty. And we toured Old Montreal, and went to the Notre-Dame Basilica. That was so beautiful.”

“Absolutely. And then we went to Niagara Falls, and we were on the superior Canadian side.”

As we continue to reminisce, we find ourselves laughing and enjoying each other’s company. It feels so easy.

Soon, we’re finished with our meal.

“Christine,” Tucker says, “as I promised, I’m not going to invite myself to your new place. But we can continue our chat at mine.”

“I didn’t drive here, though.”

“That’s fine. I’ll take you home.”

My hand touches his. “Okay, that works.”

A few minutes later, we enter Tucker’s rented condo on Via Vera Court. Much of it is the same as it was when I walked out almost two months ago, including the same furniture in the same exact locations. The only difference is that some of his equipment, such as his yoga mat and hiking boots, lay by the door. But even our photos are still on the wall where I left them. It’s a bit surreal.

We sit in our familiar spots in the living room. I sit on the far end of the sofa, while he sits back in the recliner, comfortably manspreading.

Tucker gazes at me with adoration and sadness. “Christine, I’ve missed you so much. This place feels wrong without you.”

The truth is, the love is still there, and it overwhelms me as I remain in his presence. “I’ve missed you too, Tucker.”

Before the angel on my shoulder can stop me, I’m being propelled upward by my knee-length skirt-covered legs, and I’m walking towards him.

He asks carefully, “Are you sure you want this?”

The warning from my friends to call them if I’m tempted into this very situation is growing ever quiet until it’s a forgotten niggle.

“I’m sure,” I say with a smirk.

He smiles playfully as he brings together his knees, unfastens his belt buckle, and unzips his khakis. “Come here, doll.”

I close the distance until I straddle his thighs. As I face my estranged husband, and he leans forward to prepare me for what comes next, it dawns on me why my parents take those trips on occasion, despite no longer being married except in name only.

***

Year Ten — Tucker

The scorching southern New Mexico sun blasts into my face from between the blinds, which I apparently forgot to close last night. Christine and I had a hell of an evening. Having her in my bed — our marital bed — was soothing. For one night, it was as if nothing had changed since that fateful November evening over pork chops, stuffing, and green beans.

But I roll over, and she’s no longer next to me.

Maybe she’s up and showering. It makes sense. I do need to take her home.

I uncover myself and get out of bed, a little chilly because the air is on and I didn’t put on my pajamas. The bathroom door is open, and it’s dark, so she’s not there.

In the open-plan living area, I see a note on the dining table.

Dear Tucker,

I took an Uber home, so you don’t need to drive me back.

Thank you for dinner and a lovely night. I had a great time, and being with you was wonderful.

But it doesn’t change the fact that we are no longer married, and nights like this only make it harder to forge a clean break. I need to move on with my life, and so do you.

I will always love you, and I wish you all the best.

Christine

What?

We can talk this out. After all, we were just reminiscing and enjoying each other. We were just connected in the closest way two human beings can be. How could she sleep with me, then walk away like nothing happened?

I call her, and it goes straight to voicemail.

Then, I send her a “Hey” text. Since we both have iPhones, my messages show up blue with a “Delivered” message underneath. But this time, nothing says it’s delivered, and it turns green.

What the fuck?

Christine fucking blocked me.

I don’t have words for this, but it’s worse than when I was served.

Full of energy, I get up, the chair falling over, and I pace in the living room. In overwhelm, I swipe the lamp on the end table, and it crashes to the floor in pieces.

I don’t give a fuck right now.

I don’t give a fuck about anything.

I sit on the edge of the dining chair, grab the letter, ball it up, and hold it tight against my forehead. For the first time since I was a kid, my eyes well up.

This is not good.

For the first time, this feels final.

She’s gone.

She’s truly gone.

The phone rings.

I check the display.

It’s not her.

It’s Todd.

I fight the urge to throw the phone across the room, answering instead. He barely gets a word in edgewise before I blubber out everything that’s happening right now, in excruciating and graphic detail, overcome with heartbreak and rage.

Once I’m finally empty, he speaks.

“Listen to me, Tucker,” he says.

“Alright,” I manage to say.

“You’re my big brother, you’re strong. You’re a stronger motherfucker than me,” he tells me. “This sucks so bad, I know it sucks. The finality of it, knowing she’s truly done. It’s hell. Your wife leaving you is the hardest thing you’ve had to face. Tuck, I hear you. Never been through it, but I can imagine, and I hear the pain in your voice. But I promise you, you will get through this. You will get through this. And you might not think it’s possible now, but one day, you will be happy again. Hold onto that, brother.”

I sure do, because right now, that’s all I’ve got.

***

Year Eleven — Christine

Around the table at a local bar and grill in San Diego’s Old Town district, I sit at a circular table with Leila, Sofia, Xiomara, Shane, and Pete. We’re drinking margaritas and enjoying ourselves.

“It’s so nice to have a night out without the kids,” Xiomara says.

“I’m sure you’re happy your parents are taking care of them at home.”

“Absolutely. And girl, that frees me up to find you and Sofia new somebodies while we’re here.”

Sofia laughs. “You are well aware I’m totally good on that.”

“Eh, me too. Not trying to rush into something,” I say.

Xiomara shakes her head. “Rush into what? You and Tucker have been done since November.”

“Well...” Sofia mumbles under her breath.

“One aberration. December.”

“We’re not gonna talk about that. I blocked his number right after it happened. If he’s gotta say something, that’s what the lawyers are for,” I declare.

“Cheers to that,” Leila says.

We all raise our margarita glasses. “Arriba!“ Then, we do the customary, “Abajo! Al Centro! Pa’dentro!“ The six of us clink our glasses together, then drink to my freedom.

It’s July, and the divorce has been final for two months. Christmas happened, and the itch was scratched. I missed him. I meant it. But I’ll be damned if I become my parents. Some things need to stay dead.

So, after that night, no more.

At the bar, we order a bunch of tacos and another round of margaritas while hanging out and enjoying each other’s company. A trio of musicians play vibrant nuevo flamenco music, and I’m tapping my finger to the beat.

Pete leans in. “This makes me wanna get up and dance.”

“If you do,” I say, “I’ll join you.”

He gets up and pulls me out of my seat, which makes me laugh. Right by the table, we move our feet, and Pete takes me by the waist and pulls me in. We find our rhythm quickly and move in time with each other.

“You can do the Lambada? Girl, you’ve been holding out on us!” Xiomara yells.

I don’t notice much else, because I’m enjoying our dance. Truth is, Pete’s been holding out on me, too. I had no clue he had it in him. He can sing, but his ability to move to the rhythm and be a smooth lead...it’s quite nice.

We dance so closely, his heart beats into mine. I briefly think to myself that Sofia might be better at this. I’ve been hooking them up in my mind for years, almost reflexively, but my ideas haven’t cooperated with reality.

The truth is, she’s happy being single. I love that for her.

And I’m happy right now, too — with my friends, living my best life.

This is fun. This is freedom.

Want to see where Tucker Meyer’s story leads after The Contract? Read the spicy BWWM age-gap romance Together Exclusive Official, on Kindle Unlimited, DRM-free ebook, or print: