Years Twelve & Thirteen | The Call

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 Twelve — Tucker

“She’s a beaut, isn’t she?” the driving coach says, as I shift gears and press my foot on the accelerator.

“Fucking amazing,” I utter in excitement.

At the Porsche Experience Center in Los Angeles, I’m zooming around the track in a metallic black 911 Carrera.

All in all, I’m in much better spirits these days than I was a year and a half ago, when Christine surprised me with divorce papers. I wish I could say I took it well. At first, I called and texted her quite a bit. I suppose I wore her down enough for one last roll in the hay over Christmas that year, though she was quite enthusiastic at the time. But after that, she was actually done. She blocked me and wanted no more direct contact, and I had to accept that.

The divorce itself was finalized nearly a year ago and was fairly amicable. Since Christine’s banking career is fairly lucrative, but I still make significantly more than she does, the settlement included a lump sum payment and modest monthly alimony. It was what it was, and I didn’t fight it. I was not interested in making her life harder than it had to be.

After the ink was dry on the final dissolution decree, I started shopping for a house. The rented condo held too many memories. I found a small, quality home in a quiet subdivision not far from the condo — 16 Claret Cup Lane. It’s got three bedrooms, one bath, and a freshly renovated kitchen with granite countertops. It also sports a stone back patio with an unobstructed view of the desert and the Organ Mountains. Can’t beat that shit. It’s perfect for my current life here in New Mexico, and I paid for it in cash.

Over the past year, I have needed to be honest with myself. I still love Christine, but in our marriage, I failed to do right by her by not revisiting our previously shared goals. Children especially — we married when she was twenty-five, and she’s thirty-six now. Jesus, I was selfish for putting that off. For that alone, I deserved the divorce.

While at this point, I can’t blame her for leaving me, what happened recently was a kick in the dick.

A few days ago, I received a phone call from my attorney.

“Hey, Bill...what’s going on?” I asked him as I parked my truck in the garage and shut it off.

“Tucker, I’ve got good news for you,” he said.

“Do tell.”

“As of this month, you can cancel your alimony payments.”

Oh no...is she...

“Wait a second. Did something happen to Christine?” I inquired with a bit of worry.

“Yeah, but nothing bad. She got married.”

What?

“She got married? What do you mean, she got married?”

“Yeah. Her lawyer actually did the right thing, which is a miracle these days, and she informed the court that she got married. According to your divorce settlement, if your ex-wife remarries, you’re off the hook for future alimony payments. So, that’s more money in your pocket each month.”

I was in shock. Sure, it’s nice not to pay alimony anymore. But I haven’t been able to bring myself to even date since the divorce. And she married someone else less than a year after the ink was dry on the fucking decree?

That was goddamn quick.

“Bill, who did she marry?”

“I’m gonna take a look, but as your lawyer, I will advise you not to do anything stupid.”

I took a deep breath. “Hey, I’m not that guy. I’m not gonna do that.”

A couple of minutes later, he said, “Alright, so the marriage license was filed with the county. Bride is Christine Grace McCade...”

When she petitioned the court for her maiden name back during our divorce proceedings, that kind of hurt. I felt...erased. We’re no longer married, but something about hearing her full name said aloud twisted the knife in a bit more.

“Groom...Pedro Javier Salazar Garza.”

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Guess it’s her new husband,” Bill said.

No shit. But I wondered, who the fuck is this asshole Pedro Javier Salazar Garza?

I stopped and racked my brain. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Tucker, the important thing is that your ex-wife’s this guy’s problem now,” my lawyer quipped.

“Sure.” But honestly, that didn’t make me feel any better. As badly as Christine hurt me, I never experienced her as a problem.

Once I got off the phone with Bill, I started on my dinner. My pasta cooked quickly, and the marinara was on standby. The only thing left was my broccoli, and dinner was complete. It was routine, but it was mine.

As I took the vegetable bag out of the freezer, it finally clicked.

Motherfucker.

At the realization, I dropped the broccoli, ran into the two and a half-car garage right off the kitchen, hopped into the Tundra, and took off.

Minutes later, I screeched into the driveway of a sprawling home in Soledad Canyon. Also in the driveway was an Escalade, plus a navy Audi A6 that I did not recognize. I jumped out of my truck, tore up the path to the front porch, and banged on the door.

It opened.

“Tucker, what the hell is going on? You scared Xiomara and the kids shitless!”

“When the fuck were you gonna tell me about Christine and Pete?!” I yelled.

Shane lifted his hands to his sides, palms facing me, and said calmly, “Man, I’m gonna need you to calm down.”

Inside the house, I heard other adults besides Xiomara.

“Is that Tucker? Ugh...tell him we’re not here,” a feminine voice said in the background. It sounded like Christine, but dripping with annoyance devoid of love. That hurt.

“Is that Christine? She’s here, isn’t she? Is that fucker Pete here, too?!”

I tried to find an opening to make my way inside, but Shane, my height with thirty extra pounds on me, blocked the door.

“Chill, man, chill,” my friend said, alarmed. “Pete’s my brother. Don’t do that. Relax, man.”

“Fuck that, Shane! Why am I the last to know shit about my own goddamn life?!”

“Tucker, I’ll tell you everything, but you need to relax. I don’t need the neighbors calling the cops.”

I was hyperventilating, but I did my best to compose myself. As pissed as I was, going off on Shane Salazar, or barging into his house to confront my ex and his brother, was not the best idea for me personally or professionally.

“Let’s go for a ride, man.”

I threw my hands up and turned around toward his truck. He closed his heavy wooden front door and followed me out.

We got into Shane’s Escalade, and he started driving.

“Look, I couldn’t tell you because I swore to my wife I wouldn’t say anything.”

I panted in fury, but as we got distance from his home, the tension left my body, little by little.

“She didn’t think you were entitled to the information since you two aren’t married anymore.”

“Well, my divorce attorney thought differently.”

Keeping his eyes on the road, he said, “Woah. That’s how you found out?”

“Yep. He called and told me today. See, I’ve been sending her alimony every month as part of our divorce agreement, but her lawyer told the court she got married, so I could end the payments. How magnanimous,” I snarked.

“Shit, that’s cold. No wonder you’re pissed.”

I looked out the passenger-side window. Many of Shane’s neighbors have no problem using up our finite natural resources for beautifying their landscapes.

“The other thing is, my wife was afraid you would lose your shit if you found out,” he confessed.

After a bit of silence, I tittered sheepishly, “Kind of like I did on your porch?”

He turned the truck onto a pure desert drive. “Yeah, like that. But I can’t say I blame you.”

I shook my head. “Shane, I’m sorry I lost my cool. I...I just...the whole thing makes no sense. How the hell did Christine end up marrying Pete?”

“They’ve been good friends for years.”

I was aware they sang in the Doña Ana Songbirds together, and he was part of her friend group, but I didn’t know how close they were.

“Hmm, I guess I knew they were friends, but not like that.”

“Okay, let me be clear. They became close friends, but they didn’t cross lines while you and Christine were married. Pete is not that kind of man, and Christine is not that kind of woman. I’m sure you know that.”

An hour previously, I would’ve agreed. But at that moment, I couldn’t say for sure. After all, Christine’s friends knew the divorce was coming before I was even served. What else was I left in the dark about?

That said, I knew Shane was leveling with me.

He continued. “It took a few months after the divorce was final. But they simply fell in love...they’re crazy about each other, then they got married. I’m sorry, man.”

“Thanks.”

As we cruised the sandy desert, the silence calmed me. Finally, I was coming to terms with the reality that Christine had entered a new chapter of life, one with a man in it who was not me. Christmas felt final. But this? This was the death of a decade-long dream.

In the peace and quiet of the outdoors, I wondered one last thing.

I broke the silence. “Can I ask you something, Shane?”

“Sure.”

“Did they get married in a Catholic church?”

He exhaled. “They did. Since you and Christine only married civilly, she got that marriage annulled so they could marry in the Church.”

I sighed, feeling the gut punch. In my mind, our ten-year marriage was valid, but not in the eyes of the Catholic Church. That allowed Christine to marry Pete in the way her family would consider legitimate.

Rob McCade got his way after all.

“Eh, at least she’s happy,” I said wistfully

Shane said, “Tucker, you deserve to be happy, too. I’ve got an idea. It won’t replace Christine, obviously, but it’ll be fun.”

“I’m not a club guy.”

He laughed. “No, nothing like that. Besides, Xiomara would kill me if I stepped foot in a club, especially without her. I’ve got a better idea that’s more your speed. Besides, for keeping what my brother and your ex did from you, and you finding out the way you did, I owe you.”

Today, he pays the piper with a trip to Los Angeles so I can drive a Porsche. Damn, this is cool.

After the drive, I tell the coach, “I want one.”

He sighs. “This isn’t a dealership, so we don’t sell cars here, but I can take you up to the VIP lounge and have a brand ambassador come out and show you some options.”

Shane and I go up to the lounge.

“I’ve never known you to get anything flashy like this,” Shane says to me quietly.

I shrug. “It’s the alimony that I don’t have to pay anymore. Like my attorney said, she’s Pete’s problem now.”

He laughs sardonically. “Can’t hate, Tucker. Treat yourself.”

We don’t have to wait long. The ambassador presents me with some options, most of which will require a long waiting period. But something matching my impulsiveness pops up on his screen.

“An orphan car just became available at the dealership in Beverly Hills. The guy it was originally made for, he had to forfeit it...going through a divorce he didn’t see coming.”

Damn, I can relate.

“Your finances are solid, so it’s yours if you want it. Now, these orphan cars are highly individualized, so it may not be completely your taste, but you’re buying it as-is.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Tell me about this orphan car,” I say eagerly.

The ambassador reads the specs. “It’s a 911 Carrera S Cabriolet convertible in ice grey metallic...it’s kind of a shiny grey-white color, manual transmission, Carrera carbon fiber wheels, interior is all leather, in dark night blue and chalk. For it being an orphan car, it sounds pretty subdued, honestly.”

“Sounds like your kind of Porsche, Tucker,” Shane encourages me.

“Let’s do it.”

My friend and I part ways with a plan to meet up at the hotel we’re staying at here in LA once the car is in my possession. Moments later, a private driver comes to take me to my alimony car.

Once I get to the dealership, I see it, and it’s fucking gorgeous. I have never owned anything this ostentatious in my life. But it’s perfect, and it’s mine.

After money and paperwork exchange hands in the cloud, this Porsche convertible is all mine.

The sun is high in the sky as I drive it off the lot and bring down the top. Holy shit.

If freedom were a car, this would absolutely be it.

***

Year Thirteen — Christine

At our home in the lovely Las Cruces neighborhood of Sonoma Ranch, I’m putting on my beige sleeveless top, and pulling up my jeans. These days, even doing that is a real pain.

“Love, can you get my shoes?” I call out from the master bedroom.

“Of course, Chrissy,” Pete says. He brings me my comfy shoes, which are perfect on my widening feet.

“God, I’m huge,” I complain as my eyes drop down at my enlarged middle.

“You’re growing a whole human...our human,” he reminds me. “You’re seven months along. Besides,” he says as his kisses my cheek, “You’re still you, and you’re beautiful.”

I sigh. “Okay.”

He then flashes a smile, then kisses me on the lips. “Now, Chrissy...my body can remind you right now how gorgeous you are, ‘cause right now, it’s telling on me.”

“That sounds really nice,” I say, my hand touching his smooth, defined chest. “But Xiomara’s expecting us very soon.”

“True. We’ll make it happen when we get back.”

“Of course.”

At Xiomara and Shane’s, a number of our friends gather for our baby shower and gender reveal party, as well as a few family members and friends from out of town. Dad comes with Makayla. My sisters and I don’t talk anymore, so they aren’t here. It’s for the best. But surprisingly, my mother shows up, too.

Mom gives me a gentle hug. “I’m so happy for you, dear.”

I then greet my dad. “I’m so glad the weather held up, Dad. It’s February, and you all came from Ohio.”

“We would’ve found a way, sport. No way are we missing this,” he says.

My father then embraces Pete warmly. I wasn’t sure how he’d react to me marrying a man of Mexican descent, not because he ever showed himself to have those kinds of biases, but because it’s marriage, and you never know sometimes. But Dad hasn’t disappointed me. He even gave me away at the wedding. And he talks to him almost as much as he talks to me. So it’s nice to see that the most important men in my life get along well.

Excitedly, Shane walks out to their spacious backyard with a huge air gun that looks like a bazooka, and the rest of us follow.

“I’m going to shoot this in the air. The warning shots are green. Then, once we run out of green, we get the real color...pink or blue,” he declares loudly.

He shoots it off. The streamers are green...green...green...then pink.

Pete and I gave the gender information to Shane and Xiomara without looking at it, so it’s a surprise to us, too. We’re both so excited that we’re welcoming a girl into our lives.

As I sit around with my husband, my friends, and family, opening baby shower gifts, it’s amazing how my life is right now. It almost didn’t happen this way.

A little over two years ago, I took a chance on myself and made the most difficult decision of my life. I left a man that I still loved because I could no longer live in a marriage with no future. When I said goodbye, there was no guarantee of anything on the other side.

But since then, I fell in love with and married my best friend, we bought an awesome house together, and now, I’m expecting our first child — a daughter.

And all that because I decided on a trip to Las Vegas that I wanted to live again, even if it meant taking a chance that my dreams would never come to pass.

Wow.

***

Year Thirteen — Tucker

On my forty-first birthday, what better way to celebrate than to teach yoga out in the desert. It’s not scorching hot. After all, it’s only mid-morning in early February.

I hop into my new army green Toyota 4Runner and head over to the desert park. Recently, I traded in the Tundra for something a little more versatile. It’s my daily driver, while the sports car is for fun.  

On my way there, my phone rings. I answer it on the dashboard.

“Uncle George!”

“Happy birthday, Tuck!”

“Thanks!”

He asks, “What are you doing for your birthday?”

“Nothing crazy. Just on my way to teach yoga. Then, I’ll relax at home for most of the rest of the day, then tonight I’ll go over to my friend Shane’s and play poker with him and a few other guys. So, a normal Saturday,” I share.

“Eh, nothing wrong with that. You know, I’m proud of you,” he tells me.

I turn into the parking lot at my destination. “Why?”

“You’re making a good life for yourself, and you sound happy.”

I chuckle. “I am. My life’s simple, but it’s mine.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Just be open to the possibilities.”

“What possibilities?”

“I’ll put it this way...amazing things can come your way when you least expect them, even when your life is already good.”

I snicker to myself. “I’ll keep that in mind, Uncle George.”

Once I’m off the phone, I unload my truck and walk to the clearing to prepare for the students. This class is for intermediate yogis. 

During the session, the group is in crow pose. I help them with their forms, and with modifications if needed. I never thought I’d be the teaching type, but my passion for the practice fuels my pedagogy.

Afterwards, I chat with a few of the students. Then, as I’m packing up, a young woman comes up to me. She’s not in my class...I think she’s in one of Tiffany’s classes. She’s probably in her mid-twenties, slight build, with long, straight brunette hair in a ponytail.

“Hi, Tucker...I’m Emilyn,” she greets me with a sly smile.

I return the greeting politely. “Hi, Emilyn...is there anything I can help you with?”

She studies my body, including my face, neck, and exposed arms and legs. “I’ve seen you in Tiffany’s advanced class before, and you’re a cutie.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Maybe we can, like, grab coffee somewhere, get to know each other, see where things go?” she suggests.

Yeah...no. Emilyn’s good-looking, but not my type, and a bit young for me. Besides, at this point, I’m not particularly interested in another relationship, and I’m not my brother Todd...I don’t fuck randos.

Though to be fair, Todd doesn’t either these days. Now, he’s a one-woman man. He’s with the girl he was crazy about in high school. Back then, he did a stupid Todd thing and they lost touch or whatever. He recently moved back to Clairborn, which surprised our entire family, found the girl, and now they live together.

Anyway, I haven’t dated since the divorce, and I haven’t slept with anyone since my ex-wife. I’m over her, I just like my own company.

Recently, I heard through the grapevine — Shane — that she’s pregnant, and she’s due at the end of next month. All I can think, really, is that I’m happy she’s living the life she wants and deserves. She’ll make a great mother.

As for me, I’m happy being alone. My routines — how I eat, how I move my body, how I spend my days — are mine. I live unencumbered, and I live for myself. The freedom is priceless.

“Emilyn...I’m really flattered, but I’m not interested,” I say.

“Oh, well. Your loss.” She then shrugs and walks away.

Eh, maybe so, but I’m good. She is a possibility I can live without.

On my way home, I pick up a small vanilla ice cream cake from the grocery store. It’s forty-one, not a milestone. I spent forty taking a road trip to the California coast. It was neat doing yoga on the beach. Ten out of ten. This birthday, I’m just going to relax at home, eat my normal dinner, play poker with the guys, and perhaps take a nice midnight ride in my Porsche.

At home, I eat my spaghetti and broccoli on the couch. As I’m about to grab my ice cream cake, the phone rings.

I look at the display. It’s Todd. He’s probably going to wish me a happy birthday. I answer.

“Happy birthday, Tucker,” he says after we exchange pleasantries.

“Thanks, brother.”

“Uh...I actually called for something else, too,” he says.

“Shoot.”

“I just proposed to Kirsten earlier this week, and she said yes.”

“Wow, Todd...congratulations.”

“Thanks.” He then takes a deep breath. “Listen, I’ve got a big favor to ask you. Well, two things. Given your situation, I understand if you say no, but it would mean a lot to me.”

“You’re my little brother...”

“I’m bigger than you now.”

I roll my eyes. “You could be Stay-Puft floating over fucking Clairborn. You will always be my little brother. My point is, whatever it is, I’m in. What do you need?”

“I want you to be my best man.”

So, not only does he want me at the damn wedding, he wants me in it. I already committed, so it’s too late to say no.

Shit.

“Alright. What else?”

“Kirsten and I want to have a destination wedding. We really like the idea of the Chihuahuan Desert.”

“So, you want to get married here in Las Cruces?”

“Yeah. But we live in Clairborn.”

“No shit.”

“My point is, we need boots on the ground to help figure out what’s what, shit like that.”

I laugh. “So, a wedding planner.”

“Eh, more like a wedding logistics consultant.”

Todd is speaking my language. Logistics is my thing.

“Okay. When do you want to have the wedding?”

“June.”

“Four months. That’s not long.”

“See, that’s the other thing...do not tell Mom and Dad, but we’re accelerating this for reasons.”

I’m picking up what he’s putting down. Shit, Todd.

“You got it, brother.”

“Thanks, Tuck. Listen...I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Once I get off the call with Todd, I sit in the small dining area at the table, digging into my ice cream cake. Shit’s good.

Happy birthday to me.

Looks like I’ve got a wedding to organize.

And I’m gonna be an uncle.

Gotta love new beginnings.

~THE END~

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