Brody might be angry with her, but she knew without a doubt he wouldn’t actually hurt her. Corinne squeezed Malika’s hand. “It’s fine. Brody and I go way back.” She turned back to him. “But I’ll drive myself, if it’s all the same to you.”
“I’m stayin’ in town. You call me if you need me,” Malika said.
“Thank you, but it’s fine,” Corinne repeated. If you say something often enough, you start to believe it, right?
She followed him to a nearby Starbucks. Neither of them said a word as they stood in line. Taking their coffees—plain black for both of them—they settled at a table in a back corner, away from the few patrons scattered through the place. Corinne wrapped her hands around the cup, trying to find some comfort in the heat between her palms.
“I don’t know what your deal is. I don’t know why you decided to break things off with Tucker, and I don’t need to know. That isn’t my business. But you hurt him, and that is my business.”
She wanted to drop her head in shame. Instead, she held Brody’s gaze, waiting for whatever judgment he was handing out. “Say what you need to say.”
“Last year you gave me some pretty frank advice, and you saved me from making a huge mistake. I’m here to return the favor.”
It was so far from the accusations she’d expected, Corinne could only stare at him.
“I was all set to give you a piece of my mind when I got here, but you look as bad as he does, so I can tell you’re hurting, too.”
She felt like she’d been bleeding from a mortal wound since Friday night.
“The fact is, Corinne, you told me once you wanted somebody to look at you the way I look at Tyler. Tucker does.”
Her throat slammed closed and all her efforts had to go toward not bursting into tears again right here in the middle of the coffee shop.
“Now I don’t know if you can’t see that or if you don’t believe it. But as one of his best friends, let me tell you, you’re making a huge mistake cutting him off. He’s crazy about you. And your son. The point is, if something is wrong between you and Tucker, you have to fix it. You can’t let the gift of that kind of relationship go just because stuff got hard.”
Hearing the advice she’d given him thrown back at her made her want to curl into a ball. “That wasn’t why.”
“I don’t much care about the why. Do you love him?”
“I’m not good for him.”
“I disagree, and that’s not what I asked you. Do you love him?”
She had to swallow several times before she managed to get the word out. “Yes.”
Brody nodded and shoved back from the table. “Then don’t let go. Talk to him. Work out your shit. You owe it to both of you.”
He walked out without another word.
Corinne stayed where she was, paper cup clutched between shaking hands.
It couldn’t be that simple. She couldn’t just go to Tucker with the knowledge of what she’d done so stark in her mind. She couldn’t allow herself to chase after happiness, not when Whitney was caught in her own private hell.
What if you got Whitney out?
Even as the question popped into her head, she knew Whitney would never listen. She’d made it perfectly clear that she’d never trust Corinne again. And yet… If Corinne could find a way to convince her to leave, to get out before Garrett snapped—if he hadn’t already—that might go a little ways toward redemption. If she could get Whitney out of her abusive marriage, maybe she could actually live with herself again. And maybe, just maybe, she’d feel like the kind of woman who deserved the love of a man like Tucker McGee.
Chapter 16
Court hadn’t gone well. Tucker had been so argumentative, Judge Carpenter had threatened to charge him with contempt. If he’d had his way, he’d have asked for a continuance until he had his head screwed on straight, but that wasn’t an option for this particular case. At least they hadn’t lost. After a long-ass afternoon of deliberation, the jury had finally come back in favor of his client. Instead of celebrating, he’d be holed up in his office, catching up on paperwork because he wasn’t fit for human company right now.
A scuffle sounded down the hall from his office. The voice of his legal secretary, Margaret Prescott, came floating back. “—can’t let you—”
The door swung open and Malika barged in, hand balled on her hip. “I need to talk to you.”
Behind her, Mrs. Prescott pressed her coral-coated lips together. “I’m sorry, Tucker, she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“It’s fine, Mrs. P.” He checked the clock. “After five. Why don’t you head on home? You can finish up those depositions in the morning.”