Bucked (The Invincibles 6)

“There was a card, though. The way it was addressed seemed odd, so we opened it.” Ink pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to me. “See?” he said. “It’s your address, right?”

I ran my fingers over what was written on the envelope Ink had handed me, immediately recognizing it as belonging to my aunt.

“You know anybody named Tiffany Joy?” Ink asked.

I looked up at Buck, praying he wouldn’t make light of what I held in my hands.

“Excuse us,” I heard him murmur. He took my hand in his and led me back out the door. The rain, thankfully, had eased up.

When I climbed inside the truck, I saw the box of mail sitting on the seat. Buck moved it to the other side of me. “Scoot over close to me,” he said.

“Buck, I—”

“Shh.” He put his hand across my lap and moved me closer to him.

By the time we got to the cabin, I was crying too hard to even see to get out of the truck. Buck lifted me in his arms and carried me inside, over to the sofa, and covered me with a blanket. “I’ll be right back.”

I heard him go out the door and come in seconds later. He set the box on the table and sat beside me.

“Thank you,” I said as he gathered me in his arms.

“Is that from Barb?”

“Yes.”

“What’s inside?”

I pulled out the folded piece of paper and handed it to him.

“Have you read it?”

“I can’t.”

Buck unfolded it, cleared his throat, and read the words my aunt wrote.

Tiffany Joy haunts the streets of New York.

Diamonds light the way down Fifth Avenue.

Her reflection—elegant as a nymph

Smiles back.

The stars are her jewels, the night, her veil.

Too soon, the party’s over.

Precious gems return to the vault.

Six notes.

A singular tune wafts

From her small voice.

My sweet Tiffany Joy.

Buck set the note on the table, near the box, and held me while I cried. Other than the day I sobbed more out of guilt than mourning, I hadn’t let myself break down. Now, I couldn’t contain the grief that squeezed my heart. It poured out of me as though my body overflowed with it. This wasn’t guilt; this was missing the woman who had raised me. She’d been there for me even before my mother died.