The kitchen and living room shared the same small space. A worn sofa faced an old television resting on a scratched wooden stand, while a tiny dining table with only two mismatched chairs sat between the living room and the kitchen. Dirty dishes had been left in the sink, a half-empty beer bottle stood on the counter, and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts rested beside it. The place looked exactly like Tuck's house always had. Messy, but lived in.
"Tuck?"
Silence. I walked into the bedroom. The bed was unmade and nobody was inside.
My phone buzzed inside my pocket, and I quickly pulled it out, thinking it was Tuck. But... no. It was Carrie, sending a photo of her damn asshole. She was wide open, the delicate skin flushed with a vivid, throbbing redness.
