Much opened his mouth when Tuck misunderstood, shaking his head and pointing at his phone by way of explanation. It wasn't Tuck he was upset with-
But then Tuck spoke again, and his words...
They sounded like Tuck was calling him on the carpet, for daring to hope he could save anyone.
No one had swooped in at the last minute and rescued him, when the Sheriff had caught up with him on the side of that road. No one had swooped in at the last moment and saved Leila; Rob had left her alone and she'd had to save herself. They hadn't swooped in to save Iestyn and Addy moments before Lucifer found them. Francis had swooped in to save Tuck, but even that was long after the last moment had passed.
There had been plenty of times in the past when Much had scoffed or snapped at something Tuck said, but he could not ever remember a time when he felt, so sincerely, that Tuck was peddling actual bullshit.
You know the stories, Much. That's the way we've already worked.
Yeah, Much knew his stories. His contradictory, half-remembered stories. There was no guidance there, no pattern, not for him. The rest of the gang all had ways they always worked, but Much's only always had been the others. It left Much a mess, unpredictable... but unrestrained.
And it might leave him dead for half a year at a time, but right now Much would rather that than be chained to the idea that we don't stop the bad guys before anything happens.
He couldn't think of a single thing to say in response to that.