Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
He laughs. He didn’t talk me out of anything. This was my grand idea.
“I’m crawling in the back with her.”
Noah signals to shift lanes and then slows down.
“What are you doing?”
“Slowing down so . . .” he says, nothing else. He doesn’t need to. It doesn’t matter how many years have passed, the car accident is always at the front of his mind. I try not to think about it even though I live with the pain of what it has caused me.
I get into the back, much to Stevie Nicks’ happiness. She crawls on my lap, kissing my face and hands, while I try to buckle my seatbelt. I hate being in the backseat and will probably end up closing my eyes. Maybe I can get her to lie on me and fall asleep.
“You good back there?”
“Yes.” Probably not. I go through her puppy bag and find a bone for her to chew on. Everything with her is about redirection, rewarding her with a positive toy instead of scolding her.
“Bone,” I say, echoing the command Noah’s put on the buttons he’s training her with. She gives me her paw and I reiterate my command. She finally takes it and melds into my side until she’s slid down the seat. With one leg over mine, she uses my thigh as leverage to hold her bone in place. The jabbing or pinching hurts, but I ignore it. She’s content and not chewing on the seatbelts, so I’ll deal.
I’m tempted to ask my husband how much longer, but I know the answer. I’ve done trips like this before, going from city to city, state to state, in a decked-out tour bus. When the kids went on tour, each family had their own bus. Noah always stayed on the main bus with his parents, while Quinn, Elle, and I ended up in some rental. Ours still had bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen and eating area, but it wasn’t the cool kid’s bus. Sometimes, I’d ride in Noah’s bus during the day, but I never slept on it. Once the wives and kids went back to Beaumont, the band ditched the rental and went back to their custom tour bus.
I miss those days. They were carefree and fun. As kids, we had no worries as long as we followed the rules. Sometimes, we’d have a babysitter, but it was always someone from the record label, sent out at Liam or my dad’s request, so they could take their ladies out.
One year, Noah didn’t go on tour with us because he had football camp. That summer, he stayed with Nick, and everything changed. When we came home, Noah had grown. He was no longer a kid, but on his way to becoming a man, while I was still the pesky little kid who followed him around.
He never said that to me, but I suspected it’s what he thought. When Noah started dating, I cried myself to sleep every night for . . . I don’t know how long. Months on end. Elle was tired of hearing me sniffle and would complain to our mom. I never told her why, despite her begging for an answer. At eleven years old, I hated everyone, especially the girls Noah brought home. I would antagonize, torment, and act like a spoiled brat to and in front of them. It didn’t matter how much trouble I got into. They were the enemy, and I didn’t want him with any of them.
His high school reunion is going to be fun.
I lean forward, resting my head on the back of Noah’s seat, and slide my hand between the seat and the door, to where I can touch him. He places his hand on mine and instantly everything seems right in the world.
He’s the man I crave. Desire. Dream about. He’s never close enough, and when we’re connected, I swear it’s not enough. I have this fear growing inside of me that I won’t love this baby as much as I love Noah. It’s irrational. This baby is the best of us combined, and I know my motherly instincts will kick in and he or she will be my entire world. Does that mean Noah won’t be? I shudder at the thought.
I don’t know how long I stay this way, hours possibly, with my head on the back of his seat and Stevie Nicks content with her bone pressed against my leg. Long enough to feel a kink in my neck and maybe even doze off. When Noah signals and slows down, I sit up and look out the window.
“Where are we?”
“Outside of San Joaquin.”
“She’s content. I don’t think we need to stop.”
“We’re meeting the jet at an airfield.”
“What?” I glance at Noah through the rearview mirror, and he nods.
“You’re already tired and when we got Stevie Nicks, one of the things we talked about was being able to fly. We need to start her on that now. Not later.”