8. Caleb
Chapter 8
Caleb
I glance over at Aubrey’s stunning profile in my passenger seat again. Same as before, she’s silently staring out the windshield of my rental car like an annoyed, kidnapped robot. Although come to think of it, I doubt a robot could be programmed to pout that much. Or look that fucking hot.
Man, it’s too bad Aubrey hates my guts. Given that we’re going to be stuck under one roof for the next three weeks and two days, it would have been an unexpected silver lining of our forced living arrangement to partake in a little carnal fun every night after Raine’s bedtime.
With a sigh over what could have been, I shift my eyes off Aubrey’s pouting profile and take the next curve on the winding road leading to my family’s cabin on the lake. After a bit, I get to the next curve, the one with the big fir tree at its apex that got slightly singed in a fire when I was ten or so. My stomach flutters with butterflies at my destination’s proximity. Only this time, unlike when I was a kid, those butterflies bring with them nostalgia and uncertainty, rather than unadulterated excitement .
When I used to come here as a kid, the sight of that big fir tree meant imminent independence. A carefree escape from homework, chores, and all the screaming back home. Now, as an adult, however, I understand why Mom sometimes abruptly packed up the car without warning to come here in the middle of the night. Why Grandpa would give Mom such a big bear hug when we arrived on his doorstep. Why Mom always shed those big, soggy tears into her father’s chest. So much so, they’d soak Grandpa’s flannel shirt. And most of all, I now understand the happy smile Mom wore for Miranda and me was a mother’s gift to her children. A ruse that allowed us to cluelessly enjoy our little vacation and conveniently forget about the latest bruises on our mother’s arms and neck.
Thankfully, Dad knew he wasn’t welcome at Grandpa’s cabin. Grandpa once told my father, “I’ve got a locker full of rifles, Greg, and I know exactly how to make anything look like a hunting accident.” We all knew he wasn’t kidding.
After another turn in the winding road, I spot the two black cottonwoods that mark the small dirt road leading to our family’s cabin, and a moment later, there it is. The small house on the lake I used to visit frequently as a kid, although it looks quite a bit bigger nowadays. Also, much nicer than I remember it, thanks to some massive, modern windows installed on its front facade. Did Grandpa renovate the crap out of this place before putting it up on that short-term rental site?
I slowly drive my car across some noisy gravel on the side of the house and park the car, and Aubrey immediately unbuckles her seatbelt. Without a word or even a glance toward me, she grabs her overnight bag and exits the car. When I don’t follow because I’m studying the new, modernized look of the house, Aubrey stands near the front of the car and awaits me, her arms crossed and her body language bursting with impatience and disdain.
By my late teens, I’d become too obsessed with my band and chasing girls to come along whenever Mom came here. And once I successfully started flaking on coming here, my sister, Miranda, four years my junior, took it as her cue to start following suit, since she never liked coming here, anyway. Too many bugs , Miranda always said. Nothing to do .
All of a sudden, Miranda started sleeping at her best friend Violet’s place, whenever Mom came here. And a few years after that, Grandpa got himself a girlfriend from Kansas—a pretty widow with a cool house and some kids she didn’t want to uproot. And that was that. Mom started visiting her dad in Kansas without Miranda and me, since we’d become “too busy” for family outings like that; and I lost access to this magical place in Montana, without ever knowing my final visit here had been my last.
Aubrey’s arm waving at me in my peripheral vision catches my attention, and I slowly turn my head to stare at her in a daze.
“Are you coming?” she mouths on the other side of my windshield, her eyebrows raised with annoyance.
With a long exhale, I unbuckle my seatbelt, grab my backpack from the backseat, and amble toward Aubrey at the front of the car. As I approach, a crease splits her otherwise smooth forehead.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “You look pissed off.”
“That’s just my face, sweetheart. I’ve got resting ‘pissed off’ face.”
The slightest twitch of a smile plays at Aubrey’s pouty lips, but she manages to suppress it before returning her attention to the house. “You kept calling this place a cabin, so I pictured a little log cabin in the woods. But this is a proper lake house, Caleb. A vacation home.”
I shrug. “It started out as a little cabin in the woods, so that’s what we’ve always called it. My grandpa must have expanded and renovated the place over the years, without me knowing it.” I point. “Those big windows there are new to me. And that whole side of the house is an addition. A third bedroom, maybe?”
“Cool.” She’s practically tapping her toe. “Can we go inside now? I need to pee.”
I shift the backpack slung over my shoulder and lead the way. But as we walk toward the front of the house, I remember something I want to see along the side of it. I don’t say a word to Aubrey about my divergence from the route to the front door, but she follows me, anyway, probably figuring there’s some preferred side entry into the house.
When I get to my destination—the big black cottonwood my grandpa planted to mark my birth over thirty-five years ago—I run my fingers over the ridged, rough bark, searching for the symbol I carved into it during my childhood: a letter “C” for “Caleb” with a lit fuse attached to its top for “Bomb.” Baum -garten.
“Did you carve that?” Aubrey asks, leaning in close to peer at the symbol. Surely, the design is self-explanatory to her, since she knows my full name.
I nod. “When I was twelve or thirteen.”
“I didn’t realize you’ve been C-Bomb for so long. I thought you adopted that as a one-name celebrity thing. You know, like Prince or Shakira.”
I shake my head. “Dean started calling me C-Bomb in middle school, when we first learned about the A-bomb.” I can’t fathom I need to explain the identity of Dean to her. Surely, Aubrey knows I’m talking about Dean Masterson, the insanely talented lead singer of my band who’s easily ten times more famous than me. “Once the band took off,” I add, “the nickname took on a life of its own in pop culture; but before that, I was always Caleb and C-Bomb, interchangeably, with my closest friends. Still am. Some of my best friends still call me C-Bomb, as often as they call me Caleb.”
“I noticed that on your neck earlier.” Aubrey points at the side of my neck. Specifically, to the spot where I have this exact same “C-Bomb” symbol inked into my flesh.
“Mm hmm.” Now that she’s brought up one of my tattoos, I’m fully expecting the conversation to take the usual course. Namely, for Aubrey to ask me the meaning of this or that other tattoo. Or maybe to compliment her favorite design. But to my surprise, Aubrey doesn’t follow the usual script.
With her fingers brushing over the carving in the tree, she murmurs, “Seems like there’s a lot of memories in this place for you, huh?”
My chest tightens. It’s an understatement. Being here is like visiting a ghost of my prior self: a younger version of Caleb Baumgarten who loved coming here to escape and forget about the stress caused by my turbulent father back home. “Yeah, lots of memories,” I mutter vaguely. I shift my backpack and clear my throat. “Come on, babysitter. You need to pee, right?” I stride away from the tree without looking back. “We’ll go in through the back door. We’ve probably got mud on our shoes now.”
“Love the rustic vibe,” Aubrey murmurs, looking around the living room. She motions toward the ceiling. “Those exposed beams are gorgeous.”
“They’re new from when I was here last.”
She motions across the room. “Love that stone fireplace, too.”
“When I was a little kid, we used to make s’mores in that fireplace.”
“Ooooh, we should do that with Raine.”
Raine. My heart rate quickens at the mention of my daughter’s name. I can’t believe her little feet are going to pad across the same wooden planks my own two-year-old feet traversed thirty-plus years ago. “Great idea. Before we pick her up tomorrow, let’s stop by the grocery store for supplies.”
For the first time since our eyes connected over that wooden fence, Aubrey looks semi-tolerant of me. At least, she doesn’t look nearly as much like she wants to slide her hands around my neck and squeeze .
“Should we take a look around the place?” I ask.
“Let’s do it.”
We wander through the house and confirm my grandfather did, indeed, add a third bedroom on the west side, as well as all new windows and several upgrades to the cabin’s only bathroom.
“Do you have any thoughts, in terms of upgrades and fixes?” I ask, as we return to the living room.
“It depends on what you plan to do with the place. If you want to spend the money to make this place your own personal haven, you’d probably want to do more than if you’re aiming to turn a maximum profit on a sale, you know?”
I look around, my mind buffering. If I wind up with full custody of Raine, I’d likely want to keep this place, so I can bring my daughter here, now and again, the same way I used to come as a kid. If I don’t get custody of Raine, however, I’m certain my sister will want to sell the place and split the proceeds, since she’s never liked coming here, anyway. If that scenario faces me, I think it’s possible coming here will feel too painful for me to fight my sister’s wishes on the matter.
“Not sure yet,” I say vaguely, averting my eyes from Aubrey. The last thing I want her detecting is my present state of uncertainty about the outcome of the custody hearing. I’m mostly confident and determined, but I’m a bit out of my depths here, frankly; but, of course, I want Aubrey thinking I’ve got this situation completely under control.
Aubrey says, “I think you should figure out your intentions for the place before you do too much to it. Either way, I’d recommend replacing the rotting deck for safety reasons. Later, if you decide to keep the place, I’d also upgrade the kitchen and add a second bathroom.”
It’s the same list I came up with during our short tour, other than adding the second bathroom. I can’t argue with that additional idea, however, now that Aubrey’s raised it. If this place becomes a vacation home for my growing daughter and me, I’m sure Raine would appreciate her own bathroom, as she gets older, so she doesn’t have to share one with her old man.
“I think I’ll take on the deck by myself, while we’re staying here,” I say. “And figure out the rest after the custody hearing.”
“As long as you’re going to rebuild the deck, can I suggest a whole new design for it?”
I ask her what she’s got in mind, and Aubrey holds up a palm and uses her index finger to visually explain what she means. By the time she’s done walking me through it, I’m thoroughly impressed and sold on the idea. In fact, it feels like a no-brainer to follow Aubrey’s vision to a T.
“You’re good at this,” I say.
Aubrey blushes. “I worked every summer for my dad in high school. I guess I learned a thing or two.”
“Clearly.” I flash her a small smile, but she doesn’t return the gesture. Again. With a sigh, I add, “Okay, thanks. I’ll get the lumber tomorrow and get started.”
“I know my dad is presently out of commission, but I’m sure he could wrangle a small crew to help you finish the deck as quickly as possible.”
I shake my head. “Getting the project done quickly isn’t the goal. I like working with my hands and feeling pride in a job well done. I’ll take your dad’s supervision and advice, though.”
The slightest hint of a smile plays at Aubrey’s lips. “My father is the exact same way, and I learned it from him. We both take pride in a job well done, too.”
I try my damnedest not to smile at her again, since my prior attempts at warming things up between us haven’t been well received. But it’s hard not to smile with my eyes, at least. Aubrey’s so damned cute and sexy, all rolled into one. Also, so damned likeable, even though she obviously can’t stand me. “If I decide to go forward with the other projects you suggested,” I say, “I’ll hire your father to do them, whenever he’s feeling up to it.”
Aubrey’s cheeks visibly bloom. “Really? Thank you. I know my father would appreciate that. By the time he’s cleared to work, he’ll be in a pretty deep hole, financially. Don’t tell him I told you that. But it’s the truth, unfortunately.”
My stomach tightens at the worried look on her pretty face. I noticed Aubrey looking the same way earlier at dinner, when her mother said she’d turned down the festival committee’s offer to send financial assistance the Capshaws’ way.
Aubrey rubs a palm down her bare arm and clears her throat. “So, what’s your timing on going to bed? As your sobriety coach, I feel like I should know your schedule every day.”
“I’m pretty wiped. I was thinking I’d take a hot shower and get into bed pretty soon.”
“That works for me. I’m tired, too. Raine woke up with another nightmare last night, so I didn’t get a good night’s sleep again.”
My eyebrows cinch together. “Raine’s been having nightmares?”
“Every night since . . .” Aubrey doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t need to: her crestfallen expression and moist eyes have finished it for her.
I have no idea what to say in this moment. Whenever people have tried to say something comforting about my mother’s passing, their words have always fallen flat, like lead balloons, no matter how good the person’s intentions. So, in the end, I ignore the obvious emotion washing over Aubrey’s pretty face and stay on topic. “You never need to stay up on my account. If you’re wiped out for whatever reason, you can always go to bed first, whether I’m still awake or not.”
Aubrey looks at me like I’m crazy. “Every night at ten, I need to send in that form certifying you’ve been a good little boy all day, remember? And I can’t do that, if I’ve been sleeping on the job.”
I scoff. “I don’t think the job requires you to match my sleep schedule, Aubrey.” I motion toward the moonlit lake and surrounding cluster of trees immediately outside the large windows across the room. “Not here, especially, when there’s nothing around for miles.”
Aubrey shakes her head. “I’m getting paid to do this job, so I’m going to do it to the best of my abilities.” She raises an index finger. “Speaking of which, I’d better do a quick sweep of the house before we head to bed for the night.”
“A sweep of the house?”
“For alcohol. In case someone who stayed here left something behind.”
I roll my eyes. “I can’t imagine that’s necessary.”
Aubrey, looking around, ignores my comment. “I’ll start in the kitchen, unless you’d prefer me to start in your bedroom, so you can get in there now.”
I release a loud exhale. “Kitchen is fine.”
“Awesome.” She turns on her heel and strides into the adjacent kitchen, leaving me gawking involuntarily at the swishing movement of her hot little ass for a moment, until, finally, I pull myself together enough to amble into the kitchen after her.
When I enter the room, Aubrey is already bent over and peeking into a low cabinet, so I lean my ass against the kitchen counter and watch the show.
“You didn’t happen to have an alcoholic beverage at the airport or on the plane today, did you?” she asks, her gaze trained on her next opened cupboard. “Because the email I got explaining my job duties said you’ll need to co-sign onto today’s certification only, under oath, due to the hours you spent alone and unattended during your travels.” She bends over again, giving me another lovely view of her ass.
“On my honor, I’ve had nothing but coffee and water all day long.”
Aubrey straightens up from the latest cabinet she’s been inspecting to shoot me a pointed look that says, Your honor means nothing to me, motherfucker .
I chuckle. “Do you want me to swear it on something sacred to me?” With a dramatic hand to my heart, I declare, “Aubrey Capshaw, I swear to you and the god of rehab I’ve stayed sober all day. I swear it on my love for my mother, sister, and bandmates, and on every dime in my bank account.”
Aubrey rolls her eyes. “Your money is ‘sacred’ to you? Nice, C-Bomb.”
It’s the first time she’s addressed me that way, since she made the switch to Caleb at her house. But it seems fair in this context. Sassy and teasing, even. Is the ice thawing a bit? “The money part was a joke,” I say with a smirk. “Although it certainly doesn’t suck to have money.”
Aubrey pulls an adorable face. One that says, I wouldn’t know . But she doesn’t say a word before moving on to the next cabinet.
“I realize you’re going to have to take a small leap of faith today,” I say to her bent-over backside. “But after today, I promise you’ll quickly find out I’m sincerely determined to stick with the program. It’s in my best interest to do that, for a variety of reasons.”
Aubrey stops what she’s doing and flashes me an earnest look. “I’m proud of you for working to get sober. I know from watching Claudia it’s a difficult thing to do.”
“I didn’t do it of my own free will. I had an expensive meltdown at a hotel in New York the night my mother died, and a court ordered me to go to rehab to avoid jailtime. And then, the insurance company that insures our tours piggy-backed on the court’s decision, so now I have to stick with my program, if I want my band to be insurable for tours again. ”
Aubrey shrugs, looking unfazed. “Whatever got you here, you’re still the one doing the work. As far as I’m concerned, the praise is still well deserved.”
“The crazy thing is I don’t even need a formal program to quit drinking. I’ve quit before, whenever I’ve wanted to. Just to prove I could.”
“But you always started drinking again?”
“Yeah, whenever I felt like I’d proven my point to myself.”
“Or maybe you’ve actually needed a program, without realizing it.”
I pull a face. “No, before now, my goal was never to stop drinking, forever.”
“Is that your goal now: to stop drinking forever?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly. Begrudgingly. “I guess it is.”
Before now, I hadn’t consciously formulated a goal for my sobriety, and I certainly hadn’t thought the word “forever.” But now that we’re having this conversation, I’m realizing there’s no other path forward for me, assuming I win custody of Raine.
Whenever I drink or smoke weed, I wind up giving myself permission to do whatever the fuck I want, without a shred of accountability. And that’s obviously not going to work in my new role as a father. I’ve never laid a finger on anyone I care about when drunk or high. Never would. So, thankfully, in that way, I’m nothing like my father. But I definitely let some major guardrails down, whenever my brain is in a fog, and that’s simply not going to be an option anymore, in my new life as a father.
When it’s clear that’s all I’m going to say on the subject of my sobriety, Aubrey turns and resumes her work. Feeling a bit exposed and vulnerable, I open the cabinet nearest to me and scope it out, figuring the sooner Aubrey finishes her ridiculous task, the sooner I can go to bed.
When I finish scanning the empty cabinets closest to me, I turn to tell Aubrey it’s all clear over here. But when I see her bent over and peeking into a low cabinet, when I get yet another glorious eyeful of her incredible ass, my words lodge in my throat. Damn. That’s an ass I’d love to mark with my teeth . The thought sends tingle shooting into my dick. Yes, Aubrey’s a thorn in my goddamned side. But hot damn, she’s one hell of a sexy thorn.
As I’m still ogling Aubrey’s backside, she straightens up and checks a high cabinet, causing her to reach up and strain on tiptoes. As she stretches, her tank top rides up from the top of her shorty shorts, treating me to a delightful peek of her belly. It’s only a tiny swath of bare flesh. But it’s enough to send another round of tingles shooting between my legs.
I haven’t had “clean and sober” sex yet, but I’ve certainly thought about sex a hell of a lot the past few months, ever since my sex drive came roaring back after detox the first week of rehab. I suppose it’s possible I’m feeling this intense sexual attraction to Aubrey, simply by virtue of her being here with the right body parts for my innately wired sexuality. I can’t deny I’m a horny motherfucker right now. But I don’t think that’s it.
On the contrary, I’m pretty damned sure my body would be craving Aubrey’s with feral force, even if I had a world of women to choose from. Even if I’d had sex with someone, other than my hand, every night for the past few months. Even before rehab, with Mom living with me for so long, and with my focus on her and her downward spiral, I put my entire life on hold for quite a while, including performing and going out with friends. Which meant, for months, I was no longer engaging in the activities that most typically led to me meeting women.
“A little help, please?” Aubrey says, drawing me from my sexual thoughts.
I sidle over to her and easily reach the high shelf she’s struggling to sweep with her hand; and to my surprise, my knuckles clank against something hard toward the back of the shelf. When I grasp the object, I pull down a half-empty, cheap bottle of tequila. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
It’s a brand of tequila I wouldn’t dirty my mouth for, under normal circumstances. But I can’t deny, in this moment, the sight of the liquid sloshing around against the bottle is making my mouth water. Just this fast, after two months of daily counseling sessions and everything else, I’m suddenly feeling the primal urge to throw away all my progress by twisting off that cap and taking a long, thirsty guzzle, whether it’s the cheap shit or not.
“I had a feeling,” Aubrey says. “With this place being a short-term rental, the odds were high someone brought alcohol here to party with and forgot to take it home with them.”
She puts her hand out, and, much to my chagrin, I hand over the bottle; at which point, Aubrey strides to a window on the other side of the kitchen, twists opens the cap and pours every drop of liquid gold into the bushes below.
Fuck me. As I watch the stream of booze disappearing into darkness, my taste buds conjure the flavor of tequila. The unmistakable smell of it, too, even if I’m only imagining both sensations from this distance.
“I think I’ll head off to bed,” I blurt, my pulse quickening.
“Okay, let me do a quick sweep of your bedroom first.”
I rough a hand down my face, feeling like a trapped animal. Shit.
“You’ve got this, Caleb,” Aubrey says warmly. She places the empty bottle onto the counter and walks over to me. To my surprise, she places a reassuring palm on my forearm and squeezes. “I’m not your enemy, okay? When it comes to your sobriety, I’m your teammate. I swear, I’m in your corner on this. Not only for your sake, but for Raine’s.”
Raine.
It’s the magic word. The “why” my counselor, Gina, is always yammering on about.
Before now, I’ve admittedly been a distant, disinterested shithead in all my counseling sessions with Gina, since simply avoiding jailtime wasn’t enough of a why for me. Neither was the insurance thing. Same with not pissing off my bandmates. But Raine? She’s more than enough of a why for me to see this thing through now. I don’t know my daughter yet, thanks to my own terrible choices. But I don’t need to know her to love her, just this fast, and to decide I’m now going to do whatever it takes to become the father she deserves.
“I appreciate that,” I reply softly to Aubrey. With her hand still on my bare forearm, I hold her gaze. The air suddenly feels like it’s crackling between us. At least, that’s how it feels on my end.
With flushed cheeks, Aubrey removes her hand from my forearm like it’s on fire. “I’ll go check your bedroom, so you can get to bed.”
Her chest heaving, Aubrey turns on her heel and strides away, giving me yet another lovely view of her swishing ass as she goes.
Suddenly, I know two things to be true, with total clarity :
One, I’m going to fuck Aubrey in this house, sooner rather than later. It’s fucking inevitable. Unavoidable, like gravity.
And two, from this moment forward, I’m going to stick with my sobriety and do whatever it takes not to fuck up this second chance at a new beginning with my daughter. No matter what.