28. Aubrey
Chapter 28
Aubrey
“ H oly guacamole, Coobie,” I say, looking around Caleb’s sprawling living room.
“ Gooby-gabby-momo ,” Raine echoes in front of me, attempting to mimic my exclamation. Of course, Caleb and I guffaw at her attempt.
The three of us, sans Miranda—we parted ways with Caleb’s sister at LAX—have just stepped inside Caleb’s sprawling, modern beach house in Santa Monica, and it’s beyond anything my feeble mind could have conjured. As it turns out, Caleb lives his “real life” in LA as the wealthy rock superstar he is, not the wood-working, drum-banging, mountain man I’ve come to know and love in Montana. As I’m now seeing, he’s a man who prefers sleek lines and modern glass in his chosen living accommodations, rather than cozy, rustic wood, stone fireplaces, and exposed beams.
I should have predicted this. Caleb only inherited his grandpa’s cozy wooden lake house, whereas he bought this home, out of all the options available at his hefty budget. If I’d been thinking clearly, I would have expected Caleb to choose to live in luxury like this. The man loves spending money, after all. I found that out during our first shopping spree in Billings. And he’s had a lot of it for a very long time. For almost fifteen years now, Caleb’s been accumulating insane amounts of wealth while living a “single rockstar” lifestyle. One unfettered by typical adult responsibilities and the usual guard rails that keep the rest of us in check.
When Caleb told me about his house in LA during our flight today, I pictured him living in a cute little beachside bungalow, since he only described his place as being “right on the beach.” Caleb explained, “There’s a little staircase from my property down to the beach below, so, it’ll be easy to go back and forth all day long, just like we do back home at the lake.”
Yep. Caleb used the word home in relation to his lake house in Montana today on the plane. And don’t think I didn’t feel giddy about it, even though I knew his word choice might have been a simple slip of the tongue.
“Do you see the ocean, Shortcake?” Caleb asks Raine, gesturing to floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite side of the expansive room. “We can swim in it, just like we do in the lake back home.”
There it is again! Home.
“Dat ocean ?” Rainey asks with wide-eyed astonishment, even though Claudia and I—sometimes, with Claudia’s mother, before she got sick—used to take Raine to the ocean all the time in Seattle. Apparently, Raine doesn’t remember those beach days now; or if she does, the grey, tumultuous version of the sea she visited in Washington doesn’t bear enough of a resemblance to the glittering, sapphire-blue ocean in California to trigger her rapidly vanishing memories .
“Would you ladies like a tour?” Caleb asks, an adorable grin on his handsome face.
“Right after I take Little Miss Can-I-Have-a-Second-Juice-Box-in-the-Car to a potty.”
Caleb chuckles and points toward a hallway. “Right through there on the left.”
“Dadda do it?” Raine asks to my surprise. I’m always the one who deals with Raine’s potty breaks, not Caleb.
“You’ve got it, kiddo!” Caleb booms. “I’ll race you there!” He takes off running. Or, at least, he pretends to. And Raine toddles gleefully after him.
I’m now alone in Mr. Rockstar’s living room, surrounded by photos and memorabilia: the artifacts of Caleb’s superstar life away from Montana.
Slowly, I amble around the room perusing everything like there’s going to be a pop quiz later. It’s all deeply fascinating to me. Like seeing another version of Caleb on a different timeline. There are framed platinum records, album covers, and memorabilia; photos of Caleb with smiling people who seem to be other famous musicians, based on context clues. There’s a pair of framed drumsticks bearing a signature I can’t read. A signed guitar, too. Several framed magazine covers.
I lean in close to study one magazine in particular: a copy of Rock ‘n’ Roll that features Caleb as its cover model. He’s got a mohawk in the photo, which normally wouldn’t be my thing, but on Caleb it’s a damned good look, especially when paired with the over-the-top snarl he’s wearing. He’s flexing his muscular arm in the shot—showing off a tattoo on his bicep: a classic cartoon bomb emblazoned with a “C.”
I’ve seen that same tattoo countless times in person. Every day for the past month. I’ve even kissed it, many times. But, somehow, seeing the tattoo on the cover of a wildly popular, iconic music magazine and presented as pop culture iconography is making me see Caleb through a whole new lens. No wonder Claudia was always so infatuated with him. He’s one hell of a sexy beast. Dangerous. Wild. Hot as fuck.
I continue my tour of the room, feeling a bit off-kilter and confused. I knew this side of Caleb’s life exists. The fame and money. The rarified, celebrity air he’s been breathing for well over a decade. But, still, the simple life we’ve shared for the past month is so far removed from this stuff, I’m finding this slingshot back to reality a bit jarring.
“I went poopie in da potty, my Aubbey!” Raine screeches happily, as she runs back into the room. For a while now, Raine’s been calling me “Aubbey” and “my Aubbey,” rather than “Auntie Aubbey.” Not sure when it started, exactly, but it feels natural and right at this point.
“Yep, she pooped like a champ,” Caleb declares with a laugh, entering the room behind his daughter. “Never let it be said my daughter sucks at anything, even pooping.”
I snort-laugh.
“And yes, I made sure she washed her hands for the full length of ‘The Birthday Song,’” Caleb says with a wink. He claps his palms together. “So, ladies, are we ready for that house tour now?”
“Ready!” Raine shrieks at the top of her little lungs. To emphasize her readiness, she performs an enthusiastic shimmy that makes her look like an upright worm on a hook. Does that child even know what a house tour is? More likely than not, this is yet another case of Raine buying whatever her brawny Dadda is selling, whether she understand it or not.
“Hop aboard the tour bus, Shortcake,” Caleb says, crouching down to offer his back to Raine. When she’s safely cleaved to his backside, and his strong hands are firmly holding her tiny legs in place, Caleb begins showing us around his gorgeous home.
The kitchen is filled with endless white cupboards, gleaming steel, and stunning tile accents. On the way out, I make a mental note to do a sweep for booze when the tour is over.
Next up, we’re treated to a music studio featuring an elaborate drum kit, a vocal booth in the corner, and even more framed platinum records and memorabilia. There’s also a fully stocked bar in the corner of the room, I can’t help noticing. One I’m going to clear out, immediately after my sweep of the kitchen.
“I’ll get all that stuff cleared out and replaced with seltzer water and juice,” Caleb murmurs, reading my mind. “I went straight to rehab from New York, so I haven’t been home and had a chance to?—”
“It’s all good, honey,” I say reassuringly. “I’ll clear out everything for you, just like I did back home.” Fuck . It’s one thing for Caleb to say that, but he might feel pressured by me saying it.
“Thanks,” he says, seemingly unfazed by my word choice. In fact, he’s smiling from ear to ear. Is that because I offered to help? Because I called him honey? Or is he happy to discover, somewhere along the line, I’ve grown to consider the lake house my home?
“It’s a good thing we came home two days before the meeting with the social worker, huh?” Caleb says. “It would have been terrible, if she saw this place, as it is.”
“We definitely dodged a bullet there.”
We share a smile, but I’m honestly feeling a bit stressed. In Montana, I had no doubts about Caleb’s readiness to take on Raine, forever. But here, I can’t help wondering if he’s truly ready for a job that big. If he’s got any doubts about his commitment to fatherhood, he’d better tell me soon, because in a matter of days, I’m going to testify in support of his bid for full custody, with full visitation rights for me, rather than the other way around. And I can’t do that, if he’s not one-hundred-percent committed.
I keep telling myself Raine belongs with her father. That it’s the best thing for her, even though I want her for myself. But the more I fall for Caleb—or think I’m falling, anyway—being here is making me wonder if I’ve been falling for the fantastical Montana version of him—the more I’m worried my judgment has become hopelessly clouded by my feelings. Has Caleb been playing me, this whole time? I don’t think so. But what if I’m wrong?
We continue the tour and visit a game room next, one featuring a pool table, foosball table, several pinball machines, and, surprise, surprise, an astonishing array of bongs, ashtrays, and booze bottles.
“Shit,” Caleb says, when he beholds the vestiges of his past life all around us. “I mean, shoot . Sorry, Shortcake.”
“Shit,” Raine echoes.
“ Shoot ,” Caleb corrects. “Shoot, shoot, shoot.”
“Shit.”
“Just leave it, and she’ll forget.”
With a sigh, Caleb moves to the next room—a space filled with comfy sitting areas and a big-screen TV; and not surprisingly, another round of ashtrays, bongs, and papers used to roll joints.
Caleb slides Raine off his back, looking distraught. “I should have had someone check the whole house before we got here,” he murmurs. “Sorry. I didn’t think to do that. ”
“It’s fine,” I say. “After we have some lunch, you can take Raine to the beach while I clear out the house.”
Caleb looks stressed. “Thanks, Aubrey. I appreciate that.”
I lay a palm on his forearm and smile reassuringly. “I think it’s good you’re seeing the house with sober eyes. If this place had already been cleaned out when we got here, maybe the new you wouldn’t have realized just how much the old you probably needed mandatory rehab.”
Caleb contemplates that. “Yeah, I think you’re right. I probably needed it, without realizing it.” He looks beautifully vulnerable in this moment. So much so, I’d kiss him right now, if Raine weren’t here.
Off we go again, this time into a long hallway. As we walk, Caleb motions to a passing guestroom. “That’ll be your room, A-Bomb.” He winks. “As far as the social worker will know, anyway.”
We enter a room at the end of the long hallway. Caleb’s bedroom. The primary suite, featuring the same spectacular ocean views as the living room. Not surprisingly, given the rest of the house, Caleb’s bedroom is a beautiful space. One that’s fit for a king and decorated by a pro. There’s an attached bathroom that’s bigger than my parents’ living room. A walk-in closet that’s bigger than my childhood bedroom. A fireplace, sitting room, and more framed memorabilia. And best of all, there’s a small shelf in a corner filled with framed family photos.
I study Caleb’s collection of family photos, as father and daughter chatter about the ocean view in another corner of the room. Suddenly, I notice a framed photo that makes me gasp and clutch my heart. Somehow, Caleb managed to add a photo of Raine to his collection—a smiling shot of her sitting on the shore of Lake Lucille with her beloved sand toys strewn around her. I didn’t take the shot. In fact, I’ve never seen it before. Which means Caleb must have snapped it and asked someone here in LA to frame it for him.
“What is it?” Caleb asks, reacting to my audible gasp.
“This photo of Raine.”
Caleb and Raine join me at the photo collection.
“Dat me!” Raine says, pointing.
“It sure is,” Caleb says. “And you know why? Because this shelf is for photos of everyone I love most in the whole world. That’s why you’re there, front and center. Because I love you so, so much.”
“Who dat?”
“That’s two of my best friends, Colin and Amy, and their little boy, Rocco. He’s the same age as you. You’re gonna meet him soon.”
“Who dat?”
“That’s my grandma and grandpa. And that’s Auntie Miranda there. And my mother.”
Raine looks up at her daddy. “Where my mommy and Aubbey and Grammy and Pop-Pop?”
Caleb’s face bursts into shades of crimson. All of a sudden, he looks tongue-tied and nauseated. “That’s a great question, Rainey. They should be here, because they’re our family, too. You’re absolutely right about that.” He flashes me an apologetic look while talking to Raine. “For now, we’ll put their photos in your room, though, so you can start a family photos shelf of your own. Would you like that?”
“Yass!” While Raine squeals and dances around excitedly about the idea, Caleb looks at me, sweating bullets. Clearly, he thought the addition of Raine to his shelf would be a praiseworthy surprise. But now, it’s turned into a fuckup.
“That photo of her is really sweet,” I whisper. “Don’t stress, Caleb. She’s your daughter,. She belongs there.”
He smashes his lips together, looking pained. And you know what? I feel pained, too. Logically, I know I shouldn’t. I don’t belong on that shelf, and neither do Claudia or my parents. But I can’t deny my heart feels excluded in this moment. If I needed a reminder that I’ve been getting swept away by my feelings for Caleb, this is probably it. Clearly, I need to cool my jets and keep my heart guarded, just in case the custody hearing doesn’t go, as planned.
Caleb clears his throat. “I figured with the social worker coming on Thursday?—"
“Yeah, that makes sense,” I insist. “It was the right call. We don’t want the social worker digging too deep into what’s been going on between you and me.” I force a smile. “Is there a bedroom for Raine?”
Caleb looks deeply uncomfortable, but he forces a smile, the same as me, and says, “Of course. I saved the best for last.” He scoops up his daughter and holds her like a football as he marches out of his bedroom, while I tear myself away from the shelf of photos and follow him.
“Wowee!” Raine chirps, as Caleb enters her room. I can’t blame the kid. I’m feeling pretty wowee’d myself. The room is Girlie Heaven. A pink-and-purple Shangri-La that’s been decorated to perfection and stuffed to its rafters with every manner of toys, dolls, and stuffed animals.
In a corner, there’s a colorful, plastic kitchen, bursting with accessories. In another, there’s a dress-up station filled with all manner of glittering costumes and props. There’s a dollhouse, complete with furniture and people; a Barbie area, too, chock full of everything our plastic heroine needs to live her best life. There’s a fluffy, pillow-covered bed, and purple bubble letters above it, spelling out Raine’s name on a pink wall.
My eyes train on a framed photo below Raine’s name, and I step forward to get a better look. When I get closer, I realize it’s a shot of Caleb and Raine—the photo I snapped at my parents’ house while father and daughter colored together for the first time.
My heart hammering, I motion to the framed shot. “When and how did you do this?”
Caleb bites back a shy smile. “My friend Amy did that for me last week.” He looks around proudly. “She did this whole room for me.”
“She did a great job. Isn’t your room amazing, Rainey?”
“Mayzinggg!” Raine holds up her arms and shimmies. “Dis for me ?”
“All for you,” Caleb confirms. “See those letters there? That spells Raine.”
“Dat me!”
“It sure is. And you see that photo there? Who’s that?”
Raine centers her attention and gasps. “Raine and Dadda!”
“That’s right, love,” Caleb chokes out. “The Fool and the Raine. You and me.”
Caleb and I never interact romantically in front of Raine. But this one time, I can’t keep my hands off him. As Raine runs around the room, checking everything out, I hurl myself at him and burrow my face into his massive chest. “You did so good,” I choke out. “You’re such a sweet daddy.”
Exhaling with relief, he kisses the top of my head. “I’m sorry about the photo shelf in my bedroom. With the social worker coming, I freaked out about?— "
“No, you did the right thing. Please, stop feeling bad about that. Revel in your triumph here, instead.” I wrench myself away from his warm chest and motion to the room around us. “The effort you’ve put in to make Raine feel at home is really impressive and special.”
“But I want you to feel at home, too, Aubrey,” he says, his green eyes pleading with me.
I don’t know what to say, so I simply press my lips together. This place is gorgeous, but it’s going to take a long while for me to feel at home here, if ever. That doesn’t mean I’m not willing to try. But I can’t even think about starting to try, until I know the results of the damned custody hearing.
“Is anyone else hungry?” I ask enthusiastically, feeling eager to change the subject.
“I sure am,” Caleb replies. “Rainey?”
She doesn’t reply. She’s already deep in play mode at her little kitchen, whipping up an imaginary, culinary delight.
“Rainey,” I ask, “are you hungry for lunch?”
“Mm hmm,” she replies absently, not bothering to look at me.
I return to Caleb. “Why don’t you play with her, while I figure out ordering some lunch. When we’re done eating, I’ll get started on clearing out the house, while you take her down to the beach. She’ll be good and ready for a nap after that.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
I turn to leave, but Caleb stops me. “Hey, baby,” he whispers, making me stop in the doorway. “Thank you. For everything. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done for me. I hope you know that.”
My heart is exploding with love for him. But somehow, I manage to say, “I only want what’s best for Raine.” It’s a true statement. But it’s also a withholding one, in context, when the full truth is that I’m bleeding out with love for the man.
As Caleb’s smile fades, I turn on my heel and march into the hallway, saving myself from admitting something I shouldn’t. That I love him. If I stay in Caleb’s presence any longer, I’ll tell him so. And I can’t do that until after the hearing, if ever. Not until I know, for a fact, the feelings I’ve been experiencing are real, mutual, and, most importantly, strong enough to withstand the ruling from the judge, whatever it might be.