18. Eighteen
Eighteen
Sam
It’s a blustery day as I stand on the deck, watching the relentless pounding of the ocean waves against the sand. The sliding glass door opens behind me, and Emily steps onto the deck, holding a cold bottle of beer.
“Thought you might be thirsty,” she says, handing it to me.
“Thanks,” I say, taking a grateful sip.
She leans against the railing, her gaze fixed on the ocean as the strong wind whips her hair around her face.
“Do you ever miss it?” she asks suddenly. “Being a rockstar? All the craziness, the crowds, and the spotlight?”
I think about it for a moment, then shake my head. “Not really.”
“Truly?” She looks at me, her brow furrowed.
“Truly,” I say, my voice firm. “Don’t get me wrong, I love performing. But the rest of it? The constant attention and the lack of privacy—it gets old fast. I’m just glad I’m not your brother. As lead singer, he’s got the worst of it.”
She nods, her expression thoughtful. “I can see that.”
For a moment, we just stand there, the sound of the crashing waves making talk unnecessary.
“You know,” I say, setting the bottle down on the railing, “you’re pretty good at this whole nesting thing.”
She laughs, the sound light and musical. “Nesting? Is that what you call it?”
“Yeah, what else would you call it?” I tease. “You’ve got this place looking like something out of a magazine.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the faint look of pride in her blue eyes.
“Well,” she says, her tone mock-serious, “someone has to make it feel like home.”
And I realize that’s exactly what this place is.
Home.
Noticing Emily shiver from the stiff breeze, I pull her toward me and wrap my arms around her, encasing her in my warmth; I realize how natural this feels now. Her making our house a home, me keeping her warm–we’ve fallen into these roles without even noticing.
She gives me an appreciative look. “Thanks,” she murmurs quietly, resting her back against my chest.
“Em, you’ve made this place special. Not just for us but for the baby.” My voice low and sincere.
“Thanks, Sam,” she says softly, a warm look in her eyes as she snuggles further into my embrace.
We stand comfortably like that until I finish my beer, and the harsh wind forces us back inside the warmth of our home.
The next day, the ocean breeze is calmer; a gentle hum of waves is the only sound, and fresh air flows through the open windows.
Emily sits cross-legged on the couch, her laptop open in front of her, scrolling through what I assume is some kind of band spreadsheet or itinerary. She’s been at it for over an hour, her focus unbreakable.
I lean against the kitchen counter, sipping on a cold bottle of water and watching her. There’s something mesmerizing about the way she works—so focused and determined.
But I can feel it in the air: the tension. It’s not the kind that makes you want to slam doors or shout, but the quieter kind that sneaks up on you, coiling in your chest and making everything feel tenser than it should.
A couple of months. That’s all we’ve had.
The band’s downtime is almost over, and reality is creeping back in, no matter how much we’ve tried to ignore it.
“You okay?” I ask, crossing the room and sitting down beside her.
She glances at me, her lips curving into a soft smile. “Yeah. Just finishing up a few things.”
“Already diving back in, huh?”
“Somebody has to keep you guys in line,” she teases, closing her laptop and setting it aside.
I chuckle, but the sound feels hollow. There’s a weight in the air between us tonight.
The laughter fades, and the silence that follows feels even denser than before. I glance at her, watching the way her gaze drifts toward the window, her expression thoughtful.
“What’s on your mind, Em?” I ask.
She shrugs, but her brow furrows slightly. “Going back to work, balancing the band, us and the baby... It just feels like a lot.”
“It is a lot,” I admit. “But I’m sure we’ll figure out the best way to handle it.”
She looks at me then, her eyes searching mine, and for a moment, I wonder if she’s going to argue. But instead, she nods, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “You’re right—we will.”
My chest expands at her simple words of agreement.
The next morning, the tension lingers, but we fall back into our usual rhythm. Emily is up early, tending to her plants while I make breakfast. The sunlight catches in her hair, and for a moment, I just watch her, struck by how effortlessly she can turn me on.
“Don’t you have enough plants?” I say with a mock frown, setting a mug of tea on the railing beside her.
She glances at me and quips, “You can never have too many.”
“You say that now, but wait until we’re living in a jungle.”
She laughs lightly, the sound chasing away some of the tension that’s been building between us.
After breakfast, we head out for one of our usual walks along the beach. The sand feels warm beneath our feet, and the waves roll in gently, the rhythm soothing.
“Sam, what about you?” she asks after a while, her voice quiet. “Have you thought about what it’ll be like when the tour starts again?”
“And you’re back to being Boss Lady?” I shrug, keeping my gaze on the horizon. “Yeah, a little. I’ve mostly been trying to just enjoy the break. But I guess it’s time we start thinking about the details.”
“It’s going to be different now,” she says, her tone careful.
“Because of the baby?”
She nods, her hand drifting to her stomach. “Not only that. We’re married now.”
My lips twist. “We were married before,” I point out dryly.
A faint blush covers her cheeks. “Not like we are now,” she says as she rests her hand on my arm.
“Ah, you mean different in that we’re having sex regularly,” I say just to get a rise out of her.
“Regularly?” She arches an eyebrow at me as she crosses her arms in front of her.
“Well, we had sex before, too,” I point out, waving toward her belly. “Just not that… regularly,” I finish with a shrug.
Emily’s lips tighten, and her eyes narrow, but suddenly she laughs. It’s clear and light-hearted, surprising me.
“I’m on to you now, Samuel Ryder… you’re trying to distract me by deliberately pushing my buttons.” She nods wisely. “So, yes. I should have said because we’re now more intimate… “
I raise my eyebrows at her as I wait with a smug smile.
“Regularly,” she finally grits out, rolling her eyes.
With an approving smirk, I say, “Good girl.” Leaning down, I give her a swift kiss and then pull her against my side, wrapping an arm around her. “Just like everything else, we’ll figure it out as we go,” I say, giving her a reassuring glance. “Why don’t we book private hotel rooms during the tour?”
She gives me a considering look. “We may be able to, but what about the nights we’re traveling?”
Grimacing, I turn serious. “Hopefully, there won’t be that many ‘irregular’ nights, but we’ll just have to deal with them.” Giving her a chaste kiss on the nose, I murmur, “Whatever it takes, Em. We’ll make it work.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I can see the doubt lingering there, but she doesn’t voice it. Instead, she nods, her lips curving into a soft smile.
“Whatever it takes,” she says.
And as we continue down the beach, I can’t help but hope we’re right. Being here with her in our home vastly differs from being on a smelly, crowded bus that offers zero privacy and no chance of sleeping together. The sexual tension alone could make things feel like before. And we could revert back to our previous behaviors. I wince because neither of us wants that again.
It’s the night before we have to return to work. Emily insisted we plan our itinerary so we can share a room when we can. She also ensured we would both be able to make it to her next ultrasound. We tried to cover all the bases, but I’m sure we forgot something.
Emily needs to feel like she has everything under control, while I’m more laid-back and a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants sort of guy. Together, we tend to balance each other out. After spending this time together, I can hear what she's not saying—how we've changed, grown closer, and become more than just a marriage of convenience.
The way she looks at me now speaks volumes about the trust we've built. But I don’t like the worried look in her eyes as the furrow between her brows gets deeper. She’s also started getting sick in the mornings. I hope it’s more nerves because of the pending tour than morning sickness. But regardless, Emily is handling it like a pro.
“Did you remember to pack lots of crackers and your chamomile and mint tea?” I question.
“Yes, I made a checklist so I wouldn’t forget anything important.” She says with a pointed glance at her neatly stacked luggage on wheels. Beside it is my worn but familiar duffel bag and guitar case.
“I’ve been doing this for so long. I don’t typically forget anything,” I say in self-defense. “But if I do, we can always stop at a store.”
Emily’s yawn has me glancing at the clock. “We better turn in now if you want to get up early tomorrow,” I tell her as I hold out my hand.
Taking hers, I pull her onto her feet but don’t stop until she’s snug in my arms. Giving her a wicked look, I murmur, “Did you know that sex helps with morning sickness?”
“It does not,” she says, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.
“Google it if you don’t believe me,” I state innocently. “Semen sometimes helps to reduce the symptoms of morning sickness.”
She pulls out her phone, and I watch as she taps away. Then she reads out loud. “There's no medical evidence that semen helps reduce morning sickness symptoms, but some theories suggest it might.” She quirks an eyebrow at me.
“Keep reading,” I say with a smirk.
Her eyes dart back to her phone as she scrolls down. “One theory is that semen can help the mother’s body develop a tolerance to paternal DNA, which could reduce nausea and vomiting.”
“See?” I slowly advance toward her. “I think it’s worth considering.”
Her lips twitch as she tries not to smile.
Taking her in my arms, I tilt her face upwards. “Want to give it a try?”
“In the interest of science. I’m willing to give it a try,” she says in a lofty voice.
“That’s my girl.” I pick her petite frame up in my arms and then look around.
“Sam?” She questions me.
“I suggested we christen every room in the new house,” I remind her with a grin. “Last time, it was the dining room. I want to make our last night here count.”
“There’s three bedrooms upstairs,” she says as her eyes darken with a mix of desire and amusement.
Carrying her up the stairs, I pass our master bedroom and continue to the last guest room. The door is open, and inside is a set of bunk beds.
We both laugh.
“I’m headed to our room. We’ll be in cramped quarters soon enough on the tour bus,” I suggest. Once in the master bedroom, I place her in the middle of our king-sized bed.
I proceed to make slow, sweet love to her, and afterward, I gently pull her into my arms.
“I’m going to miss our bed, our bedroom—the whole damn house,” I state in a low voice.
Emily nods. “I guess it was foolish to want so many plants,” she says on a wistful note.
“Nonsense,” I tell her firmly, "We're paying for a weekly check-in to ensure the house is safe and sound while we’re away. It's not just about watering the plants. It's about peace of mind.”
“I’m going to miss our long walks on the beach,” Emily sighs as she snuggles closer.
“We’ll be back, Em. This life we’re building,” I say gently, “It’s not going anywhere. The beach, this house—it will all be here waiting for us to return.”
But even as I say the words, I wonder what our future holds. Our time here has felt more like a sanctuary, and life on the road isn’t all sunshine and roses. But at least we’ll have each other to rely on.