Where We Call Home (Faircloud #2)

Chapter 26

Twenty-Six

28 weeks pregnant

Baby is the size of lettuce

G etting in and out of this damn car was harder by the day. It was so low to the ground that I practically had to plop into the seat, sacrificing grace and dignity in the process.

I timed my errands carefully. Rhodes usually got home at a predictable hour, give or take some ranch-related delays, so I could count on him to help me out if needed. Waiting a few extra minutes for him was better than attempting another traumatic solo exit from the car.

Today’s plan was simple: run to the store, grab paint and supplies for the baby’s nursery, and get back for Rhodes. Ideally, we’d pull into the driveway at the same time, and he’d swoop in to help me out.

Time was ticking. Each passing day brought me closer to my due date—early January—and it was already November. With the holidays approaching, time always seemed to speed up, even if I didn’t have much family to celebrate with.

I’d envisioned the perfect nursery, my Pinterest board finally coming to life. Neutrals, darker tones, and a vibe that screamed “kick-ass” rather than “cutesy.” Longhorns, cow print, and tasteful patterns were all part of the plan. Still, I had to temper my enthusiasm—this was temporary. I’d save the grand ideas for when I had a place of my own. For now, a little paint and maybe a rug would do.

POP!

The sound jolted me, and I clenched the wheel, my eyes squeezing shut in reflex. Was I hit? Did I hit something?

The car sputtered, its speedometer slowly ticking downward as it lost power.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I cursed, yanking the wheel to steer toward safety. The car coasted to a stop, its tires landing half on the shoulder and half on someone’s front lawn. Oops.

With a final gasp, the engine died. The dashboard went dark, and the wheels refused to budge.

What do I do now?

My first thought was Gus—he was the only one I trusted with Betsy. Digging through my purse, I found my phone and dialed his shop. The line rang endlessly before a voicemail finally picked up.

“Thanks for calling The Rolling Wrench. We’ll be closed for vacation and return next week. Please leave your name and number, and we’ll get back to you shortly. Keep rolling.”

Gus’s monotone delivery didn’t do justice to the upbeat tagline, which was clearly the work of his teenage daughter, Indie.

Groaning, I leaned back against the headrest, weighing my options. The list was short. Too short. I only had one other person I could call.

Swallowing my pride, I dialed the number. As the phone rang, unease crept in. What if the car was beyond repair? This wasn’t any car—it had been my dad’s. Losing it would mean losing one of the last pieces I had of him.

“Hello?” Rhodes’s chipper voice broke through my spiraling thoughts.

“I’m stuck,” I groaned.

“Stuck like you can’t get off the couch? Or stuck on the floor because you dropped the remote and thought you could grab it yourself?”

“No, smartass. Stuck on the side of the road because my car broke down.”

“Oh, shit.” His tone shifted. “Where are you?”

“Just outside town. I tried Gus, he’s on vacation. I can’t sit here until next week—I’ll die.”

Rhodes chuckled. “So dramatic.”

“You like it, though. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so nice to me.”

“True,” he admitted. “I’ll come to your rescue, but I’ll need to bring a friend.”

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

“It’s okay, Honey. We’ll take care of it.”

I sighed, a mix of relief and anxiety washing over me. I knew he’d help, but the thought of losing the car still weighed heavily.

“Let me grab Boone, and I’ll head your way. Text me your location.”

While I waited, I rested my forehead against the steering wheel, letting my thoughts wander—probably not my best idea. I thought about Rhodes, the sex, the car, and the future. Everything felt interconnected, tangled together by a fragile thread.

We hadn’t addressed the sex since it happened, which, in hindsight, was either very mature or incredibly childish. We’d carried on as if nothing had changed, but I knew deep down that it had.

Being with Rhodes wasn’t only physical. It felt deeper, more meaningful. When he looked at me, I felt seen. When he listened, I felt heard. And now, as he rushed to help me, I felt cared for.

That scared me. I was good at compartmentalizing sex and intimacy. To me, they were two entirely separate things. But being cared for? That set my heart on fire and left me teetering on the edge of an emotional cliff.

The rumble of a truck pulling up snapped me out of my thoughts. A flatbed trailer attached, it backed carefully toward the front of my car. Boone hopped out of the driver’s seat, and Rhodes emerged from the passenger side.

I swung my legs out of the car and waited as Rhodes approached. Boone had already popped the hood and was inspecting the engine, smoke curling out in thin wisps.

“How are you holding up?” Rhodes asked, hands on his hips, head tilted.

“I’m fine.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. Maybe the tear stains on my cheeks gave me away.

Huffing, I rolled my eyes. “I’m afraid the car can’t be fixed. I don’t think I can handle that.”

He nodded, a sad smile tugging at his lips as he extended his hand. I placed my fingers in his palm, and he squeezed gently, pulling me out of the metaphorical hole I was stuck in.

When I stood, he wrapped his arms around me, pressing my face against his chest.

“We’ll get it fixed,” he promised.

I hoped he understood the weight of that vow. This wasn’t only about a car—it was about the memories tied to it.

“We’ll have to tow it back to your house,” Boone said, walking over to us and wiping his greasy hands on his jeans.

“Thanks for coming to help, Boone.” I offered him a small smile, which he returned with a nod.

“You got it—whatever you need,” he said, pulling me into a quick side hug. “We’ll get her up and running.”

Boone and Rhodes had dropped everything to come to my rescue. They didn’t treat it like an inconvenience or burden; instead, they brought comfort and calm, assuring me it would all be okay.

The people I’d grown close to here in Faircloud weren’t part of the insecure, disconnected past I’d left behind. These friendships were genuine, transformative. I’d found family here—a support system beyond my mom.

If I thought too much about how incredible they were, I’d start crying again.

“Maybe we should take it to Gus’s shop?” I suggested, hesitant.

“He’s out of town,” Rhodes reminded me. “The car would sit outside until he got back—and who knows when he’d have time to fix it?”

“Gus has always worked on this car. I trust him.”

“I get that,” Boone said, stepping in. “But I really think it’s better off at Rhodes’ place for now. When the shop opens, I’ll bring the trailer back, and we can take it there if we need to.”

I glanced between the two of them. I wanted to trust their judgment, but my stomach twisted in knots.

“We’re going to load her up, okay? Do you trust me?” Rhodes asked, his voice soft and reassuring.

I nodded reluctantly.

“Let’s get you into the truck,” he said. “Do you want the front or the back seat?”

“The back,” I mumbled.

Rhodes guided me to Boone’s truck and opened the door, helping me climb in. I sat with a heavy weight in my chest. Guilt gnawed at me—had I neglected something with the car? Had I forgotten to check the oil? That wasn’t like me. I prided myself on being responsible, but now I felt the sting of doubt.

Outside, Boone and Rhodes worked efficiently, loading Betsy onto the trailer and securing her in place. It probably only took twenty minutes, but my anxious thoughts made it feel like an eternity.

The drive back home was silent. I stayed in the back seat, lost in my spiraling emotions. Once we arrived, Boone helped me down from the truck. Without a word, I walked inside and plopped onto the couch.

There was more to how I was feeling, a deeper ache.

I missed my dad.

Since finding out I was pregnant, I hadn’t let myself dwell on his absence. But now, it hit me like a ton of bricks. The grief was overwhelming, an ache so deep it felt like I’d run straight into a wall.

My body sank into the couch as the tears came.

There was no stopping them. The dam broke, and the flood poured out in relentless waves.

I missed him so much.

He should be here. He was supposed to be here—to see me through this, to share in the joy and challenges.

Grief is a complex thing. It’s an emptiness, a void that refuses to be filled. It’s heavy, persistent, always lingering in the background no matter how hard you try to move forward. And in moments like these, when life changes in monumental ways, it becomes unbearable.

The sound of the front door opening barely registered through my sobs. Boots thudded softly on the floor until they stopped beside me.

“Theo, Honey,” Rhodes said gently, sitting down next to me.

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, tucking me into his side. In that moment, his presence was grounding, a refuge in the chaos of my emotions.

“I miss him,” I choked out.

“I know,” Rhodes said, his hand moving in slow, comforting circles on my back.

“He should be here. I needed him. I still need him.”

“Let it out,” he murmured.

And I did. Gasping, sobbing, the words spilling out between broken breaths. The world blurred into the background, but Rhodes stayed steady, his warmth and care surrounding me.

“He would’ve loved being a grandfather,” I managed through the tears. “That’s what hurts the most. I keep picturing what his face would look like when he’d see her for the first time—the light in his eyes. She’d probably have a dozen Oklahoma State onesies and ridiculous Pistol Pete hats.”

Rhodes chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest.

“Tell me more about him,” he encouraged, his voice low and steady. “What was his name?”

I smiled faintly, even through the tears. “Frank. He always hated his name.” I chucked at the thought. “He was the best dad a girl could ask for.”

I closed my eyes and let the memories flow—riding bikes in the neighborhood at night, late grocery runs for ice cream, the way he made everything feel okay. He was my first protector, the first man to show me my worth.

“What was your favorite thing about him?” Rhodes asked, his hand brushing gently over my hair.

“When I was ten, I would’ve said his version of the chicken dance,” I said with a watery laugh.

The memory played in my mind, his arms flailing wildly in the most ridiculous, endearing way.

“But now? It’s how he made me feel. He was home. Nothing else has ever compared to that.”

Rhodes didn’t say much, letting the silence settle around us. He was a quiet anchor in the storm, grounding me without judgment.

“Why don’t you head to bed? I’ll bring you something to eat,” he offered, placing a soft kiss on my head.

“I’d like that,” I said, untangling myself from his embrace.

“And maybe later, you can tell me more about him. Show me pictures too, if you’re up to it.”

I nodded. It had been too long since I’d let myself look at the photos, the memories too painful to face. However, I was ready to stop avoiding them.

It was time to honor my feelings, to allow myself grace. That was a promise I intended to keep.