Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
HENDRIX
It’s barely six in the morning, but I’m wide awake. The sun is slowly rising over the horizon, and as the light spills through the curtains, I lie in bed and watch the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing.
Boyfriend.
I’ve never wanted to be anyone’s boyfriend.
But Zara is different. She always has been.
Ever since I walked into Green Library and saw her sitting at a table, looking like a damn knockout in her oversized sweater and pile of books, I knew she was going to ruin me.
I just assumed it would be in the name of science.
I had no idea that I’d be ruined for her, that she’d bind herself to me so completely that no other woman would compare.
And now that I have her back, I don’t want to be just her boyfriend.
I just want to be hers.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I quickly reach for it, not wanting it to wake her. I smile when I see a text from my mom checking on Zara.
Mom
How’s she doing?
I gently touch her forehead with the back of my hand. She can complain all she wants, but like I told her, this method always seems to work for my mom. And besides, her fancy thermometer is noisy. This way, I can at least ensure she won’t wake up.
Me
Better, I think. Doesn’t feel feverish anymore. And she was able to eat a little late last night.
Mom
That’s good. Probably just one of those twenty-four-hour bugs. Has anyone else been sick?
Me
Not that I know of. She obviously can’t talk about specific patients, but she would give us all a heads-up if something was going around.
Mom
Just making sure what’s “going around” isn’t the nine-month variety.
My eyes widen, nearly falling out of my head as I experience a momentary heart attack.
A baby? Is she trying to kill me?
Zara definitely had the flu yesterday, and I’m not sure we’ve been having sex long enough to create another human.
The usual shudder that follows that particular thought isn’t as terrifying as it typically is though, and I take a moment to consider that. I try to picture Zara coming out of the bathroom yesterday, holding a pregnancy test.
Oh, the idea of it is still terrifying as fuck. But maybe it’s also a little exciting?
Huh, weird.
I grab my phone and reluctantly leave the warmth of the bed for the chaise out in the living room area. Clearly, this conversation with my mom isn’t wrapping up anytime soon, and I do not want to be the reason Zara wakes up.
Watching her nearly collapse yesterday was scary as hell. Hearing her cry in the bathroom as she retched into the toilet felt devastating, because there was nothing I could do except hold her hair back and watch her suffer.
I remember Zander telling me how, as a father, you feel completely helpless during the birth of your child.
You gain a new appreciation for your wife’s strength and resilience, but at the same time, you’d do absolutely anything to switch places with her so she wouldn’t have to endure that kind of pain.
That’s how it felt to see her so sick yesterday—and that was just the flu.
I’m so fucking screwed.
Me
I know Zara is the doctor here, but I don’t think having a fever is a common pregnancy symptom.
Also, you are just a little too excited about the prospect of me knocking up the woman I’ve been seeing for less than a month.
Mom
Okay, you might be right. It’s a bit too soon, but I’ve seen the way you look at her, Hen.
My heart starts to gallop in my chest.
Me
And how do I look at her?
Mom
Like she’s the perfect rhythm to your favorite song.
Leave it to my mom to make me all emotional on a Thursday morning.
Me
I don’t want to fuck this up.
Mom
Then don’t.
Me
That’s your great motherly advice? Don’t?
My phone buzzes again, but this time it’s a FaceTime call. She does this a lot. She gets tired of typing out her replies, gives up, and just calls us. When we call her out on it, she claims she just wants to see our pretty faces.
I get up and walk to the balcony. I sneak out and gently close the sliding glass door behind me.
“Hey,” I say, after I swipe across my screen to answer.
“There’s my rock star son.” She beams. Her long, silvery-blonde hair is loose. Tiny tendrils flutter with the breeze as she wraps her favorite sapphire blue blanket around her shoulders. The color matches her eyes. “I couldn’t go a second longer without seeing your face.”
I offer her a warm smile, knowing she’s full of shit. “Missed me that much, huh?”
“I always miss you when you’re gone.”
“Yeah.” I grin and shrug, trying to mask how much her words affect me.
I miss her when I’m gone too. I miss all of them, and the thought of traveling on a more permanent basis is starting to feel more like a curse than a dream.
“I imagine Creed family dinner just isn’t the same lately without me there to liven it up. ”
She rolls her eyes, but I notice the proud gleam in her gaze as she settles into her favorite lounge chair on the balcony. If I listen closely during the pauses between our words, I can almost hear the waves crashing against the beach. “Well, Jace was here, so he kept it lively enough.”
I stiffen. “What do you mean?”
She waves a dismissive hand, and I know what she’s about to say I won’t like. “He had a little bit too much to drink, and some of the things he said—”
“Like what?”
She nibbles on her bottom lip. “I don’t think he meant any of it. But your sister did seem embarrassed.”
“What did he say, Mom?”
“Some stuff about the band,” she states. “How he wouldn’t have bothered coming if he knew none of you were going to show up.”
“What the fuck?” I’m pacing now. Five steps to the left. Pivot. Five steps to the right. Pivot. “Why would he even care? He’s supposed to be there to spend time with Presley and get to know the family. Why would any of the band members—aside from me—be at our family dinner?”
“I guess he heard that Asher came to the last one before you all left, and he was under the impression that it would be a regular thing.”
“So he’s just using Pres to meet celebrities? Is that it? Another opportunist asshole?” We’ve had our fair share of those throughout the years.
She sighs. “I don’t know. But your father was not pleased. He hates that guy.”
“Join the fucking club,” I mutter. “Anything else I missed?”
“Um…” She puts her finger to her lips, and her eyes brighten. “Oh! Hollis called while we were all here. Presley put him on speaker, and everyone got to say hello. I was bummed you missed it.”
Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. “No shit? Hollis Beck? I haven’t spoken to him in a long time. How’s he doing?”
“Good.” My mom smiles warmly. “He’s really good. Living in Nashville. I guess that’s what made him think of us. He knew Manic was in town and heard you joined the band—”
“Temporarily,” I remind her, trying not to let the ache in my chest show on my face. I don’t know how, in such a short time, these guys have become like brothers to me. Even Darius, who drives me kind of crazy. How am I going to move on to another band in a few months?
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, temporarily. And since he still had Presley’s contact info saved on his phone, he reached out to her, and we all just happened to be there when he did.”
“That’s great,” I tell her, suddenly flooded with a dozen or more memories of my longtime friend.
I had a lot of friends throughout the years, but he was one of the special ones, one of those honorary siblings I told Zara about.
“I’m glad he did. I know you and Dad have missed him. I certainly have.”
“We have,” she agrees. “It was nice to hear his voice. Almost as nice as hearing yours, even if it sounds a bit groggy.”
I laugh. “Well, you did text me at six in the morning.”
“Funny thing about text messages, Hen. You don’t have to answer them if you’re not awake.”
I sigh. “I was awake. I was watching Zara sleep.”
“Oh, my sweet boy. You have it bad, don’t you?”
“Yeah, Mom. I do, which is why I’m gonna need you to do better with your advice. Just don’t isn’t enough.”
She chuckles before taking a long sip of her coffee. It’s kind of making me a little jealous, but there’s no way I’m going to risk making myself a cup if it means waking up my girl. Not after the day she had.
My girl. The thought of that makes my throat feel thick.
“Okay, you want the long version? Here it is. Your father and I haven’t made it this far just because we love each other, Hen. Loving each other is honestly the easy part of the equation. If it were hard, there wouldn’t be a multi-billion dollar industry profiting from it.”
I raise an eyebrow in doubt. “I think you might be confused on why people use dating apps nowadays, Mom.”
She shakes her head and tsks at me. “Oh, stop. I know exactly why. But for every person on an app just to hook up, another one hopes to find something lasting.”
“Okay, I guess I can see your point.” I don’t really know any of those other people, but I’ve heard of them.
“Falling for someone is the easy part. It’s what happens afterward that is the hard part. Those are the days when you find out if the foundation of your relationship was built on sand or stone.”
Now I’m really jealous of her coffee. I rub my temples and sink into one of the lounge chairs. “Can we not talk in metaphors right now? My brain usually runs on caffeine at this hour, and I’m currently on empty.”
“Am I going to have to do this much hand-holding with all of you to get my grandbabies?”
I shrug. “Seems like you got one already without doing a thing.” Her face pales, and I then realize what I just said. “Mom, I didn’t mean…I was just kidding and—”
Her face shifts into something resembling a smile as she waves a dismissive hand. “No, it’s fine. I know what you meant.”
Silence stretches between us before I ask, “Do you think Cash will ever…”
My mom lets out a long breath. “I don’t know. I hope so. I really do, but that woman broke something in him. It will take something or someone extraordinary to put everything back together again.”
“Is that what I need to be for Zara? Extraordinary?”
She smiles, a genuine one this time, and it’s that sweet, motherly kind of smile only a child recognizes. “Yeah, you do.” She takes another sip of coffee, and I see her look toward the horizon. “But don’t forget. She needs to be extraordinary for you too. It has to go both ways.”
“Is that how I keep from sinking in the metaphorical sand?”
She laughs. “Having a solid sex life doesn’t hurt, either.”
“God, Mom,” I shudder. “Just shoot me dead right here.”
“You’re gonna be fine,” she assures me.
“How do you know?”
“Because,” she says, “I’ve never seen you so invested in something, Hen. And that—right there—is half the battle.”