16. Peyton
CHAPTER 16
peyton
M y night was full of weird dreams. Ford’s tattoos lifting off his chest, sprouting legs, and chasing me down a maze of halls. One tattoo really. From five years ago. “Only She Can Safe Me.”
By the time I woke up, I was exhausted.
The early morning sun blared straight through the glass wall and into my right eyeball. “Ugh.”
“Gooood morning,” Ford said from behind me on the bed, way too chipper for a man who got no lovin’ last night. He tugged the blanket, trying to pull it off of me.
“No!” I squealed, yanking it over my head.
“Whoa.” He laughed. “I’m holding a steaming hot mug of some epic tan mocha latte. You almost made me spill.”
I inhaled deeply. “It smells really good,” I said from my cocoon of safety.
“It’s for you.”
I lowered the blanket so that my eyes were showing. “For me?”
“Yes.” He unleashed his crooked, cocky grin, and my heart wagged happily. He was bright-eyed and showered, his dark curls still wet. The sunlight bleached his already pale blue eyes. Man, he was handsome first thing in the morning. “But you have to come out of those covers and sit up if you want it.”
“What time is it?”
He held the mug out for me. “Eight a.m.” But I still had a tight grip on the comforter.
“Eight? I never sleep ’til eight. Why’d you let me sleep so long?” Braxton would’ve ripped the blankets off at 6:30 and told me to get my lazy butt out of bed. There was work to be done. “I’ll make you some eggs and bacon. Leave the coffee on the nightstand and I’ll be down in fifteen.”
“I already made breakfast and wrapped it up so you can eat it on the way. Up, up, up.”
He made me breakfast? Why was I surprised? He made dinner for me all the time. Picturing him in the kitchen flipping pancakes—oh, I hoped there were pancakes—the morning after our wedding? It felt…intimate.
“Once you leave the room,” I said.
“Peyton.” His head tilted. “Is there a reason you don’t want me to see you right now?”
“I don’t have any makeup on,” I admitted. “And I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”
“I don’t care about any of that. I saw you makeup-free, teeth not brushed, once before, remember?”
My eyes narrowed. “We agreed not to talk about that.”
“Hmm.” His forehead crunched. “I never agreed. You told me that’s what we were doing. Basically threatened my life. But things are different now. We’re married. I get half the say.” I opened my mouth to protest and he silenced me with a be fair look. “You can’t really expect for me to never see you without makeup on. So why don’t you crawl on out of your burrow and get it over with.”
I blinked. “But you’re so pretty in the morning and…I’m hideous.”
His gaze smoldered. “You couldn’t be hideous if you tried.” He snapped one finger around the top of the blanket. That smolder was making me a little confident. Slowly, he inched the comforter down until it was around my waist. “See, that wasn’t so bad, now was it?”
I sat up, feeling exposed. But I had on the same tank top and shorts that he’d seen me in last night. As he handed me the warm mug, he planted a kiss to the tip of my nose. “You are stunning first thing in the morning, fresh faced. This might be my favorite Peyton yet.”
My breath was stuck in my trachea. Whether because of the nose kiss, the compliment, or the fact that he’d brought me morning coffee like people did on TV or in my favorite romcoms, I wasn’t sure. But I was here for it.
“Thank you.” I took a sip and moaned. “Oh my gosh, where did you get this? It tastes like you hiked the highest mountain in Brazil, hand-picked the beans, and ground them yourself.”
“I can’t divulge my secrets. It would take all the fun out of it. And you’re welcome. It was nothing. Not a big deal at all.”
I shook my head. “You’re wrong.” I set the mug on the nightstand, crawled over to him, and wrapped my arms around his neck. I’ll admit, I was feeling generous, there in the daylight with him fully clothed. “It’s definitely something. No one’s ever brought me a warm drink in bed. E-ever.” I choked on the last word. Was it possible that my days of being unappreciated were over? The thought made my tear ducts activate.
Don’t get used to this. As soon as you tell him the secret, he’s going to kick you out of this big, beautiful house. And you have to tell him. It’s past time by at least four years. He deserves to know.
But I can’t lose him!
He wrapped his arms around my back, pulling me against his hard chest. It was like hugging a statue. The man was so ripped.
“Peyton, that’s just sad,” he whispered. “You deserve all the warm drinks. I will be bringing you one every morning from now on.”
I laid my head on his shoulder. “Thank you. But also, I need to do something for you. I’m getting everything and giving you nothing.”
“That’s not true,” he said so quietly I had to strain to hear. “I owe you everything. You saved my life, remember?” He was talking about his overdose five years ago.
Yes, technically, I had done that. But it didn’t seem like a big thing. It was common decency—what I would’ve done for anyone who’d sent me suicidal texts. And it hadn’t been just anyone. It was Ford. When he’d messaged me that his family would be better off without him—that I’d be better off without him—I’d driven like a crazy person to get here.
“I couldn’t let you go,” I whispered. “You’re my best friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He hugged me even tighter. “Ditto,” he breathed.
“Ahem.” A throat cleared from the doorway. Charlie.
I leaned back, feeling guilty, like we’d been caught doing something naughty. But Ford kept me locked in place as a husband would.
“Looks like y’all had a fabulous night.” Her eyebrows flicked upward. Cash groaned next to her, his cheeks bright pink. “Especially you, Aunt Peyton.” She bumped Cash’s hip with hers. “Anyway. Your chariot awaits. You know, to take you to the airport. Whenever you’re ready. Technically, I’m steering the ship but my dad will be riding shotgun since I only have my learner’s permit.” She stepped to the side and made a large hand flourish toward the door.
“Hide yo kids, hide yo wife, Charlie’s on the road,” Cash hooted.
“Shut it, Dollar Bill.” Charlie bumped his hip so hard she knocked him out of the doorway.
Ford chuckled, his chin resting on my shoulder like he was happy right where he was and Hawaii wasn’t calling.
I turned back to him, my fingers tickling his scalp. “Do I have time to take a quick shower? I won’t wash my hair. But I need to get the stink off.”
“You don’t stink, but sure. I’ll put our bags in Ashton’s van. It’s a five-hour flight to Los Angeles. Wear something comfortable.”
His arms fell away and it felt like my safety shields had been deactivated. I picked up my mug, took a long sip, and brought it with me to the shower.
When I walked out of the bathroom a half hour later, aloha ready, Cash was sitting on the bed, staring at his phone, wearing a troubled expression.
“What’s up, bud?”
He looked up, his brows fused together. “Dad’s not responding. He promised to take me, Griff, and Liam fishing this morning. Griff and Liam are texting, asking what’s going on. And I can’t see Dad on the Find My Friends app anymore. Do you think he did that on purpose?”
It felt like an iron fist was clenching my stomach.
I sat next to Cash and rubbed his back. “I think your dad is hurt about the wedding. Maybe give him some time. Can you guys go fishing here today? You’ll probably have more fun without him.” Braxton didn’t actually fish. He scrolled on his phone while Cash fished.
Cash leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking completely disheartened. “Yeah. But Mom, why is he taking this out on me? I didn’t get married.”
My jaw clamped and I thought my next words through very carefully. “He’s moody. You know that.” I traced a C, for Cash, between his shoulder blades. “Just…leave him be until I get back. If he’s still not responding, I’ll go talk to him. Remember that thing your therapist discussed? Changing your perspective?”
“Yeah.”
“This would be a good time to put that into practice.”
He looked over his shoulder at me, one brow raised. “I’m supposed to be grateful that my dad is punishing me because my mom got remarried?”
“No. But…” I trailed my fingers over his ever-broadening shoulders. “You get to spend an entire week running all over this place, hanging out with your favorite people, and your dad isn’t around to make you do chores.”
His expression relaxed. “Facts. Thanks, Mom.” He hugged me and I squeezed him so tight. “I’ll miss you, but I’ll change my perspective on that, too.” He stood up quickly. “’Cause you won’t be around to force me to do chores, either.”
“Stinker!” I popped him on the butt.
He laughed and darted out of the room.
An hour and a half later, Charlie pulled onto Airport Drive. When we passed the terminal exit, Ashton pointed for her to head straight.
“Uh, I think you missed the turn,” I said.
“Did I?” Charlie’s dark eyes were wide in the rear-view mirror. “Dad, you said to keep straight.”
Ford squeezed my hand. “Nah. Ash knows the drill.”
“This isn’t my first rodeo, driving my stupid-famous brother to catch a flight,” Ashton said. His eyes met Ford’s in the rearview. “She’s never flown with you before?”
“She’s never flown before. Period. It’s not like I haven’t tried.”
“Poor people stay their butts home,” I said.
“Prideful people,” Ford coughed.
I elbowed him in the ribs, making him grunt. “Excuse me for not wanting to be a leech.”
“If Ford wants to take you places, let him.” Ashton’s lips pursed. “It’s called the Unexpected Spotlight Surcharge. Trust me. He owes you. Or he’s about to.” He pointed to a smallish private-looking jet. “That one,” he said to Charlie.
“Um, what is happening?” I asked.
Ford unhooked his seat belt and grinned. “We’re going to Hawaii.”
“On a private jet?” I yelped. “What happened to good old-fashioned Delta?”
“You don’t want to do that,” Ashton said. “Not if you’re traveling with him. Trust me. You won’t get one minute’s peace.”
Ford picked up his phone to read a text.
“Did Jeff make it okay?” I asked. Ford didn’t travel without Jeff. He’d learned that the hard way. Fans could get out of hand and physical at the drop of a hat.
“Yeah.” He smiled. “He’ll be waiting when we get off the plane.”
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Richmond International Airport,” Charlie said in a service announcer voice as she put the van in park. “I release you into the wild skies of Hawaii. Please remember that sunscreen is your friend, jellyfish are not, and please do not attempt to write a ukulele version of your latest hit while you’re drunk on love.” She winked at Ford. “Or maybe do.” She gave us a double-handed wave. “Safe travels and don’t forget to bring me back a souvenir.”
Ford hopped out onto the tarmac and I followed. A member of the ground crew helped him unload our bags. When the bags were taken care of, Ford walked up to the side of the van and pulled out his wallet. He tapped on Charlie’s window. She rolled it down, beaming. “Love you, Uncle Ford.”’
“Love you, too, Chuck. Thanks for the ride.” Then he tossed a one-hundred-dollar bill into her lap. “It’s your tip.”
“Uh, no. Absolutely not. Give that back,” Ashton protested. “She’ll never learn the value of hard work if you keep spoiling her!"
Charlie slammed the gas, leaving a skid mark on the blacktop. Then she flipped a U-turn, flying back toward the exit. When they passed, Ashton was glaring at Ford. Charlie blew him a kiss.
When we got to the plane, Ford gestured for me to go ahead. This was going to be so fun. Flying, Hawaii, being with Ford. I sprung up the stairs, two at a time.
But then I came to a halt, halfway up. Because it was playing. Inside the plane.The song that I hated more than any other in the entire world.
“Dirt Road Memories” by none other than Whiskey and Women.
A brunette, twenty-something, female flight attendant was waiting by the open door. “Welcome aboard, Mr and Mrs Dupree, and congratulations on your marriage. Everything is prepared for your flight.” She gestured for us to enter. But I didn’t want to. Oh, I didn’t want to. My heart was racing and my hands shaking. She winked at Ford. “Got your favorite song playing. Just like always.”
“Dirt Road Memories” was his favorite song? I wished I could channel my inner dragon and breathe fire, charring the insides of this plane, definitely the speakers, and honestly, Ford himself.
“Thanks, Stacy,” Ford said and I could hear the sheepishness in his voice. His voice, which was suddenly grating on my very last nerve . Whether it was the one coming from his current vocal cords or the one being played at an obnoxiously loud volume inside the plane, I wasn’t sure. Probably both.
“Of course.” She nodded. “Can I get y’all something to drink?”
“Just water, please.” I forced a smile. “Thank you.”
Then I walked past her to the last seat on the back of the twelve-seater jet. Oh good. The chair swiveled. I plopped down, spinning hard and fast, staring out the window as I reached into my purse and pulled out my AirPods. I jammed them into my ears and turned up “Clouds” by One Direction to full volume.
Ford sat in the seat in front of me and swiveled his chair in my direction. He looked apologetic and tired. Peyton , he said, though I couldn’t hear it. Peyton, please talk to me. His stupidly beautiful blue eyes tried to make me launch myself into his lap.
I humphed and turned my seat to face the back of the plane. Stacy eyed us as she filled up our drinks, wearing a confused expression. She was probably wondering why a newly married couple about to embark on a tropical honeymoon might be having a tense moment.
I forced another smile and tried to breathe deeply.
Two seconds later, Ford knelt in front of me. I leaned right, trying to spin the other way but my seat wouldn’t budge.
I plucked one AirPod out. “Did you lock my chair?”
“Yes.” He sighed and took out my other AirPod. “Peyton, I changed the bridge on the song years ago. Before it was ever released. What else do you want me to do?”
“I have PTSD, Ford,” I hissed. “I still wake up with night sweats from you singing it in front of the whole world.” Oh gracious, I was crying. “I hate it. I can’t listen to it. Ever. And it’s your favorite song?” It felt like the World’s Biggest Betrayal.
He reached up and wiped my tears away. “I’m sorry, but it is my favorite and it always will be.”
My jaw dropped. “Unlock my chair. Actually, no.” I unclipped my seat belt. “I need off this plane. I don’t even want to go on this trip.”
He pushed down gently on my knees so I couldn’t stand and leaned forward, his eyes only inches from mine. “It’s my favorite because it’s what I sang to you the first night we met. And you told me that it made you fall in love with me.”
“I was being dramatic.” I huffed.
His eyes turned down. “Maybe that’s true, but I fell in love with you that night. And this song was my lucky ticket. Because for three perfect weeks, it made you mine.”