124. Crystal #2
I feel equal parts hope and dread. Hope because maybe I can be free of the constant intrusions and pep talks. Dread because my body isn’t what it was the last time Livy saw it. And because I’ve never had to view my house through the lens of walker widths, slip-proof showers, and stair climbing.
Willa continues, “We were in DC. We moved back in December. That’s more than enough time to build new or reengage old clientele, but morning sickness.
Whoever says morning is lying. Twenty-four-hour-a-day nausea for weeks and weeks.
Moving into a new house. Updating what we need to make it a home.
Exton launching his business. They’re all first-world problems. I’m not making them more than that, but I haven’t reestablished myself yet.
And he”—she points to her belly—“will debut in a little over a month, so it is what it is right now. Do you have any ink?”
“I have one idea. I’ve had it for a while, but I haven’t fully committed. And it’s not a partial commitment kind of idea.”
“Well, if you ever want to talk about it or play around with sketches or placement, let’s get together. No pressure. Just to talk.”
“I’d like that.”
The car ride dissolves into easy conversation about Exton’s business ventures, Kimpton’s arrival, and Braxton’s upcoming birthday. And before we know it, Willa pulls through the gates to my neighborhood and rolls to a stop at the front door.
I want to watch Livy’s face, but I don’t. I’d have to turn in my seat, and it just seems weird.
“When was the last time you were here?” Livy asks.
“February.”
“Our wedding?” Willa asks.
I simply nod and slide out of the passenger’s seat, and open the back door, extending a hand for Pix.
It’s a risk every time. I never know if I’ll have the strength or balance to catch her. I want to. I will do everything in my power to, but there are no guarantees. It’s a most impotent feeling not knowing if I’ll be able to be the man she deserves when she needs me.
I run a hand down her arm. “Let me grab your crutches.”
I bring them around to her and usher her into my house. The moment we walk in, two things happen at once. One, Livy’s face lights up, and, two, I exhale. I can breathe again. I forgot how much peace this place brings me.
There is no question that this is it for me. And that settles in my bones in a way that anchors my shifting soul.
Me: Accept the offer on the Florida place. I’ll need to clean out my personal belongings. Can George help with that? Otherwise, I’m good to let it go.
Emberleigh: I’m on it. Will keep you posted.
Me: Thanks, Emberleigh. My brother is a lucky man to have you. I am too.
“What is it?” Livy asks.
“What?”
She reaches up between my brows and smooths a finger from there up my forehead. “Your brow is furrowed, and you have a serious look on your face.”
“I’m trying to be smart and make good decisions. It’s way more fun to be irresponsible and make bad ones.” I wink.
She waggles her brows. “Truer words were never spoken.” She looks around the open entryway. “Will you show me around?”
“You’ll be shocked to hear I’m going to find a bathroom,” Willa throws out.
“Right there.” I point at the powder room.
“Well, this is the foyer,” I begin dramatically, talking to Livy.
She smacks my arm.
“But this is what sold me.” I round the corner to the two-story, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Colorado River on what’s become Lake Travis. The view includes a pool that looks like an infinity pool, but it’s just the angle of the property.
“Wow.”
The furniture here is casual. None of the modern lines of my chrome and black leather in my soon-to-be former Florida home. Warm tan fabrics with blues and creams. Rich chocolate-brown leather wingback chairs.
It’s the ranch and my bachelor pad coming together. The walls are a soft creamy white, letting the light make it brighter in the summer and warmer in the winter.
To the left is a chef’s kitchen with white cabinets and a marble island that seats at least ten. The same cream and tan colors are here, but with a brighter white and a silver and a blue vein that snakes through the old stone.
Behind there is the master bedroom with the same view.
It has multiple sets of French doors that allow anyone to walk straight out of the bedroom onto the deck and the sunken hot tub connected to the pool.
There’s also a large lawn that begins there as well.
The lot is larger, roughly an acre. It’s no ranch house, but it’s small enough to feel cozy, yet large enough for privacy from the neighbors.
A ten-foot brick wall goes straight down the property line to the lake. Unobstructed view from here. No one looks into each other’s homes, except by boat.
“So this is how the other half lives.”
I slide behind her, wrapping my arms around her belly, and tug her to me.
“I bought this with my sign-on bonus. Every story I heard was about players who spent big, flamed out, and were broke by thirty. My parents encouraged me to skip that path, to do what I had done with training—put off what I wanted now for what I wanted most.”
“They guided you well. I’m sorry about your mom.” I stiffen at her words and I know she feels it. Her hands squeeze mine, and her voice softens. “I saw her obituary. It was obvious how loved and admired she was.”
I swallow roughly.
“What did she think of your home?”
The knot in my throat breaks up some. “We didn’t get here much.
I spent a lot of time away, but when we were here, it was comfortable.
She wrecked the kitchen making massive Italian dinners…
Big pots of red sauce. Lots of dishes with lemon and capers.
I came home to find meals in the fridge and freezer more than once.
Grown-ass man with my mom still cooking for me. ”
She rubs my hand at her belly, letting me live in my memories.
“This place is stunning.” Willa comes around the corner. “The wallpaper in your guest bath makes me want to sketch. I’m going to plop in that chair and get after it if that’s okay. I may be convinced to come outside later, but not while the sun is trying to kill us.”
“The pantry is stocked. The refrigerator is pretty bare, except for condiments. But there’s a drink fridge in the butler’s pantry that has sodas and carbonated water. I’m sure there are ingredients to make green smoothies.”
Willa’s face contorts. “Don’t threaten me, Layton Ranger.”
“Holler if you need us. And don’t go into labor. Exton would kill me.”
She grabs her tablet, plops into one of the deep recliners, and kicks up the footrest.
“Twenty bucks says she’s asleep before we get outside,” I say to Livy.
“You’re on.” Livy leans past me and hollers to Willa, “Don’t nap until after we get outside. I’m about to make bank off Layton’s lousy bet.”
“You’re on.”
I pinch Livy’s butt and guide her toward the bedroom.
“Order some and have them delivered.”
“You make that sound so easy,” she retorts.
“It is. Apps on your phone will give you everything you need. They’ll ship to your door.”
“I have some at home. I just need to get them here.”
“Fine. I’ll do it then. But you’ll get what I choose.”
We’re arguing over swimsuits.
She has on yoga shorts and a small strappy sports bra. “What’s wrong with this?”
“Nothing.” Seriously nothing. It hints at what’s underneath just enough to drive me nuts. “But you need a few suits. We have nearly two months left of this heat. And the pool is heated for winter. There’s no reason to ruin your yoga outfits.”
“There’s no reason to spend money on swimwear either.”
“Asinine argument number two over and done.” I check an invisible box. “Let’s go.”
“What was number one?”
“That power play during my first yoga class.”
A shy smile crawls up her face. “Your face was priceless.”
“You were sexy as fuck, and I spent the whole meeting after trying to think of gross things to avoid getting hard.”
Her eyes crinkle at the corners. “Really? I thought you were arrogant and wasting my time.”
I grab her chin and use my thumb to move her bottom lip, adjusting my voice to a higher pitch. “Just kidding. I wanted to climb you like a tree and have your Thor cock stuff me until I choked.”
She laughs and turns away from me. “Yeah, no. Didn’t even cross my mind.”
“Woman, you bruise me.”
“Your ego, maybe. Now... let’s do this.” She extends a hand.
“Not even a little?” I ask, fearing another rejection.
“Nope. I thought you would eventually give in. You’re too competitive to not take every tool to make yourself better.” Quietly, she adds, “I still think that. Now I also think of Thor and him hammering me, so you got what you wanted.”
I lead her out the door and to the pool. We bandaged her leg as best as we could. Lots of ointment, Saran Wrap, athletic tape, more plastic wrap, more tape. She looks like we might have to unwrap her for two days, or cut her out of the plastic, but she refuses to evaluate me from the sidelines.
Before we even make it there, the French doors off the great room open. “Pay the woman her paper, Layton. Y’all took long enough. Were you stretching it out so you could steal her money? I’m heading upstairs for a nap. If I’m not up in two hours, wake me?”
“Done,” Livy hollers over my shoulder. “We’ll save the money. Margaritas on me when Kimpton allows for it.”
“You’re on!”
She closes the door and Livy stands on the stairs in the shallow end.
A year ago, I didn’t worry about handrails. Today, I wonder when I’ll stop thinking like a man who needs them, even if I refuse to admit it. I clamp my jaw and remind myself to fall forward if I think I’m going to slip. Better a face full of water than the impact on my tailbone.
I make it unscathed, except for my adrenaline, which is spiked, and my mind, which is fucked. When will this ever go away?
“Layton?” Livy’s hands move on me. Her fingers move through the scruff on my face. “Tell me about the beard.”
“What?”
“Why the beard?”
“Why not?”
“When was the last time you had one?”
“Scruff? Lots. A full beard? Never.”