Chapter 1 Aurora
AURORA
“I can tell you’re angry.”
Brady sighs through his nose, his nostrils flaring with the action. He’s wearing sunglasses, but the designer frames don’t hide the harsh slant of his eyebrows or the tightness in his jaw. He doesn’t respond, so I tear my eyes from the side of his face and look back out the window.
“I’m sorry.” My voice is lower this time, less confident, but he hears me and sighs louder. “She said this could take time.”
He still says nothing.
I lower my gaze to my ring finger and run my thumb over the silver band.
The skin around it is puffy and an angry red color.
The ring fit when he proposed, but it’s too small now.
I need to get it resized, but I keep forgetting.
I’m in the garden every day, so I don’t wear jewelry when I’m at home.
It’s not until we go out that I remember how uncomfortable it is to wear, and we don’t go out often.
Eighteen months.
We’ve been married only eighteen months, but he acts like it’s a sprint toward some constantly moving finish line.
It’s nothing new, though. He’s always been like this.
By the fifth date, he was talking about engagement.
Once he’d bought the diamond, he was planning the wedding.
Now it’s all about the happy family dynamic.
House, check. Housewife, check. Babies? Working on it.
I was swept up in it at first. I was desperate for something to pull me from the thick fog of sadness.
Hungry for some semblance of security and the promise to be part of a family again.
But I’ve been growing weary. I’ve been quietly questioning everything.
Secretly, I wish he were, too, and that fills me with guilt.
I reach across the center console and rest my hand on his thigh.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “It will happen.”
He grabs my wrist and moves it back to my lap. “Do you even want it to?”
“What?” I furrow my brow and force a swallow. “Of course I do. Why would you even ask that?”
“Never mind. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Brady jabs at the radio button and turns up the volume, but I can’t hear the music over the echo of his question repeating in my ears.
Do you even want it to?
Do I?
An answer starts to form that makes my stomach cramp, but I force it away. It’s just fear talking. It’s just selfishness. It’s not real.
Of course, I repeat to myself. Of course I want it.
How could I want anything else?
When my phone rings, I check the time on the stove.
I have fifteen minutes until dinner is ready. My uncle never calls for small talk, so the conversation should be quick. I take a seat at the kitchen island and answer.
“Uncle Wade, hey.”
“Aurora. How are you?”
I can’t help but grin at his familiar, all-business tone. My uncle is about as personable as a boulder, but he’s still one of my favorite people.
“Great. How are you?”
“Good.”
“What country are you in right now?”
“America.”
“Oh,” I say with a laugh. “This is a long break for you guys.”
Uncle Wade works as the manager for a popular band called The Hometown Heartless. I never know where he is in the world, but the band’s taken some time off recently. I’m not used to him being in one place for so long.
“It has been, but we’ll be touring again soon.”
“Oh? Where to?”
“You mean you haven’t been keeping tabs on me?”
I can hear a hint of playfulness in his voice. It’s rare, but he’s always had a smile for me.
“I’ve no time to keep up with your jet-setting ways, Sawyer Wade Hammond,” I joke, mimicking my mother’s tone. “My life may not be as glamorous as yours, but I’ve been quite busy.”
“Ah, you’re writing again?”
The question is like a zap of static electricity. Not sharp enough to hurt—not physically, anyway—but I still wince.
“You know I’m not.”
I can tell he hears the shame in my whispered words because he backs off and changes the subject. I’m grateful for it.
“Heartless are headed to Australia and New Zealand at the end of the month to kick off the tour for the new album.”
I screw up my lips, trying to recall anything about the band’s new music. Not that long ago, I’d have known everything about The Hometown Heartless, but they’ve fallen off my list of interests in recent years. I’ve had to prioritize other things.
“That sounds like fun. I’ve always wanted to visit Australia. Quokkas are so cute.”
“Well, now you can.”
I arch a brow. “Now I can what?”
“Visit Australia.”
“How?”
“I have a proposition for you.”
“Okay?”
My eyes narrow in question, and I sit up straighter. A proposition that would allow me to visit Australia? I’m intrigued, despite knowing I shouldn’t be.
My attention darts to the timer on the stove, then out the kitchen window to the empty driveway. Brady isn’t home yet, but my next sentence still comes out quieter, almost conspiratorial.
“What kind of proposition?”
“My lead singer’s daughter tours with the band and does all her schooling online, but the high school courses have become more challenging. English is her worst subject, so Savannah is looking for a tutor.”
A pause stretches between us, and when my uncle doesn’t elaborate, I prod.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“I’m offering you the job.”
My brows rise as I drop my attention to the island countertop, possibilities sparking in my mind.
I’ve always wanted to travel. I had a savings account and a rough plan to go backpacking through Europe after college, but as with most things I used to want, the urgency and importance have dulled.
The money has been repurposed, and the dream has been set on a metaphorical shelf to collect metaphorical dust.
“I’ve never taught before,” I say absently, tracing my fingertip along the gray veining in the white marble.
“Brynn will be easy.”
“I have no experience with high school kids.”
“She’s twelve.”
My eyes widen. “She’s twelve? And taking high school courses?”
“Ninth-grade English and literature courses. She’s very bright for her age.”
“Sounds like it. I don’t have experience with twelve-year-olds either.”
“She’ll be easy,” Uncle Wade repeats. “She’s a hard worker. She studies. She wants to succeed.”
I fall silent once more, toying with the offer despite the impracticality of it.
I did some tutoring in college. Never anyone under eighteen and never ninth-grade material, but I was good at it.
I enjoyed it. I’d be using my degree, too, sort of.
It's not how I’d originally wanted to use it, but still. Literature is relevant.
“How long?” I ask, letting myself entertain the fantasy further.
“Thirty-two shows between five cities. Melbourne, Adelaide, Sydney, Brisbane, and Auckland. We spend roughly ten to twelve days in each city. It’s eight weeks of touring total.”
I jerk upright. “Eight weeks? I can’t...I can’t leave for eight weeks.”
“Why not?”
I shoot from my chair and start to pace. “Well, Brady needs me here."
“Brady is an adult capable of taking care of himself, Aurora.”
“We just got married, Uncle Wade.”
“You could come home every other week. He could come visit you. You wouldn’t have to be without each other for long periods. You should discuss it with him.”
“That wouldn’t work,” I say with a shake of my head. I almost laugh at the idea of Brady taking time off work. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” Uncle Wade asks again.
“Because.”
“Because why, Aurora?”
I huff but don’t answer, so he continues.
“Because you don’t want to do it? Or because you think Brady wouldn’t want you to? If it’s the latter, you won’t know unless you discuss it with him.”
I open my mouth to respond, but then I bite my tongue and swallow back the answer to his first question. Regarding the second...Well, just the thought of discussing this with Brady has my forehead creasing with worry. I can’t tell Uncle Wade that, though. He’s already not fond of my husband.
I could just tell him no and end it, but for some reason I don’t.
A simple no isn’t good enough for me, I guess, and I’m not sure if it’s to convince my uncle or myself.
Instead, I run through other excuses in my head, each one sounding more ridiculous than the last. I don’t want to fall behind on laundry?
I don’t own real luggage? I’ve got nothing to wear?
My husband is in a rush to get me pregnant?
The last one creates a sinking feeling in my stomach.
Traveling will be so much harder after I have a baby.
I stop at the window and look out at my garden, running my eyes over the colorful blooms. When we bought this house, the small plot of land was my favorite part, and over the last year, I’ve turned it in to something beautiful.
Then I move my gaze to the potted orchid on the shelf in the living room.
It’s the only greenery I’m allowed to keep in the house.
Of all the reasons I’ve considered, this is the one that hits me the hardest.
“My flowers will die.”
“Couldn’t your husband—”
“No,” I say with a huffed laugh. “He definitely couldn’t.”
Brady in the dirt with the bugs? No. I couldn’t trust him to water them, let alone do all the other things necessary to keep the plants healthy and thriving. Even in my imagination, the image is comical.
“Savannah will be paying you enough that you could hire a gardener.”
The statement penetrates my thoughts and piques my curiosity before I can stop it.
“How much would she be paying me?” I cringe and shake my head. “Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“Aurora.”
“Uncle Wade. Leaving the country for eight weeks is just not feasible for me right now.”
He inhales and exhales deeply. “Aurora, forgive me if this comes off as an overstep—”
“Never stopped you before,” I grumble, but he continues.
“—but I’ve watched you put everything you love on hold.”
“We’ve only just gotten married, and marriage takes compromise.”
“Compromise? And what has Brady compromised?”