Chapter Thirty-Eight
PRESLEY
“What if…we just stayed on our honeymoon indefinitely?” I say over my shoulder as I lazily sip coffee on the deck of our suite overlooking the ocean.
The waves crash below us. There’s a hint of pine in the misty ocean air, and I swear I can see every star in the sky out here where the forest meets the sea.
Hollis joins me, taking the lounger next to me. We’re in matching robes, having just showered—and fucked—after a full day of hiking, followed by a couples massage and private dinner on the beach.
Now you understand why I don’t want to go back to real life?
“If we don’t go back, you’ll never be able to order that tile you love,” he says tauntingly.
“Don’t use my tile against me.”
“Don’t forget about the countertops.”
I groan, remembering the beautiful veined marble. So shiny. So smooth. “Okay, now you’re just being mean.”
He chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee. This resort has the best coffee. I don’t know what brand it is, but I’m going to find out and buy it in bulk. “You’d just get restless in a few days anyway. You’d be the one dragging me back.”
He’s not wrong. While I’m a big fan of rest and relaxation—self-care is important, folks—I also love my job.
“What are you smiling about?” he asks.
“Just realizing how good it feels to be actually excited to return to work. I’d forgotten what that feels like. It all just felt so hopeless after everything with Jace.”
“Which wasn’t your fault.”
I don’t know if I completely agree with that.
“I’m not beating myself up over it anymore,” I begin, continuing before he has a chance to argue.
“And I know now it doesn’t make me a failure or the shame of the family.
But I do think I’m responsible for some of the blame, Hollis.
I was his boss, and I let him manipulate me. ”
“When it comes to manipulation, I don’t think you allow someone to do anything, Pres. There is no consent. I think that’s what makes it truly terrifying. You don’t realize you’re a puppet until it’s too late.”
“Well, I’d say I learned my lesson and will never date an employee again, but…” I shrug, causing him to laugh.
“I do remember you saying, quite sternly in fact, that you were not my boss.”
“That’s right. You asked what you should call me instead. I said my name, obviously. And you, with that cocky grin and stupidly handsome face, replied and said…” I lower my voice, trying to mimic his. “‘Nah, I’ll just call you wife.’”
He chuckles. “That I did. Impeccable impersonation, by the way. I didn’t know I sounded like a stoned surfer from a nineties sitcom.”
I bark out a laugh and shrug. “The truth hurts.”
“Speaking of names,” he says, turning his attention to the water glittering in the distance. His expression turns hesitant. Nervous even. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
I set my coffee cup down on the table beside me and turn in my seat to face him. “Okay.”
“It’s a topic I think we’ve purposely avoided for a while, and I think that might be my fault. When your mom brought up the question of our last name at the wedding, I know you dodged the question because you knew it made me uncomfortable.”
I nod. “I didn’t mind. I just don’t understand why it was necessary in the first place. What about this has you so nervous? Are you afraid to ask me?”
He shakes his head. “No,” he says before briefly pausing. Then he turns to me. “Pres, I don’t want you to take my last name.”
My mouth falls open, but no words come out. Heat starts to creep up my neck. My throat feels thick. “Oh,” I say as my voice wobbles. “Okay. Yeah. That’s fine.”
His eyes widen. “Shit. Now I’ve really messed this up. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Tears sting my eyes. “Well, you just told me you don’t want me to take your name, Hollis. How else am I supposed to take it?”
He takes my hand, closing his two large ones around it. “I don’t want you to take it, because I don’t want it either.”
My eyes jerk up. “What?”
“Pres, my mom—we’re gonna have to find something else to call her, ’cause I really hate referring to her as anything maternal.
But anyway, that woman just crashed our wedding and demanded I pay her for keeping me alive for eighteen years.
That is not the name or legacy I want to pass down to our kids.
” His eyes widen ever so slightly. “You know, if you want kids. I realize it isn’t something we’ve really discussed. ”
“I want kids,” I say with a warm smile. “Not yet, though.”
“No, definitely not yet.”
“And I might want to adopt.”
“Yeah?” His eyes soften. “I like that idea.”
We stare at each other, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “We’re getting seriously off topic.”
“Right.” He nods, although I can tell both of us seriously want to circle back to that conversation at some point in the near future.
“All those times I called you Beck in the past. Did that bother you?”
He shakes his head. “No. Honestly, I never really thought much about it until we got married. And when we did, I knew it was something I didn’t want to keep.”
“So if you don’t want me to take your name. What are you planning—”
“I was hoping we might take yours,” he says with a hesitant shrug. “I know it’s not traditional, but we’re not exactly either. And I asked your parents, and they were more than—”
I throw myself into his arms. He catches me with a loud grunt. I pull back, cupping his chin with both hands. “You really want to be a Creed?”
He grins. “I thought I already was.”
“Hell yeah, you are.” I chuckle, but then ask, “Why the change of heart?”
His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“When we were walking to the showroom, and that woman referred to you as a Creed, you stiffened like it offended you.”
“It didn’t offend me,” he explains. “It just surprised me. And then all those old insecurities started to kick in. I didn’t want you to take my last name, but I wasn’t sure I deserved to take yours.”
“Hollis, you’ve been a Creed since the day you walked into that kitchen twelve years ago.”
“And now I want to make it official.”
I wrap my arms around his neck. “Well, you know there’s only one way to do that, right?”
His brow furrows. “With a legal document signed by a judge?”
“No.” My lips curve into a smile. “With ink.”
“Why am I blindfolded, Pres?” Hollis groans as we walk into the tattoo studio.
He’s holding onto my arm, and we’ve been walking at a snail’s pace ever since he almost ate pavement when his boot hit the curb.
“I already know where we’re going. You haven’t exactly been subtle.
And you could have at least used a different blindfold than the one we use when we’re fu—”
“We’re here!” I exclaim, ripping that damn blindfold off his face. His eyes adjust and then widen as he takes in everyone standing in front of us.
“Oh! Oh, shit,” he mutters, realizing what he was just in the middle of saying when we walked in.
“Uh, surprise?” Hendrix does some weird jazz hands, and everyone chuckles.
“You really all showed up for this?” Hollis seems genuinely surprised. I think it’s going to take some time for him to fully settle into the idea of a family.
“Of course we did,” Myles says. “It’s a family tradition.”
“It’s initiation rites,” Zander adds, his arms crossed over his broad chest, revealing the tattoo he got years ago in this very studio.
It took some work, but we managed to persuade them to close for the afternoon to accommodate us.
It sounds bougie as hell, but it’s the only way we could get Zander and Hendrix here without causing a riot.
“It’s our legacy.” My dad offers Hollis a hug. A swell of emotions twists my throat. “And it means a lot to me that you all started it.”
“Wait.” Hollis holds up a hand. “You guys started it?”
“Oh, not us.” Hollis motions with his finger, pointing to the siblings as a whole, and then points to just one. “Cash.”
“Cash?” My husband sounds like he’s just been told they’re remaking The Goonies. A little confused. Possibly excited. Maybe a little nervous.
Cash, however, just stands there in his polished gray suit, looking completely unbothered by the revelation. He glances around the room and shrugs. “I’m a sentimental motherfucker. What can I say?”
The whole room explodes in laughter.
“We still think he did it to impress Dad,” Hendrix says once everyone settles down.
Cash flashes a rare smile. “Why would I need to? Pretty perfect already.” Then he sighs. “It was a Father’s Day present. I got it to match his, and then all you assholes had to copy me.”
If he’s trying to sound annoyed, he’s doing a terrible job.
“So, Hollis, where’s it gonna be?” Dad asks, slinging an arm over my mom’s shoulder.
He looks to me, then his gaze drifts down to my arm. “I didn’t think I had a choice.”
“Oh, you do. This isn’t a brand or anything.” Myles laughs. “I have mine on my rib cage. Easier to hide that way. Makeup artists hate tattoos.” He emphasizes his point by lifting his shirt to show the five letters that run vertically down the side of his rib cage.
“That must have hurt like a bitch.”
“It did, in fact, suck,” he confirms.
“Mine is on my collarbone,” Mom says with a warm smile. “Close to my heart.”
There is a chorus of awws.
“So where will it be?” Hen asks.
Hollis glances at me, and I feel that same flutter in my stomach I’ve been getting since I was sixteen. “I think I have an idea.”
“Okay, be honest,” Hollis says, his eyes glittering with amusement, as we zip down the freeway. “Exactly how much hotter am I with this tattoo?”
He grips the steering wheel and flexes his forearm. He got it in the exact spot as mine. In the exact font. God, we’re one of those couples who have matching tattoos.
And I fucking love it.
“Well, right now, it’s covered in a bandage and oozing blood, so I’d say not much at the moment, but check back later?”
“I’ll hold you to that. In like two weeks, when I’m done shedding skin like a snake.”
“Don’t forget about the itching.”
“What the fuck? It’s gonna itch too?”
“Oh yeah.” I nod. “You’ll be slapping it like crazy just to get some relief…and I’ll laugh and laugh.”
“That doesn’t sound very supportive of my suffering.”
I snort. “What if I agree to rub the lotion on it for you and then maybe rub some other parts of you as well?”
His face lights up, but he keeps his eyes on the road. “Now we’re talking.”
He takes an exit—the wrong one—and I glance over at him with a puzzled look. “Why does it feel like I’m suddenly having a case of déjà vu?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I’m just driving.”
Once again, instead of heading for our apartment, we go west toward Malibu. I don’t bother asking if we’re headed to the bar or my parents’.
I already know our destination.
We’re going home.
Something warm and wonderful blossoms inside of me when I say this to myself. Home.
As an adult, I dreamed of having a space I could make my own. I could paint the walls pink or knock them down. It was mine, after all.
But for my husband, a home meant safety. Security. Love.
I’ll never quite understand how much it means to him to finally have all those things, but I’m so glad I’m the one who gets to share it with him.
When we pull into the familiar circular drive, he parks, and we get out. The landscapers we hired have already been by to spruce up the front, pulling all the weeds and replacing dead plants with drought-resistant ones. The once depressing exterior now looks healthy and lush.
When we get inside, he looks around and then turns back to me. “I know there’s no furniture, but I thought it might be nice to order a pizza and just…”
I smile. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”
While he orders pizza—extra cheese, obviously—I walk through the kitchen and run my hands over the brown granite that will be taken out and replaced next week.
I wonder what memories were made here.
Did they roll out dough for Christmas cookies? Have a flour fight? Did a big discussion take place at this island? Maybe even an argument or two?
Whatever memories this home has, I look forward to adding our own. The perfect ones, like lazy Sundays in the winter, drinking coffee on the deck under a pile of blankets while we watch the tide come in. And even the not-so-perfect. Because there will be hard times.
Life is bound to have struggles.
But as long as we have each other, we’ll weather whatever storm comes our way.
As quietly as I can manage, I slip out the sliding glass door onto the deck and pull out my phone. Smiling to myself, I type out a text.
Me
Is this still Hollis Beck’s number?
A second later, three dots appear on the screen.
Hollis
It’s Hollis Creed these days, thank you very much. Who the hell is this? Also… where are you?
My smile widens into a stupidly wide grin. Good, he’s playing along.
Me
I’ll give you three clues. If you guess correctly, then you’ll know where to find me.
Hollis
This better not be some sort of weird scam to get me to send you dick pics, cause I am a happily married man.
Me
Yeah? She pretty?
Hollis
So pretty. But also a little displaced. You wouldn’t happen to know where she is, would you?
I snort out a laugh, but quickly stifle it. I don’t want him to find me quite yet.
Me
First clue: We were always more than neighbors.
Hollis
Patricia? I knew you had a crush on me!
Me
I swear to god, Hollis. So not funny. Also, Patricia?
Hollis
Had to think on the fly. Anyway, continue…
I forgive him for breaking character, and I chuck off my shoes, burying my toes in the sand.
Me
Clue number two: I tried to teach you how to surf. Emphasis on the word tried.
Hollis
Maybe you’re just a bad teacher.
Me
And maybe you should just stick to a boogie board.
Hollis
Where the fuck are you, woman?!
I let out a contented sigh and smile as the sun slips behind the horizon. The sound of the waves is like the soundtrack to our love story, and we’re barely through track one.
Me
Clue number three: We may have spent seven minutes in heaven, but I’d take a lifetime on the beach with you any day.
Those three dots appear and then disappear. A minute or two goes by, and then I hear the soft crunch of wet sand behind me. I don’t bother turning around.
His arms slide around my waist. “Hi.”
I look up at him, and he’s staring down at me with those intense green eyes. “Want to go for a walk?” he asks.
“Always.”
And then we walk hand in hand down the beach, knowing that if it weren’t for a bit of trouble and a whole lot of love, none of this would have ever been possible.