CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LIZ
It's not often I'm speechless, but after Jovi's declaration, I find I'm afraid to talk. Afraid I'll say the wrong thing and this fragile bubble of something between us will pop. So I nod, bite my lip, and let the tear rolling free slide down my cheek without a fight.
Jovi brushes the damp skin softly with his thumb, before leaning in to place a tender kiss in the same spot. Then, as if understanding my need for silence, he starts up the engine and drives us home.
After parking the truck in front of the house and helping me out, he winds his fingers through mine and walks me up to the front door.
"Nothing has to change," he whispers. "If you don't feel what I feel. Or if it's too much. Or the wrong time. Or any other reason. Nothing has to change." He bends down until the tips of our noses touch. "But everything could."
“The Penny Luck,” I croak out, forcing myself to ask what I’ve wondered since Dee Sparks said the words. “It’s not…you didn’t.” I sigh, frustrated that I can’t even get the words out, too scared of what his answer will be. More afraid still, that I’m an idiot to even consider the possibility.
“The Penny Luck was the first bar I opened on my own,” he says softly, his nose giving another tender bump against mine.
“After Lena told me you weren’t coming home.
That you were moving to Seattle. Building a life there,” he pauses, breath hitching.
“One I wasn’t going to be a part of. Even when you were already a part of me. ”
Then he presses a sweet kiss to my forehead, and turns away, making his walk along the front garden to the end of the fence where he turns, heading toward the barn.
I don't say anything. Not even goodnight.
I just stand here, watching him walk until the shadows swallow him. Seconds pass, but I stand still, in place, mentally tracking the path he's walking, until he gets close enough for the barn's light to shine on him again.
The creak of that heavy door is so loud, I can hear it from here.
The night so quiet and still, I almost convince myself I can hear him murmuring to the horses once he's inside.
It's crazy, of course. Hearing him would be impossible from this distance. But the familiar deep rumble of his voice still rasps hushed affections to Kimber inside my mind, stopping to pat her neck the way he does every time he walks by her stall.
The thought alone makes me smile. How did I ever miss how kindness just pours out of this man? How underneath all his cocky attitude and endless quips, he hides this quiet strength and steadfast presence I've not only been oblivious to but have taken entirely for granted.
It was easy to accept how wholly he loves the kids.
How readily he gives to them. But it's only now I'm starting to see how impossible I've made it for him to do the same for me.
And the lengths he's gone to in order to be there for me anyway.
Always under the guise of doing it for someone else. For Trent and Lena. For the kids.
Because I'm so fucking stubborn and afraid I've refused to let him close any other way.
I take a breath and swipe at both cheeks, forcing my face into neutral before I open the door and step inside.
The house is dark and quiet, except for the television in the living room playing I Dream of Jeanie reruns while Holly sleeps on the sofa. I'm guessing she tried to wait up for me and failed.
Instead of waking her, I cover her with one of the fleece throws the kids curl up in for story time, and head upstairs.
I check on both kids on the way to my room, both sound asleep, their faces peaceful. Something I note more frequently as of late.
The first weeks without their parents, both children woke from nightmares at least once a week. Gavin often cried in his sleep, while Remmi would wake from her grief, curled around her pillow, trying to use it to muffle her tiny sobs.
Those nights, I scooped them up and we all slept on the floor in the living room among blankets and pillows.
I'm sure it would have made more sense to bring them back to my bed, but it felt like a double-edged sword attempting to comfort them in the one room they should have known it while being reminded the source of that comfort would never be found there again.
Like so many things, it became a dance. A balance of old and new. The floor slumber parties shifted to cuddle sessions in their own beds until they fell back asleep. And eventually, those became less too.
In the meantime, I've changed the master bedroom as much as I could.
I painted the walls. Brought in all new furniture while scattering the old pieces throughout the house.
Remmi and Gavin each got a nightstand. The dresser became a coffee bar in the dining room. The full-length mirror went to the foyer, with pictures of both Lena and Trent tacked to the frame because I wanted the kids to have some small way they could still see themselves with them.
Now when we leave the house, both kids press a kiss to the pictures with an ‘I love you’. We keep them with us, even as the grief eases its chokehold on us. Sometimes days at a time. Others only moments.
The kids don't know it yet, but I do. Eventually those days will stretch to months and then to years. But no matter how much time passes, the impact never lessens.
I slip out of my clothes, peeling off a layer as I take the steps from the door to my dresser where I pull my sweatpants and tank top from the drawer before dragging my feet to the bathroom to get ready for bed.
When I finally crawl under my covers, I worry my mind will replay every aspect of tonight inside my head a million times over. But when I check my phone one last time before I turn out the light, I see a text. From Jovi.
Sleep, Liz.
And I do something I've never wanted to do before. I listen to him.
It's nearly seven when I wake to both children bouncing on my bed, excitedly yelping about Biscuit Barn.
As soon as I'm coherent enough to tell them to stop, they drop to their knees, clamber over to smack sloppy kisses on my cheeks before scrambling away and out of the room shouting their goodbyes.
A few minutes later, Holly strolls in, two cups of coffee in hand.
"Someone got in late," she says, wagging her brows in a way that makes me blush and bury my face in my pillow.
"Holy shit," she calls out. "I was joking. But something really happened between you two, didn't it!"
"I don't want to talk about it," I call back, words muffled. Because I'm talking through my pillow like a twelve-year-old falling apart over her first crush.
"Okay, that's fine," Holly says in a sing-song voice, clearly trying to appease me into some semblance of maturity. "How about having a little sip of coffee for now."
I lift my face from its hiding place. "Just coffee? No talking?" I clarify.
"If that's what you want," she agrees. She's on the verge of handing me one of the mugs when she pulls it back and out of my reach.
"But I do have one question. One you can answer without words.
All I need is a nod, yes or no. Zero talking, one simple gesture.
" She leans forward, eyes wide. "Did you kiss? "
I give a gesture. My middle finger.
She laughs, the sound bright and delighted, then hands over my cup. "I'll take that as a yes."
I don't say otherwise. Nor do I elaborate and Holly exerts a shocking amount of self-discipline when we make it to our second cups, and she still doesn't attempt to get more out of me.
Dosed on caffeine with a house to ourselves, we jump right into work. We got plenty of sweet shots the other day. Now it's time to get the spicy ones.
Having done this together about a hundred times now, we fall into a smooth workflow, Holly intuitively following minimal cues and me doing my best to secure every perfect shot she offers me.
We've just switched to another ensemble, this time black lingerie paired with a black silk robe and a long string of pearls, when the door flies open, and Trent's mother comes marching in.
Her gasp is so loud I almost laugh at the absurdity. "Oh, good Lord!"
Her hand flies to cover her eyes and it's all I can do to keep a straight face as I try to assure her, "Everyone's decent. I'm sure it looks a little scandalous, but she's actually quite clothed." With the robe on, Holly is wearing more than most do at the beach.
"You let the children help you with this?" Tammy screeches and it takes me a second to understand what she’s asking.
"They helped with one of our shoots, yes," I try to explain, "but it was a very, very different setting.
" Much as I want to remain calm as she continues to work herself into a frenzy, it's hard not to take total offense to her accusation.
I may not be the most maternal, but even I know not to have children present for a sexy shoot.
"Tammy, please lower your hand so we can have a normal conversation about this. "
"Absolutely not." She fumbles, reaching for the door behind her, blindly attempting to escape my room, which I'm shocked to learn, to some, is the equivalent to a sort of kink fest sex chamber. "If you want to talk, we can do so out in the hall. Without the porn star."
I look to Holly in time to catch her mouth the words 'porn star' with eyes like two question marks. I take a breath and then hurry to reach the door, holding it open while I grab Tammy's elbow to help guide her out before she falls and hurts herself.
I follow her into the hall as requested, going so far as to close the door to offer her some privacy from Holly.
My porn star. It's such an absurd thought, I almost laugh.
Then I catch Tammy's expression and I'm glad I held it in.
"Tammy, I'm really sorry you walked into something that made you uncomfortable, but in my defense, this is my business.
And I had the door closed for a reason."