CHAPTER 56
Declan
Summer doesn’t complain once on the flight back home. About anything. About being in the air again. About the news we just heard. About her discomfort after surgery.
She’s shut down. The light is gone from her eyes, and the way she’s moving is strange. It’s almost as if she’s not comfortable in her own skin, like she’s afraid to claim too much space.
Whatever it is that I’m seeing, I hate it.
And the lump in my chest has grown so heavy and big that I’m strangling.
When I offer to land in Austin for lunch, she once again says she’s in a hurry to get back. So that’s what we do.
We make the trip in record time for an east-to-west flight. Once the jet is pulled into the hangar, we hop into my Jeep, and I gun it. We approach close to the ranch road in less than fifteen minutes, and though it’s just above freezing, Summer opens the window and gulps down the air.
“There’s no place like home,” I tell her. “Even the air’s sweeter.”
“Sweeter than Manhattan, that’s for damn sure.”
I have no idea how to make this easier for Summer. It doesn’t matter how many times I assure her that a few wonky hormones don’t matter a flimsy fuck to me. That all I care about is her, her life, her happiness, and that we’re together.
That a medical condition is not a personal failure.
But I know how she is. Summer hates to be put in a situation where she feels less than competent. She’s always been like that, and I get it. I’ve been known to suffer from the same syndrome.
But it kills me to see her so deflated, when we should be celebrating the best news I’ve ever received in my fucking life. I suppose it will just take time for both of us to come to terms with the bomb that was just dropped on our lives.
But we’ll deal. We’ll get through it. Together.
“Your place or mine?” I ask.
“Mine,” she says, her face lifted to the last bit of daylight. “I want to sit on my little couch and stare at my little fireplace and putter around in my little kitchen. I need to be surrounded by all my little things.”
I smile. “You got it, little missy.”
That’s when I see it off in the distance. On our left, a giant banner is suspended over the ranch gateway, fluttering in the breeze. We turn under it and onto the ranch lane, and Summer reads it out loud.
“Welcome Home, Summer. We love you.”
Then she whimpers. It’s like the banner is a sad surprise instead of a dose of loving reassurance.
I reach for her hand and give it a squeeze. “Clearly, we have to take a slight detour before I get you home,” I say. “I think the family has plans for us. Do you feel up to it?”
“I feel fine. I mean great. Maybe Emma cooked.”
“There’s a zero percent chance she didn’t.”
We get to the family compound and Finn waves us down in front of his house. I park, and I help Summer out of the Jeep.
Aunt Phyllis races out the door and down the porch steps to wrap Summer in a big hug.
“There’s my girl!” she gushes, leaving a hundred quick kisses all over her cheeks.
“You look just fine, sweetie! Like you went to a spa instead of a hospital. There’s still rose in your cheeks.
But I’m going to pamper you anyway. Come on in.
Emma and I have been cooking all day. All your favorites! ”
“Noodles with little cut-up hot dogs?” Summer asks.
“It wouldn’t be a feast without it, now would it?” Phyllis guides her up the steps.
Dad appears in the doorway. “Summer!” He throws his arms wide and waits for her to reach him. It does my heart good to see her walk right into his embrace, her body settling against him. Maybe this is why Summer is always so relieved to be home.
It’s where she belongs.
Finn shakes my hand. “Congratulations, man. Happy days.”
I nod. “You’re looking at the most relieved dude to ever draw breath. The happiest man on the planet.”
“Sorry, bro. But I’m the happiest man on the planet.”
Evander, Cal, and Special K join us in the driveway.
“I think the title goes to me,” Cal says. “I’m married to Victoria.”
“Fuck you all,” Evander says. “I caught Phoebe.”
“No. Fuck all y’all,” Special K says. “It’s like Love Island on steroids around here. I’d rather feed myself to the sharks than deal with this shit.”
“The sharks will spit your butt-ugly carcass back onto shore,” I say.
“Just you wait, baby brother.” Cal clamps an arm around K’s shoulders. “Someday, some poor, unsuspecting woman will cross your path and go all Love Island on your ass, and you won’t know what hit you.”
“And we’ll give you shit for the rest of your natural life,” Finn says.
Special K ducks and spins away from Cal’s embrace. “I will never be domesticated,” he grumbles. “I’ll be the only MacLaine not pussy-whipped.”
“Says the only MacLaine not getting any pussy,” Evander says, straightening his suit jacket. “And believe me—I say that with the utmost respect to our pussy-whippers. There’s never been a more distinguished group of women.”
Jasmine skips across the gravel to join us. “What’re you talking about?”
“We’re discussing what’s on the menu,” I say without missing a beat. Then I lift her up and start tickling.
“Put me down, Uncle Declan!” She’s immediately breathless. “Emma made a roast and Grandpa’s got ribeyes on the grill and I’m supposed to be making corn!”
“Holy crap! Move aside! I got dibs!” I slip Jasmine under my arm like she’s a giggling girl-sized football and serpentine my way up the steps, across the porch, and through the front door.
“There’s enough for all of us!” Cal tries to overtake us.
“There’s no guarantee. Remember the ribeye shortage of 2011?”
“Remember?” Cal asks. “My elbow still hurts when it rains.”
“Then, don’t elbow me!” I shout, elbowing him as hard as I can while Jasmine’s laughing turns into gut-busting guffaws.
I agree with Summer. It’s good to be home.