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“Then it looks like we’re in a wait and see holding pattern. Maybe we need to take some trips to these other teams and document everything on social media. That might make the Pioneers get off their asses.”
“I’ll have Allen set some things up.”
“Just wait six weeks.”
Noah looks from me to my stomach. His hand rests there. “I wish it were me putting our baby in there.”
“Me, too.”
4
NOAH
After Elle picks up Peyton, I slip into some running shorts, sneakers, grab my ear buds, and head for the door. I pause in the hallway and look at myself. It seems I’ve forgotten a shirt. I think about heading out without one. The likelihood that I need to go into a store or something is nil, but you never know. On closer inspection, I spot a love bite from my wife.
“Yep, definitely putting a shirt on,” I say to our empty house. She wouldn’t let me make love to her this morning, no matter how hard I tried. As much as the rejection stings, I accepted her reasoning. Some medical professional will be doing uncomfortable things to her today and the last thing she wanted was for some tech to ask her if she had sex this morning. I really didn’t buy her excuse but didn’t push further. I respect her boundaries, just as much as I respect the fact that she wanted to take care of me and satisfy my needs. The damn hickey is another story.
With a T-shirt on, I head back toward the front door, open it, and find my father standing there, poised to knock. I slip one of the ear buds out and say, “What are you doing here?” My question is snotty and not meant to be rude or insulting. My parents can visit whenever they want. But they normally give us a heads up.
“Hi, son.” My dad smirks. “May I come in?”
I shake my head, clearing the instant fog, and step back to let him in. He has an overnight bag, which he sets down near this table Peyton found at some desert antique shop last summer. The person who sold it to us gave my wife some song and dance about its history and then instantly charged us a hundred less than the price shown on the tag. History my ass.
“Not to sound like a broken record, but seriously what are you doing here?” It’s not that I don’t want to see my dad, it’s that he’s incredibly busy buying up dilapidated buildings in Beaumont and turning them into either affordable housing or office space so businesses can come to town. Most of us in the family think he’s gearing up to run for mayor. Which is a bit comical. Sure, the prodigal son returned home, but he’s a musician. Even though 4225 West hasn’t toured in a few years, every album they’ve released has gone platinum. I think Liam Page would have a hard time sitting behind a desk every day, stamping his name on documents.
“Can’t a father visit his son?”
I scoff and eye him suspiciously. “Sure, he can. Where’s Mom?”
“With your sister. She’s on vacation for another month.”
Ah yes, no more traveling without Miss Betty Paige. At least not since Mack asked my dad permission to take her on a date. Mack confided in me that he kissed Paige. I had a hard time not wanting to wring the boy’s neck and hers. The problem is, I can’t be in the middle of this relationship. I love them both but will always side with my sister. I was a teenager once. I’m not even playing stupid when it comes to those two. Which reminds me, I want Peyton to talk to Paige about protecting herself. I can’t do it because . . . hello, embarrassing. And I’m not mentioning it to my parents.
“Anyway,” my dad sighs. “I thought we’d hang for the weekend.”
“Okay,” I say, still suspicious. “Want something to drink? Eat?”
Liam shakes his head. “Were you about to leave when I got here?”
I nod. “I was going to head out for a run. Peyton went to an appointment with Elle. I need to clear my head or keep it clear. I hate this entire process.”
“Let me change and I’ll go with you.”
Before I can protest, he’s grabbed his bag and disappeared down the hall to the room he and my mom stay in when they’re here. I sigh. The last thing the streets of Malibu need to see is Liam Page running.
“Fuck my life,” I mutter as I head into the kitchen for a glass of water. My dad joins me minutes later and helps himself. He drinks heartily from the glass and then sets it in the sink.
“Ready?”
“Yes, but don’t be embarrassed when I kick your ass,” I tell him.
The ever-charismatic Liam Page grips my shoulder and bends over in laughter. He heaves, feigns being out of breath, and fans his imaginary tears away. “Son, you slay me.”
“Who taught you that word?”
“Your sister.”
I shake my head. “Come on, old man.”
