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“Til thinks he is,” I say even though my mind is definitely elsewhere.
“Cool,” Miranda says but it’s dripping with sarcasm. “But you should really get moving. I don’t want to wait around all day for her to get her jollies off.” Lord, Miranda is blunt.
With that, everyone agrees. I follow Tilly into the bathroom, where I do, in fact, play with her boobs. By the time we’re done fooling around, everyone is packed and ready to go.
With our hair still wet, we walk out of the house. As we close the door behind us, I take a final look at the house. It was nice while it lasted, but the real test of our future is still on the horizon. It really doesn’t feel right to leave the safety of our little retreat in the mountains, but we have to move on. Turning on Tilly’s family—the fucking mob—is the only way I can truly have what Greg and Sam have. It’s going to be a hard road, one I never had any intention of traveling. But at this point, I will do anything to get there for my family.
Chapter thirty-five
Tilly
The trip back to San Diego took fourteen hours. Why fourteen? Because we had to stop every two hours for Sam to nurse TJ and let him out of his car seat. How they made it to Henrietta’s house in eight hours will forever be a mystery because the little man certainly didn’t cooperate.
As Henrietta parks in the driveway of Miranda’s rented home, I let out a sigh. I have no idea what happened to my apartment. Really, I don’t care, but it’s another in a long line of questions I have about things since I left for Kansas.
“I’ll get the bags,” Tommy says with a yawn.
I nod and open the door. Miranda is already at the front, unlocking it on a dial pad. The house itself is pretty nice. It’s a far cry from what I left behind. But with the added square footage, it’s farther from the beach. Still, as soon as a breeze kicks up, I can smell it. The ocean. Salty and crisp, it wraps around me. All previous nausea and worry from the car ride are immediately gone. Replaced by a nostalgia that overwhelms me. Tears spring to my eyes, and I turn around.
Tommy’s rolling our suitcases up the driveway, and his brows lower when he takes in my crying. “You okay?”
I rush forward and throw my arms around his neck. “I can smell it,” I say.
He puts a hand on my back and chuckles. “Sorry, I thought it was safe to walk over here. Are you going to throw up?” I pull back, confusion on my face. Oh.
I laugh and smack his chest. “Not your burrito gas. The ocean!”
He chuckles with me and turns around. He keeps an arm around my waist and breathes in deeply. “Did you miss it?”
My crying restarts, but I don’t answer. I can’t admit out loud how much I missed the beach. The sand, the sun, the waves, my board. Yes. Yes. Yes. All of it. He kisses my temple. “Then we must surf tomorrow.” I pull back again and search his face. Is he serious? “What? I googled it in the car. Totally cool to surf while pregnant.”
My cheeks raise into a wide grin. “No way, you serious?”
“Yep. Maybe you should switch to a foamie for a while, but yeah, there’s a pro surfer that has a bunch of videos on it. Said it’s the cure for morning sickness too. And Sam surfed while pregnant. All the way up until she had like a week left. Greg had to push her into the waves when she got too big to lay on her stomach.”
I’m literally vibrating with excitement now. I clap my hands together. “First thing tomorrow?”
He tugs me toward the house. “Absolutely. But only if we get some sleep.” With a final look over my shoulder to the west, I let him lead me inside.
***
The next morning, I’m up with the sun. Tommy is still asleep in the small full-size bed. It wasn’t easy to get us both comfortable, but I wasn’t about to argue with Miranda for the master in the middle of the night. Without a word, I kiss Tommy’s cheek and slowly get out of bed.
No one else is awake, and I’m not surprised. We arrived around midnight, and everyone was exhausted. Sam and Greg drove home while Tommy’s mom, Miranda, Tommy, and I are all staying at this three-bedroom rental. It’s maybe 1600 square feet and very modest. Formica kitchen counters, one and a half bathrooms, and rooms that are probably the size of Henrietta’s closets. But it’ll do for the next few weeks while we figure out what we’re doing about my aunt.
But I’m not thinking about all that. No. I’m thinking about what Tommy said. Pregnant ladies are allowed to surf. I look down at my baby bump. It’s at the point where I swear it gets bigger every day. But I know Sam will have a wetsuit I can wear. Ron should already be at the surf shack. He likes to grab a dawn patrol session before he opens the shack at nine.
With that in mind, I grab my purse and Henrietta’s keys. As quietly as possible, I leave the house. I’ll probably be back before they wake up anyway. Out of all of them, I slept the most on the ride here. I should probably wait for Tommy to wake up, but honestly, I need to do this alone. Ever since Tommy found me at the dive bar in Kansas, he’s been a little…clingy.
At the shack, I arrive just as Ron is pulling up. When I see him, my heart soars. I missed that raggedy old surf bum.
“Ron!” I yell out, and he spins around.
“Til?” he asks. I nod and rush over where I throw my arms around him. He rocks us side to side. “Fuck, Tilly. Where the hell have you been? I asked Sam, and she was all—” he motions like he’s locking his lips and throwing away the key.
“Oh, just some family. Dad died, you know how it is,” I say with a wave of my hand.
“Oh shit, you okay?”
