Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
“Come on. I feel a bit dizzy myself.” He leads me to a bench on the fringes of the buzzing festival, and we sit for a moment to catch our mutual breath. As we talk, kiss, and giggle happily, the auction starts in the near distance, led by our town’s legendary auctioneer, my dad’s good friend, Bob Warner.
“So, listen, baby,” Caleb says midway through the auction. “I don’t know what the future holds for my band, in terms of tours and commitments, but I don’t think we’ll ever hang it up completely and stop performing.”
“Of course, you won’t. I’d never expect or want you to stop.” I touch his arm. “You’re only thirty-five, babe. Hopefully, your band will perform for another fifty years.”
Caleb chuckles. “Fifty? I’ll take twenty or thirty.” He gathers his thoughts. “I just want you to understand that I love you and Raine more than I love my band. More than I love making music. More than I love performing. I love all that stuff. So much. It makes me me. But you’re both my why now, my reason for being—my reason for staying sober—to keep growing and becoming a better man. I want you to know I’m never going to do anything to fuck up my relationship with you or our family. Please, believe that, Aubrey.”
I touch his cheek. “Baby, I know that. Doing what you love will never, ever fuck anything up.”
He bites his lip. “Do you think you and Raine might join me on the road sometimes? We could make future tours and performances a family affair.”
“Sounds fun. But don’t worry, okay? We’ll figure it out.”
He sighs with relief. “Lots of musicians I know, some in really popular bands, have families now, and they’re making it work. I’ve asked a bunch of them how they do it, and I think I understand how to balance it all. Mostly, everyone told me to make tours short and always take the fam with me, whenever possible, or create plenty of breaks in the schedule, so you can fly back and forth between home and shows.”
“Whatever it takes, we’ll do it.”
“You’re willing to work with me?”
“Caleb, I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.”
He kisses the top of my hand. “I love you so fucking much, A-Bomb.”
My smile turns into a mock glare. “You know the whole town is gonna start calling me that now, thanks to you.”
He chuckles. “That’s why I did it. If I’m C-Bomb, then you’ve gotta be my A-Bomb.”
As I laugh with him, Bob the Auctioneer bellows into his microphone, “Next up, let’s start the bidding on the amazing package donated by our very own C-Bomb! C-Bomb? Where are you, man?”
“You should go back over there.”
He squeezes my hand. “I’d rather sit here with you—my fiancée.”
Bob says, “Hmm, I don’t see C-Bomb anywhere, so let’s get into it. Let me check my notes.” He looks down at the paper in his hand. “If you have the winning bid for this one, here’s what you’ll win.” He lists a dizzying array of RCR merch, VIP tickets, and memorabilia. A Zoom call with the entire band for thirty minutes. A top-of-the-line drum kit supplied by Caleb, its toms and several sets of drumsticks signed by him. “And if you don’t know how to play,” Bob says in wrap-up. “Never fear! The winner will get three one-on-one drum lessons from C-Bomb himself—one of the greatest drummers in the history of music, and the greatest living drummer of our time, so you can learn to play your new drum kit like the man himself.”
Bob opens the floor for bidding, and the moment he does, the crowd reacts like ants pouncing on a runaway drop of maple syrup, which makes both Caleb and me belly laugh with glee.
“I’m surprised you threw in drum lessons. You seemed skittish about that, when Miranda suggested it.”
Caleb shrugs. “I’m home now and not going anywhere, so why not?”
I suddenly remember Trent’s text and show it to him. And, thankfully, Caleb guffaws while reading it.
“I told you Trent knew he had it coming,” Caleb says. He returns the phone to me and taps his temple. “I’ve got a sixth sense about that kind of thing. If they skitter away like a cockroach, you’re golden.”
His words make me think about Ralph Beaumont, since he was a man who probably never once skittered away like a cockroach in his entire life. As it’s turned out, Caleb hasn’t lost a moment of sleep over what he did a week ago, and neither have I. On the contrary, the only after-effect from the shooting, as far as I can tell, is our bond has only deepened and strengthened.
“I can’t wait to marry you,” Caleb whispers, touching my cheek.
“Let’s do it really soon,” I say.
“How about tomorrow? I can’t wait to call you my wife.”