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)
I lean in close to study one magazine in particular: a copy of Rock ‘n’ Roll that features Caleb as its cover model. He’s got a mohawk in the photo, which normally wouldn’t be my thing, but on Caleb it’s a damned good look, especially when paired with the over-the-top snarl he’s wearing. He’s flexing his muscular arm in the shot—showing off a tattoo on his bicep: a classic cartoon bomb emblazoned with a “C.”
I’ve seen that same tattoo countless times in person. Every day for the past month. I’ve even kissed it, many times. But, somehow, seeing the tattoo on the cover of a wildly popular, iconic music magazine and presented as pop culture iconography is making me see Caleb through a whole new lens. No wonder Claudia was always so infatuated with him. He’s one hell of a sexy beast. Dangerous. Wild. Hot as fuck.
I continue my tour of the room, feeling a bit off-kilter and confused. I knew this side of Caleb’s life exists. The fame and money. The rarified, celebrity air he’s been breathing for well over a decade. But, still, the simple life we’ve shared for the past month is so far removed from this stuff, I’m finding this slingshot back to reality a bit jarring.
“I went poopie in da potty, my Aubbey!” Raine screeches happily, as she runs back into the room. For a while now, Raine’s been calling me “Aubbey” and “my Aubbey,” rather than “Auntie Aubbey.” Not sure when it started, exactly, but it feels natural and right at this point.
“Yep, she pooped like a champ,” Caleb declares with a laugh, entering the room behind his daughter. “Never let it be said my daughter sucks at anything, even pooping.”
I snort-laugh.
“And yes, I made sure she washed her hands for the full length of ‘The Birthday Song,’” Caleb says with a wink. He claps his palms together. “So, ladies, are we ready for that house tour now?”
“Ready!” Raine shrieks at the top of her little lungs. To emphasize her readiness, she performs an enthusiastic shimmy that makes her look like an upright worm on a hook. Does that child even know what a house tour is? More likely than not, this is yet another case of Raine buying whatever her brawny Dadda is selling, whether she understand it or not.
“Hop aboard the tour bus, Shortcake,” Caleb says, crouching down to offer his back to Raine. When she’s safely cleaved to his backside, and his strong hands are firmly holding her tiny legs in place, Caleb begins showing us around his gorgeous home.
The kitchen is filled with endless white cupboards, gleaming steel, and stunning tile accents. On the way out, I make a mental note to do a sweep for booze when the tour is over.
Next up, we’re treated to a music studio featuring an elaborate drum kit, a vocal booth in the corner, and even more framed platinum records and memorabilia. There’s also a fully stocked bar in the corner of the room, I can’t help noticing. One I’m going to clear out, immediately after my sweep of the kitchen.
“I’ll get all that stuff cleared out and replaced with seltzer water and juice,” Caleb murmurs, reading my mind. “I went straight to rehab from New York, so I haven’t been home and had a chance to—”
“It’s all good, honey,” I say reassuringly. “I’ll clear out everything for you, just like I did back home.” Fuck. It’s one thing for Caleb to say that, but he might feel pressured by me saying it.
“Thanks,” he says, seemingly unfazed by my word choice. In fact, he’s smiling from ear to ear. Is that because I offered to help? Because I called him honey? Or is he happy to discover, somewhere along the line, I’ve grown to consider the lake house my home?
“It’s a good thing we came home two days before the meeting with the social worker, huh?” Caleb says. “It would have been terrible, if she saw this place, as it is.”
“We definitely dodged a bullet there.”
We share a smile, but I’m honestly feeling a bit stressed. In Montana, I had no doubts about Caleb’s readiness to take on Raine, forever. But here, I can’t help wondering if he’s truly ready for a job that big. If he’s got any doubts about his commitment to fatherhood, he’d better tell me soon, because in a matter of days, I’m going to testify in support of his bid for full custody, with full visitation rights for me, rather than the other way around. And I can’t do that, if he’s not one-hundred-percent committed.
I keep telling myself Raine belongs with her father. That it’s the best thing for her, even though I want her for myself. But the more I fall for Caleb—or think I’m falling, anyway—being here is making me wonder if I’ve been falling for the fantastical Montana version of him—the more I’m worried my judgment has become hopelessly clouded by my feelings. Has Caleb been playing me, this whole time? I don’t think so. But what if I’m wrong?