She reaches her little arms out to him and says, “Mine.”
“How did Barky get out of your crib?” I ask, putting a hand up to stop Ryan from handing it to her. This throwing the fucking dog out and then pitching a fit about it business has to stop. The kid sniffles and just stares at me with knitted brows and a seriously ticked-off expression on her tiny little mug. I repeat the question and wait for her answer. Zander was a hot mess and was throwing his toys until he was three, but I learned this time. Sometimes I feel bad for my girl that she’s second in line and I’ve learned from raising her brother—she doesn’t get away with even half the shit he used to.
“Don’t know.” Well, she can say those two words almost as clearly as she can say no. I’m all about learning and growing as a person, but couldn’t she learn something other than sass? That answer doesn’t work for me, so I continue to wait.
Finally she tries to tell me some kind of complicated story. At least that’s what I’m inferring from the baby babble. It’s not really English and makes absolutely no sense, but it sounds an awful lot like an excuse.
“Stop throwing Barky, baby girl,” I say and let Ryan hand him over. She sits back down, hugging her dog and babbling to herself.
With the crisis averted, Ryan goes back to packing shit up. I refuse to let him touch my stuff and instead opt for packing it up myself. We didn’t bring much with us, just what would fit in my SUV and Elle’s stepdad’s truck bed. Everything else was put on a big-ass moving truck to arrive later.
I take a deep breath and try to focus on the task at hand. If I think too much about what’s coming, I’m going to make myself sick. I just need Wyatt here to tell me where we’re going and what’s going on. I want him to do that annoying fucking thing he’s been doing lately where he kisses my forehead when he sees me. It drives me nuts, but right now I need that contact. Everything keeps changing in my life and my kids’ lives, and it’s fucking scary. My life was stagnant for years, and now, in a matter of weeks, everything has flipped upside down.
The panic creeps in, sending boulders at my chest, butterflies to my stomach, and a shiver up my spine. I’m trying so hard to hold it together, facing the wall so nobody can see my face and focusing on keeping my breathing regulated, but nothing is working. Finally I resort to the one thing I know will help—Wyatt.
I fire off a quick text with the only thing I need to say: I NEED YOU.
CHAPTER 15
It’s been thirty-seven minutes and still no response from Wyatt. Jeremy got some kind of call as we were leaving the house to which he told the caller, “She’s fine,” and then promptly hung up. And now, for the second time this month, I’m being forced to ride as a passenger in my own vehicle. The first time was to prevent an escape, but this time is just stupid.
“Pres told me not to let you out of my sight,” Jeremy said when he slid behind the wheel. Much to my dismay, Diesel nabbed shotgun and left me in the backseat with Piper. I could’ve complained, but it would have gotten me nowhere. I doubt any of the boys would understand what I was complaining about anyway. Ryan and Bear took the Suburban and headed out after us. We’ve gotten on the highway, and we’re heading north into town now. Highway 101 lines the California coastline, oftentimes veering in and out of one small town after another, where it becomes a central street with stoplights and businesses before turning back into a real highway again just beyond the city limits. Before I got too pregnant to ride, Wyatt took me up the coast, and we tooled through at least four small towns before it got late and we headed back. That night he told me something he’d never said before—and something he’s never said since—that he was hoping for Baby Z. That’s always been one of my favorite memories of California. Actually it’s one of my favorite memories ever. It’s the only thing that ever pulls me out of the suffocating depression that sometimes kicks in. When Zander was a baby and I could barely get out of bed to care for him, knowing Wyatt wanted him—even if he wasn’t there—was the only thing that motivated me to make sure he was well cared for.
“Where are we going?” Zander asks.