Page 77 of Life After You

But I’m ready to go.

A knock at the door makes me pause, and before I can answer, Clay pushes it open. His brown hair is even messier than usual, and his green eyes sweep over my suitcase before settling on me, lips quirking.

“So, you’re really doing it?”

I nod, a nervous laugh slipping out. “I’m one hundred percent committed at this point.”

He leans against the door frame, arms crossed. “You packed everything?”

I glance at my overstuffed bag. “Define everything.”

Clay snorts. “Whatever you don’t pack, we can FedEx to you or whatever, so there is nothing to worry about.”

I roll my eyes, shoving a pair of sneakers into my backpack. “Oh, shut up. This is not going to be forever, and I don’t care what twists or turns happen, you and Dean are, as Patty said to me, kin. So, I will expect updates. I want to know all about your love life, Dean’s, and his… friends…”

He grins, but then his expression softens. “I’m happy for you, Kayla. Really. I know Dean is too… you were kind of a good influence on him.”

Emotion tugs at my chest. “Thanks, Clay.”

Before the moment becomes too much—because I have absolutely cried enough for two lifetimes—Dean’s booming voice echoes from the hallway. “Am I going to get a goodbye, or are you just gonna sneak out?”

Smiling, I step past Clay and into the hall, where Dean stands with his arms crossed. His eyes are serious, but there’s something in them that makes my throat tighten.

I force a smirk. “Nope, not saying the ‘g’ word as it's cursed, plus I figured if I didn’t say anything, you wouldn’t get all weepy on me.”

Dean snorts. “Oh, please. If anyone’s crying, it’ll be you the second you realize tour life is just a bunch of sweaty guys, shitty food, and no sleep.”

I laugh, but the truth is, I might cry—because I’m really going to miss them.

I step forward and wrap my arms around his broad frame, squeezing tight. “Thank you, Dean. For everything.”

His hand lands on top of my head, ruffling my hair like I’m just a kid. “You ever need anything, you call me, got it?”

I nod against his chest, then pull back, eyes suspiciously damp.

Dean clears his throat, shifting his weight. “And don’t worry about Braden’s car. I’ll keep her in top shape until you and Logan come back for her.”

A lump forms in my throat at the mention of my brother’s Dodge Charger—the car Logan took when he came looking for me. The car that still smells like Braden when you sit inside.

I swallow hard. “Thank you. We’ll come pick it up after this leg of the tour. Logan is probably going to be all huffy, but I can hardly see over the steering wheel, and I am not buying a booster seat.”

Dean nods, expression unreadable, but I see the way his jaw tightens—the weight of what home really means lingering between us.

Clay claps his hands together, breaking the moment. “Okay, well, with that visual, I know what Santa is going to be bringing you for Christmas, shorty… shorty in the vertically challenged sense and not the… So, do you need a ride to the airport, orare you planning on dragging that suitcase all the way there yourself?”

I arch a brow. “How can I say no to that, Dr. Thompson?”

He shrugs. “I’m not a doctor yet.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, alright. Let’s go before I start bawling like a baby.”

Dean groans. “Get her out of here already. Too much estrogen in the air.”

Clay grabs my suitcase, throwing an arm around my shoulder as he leads me out. “C’mon then, let’s get you your rockstar.”

As we step outside, the morning air crisp around us, the excitement in my chest makes me feel fidgety.

I can’t believe it’s happening.

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