Page 118 of Speak of the Devil

“Of course,” I say. Sitting down, I wrap my arm around her to help her shift and find a comfortable spot.

“Thanks. Have I mentioned today that I miss my waist?”

Chuckling, I reply, “Not today.”

“I love these babies dearly, but I did not foresee this,” she says, widening her arms, “situation happening.” She clicks on the remote. “Of course twins weren’t on my radar either, so there is that.”

I’m not sure if she’s looking for an apology or someone to listen. I do both because it’s not about me. This gorgeous woman is having my babies. The least I can do is lend an ear. “The Faris genes are strong.” Not quite an apology, but she gets me.

I set a glass of water next to her and hand her the bag. “I’m going to the studio to play for a while. I’m working out a new rhythm I want to bring to the next album.”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

“Text me if you need anything. Soundproof room. I won’t hear you otherwise.”

Sweating and exhausting my muscles, I hit as hard as I can on this new custom drum kit. Ergonomic and fucking loud. It’s fantastic. I can play longer and intend to be in the best shape of my life for the tour next fall.

The door catches my eyes when it opens, so I park my sticks on top of the rim. Cat peeks in and then enters, belly first, my beautiful girl. “It’s after midnight.”

“Did I keep you up?”

“No. I just miss you. I fell asleep but woke up, and you hadn’t come to bed.”

Picking up my sticks, I tap lightly, then spin them between my fingers. “I’ve been hitting the shit out of these drums. I like them. They’re tight and loud. They remind me of you.”

“I’m going to take that as the compliment it was intended to be.” She crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the doorframe. “Talk to me. What’s on your mind?”

“What’s the plan after the babies come?”

“Plan sounds monumental right now.”

I drop the sticks in the pouch and call it a night. Getting up, I cross the room and lean against the door in front of her. “What’s your plan?”

We’ve talked about this a few times, keeping things light and skirting the real issues. I’m not generally one to make a lot of “plans,” but I think we need to. She’s rubbing off on me.

She takes my hand and leads me into our bathroom, knowing me well enough to know that’s what’s next for me. “I love my job.”

“I know. I want to support you however I can, but we have two babies coming soon. We need to have people in place if we’re hiring one or two someones.” I reach in and start the shower.

Sitting on a chair in front of the mirror, she says, “I love my job, but I want to be home with them. If I were to spend money, I’d spend it on time raising the babies.”

I go to her, kneeling in front of my goddess. “When I’m not on tour, I’ll be here with you, or you can work part-time. We can do anything that you want. I just think we need to plan for that.”

“I’ll think about it, okay?” Kissing her forehead, I then rise to my full height. “I’m going to take a shower, and then I’m going to make you feel so good that you’ll?—”

“Scream your name?”

“It’s an excellent start.”

She crinkles her nose. “It’s more of an ending, but I’ll give you credit where it’s due. Your talents extend way beyond the stage. You should probably come with a warning.”

“I thought everyone already knew what they say about drummers?”

She’s already smiling. No one else would put up with my shit like she does. “What do they say?” She humors me.

“Drummers hit it harder.”

Rubbing her stomach, she says, “I have the evidence to prove it.”

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