Page 44 of Side Trip

She feels the impact of the emotions moving through him in the center of her own chest. Tears fill her eyes. “Yes. Yes, I do,” she says, unable to contain her smile. His elation is contagious. “I’m sorry I made you wait this long.”

A ragged breath falls from his lips. “I was beginning to think that you changed your mind about kids.” He impatiently swipes off a tear that spilled down his cheek. He laughs, flustered. “Shit. I can’t believe I’m crying.”

She grasps his face with both hands. “I love that you’re crying. I love you.” She kisses him.

Mark latches an arm behind her knees and scoops her up.

Joy gasps. “What’re you doing?”

“Making love to my wife.” He carries her to the bed.

“What about dinner? Or your back rub?”

“Fuck food. Dinner, back rub, everything can wait. We have a baby to make.”

CHAPTER 14

BEFORE

Dylan

Albuquerque, New Mexico, to Adrian, Texas

“Side trip!”

Dylan jolted awake, sitting upright, only to slam back into his seat when the seat belt locked. He grunted.

Joy braked, veering onto the highway’s shoulder.

“What the fuck?” Dylan rubbed both hands down his face. He fumbled for his Dodgers cap, put it back on his head.

“We’re in Adrian, the geomathematical midpoint of Route 66,” Joy cheerily announced. She pointed at the welcome sign outside the windshield. Sure enough, they were halfway to Chicago. Only 1,139 miles to go.

Only 1,139 miles left of performing in public hell. Kill him now.

Joy yanked the aux cord from the base of her phone. “Photo op! Come on.” She opened her door.

What happened to their deal?

“I didn’t agree to this side trip.”

Joy stilled, halfway out of the car, and gawked at him. “We can’tnotstop here. This is a big deal. And look.” She thrust an arm out the door, palm flat and up, fingers splayed. “There’s a café across the street. Let’s grab dinner. I’m starved.”

Dylan groaned and put on his shoes. He pushed open his door with his foot and did a slow roll from the car. Joy skipped to the sign.

“Are you always this chipper?” He fired the shot.

“Are you always a grump?” Shot returned. She didn’t even blink.

Dick was more like it. After the street gig he had to play earlier today he was feeling salty. Perfectly content to wallow in his vat of sodium chloride. Sting, baby, sting. Rub those coarse granules deep into his festering wound of self-pity.

He hated being startled awake. Jack always did that. He’d body flop on Dylan when he was in a dead sleep and tickle him until he felt like he was going to puke. “Guitars awaitin’,” Jack would growl into his ear, his dad’s breath stale and body ripe from the previous night’s bender. “They won’t tune themselves.”

Dylan raised his arms, hands clasped, and stretched. His back ached from standing on his feet for several hours with his Gibson hanging from his neck.

Joy gave him her phone and stood beside the sign. “Pics or it didn’t happen. Just one, please.”

She had him take five. He gave back her phone and she scrolled through her camera roll. “Perfect.” She flashed him the photo, her face in profile, her smile bright, her hip cocked, and her legs long and tan. The setting sun cast her in the perfect light. She was golden in the golden hour, and she looked freaking phenomenal. He almost asked her to text him the photo.

---