Page 43 of Rock the Cradle of Love
He pulls her into a hug. “I have to, Suze. Noah and Emma need me more than Bud does. Please understand. Please be the one person not giving me any grief about this. I love him and if I can salvage our relationship, then I have to try. And that means I have to be there before the hearing.”
“Okay, Taylor, okay…” she mumbles into his chest. “What am I going to tell everyone?”
“I’llcall Mom and Dad from the airport, okay? I’ll tell them the truth, Suzie Q. If this family can’t cut me some slack after everything I’ve done, then, I don’t even know. But funerals are for the living, not for the dead, and the best way for me to honor Bud’s memory is by going after my man.”
Chapter Fourteen
The last twelve hours have been a whirlwind of activity. Between the taxi ride from his hometown to the airport, the flight with a two-hour layover in Chicago, and a two-hour taxi ride home because of an accident, Taylor’d spent all day traveling. Add on the three days of crazy back home and not getting much sleep last night, he’s exhausted. He showers and repacks his duffel bag. He’s got a couple of errands to run and another three hours of driving ahead of him, though. He has to get to Noah.
He hits another McDonald’s for something really bad for him but comforting. The cashier does a double take when he hands her his debit card. The excited expression that takes over her face brightens his outlook a little. At least someone is happy to see him. With a wink he doesn’t really feel, he hands her an autographed picture from the stash in his glove box and a twenty-dollar bill. “For you. Have a good evening.”
Her “Oh my God, thank you” helps to thaw the cold ball of worry sitting in his stomach a little more.
Once he leaves the Fort Worth city limits, he tries to remember his and Noah’s fight, to remember again what he said, to work out what he’s going to say. Although there’s not much to say, really, except the truth about why he went dark, and hope that that’s enough to get Noah to agree to a conversation about his epic fuck up.
Even if things don’t end up working out, Taylor still needs to be there to show his support in whatever way Noah will let him. His knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel. The thought of Noah losing Emma makes him sick; he can’t imagine how Noah’s feeling.
It’s just after seven p.m. when he pulls up to the curb in front of Mrs. Drinkwater’s house. Noah’s truck is parked in the driveway. Taylor’s hand trembles as he pulls the key from the ignition.
Mrs. Drinkwater’s house is a three-story Victorian with a sky blue, teal, and cream color scheme. It’s comfortable-classy Bohemian and nothing like the farmhouse he grew up in.
Taylor grabs a couple of things from the back of his Wrangler and plods up the stairs. He sees lights on, so someone’s home at least. He rings the doorbell and waits. His heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest and his stomach gurgles with nerves.
The door swings open and Noah stands there in a pair of shorts and a turquoise-colored polo shirt that makes his eyes look like tropical lagoons. Emma’s perched on one arm. Noah’s mouth drops open and then snaps closed again, his jaw clenches. Emma spots Taylor a moment later and a gummy grin spreads across her chubby cheeks. She swings his direction, and Noah has to steady her with his other hand to her side.
Tears sting the corners of Taylor’s eyes. He’s missed his Pretty Pretty Princess more than he realized. He wants to swoop her up and cuddle her close. But he can’t. Not yet anyway.
Taylor holds up the mini Rotors jersey with Noah’s name and number on the back he bought in one hand—it was the only thing he could think of on short notice that signified Emma becoming Noah’s—and a large bouquet of coral-colored roses in the other. “Hi.”
Noah’s gaze skims Taylor’s offerings, Taylor’s slacks and button-down, and meets Taylor’s gaze. “What are you even doing here?” he asks. “I don’t need this right now.”
Noah’s terse, but not overtly rude. Taylor will take what he can get. “Look, Noah…”
“I can’t.” Noah steps back.
“Uncle Bud died,” Taylor blurts. “I flew home.”
Noah halts and his face contorts through several expressions. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Taylor. How was the funeral?”
Taylor shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s not until eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Noah blinks, cocks his head as if he can’t quite grasp what he’s hearing. “Tomorrow?”
Taylor nods.
“Why aren’t you in Foley?”
“Because I needed to be here.”
Mrs. Drinkwater appears at Noah’s elbow, a neutral expression on her face. “Hello, Taylor.”
“Hi, Mrs. Drinkwater, it’s good to see you again. I wish it were under different circumstances.”
“Me too, sweetheart.” She reaches for Emma, who’s wearing pink polka-dotted pajamas. She’s got one sock on and the other is missing. “Let me take her, hmm?”
“Thanks, Mom.” Noah hands over Emma.
Taylor hands over the jersey.
