Page 101 of Embracing the Beat
Your stuff is in West’s bedroom.
Rolling my eyes at my own stupidity—again—I creep down the hallway and peek around the corner. Empty. Rushing inside, I grab the few things in his room and sprint to my bedroom, closing and locking that door as well.
Not like a locked door would stop him.
But that was before.
And a whole lot has changed between then and now.
Was he really pretending?
Maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did.
Story of my life.
But not anymore.
I toss as many clothes in a bag as I can, picking up my all-but-forgotten guitar from where I stowed it in my closet. My phone pings. The text from Mia has my flight details and tells me to order a Lyft on her account.
Her thoughtfulness overwhelms me, and I sniff back tears and sit on the bed. How am I going to do this?
“Same way you always have, Kayla. Exactly the same way. One foot in front of the other.”
Following my own advice, I head down the stairs to the empty living room. I have no idea where West and my parents are, but the Lyft I ordered is now three minutes away. Glancing around the living room, I take in the family photos. Lucas and Sawyer standing next to each other as kids and holding me as I screamed at the camera, Sawyer and West in Boy Scout uniforms, Lucas when he graduated from high school and college, Sawyer in his Army uniform before he left. There are so many pictures, and too many include West.
What will happen when the baby comes? Will he still deny him or her when the resemblance is clear? What will Mom and Dad say? Or Sawyer? Lucas? Will they side with West? Tell me they expected this? My phone chimes, telling me the driver is here, so I grab my bag and my case, closing and locking the door behind me. It seems fitting. There’s no one here to see me off.
Alone again. But not quite.
“You want some help?” the driver asks, and I shake my head.
“No thanks, I got it.”
“Nonsense. My wife would kill me if I didn’t offer to help.” He steps out of the car, rushing to grab my bag and my guitar case before motioning to the car.
“Thank you.”
“Airport?” he asks, closing the trunk.
I nod. “Please,” I say and slide into the back, relaxing into the seat behind me.
We don’t say much else, and I pull out my phone and send a text to my mom.
MICHAELA: Hey, Mom, thanks for letting me stay, but heading back to CA for work.
It takes a few minutes, but her response finally comes.
MOM: Already?
MOM: I’ll be home in a minute. We can talk about it then. Sawyer’s coming tonight.
Shit. I’d forgotten. Too late now.
MICHAELA: I’m already on my way to the airport.
MOM: Michaela Grace! A little notice would have been nice.
MICHAELA: Sorry.
