Page 9 of Pucking My Off-Limits Billionaire Boss
The city lights flicker as if in mourning for the dream that Seattle once held for me. But as the laptop screen fades to black, I realize that maybe, just maybe, Cedarwood isn't a step backward but a different path forward.
And perhaps, there's a new dream waiting for me there, among the evergreens and the memories of what once was.
4
Jake
Cruisingdownthehighwaywith my three-year-old co-pilot, Carter, we're jamming out to some classic rock—"Sweet Child O' Mine" by Guns N' Roses. The song's blaring through the speakers, and I'm belting out the lyrics with the kind of enthusiasm that should be embarrassing but isn't. Not when you're in your element.
"Come on, buddy, sing it with me!" I urge, glancing at him through the rearview mirror. Carter's strapped in his car seat, clutching his beloved little blue bunny, Chuck, and wearing a look of mild amusement at his dad's antics.
"Daddy, too loud!" he protests at first, but I see his foot tapping along to the beat.
I turn the volume down a notch. "How about now, dude? You know this one!"
He grins, a gap-toothed smile that's all innocence and mischief, and in his high-pitched, childlike voice, starts singing along. "Sweet chiwd o' mine," he attempts, getting about every third word right. It's the cutest rendition I've ever heard, and I can't help but laugh.
"Perfect, buddy, keep it going!" I encourage him, feeling a swell of pride. Carter's got the music in him, just like his old man.
As we drive, the familiar sights of the Pacific Northwest surround us—towering pine trees shrouded in mist, the air crisp and fresh, a stark contrast to the city smog I've gotten used to. I roll down the windows, letting the earthy scent fill the car, grounding me in the memories of my childhood.
Soon, we crest a hill, and there it is—Cedarwood, laid out before us. The sight of my hometown always brings a mix of nostalgia and something like relief. It's like stepping back into a simpler time, a reminder of where I came from.
I can't help but grin as I take in the view. "Look, Carter, that's where Daddy grew up. Pretty cool, huh?"
Carter presses his face against the window, his eyes wide with the kind of wonder only a kid can have. "Wow, Daddy, it's big!"
I laugh, his awe infectious. "It's not as big as LA, but it's got its charms. You'll see."
We start our descent into Cedarwood, the town coming into clearer view—the quaint main street, the local park where I learned to skate, and in the distance, the high school where it all began... and ended, in a way.
"Ready to meet some new friends, buddy?" I ask Carter, already anticipating the playdates and park adventures we'll have.
He nods enthusiastically, Chuck held aloft like a talisman for this new chapter in our lives. "New fwiends!" he declares.
As I drive through the streets, memories flood back—of late-night escapades, of dreams dreamt under these wide-open skies.
Pulling up to my parents' house, a sense of familiarity washes over me. It's a charming, two-story home, with a wraparound porch that has seen countless summer evenings and lazy Sunday mornings. I'm temporarily crashing here with Carter until I find a place of our own. I turn off the engine and unstrap Carter, who's already bouncing in his seat with excitement.
"Are we at gramps and granny's?" Carter's voice is full of anticipation, his eyes wide as he peers out the window.
"Yeah, buddy, we're here," I say, opening his door and lifting him out.
As we approach, I see my parents waiting on the porch, their faces lit up with smiles that mirror my own. It's a beautiful spring day, the kind that reminds you of new beginnings and fresh starts. The yard is blooming with flowers, a testament to my mom's green thumb.
"Granny! Gramps!" Carter yells, wriggling out of my arms and running toward them.
My mom scoops him up, showering him with kisses, while my dad ruffles his hair, his eyes crinkling with joy. "Look how big you've gotten!" my mom exclaims, hugging Carter close.
I follow, feeling a warmth in my chest as I watch the reunion. There's something about coming back to where you grew up, to the people who shaped you, that feels grounding.
"Welcome home, Jake," my dad says, clapping me on the back as I step onto the porch.
"Thanks, Dad. It's good to be back," I reply, taking in the familiar sights and smells of home.
We all head inside, the house just as I remember it—cozy, lived-in, and filled with memories. I note with relief how well-kept everything looks, remembering the scare a few years back when my parents were nearly overwhelmed by debts. But they managed to turn things around, and now their bed and breakfast is thriving, a popular spot for tourists and locals alike.
In the living room, Carter immediately spots the pile of new toys my parents have gotten for him. His squeals of delight fill the room as he dives in, exploring each one with the enthusiasm only a three-year-old can muster.
