Page 92 of Audiophile

“If I’m okay with it? Reed, I—God, I—” I trip over three irrational words that nearly burst out of my mouth. “I’m more than okay with it.”

Reed’s voice grows tender on the other end of the line. “Thought so. I can’t wait to see you.”

My dark-hearted mushroom of a dream creeps out into a ray of sunshine beaming in my chest. It grows rapidly, filling me with an optimism I’m unfamiliar with. I could have everything—my family, my book, Reed. It’s all within reach. “Me too. I’ve missed you,tesoro.”

“Darling Petra, I’ve missed you too. Now, I want our scene, and then I want to lay with you and hear about everything you’ve been up to since I left. Lean back, and put your hands on your knees, baby. From now until I say otherwise, those hands are mine. Mine to do with as I please, and there will be no skipping ahead.”

My breath catches as fire burns down my throat and coils in my belly. “Yes, sir. Under one condition—your hands aremine.”

Chapter thirty-five

Reed

APRIL

I’m counting down thedays until I land in Portland. If I needed any further proof that I want to be there, the extra time in Coralville provides it. This place chafes the same way it did when I was a teenager.

When I announce that Daddy Knight Productions is switching to archive only, a surprising number of fans come out of the woodwork to support me and my new ventures. It’s a happy shift, for the most part. Except Kinley becomes relentless. She calls nonstop, hounds me however she can, bombards me on social media until I suspend the DKP account entirely.

When I go to Portland, I’m changing my number again and starting fresh with Petra.

The only thing that has kept me sane over the last two weeks are the hours I spend on the phone with her. We call nearly every morning, after work, and before bed. Each conversation leaves me longing for more. Each step she takes to move forward makes me proud, and pushes me to do the same.

Each phone call makes me fall more in love with her. When she hangs up, I ache to call her again. If I could, I’d spend all day with her voice in my ear.

She was pulling away—I couldfeelher stretching away from me and taking my heart with her. If she hadn’t answered by thatweekend, I would’ve switched my flight to speak to her in person. But my cheeky Pet merely needed a tug to snap right back to me. She’s my rubber band, and no way in hell am I letting her pull away again. I’m addicted to her laugh, her sigh, her mischievous smile, her hands on my skin.

But Petra is at work, and I promised Amanda a family lunch today. I bring a pack with my recording equipment, hoping to get some giggles out of the girls. The world constantly surprises me, and not having my mic is like being naked—unprepared.

I offer to pick Mom up and drive her to lunch. Her cheerfully blue front door is soher, and leaves me guessing what Petra might choose. Cream can’t possibly be herrealfavorite color.

Mom greets me with a hug and a smile. Her inquisition lasts the entire car ride to the park. Apparently, she gave up trying to get me to slow down and is now light-speed ahead. “When is your storage pod arriving at the house? How is the neighborhood? What’s the crime rate? Is this a starter house, or will you be there for a while? What does Petra do? What are her parents like? Does she want babies? Do you have a guest room?”

I miss when she was reprimanding me.

I dodge as many questions as I can, but when we get to the park, I practically leap out of the car to give Amanda a hand. “How’re my girls?” I ask, swinging Brooke into my arms before I lean in to plead with Amanda. “Save me!”

Amanda laughs and pulls Mom in for a hug. “Did he show you pictures of the house?” Amanda asks, spurring Mom on. “It’s beautiful, though it needs some work.”

“I want to see,” Mom says, picking up Janie. “Don’t you want to see, Janie?”

“I want to see!” she yells. Sighing, I pull out my phone and scroll through photos of the new house. Janie gets bored fast, and would rather join Brooke on the slides. “She’s pretty,” Janie comments as I swipe out of my photos so Mom can put her down. My home screen is the photo of Petra and I in front of the waterfall.

“Is that her?” Mom asks, pulling my phone closer. “Do you have more? She has pretty eyes.”

I’ve never seen prettier eyes than Petra’s, but if we scroll through all my photos she’s going to see Petra’s silky, bare spine exposed above crisp, white sheets. When Mom prods me for more, I pull a face at Amanda.

“Mom, we need a selfie!” she says.

I take the opportunity to stick my phone in my recording bag and lock it in my car. It’s the only way to avoid hours of them swiping through my phone, and at least with my recorder in hand I can still soak up these moments.

“I want one with all three of us, too. Get in here, Reed! Oh, it’s so cute! I’m going to tag Grant, too, and shame him fornever visiting.” Amanda cackles.“Going to eat your favorite BLT without you, jerk. #CoralvilleisbetterthanChicago.”

I roll my eyes at Amanda, and Mom and I walk to the play structure to look after Brooke and Janie. They don’t need us as they race across the equipment with several other kids. It’s not until Mom and I settle on a nearby bench that she pesters me again. “Send me the photo of you and Petra at the falls, Reed. You look so happy. I love seeing you so at peace.”

“I will later,” I promise. “I left it in the car. Better to be present with you guys than on my phone.”

“New concept for you. Is that what Petra is like?” Amanda asks, eyebrows raised.

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