Page 73 of Finding Home

Either way, this is a good reminder for me to remain vigilant. Keep myself on high alert. Even if I imagined danger lurking tonight, there’s still evil out there. A monster of a man who’s hell-bent on taking my daughter from me and then almost certainly doing to her what he did to his poor daughter.

I take a deep, steadying breath and start marching toward the house, as one thought plays in my head on a running loop:God as my witness, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my family from Ralph Beaumont or anyone else who tries to harm them.

Chapter 28

Aubrey

“Holy guacamole, Coobie,” I say, looking around Caleb’s sprawling living room.

“Gooby-gabby-momo,” Raine echoes in front of me, attempting to mimic my exclamation. Of course, Caleb and I guffaw at her attempt.

The three of us, sans Miranda—we parted ways with Caleb’s sister at LAX—have just stepped inside Caleb’s sprawling, modern beach house in Santa Monica, and it’s beyond anything my feeble mind could have conjured. As it turns out, Caleb lives his “real life” in LA as the wealthy rock superstar he is, not the wood-working, drum-banging, mountain man I’ve come to know and love in Montana. As I’m now seeing, he’s a man who prefers sleek lines and modern glass in his chosen living accommodations, rather than cozy, rustic wood, stone fireplaces, and exposed beams.

I should have predicted this. Caleb onlyinheritedhis grandpa’s cozy wooden lake house, whereas heboughtthis home, out of all the options available at his hefty budget. If I’d been thinking clearly, I would have expected Caleb tochoose to live in luxury like this. The man loves spending money, after all. I found that out during our first shopping spree in Billings. And he’s had a lot of it for a very long time. For almost fifteen years now, Caleb’s been accumulating insane amounts of wealth while living a “single rockstar” lifestyle. One unfettered by typical adult responsibilities and the usual guard rails that keep the rest of us in check.

When Caleb told me about his house in LA during our flight today, I pictured him living in a cute little beachside bungalow, since he only described his place as being “right on the beach.” Caleb explained, “There’s a little staircase from my property down to the beach below, so, it’ll be easy to go back and forth all day long, just like we do back home at the lake.”

Yep. Caleb used the wordhomein relation to his lake house in Montana today on the plane. And don’t think I didn’t feel giddy about it, even though I knew his word choice might have been a simple slip of the tongue.

“Do you see the ocean, Shortcake?” Caleb asks Raine, gesturing to floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite side of the expansive room. “We can swim in it, just like we do in the lake back home.”

There it is again!Home.

“Datocean?” Rainey asks with wide-eyed astonishment, even though Claudia and I—sometimes, with Claudia’s mother, before she got sick—used to take Raine to the ocean all the time in Seattle. Apparently, Raine doesn’t remember those beach days now; or if she does, the grey, tumultuous version of the sea she visited in Washington doesn’t bear enough of a resemblance to the glittering, sapphire-blue ocean in California to trigger her rapidly vanishing memories.

“Would you ladies like a tour?” Caleb asks, an adorable grin on his handsome face.

“Right after I take Little Miss Can-I-Have-a-Second-Juice-Box-in-the-Car to a potty.”

Caleb chuckles and points toward a hallway. “Right through there on the left.”

“Dadda do it?” Raine asks to my surprise. I’m always the one who deals with Raine’s potty breaks, not Caleb.

“You’ve got it, kiddo!” Caleb booms. “I’ll race you there!” He takes off running. Or, at least, he pretends to. And Raine toddles gleefully after him.

I’m now alone in Mr. Rockstar’s living room, surrounded by photos and memorabilia: the artifacts of Caleb’s superstar life away from Montana.

Slowly, I amble around the room perusing everything like there’s going to be a pop quiz later. It’s all deeply fascinating to me. Like seeing another version of Caleb on a different timeline. There are framed platinum records, album covers, and memorabilia; photos of Caleb with smiling people who seem to be other famous musicians, based on context clues. There’s a pair of framed drumsticks bearing a signature I can’t read. A signed guitar, too. Several framed magazine covers.

I lean in close to study one magazine in particular: a copy ofRock ‘n’ Rollthat features Caleb as its cover model. He’s got a mohawk in the photo, which normally wouldn’t be my thing, but on Caleb it’s a damned good look, especially when paired with the over-the-top snarl he’s wearing. He’s flexing his muscular arm in the shot—showing off a tattoo on his bicep: a classic cartoon bomb emblazoned with a “C.”

I’ve seen that same tattoo countless times in person. Every day for the past month. I’ve even kissed it, manytimes. But, somehow, seeing the tattoo on the cover of a wildly popular, iconic music magazine and presented as pop culture iconography is making me see Caleb through a whole new lens. No wonder Claudia was always so infatuated with him. He’s one hell of a sexy beast. Dangerous. Wild. Hot as fuck.

I continue my tour of the room, feeling a bit off-kilter and confused. I knew this side of Caleb’s life exists. The fame and money. The rarified, celebrity air he’s been breathing for well over a decade. But, still, the simple life we’ve shared for the past month is so far removed from this stuff, I’m finding this slingshot back to reality a bit jarring.

“I went poopie in da potty, my Aubbey!” Raine screeches happily, as she runs back into the room. For a while now, Raine’s been calling me “Aubbey” and “my Aubbey,” rather than “Auntie Aubbey.” Not sure when it started, exactly, but it feels natural and right at this point.

“Yep, she pooped like a champ,” Caleb declares with a laugh, entering the room behind his daughter. “Never let it be said my daughter sucks at anything, even pooping.”

I snort-laugh.

“And yes, I made sure she washed her hands for the full length of ‘The Birthday Song,’” Caleb says with a wink. He claps his palms together. “So, ladies, are we ready for that house tour now?”

“Ready!” Raine shrieks at the top of her little lungs. To emphasize her readiness, she performs an enthusiastic shimmy that makes her look like an upright worm on a hook. Does that child even know what a house tour is? More likely than not, this is yet another case of Raine buying whatever her brawny Dadda is selling, whether she understand it or not.

“Hop aboard the tour bus, Shortcake,” Caleb says,crouching down to offer his back to Raine. When she’s safely cleaved to his backside, and his strong hands are firmly holding her tiny legs in place, Caleb begins showing us around his gorgeous home.

The kitchen is filled with endless white cupboards, gleaming steel, and stunning tile accents. On the way out, I make a mental note to do a sweep for booze when the tour is over.

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