Page 92 of Finding Home

“What?”

Caleb lifts the sheet, revealing his straining hard-on. “I’m hard for you again.”

I chuckle. “In world-record speed.”

Caleb waggles his eyebrows, making me giggle. “That’s what happens when a guy is madly in love, happier than he’s ever been, and lying naked next to the human equivalent of an atomic bomb.”

Chapter 35

Caleb

“Amy was easily the worst PA I’d ever had,” I say to the assembled group standing around me, much to Amy’s giggling delight. It's my “Meet My Daughter!” party at my house. A small gathering, by design. Only about fifteen guests have been invited, not counting the three toddlers, including Raine, who are now fast asleep in Raine’s frilly bedroom in the back of the house.

Aubrey’s parents schmoozed at the party earlier, mostly to help us keep track of Raine. But when our baby girl got tired and started melting down, they took her and the other two toddlers in attendance tonight—Amy and Colin’s two-year-old, Rocco, and Fish and Ally’s small son, Winston—into Raine’s bedroom. Somehow, not sure how, the Capshaws masterfully managed to put all three little ones to bed before crashing themselves across the hall with a baby monitor.

The only people still not here? Dax and Violet. Thankfully, they accepted my invitation last week; but they warned they might be “a little late,” due to some event with their kid, Jackson. This feels like more than “a little late,”though. Did they change their minds about coming? I wouldn’t be surprised. If I were them, I wouldn’t give me a second chance, either.

“Yep, I was a hot mess wrapped inside a shit sandwich,” Amy says adorably, agreeing with my assessment of her early performance as my PA.

“A human festival of feces,” I agree.

“Caleb,” Aubrey murmurs, her features aghast. When Amy giggles at my latest insult, Aubrey adds, “Don’t let him be so mean to you, Amy. My gosh, Caleb.”

“No, no, he’s right,” Amy interjects. “I was so nervous around Caleb at first, I spilled scalding hot coffee all over his crotch on the first day.” She snorts. “I thought for sure Caleb was going to fire me before the first week was done.”

“I would have, if not for my loyalty to Colin.”

I grip Colin’s shoulder next to me to emphasize the point, and Colin does what he always does at this point in our storytelling. He murmurs, “I’m thankful to you for that, my brother. If not for you, I wouldn’t be standing here with Amy now.”

It’s our usual party trick, Amy’s and mine: telling this funny story. Sometimes, with an assist from Colin. Tonight, we’re telling it mostly for the benefit of Aubrey, since pretty much everyone else standing around us—22 Goats’ bass player, Fish; Fish’s wife, Alessandra; my three bandmates; my sister; and a couple members of the band, Fugitive Summer—have already heard this story. Multiple times, probably. Although, come to think of it, some of them have likely heard it while shitfaced or high, so this might as well be their first time hearing it.

As Amy continues the usual highlights of our story, I glance at the front door, once again. When it shows nosigns of opening any time soon, I return to the conversation.

“That’s why Caleb initially nicknamed me ‘unicorn,’” Amy says. “Because of that huge welt on my forehead.”

Everyone laughs.

I missed the lead-up to that comment, due to my wandering attention, but I know what she’s talking about. On day one or two of the tour, Amy walked into a backstage dressing room and happened upon Reed Rivers, the founder of my record label, voraciously eating a journalist’s pussy on a couch. Amy being Amy, she turned and fled . . . and smacked straight into a wall in her agitation, immediately causing a welt the size of a unicorn horn to grow out her forehead.

“The horn was the reason for the nickname at first,” I contribute. “But Ikeptcalling her that throughout the tour, when it became clear she’d somehow morphed into the best damned PA I’d ever had.”

“Aw,” Amy says, as Aubrey says the same.

“Was Reed Rivers mad at you for walking in on him?” Aubrey asks.

Amy snorts. “Actually, I think he was nothing but deeply amused. It certainly helps that he wound up marrying that journalist.”

Aubrey asks another question, which Amy answers, but I don’t hear a word of the exchange. For some reason, being reminded that Reed Rivers of all people took the plunge and got married—I mean, that guy used to be the biggest player this side of the sun—suddenly makes me realize something shocking. Undeniable. Amazing. I want to marry Aubrey.Not only that, I want to do it, as soon as possible. Why wait? We love each other, and we love Raine. I never want to spend asingle day away from her, so what’s the point in dragging things out?

“Uh, excuse me,” I say, my heart thumping in my ears. “Bathroom.”

I spot my sister chatting flirtatiously with one of the members of Fugitive Summer—their bass player, Kai. But when I catch Miranda’s eye and flash her a look, she says something to Kai and follows me into a hallway.

“What’s up?” Miranda whispers, her eyebrows raised.

“I need to get an engagement ring for Aubrey. I want to propose, as soon as possible.”

Miranda gasps. “Oh my gosh. When?”

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