Page 106 of Voice to Raise
“We’re not all dragging our butts to Vegas.” Meg held her baby tight.
Although Vera, our bus driver, had offered to watch little Ella when Grindstone rehearsed, and then played, Mama insisted she do it.
Vera didn’t appear the least bit offended.
To practice for when you all give me grandbabies.
She’d said that directed at me, Spencer, Reese, Freddie and—most especially—Creed.
I would’ve sworn he’d gone pale.
He was thirty-three and, to my knowledge, had no plans to settle down. Wasn’t even seeing anyone seriously.
His younger sister, Abrianna, was still pursuing her PhD and showed no signs of slowing down as she plowed toward academia.
I glanced over to Spencer. He was pale. “Migraine?” I whispered the word.
He shook his head. “I took my preventative pill earlier. It’s working. This new drug is amazing.” He’d only had a handful of crippling migraines since I’d gotten home. His doctor had gone out on a limb, prescribing an off-label use for an older drug. The medication hadn’t initially been created to treat migraines, but that had been an unexpected side effect. Since the risks were minimal, Spencer had been willing to try. Six months ofsignificant relief made the gamble pay off. Whether he’d need to take them for the rest of his life was a question for another day.
Mama eyed him.
He nodded.
Apparently satisfied, she put the last mouthful of lasagna on her fork. “You’ll marry at Christmas. I’m organizing. You just have to show up looking respectable.” She popped the food into her mouth.
Creed hooted.
I glared. “You’re next, my friend.”
Again, he desisted immediately.
Okay, something is really wrong.
At that moment, baby Ella started fussing.
“Hand her over.” Mama pushed her tray toward me and opened her arms to the baby.
Meg, who was still eating, frowned. “She’s been fed.”
“Too much noise.” Mama took the baby and headed toward the back of the bus.
Big Mac made to rise.
Creed gestured for him to sit back down. “Your daughter couldn’t be in better hands.”
“And if Mama gets the grandmothering out of her system for a bit, that gives you a reprieve.” Spencer turned his attention to my drummer. “I see you.”
But he didn’t. As perceptive as Spencer could be—and he was fucking good at reading people—he was totally missing Creed’s evident pain.
“I need some air.” Creed collected a bunch of dishes and carried them to the kitchen.
“Remember we eat ice cream after our show tomorrow night. You’re expected to be here.” Songbird grinned. “You’re our new besties.”
Creed waved, then headed out.
Spencer gazed at me.
I nodded. “Yeah, we should be going as well.”
