by Mj Fields
She smiles. “Plastic covering looks fabulous.”
“Shit.” I laugh. “Take it off.”
“You don’t want to get sand in it.” Her smile, her eyes, they brighten. “Cover it up and let’s get in the house. I’d love to see it.”
I pull the shirt back over my head and turn around.
“Dad do that?”
I nod. “I asked him to.”
“Obviously, he’s excited about that. Thanks for letting him. He needs something to take his mind off the move, Mom”—she squints her eyes slightly—“me.”
“Wasn’t thinking about any of that. Been more concerned that he gets I love his daughter. Never even thought of it like that. Probably should have.”
She laughs. “Obviously, it made his day, or he wouldn’t be so hell-bent on us coming inside.”
I take her hand and start to walk toward the house. “In case it’s not that, I need to tell you a couple things, but please don’t make it a big deal—it’s not. We are a big deal. Us having a baby soon is a bigger deal.”
She looks nervous when she looks at me.
“Like I said, not a big deal.”
“Brand, you’re making me nervous. Just spill it.”
Not wanting to ruin the last day of normal by the award stuff, I say, “Yeah, well, I just don’t want to ruin our night.”
She pulls her hand away and stops. “Okay, stop. Just tell me.”
“Xavier called while you were gone. Actually, I was talking with Taelyn while you were walking down here.”
“Brand, it’s cold, and you’re stalling.”
“Got a nomination today, but it’s …”
She scratches her head, completely fucking with me. “For what? Supreme Court?”
I smile.
“Must be something pretty boring for you not to want to share it.”
“Fine,” I groan. “Grammy and Song of the—”
She lunges at me, hugging me. “That’s so amazing! You’re amazing.”
“I’m glad you think so. I’d rather be here than at an awards ceremony.”
“You’re crazy.” She laughs. “You get to get all dressed up … how many times a year?”
I shrug. “Maybe three.”
Walking toward the house, holding my hand again, she asks, “CMTs are in September? Grammys are February?”
I nod.
“The other is …?”
“American Music Awards.”
“And when are they?”
“Tonight, actually.” I chuckle.
She squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry you didn’t …” She stops and looks up at me. “Wait—I think I remember you getting nominated,” she gasps. “Why aren’t you there? Is it because of me? Because if it is—”
“Already declined because of the tour.”
“Thank God.”
“So, will you be my date to the Grammys, or should I turn that down, too?”
Award Night
Katherine
“Don’t you dare turn it down.”
“So, that’s a yes?”
“It’s a hell yes.”
“Your uncle will be happy.”
“And what about you? Are you happy?”
“Still don’t get it, do you, Katy? Had my eye on the prize I’ve been praying to win for as long as I can remember, and she legit just ringed me up. Grammy? Pfft.”
I’m still going to have to play it cool at the new school, but after the Grammys, the proverbial cat will definitely be out of the bag.
“You okay with that?”
I nod. “It’s not even about us; it’s about—”
“Your crew.”
I nod. “Which seems odd now, but—”
“I get it. But I can promise we’ll be good, Katy. Better than good.”
Any bit of apprehension I had, being ecstatic about accompanying him to … anywhere and not hiding for the betterment of my “crew,” or the belief that I need to know who I am before allowing his world to take over mine, leaves. I mean, realistically, it already has. I’m carrying his child and will be taking it with me to a new school, to graduation, to … the freaking Grammys. Plus, I don’t know what I want to “be,” besides his, our babies, and here for Mom.
Mom.
She told me that Dad is overacting about her heart condition, that she’s going to be fine, that we all are. She also said that it was kind of perfect timing, and we both laughed about it.
Even though it really isn’t funny.
“Love you, Katy girl.” He pauses and kisses the side of my head. “Miles mean nothing. We’ll get through it all, and we’ll do it together.”
I wonder if my stomach will ever stop somersaulting when I see him for the first time after any time spent apart.
I wonder if, ten years from now, will I leave him with our children to get groceries or my nails done, walk into the house, see him, and feel my heart rate accelerate?
I wonder if I’ll stop feeling like there’s a live wire running throughout my body whenever he touches me.
I wonder if heat will stop resonating through me when his lips press against me.
And I wonder if I’ll ever stop getting nervous when I’m admitting in any way that I am stupid in love with him.
Honestly, I hope not. It’s the most wonderful feeling there is.
I kind of like it. No, I love it.
Love.
It.
I love him.
As we walk toward the house, hand in hand, he squeezes mine. “Thought of something earlier.”
“Yeah?”
He stops, lifts my hand, and opens it. Then he takes my middle finger and turns my hand so he can see the tattoo. “Forever Steel. Does that mean, when I put a ring on your finger, you’re gonna wanna keep your last name?”
I shrug, trying to play it cool, but I’m not … I’m so not cool.
“Wouldn’t mean anything if you did, I suppose—”
“If a man asks me to marry him, and I say yes, I’m more than likely going to want to share his last name.”
His brow lifts. “A man? His last name?”
I shrug, again hiding a smirk, and he shakes his head.
“No?” I ask.
“Me. My last name. No other options.”
“Then yeah,” I reply, acting like it’s not a big deal, but … gaw …
Then we continue walking to the house.
I hear him chuckling behind me.
He hesitates before opening the door, and I know why. We both want to spend time together alone.
“Lot going on for you.”
“For me?” I laugh. “Brand, you do realize you just got nominated for a freaking Grammy?”
“More excited about having you walk the red carpet on my arm, hiding a hard-on through the ceremony, and skipping the afterparty to undress you.”
I hear a voice clear and look up to see Max.
“You’re lucky it was me and not Dad.”
“Thanks, Max.”
“You can thank me by snapping back to your old self tomorrow when we walk into a new school.”
“Old self?” Brand asks.
“More badass, less bubbles.”
“Not any less badass right now than I was a week ago.”
“Pfft.” He opens the door and walks inside. “Prove it.”
“There he is, the man of the evening.” Mom smiles at Brand.
“You’re talking about me, right?” Dad walks by her with a basket of laundry.
“Only man I want to fold my panties,” Mom answers.
Max makes a vomiting sound, and Dad quirks an eyebrow at her then winks.
“Brand, we heard the news,” Mom begins.
“Pretty sure the whole East Coast did. Xavier’s losing his shit because you’re acting like it’s just another day,” Dad calls as he walks into the master bedroom.
“Your parents must be going out of their minds.”
“Shit,” Brand mumbles.
“As a mother,
I’m telling you, walk away from the beautiful young woman—she’s not going anywhere—and call your parents now,” Mom insists, in the nicest way possible, of course. “Invite them for dinner. We’re having an award party tonight.”
Brand looks at me skeptically.
Max chuckles. “Don’t fight it, man. Mom has little celebrations for everything. Hope for your kid’s sake it’s a boy, or you’ll be celebrating first periods just like you would a birthday.”
“I am not that bad.” Mom laughs at Max, eyes twinkling, as always.
“Yes, you are.” I laugh and look back at Brand. “Better make that call.”
“It’s really not necessary. With everyone starting a new school tomorrow—”
“We’d be watching anyway,” Dad interrupts as he walks to the refrigerator. “Make the call, Brand.”
I nudge him with my hip. “It’ll be fun.”
“Might be the first time Kiki can actually act like she’s enjoying the show,” Truth says, walking out of our shared room.
“Traitor.” I scowl at her.
Mom keeps Brand busy syncing his schedule with the family calendar, a calendar in which she lives by. With a laptop on her lap, she opens up her Google calendar and adds his email so he can update any changes that may occur. Then she puts them all on a three-by-four wall calendar, which Dad is now hanging in the room they’ve deemed the home office.
“Gibson in Frankfurt, Germany, the twenty-eighth, Crock Park Dublin, Ireland, the twelfth, then Belfast at Kings Hall, the twenty-third, and home until … when?”
“As fast as the plane can fly.”
“You’ll update the calendar with your flight information?”
“Sure will.” He nods.
“Sorry,” I mouth, and he winks at me.
“Toronto, New Year’s Eve at …?”
“Coca-Cola Coliseum. And I’d really love for you all to come to the show.”
Mom smiles. “I bet we can make that happen.”
“Then off to Spain, the tenth of January, back here for the Grammys, and then back to Portugal, the twenty-fourth. Paris, France, the sixth of February, Milan, Italy, the twentieth, and that puts us in March.” Mom looks up at me. “See how fast this time is going to fly?”
I smile the best I can.
“Hey, Kiki, got a minute for your big sister?”
“Of course.” I stand up and look at Brand. “Be right back.” I kiss Mom on top of the head. “Take it easy on him. He’s a virgin to this whole calendar thing.”
Walking away, I hear Mom say, “Maybe Momma Joe, Thomas, Dominic, and his family could meet you in Milan.”
“I’ll definitely reach out. I have her number now.” Brand leans in and looks at Mom’s calendar. “Can you make sure I can see Katy’s appointments, too?”
“You’re already in the loop,” Mom says with Disney-like enthusiasm.
I walk into the room that Bella, Carter, and Luna are in.
“Shut the door?” Bell asks.
“Sure.” I shut the door, and she pats the bed.
I sit on the bed, and she smiles at me. “I know things are crazy right now, and I hate that we have to leave in an hour to get back to the grind, but can we please do this together?”
I nod and feel my eyes begin to burn.
“Not sure what happened with us, but I miss you a whole bunch.”
“Miss you, too,” I tell her sincerely.
“I think things have just been so busy that we’re missing opportunities, and God, Kiki, I’m so sorry you didn’t feel like you could talk to me—”
“Didn’t want to talk to anyone.” It’s the truth.
“Let’s never do that again, okay?”
“Never ever,” I say, hugging her.
“I’m Luna’s momma already, but, Kiki, we’re gonna be pregnant and fat and so”— she starts laughing—“fucking tired together.” I laugh, too, and then she hugs me tighter and whispers, “I can’t wait till our little hellions are getting kicked out of school together.”
“Oh my God, it wasn’t me!” I laugh again, and so does she.
After Bell, Carter, and Luna leave, Dad and Mom run to the store with a grocery list a mile long. It’s the first time since we walked in the house that we’ve been alone … well, as alone as you can be in a house in a day in the life of the Steel family.
“You love your family.”
“Why do I feel like I’m being accused of some heinous crime?” I joke.
“No, I love it. I really do.” He grabs my hips gently.
“You’re close with your family, too.” I put my hands on his hips and look up at him.
“Definitely, but it’s different.”
I pull his shirt up a little, and his eyes widen. “What are you doing, Katy Steel?”
“Gonna get this shirt off you.”
“I like where this is going, but Cyrus”—he leans in and pecks me on the lips—“Tara”—kiss—“Justice”—kiss—“and Max are here still.”
“Oh, you thought I was gonna give you a little something-something, huh?”
“Or just take it.” He smirks.
“Lose the shirt, cowboy, so I can see the ink.”
He laughs as he releases me. Then I grab his shirt, and he steps back and leans down so I can pull it off him. I throw his shirt over my shoulder as he straightens up.
I twirl my finger. “Make it a slow turn.”
“Yeah?” He chuckles.
“Nice and slow.” I wag my eyebrows, and he laughs.
I walk to him and gently peel the plastic back slowly.
I see music notes first, and then the top of the letter K. My heart beats a bit faster as I expose my name in a gray, masculine brush font, on a jet-black guitar.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
“Yeah?” He turns around and squats a bit. “Wanted you on me, even when I wasn’t here.”
“I kinda wanna get on you right now.” I look behind me to find the nearest escape.
Uncle Cyrus raises his mug of coffee. “Sup?”
After much debate about who knew Momma Joe’s secret lasagna ingredients best, Dad and Max, Cyrus and Justice, Zandor and Amias, Xavier and Patrick decide to have an all-male lasagna cook-off, which Brand was, of course, chosen by all of them to announce. He is currently videoing the cook-off and airing it live on Patrick’s IG story, where his subscribers are asked to comment on his posted pic of a pan of lasagna at the end.
Mom and I are sitting at the island, enjoying the banter, the thieving of ingredients from each other, the eavesdropping of technique, to make the best lasagna, and watching the comments on our phones.
“Oh my God,” I gasp and show Mom the comment about Dad being hot.
“I’ve gotten used to it over the years. And I can’t say it bothers me that your dad gets hotter as he ages.”
Dad looks up at Mom and winks. “Back at ya, baby.”
Brand chuckles. “Someone wants to know who the, and I quote, ‘blond twink with Big Daddy’ is.”
“Twink?” Max huffs and pulls his shirt up, flashing his baby abs at the camera. “Baby, don’t kid yourself.”
“Max!” Mom gasps.
“Well, I guess that did it. Team Big Daddy and Hot”—Brand chuckles—“Blond- just got all sorts of love.”
Patrick clears his throat, and Brand swings the phone cam toward him. “Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?” He reaches behind himself and pulls his tee-shirt completely off. “Apparently, I’m filming Magic Mike sixteen, or whatever number they’re on.” He looks behind him at Mom and me, and now the rest of the females in the family have joined us. “Anyone care to take over?”
“Ew, we’re related.” Tris scrunches her face up, flips her hair, and then walks away.
By the end of the lasagna cook-off, all the boys are shirtless, except Justice, who refused. Mom and my aunts are tallying up the votes. None of them are allowed to tally their husbands or sons. They each hand Brand the sticky notes.
I give him a look, nonverbally asking him what, and he shakes his head as he looks down at the papers. “We have a winner. Actually, it’s a landslide, and an interesting twist at that.”
I look down at my phone screen.
- Was that Brand Falcon?
- OMG! Brand Falcon!
- I vote Brand!
- I love your music!
- I’ll never have “Just Enough” of you!
- OMG! *faints*
- When does your new album drop?!?
- YOU ARE EVRYTHING!
- Fangirl 4 life!
- BRANDED IN NASHVILLE!
- My eyes just got pregnant.
- Ovaries *poof*
“Might as well show that pretty face,” Taelyn says exasperatedly.
Brand flips the screen and smiles at the screen. “Our winner is Justice and his Big Daddy. Hope y’all had as much fun as we did. Make sure you tune into the American Music Awards tonight. I’ll be watching, too, on my flight to Germany, where we kick off the European tour. God bless and goodnight.”
He taps the screen then holds it up. “Tricks, you have anything to say about losing?”
He lifts his chin, flexes his pecs, and shrugs. “You voted against the Italian sausage, you don’t get the Italian sausage.”
“This was good, clean family fucking fun,” Xavier scolds him.
Taelyn laughs. “When shirts started getting tossed, that ended. You killed it with your foul mouth.”
Xavier narrows his eyes at her, smirking. “You love my foul mouth, Irish.”
Patrick looks at Brand and draws his hand across his throat. “Kill the feed, man.”
Zandor laughs. “Since I was the most appropriate one of the bunch, I deserve treats tonight, Kitten.”
She shakes her head. “You tried to shape your noodles like a vagina, Zandor Steel.”
“You noticed that?” He smiles proudly.
Aunt Bekah looks at me. “Be happy you have a gentleman.”
“He better be.” I turn to see Brand’s family walking toward us.
“Always.” Brand winks at me.
