Chapter Twelve
Taylor stumbles off the plane and through the terminal to baggage claim. The ibuprofen wore off somewhere over one of the Plains states and a dull throb echoes through his head with each step he takes. He stands as far back from the rumbling, clanking baggage carousel as he can until he spots his garment bag.
He exits the terminal and sighs at the blessed coolness. The temps have already started rising in North Texas and he’s thankful for the reprieve. There are cars one and two deep at the curb, and he hopes Suzan’s parked in the outside lane. Between his head and his stomach, he needs to find a flat surface and soon.
A familiar farm truck pulls up, and he tosses his shit in the back and climbs into the cab. He leans over to awkwardly hug Suzan. “Hey.”
“Are you still drunk?” she asks, pushing him away and shifting back into drive.
Taylor clicks his seatbelt into place and slouches in his seat. “No, I think this is the hangover. Can we stop at McDonald’s, please?”
“Of course.” Suzan maneuvers easily out of the airport onto the highway. Unfortunately, the airport’s on the southeast side of Minneapolis proper and home is an hour and a half away, northwest of the city. She hits a McDonald’s as requested, and the carb-to-grease ratio of his Egg McMuffin is perfect. He sips the coffee and starts to feel slightly human again.
“You want to talk about it?”
“I do, just not now. I need more sleep.” And he still needs to let Noah know he left town and why. “Hey, you got an iPhone charger I can use?”
“Sure. At home.”
He groans. “Shit. Okay.” He should’ve stopped somewhere in the terminal, but he’d gotten focused on getting out of the crowd and finding Suzan. He tosses her his credit card. “Get gas when we get close to home. Do you mind if I try to catch some more shuteye so I’m coherent when I see Mom and Dad?”
“Can I ask you something before I leave you alone?”
“What’s that?”
“Who’s your boyfriend?”
“Noah.”
“As in Noah Drinkwater, your center?”
“That’s two somethings. But yes.”
Suzan reaches across the bench seat and nudges him. “He’s cute.”
“He’s gorgeous.” Taylor crosses his arms and leans against the door. “Now, leave me be, woman.”
The low hum of country music lulls him to sleep and, suddenly, he’s waking to the sound of honking. “What the fuck?”
He sits up and rubs the grit from his eyes. The half-cup of coffee is tepid at this point, but he swigs it all the same.
“We’re home and watch your mouth. There are going to be a dozen kids under the age of twelve running around.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Mom and Dad cross the yard, followed by one his younger sisters and his brother, as he exits the truck. A handful of kids swarm in from various locations around the homestead.
Taylor swings his mother into his arms and buries his face in her shoulder. Her hair’s gone completely silver now and she wears false teeth, but the ever-present scent of her lemon perfume and vanilla fills his nose, and he goes slack in relief. “Love you, Mom. I’m sorry about Uncle Bud.” Uncle Bud was her oldest brother. His death means she’s the last living child in her immediate family.
Her arms tighten around him. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
He revels in her embrace, needing his momma’s love even though she has no idea why. But she’s dealing with her own loss and he’s not gonna intrude on her grief right now. Finally letting go, Taylor kisses her and then pulls his dad into a hug too. “How are you, old man?”
“Watch who you’re calling old, Taylor John,” Dad says with a laugh.
By the time Taylor’s hugged Jordan and Cameron and all of his nieces and nephews, Suzan’s husband, Gary, is pulling up to the assembled group. They share a handshake and pats on the back.
“Dinner will be ready in a little while,” Mom says. “Take your bags up and shower or something. You look like death warmed over.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Everyone laughs.
“Taylor, we’ve kicked Peter out of his room,” Suzan tells him. “Come on. I’ll get you that charger.”
* * *
After a boisterous dinner with Mom and Dad, Suzan and Gary, and their three menaces, Taylor climbs the stairs and collapses on Pete’s bed. Between leaving behind a clusterfuck, traveling drunk/hungover, and four hours of family and conversation, as well as the reality of Uncle Bud’s death now that he’s home--he’s tuckered out, he’s wrung out. Physically and emotionally.
Screen dark and mocking him, his phone sits on the bedside table. He needs to let Noah know where he is, at the very least. He presses the power button and sets the device down to let it do its thing. He blinks against the heaviness of his scratchy eyes and sighs. Might be time to clean his phone up, download his pictures, clear out some apps he no longer uses, it takes so long to boot up if it gets turned off, which, granted, isn’t often, but still.
“Oof--” Taylor wakens with a jolt.
“Mom says to get up.”
Taylor blinks at the blurry kid in front of him. Seven-year-old Sebastian grins down at him with bright blue eyes and a gaping smile.
Taylor shakes his head. He registers that it’s light beyond the mini-blinds and fuck, fuck, fuck. He was gonna text Noah last night and he’d fallen asleep. He slaps his hand around the mattress in front of him and closes it around his phone.
“I’m up, kid. I’ll be down in twenty.” He needs to text Noah.
“Mom says there’s coffee and Nutella.”
Taylor groans. He loves Nutella. Pushing Sebastian out of the way, he swings his legs over the side of the bed. “Twenty minutes.”
“Mom says I’m not supposed to show my face in the kitchen without you.”
Taylor tamps down the urge to say, “fuck your mom.” Definitely inappropriate no matter how you look at it. He eyeballs his nephew. “I need to take a piss and a shower. I’ll be down in twenty.” Sprinting past Sebastian, he shuts the bathroom door hard, although it’s not quite a slam.
Flipping the toilet seat up, he pushes his sleep shorts and underwear to the floor and steps out of them. Unlocking the phone, he ignores all the alerts and notifications although some of them are surely from Noah—he just wants to get his own text sent. Pulling up his messaging app, he selects Noah’s contact.
Uncle Bud died. Flew home to MN. Will call when I get a chance. I’m s…
The urge to piss is strong now, so he shifts his phone to his right hand and taking hold of his dick in the left, he aims at the target painted at the bottom of the bowl; he finishes tapping out sorry. He shifts his thumb to hit send.
“Mom says you have ten minutes, not a minute more,” Sebastian yells as he bangs on the door with both fists.
Taylor startles so bad, he loses his grip on his phone and watches with immediate knowledge that it’s going into the water. He flails to grab it before it achieves splashdown. Instead, he smacks the phone with the back of his hand and the device crashes hard into the edge of the toilet bowl. The splinter of the screen happens in slow motion. The phone drops unceremoniously into the water with a plop.
Taylor punches the wall. “God fucking dammit!” His words echo in the small space. He snatches the phone out of the water, letting it drain, water trickling into the bowl along with his chances of making things right with Noah. If only he’d gotten his message sent. He grabs a hand towel and rips open the door. “Sebastian—”
Sebastian’s thudding footsteps indicate he’s heading downstairs and Taylor follows.
“Where the hell is the nearest Verizon store?” he hollers, skidding into the kitchen, heart thumping, brain in a panic. He needs to contact Noah. Like now. Some way, somehow. Everyone has a fucking cell phone—if only he knew Noah’s cell number by heart. But he doesn’t. Which means getting a new phone ASAP.
Sebastian is hiding behind Suzan, eyes big
and scared. Taylor points. “I told you twenty minutes. You scared the hell out of me and I dropped my phone in the crapper.” He waves around the phone grasped in the towel. He’s not quite yelling, but it’s a close thing. He glances at Suzan, holding a spatula, and whose eyes are also huge.
Gary snickers from his seat at the table. Taylor glances at him, but has no idea what’s so funny. Pete’s jaw is dropped behind the hand over his mouth.
“Verizon store?” he demands, looking from his sister to his brother-in-law and back.
“Uncle Taylor?” Pete says trepidatiously.
“What?” His gaze snaps to Pete.
“You’re naked.”
Taylor doesn’t even need to look to know that he is indeed standing there in front of God and everybody in the raw; being bare registers in an instant now that his attention has been brought to it. He doesn’t care. He spends enough time walking around locker rooms and communal showers with his junk exposed that he’s inured to it. Getting a new phone and letting Noah know what’s going on takes precedence over anything at this point. Propriety be damned.
A smirk curls Suze’s mouth but she pointedly keeps her eyes on his face.
“There’s a Verizon store in Milaca. It’s a twenty minute drive, but I don’t think we’re going to have time for a field trip, Taylor,” Suzan says.
“You don’t understand—I need a working phone. I don’t know Noah’s number. I have to call him. He… I… We…” Taylor scrapes a hand through his hair, hoping his patheticness will translate into how important this is.
A sympathetic expression crosses her face and the sound of car doors thump from outside.
“If you don’t want anyone else in this family to see you in the buff, I suggest you go get dressed,” Gary says, rising.
“I really don’t care who sees me naked.” And he really doesn’t. He’ll attend the funeral in his birthday suit if he has to. Uncle Bud would probably get a laugh out of it.
“You might not, but they will. The Verizon store won’t open until at least ten and they won’t let you in without clothes, so go on,” says Gary.
All of Taylor’s bravado leaves him in a whoosh of his breath. He hightails it back up the stairs and gets his shower. He may as well. He’s got time to kill and he could use the time to get himself under control.
* * *
By the time he’s done and dressed and has returned to the kitchen for the promised coffee and Nutella, the rest of the family, including more than a dozen kids now, has descended on Suzan and Gary’s homestead. Most of the older kids are in the den, playing video games and filling the house with chatter and laughter. The younger set are split evenly between the den and the kitchen, either clinging to their respective mothers or scarfing down food.
His own mother looks tired, and red rims her eyes, but she looks over all her grandkids with a soft smile. His dad sticks close, but not too close. Taylor leans over to kiss her forehead. “Hi Mom.”
“Hi, sweetheart. You look much better than you did last night.”
He nods. He mostly feels better too. Hangover is gone. He’s gotten enough sleep. But the whole phone thing is making his stomach churn for a whole different reason. Despite that, he’s starving and takes his place behind a plate of pancakes covered in Nutella and raspberry preserves that can only be his. Suzan knows him so well. Spoils him when he’s home, God bless her.
“You’re in charge of the kids,” says Cherie, dropping her three-year-old into Taylor’s lap. Kenny pokes his finger into Taylor’s pancake and then sticks it into his mouth to lick off the Nutella.
Taylor’s gaze scans the microwave clock. “I’ve gotta run an errand and then I’m all yours.”
“What’s more important than you’re family right now, Taylor?” she asks. She’s the sister he gets along with least. She’s the youngest, he’s the oldest. He’d blame the ten-year age difference, but he gets along just fine with Jordan, who’s less than a year older than Cherie.
The temptation to go off on her sparks in his veins, but he won’t cause a scene in front of Mom.
“Nothing is more important than my family—” Which absolutely includes Noah and Emma. “—which is why I need to run an errand. I have responsibilities and obligations to people outside of Foley, Minnesota, you know.”
Cherie huffs and makes a face, but says nothing.
“Leave him alone,” Suze says, hip-checking Cherie. “He dropped everything to get here.”
Thank you, Suze. Taylor owes her. He’ll do something nice for the kids or set up a long weekend for her and Gary. For now, he scarfs down his breakfast.
He herds all the kids outside and matches up the teenagers with the infants and toddlers. Minutes slowly tick by until the magical time arrives for him to leave. After instructing the older kids on holding down the fort until he returns, he goes in search of someone’s car and car keys.
Baby Matty is screaming his fool head off. His whole head is red and tears stream down pudgy his face.
“Take my car and please, please, please take him with you,” Cameron begs, slapping the keys to their mini-van into Taylor’s hands. “Car seat, diaper bag, and stroller are all in the car. He’ll fall asleep and stay asleep. Please, Taylor, I’m begging you.”
“Fine, but you have to watch the rest of them until I get back.”
“Deal.”
Taylor takes a howling Matty from his brother and hustles to the correct vehicle.
Matty goes quiet once strapped into his car seat and having his pacifier plugged into his mouth. Taylor climbs in the driver’s seat, clicks the seatbelt on, and gets the car pointed in the right direction.
Okay, he’s got an hour until he can get Noah on the line. Twenty minutes or so to reach Milaca and the Verizon store. Another half hour or so to get his data retrieved and re-downloaded to a new phone.
He doesn’t want to have an in depth conversation until they’re face to face. Noah had kicked him out and Taylor sorta gets why now, but instead of standing his ground and hashing out and resolving the problem, they’re in this limbo that’s weighing heavily on Taylor’s shoulders.
Green growing things line both sides of the highway and Taylor takes a moment to enjoy the beauty of fields at various stages of maturity. Farming was his childhood. He doesn’t miss it per se, but he appreciates the reminder of the struggles he knows intimately that farmers across the country live with, day in and day out, in trying to feed the nation and the world.
The speed limit drops when Milaca appears around a bend in the road. Thank God Cameron and Stacy have GPS in their car. He finds the store easily enough rather than having to drive around town, wasting precious minutes. And it’s open already.
Matty is snoozing peacefully and Taylor regrets having to disturb him; he has no choice though. The whole point of the drive was to get a new phone. Taylor unfolds the stroller and as gently as possible transfers his nephew into it. Matty remains asleep and Taylor breathes a sigh of relief.
The store isn’t busy, thankfully, although there are a couple of people ahead of him. Nervous energy keeps his leg in motion even though he’s trying to wait patiently. The sooner he gets his phone issue taken care of, the sooner he can at least put Noah on official hold instead of being in this blackout. There’s no doubt that Noah has already called him, and Taylor is rarely inaccessible via call or text or even email. Add in Noah’s worry about their compatibility and he’s probably freaking the fuck out.
Fuck. Taylor rakes his fingers through his hair. If he’d just stayed awake last night, he wouldn’t be in this mess. If he’d refused to leave Noah’s condo in the first place and they’d talked. It’s his fault, either way. Taylor sighs, but a store rep walks over just then.
An hour later, Taylor walks out with a new phone. All his contacts and photos are in place. He’s going to memorize Noah’s number. At the very least, he’s going to write it down and keep the note in his wallet.
Matty’s still sleeping and the park across the st
reet looks like a nice spot for a quick phone call. He turns the stroller toward the crosswalk.
The red light is just fixing to change when a firetruck comes racing around the corner, lights flashing and sirens blaring. An ambulance is right behind it and the high-pitched siren chirps loudly as it passes. Matty startles out of sleep into crying and looking panicked.
And fuck. How is this Taylor’s day?
Matty struggles to sit up in his stroller, screaming and reaching his arms out to Taylor once he finally gets upright. Taylor lifts the poor kid up of course. Matty clings to him and wipes tears and snot on Taylor’s shoulder. Taylor jiggles him trying to get him calm down and steers the stroller back toward the car with a sigh.
Matty fights getting in his car seat, gripping Taylor’s shirt in his small hands and calling out, “Ma, ma, ma, ma…”
Taylor gives up and climbs in the back seat, digging around for something to help the kid chill out. He finds a bottle of water and feels around for a container of formula powder and mixes them together while trying to keep clasping hands from spilling both. Once he’s got it ready, he nestles Matty into the crook of his arm and slips the nipple into Matty’s waiting mouth. His breath shudders a couple of times, but he settles down and slurps away as if his life depends on it. And he won’t hold his own bottle.
Jesus fucking Christ. Taylor wants to make one fucking phone call.
Doesn’t Murphy have better things to do than plague Taylor right now. He’s got a relationship to salvage.
He looks down at Matty. Matty’s big brown eyes are looking up at him with shiny interest, long eyelashes still clumped together from his tears. Despite everything, Taylor can’t help but smile. Matty’s cute as they come with wisps of brown hair and chubby rosy cheeks. Matty grins back around the nipple.
Taylor’s reminded of Emma. And Noah. His heart hurts, he cares so much for Noah.
Rock the Cradle of Love Page 12
