Declaration (Preservation, # 3)

by Rachael Wade

  I started for the airport, picking through my mental to-do list to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything as we pulled out onto the main highway. I’d taken care of everything, down to wrapping the last-minute gift for Jack and Emma’s son, Maddox, and arranging for Tony to check in on my studio while I was gone. It had replaced Joe, the truck that made my mobile music business possible. I wasn’t as mobile these days, but I was happy to have more space and a permanent place I could record my own music. All guitar lessons had been canceled for the next ten days, set to resume after the New Year. My younger students were disappointed, but they were little troopers. Even my adult students had voiced their disappointment, but they’d wished me a great holiday and it made me feel damn good.

  As we approached the airport, the familiar excitement began to sink in. Visiting Seattle was still hard, even after all these years. I would always miss the Pacific Northwest, but Sanibel Island really had become my home. After Whitney and I got together, the place really grew on me. Then, when we became pregnant, I’d felt anchored there. So, we visited Seattle as often as we could, but now, whenever we flew home, I wasn’t bummed. I couldn’t wait to get back to my music studio, to our beach house, to Whitney’s shop, to the island where I’d found my family and myself, seven years ago.

  I tugged at my lip ring as we pulled into the parking lot, thinking how lucky of a bastard I was to be in the same car with my favorite girls in the world. “Let’s do this, ladies,” I said, coming to a stop. We hustled inside and boarded our flight just in time, sleeping on the plane. It was crazy late when we touched down at SeaTac, but I was hit with a second wind, which made it easy to tackle the drive up to Anacortes.

  Elizabeth was conked out in the backseat, and Whitney was passed out on my shoulder as I drove, half of her body pulled up over the console. I laughed to myself, eyeing the blankets draped over both of their bodies. My girls weren’t used to such cold weather in December. Not only were they wrapped in blankets, but they were bundled up in thick coats, like true Floridians braving the North. Even I felt the bite of the cold more than I used to.

  I cranked up the heat, making sure they were warm and toasty, keeping the radio on low for the rest of the ride. Weezer whispered in the speakers, begging me to turn them up, but my sleeping beauties needed their rest. By the time we made it to Anacortes, it was too late to catch a ferry, so I rented a room in a nearby motel and we caught one of the first ferries out the next morning.

  When we pulled up to Kate and Ryan’s place on Orcas Island, Kate’s voice rang out lovingly, making it feel like Christmas morning already.

  “Oh my God, she got so big! Who is that rad little chick, huh?” She rushed up to Elizabeth the second we got out of the car and Ryan walked up to join her, closing me in a hug while his wife squeezed my daughter.

  “Good to see you, man,” he said, grinning widely. He donned tan corduroys and a fitted black vest over a crisp, white shirt, the sleeves rolled loosely at the elbows. He was just as fit as he was back in his teaching days, the wanker. He hadn’t changed a bit. Still smooth, still charming, still madly in love with Kate Parker. “More tattoos? Why am I not surprised?”

  I laughed, pulling at my coat. “Are they really that noticeable, beneath all these layers?”

  “You’re a walking canvas now, man. I can see you coming from a mile away.” He chortled lightly, pushing up his sleeves. “Got some more ink myself since I saw you last.” He pointed to his biceps—all hard and chiseled, the bastard—and showed off two new grey sleeves.

  “Nice. Sam, I take it?”

  “Of course. Only the best.”

  I knew from experience that was the truth. His friend Sam really did know her shit. She was one hell of a tattoo artist. She’d inked me and Ryan a few years ago, when Whitney and I had visited for Emma and Jackson’s anniversary. “Maybe we can get some work done this week. I think I have some room left somewhere.”

  Ryan shook his head, laughing. “Just say when and I’m there. Sam’s on her way here, actually.”

  “Oh yeah?” I perked up at the thought of seeing Sam, her wife Jess, and their daughter, Tori. Ryan hugged Whitney and took his turn kissing Elizabeth’s cheeks, although Kate was pretty reluctant to let her go.

  “Come on, Kate,” I jabbed at her with my elbow, “let the girl breathe, will you?”

  “Hey, I’m only the distant, cool aunt. I get to see the kid like twice a year. I’ll squeeze her all I want.”

  “Fine. But can you squeeze her inside? It’s freezing.” I took Whitney’s hand and Ryan started leading us into the cabin.

  “It’s official,” Kate said, carrying Elizabeth, “you’re no longer a Pacific Northwesterner. That Floridian blood has taken over.”

  “Yeah, well, you spend ten months out of the year in 90-degree heat, and let’s see how your blood likes coming back to this.” I shivered from a blast of cool wind as she shut the door behind us. “Bloody hell! Please tell me you have a fire going.”

  “I’m on it,” Ryan said, moving to the fireplace. Kate led Whitney and Elizabeth to the guest room. They wheeled suitcases behind them, chatting away, and I hauled ass over to the coffee pot for some much-needed warmth. Kate and Whitney had become close over the past few years, especially now that Emma had become chummy with Kate. Emma and Jackson had settled down just outside of the city. Once Emma had moved here for school and reunited with Jack, they never looked back. Hearing Whitney and Kate laugh like old friends was possibly one of the best sounds in the world.

  As I topped off my coffee, the cabin filled with their laughter, the crackle of the fire, and Nirvana instead of Christmas tunes.

  My kind of holiday.

  “Can you get that, Carter?” Ryan called from the living room when there was a knock at the door. He was busy arranging gifts under the Christmas tree and rifling through gift bags stuffed with green tissue paper and fancy bows.

  “Sure.” I answered the door, setting my coffee down before opening up.

  “God save the queen!” Dean shouted, barreling through the doorway to tackle me. “Yip yip! Yes, yes, it’s good to see you, chap! More ink, I see. And you still haven’t gotten rid of that blasted lip ring. When will you learn, sir? Those are so ten years ago.” He swished his hand and ruffled my hair, effectively earning an eye roll from Crystal, who was right on his tail. A big, gaudy rock sparkled on her left ring finger.

  “Glad to hear you guys set a date,” I said, wiggling out of Dean’s hug to kiss Crystal on the cheek. They’d had one of the longest engagements in history and were off and on for quite a while, but Dean had filled me in recently that they had finally put wedding plans in motion.

  “You know Dean,” Crystal said, handing me a stash of gift bags, “he wouldn’t rest until I booked the venue. I don’t know what the rush was about.” She laughed. “We’ve waited this long, and now all of a sudden, he’s frantic.” Visions of Kerouac’s Dean Moriarty flashed in my mind, a character Dean often reminded me of. He was a man from another time, a streak of the Beat Generation running hot in his blood. Feverish and mad, with a wild spirit that made my head spin.

  “Yeah, I know him, alright.”

  Dean strode past me, leaving me standing there with an armful of gifts. I sighed and kicked the door shut with my foot, following him and Crystal into the living room, where Dean was already messing with the gifts that Ryan had just arranged beneath the tree.

  “Hey!” Ryan snapped, grabbing something silver and sparkly from Dean’s grasp. “Do I need to have Crystal put you on a leash?”

  “Please God,” Crystal begged Ryan, “let one of those presents you have there be a leash!”

  I nudged my way between Ryan and Dean to set the piles of gift bags under the tree, smacking Dean’s hand away from an ornament as I rose. He was spinning it with wonder, his eyes brighter than the tree’s lights. Another knock sounded, and this time Ryan hustled to answer it, more familiar voices drifting into the cabin.

  “Emma, I swear on my
left foot that I didn’t teach him that,” Jackson said, looking grumpy.

  “Oh yes, you did!” she insisted, weaving around him to hurry inside. She gave Ryan a quick hello and then lifted Maddox up into her arms. “Where else would he learn that, huh?”

  I tried to restrain my bemused smile, really I did. But Ryan’s laughter had me grinning, and Jackson’s pissed-off glower was just downright hilarious. Even after all these years, the guy never learned.

  The woman’s always right. Especially when that woman was best friends with my woman, the most stubborn of them all.

  Kate bustled back into the living room, pulling on my shirt sleeve, that determined look on her face.

  Okay, correction. Maybe all the women in my life had a stubborn flair. I sure knew how to pick ’em, huh?

  “You’re needed in the guest room,” she said, pulling my attention from Jack and Emma’s dramatic entrance.

  “What’s up?”

  “Whitney’s not feeling too good. So help me, Carter, if it’s what we think it is, I’m going to have to kick your arse.”

  “What?” I jumped into action, heading for the bedroom. “What are you talking about?” She followed me into the bedroom but quickly waved her hands, letting me know this was between me and Whitney now. She asked Elizabeth to come with her and quietly closed the door to give us some privacy.

  “Whit?” I asked, moving into the bathroom to look for her. She was on the floor, hugging the toilet. “Are you okay?”

  “Do I look okay?”

  “Uh…is that a trick question?” I crouched down slowly, afraid she might strike and take an eyeball out.

  “You want to know why this is happening, Montgomery?”

  “I don’t know, do I?”

  “Oh, I’ll tell you why.” Her head came up and her face was tear streaked, her hair matted to the sides of her face. Those emerald eyes cut into me like glass, every ounce of sass she possessed raring and ready to go.

  Oh, bloody, bloody hell.

  “Because you just couldn’t wait to fuck me when I got home the night I worked late for the last book signing, remember? Elizabeth was already passed out, and as soon as I stepped through the door, you took me against the hallway wall. I didn’t even make it to the kitchen!”

  “Wait a minute…”

  “You knew I was out of my pills and that I didn’t have time to make my doctor appointment that week. You caught me, all weak and vulnerable, in that damn hallway, when there were no condoms to be found.”

  “Whitney…”

  “Well guess what, Montgomery? You’ve successfully knocked me up again. Congratulations!” Her head dropped and she started to heave again. I fell back onto my heels, my whole body tensing and drawing up with excitement, when Whitney was so clearly feeling anything but excited.

  “I’ll get you some water,” I said, leaning in to brush her hair back. “I would say I’m sorry, Whit, but I’m not. I’m….we’re gonna have another baby! Liz will have a brother or sister. This is great news!”

  “Great news?” she shrieked, her voice echoing in the toilet bowl. “Damn it, I’m going to have swollen ankles, morning sickness, the whole shebang again. I’m so not ready for that! This is all your fault!”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said carefully, rubbing her back, “but I didn’t hear you complaining that night in the hallway.”

  A sound that could only be described as a feral, guttural growl emanated from her throat, the vibrations seeping into her spine.

  I stopped rubbing her back and distanced myself, standing to my feet. “I’m going to get that water.” Walking away, never turning my back on the wild bobcat hanging over the toilet, I slipped out of the guest bedroom and back into the thick of the living room commotion. Sam and Jess were here now, and their daughter, Tori, was chasing Elizabeth and Maddox around the tiny dining table. Dean, Crystal, Ryan, and Kate were all arguing about something around the fire, while Sam and Jess were bickering and rifling through a suitcase, up to their knees in clothing and wrapping paper.

  Kate did a double take when she caught me standing there, staring at the scene.

  “Well?” she asked, moving to meet me, her arms folded over her chest.

  “She’s not a happy camper.”

  “I would say that’s a tad of an understatement.”

  “Shit,” I sighed, my shoulders slumping. “Why can’t she be happy about this?”

  “Um…because she’s not ready for another one. She’s been pretty adamant about that. She tells me all the time—”

  “Yes, thank you, Nanny Campbell. I don’t need the third degree.”

  “Well apparently you do, because you’ve got one unhappy woman on your hands. Go in there and tell her you’re sorry.”

  “Sorry?” My, head jutted back. “I’m not apologizing for that!”

  “Do you need me to ask nicely? Because I will.” Kate straightened her shoulders and stuck her nose in the air, like the little smartass she was, and continued. “Please, Carter, will you go back into that bathroom and apologize to your wife for knocking her up again?”

  Emma caught that little piece of information, coming to join us. Thankfully, everyone else was still preoccupied, arguing over something to do with eggnog. “Did I just hear what I think I heard?”

  “You didn’t hear anything,” I said.

  “Is Whit really pregnant? Come on, tell me what’s going on.”

  Before I could respond, Maddox bumped into Emma’s leg, thumping to a stop in a fit of laughter. His head fell back to look up at his mom, his thick waves of dark brown hair flopping. “Hafta say ‘please’, Mommy! Member what daddy says? Mind your manners. No swearing, invading space, no forgetting peeeees and quuuues, all that shit!”

  The whites of Emma’s eyes bulged, her nostrils flaring. Her hands fisted at her sides. Finally, she shouted. “Jackson Taylor! He said it again!” She spun in the other direction to deliver Jack a glare. He was now arm wrestling Dean over the coffee table, Ryan playing referee.

  “Come on, babe, I’m just gettin’ started,” he said through gritted teeth. Dean was kicking his ass, all smiles and cool nonchalance while Jackson struggled. Crystal watched, just as surprised as me that Jackson wasn’t putting Dean’s skinny ass to shame.

  “Maddox,” Emma said sweetly, “I’m going to leave you here with Uncle Carter and Aunt Kate, and they’re going to explain to you—again—why you cannot say what you just said. Mommy has to go check on Auntie Whitney.” She placed a fake smile on her face and cut past me and Kate, parting us at the shoulders. “Later, Jack! This isn’t over!” she tossed over her shoulder, disappearing into the guest room. Kate crouched down to explain the hypocrisy of Jackson’s no-swearing rule to Maddox, then patted him on the butt, telling him to run along and play with Elizabeth and Tori.

  “I think that’s your cue, daddy-o.” Kate smiled smugly and wandered over to the arm wrestling action.

  I released a defeated sigh and returned to the guest room, finding Whitney strewn across the bed in a fit of tears, while Emma lay next to her, stroking her hair and soothing her sobs. “Whit,” I said, carefully approaching the bed, “I’m sorry you’re not happy, but I promise you it’s all going to be okay.”

  “Of course, it’s going to be okay,” she snapped, her hand flailing around. “For you, maybe! You get to stay all tatted up and pierced in delicious places, while my stomach bloats and I puke for days on end! What if…” her bottom lip started to quiver, and damn, it was the cutest thing ever. “What if you get tired of me? What if a younger, more energetic version of Whitney Sinclair comes along and steals you away?”

  That’s when the waterworks really started flowing, and Emma gave up.

  Sliding off the bed and hurrying for the door, Emma looked as if she were dodging the beginning of a world war. “Good luck,” she whispered as she slipped past me.

  “Whit,” I started again, knowing I needed to reach her this time, “you are young, and very energetic.” I
laughed, unable to keep it down. “And I would never, ever grow tired of you.”

  “You don’t know that,” she cried, sniffling through her continuing sobs. Her cheeks were glistening and her nose was bright pink.

  “Yes, I do. No one is ever going to steal you away. You’re it for me, sweetheart. There’s nothing to be upset about. You’re beautiful. Beautiful when you’re pregnant, beautiful when you’re not. I know the thought of having another baby overwhelms you, but it’s going to be amazing, I promise you that. I’ll be by your side day and night. Now please, sweetheart, smile for me? I hate seeing you like this.” Getting under the covers to wrap her in my arms, my hand snaked out and wrapped around her forearm, my fingers grazing over her tattoo—the one she’d gotten with me when we first started going out. “I’m like your bird,” I said, tracing the inked image. “I can always fly away when we have a rough day. You know how it is, it happens sometimes. We fight and say things we don’t mean. Things get stressful. Life gets messy. I stay late in the studio and work out my frustration on my guitar, or go play a game of pool at Pete’s. But I always, always fly back home. Because no matter what, at the end of the day, that’s where I’ll want to be. You got that?”

  Her big, beautiful eyes found mine. She sniffled, her tears beginning to dissolve. “Libertas,” she whispered.

  “Libertas,” I repeated, placing a small kiss on her lips. She tasted like fresh toothpaste. “I find it with you. Always.”

  “Lock the door,” she said, suddenly shifting to peel her shirt off.

  “Whit—”

  “Just do it, Montgomery.”

  I hesitated for a second more, wondering if we had time. As Whitney’s fingers fumbled with her jean zipper, my concerns vanished. My heart and my cock seemed to like the idea, and Whitney made me a slave to both, so my wits were outnumbered.

  Hopping out of bed to quickly turn the door lock, I ripped off my shirt and pants, hurrying back to the bed. Warm conversation, gut-clenching laughter, and the squeals of everyone’s children permeated the bedroom walls, the sounds muffled but comforting. I lowered myself back onto the bed and Whitney rolled me onto my back to take charge. I gladly let her, smirking up at her as she brought her mouth down on my chest to kiss my tattoos.