After we walked away from Capital Letter Records, Trace and I took some time to just be together. No labels, no tour buses, no performances. Just us. The family living in my home had found some things of my father’s in the attic and sent them to me. I used my year off to put together a memory book that eventually became an actual book called My Father’s Daughter. It sold more copies than Darla’s. Not that I was counting or anything.
Donovan Taite offered Trace his own label. Eventually Trace accepted, provided he could sign a certain trio that included Donovan’s daughter, Mia Montgomery, and his wife. It makes Lily’s day that she’s been signed by a separate label that isn’t technically her dad’s.
Trace is happy with the arrangement since he still has time for his A Hand Up Foundation, the rehab facility he’s part owner of, and his favorite job—being a stay-at- home-dad.
Despite the media turning us into some shiny, sparkly golden couple, the past few years haven’t been all hearts and glitter shooting out of our asses. Red carpets and platinum awards, aside, it’s life. It’s beautiful and messy and more often than not, kind of scary. We both panicked when we found out I was pregnant with Bo. Trace hadn’t had a very good example of a father and I didn’t even have any solid memories of my mother. But somehow, together, we figured it out. We’re still figuring it out most days.
But it’s real. What we have. No matter what anyone says.
We tour together from time to time, but Trace won’t go on the road unless Bo and I go with him. He’s been sober for nearly five years now and I couldn’t be more proud of him. But even if he slips and has to go back to rehab, we’d get through it. As a family.
Bo has gone way back in my photo album on my phone. There are still pictures of our wedding on it. We had it here at the farm. Trace wore a tie but I let him wear jeans and boots. I wore my mom’s wedding dress, which had arrived with my father’s belongings, with my own boots. The same ones I’d taken on Trace’s Back to My Roots tour.
I smile at my son and at the blurry photos on the screen. It rained on our wedding day, and the guests all took shelter in the tents. But we stayed out in the storm and said our vows. A little rain couldn’t stop us. I barely even noticed. We’d been through much worse.
Glancing at the pictures though, I want to laugh. We look half-drowned. And that was before Trace threw me in the pond.
“Gretchen and her son and some guy she’s dating and his kid are coming,” Trace reminds me, snapping me back to the present. “She said you invited them at the AHU benefit.”
“I did.” I bite my lip, wondering if the next guest on the list is going to make him go all caveman on me. “Mia’s coming, too. I told her she could bring someone if she wanted. So she is.”
Trace steps into the living room with a dishtowel in his hands. “Oh yeah? Who is she bringing?”
I roll my eyes. He can say whatever he wants. The man looks at celebrity gossip stuff online. He knows good and well who Mia is dating. They’ve been together for a while now. It’s not exactly a new thing.
“You know who. Be nice.”
Trace eyes the gun cabinet in the corner. “Nice is my middle name. Ask him if he wants to go hunting in the morning.”
“You’re not right.” I shift Bo, whose eyes haven’t left my phone this entire time, onto the couch cushion beside me and stand on my tiptoes. I give my husband a lingering kiss. “You know there’s only ever been one guy for me.”
“Damn straight,” he says against my mouth before swatting me on the behind with the dishtowel.
The next hour is a steady stream of guests arriving, and the long day begins to weigh on me. It must be showing because once everyone has arrived, Trace pulls me aside.
“Baby, if you’re tired, go lie down. Turkey still has a little while and the kids want to go down to the barn and see the horses.”
I wrap my arms around him, resting my head on his chest, and let out a small sigh. It’s good to be home. “I’m okay. I’ll come down in a minute. I just need to freshen up first.”
Looking up into the hazel gaze I love so much, I smile at his darkening expression. He worries about me. It feels nice to have someone who cares so much. Too much sometimes.
“I promise I’m fine.” I press my lips to his, and he surprises me by sliding his warm, wet tongue in my mouth. He tastes so good, and I can’t get enough.
My arms wrap instinctively around his neck and my fingers rake into his hair.
By the time he ends our kiss, I’m lightheaded.
We have guests, I remind myself.