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She gives me a confused look. “Then why are you late?”
“Long night.” I sit on the floor in front of her and make sure to greet the actual family that lives here. “Morning, Gabe and Marina.”
“Good morning, Jace.” Marina brings me a plate loaded with waffles and scrambled eggs, still warm. “I have to admit, every time I see you, I have to adjust something in my head. You’re…” She waves her hands around me. “Tall and, well, a grown man. Last time I saw you—”
“I was covered in acne patches?” It’s best to apprehend the commenter with a silly comeback of my own. That way the truth is not embarrassing.
“Yes.” Marina’s eyes grow sad. “Now Juliette’s going to be a mother.” She turns to her daughter, now sandwiched on the couch between Link and Jelly.
“You did what needed to be done. You’ll enjoy being a grandmother instead of being in a coffin—” Dang it. An ability to keep my mouth in check would be handy right now.
But Marina laughs and ruffles my hair. “You’re right, of course. I missed you.” She leans over and grabs my face to plant a kiss on my cheek before returning to the kitchen. “And I missed this house.” She gives Gabe a kiss, not on the cheek. “And the life I thought I’d have with you all is completely different. It used to be just you flaunting your skills, but now our house is full of musicians all the time. We’re rock star grandparents, but we used to be a nerd family. We used to dream about Super Mario onesies and dragon egg shells instead of Christmas wrapping paper. Now what?” She throws Gabe a playfully complaining look.
He chuckles. “Don’t despair. Shane and Jules will be okay with Super Mario onesies.”
“Totally,” Shane confirms.
Juliette is distracted. Our drummer has her hand on Juliette’s middle, and both of them are quiet. Something must happen because they gasp in excitement.
“Was it her?” Jelly exclaims.
Juliette beams. “Yeah, that was a kick.”
“Her?” I ask.
Juliette smiles at me, excited and happy. I remember so many moments of her smiling at me like that. Like I’m someone she trusts, someone important, someone irreplaceable. This will change very soon. I don’t allow myself to feel anything about it.
“Yes. It’s a girl,” Juliette says. “We haven’t announced it yet, so you guys”—she nails each of us with a warning look—“have to keep it under wraps. Charlie’s planning an elaborate gender reveal. You know how she is.”
We all nod. Charlie is The Label’s social media coordinator. Her talent at promotion verges on the occult, so nobody dares to disobey her. Whatever she says goes. If she wants to do a filmed gender reveal or whatnot, she’s going to do it, and we’ll all thank her for it.
“A girl!” Jelly claps her hands, drawing Link’s and Tristan’s suspicious glances. She’s not a baby person or a “girly girl,” so her glee is unexpected. “Any name ideas?”
Shane sits on the floor beside me with a full plate of food. “We’re going between Rosemary, Lorelei, and Esme.”
Juliette wrinkles her nose—I can tell she hates every one of those options. I can’t help shooting her a smile, which she catches, and the corners of her mouth turn ever so slightly down.
“You’ll figure it out,” I say to her. “You still have time, right? The baby isn’t due until…?”
“December.”
“A Christmas baby!” Jelly exclaims and rattles off a string of names she seems to think would fit the occasion. Angel, Carol, Noelle, even Mistletoe.
Juliette cringe-laughs at all of Jelly’s outrageous suggestions. Her eyes find me again. She’s got a vibe around her, like she’s hiding something. She further proves it by stealing a nervous glance at Shane. Uh-oh.
“Jace, you made an appearance in the tabloids this morning,” Tristan announces as he uses a waffle to wipe the remnants of maple syrup from his plate.
“I did?” I strain my tired brain to remember what I could’ve done to earn media attention.
“Running through the streets with a ginger in a gray jacket.” Link’s eyes gleam with insinuations from underneath the rim of his ever-present beanie.
“Crap!” I set the plate on the floor beside me and scoop my phone out of my pocket. What time is it? Ten fifteen? Laurel has probably already dumped me and my promises to text her into a can’t-be-trusted bin. I set the phone on my leg and claw my sleeve up to read her number. The Sharpie ink is as bright as last night, water and soap notwithstanding.
“You got a tattoo?” Jelly asks, her tone demanding. She’s the only one in the band with ink. Impressive ink at that. Her back is covered. She would flay me if I got a tattoo without telling her first.
“No.” I shoot Laurel a text—This is Blackmore—then I dial her up.
Jelly tries to continue, but I press a finger to my mouth.
