Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
The Martin sits in its case on the passenger seat. I grabbed it without thinking, muscle memory from years of never leaving the house without an instrument. Now it weighs like armor at a family dinner.
Traffic thins as I leave the city behind. Fields stretch on either side of the two-lane highway, dotted with horses and farmhouses. My shoulders drop for the first time in days.
This is what Zara fell in love with when she moved here. Not just Levi, though their love story reads like something out of a country song, but this sense of space. Room to breathe without someone watching, waiting for you to fuck up so they can sell the story.
The ranch appears around a bend, white fences stretching toward a house with cathedral ceilings and skylights that Levi built on twenty-plus acres of rolling land. This is his slice of heaven, away from the industry chaos, where his daughters can grow up with space to breathe. Now it’s home to Zara and baby Poppy too.
I park next to Zara’s Jeep and grab the guitar case. Before I can knock, the front door swings open to reveal Stormy, all long legs and attitude, wearing leggings and a tank top that show she’s been practicing. Her face lights up with a grin that transforms her entirely.
“Uncle Darian!” She launches herself at me, and I drop the guitar case to catch her in a hug that rocks me backward. “Finally. I was starting to think you’d forgotten about us.”
“Never.” I squeeze tight, breathing in the energy that follows Stormy everywhere. “How’s the dancing going?”
“Good. I’m going to start with a new company. I’ll get to travel.” She pulls back to study my face with the intensity she inherited from her father. “You look tired.”
“Thanks. That’s exactly what every man wants to hear. Traveling will be a lot of fun.”
“I’m not trying to flatter you. I’m making an observation.” She links her arm through mine and steers me toward the house. “Willow’s been practicing that song you taught her last time. She wants to show you, but she’s nervous about the bridge.”
“She shouldn’t be nervous. She’s got better instincts than most professionals I know. But teaching her will be easier now that I’m here and we won’t have to depend on your dad’s shitty WiFi connection.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me. I wish he understood how important it was for me to post my videos. It’s how I can land other jobs.”
Stormy groans again as we step into the house, and controlled chaos wraps around me. Everything feels both familiar and foreign—Zara in domestic mode instead of tour mode, the sounds of an actual family instead of roadies and sound checks. Levi stands at the kitchen island seasoning steaks while Zara chops vegetables for salad. Willow sits at the breakfast bar with music sheets spread around her, guitar leaning against the stool beside her.
And in a highchair that looks NASA-designed, Poppy bangs a wooden spoon against her tray while making sounds that might be words or might just be pure joy.
“There he is.” Zara looks up from her cutting board, expression shifting from welcome to assessment in a heartbeat. She sees too much, always has. “You look like hell.”
“Everyone’s a critic today.”
“Everyone who loves you.” She sets down the knife and moves around the island to hug me properly. “How are you really doing?”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.” But she says it with affection, the way only sisters can. “Levi, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence.”
Levi glances up from his steaks and grins. “About time. I was starting to think you didn’t like us anymore.”
“I like you fine. It’s your wife who’s the problem.”
“Hey!” Zara swats my arm, laughing. “I’m delightful.”
“You’re something,” I agree, then move toward Poppy’s highchair. “Hey there, beautiful girl.”
Poppy drops her spoon and reaches for me with chubby arms, babbling something that sounds like “Da-da-da” but probably means “pick me up right now or I’ll scream until your ears bleed.”
I lift her from the chair, and she immediately grabs a handful of my hair with an iron baby grip. “Miss me?”
She responds by blowing a raspberry against my cheek, which I choose to interpret as yes.
“She’s been doing that all week,” Stormy says. “Z says it means she’s practicing communication.”
“Or she’s just a gross baby,” Willow adds, voice carrying pure affection. “Uncle Darian, want to hear me play?”
“After dinner,” Zara interjects. “Let him settle in first.”
I wink at Willow. “I’m all yours after dinner,” I tell her despite Zara saying as much.
But I’m settling into this house in a way that surprises me. The warmth, the easy affection between people who’ve chosen to be a family—it’s everything I avoided in LA. It’s everything Zara and I didn’t have before. In Los Angeles, it was like color didn’t exist. Everything had to be stark white or dreary black, and here, life is full of color.