Page 69 of Trying Not to Need You

“Do you think we can put some of that same dedication to cleaning up the mess from dinner?” she jokes.

My head falls back in laughter. “I’ve got this. Go sit and relax. You cooked. I’ll take care of the mess.”

“My cowboy knows how to spoil me,” she sings, following with a soft laugh. She helps me carry everything to the sink, pops a kiss on my shoulder, and leaves me to it. I’m just sticking my hands into the water to start rinsing before loading the dishwasher when she calls out for me. “Macklin McBride, you still haven’t unpacked?” she asks.

Turning to glance over my shoulder, I see her standing with the old, worn duffel bag that I used for our night away, the same one that I hauled around for years on the circuit, in her hands. “I’ll get to it.” I laugh. “I spent most of the night out with the horses and then did a workout and forgot about it, to be honest.”

“Slacker,” she teases. “I’m going to change into pajamas. I’ll toss the dirty clothes into the hamper.”

“You don’t have to clean up after me,” I tell her, reaching for a towel to dry my hands.

“I don’t mind. It will only take a second. Then I expect snuggles on the couch, cowboy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I chuckle. “Just toss the bag in the bottom of the closet, and I’ll put it back up on the shelf later.”

“Are you calling me short, McBride?”

“Yep.”

She opens her mouth to reply, but instead, laughter bubbles out. “Accurate,” she sputters, before turning on her heel and heading back to the bedroom.

“Fucking love that woman,” I say out loud because the declaration deserves to be voiced. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

After I’m finished loading the dishwasher, I rinse the sink, wash the pots and pans, and set them on the drying mat. All I need to do is wipe down the counter, and then I’ll grab a quick shower, and apparently, I’ve got some snuggling to do. I chuckle to myself as Baylor steps back into the room.

“Almost finished,” I tell her, working to quickly wipe down the counter. I finish, toss the paper towels I was using in the trash, and place the cleaner beneath the sink. “I know it’s time for snuggle duty. Let me grab a quick shower,” I say, shutting the cabinet and turning to face her.

She’s standing still, a look I can’t quite decipher on her face. She’s holding something in her hands, and when I step closer, I realize what it is. “Hey, I’ve been looking for that,” I tell her.

“Macklin,” she says, her voice cracking. “What?” she asks, shaking her head.

“Did something happen? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” I ask, instantly on alert. I knew she seemed off.

“I—” She starts and stops. “Where did you get this?” She holds up the small, cheap dollar-store photo album I’ve had for years. It’s one of those soft-sided, floppy, thin ones that hold a few pictures. Like twenty, I think.

“It’s mine.”

She peers down at the album in her hands, and I see a slight tremble in her grip. “Hey, are you mad?” I ask her. I take a step closer, wrapping my arms around her. She buries her face in my chest. I hold her, letting her work through whatever’s going on in that beautiful brain of hers.

“Come here,” I say, guiding her to the counter. Placing my hands on her hips, I lift her onto the island that I just meticulously cleaned after dinner, and step between her legs, putting us at eye level. “Tell me what’s going on up here,” I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“You have a photo album of me.”

“I do.” She’s holding the evidence in her hands. Not that I would lie about it anyway. I’m not ashamed of carrying her with me over the years.

“Why? How?”

“I told you that I wanted you.”

“I know, but this—” She holds up the album. “They’re all of me, Macklin.”

“I wanted you with me. At first, you were in college, living your dream, and I was on the circuit. This was how I kept you close while you were doing that. Then when you graduated, I thought it might be our time, but you moved to New York, and well, you know the rest of the story. Each time, I’d snap a photo and print it from my phone. I know it sounds like I’m a creeper, and hell, maybe I am, but it made me feel like I had a piece of you with me when I was on the road.”

“You took it with us to Nashville this weekend.”

“Ah, it must have still been in my duffel. I carried that thing for years. I just tossed in some clothes and whatever I thought I might need for our trip. I forgot the album was still in there.”

She’s quiet, not saying anything as she stares down at the album in her hands, so I keep talking, worry settling in my gut.