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Chapter 38

Jason

♪Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea | Missio

Five weeks later

Iwas playing in Vegas. I was sitting on a cold metal folding chair backstage drinking my second Red Bull of the night when Sloan called. It was loud. Grayscale was almost done with their set.

It had been five weeks since I’d last seen her. I missed her so much it made me physically ill. I couldn’t sleep and I was getting headaches. Probably grinding my teeth, who the fuck knew.

This whole thing with Sloan was a complete and total transfer of energy. She was happy and light and rested, and now I was a mess. Saying goodbye to her had fucking wrecked me.

“Hey, babe. What’s up?” I said, rubbing my forehead.

“Did you get the cookies?”

I could hear the smile in her voice. She was always smiling now. I tried not to dwell too much on what it meant that she was so much happier not being here.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

“Your mom gave me the recipe,” she sang.

I arched an eyebrow. “Did she?” I set the empty can down and waved at Zane, pointing at it for another one.

“Yup. I can make them for you now whenever you want.”

I actually smiled a little, despite the throbbing in my head. “She must really like you. She doesn’t give that to anyone.”

She laughed. “Well, I had to barter for it. I let her post her favorite grouse recipe on The Huntsman’s Wife in exchange.”

“So she can be bought.” I chuckled dryly.

Mom loved her. Everyone did. Dad raved about my girlfriend every time I called home. But I’d actually been regretting sending her there instead of an Airbnb on the beach or something because my parents, though well intentioned, were a distraction.

Sloan wasn’t getting her work done.

I missed her. Every time I talked to her, all I wanted to ask was, “How long?” How much longer until she came back?

Her paintings took months. I knew that. And I didn’t want to rush her. She needed to focus, and me constantly asking when she’d be done with it wasn’t going to help things. So I never poked her. It was my number one rule. I inquired about how it was going, if it was coming out the way she wanted. But I never asked how long.

And then last night she’d sent me a picture.

It wasn’t even half-finished.

My heart had crashed and burned in my chest.

I don’t think she even started until Kristen left, so that was two weeks of zero progress. Mom was taking her antique shopping and to meat raffles. Dad was bringing her on hikes and having her over to the outfitter. I’d been right about the cooking thing—Sloan had started updating her blog again. But she and Mom together were a dangerous combination. They could be in the kitchen all day long if left to their own devices—which they were.

Under normal circumstances, I’d be thrilled that my family had embraced her. But these weren’t normal circumstances. I wanted her back.

I’d rather Sloan get two hours of painting done and come home to me two hours sooner than I get a delivery of Grandma’s cookies to my hotel room—even if they were my favorite.

“You want to hear something funny?” Sloan said. “Your mom says the next time we’re here together, we can share a room.” She sounded triumphant.

“Wow, that is big,” I mumbled. The bass from the stage vibrated from the floor to my brain and I squeezed my eyes shut.

“I think she’s hoping you’ll get me pregnant so she can keep me.”