Chapter 89: Bad Girls Get A House That Will Never Fall

Time flies! We're in Nashville, folks, and it's five months later. Let's check in with our favorite parents-to-be, and see how married life is treating them. I love this song The Bones by Maren Morris. It's such a fitting metaphor for the way Mac and Adam have learned to build their foundation...speaking of their house, how about a few pictures?

Adam's dock and mini-waterpark on the lake:

Mac, About Five Months Later, February

It's moving day!

Never ever have I been so happy in all my life. Like never fucking ever. Okay, maybe I was a little bit happier the day I got married. Either day. Or both. Whatever. But this day? This is easily the second happiest day of my life. I mean, third. You know what I mean.

You try being an independent, strong-willed hippie-emo-knocked-up-rocker-chic and living with your Christian in-laws for months and see how you like it. I am so fluking tired of watching my gosh-darn language and praying eight times a day. I mean, I like to pray in gratitude for all my blessings, and I like to pray in church where I can feel the collective energy of Peter's congregation, but if MJ makes Mason "go to the prayin' stump" one more time for doing something bad, I'm going to go out in the backyard with a can of gas and a lighter and burn that damn tree stump down to the ground.

Mason is a cool kid. He's not bad, he's just active and mischievous, and he's one helluva a little musician. You should see that kid tearing up the handbells at church or laying down a serious backbeat on his drum set that Adam and I gave him for Christmas. I'm trying to keep MJ and Janie from squashing his spirit. Also, Adam is trying to torture his sister by giving Mason a drum kit in the first place.

Okay, it's maybe not been all bad, living in Peter and Mj's garage.

Adam and I have had a lot of fun with his nieces and nephews, and about half the time, I'm enjoying the adults, and all the family get-togethers—the music, the impromptu lawn sports and baking sessions, the fun. It's basically like a hippie commune around here, without the drugs and orgies.

More importantly, I know it was necessary for us to be here. My third trimester has not been easy. After we made it to twenty weeks and the subchorionic hemmorhage shrunk to nothing, we thought we were in the clear. Then I got gestational diabetes. Which is a common thing, and one we managed no problem, thanks to Wynter. That was just another blip, and I felt great from September to November.

Thank god I wasn't having any problems then, with everything else that went down on tour. We were all beyond shook, and it was a miracle we made it through to the final dates, considering. Adam was maybe more rattled than anybody, except Bodie, of course.

Yeah, Adam was full-on Neanderthal Protector Mode by November, when I got pre-eclampsia, another potentially serious pregnancy complication. That was the last straw for him. He flipped out and tried to ground me.

Literally. He thought he could simply put his foot down the week before Thanksgiving, and forbid me to fly anymore, even though the doctor said I should be okay to fly for a few more weeks as long as I monitored my blood pressure daily and kept my weekly check-ups. Adam wasn't trying to hear that, though. He said we had to stay in Nashville where my doctor was until the baby was born. Uhhhhh, as if Tamara's wedding wasn't a week away in LA. As if my nephew wasn't going to be born right after that.

I thought Tam was crazy for scheduling her wedding so close to her due date, but she said all the women in her family always go overdue with their babies, and she wanted all her out of town family to be able to stay for the wedding and the birth, and she was right. She got married, and then her due date came and went a few days later, and she had to go to the hospital to be induced into labor. So everything worked out for Tam, but it was a shit-storm for Madam to make it to the happy event.

Yeah, that was a fight like the old days. I mean, we bicker all the time over trivial shit—like him not spraying air freshener before he takes a crap because it doesn't do any good after, or over the proofs for the Rolling Stone Madam cover because Adam pitched a bitch about the flesh revealing concept, or when we've had setbacks and miscommunications over our Nashville home construction or our LA home renovation —but the fight we had over going back to LA for Thanksgiving was the only serious one we've had since Martha's Vineyard.

It had all the heat and cursing and screaming and stubborness of the old fights, except louder, because we were having it on our tour bus parked in Adam's parents' driveway. There was one difference in this fight and the fights are old, however. It did not have the slamming doors or the walking away or the worry that we were breaking up. We might get angry, but we are too solid for that kind of drama anymore. A little heat can't damage our foundation.

Once we started fighting and realized we were both too entrenched and angry to stop, we swallowed our pride and sought out Adam's dad for a little mediation. His presence and mild intervention helped us to get calm and back on track with a compromise. In the end, we did go back LA, but with Marley and Kade in tow—Marley to keep us from killing each other, and Kade to monitor my pre-eclampsia. Those were Adam's conditions, and they were going to Tam's wedding together anyway and taking a week after for an LA vacation.

So we made it through Tam's wedding, and the Cub's birth—funny how we still call him that and not his name— but as soon as Adam could rip my nephew out of my arms, he had me back in Nashville. That was my concession. To return to Nashville within a weeks' time to nest until the baby was born.

Except we didn't have a nest. We had a damn garage apartment over Adam's parent's house.

For real. For nearly three months, we have lived above the garage.

It's been real fun. Especially the morning Rawlins caught me hustling down the outside staircase from the apartment in a robe and curlers--my morning dash to the touring bus that is parked in the grass beside the driveway. The bus is basically serving as my closet and bathroom, since the garage apartment doesn't even have a lighted vanity mirror.

I'm sorry that I've gotten used to the high life since college, but I consider this rough living. Adam and I smell like a farm, because of the sketch piles of mulch and fertilizer and compost that are between the garage and the barn. We sleep in one place, I get dressed in another and we even eat in another—in the main house with Peter and MJ for, since there isn't even really a kitchen in the garage apartment...just a microwave, a toaster oven and a mini-fridge. MJ has enjoyed having Wynter's help, since she wanted to put Adam's dad on a healthier diet anyway. Wynter sleeps in the bus. MJ would have given her a room but she's made a lot of friends that stay over with her. Another complication, when I'm trying to get dressed in the morning—finding naked men and women stumbling out of my bus bedroom.

Yep. We are rock stars living like Tennessee rednecks. The guys—and Rawlins, because he's apparently SCIC now — give Adam shit about it, I give Adam shit about it. Adam just laughs at us all and says "we are not too good to live like normal twenty-somethings for a couple of months before our multi-million dollar mansion is finished."

But today is that day. You can see why this is the third happiest day of my life. After six months on tour, and three months living like a refugee on the Heartley compound, I am so ready to have a real home with Adam.

It's finally and completely finished. The last of the little touches were done yesterday, after Adam, Tyler, all the other Heartley men, Rawlins, and even Trace and Leed helped out the crew to touch up paint, install the last few lights, faucets, and light-switch covers. Then the massive cleaning crew I hired worked overtime into the early morning. The movers came at six am this morning, rolling out the red carpet.

Really. They have these red moving pads that they are rolling out all over the floors, to bring in our five tractor trailers of brand new furniture.

What? It takes a lot of furniture for a house this big.

And I need it fully furnished and guest ready today. I want to make sure that no one that is here from out of town—not Trace or Leed, not Kat or Ash, not even Tam and Ben and the Cub—has an excuse to leave. Nope. My plan is to keep them all locked down, until the baby is born.

So right now, I'm marshaling my troops. Well, I'm pacing back and forth in my yoga pants with a mop over my shoulder and my hair up in a doo-rag. All the Heartley women ten and older are standing at attention, and so are my mom and Sidney. Plus Kat, Ash, Tam, Wynter, and my new Nashville PA, Quinn. I hired babysitters, just to make sure we could get this all done in a day.

"Okay Janie, let's hear the assignments," I gesture to my right-hand woman. She's nearly as pregnant as me, so her job today is Under-Over-Lord. Me being the Over-Lord, of course. Janie has been so super helpful this week. She and Peyton have built several houses, so she's like a move-in day expert.

She's been preparing for Moving Day all week, while I've been busy in the studio with Adam, Dev, and a producer named Kaspar. Dev is featuring on the final track on my EP, and between Dev, Kaspar, Adam serving as lead mixer, and the four of us collaborating on the writing and playing all the instruments, we managed to get the song written and the final cut in three days. Not a del Marco miracle, but not bad, either. I've also been interviewing housekeepers and spending some time getting to know our new nanny, Paige, and ordering last-minute items for the house. But this moving day regimen is mostly Janie's baby, so I turn the floor over to her.

She's done a great job parceling out tasks. MJ and Wynter are on kitchen duty--unpacking the boxes of brand new small appliances, pans, dishes, and kitchen tools—not a single one of them from Wal-Mart, I can assure you. Dr. Sidney is handling all household essentials—organizing all the cleaning supplies, first aid cabinet, laundry supplies—all the things my PA and I have dumped in the garage from our many shopping trips. Sam—my mom—is supposed to go with Quinn to Whole Foods and to the Local nursery and return to stock the house with groceries and the various and massive porches with live plants. Brett is in charge of marshaling the Heartley girls and going behind the movers as they put the furniture in place, setting out all the decorative pieces, rugs and pillows. Alex is in charge managing the professionals who are coming to install the window treatments, and the media room. Ash and Kat are on bed and bath duty—making all the beds and stocking all the bathrooms with linens and toiletry essentials.

"I'm handling the nursery," Janie mumbles. "Wait, I didn't know Tam was coming, I forgot to give her a job," Janie murmurs, frantically flipping pages and searching her to do list.

Tam and I laugh like hyenas. "Girl, I know my job," Tam winks, and points to the line of movers carrying huge refrigerator size boxes up the stairs into the master bedroom. "See all those? They are hanging wardrobes boxes that I had shipped from LA. That's Mac and Adam's wardrobes, to be organized into their stadium-sized closet."

Janie looks at the seemingly endless line of boxes without judgment. "Right. You'll need help. Gwennie, you're with Tam. Ash and Kat can help after they finish the bedrooms, it shouldn't take that long to make up a few beds and put some soap and towels out." She claps her hands with authority. "Move people! MJ says we have to be done by dinner, because we have the house blessing right after!"

Yay. More praying. Just kidding. I am super stoked for Peter to bless our house.

"Thank you, so much," I murmur to all my girls as they sketch salutes at Janie and wander off to their tasks, chattering and laughing. Watching them all go, my heart aches a little. For so many years, I felt like my family was four rough rockstars. Now I have this whole village of women too.

Shit. Either I'm totally going soft, or maybe Leed is right—maybe these Heartleys are putting "the religious powder" in my water. I find myself praying thanks, for the second time today, and it's not even nine o'clock in the morning. I end my brief prayer with a scowl at my own softness. "Okay?" Janie asks. She worries about me. I think she feels bad, because her pregnancy has been one hundred percent problem free, and mine has been a roller coaster.

"Yep. Totally fine." I assure her, rubbing protectively over my baby. I love her so much already, but I feel like an elephant and I'm so ready to stop sharing my body and have her in my arms. I know that I'm not that big, I'm one of those blessed women that is all belly, but I feel huge. Even though I can still get around fine and have pretty decent stamina, it's absolute ridiculous not to be able to tie your own shoe. Not that Adam minds doing it for me, as long as I wear pretty ones. But when I ask him to tie my sneakers for a workout, half the time he pulls them off and talks me into an alternative horizontal workout.

Thank God he got over his crazy notion that he wouldn't be able to have sex again until after the baby was born. Yeah, all it took was the all-clear from the doctor, and me parading through our hotel room after a show one night in those pink strappy sandals and nothing else...and we got back on track, sexually speaking. That's why we are in garage apartment, and not his old room. "I can't sex you up right in my old room, Shorty," he complained after our first night after tour at his parent's house. That was fine by me. I don't really like to smother my own moans with a pillow, either.

Janie interrupts my sexy times thoughts. "Are you really going to be able to motivate the guys yourself? I swear, they are like herding squirrels, sometimes," she says anxiously.

"Don't worry, I know how to get men's attention. The nursery awaits you. I'll be up there to help in a little while," I assure her as she hands me the clipboard.

I waddle from the stone-walled kitchen into the two story living room with its massive stone fireplace and back wall of glass with lakes views, out into the foyer beneath the huge iron chandelier, and down the staircase to the lower level— a walkout-basement, also mostly glass on the backside for lake views, but stone everywhere else. All of the guest bedrooms are down here, since we opted to put a home gym on the third floor with the family bedrooms. Kat and Ash are already down here making beds, working from the bottom up.

As I move through the rec room I pause, caught in the clutch of a Braxton-Hicks contraction. They've been happening for a couple of weeks, but with all the walking today, they are becoming more frequent. These "false labor" contractions don't really hurt, they just squeeze. When it passes, I continue to the far end of the basement, where I know I will find Adam and all the Heartley men.

As I suspect, Adam, Trace and Leed are goofing around in studio, with Mason on the drums, the Rev with an extra guitar, and all the other Heartley men plus John, Ben, and Rawlins are standing around in the control booth-slash-lounge. I breeze in and head to the far wall, where the movers have already brought in boxes and boxes of barwar and liquor. I cut open a box, dust off a dozen lowball glasses and plunk a bottle of five hundred dollar bourbon on the bar, catching Adam's eye through the glass of the soundbooth.

He gives me the humble smile and the chin tip and I melt.

Warmth spreads all through me. I swear, I will melt for Adam always.

He stops the song with a slap to his bass, and within thirty seconds, all the men have a boot up on the bar rail as I line up the glasses in front of them and pour.

"You look mighty cute, barefoot and pregnant, Shortcake," Adam says as he watches me serve with ocean eyes.

"Yeah, but behind the bar is as close as you are going to get her to a kitchen," Leed jokes, accepting his glass of bourbon with a smile.

"That is just not true, Leed." Adams tells him. "She just likes to cook fun things. You know that."

"I forgot practically everything about my sister, since you've kidnapped her and ensconced her in Nashville," Leed says dryly. "I've hardly seen her in since Thanksgiving."

"You can get on a plane without worry." Adam reminds him. "I can't help it if Ballard Sister A has got you tied up, chasing her all over LA."

"Stalking her, you mean," Trace says dryly. "She hasn't had a date yet that Leed didn't stalk."

"Don't be a dick," Leed says. "I told her dad I'd look out for her. So did you, if I remember correctly, and you'll let her step out with any douchebag that wants to take her out. You don't even know these asshats she's dating."

"Leed, she's not dating any of them," I defend Trace. "She's been on three first dates since she's been back to LA. They were all just a social experiment for her. Just to get her feet wet. And you make them all sound like some kind of Dawes-caliber-assholes. They were Riley's accountant's son, some nerd that Street knows, and a dude that owns a yoga studio and happens to be one of Brett's friends from college and part of her blog network. Anyways, Ashlynn didn't really vibe any of them."

"I don't know why," Trace muses.

Adam snorts. "That's obvious. Because she feels Leed and he feels her, but the Lion doesn't date, remember? So she's gotta give up the dream and move on. What else is she supposed to do?"

"She's supposed to be my friend," Leed growls.

"She is your friend," Trace smiles. "She's your really good friend that won't sleep with you, because she doesn't want that friends-with-benefits bullshit."

The Reverend clears his throat. "Favorite daughter-in-law—"

"I'm your only daughter-in-law—" I cut in.

"You serve whiskey like this and you'd be my favorite in a field of hundreds, dear," he retakes the conversation. "I suppose there's a reason you've lured us with bourbon at 9am, besides discussing your brother's unfortunate lack of clarity on how to court a worthy woman?"

"Hey, I'm clear on how to treat a good woman like a queen," Leed says with a cocky grin. "It's just...these relationship rules are for lesser men."

Seven committed men all cough and mumble variations on "bullshit" or "dumbass." Only my security guy John supports Leed with a fist bump.

I laugh and hand out the men's assignments. Trace and Leed are tech. The media room will be professionally installed later today and the studio was completely finished a week ago, because it's been Adam's top priority. So Trace and Leed just have the small stuff--tv's and speakers in the kitchen and bedrooms and several living spaces. John and Ben are being paid to install a complete security system of their choice, since their team will manage it, so that's their continued task for the day—they've been at it for a couple days now. Adam and Rawlins pulled hammer-and-nail duty, hanging every piece of wall art, tapestry, or sign I've ordered, since Adam mostly knows where they are supposed to go. Luke and Ty are on outdoor duty--stringing lights on the ceiling of our beautiful outdoor living space, hauling the heavy plants my mom will buy, hooking up the garden houses around the perimeter, putting out the doormats and wreaths on the several entrances, and filling up the hot tub. The two pastors—Peter and Peyton—are stocking the bars.

Yep, bars. As in multiple. One upstairs in the main living area, the one we are currently enjoying in the studio lounge, the one in the outdoor living space, and the small one in the sitting area of our bedroom—which is basically a coffee bar, but some days you need a little Irish coffee to kickstart your day. Like, on holidays, or recording days, or songwriting days, or Saturdays— that sort of thing. I mean, we're married and days from having a kid, but we are still rock stars.

As I look down at my list, I have an urge to pull one of those glasses of bourbon to my lips—just to dull the pain. The final task is setting up the rec room and stocking the shed out by the sport courts with athletic stuff. Bodie's name is on that; he was supposed to have Blake and the older boys help him. We'll skip it for now, I guess. Or it will happen as people want to use the stuff.

The men start to wander off, but I grab Adam by the wrist as I pull out my phone. We never make this call, except together. It's how we came to terms with this one small thing that kept threatening to burst into a hurt in the early months of our marriage. I swipe over to my favorites widget and put my thumb on the beautiful girl with dark hair whom I really thought I hated, but since has become a friend.

"Hey guys," Marley says, knowing that the call will come from both of us. And she knows what this call is about. It's all we're about, besides finishing the house. I can hardly even think about the baby coming in a couple of weeks, for worrying about Bodie.

Even as much as I want her here, I can't feel truly ready for the baby. Not until my whole family is here.

"Any luck?" I whisper hopefully. "Tam isn't having any."

"No," she says with a sigh. "No one's seen him since the night he got back from Thailand. I've  talk to his mom, his aunt, his sisters, his cousins. Riley is pretty sure he's still here in Atlanta, but he took so much money in cash at the bank two days ago, he could honestly be anywhere right now. But I trust Riley's instinct. I think Bodie is still here in Atlanta, too. Actually Riley and I are thinking  going door to door in Bodie's old neighborhood. TJ will help me."

"No way," Adam says. "You and Riley, are you kidding me? Not safe. We can send some security guys down there."

"You think it would be safer to send a bunch of security guys? Strangers that scream fight-me? You want your guys to get shot, Adam?" There's an edge in Marley's voice.

"Fuck, of course not," Adam grumbles. He doesn't think about things like that. He's from this rural, country setting, where the dangers are mostly getting drunk and driving your tractor in a ditch.

"Look, I know TJ. I...I...can trust him." Adam and I exchange a look. It's clear she's holding something back about TJ,  this guy that she apparently has some kind of vague, unexplained history with, too. Adam and I assume he was her patient—probably some kind of court-ordered therapy that she can't talk about.

"You really trust this guy?" Adam presses.

"I trust that if I'm with him, we aren't going to have any trouble moving around in his hood," Marley says, and she sounds much more confident about that.

Adam makes an exasperated sound. "Fuck, I don't like it. I'm going to call Riley. Maybe it's time to call this search off for a while. It's time for Riley to be here, with us, anyway."

"Fine, call Riley. He's not going to give up, not even if you fire him. And I don't work for you, Adam. If I want to look for Bodie in his old neighborhood, I will."

"I know," I say quickly, before Marley and Adam start to argue. Funny how roles reverse. They are still friends, but they argue now. About Bodie. "You're right about Riley, and I know you won't give up, either. Just...be careful, okay?"

"Don't worry about me, Mac." Marley changes the subject, asking about me and the baby, about moving day. She says Kade is coming over for the house blessing dinner and she wishes she could be there. I don't call her on it. She could be here; it's the weekend. She just won't leave Atlanta right now, because once or twice Bodie has shown up at her place. I wind down the chat with her as Adam pours himself a second drink.

When I hang up with Marley, I call Arabella's number, just in case. No answer. I don't bother to leave a message. I've talked to that bitch until I'm blue in the face and it didn't do any good. At this point, I only have one question for her—where the fuck is my Butters? I'm so done playing games with Arabella fucking Burns.

As I disconnect, Adam takes my hand across the bar, rubbing my fingers slowly. "Maybe I should go down there, and help Marley look. If you were to go into labor...it's only  a few hours from Atlanta to Nashville," he smiles. "And less if I take the Ferrari."

I snort. "You gonna take that car into Bodie's old hood?"

"Fuck no. Riley would get a car."

I'm so torn. Part of me thinks he's right. But the selfish part of me, and the mother I'm about to be...won't let him go. We need him.

"Stay with me," I say softly. "I...I..."

"Of course," he says immediately. "That was just...wishful talk. I know I can't go. I just..." he shakes his head. "Fuck," he says softly and knocks back the rest of his bourbon.

"I know." He feels guilty. I do, too. Riley, too. All of us do, but Adam feels the worst.

"One more try," I say cheerfully, as I dial Bodie's number. No answer. Not even a voice prompt. Just a signature drum solo, for his outgoing message. I curse softly. It's been months since I heard his voice—since Soundcrush officially went on hiatus after tour.

I steel myself for what I'm about to do. It's not for me, it's for Bodie, I tell myself. As the beep cues me, I take a deep breath.

"Goddamm you to fucking hell, Bodie Jamison! What the fuck is your problem? I've left you ten goddamn messages this week. It's fucking moving day! Every one is here in Nashville. You are supposed to be here, you douchebag! My baby is due in two weeks, and you better fucking be here, do you hear me? What kind of piece of shit godfather are you going to be, if you don't even show up to see your goddaughter born?!?!? Huh?!?!? You think about that, Bodie. Pull yourself out of whatever shithole crack-house you are in and go find a fucking methadone clinic and then take a fucking shower and you get your ass here to Nashville, do you hear me? Bring your fucking drugs, and bring your damn bitch of a sometimes girlfriend if you have to, but you get your stupid ass here to us, do you understand?" I hate being pregnant and hormonal, because I can't make it through my tough speech meant to get Bodie's attention. I start to cry. "Bodie...do you hear me? You need to come to Nashville, okay? I need you. We all want you here. Every single on of us. I'm so sorry for everything, but we have to let it go, okay? I need you. I...I can't have this baby without you...Please, Butters..." I dissolve into sobs. Adam gently takes the phone from me.

"Bodie, where are you, man? Just call me. Or Trace, or Leed. Just call, man. We'll come get you, wherever you are. No questions, no lectures, no ultimatums, no bullshit. We'll just...come get you, okay? Talk to you soon, brother."

Adam moves behind the bar, behind me, hugging me from behind, putting his large hands around my belly. "It's okay, Shortcake. Bodie is a survivor. Like Ash. He's been in the shit before. He'll find his way out and back to us, and we will be there for him when he does. It's going to be okay."

"I know," I say as I stuff my tears. "I know." I repeat, determined to be a better liar than Marley or Adam. "He's fine. Asshole is probably in fucking Tahiti with Arabella—zoned out on oxy and naked in a hammock."

"He better not be, that's our damn honeymoon plan," he jokes, kissing down my neck and across my shoulder. "Well, not so much the oxy. But getting fucked up together on a bottle of tequila and doing some wild drunk-fucking in paradise sounds good, yeah?"

"It sounds incredible," I agree.  Our lovemaking has gotten more and more gentle as I've gotten bigger and bigger, and I'm really looking forward to returning to hot active sex in a couple of months. And it would not take much tequila , for either of us to get crazy, probably.  Adam's probably buzzed off these two drink he just had. That's about his limit, these days. Even after Babycakes is born, I won't be able to drink, at least until I build up a supply of breast milk so that I can have a night off, so to speak.   We will get that honeymoon, we are determined...but it will be awhile...six months from now, probably, just before Soundcrush reconvenes for songwriting.

Mike runs back down the stairs. "Adam, what the hell? Are you going to help move into your own damn mansion or not?"

"Come on, Shorty," Adam says, pushing me from behind up the stairs. "Show me again where you want all this shit hung. And why do we have a little old faded painting of a naked women bathing a wash tub going in the foyer by the main powder room? Do we have to hang a naked picture in the foyer?"

"That is a Degas original, and it's perfect to hang by the main powder room!" I exclaim. "Matt and Marianne sent it as a house-warming present. I can't believe she gave us such an extravagant gift! Oh that reminds me, we have some paperwork to do to certify our ownership, and the insurance agent needs to come take pictures of it."

"Of an old dirty picture of a naked lady," Mike says skeptically. "Only in rock star world."

I follow them to the foyer, nearly having a heart attack to see that Mike cut into the picture's wrappings with a box cutter. Jesus, he could have slashed it. "That dirty picture is the most valuable thing in the house," I tell these two idiots. "Hell, it's worth more than the house, several times over."

"No shit?" Adam says, as he and Adam peer at it closely.

"No shit," I say. "Marianne said she came home from a trip and Matt had apparently gotten tired of it and replaced it with a photograph that Street had taken of Lane and Alley. Marianne found it stacked on a shelf in the garage, like  a velvet painting of Elvis, she said. She was furious. They had a big fight, now it's a thing. Every time she puts it up, he takes it down and hides it from her. I think she gave it to us just to keep Matt from damaging it," I fake-glare at Adam. "But maybe I shouldn't have told you that..."

Adam strokes my hair, and leans his forehead against mine. "Naw, I promise I will never make this ridiculously over-valued painting a pawn in a petty fight, if you promise never to take my favorite bass hostage again."

"I did do that, didn't I?" I grin into his kiss. "It worked. You remember to put the toilet seat down now, don't you?"

"You hijacked his bass because he forgot to put the toilet seat down? You guys are so damn crazy," Mike laughs.

"How did Natalie get you schooled on married bathroom etiquette? Your bathroom was disgusting in college," I remind him as I gesture a little to the left to help Adam with his painting placement.

"She asked nicely ," Mike rolls his eyes. "Not everything has to be a battle of wills, you know?"

"Hmmmm, that sounds boring, don't you think, Shortcake?" Adam beams at me as he steps up on the ladder, to hand the picture.

"Yep," I slap his ass . "Why play nice when you can play rockstar?"

You know what's coming up next chapter, right?