One Summer Isn't Enough (Summer, #4)

chapter 20

CONRAD

The next morning, we wake up in the same clothes that we came here in. After a quick breakfast and extended goodbyes to Laurel and John, who insisted that we sleep over last night, we get in the car and start the drive back to Boston. Belly wants us to split the drive in half so I don't have to take the full five-hour drive on myself, but I refused. Now especially, I'm going to make sure everything has minimal effort from her end.

Just like I predicted, by the time we reach our home in Boston, Belly is fast asleep, her head resting against the window. I park the car in the driveway and pull my phone out of my pocket, snapping a picture of her before she wakes up. Then, I softly nudge her and whisper, "Belly, we're home. Wake up."

Her eyes slowly drift open and she takes in her surroundings. Groggily, she says, "I didn't fall asleep."

I smile and kiss her. I can't help it, she's so cute. "Yeah, you just spaced out for a good four hours. Did you have a good nap?"

She nods contentedly and stretches. "But I definitely screwed up my sleep schedule."

We get our stuff and settle in. I turn the AC on and open some windows, and Belly goes straight upstairs to change into comfier clothes. Sunday afternoons are the absolute best now because they're just free, blissful hours that I get to spend with Belly. Before, when we all used to be in the summer house, I'd always have these little moments alone with her, but never an extended period of time before we were interrupted by Steven or Jere.

Belly comes down a few minutes later in a baggy, washed-through Chesterbrook High volleyball shirt and sleep shorts, spotting me reclining on the sofa and snuggling in right beside me. I kiss her forehead and ask her, "So, wifey, do you wanna watch a movie or go on a walk? I'm down for either."

She crinkles her nose in disgust at the word wifey. Which is what I intended for. "Ew. If you call me wifey ever again, hubby, then I'm sealing your mouth with duct tape."

I mess up her hair, which she hates, and she bats my hand away. "Oh, ho, ho, we're getting a little handsy here, aren't we?" I ask, laughing hard. She's laughing just as much, finally stopping to throw her hands up and yell, "Truce!" To which we shake hands and then resume our earlier conversation.

"I say we watch a movie until lunch, and then afterwards we can go on a walk. We need some stuff from the grocery store anyways."

I nod in agreement and hand her the TV remote. "Good plan. You pick the movie, since we've gone through all of my choices."

"Let's rewatch something good. How about...Casablanca?"

About halfway through the movie, when Rick and Ilsa are at the airport, my phone rings on the side table. When Belly pauses the movie and I see that it's my dad calling, I answer it, put it on speaker so Belly can hear, too, and tentatively say, "Hello?"

"Conrad?" my dad's voice asks, sounding a bit panicked. He usually chooses to text over calling, and now he sounds scared, too. Something's wrong.

"Dad? What's going on?"

"I just got a call from the hospital. Jere's in the emergency room."

Belly's eyes widen just as the phone drops from my hand.