He opened his eyes, lids still heavy with sleep. His eyes adjusted to the early morning light as his mind cut through the haze. Lindsey frowned sourly, realizing he'd been pushed to the edge of the bed by his space and cover hogging lover. He thrusted himself up, propping on his elbows and glancing to the blonde beside him. Silently, he observed the steady rise and fall of her chest, the peaceful look on her stunning features, and the tangled knots in her hair. He leaned over and brushed his lips across her forehead before rolling out of bed. He ran his fingers through his frowzy curls, debating on settling back into bed for an A.M. cuddle session. Lindsey scowled as Stevie stretched her body out. He could have sworn there was a self-satisfied smile on her lips. He grumbled to himself, pulling on a pair of clean boxer shorts and quietly stomping out of the bedroom. Lindsey licked his lips; he needed water. His throat was as dry as the Sahara. Lindsey yawned and stretched, brows wrinkling at the noise of footsteps. It was too early for anyone else to be awake.
Lindsey bowed his head in a nod of acknowledgement to his daughter's shirtless and underwear clad boyfriend as he strolled past him, praying he seemed cool and collected. He watched Andrew disappear into Libba's bedroom. Lindsey exhaled slowly and waited for the decorated painted door to close, swiftly turning on his heels and fiddling with the doorknob. Lindsey swore as he didn't open the door fast enough, slamming into the heavy wood. The frazzled father scrunched his face and warily checked his nose for blood. He let out a sigh of relief. There was such a thing as small favors. He stepped back and twisted the knob slower, bounding inside and over to the bed.
Stevie groaned at the shift in the mattress and turned her face into the pillow, wallowing deeper into the blankets. "Stop," she moaned in a deep rasp. "I'm sexed out, Linds," she mumbled and pushed at his hands that were urgently and forcefully shaking her. Stevie needed several more hours of blissful, uninterrupted sleep to fully recover from last night's lovemaking.
He tilted his head to the side, glancing down at her critically and rolling his pale eyes. For once in his life, the man wasn't wanting sex. "Stevie! Wake up," he begged, leaning close to her ear.
She shook her head and kicked at him with her small feet. He dodged her assaults and ignored her inaudible protests. "Stephanie! Goddammit, wake up. It's Libba."
Stevie flung the covers off her body and pushed herself up. "What? What's wrong?" she inquired with wide eyes, staring at Lindsey. His curls were sticking straight up, and he looked like a man possessed.
"Andrew slept in her room!" he half shouted. "He only wore underwear!"
The blonde sighed heavily and looked up to the ceiling, rolling her eyes. She scooted underneath the bedspread and pulled the material up to her chin, turning her back to him. "Goodnight, Lindsey," she whispered calmly and closed her eyes.
Lindsey's mouth fell open. His face was a mixture of shock and horror. Stevie wasn't going to make him feel like a foolish, overprotective father. He had every right to be outraged that Andrew slept with his daughter under their – well technically Stevie's – roof. He chewed the inside of his cheek and cracked his knuckles, stretching his fingers. Lindsey lifted his index finger, poking Stevie in her side repeatedly.
She blew out air in frustration and rolled over, fastening her fingers around his wrist and digging her sharp nails into his skin. "Lindsey, listen to me carefully. Are you listening?"
He nodded, biting his lip and attempting to mask the pain playing at his features as she dug her claws into his wrist more. "Yes," he croaked out.
"I knew that Andrew slept in Elisabeth's room. He has permission. He's had permission for years. Now, chill the fuck out and let me sleep," she finished, releasing his wrist.
"What do you mean? He's had permission? You knew about this?"
"Yes, Lindsey. I knew about it," Stevie grumbled, sitting up and fluffing the pillows. She realized there would be no sleeping beyond noon much less nine o'clock. She rested against the headboard and smoothed a hand over her swollen abdomen. "I let them sleep in the same room."
Lindsey's features twisted in horror and panic. His mind raced with how unwise Stevie was being. "What the fuck, Stevie? What if they have sex?" he inquired in a yell.
"They don't have sex. It's part of the rule, Lindsey. The rule has been in place since Libba was seventeen, and it hasn't been broken," she explained, growing more and more exasperated by the minute and feeling like she was explaining why the sky was blue to a child.
"How do you know?" he asked skeptically.
"I know my daughter," Stevie stated.
"You may know Libba, but Andrew is a twenty-one-year old male, Steves."
"Lindsey," she huffed. "Some men can sleep in the same bed with a female and not initiate sex."
"When I was that age, I couldn't," he responded honestly. He blocked out the frightening thoughts of how much he most likely sounded like his father now.
Her lips curled into a smirk. She leaned forward, slithering her hand up his arm and warmly squeezing his bicep. "I remember," she whispered, kissing his jaw and days old stubble prickling her silky lips. "It's the reason we have Libba."
He grinned at her, chuckling softly. That little, cramped apartment, on their own, and doing whatever whenever they wanted. "And the reason we got so many noise complaints from our neighbors," he whispered, nuzzling his nose against hers.
She pressed her forehead against his and sighed lightly, running her fingers through his curls and scratching his scalp. "Baby, you have nothing to worry about. Libba's always respected rules...unlike us. As endearing as it is when you flip out over something with her, you need to stop, especially if it's so early in the morning. You're having delayed fatherly reactions, baby."
Lindsey lifted his head and pressed his lips against her forehead, nodding. "I can't make any promises," he said and climbed over her, falling onto his side of the bed. He snaked an arm around her and pulled her snugly against him. Stevie smiled softly and curled into him, yawning and relaxing. "I love you even if I'm a melodramatic pain in the ass," he murmured, sloping to meet her halfway and capturing her mouth with his. He splayed his hand over her middle, thinking of how much distress he'd be in if one of the twins was a girl. Lindsey kept his thoughts to himself and listened to the gentle sounds of Stevie's breathing level as she drifted off.
Hours later, her eyes fluttered open. She stretched and arched her back, sitting up and swinging her legs off the bed. Stevie ran a hand through her hair and trudged into the bathroom. She turned on the shower and waited for the water to warm. After a few minutes, she stepped inside, washing her body and shampooing her hair. Stevie stayed under the water until she was a prune and completely awake.
In the bedroom, Elisabeth drummed her fingers against her knee and waited impatiently. She hoped the scrambled eggs and toast she'd made wouldn't get cold. The only thing on the plate that wouldn't ruin was the fruit. She glanced at the tray on the nightstand and wondered if her mother would use all the water in California. Libba perked up, hearing the water shut off. She folded her legs and held in her laughter as her mother emerged from the bathroom, towel wrapped around her head and wearing a fluffy robe. "Mama," she said softly, praying she wouldn't startle her.
"Christ, Libba!" she shrieked. "You scared me. How long have you been in here?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "I made you breakfast," she revealed, pointing to the silver serving tray.
Stevie smiled at the sweet gesture and sat down at her vanity, smoothing lotion over her legs. "What do you want, baby?"
"Nothing," she replied innocently.
"Elisabeth," Stevie said, turning her head and raising a judgmental brow. She sensed there was more of a motive for making breakfast than kindness.
"Tell me what's going on," she requested, slipping off the chaise lounge.
"Well, I'm sitting here trying to figure out why my daughter cooked for me," her mother answered and put away the lotion.
"Mama," Elisabeth groaned and put her hands over her face, dragging her lacquered nails down her cheeks. "I'm serious! Why did daddy take Andrew to lunch? He's never done that before."
"What? Oh God," Stevie muttered under her breath and liberally applied moisturizer to her face. Maybe...just maybe Lindsey wouldn't make a complete ass out of himself. "I'm sure it's nothing, honey," she lied.
Her daughter saw through the fib and dramatically threw herself on top of the ivory coverlet. "What did I do now? Just tell me. Don't drag it out, mama." Her whole stay at home had been blunder after blunder with her father.
Stevie bit her bottom lip, shaking her head. Libba was reminding her too much of Lindsey. From time to time, the woman wondered if her little girl had any of her qualities. Libba had never been much of a dreamer, rule breaker, or a lover of mysticism. Stevie swiveled in her chair and stood to her feet, slinking over and dropping onto the bed. She rubbed her daughter's thigh. "Your father saw Andrew go into your room this morning."
"That's it?" Elisabeth pushed her hair away from her face and sat up. "Like that's it?"
The blonde nodded her head in amusement. "And he freaked out."
"Mama, we didn't have sex. I promise. I wouldn't break that rule."
"I know, baby," she replied gently, cupping the side of Libba's face and smiling at her. "I know." Stevie kissed her face and released her. "Tell me...what's the plan for tonight?" she inquired curiously, excitement bubbling in her voice. She was overjoyed that Andrew and Libba were back together. The spur of the moment plane ticket to Seattle had been the greatest thing to be done for the young couple.
"If Andrew comes back in one piece, we're going to do dinner and drinks before the show. It starts at 8, but he wants to get there early I think," Elisabeth replied.
Stevie nodded and combed her fingers through her daughter's flaming burgundy locks. "Start getting ready. Come back in here, and I'll do your hair."
Elisabeth shot off the bed and walked to the door, stopping and looking back at her mother. "Will you do the accent too?"
Her mother laughed, recalling how she'd fix her little girl's hair in braids, ponytails, pigtails, or buns while explaining every detail in a thick French accent. "If you want," she answered with an amused smile tugging at her lips. She watched Libba leave the room. Stevie hadn't done her daughter's hair in years and was out of practice with the accent. She set about turning on the curling iron and walked into her spacious closet, deciding what to wear. She dressed quickly in a simple tunic and leggings and finally ate breakfast once her stomach began to growl. Stevie settled back into bed and picked up her journal, writing for a while until Elisabeth returned. She looked over the rim of her glasses. "That's what you're wearing?"
"What?" Libba asked, arching her perfectly plucked brow quizzically and glancing over herself. "What's wrong with my outfit?" It was effortlessly simple for the concert – tight ripped at the knees black jeans, a cropped black Red Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt, and her favorite black leather jacket. "Is it the shoes?" she asked, lifting her polished 1914 Doc Martens.
"No," Stevie responded uncertainly. "I just thought," she hedged. "I don't know."
"Mama, I know you don't listen to them, but it's not exactly a dress up show. No dresses. No frills."
"Not like my shows," Stevie surmised and directed Libba to sit at the vanity.
"Well, yeah. I don't think there'd ever be the risk of a mosh pit at a Stevie Nicks show." She fell into the cozy chair and arranged herself to sit Indian style. Her eyes scanned over the various shades of foundation, eyeshadows, and lipsticks. Her mother's pristine vanity was a make-up lover's dream.
"You never know," she retorted, cackling and trying to imagine a chiffon and lace adorned mosh pit. She cleared her throat and began speaking in her best French accent as she began curling her girl's hair. Elisabeth laughed hysterically, shaking her head and covering her face. "Libba, hold still," Stevie scolded. "I don't want to burn you."
"I can't! Oh my God," she breathed out in between laughs, doubling over and holding her sides. "Stop. I can't deal with it. It's a really crazy mix of French and Russian."
"I'm out of practice," Stevie admitted, catching Elisabeth's infectious laughter.
"It's okay," Libba placated and composed herself, straightening up. "Hold on," she said, shrugging out of the leather jacket.
Stevie squeezed her daughter's shoulder and continued curling her hair, carefully twisting the strands over the barrel and releasing at just the right time. Elisabeth snickered at the serious look of concentration on her mom's features. She hissed, turning her head as a hot curl touched her ear.
"Sorry, sweetheart. You need to be still."
She muttered and closed her eyes, gliding her fingers over the array of lipstick tubes and counting to twenty. She stopped and opened her eyes. Elisabeth pulled the tube and twisted it open. "Ooh," she cooed. "Can I?" she questioned, pleading with her baby blues.
"Of course. If you're going to do a bold lip, keep your eyes simple."
"I know. Remember, I learned from you."
Stevie finished the curls and turned the iron off, resting her hands on Libba's shoulders. She chewed on her bottom lip, hesitant to ask the question coursing through her mind. "Baby, have you enjoyed being home?"
"I have. Why would you ask?" She watched her mom sit on the storage ottoman at the foot of the bed and lazily run her hand down the dog's back.
"I understand it's been different with your father being here."
Elisabeth chuckled. It had been one of her more interesting holiday stays. She began dabbing foundation over her face with a sponge. "It has. It definitely has been different. Mama, it's been weird but a good weird."
"A good weird?" she asked, looking up and cocking an eyebrow. The contrasting words confused her.
"I'm not used to it. I'm not used to seeing you and daddy as a couple. I don't remember how you guys were when you were together. It's all new to me," she disclosed honestly. "I only know you guys being apart, so it's a good weird to see you and him cuddling like when we watched It's a Wonderful Life on Christmas Eve."
The words hit Stevie's heart straight to the core, ricocheting to every corner and making her ache. Her daughter didn't remember the good times, but Libba had been so young when she and Lindsey called it quits. She looked down, folding her hands in her lap and twisting one of her rings around her finger. "I'm sorry, Libba," she whispered, sniffling. "I'm sorry we didn't make it work. We should have tried harder for you."
Elisabeth sat down next to her and embraced her. She wanted to take away the pain and guilt her mother was feeling, but she couldn't find the words that would comfort her. At the top of the stairs, Lindsey quieted Andrew, hearing the conversation floating from the master bedroom. He quietly instructed Andrew to get ready for the show, and he crept down the stairs to give his ladies privacy.
"It's not fair to you, Libba. Your siblings will get what you were supposed to have. I didn't want you to be shuffled around from house to house. I wanted you to have a life with two parents that loved each other and stayed together no matter what," she confessed and dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse.
"It is what it is, mama," she murmured. "It can't be changed. I wouldn't change it. I wouldn't be me," she finished, smiling brightly. "You know," she added and nudged her mother gently in the side. "You and daddy did decide to stay together. You can't help that it was a musical marriage instead."
Stevie cracked a slight smile and met her daughter's eyes, lacing their fingers together. She didn't know when Elisabeth had grown so wise, but she was grateful. She lifted their hands and kissed the back of her daughter's, holding it against her face and shutting her eyes. "I love you more than you'll ever know."
Elisabeth bit back the emotion and cleared her throat softly. "I love you too," she returned and squeezed her mom's hand. She stood to her feet, blinking away the tears forming in her eyes. Libba sat down and finished fixing her face, smiling up at her mom as she chose a few eyeshadows for her. Stevie wandered around the room, cleaning up here and there before reclaiming her spot on the ottoman.
The redhead stood and walked to the full-length mirror, smiling appreciatively at her appearance. She listened to her mother's compliments but noticed something out of the corner of her eye. Elisabeth stepped inside the closet and pulled the large oil painting out, sliding it across the carpet and letting it rest against the wall. "Why is this in the closet? You don't like it?"
Stevie stopped rubbing her hands across her stomach and turned her head, staring at the canvas. "No, honey. I love it," she reassured but didn't have the heart to tell Libba that the scene shook her. She knew it had taken Elisabeth hours and hours of work.
"If you love it, why is it in the closet?" Libba asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "As soon as I give you a painting, you always hang it up. This is hiding in the closet."
She pushed her bangs away from her eyes. Stevie took a deep breath and felt the flutters underneath her palm. She bit her lip, examining the brushstrokes that created the hillside scattered with wildflowers, the boy and the girl on a blanket in the middle of the lush expanse, and the blonde woman in white in the distance...just like the dream that had plagued her for months but from a different vantage point. She swallowed hard and felt Libba next to her. "Libba, what made you paint it?" she asked shakily, gaze not leaving the painting.
The girl furrowed her brows at how intensely her mother was stricken by the painting. It was different from anything she usually created and gave to her. One year, she'd painted a field of sunflowers for her mom then an inky night sky with a crescent moon the next. "Mama, are you okay?"
"Libba, what made you paint it?" she repeated.
She shrugged her shoulders, tucking her hair behind her ears and glancing at her work. "I don't know. I had a dream months ago. It was so vivid and real that I woke up and went straight into the studio to paint. I thought about selling it, but I thought you'd love it."
Stevie turned her head and gazed into her daughter's bright eyes. "I do love it. I just," she stopped, choking up. Stevie cleared her throat and waved her hand. "It's the best work you've given me. I had your father put it in the closet because I didn't want anything to happen to it before I decided where to put it," she told the untruth beautifully, unwilling to divulge her recurring dream. Stevie patted Libba's knee. "I love it and you. Now, go find out where your father is with Andrew. You two need to be leaving soon."
Elisabeth stood, reluctantly exiting the room. She knew there was something more, but she wouldn't push the matter.
Stevie pushed herself off the ottoman cushions and stood in front of the painting. Her fingers fiddled with the golden moon pendant hanging from the chain around her neck. She knelt and peered at the work, realizing she'd been wrong earlier. Elisabeth was more like her than she thought.