Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection

I need to go back home.

To Mama.

To Phoebe.

And maybe back to Liam.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Phoebs, would you just stand still for once and stop with that ridiculous duck face?”

The selfie stick is extended in front of us, swaying side to side as I do my best to capture the moment in panoramic, ignoring Liam and Phoebe arguing beside me as we huddle in for the photo. The beautiful stretch of the Bavarian Alps is positioned behind us, basking in the glorious sunlight on this warm, summer’s day.

“Perfect.” I smile to myself, bringing the GoPro back toward me.

Phoebe throws her backpack on to the ground, complaining about her sore shoulders again. She carries too many non-essential items, yet there’s no convincing her otherwise.

“Look, think about how toned your muscles are becoming,” I remind her.

“Did you see the schnitzels and jug of beer I polished off yesterday? This food baby, is about nine months along.” Phoebe pats her belly, purposely pushing it out to create a little round bump. “I probably shouldn’t have eaten the bratwurst and sauerkraut, too. That combo did a number on my stomach.”

“Mine, too. Never say the word sauerkraut to me ever again. Doesn’t that mean sour cabbage?”

“I don’t know. Whatever it is, it did a sour number on my asshole,” she complains, cringing.

My mouth twists, disgusted at her graphic comment but can’t even argue her point since it also makes me ill. I may not have consumed the jug of beer like Phoebe, but one sip, and my stomach growls in a non-hungry way. I’m smart enough to figure out the rest of the jug will only send my stomach into further turmoil. Phoebe—not so much.

Then ABBA comes on.

Game over.

Phoebe is just a hot mess, standing on some tabletop and belting out Fernando. Last night was day five of our trip, and I suspect many more tabletop moments involving an intoxicated Phoebe Ann Summers.

But having fun, enjoying life is the whole purpose of the trip.

Thirty days.

The three of us.

Backpacking through Europe.

Leaving Los Angeles three weeks ago is the best thing I could have ever done for myself. It isn’t easy—quite the opposite. It’s the second hardest thing I have done in my life after leaving Mama behind.

Emerson was upset, offering me some time off to go do what I need to do, but I don’t want to be bound by time. She cried, I cried, and I didn’t expect to bond with her as deeply as we did in such a short time. This huge part of me carries guilt. I let her down professionally by allowing my personal life to get the better of me, but at some point, I had to make a decision that’s best for everyone.

I need to find myself, and there’s no time limit on that.

Flynn chose to stay in Los Angeles, moving in with some bandmates to cover costs. A week after I left, he was offered a record deal and a big one at that. Things are going fantastic for him, and deep down inside, I know I have to let go and let him live his life without my constant interference. He’s a big boy and doesn’t need me holding his hands anymore.

The day I stepped foot back on Alaskan soil, my emotions ran high. Mixed feelings about being home but also missing Los Angeles and the life I had built for myself.

Ironic, since I never expected any other place to feel like home.

Mama is happy to see me but equally worries about my welfare. There is no hiding anything from that woman. The second she saw me, she knew the truth.

I still remember the conversation we had the day I returned.

“Milly, I can see you’re lost. Just like when you were a little girl, you would run to me every time, demanding I make you better. Cry until I did. You’re a big girl now, and I won’t always be around to fix your booboos.”