Page 69

Justine Floyd
When do you head back?
Shortly.
Justine Floyd
Can’t wait to see you.
Those five words stir something unexpected in my chest—a fluttering, a warmth. I type several responses, delete them all, and finally settle on:
Me too.
Finally, Peyton, Noah, and the incubator holding the triplets appears in the waiting room, which I’ve learned has been reserved just for our family.
“We have names,” Peyton says as she beams at Noah. “No comments from the gallery if you don’t like them. We do and they’re fitting.”
“Baby A, our oldest is Maverick Liam Westbury.”
They let Maverick’s name settle onto his gramps. Liam wipes at his eyes and nods.
“Baby B,” Peyton continues as she looks at our dad. “Is Jace Harrison Westbury.”
“Oh, thank heavens,” mom blurts out. “I thought you were going to call him Harry Westbury and I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. The poor boy would’ve been teased relentlessly.”
Peyton looks at Noah and blanches.
“And my niece?” I ask.
“You know her middle name’s Elle unless Peyton did me a solid and named her first born daughter after her lovely sister,” Elle says as she bumps my shoulder with hers.
I scoff. “Maybe Quinnella,” I say.
“Please no,” mom says and then covers her mouth.
“Our little girl is Juniper Elle Westbury.”
“Yes,” Elle says as she fists pumps. “I told you!” She jabs her finger at me. “Wait, Juniper? Not Elle? I mean I knew Elle was in there, but I really thought?—”
“Juniper,” Peyton says. “We’ll call her Junie or Junie Elle. I didn’t want to call her Ellie, and she needs her own identity.”
“I love it,” Elle says.
I feel a rush of emotion at the names, at the way they honor our family while creating something new. Those emotions become almost unbearable as I take one last look at my nephews and niece. I lean down and take another picture of them.
“I gotta go back to work,” I tell them. “Be good to your mama and daddy. I’ll see you three in a couple of weeks.” I slip my hand inside and give them tiny fist bumps and then step aside so my family can do the same thing. I’d give anything for this tour to be over, so I can veg out on the couch with these three. Until that can happen, I’ll pester my sister for photos, every day if I have too.
While I wait around for Elle to do some personal work for Noah and Peyton, I contemplate texting Nola but then decide she left this life. She can read about it on social media because as far as I’m concerned, my family is none of her business.
NINETEEN
Ican still feel Juniper’s heartbeat echoing against my chest. Four pounds of pure perfection that redefined my entire existence in a single moment. When they placed my newborn niece against my bare skin, something cracked open inside me—a chamber of my heart I didn’t know existed. Her impossibly small fist gripping my finger with surprising strength, tiny razor-sharp nails digging into my skin. The wisp of dark hair peeking from beneath her pink cap, looking so much like Peyton and Elle in their baby photos. And my sister—exhausted, triumphant, transformed.
Now, as the plane touches down and the tour looms, I’m crossing worlds—from the sacred quiet of the NICU to the roar of thousands waiting for tonight’s show. Life before and after, with no transition but a flight and the memory of three heartbeats I’d die to protect.
My phone hasn’t stopped buzzing with photos from my family. Peyton in her hospital bed, holding Juniper. My dad with both grandsons nestled against his chest. My mom finally getting her bonding moments with her grandbabies.
I’m surprised when I get off the plane to find Canson sitting outside a black town car. I roll my eyes at the ostentatiousnessbut am also grateful for Elle thinking of sending him to pick me up.