Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Gracious and forgiving, understanding and caring. Selfless and driven to give their love freely—an entirely new concept for me—and they have, to both Deaton and me.
No one calls me as much as Vivian, and no one sends care packages as much as Sarah, something I’ve asked her not to do because I don’t want her to feel obligated, and the more she does, the more likely she will. Of course, she waves me off every time, and a few days later, there’s a new box on my front porch. I swear, the only time I buy baby clothes is when I see something I want him to have. Thanks to the two of them, Lolli, and Parker, Deaton’s closet is fuller than mine.
I smile down at the little man when he starts making random sounds, his slobbery fingers reaching out to slap on the glass before us. The little bear cub on the other side comes closer and slaps his palm in the same spot.
Deaton jerks, his whole body flailing with one of those baby jump scares, and the three of us laugh as he looks up at us with big blue eyes, seeking confirmation he is, in fact, perfectly fine.
“Oh, sweet boy,” Vivian coos, bending to have a full-on conversation with the infant.
Another cry catches my attention, and I look to the left to find a little boy with blond hair stretching his arms up into the air from where he’s strapped into his stroller. He’s reaching for the man with matching features who I can only assume is his dad. Instantly, the man drops down and frees the little guy from his seat, happily bouncing him around as he turns them back toward the zoo exhibit.
I watch as the little boy drops his head down on the man’s shoulder, and it’s like a boulder bears down on mine in the same second.
Deaton…
“Come, honey.” Sarah’s soft voice wraps around me, and she curls her arm through mine, leading us to where my smiling baby waits with Vivian.
I didn’t even realize they’d continued forward.
Vivian’s eyes find mine, a knowing look within them as she offers a small smile, one that quickly grows when she points at the curly-haired boy now in her arms. “I think it’s time for lunch. What do you say, sweet pea?”
Together, we head for the food court, my phone ringing all the way, but I don’t answer, and I don’t look at the screen. I don’t need to to know who’s calling.
I know it’s him.
It’s always him.
Mason
My leg is bouncing so fast, the headboard of the bed hits against the wall in steady knocks. Later, I’ll likely have Brady down my throat, demanding to know who I snuck in for a bit of afternoon fun. Little does he know I haven’t touched another since—
Swallowing my frustration, I jump to my feet and tug a hoodie over my head.
I’m out the door and jogging down the beach in seconds, making this my third official run of the day.
I can’t sit still, not knowing I’m literal feet from Payton, something I’ve wished for for months now, and I can’t see or talk to her. To be fair, she’s not home. I know because I’ve gone by there the last two times I tugged a hoodie on and went for the same damn run. The second spin around, Parker was home, but she still wasn’t, so I can’t exactly stop—again—and ask if she is back without looking like a possessive jackass.
Not that I care. I kind of am one, if I’m honest, but I’ve been holding in my inner need to flip the fuck out considering everyone is around. And god damn, everyone is always around. I can never get her alone, not during visits like this one.
If it were up to me I’d make a whole-ass scene, knock the doors down, and beat my chest like a caveman. I won’t, though, for her sake and no one else’s.
Still, as I approach Payton’s house, my feet move a little slower, my eyes slicing across every inch of the place. Nothing I can see from here gives away if she’s in there or not. I mean, I could knock, but Parker will just ask what he asked before.
Did I call her?
I scoff.
What kind of question is that?
Of course I fuckin’ called her. Texted her, too.
Been calling and texting without a response for fifty-seven days. Yes, I counted, and you know what? It doesn’t sound as bad as saying months does, but it’s July, and that was May, and fuck me. It feels shitty. Worse than.
I’m caught in quicksand, and there’s no one around to pull me out.
I jog past her house, then Nate’s, and I keep going, running longer than my five a.m. cardio session and farther than round two when I thought I was being the right kind of sneaky and would catch her when I know Deaton would be awake. I didn’t, and if the lack of her answering the knock I couldn’t help but bring down on her window was any indication, she was already gone.