Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“Nope, I’m good.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Noah says. “I’ve got you all beat.” He flexes and then moves his arms into a cradling position. “Because in nine months I’m going to have my child in my arms.”
The room goes silent as everyone processes what he said.
“What did you say?” Josie asks.
“You’re going to be a grandma,” Noah tells her and for the briefest of moments, it’s just him and his mom in the room.
The room is no longer silent. Everyone erupts in a chorus of congratulatory cheers, well wishes, and then my sister puts it all so eloquently. “Bitch, you could’ve told me.”
“I could’ve but we wanted to tell everyone at the same time.”
There are lots of hugs, along with tears. My dad is the last one to come up to me. He pulls me into his arms, and it takes me back to the time when he taught me how to take my anger out on his drums. He didn’t care that I was five or that Quinn had punched someone for me. All he cared about was giving me an outlet to express the hurt I felt inside from losing my father.
He holds me for a long time, thanking me. When we part, I look at him. “You’re going to have to decide what you want to be called.”
“I know. It’s going to have to be better than whatever Page comes up with.”
“This isn’t a competition among grandpas,” I tell him.
“Sweetie, everything’s a competition.”
14
NOAH
The other day when we were at my in-laws, Stevie Nicks chased Beau around on the beach. He was so gentle with her, even though she’s not exactly small and pretty close to his size. He let her catch him, then he’d run again. It was a repeating cycle of dog energy that made me tired just watching them.
And then he took her to the water.
At first, Stevie Nicks didn’t care about her feet getting wet, and then a fairly large wave came ashore and scared the crap out of her. One of Peyton’s requirements with having a dog was that they like the water. So, I did what I thought would be best. I picked her up and waded into the ocean, holding her against my chest like a moron. The scratches from her claws are deep and aching, but she likes the water now and even follows Beau when he chases the waves.
After a run on the beach where Stevie Nicks does most of the running—if we can call it running: She usually sways to one side, speeds away, falls, gets back up, nips at my heels, and then needs a nap—we’re using the outside shower to clean our feet. Hopefully this is something she gets used to because I don’t like the idea of her tracking sand into the house and with her shaggy hair, she’s bound to be a magnet for everything.
“Peyton, we’re back,” I say when we get inside. I stay behind our pup while she navigates the stairs. Whoever had her before us must not have had stairs of any kind because she’s very unsure of them. Our first day home, I showed her how to use them and placed training treats on each step as her reward.
“Come on, you can do it.” I tap her hind end to give her a little nudge. She looks over her shoulder at me and huffs. I’m tempted to carry her, but in a few months she’s going to be huge and I don’t know if I want to carry a full-sized wolfhound around.
Who am I kidding?
“Do you want Daddy to carry you?”
My question stops me in my tracks. Up until now, I haven’t referred to myself as daddy or Peyton as mommy but that’s what we are: to Stevie Nicks and to our little one growing inside of Peyton now.
“Holy crap,” I say to the dog. “I’m going to be a dad.”
Stevie Nicks looks at me like, “Duh.”
How is it just setting in?
I give in, scooping her up, carrying her to the main floor and setting her down. She’s hot on my heels as I rush into mine and Peyton’s bedroom. “Peyton.” I say her name a little louder this time, but she still doesn’t answer. I pull my phone from my pocket, tap the screen and then the icon to see where she’s at. The whole “find my wife” (that’s what I call the app) is great except it doesn’t tell me her exact location, just that she’s in the house.
“Peyton!” This time I yell her name as I walk through the house. She’s bound to hear me. “Fuck this,” I say as I press her name and turn my speakerphone on.
“Hi,” she says as soon as she picks up.
“Where are you?”
“In the bathroom.”
“Which one?”
“Ours. Where are you?”
“Looking for you.” I hang up and head back to our bedroom and then into the bathroom. I knock once before opening the door to find my wife on the floor with numerous pregnancy tests scattered around her.