Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“I’ll be back by one.” He gave me a two-finger wave and walked out.
A breath gusted out of me, and I peered up at the ceiling. Frustration built up within me—and a bit of sadness. For as well as I knew him, I hadn’t gained access to the trouble that brewed in his head. And if it’d been any other friend, I wouldn’t have cared as much. I respected people’s privacy and bit my tongue until they asked for help. At which point, I was happy to be there. But I had enough bullshit on my own plate to go chase others’ crap.
Of course, Jake was an exception to every rule. Not only had I already violated his privacy, I was desperate to know every single thought that ran through his mind.
I hung my head and knew very well what I could do.
God-fucking-dammit.
I didn’t wanna be that asshole, though. Instead of sneaking around and reading his personal thoughts, I should confront him. I should be honest and say I was worried. And ask what was going on. What he’d been going through.
That was it. That was the honorable thing to do.
Tomorrow after the concert, I’d suggest we come back here for another beer or two, and I’d try to get him to talk.
Yeah.
What the fuck did you wear to a country concert?
I grabbed a pair of jeans and boxer briefs from the closet, then walked back into the bedroom and picked up my phone from my nightstand. I sent Jake a message.
I’m fresh out of chaps and cowboy hats. What should I wear, hoss?
While I waited for his response, I removed the towel around my hips and put on the boxers and jeans.
“Dada, I’m-wa no baff!”
I glanced over at the door as my boy ran in, with Sandra hot on his tail.
I grinned faintly and swooped him up. “Look out, we got a runner ova’ hea’.” I peppered his face with smooches, and he giggled up a storm. “You can’t escape bath time, baby boy. But you know what comes after, don’t you? Mommy’s gonna read you a story.”
“Nooo,” he complained.
“Yeees,” I mimicked.
Sandra sighed and smiled ruefully. “Let’s go, sweetie. We’ll get extra bubbles and everything.”
“Hear that? We love those bubbles.” I handed over the clinging monkey to her and pressed a kiss to the side of his head.
“I don’t wannaaa,” he whined.
Sandra carried him out, only to stop in the doorway and turn back to me. “You sure you don’t wanna cancel?”
Positive—and I wasn’t fighting with her about it again.
“I won’t be late,” was all I said.
The teasing glint in her eyes faded, and she walked out.
I released a breath.
We had a problem, and I didn’t know how to solve it. I kept telling her to relax and stop thinking about a second baby; I’d read so many articles on how that mental stress, that pressure, could affect her ability to get pregnant again. And I couldn’t remember a time we’d had sex for the sake of it. She was doing it all, special vitamins, special diet, ovulation tests, keeping track of her temperature for some reason. Then when she was ovulating, she jumped my bones to get shit done, and I was over it.
Regardless of my emotional baggage concerning Jake, I cared for my wife. I wanted to get to a place where she and I were just us. Not Mommy and Daddy, not screwing to make Casper a sibling, just us. But I didn’t know if that was possible. I couldn’t force myself to care enough, and she was undeterred. She’d rather try every bullshit hack she found online than listen to experts. Hell, her own doctor had essentially parroted the advice I’d given her, which, in turn, had been parroted from news articles, my aunt, my brothers’ wives, and even Nikki.
My phone dinged on the nightstand, and I walked over and read Jake’s text.
I’ll tell you you’re pretty no matter what you wear, sugar.
I laughed silently and shook my head.
Helpful.
Whatever. I returned to the closet and dug out a long-sleeved tee that made my biceps look good. We were going to an outdoor place up in Griffith Park, so it was bound to get chilly. But I liked that it wasn’t a huge concert. Only some five thousand people. It beat going to the Staples Center.
Jake picked me up downstairs fifteen minutes later, and the most country thing about him continued to be his truck. It made no sense to drive a truck in LA. But he loved it, and I really had no room to argue choices of vehicles. I was still a laughingstock after buying a sports car before Casper was born. Worst deal ever. I’d probably lost twenty grand when I’d traded it in for a family-friendly SUV.
“Hey, pretty.” Jake pulled out from the curb. “I see you found clothes.”