Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
And with one final kiss, she’s out the door, and it’s just Zane and me until she comes home later.
After making myself a cup of coffee, I go check on Zane. He’s still lying in Blakely’s bed, but his eyes are now open and he’s stretching his limbs.
“Hey, bud, how’re you feeling?” I sit on the edge of the bed next to him.
“I’m okay. Where’s Mommy?”
“She went to school. You wouldn’t wake up. Does your throat still itch?”
“A little,” he says, grabbing Bear and sitting up. “Are you staying with me?”
“I am.”
“Can we go to the park?” His little face lights up at the thought, and his dimples pop out.
“Sorry, bud, but you’re home sick.” At that, he pouts, and I look away, not allowing his cute puppy dog eyes to sway me. Blakely didn’t say we had to stay home, but I remember when I was little and would stay home sick. My mom never let me go anywhere. As Kolton and I got older, if we wanted to fake sick to get out of school, we knew we would be stuck at home, in bed, and that also meant not going out after school. We always made sure never to fake sick on a Friday. That could mean being stuck inside all weekend. Hell, even if we really were sick, we’d pretend to be okay, just so we wouldn’t be stuck at home.
“What are we gonna do then?” Zane asks. “Can we watch SpongeBob?”
“Sure.”
“And color a picture for Mommy?” He smiles big, and my heart melts. I can’t believe I missed the first three years of my son’s life.
“That sounds good.” And then an idea hits me. “How would you like to make a big surprise for your mom?”
Zane nods, excited, even though he doesn’t know what the surprise is yet. “Yes! She loves surprises!”
Blakely
“Where’s Zane?” Brenton asks, sidling up next to me on the sidewalk as we walk to our first class of the day. It’s been a few days since I’ve seen Brenton. When he didn’t show up to walk with me to class, I texted him and he told me he has some family stuff to deal with. It’s not the first time over the years he’s vaguely mentioned having to deal with family stuff, but in the back of my mind, in light of our recent conversation, I thought maybe it was just an excuse. But when he didn’t show up for class, I figured what he said was true, since Brenton almost never misses class.
“Home sick.”
“He okay?” he asks, his voice filled with concern.
“Yeah, I think it’s just allergies. Did you get everything worked out with your family stuff?”
Brenton’s steps falter slightly. “Yeah, all good.”
His action, mixed with his short response, makes me think about the words he threw at me the other day regarding Keegan. “What do you know about this guy?” I’ve been friends with Brenton for the last four years, yet I’ve never met his family, ever. Even his brother, who owns the cell phone shop on the outskirts of town, has never come around. He’s mentioned his mom a few times, but only that she works a lot and they’re not close. He’s pointing his finger at Keegan, yet what do I really know about Brenton?
“Who was the situation with?” I ask nonchalantly.
“Huh?” He gives me a perplexed look.
“Your family situation. Who was it regarding?”
“Oh, uh… My brother just needed my help.” He shrugs then changes the subject, and now my mind is racing. “Who’s watching Zane?”
“Keegan.”
Brenton’s head whips around, and he stops in front of the classroom instead of going in. “You’re letting him watch Zane? What do you even know about this guy?”
“What do I even know about you?” I glare, and Brenton’s eyes go wide.
“You’re not really comparing me to him, are you?” he roars.
“I know you live in the apartment below me and we have the same major, but I’ve never met your family. I’ve at least met Keegan’s parents and have been to his family home.” I give him a pointed look, expecting him to tell me I’m crazy and then offer to introduce me to his family—his mom or his brother.
But instead he twists his lips into a frown and says, “I’m not close with them, and you not knowing them has nothing to do with knowing me. You don’t know Keegan.”
“Your family is an extension of you,” I point out.
“What’s my favorite food? Favorite song? What’s my favorite season?” he asks. “You don’t need to answer. You know all my favorites, just like I know yours: Mexican, ‘Closer’ by the Chainsmokers, and winter because you love the cold.” He raises a brow, daring me to argue. “I know you, just like you know me. Not introducing you to my fucked up family doesn’t mean shit. Now tell me this…” He steps toward me, encroaching on my space, and because I’m near the wall, my back hits it. “What are Keegan’s favorites? If I asked him right now, could he tell me what yours are?”