Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
“This is so cool.” I look around. “It definitely screams you. Did you design it?”
“I did.”
“I thought so.” I take Sam’s bag from him, set it on the counter, and dig through for his diapers, wipes, and changing pad. “I’m going to change him really quick, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” He hands Sam over to me. “While you do that, I’ll start lunch. Are you good with roasted chicken, mozzarella, basil, and tomato panini sandwiches?”
“I’d be okay with peanut butter and jelly,” I tell him truthfully. “But that also sounds delicious.” I catch his smile as I leave the kitchen, and I carry Sam to the living room and lay him down on the couch on the pad. As always happens when I’m changing him, a wrestling match ensues. Despite how small he is, he’s really fricking strong, so I’m a little worse for wear by the time I’m done.
As he waddles into the kitchen, I clean up the pillows that ended up on the floor, then grab his diaper and take it with me back to the kitchen, and Blake shows me where to toss it by opening one of the lower cabinets hiding the garbage cans.
“So tell me the latest with the ex,” he says as I grab a small ball from Sam’s diaper bag that makes a multitude of noises and give it to him to play with. Because I already opened up to him about what happened with Lex and the message I received from his mom, the question doesn’t catch me off guard.
“It’s been a quiet week.” I sigh, leaning back against the counter next to where he’s placing two buttery sandwiches into a metal contraption before closing the lid. “I haven’t spoken to Lex since our last conversation or received a call from his parents’ lawyer yet.” I fiddle with the edge of my sweater. “Honestly, I wish that whatever was going to happen would just happen so I could deal with it and get it over with.”
“Maybe your dad is right, and they haven’t actually found a lawyer to take their case.”
“Maybe,” I agree as I take a seat on the floor with Sam so he can roll the ball to me. “How’s your dad?”
“I don’t know. He’s been keeping shit to himself the last couple of weeks. Even when I ask about his treatments and what his doctors are saying, he’s kept things vague.”
“I’m sorry.” I reach out and rest my hand against his thigh, and he meets my gaze as he covers my hand with his.
“Me too,” he says, and the pain in his features makes my chest ache.
Licking my lips, I ask him gently, “Do you think it might be time to tell your mom and sister about what’s going on?”
“It was time to tell them when he found out he had cancer.” His jaw twitches, and I dig my fingers into his thigh. “I just . . . I don’t . . . it’s not my secret to tell.”
“I get that, but they deserve to know, especially if—”
“Don’t,” he says, cutting me off, and even though he didn’t raise his voice, it’s clear I need to tread very carefully when talking about what might come of his father’s diagnosis.
How no one has been able to see the pain he’s been in from keeping this secret is astonishing to me. I saw it written all over his face in that photo on his grandmother’s desk, and being around him the last few weeks, it’s glaringly clear he’s going through something difficult. Honestly, I’m angry with his dad for using his son’s loyalty to him to keep a secret that’s causing him pain, and I’m frustrated with his friends for not seeing that he’s hurting.
“Okay,” I say softly, and he gives my hand a squeeze. Then Sam comes over, probably feeling the strange energy, and reaches his arms out for Blake to pick him up. I stand, and my chest feels heavy as I watch Sam pat Blake’s cheek, then rest his head against his shoulder.
“Thanks, big guy. I needed that,” Blake tells him quietly, rocking him back and forth.
“You know I’m here if you need to talk about things,” I remind him quietly when he meets my gaze, and his features soften, but he doesn’t say anything. Then again, maybe he doesn’t need to.
An hour later, with my stomach full from the delicious sandwich Blake made, I sit on his couch and laugh at Sam as he dances around the living room.
“I’d say he likes the movie,” Blake says, and I turn to look at him and roll my eyes at the smug look on his handsome face.
“Don’t gloat.” I toss the pillow next to me at his head, and he catches it easily. When he finished making our lunch, he suggested putting on some movie about singing trolls for Sam while we ate, and I told him that he wouldn’t be into it, because he’s only ever really liked one TV program. Apparently, I was wrong, because Sam has been entertained for the last hour.