Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“‘Happy Birthday—’” she starts to sing, holding the cake and the lit candle just out of his reach, but keeping it where he can see it, as we all join her in singing “Happy Birthday” to my boy.
When the song ends, she places the cake on the tray of his highchair and tells him to blow. As I bend my head, she and I must have the same idea because we softly blow with him as the candle flame disappears, and we both praise him for doing such a great job. My eyes find hers, and she smiles. It’s a genuine, happy smile, and it lights up the entire room.
Quickly, Sloane grabs the candle and places it on a small paper plate that Corie hands her. “Okay, little man, it’s all yours. Take a bite,” she encourages my son.
Camden grins and does as he’s told, grabbing a fistful of cake and shoving it into his mouth, and we all laugh.
“Smile!” Bellamy, who has been our official photographer for the day, says. She points her camera our way, and Sloane steps out of the picture.
“Stay,” I whisper, at the same time reaching out and placing my hand on her arm. “You’re a part of this day, Sloane.”
She nods and turns to crouch down next to Camden, while I do the same on the other side, and we smile for the camera. Once Bellamy is satisfied, we take a step back, letting everyone have a chance to get their picture with my messy cake-eating boy.
“Ladies,” I say, clearing my throat. “Thank you for today. It’s better than I could have ever dreamed up on my own. You made this day special for him, for both of us, and I can’t thank you enough,” I say, fumbling over my words.
“It was a group effort, and we were happy to help,” Bellamy tells me. “I can’t wait to get the pictures with all of us in our jerseys.” She beams.
“You and that fancy camera,” Amanda teases her.
“Hey, I’m a mom now. I need this fancy camera to capture all the moments, and the remote is nice for when it’s just the three of us at home, and I need to get us all in the shot. It came in handy today, too,” Bellamy says with excitement in her voice.
“I guess we’re going to need to get us one of those,” Knox tells Corie.
“I have one.” I shrug. “I don’t use it much because I’m not sure how. I mostly just use my phone.”
“I’ll show you,” Sloane tells me. “I took a photography class in college as an elective.”
“That’s how I learned how to operate mine,” Bellamy tells me.
I open my mouth to tell her that I’ll take her up on lessons, but I’m watching Foster and see his face go pale. “What?” I ask. He’s staring down at his phone. “Foster?”
He looks up at me, swallows hard, and shakes his head. Instead of telling me, he hands me his phone. Foster is one of those guys who keeps to himself a lot, so for him to be showing me what’s going on must mean it’s serious. Taking the phone from his hands, I peer down at the screen, and my heart drops to my toes.
“No.” I shake my head. “No,” I say again.
“What? Oh, fuck,” Landry mutters.
I can’t even remind him to clean up his mouth because my world just tilted on its axis. This can’t be true, right? It’s got to be clickbait, some made-up headline. It has to be.
“Daddy, cake!” Camden cheers.
When I lift my eyes toward my son, I have to blink the tears away. It’s not just my life, but his that’s been altered if this is true. “I love you,” I tell him, because I need him to know that now more than ever. He doesn’t understand, but I do. I know what those three little words mean.
“Baker, man, what do you need?” Knox asks.
“It’s not true, right?” I look at Knox, then Landry, Reid, and finally Foster, whose phone I’m still gripping tightly in my fist. “Right?”
“I don’t know, brother, but we’ll find out,” Foster assures me.
Knox raises his phone to his ear, already in investigative mode, while all I can do is stand still, frozen in time, my heart breaking, not for me, but for my son.
Chapter Eight
Sloane
* * *
I don’t know what’s happening. The look on Baker’s face tells me whatever it is, it’s not good news. He’s pale as a ghost, and he’s looking at his son with so much pain in his eyes. And if I’m not mistaken, the glassy sheen is not just a reflection but an overwhelming display of emotions.
Camden starts to fuss; I’m sure he’s picking up on the change in atmosphere in the room. He’s covered in cake and icing, and looks as if he’s about ten seconds away from losing his shit. I want to go to Baker. I want to tell him that whatever he just read on Foster's phone, we’ll be here to help him through it. However, his son needs to be taken care of, and right now, I’m the best person for the job. It is, in fact, my job to care for him, but this is different.