Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
I shift my gaze up, seeing him grin. I think everyone in the Bay is under some impression that I’m fun now because I’m speaking more and getting air once in a while. I even fucking smiled at a kid yesterday. He looked like I was about to eat him.
Santos laughs when I don’t play along, and we move on to the next beam.
But just then, I see Jasmine walk Dex past the house.
I climb down.
“Hey, is Army home yet?” she asks.
“Soon.” I sweep the kid up into my arms. “Leave him with me.” She hands me his bag.
“You’ve been paid?” I ask.
“He took care of it this morning.” She rubs Dex’s cheeks, giving him a big smile. “Have a good weekend,” she singsongs.
He giggles, and I take him inside, hearing the grandfather clock chime four o’clock. I stop in front of it to let him listen. He stares at the face, knowing that’s what’s making the sound, and I watch him, because it’s cute. He loves it so much. I already decided to try to find him a cuckoo clock for Christmas. One with beer-guzzling dancers. He’ll go apeshit for that.
Dropping his bag, I take us into the kitchen, set him down on the counter, and turn on the water, checking the temperature. Pumping soap into his hands, I give myself some and show him, like we do every time, how to lather and wash his fingers.
He tries to stick his hand in his mouth, and I take it back, helping him rinse.
“Da-da, da-da.”
“Soon, man,” I tell him.
It’s funny how he has his dad’s hair and mom’s eyes. I have my mom’s, too. Dallas, Trace, and Iron better reproduce with brown-eyed women. I’m tired of being a minority in this house.
We dry off, and I sit him in his high chair, taking out the steamed broccoli, chopped avocado, and bites of grilled chicken mixed with mayo and ranch dressing that Army left this morning. I spread it out on his tray, and he starts eating, while I make him a cup of water.
Walking over, I raise every window in the kitchen and move to the living room, doing the same in there. I close my eyes and inhale, my shoulders relaxing a little.
But my eyes stay closed. It’s good she stayed away. She ghosted Mariette and hasn’t come back for her toothbrush, her paycheck, or her dress.
Gone. Nice and clean. That’s the best way.
I shake my head, opening my eyes. Starting some music on my phone, I head back into the kitchen, seeing Dex kick his feet and eat as I start to slice the loaf of bread.
The front door opens and closes, and Trace enters the kitchen. “You’re done early,” I say.
“What’s this?” He lifts the lid on the pot on the stove, sniffing the chili. “Mmm.”
“Tech Advantage called.” I place the bread on the table as Army and Dallas stroll in, everyone making themselves a bowl. “They wanted a cleanup tomorrow for an event next week.”
“I have a …” Trace starts to make an excuse but then stops. “Nothing.”
I study him for a second, and then pull Dex’s high chair up to the corner of the table between me and Army. We all sit, Dallas digging his spoon into the chili.
“There’s shit going on at the beach,” he explains to me. “Trace wants to be there.”
But Trace interjects. “It’s fine. I’ll do the job.”
He stares down at his food, and I’m not sure what the hell is going on. I mean, I know I’ve been yelling at him to grow up for years, but now that he is … I dig in my eyebrows.
Dallas chimes in again. “I’ll fill in for him.”
Trace gapes at his brother. I dig in my eyebrows deeper. What. The. Fuck.
“Are you sure?” Trace asks him.
Dallas shrugs, shoveling food in. “I’m not doing anything else.”
“Thanks.” Trace finally puts on a happy face. “I’ll get you back.”
“What the hell happened while I was gone?” someone says. We all look up as Liv leans in the doorway with her hands in her pockets.
“Hey!” Trace shoots up, grabbing her in a hug like she wasn’t just home three weeks ago.
He sits, and she whips off her black jacket, heading to the stove for a bowl. “I leave for college and y’all turn sweet?”
“What are you doing home?” Army asks her.
“Christmas.”
“That’s this month?” Dallas looks around the table. “Shit.”
She scoops chili into a bowl, sniffing it as she puts the lid back on the pot. “Ugh, what did you do to my recipe?”
“I taught you how to make that, you little shit,” I mumble.
“You tried to,” she fires back.
She swings her leg over the chair at the end of the table like she’s climbing on a horse and sits. I glance up briefly.
“Table is feeling empty without you and Iron.” Trace hands her some bread. “And Krisjen.”