Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
My instinct pings on soft white with Japandi style finishes. Or maybe old-world black frames and hardware with a rubbed oil look. Salem might have a point about my natural tastes.
Wood, then. Archer will agree in a heartbeat.
A nice pale wood like beech or white oak or pine.
Yes, pine.
That will lend a light homey feel and pair with the modern bright lights and ceramic lamps that feel like natural additions.
Another home away from home in the making.
This isn’t the extravagant escape some of our other properties are. It’s a roomy, practical place for a couple or an entire family looking to enjoy a few nights away in affordable luxury without being right downtown. A hidden sanctuary oozing history from its pores.
I make a few more notes on my tablet and step onto the balcony. The back of the property opens up to a park, and in the late morning light, the city looks especially vivid.
Salem would like it here.
Fuck, I can’t stop thinking about her.
Even at work.
Especially at work when it’s painfully inconvenient.
Double fuck.
I haven’t replied to her latest texts from a few minutes ago, hating that they’re already burning a hole in my pocket.
When the hell did I get so soft?
Then my phone rings and my heart does this annoying leap when I see it’s her.
I’ve been avoiding her, yeah. Deliberately, ever since that moment at Mom’s.
Not because I don’t want to talk to her, but because I don’t know what the hell to say.
What else can I say to convince her to let me be Arlo’s dad? Obviously, I can’t go behind her back to tell him. Even if I understand it abstractly, it still hurts like an iceball to the face.
So what if I’ve been spending the last few days at home, missing her and drinking too much and hating the fact that her absence makes me self-medicate, brooding in front of my fish?
Stupid.
Messy.
Dumb.
Pure jackass, and yet I’m doing it anyway.
I inhale sharply and accept my fate as my finger swipes the call.
“Hey, Salem. I’ve been meaning to call—”
“Patton.” My name feels like a gunshot, the word sharp, panicked. My grip on my phone tightens as it rips through me. “Something’s wrong. Arlo, he just—he won’t wake up.” A sob rattles her voice.
What. The. Fuck.
It’s a gut punch, so swift my lungs deflate.
I have to lean on the old railing to stay upright.
“What happened? What do you mean he won’t wake up?” I try to keep calm, my voice clipped like I haven’t heard since my Navy days. She needs strength right now, not this roaring frustration surging up that threatens to blow me into a thousand pieces and scatter me to the winds.
“I don’t—I don’t know. I was just driving. He started vomiting everywhere. I called an ambulance as soon as I could pull over.”
There’s no siren wailing in the background. They must’ve already reached the hospital, I hope.
“Where are you? The university hospital?”
“Y-yes,” she strangles out, choking on the words. “He’s with the doctors now. They took him straight in.”
“Okay. Salem, sweetheart, I need you to breathe.” I can’t think straight enough to give her better advice. I’m just barreling through this damn house until I’m back outside, fumbling with the keys to lock the door. “I’m on my way. Is anyone else with you?”
“No, no, it’s just me.”
Of course it is, you idiot, I tell myself bitterly.
She has no family here. The closest thing she has to a friend is a vapid Instagram girl who cares more about her looks than human decency.
I close my eyes for a furious second before getting in my SUV and starting the engine.
“I’ll be there soon,” I promise. “Stay put and wait for me. It’s going to be okay.”
I hope like hell I’m not wrong.
Nothing about this makes sense.
I hate that I can’t make any big promises and she knows it as well as I do.
But Arlo should be fine. Kids don’t just up and die for no reason, do they?
Then again, if he’s out like she’s saying, if he won’t wake up—
My throat burns, the same acid feeling clawing at my eyes.
Goddammit, my son is hurt.
I don’t understand what’s happening.
Still, I can’t fall down that abyss or I’ll wind up paralyzed.
The boy might be my son and a damn good kid, but I’ve only known him for a whisper. Barely a couple months. Such a tiny portion of my life for a little human who’s become a bigger piece of my world than the sky.
No fucking crying now.
No rough words.
No freaking out and flying fists.
You need to be there for her.
You need to be there.
The traffic is god-awful thanks to some big concert downtown, plus the usual stream of latecomers running their errands.
Arlo must be okay.
For me, for Salem, for our family.
My mind reels, wondering if we’ll have to tell my mother that Arlo was my kid and that she never had a chance to know him.