Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“Oh sh—” I manage to censor myself just as a woman with a kid probably a few years older than Kody passes me. “Smells like you’re up to no good,” I tell Kody.
Of course, I didn’t have the foresight to bring his diaper bag, so I’m forced to buy a pack of diapers, cream, and wipes so I can take care of the situation before we head home. I’m grateful that there’s an extra sleeper in the stroller, because he’s demolished the one he’s currently wearing.
I use half the package of wipes, aware that bath time round two is going to take place as soon as we’re home. The smell rivals the inside of a hockey bag combined with an outhouse.
By the time we get back it’s after seven, and by the time I’m done with the bath routine it’s almost eight, which is way past Kody’s usual bedtime, so it makes sense that he’s cranky as hell. I at least have the foresight to get a bottle ready before his bath so I can feed him again as soon as he’s clean, dry, and dressed in his jammies. I pick the hockey-themed ones, for obvious reasons. It doesn’t take much to get him to fall asleep, and I have a feeling I won’t be far behind him.
Once he’s in bed I check on Lainey again; she’s still sleeping. Her phone buzzes, so I snatch it up as I pull the door closed behind me, not wanting to disturb her. The name on the screen reads MOM. I let it go to voice mail.
I’m aware her mother knows that I’m back in her life. I haven’t pushed for a lot of details on the situation there, but this distance she’s created has been purposeful. I’m also aware that she speaks to her mother several times a week, which tells me that—as much as Lainey wants to prove she can do this on her own—there’s still a lot of love there.
Her mom calls again less than fifteen minutes later, so I answer this time. “Hello.”
“I’m sorry—I must have dialed the wrong number.”
“You’re looking for Lainey?”
That makes her pause. “I . . . yes. Who is this?”
“It’s RJ. Rook, Lainey’s . . . friend.” I cringe a little at that. I don’t think I’d classify myself as her friend at this point, but she’s not referring to me as her boyfriend, and it’s not like there have been a lot of opportunities for dating. Middle-of-the-night accidental spooning doesn’t really count.
Her mother scoffs. “Is that what you’re calling yourself, now? You get my daughter pregnant, lie to her about who you are, and then it’s a year before you show your face again. Some friend you are. I suppose you think that just because you’re some big-time hockey player none of the usual rules apply to you.”
As much as getting chewed out by Lainey’s mom sucks, I get where she’s coming from. And I tell her as much. “With all due respect, Mrs. Carver, I understand why you’re unhappy with me. If I had a daughter and this happened to her, I would do everything in my power to protect her—and I sure as heck wouldn’t have any kind of warm feelings toward that guy, which I realize is me in this case.”
“Well, I can’t say you’re wrong about my feelings toward you. Lainey’s always been a special girl—she’s delicate—”
“Maybe not as delicate as you think, though.”
“You don’t know what she’s been through.”
“You mean the shooting at her college?”
“She told you about that?” She seems shocked.
“She did. Alaska has some pretty bad storms in the summer, which is an understandable trigger for her.”
“She never talks about that with anyone,” her mother says softly. “I’d like to speak with her now, please.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Carver. As much as I’d like to be able to get her for you, she’s not well, and she’s sleeping right now. I’m sure you can understand why I wouldn’t want to wake her up.”
“Unwell? What’s wrong?”
“I think she has the flu.”
“The flu? You better not have gotten my daughter pregnant again.”
There’s real threat behind her words. “I’m sure it’s the flu and that she’s definitely not pregnant. That’s not . . . that would be impossible.” And that, right there, has to be the most awkward of awkward first conversations with the woman I’m assuming will one day be my mother-in-law.
“Well, that’s a relief.” I think that’s sarcasm, but I can’t be sure. “How sick is she? Should you take her to the hospital? Do I need to come out there? I kept telling her working at an aquarium wouldn’t be good for her. It’s a cesspool of germs and disease. It’s actually amazing that she hasn’t gotten sick before now. She really just needs to be done with this and come home so she can have the help she needs to raise that child.”