Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 51122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Thinking this was a really fun game, he pounced, landing on my chest with a thud.
I caught him before he could go tumbling onto the floor.
“I called because I didn’t want to walk into the house again while y’all were doing it like last time, and you didn’t answer.” She paused, waiting for us to reply.
Neither one of us said anything.
The time she was referring to was when I knocked up my wife two months ago, and Justin and Cecily came over for fear that their tiny little trailer they were living in while their house was being built might blow away.
They walked in on us going at it on the floor in our living room, and probably scarred them all for life.
Hell, I knew it would scar me, at least for the next eighteen years.
“Holy shit. Is this Tawny?” She picked up the test, and I blinked open my eyes.
Even my old peepers couldn’t miss the big, fat plus sign.
“Son of a bitch,” I groaned.
“Not Tawny.” Blaine stood up and took the test as she looked at it with wide eyes. “Me.”
“Oh, fuck,” Justin said as he walked in to hear that last part.
Yep.
I had a twenty-eight-year-old…and was about to have a fuckin’ newborn.
Awesome.
Screw everything about this quarantine.
“You’re going to have a quarantine baby!” Cecily cried. “You can name her Corona! Nice underwear, by the way. Very fitting.”
I looked down at my Corona beer boxers I’d gotten on sale at The Dollar Store as a joke, and grimaced.
Very fitting indeed.
They’d been the same ones that I’d worn two months ago when this mess started.
Perfect.
Book: I Don’t Dance
CHAPTER 2
I’m not saying I’m old, I’m just saying that my dinner time and my bed time are dangerously close together.
-Sway to Hancock
SWAY
“No!” I gasped.
“What?” Hancock asked, our fifteen-month-old son asleep in his arms.
“They canceled my marathon!” I whined.
I’d been training for that stupid thing now for months! Five of them to be exact!
He looked at me thoughtfully. “Hopefully that’s just for a month or two. All your hard work won’t go to waste.”
They’d already delayed Hancock’s season indefinitely.
The way it was going, I doubted that they’d get started until June.
If even then.
Looking at all the comments in my online Facebook groups about all the runs being canceled, I knew they wouldn’t reschedule for a month or two. It’d be more like five.
“Maybe,” I said softly as I looked over at my man. “Are you sad that you missed opening day?”
He picked up our son’s foot, his large hand engulfing it, and shook his head.
“At first, I was really disappointed. This being one of my last seasons, I really didn’t think that this would be how it’d begin. I felt like maybe people would be looking at me, watching me real close, picking apart every single thing I did. Now? I almost wish the announcers were tearing me apart. At least that would mean I was playing.” He looked at me. “But getting to spend this time with you and the kids? That’s life changing. I’ll never get this opportunity again. Do you know how nice it is to be able to sit here and hold them when they go to sleep?”
That was true.
Our children had all fallen asleep on Hancock tonight. Something they barely ever got to do.
I’d taken the other two to bed. Our youngest, I left because Hancock seemed to be soaking up the ability to hold him this last week.
“So to answer your question, I’m sad I missed opening day. But I’m replacing it with something that’s way better,” he answered, his eyes sincere. “I know you’ve trained hard for this, baby, but you’ll get your chance again.”
I would.
But still, it wasn’t the same.
“And you never know, maybe they’ll reschedule it for sooner than you think.
Only, a week and a half later, I found out that they not only postponed it, but they postponed it for six months in the future. Which meant I’d be once again training for my marathon during the dog days of summer.
Which really, really sucked.
The day I found out, I looked at my man and said, “I’m running it this weekend. Come hell or high water, I’m getting it done.”
• • •
I snuck out of the house at barely six that morning.
It was still pitch dark, and I almost turned around and went back inside, already having second thoughts about doing it today. I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t tapered. I’d worked out a lot that week. And I was making excuses.
Instead, I pushed past my fear of the unknown—who the hell knew what running twenty-six point two miles felt like the first time?—and walked out to my truck.
Once I made sure to have my headphones, my reflector vest, and my water belt, I headed out.
When I arrived at the almost abandoned trail, I looked around sadly.