Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“What’s going on here?” a voice booms, and Brenton steps back. “You okay?” Kolton asks me. I know it’s Kolton because he’s dressed in a pair of perfectly ironed black dress pants and a button-down white dress shirt, complete with a black and gold striped tie.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I tell him, forcing a smile on my face, not wanting him to know how uncomfortable Brenton’s passive aggressiveness is making me feel. He might have said he was okay with us, but his attitude toward Keegan, and now his accusations, are only getting worse, telling me things between Brenton and me are the opposite of okay. And I have no idea how to fix it. Keegan is the father of Zane, the guy I’m dating. He’s not going anywhere.
“You sure?” Kolton asks, his jaw ticking.
“She said she’s okay,” Brenton hisses.
“I wasn’t asking you.” Kolton steps into Brenton’s face. “Blakely, are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, his eyes never leaving Brenton’s.
“Yeah, I’m sure. We should get to class. It’s not going to teach itself,” I joke to lighten the mood, but neither guy laughs or even cracks a smile.
“After you.” Kolton backs away from Brenton and opens the door for me. I walk through it, and then Kolton follows, making it a point not to hold the door open for Brenton.
The morning flies by. Usually I would study with Brenton until it’s time to pick up Zane, but since he’s home, and I’m looking forward to getting back to him and Keegan, I use the excuse that I have to check on Zane instead of going to study. I haven’t heard from Keegan all morning, so hopefully that’s a sign it really was just allergies and Zane is doing okay.
Using my key, I unlock my front door. When I step into the house, I’m shocked by the sight in front of me. There’s a huge rectangular sign hanging across the wall that reads: Happy Mother’s Days. No, I didn’t mean to say day—it actually reads ‘days.’ There are tons of balloons all over the place, and several vases of flowers and boxes of chocolates on the table. What is going on here? This must be Keegan’s doing. Does he know Mother’s Day isn’t until May?
“Keegan, Zane,” I call out, and both guys come running out of Zane’s room.
“Mom! You’re home early,” Zane yells. “Happy Mother’s Days!” He runs over to me and wraps his tiny arms around my waist.
Lifting him, I give him a big kiss on his cheek. “Why, thank you.” I have no idea why we’re apparently celebrating Mother’s Days right now, but I’m not about to dampen my son’s spirits.
“I got you presents.” Zane wriggles to get down, so I set him on the floor.
When he runs down the hall, Keegan comes over and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “You usually pick Zane up later.”
“I didn’t stay to study with Brenton. I wanted to come home to you guys,” I admit.
Keegan’s grin is wide and makes my belly do somersaults. “I like the sound of that,” he says.
“Of what?”
“You coming home to us.”
And now my heart feels like it’s being squeezed. His words are so simple yet mean so much to me. Brenton may be right, and I may not know all of Keegan’s favorites, and he may not know mine, but that’s okay. We have plenty of time to learn all there is to know about each other.
“Here, Mommy.” Zane runs back over and thrusts several pieces of construction paper at me. “Read them!” He jumps up and down, clearly feeling better.
I sit on the couch, picking Zane up and plopping him next to me. Keegan sits next to him. “Happy Mother’s Days, Mommy,” I read out loud. “I love you more than I love SpongeBob.” Just like Zane’s drawings from school, his writing is messy and over it is Keegan’s handwriting. Under the writing is a picture of what I think is Zane, me, and SpongeBob.
“I love this,” I tell him.
“Read the next one.” He bounces in his seat. I read each of them, and they all say something similar.
When I’m done, I give Zane a kiss and thank him.
“Daddy made you a card too!”
“He did?” I ask, giving Keegan a curious look.
“I did,” Keegan says, standing. He grabs the card off the counter and brings it over to me. “There are three vases of flowers, three boxes of chocolates, and Zane made you three cards. One for every year I missed celebrating what a wonderful mother you are.” He hands me his card, but I can’t read it yet because my vision is now blurry from the tears that are falling down my cheeks.
“I only made you one card,” he says, “but it’s for all three.”
I nod absently, staring down at the homemade card my son’s father made me.