Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
He erupts into a fit of giggles.
“Caleb? Caleb?”
He lets go of Donna and runs over to tug on my pajama pants, trying to get my attention.
“Cay-yub. Cay-yub,” he says, trying to alert me to where he is.
I make a big show of being shocked when I discover him standing right beneath me.
“There you are.”
Donna shoots me a conspiratorial smile on her way out of the kitchen with her coffee mug in hand, and I lift Caleb up to strap him into his high chair. At this age, he’s fine sitting in a regular chair, but breakfast runs a lot smoother when he’s strapped in and has no chance of running around the kitchen like a wild banshee.
After I cut up some fruit and drop it onto his tray, I scramble some eggs for the two of us then blend up a smoothie that he drinks down in three big gulps.
He has a green mustache, and I tell him he looks handsome.
He really is the cutest kid I’ve ever seen, and I don’t care that I’m biased; it’s a fact. He has dark skin and hair and eyebrows and these long lashes that highlight a pair of huge hazel eyes. He’s all cheeks and big smiles and curly hair. Shelby says he looks just like me, and I’m starting to see it.
“Where should we go this morning? The park?”
“Daddy,” he says, pointing to me.
“Yeah, I’m staying with you.”
He grins and looks back down at his fruit, smashing a good bit of strawberries into his pudgy palm then shoving it all into his mouth in one go.
“Small bites, Caleb. Small bites.”
He completely ignores me and goes right back to acting like a Hoover vacuum.
I set more food down on his high chair tray, and he gobbles up every morsel of it. I think he’d keep on going forever if I didn’t stop him.
“Trying to outgrow your dad?” I tease.
Once he’s done eating, I lift him up and carry him to the sink to rinse off his hands and face. After, I dress him quickly. It’s a no-brainer on what he wants to wear: it’s Lightning McQueen or nothing in this house. I grab his hat, some sunscreen and bug spray, and extra diapers and wipes. When I’m with Caleb, I can’t leave the house without a whole damn arsenal of supplies, but I’ve learned it’s better to just take everything. I have a black backpack I use as a diaper bag, and I toss it into the front seat of my Range Rover as Donna buckles Caleb into the back seat.
“I’ll have lunch ready for you both if you call me on your way home.”
“Okay, I’ll let you know. We might eat out. I don’t have to be with the team until 1:30.”
Out on my driveway, two security guards nod at me then hop into their respective SUV. They know to follow me. They’re always with me, especially when I have Caleb. I’ve had to keep security even tighter than usual since he was born. I don’t post images of him online, and I’m careful where I take him. If I had it my way, I’d keep him safe and sound at home at all times, but I know that’s no way for a kid to live, so today, I go out on a limb and decide to take him to my gated neighborhood’s private park. Paparazzi and press can’t get through the gates that surround my neighborhood, but there’s always the chance that helicopters could be circling overhead. I check the skies, anticipating them, but I think we’re lucky Caleb likes to wake up at the crack of dawn. We might have a little peace and quiet this morning.
The park is deserted and my security guards hover near the street, giving me some privacy with Caleb. Even still, Caleb can’t resist picking flowers and running them back over to the guys.
“Dunk-Dunk,” he says, holding one up for Duncan, my head of security.
It’s pretty hilarious to see a guy with about three hundred pounds of muscle accept a tiny yellow daisy and tuck it into his suit pocket.
“Thanks, Caleb,” Duncan says, all business, before he scans the perimeter of the park.
After we’re there playing alone for a while, going up and down the slides, I glance up to see a woman pushing two toddlers in a stroller. I recognize her from around the neighborhood, and she’s always been polite and distant. Caleb has played with her son before, and he’s as eager as ever when he sees the little boy climb out of his seat and run toward the playground. Caleb trots right after him.
Duncan looks to me for input, and I shake my head. I don’t think we need to have a discussion with the boy’s mom. She doesn’t have her phone out, and this neighborhood is filled with people who value privacy. There’s a reason we live behind two gates and multiple guard houses. Everyone is here for the same goal.