Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
She nods. “I’m sure the baby will be spoiled with love.”
“Yeah, we’re all pretty excited.”
Liv stops in her socks as if she’s interrupted. “Excited about what?” Wearing fitted workout pants and an oversized NYU sweatshirt, she hustles to slip on her pink sneakers. I’m digging this new side of Liv that’s been revealed. It’s like a secret club that only members are privy to, and she gave me a golden invitation.
“My brother and his wife are having a baby.” Liv’s smile is instant. I continue, “First grandkid, so I was telling Cassandra how excited we all are to welcome a baby into the family.”
Her expression falls, an overwhelming emotion I can’t quite identify striking her face. I’m not sure what happened, but I’ve caused tears to fill her eyes. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” she says, waving me off. “It’s fine.” With her head tilted, she wipes her eyes as if I can’t see her visibly shaken. She then grabs her wallet from her purse as if nothing had happened. “You have my number.”
“I do.” I move closer, but she walks away. I can’t take it personally since she’s not even looked at me in the past two minutes to know. “I’m sorry.”
She pauses and takes a stumbling breath. “I should get her home.”
“We’ll talk when you get back?”
“Sure,” she replies as she walks out the door. “Call me if you or Maxwell need anything.”
“I will—” The door closes before I finish speaking. “What the hell just happened?” Returning to the window, I drag a hand over my head while staring through the glass. Just when I think Liv and I have made progress, we end up back where we started . . . and not the first time, but instead, we’re stuck in that conference room with her shooting daggers.
The worst part is I have no idea how I screwed this up. Fucking hell.
I can’t seem to win, but that won’t keep me from trying.
I drag my arm over my head to block out the noise.
It doesn’t work.
Ripped from a dream that Liv was starring in, fully naked, I might add, I rub my eyes before I can open them. The noise is . . . crying?
I open one eye and then the other, the burning real and causing me to clamp them closed and rub. When I reopen them, I don’t recognize the ceiling or the couch where I’m lying. Why am I on—shit. I’m at Liv’s.
Bolting upright, I grab my phone to see two missed texts from her:
We’re at the ER. It’s her appendix.
The second reads:
They’re prepping her for surgery. I’m going to stay. I’ll keep my phone on if you need me.
I hear more crying.
Maxwell.
Oh fuck.
I jump to my feet, still feeling out of sorts from my unintended nap. The texts were from an hour ago, but I call out, “Liv?” just in case she came home and was letting me sleep.
Maxwell screams. Only little cries but he doesn’t sound upset, which is a relief. I follow the sound to a closed door in the hallway, and slowly turn the knob to peek in. A giggle erupts in the dark before my eyes have time to adjust, and I’m met with eyes that reflect the little light I let in.
Standing at the crib’s railing, he starts bouncing excitedly, his laughter getting the better of him. To say he’s cute would be an understatement. He’s freaking adorable with his big grin and wide-as-saucer eyes. “Hi there, big guy.”
I’m greeted with a, “Hi,” that slices the air, and he bounces again. I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe a five-year-old or a toddler. He’s littler and younger. Leaning down so he can see me better, I say, “Hey, Maxwell. I’m Noah. Noah Westcott.”
No clue why I’m introducing myself like he understands the formality of the act.
He raises his arms, and I think he wants me to pick him up. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You’re supposed to be sleeping, not playing.”
In response, I catch a few “Blab blab blabs” and a “Mama.”
“Your mom will be back soon.” I debate what to do. He seems content, so maybe he just wanted some company. I scruff his hair and tickle under his chin. He’s cute.
Round face, chubby legs, and a cowlick of brown hair that he’ll be fighting the rest of his life. “I feel your pain, Max. I have a matching one.” I tilt my head down just to show him. If blowing spit bubbles means he likes this game, then I’m winning at this babysitting gig.
“You need to sleep. Will you lie down?” He sits. “Nice party trick but keep going.”
I can’t see much from the crack of light sneaking in, but I don’t think he’s going back to sleep anytime soon. Cooing and grinning, he grips the bars of the crib and rattles them. “Strong kid.” Leaning over, I ask, “Want to go night-night?”