Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“This kid’s gonna lose his mind when he sees all this,” DB grinned, balancing a box full of red, white, and black balloons on one arm.
“That’s the plan,” I said, double-checking the checklist on my phone. “I want him to feel like the most special little guy on the planet today.”
Alex lifted a box of miniature trophies and looked around the living room. “Place looks good, Say. Clean, fresh windows, and no creepy vibes.”
I nodded. “Yeah, it looks okay.”
But it didn’t feel okay. Not anymore.
I glanced around, taking in the space that used to feel like home. My couch, my photos, my books, the way the sunlight came through the front window just right in the morning—all of it was still here. But the comfort was gone and had been replaced with a whisper of something else. Not quite fear, but definitely not peace.
I didn’t feel safe the way I used to, and I wasn’t sure I would ever feel safe again.
But I had today to focus on. DB and Alex were helping, I had a backyard to transform, and I had a little boy who deserved the biggest, happiest birthday of his life.
So, I locked the door behind me, took a deep breath, and followed them out, ready to build something for one hell of a party.
DB was now wrangling the bundles of inflated balloons, too, and I silently prayed a strong gust of wind wouldn’t come along and carry them off. But the real challenge was the balloon arch I’d impulsively ordered—the showstopper. A mix of sleek black and shiny red balloons, with latex and metallic finishes all twisted together. It was stunning. And if the wind tore it down or something ruined it… well, I was pretty sure I’d cry.
“Run, bitch, run,” DB called to his dad, laughing until a gust of wind yanked at the balloons clutched in his fist. Then he did exactly what Alex had done and sprinted to the door before disaster struck.
The party was in full swing, and honestly, it couldn’t have been more perfect.
Everywhere I looked, kids were laughing, running, painting, and decorating anything they could get their hands on. One little girl had glitter in her eyebrows and frosting on her nose. Another carefully painted tiny flames on a cardboard race car while her dad offered unsolicited but hilarious advice beside her.
The cupcake station was chaos in the best way—mountains of sprinkles, rainbow frosting, and little flags with cartoon cars on them. More sugar had been consumed in the past hour than I cared to admit, but no one was complaining.
Best of all, Kairo had the biggest smile I’d ever seen on his face.
He’d already raced twice in one of the motorized toy cars Roque had bought him, and now he was sitting with a group of kids proudly showing off his face paint—a neon green dinosaur with glittery spikes in his hair.
His little voice carried over the music as he shouted, “T-Rex!” and pretended to chomp his friends.
Kaida, on the other hand, was fast asleep in Roque’s arms, her cheek pressed to his shoulder, little fists curled against his chest, and her face painted like the fairy princess she was. He stood in the shade, gently rocking side to side, with a soft expression that made my heart squeeze.
Everyone seemed to be having a good time. The ladies were laughing, with plates full of snacks and drinks in hand, complimenting on how well it turned out.
The men, especially the ones in law enforcement, looked relaxed at a glance, but there was something underneath—a quiet tension, an alertness that lingered in the corners of their eyes. They were smiling, sure, but every single one of them knew exactly where the exits were and had their heads on a swivel.
Roque had that same look, even while holding Kaida. Like he was cataloging every person, every movement, every shadow. He didn’t have to say anything, I could feel it from across the yard.
Then Hurst Townsend strolled in, wearing a button-down so crisp it looked like it ironed itself. And beside him was someone I hadn’t expected: Ned Dahl, the Governor himself. He smiled wide and waved like this was just another neighborhood cookout, which it kinda was for him by this point. Within minutes, both men sat down at the face-painting station, insisting on getting matching dinosaur designs for the birthday boy. The poor artist looked equal parts amused and terrified.
The rest of us were howling with laughter.
And then Ned’s grandson, Wick—a curly-haired bundle of energy—ran up with two lopsided cupcakes, frosting oozing off the sides. He proudly handed them over to Hurst and Ned with all the ceremony of a Michelin-starred chef, and I swear, my heart just melted watching them both accept the cupcakes like they were made of gold.
Tabby leaned in beside me, her voice low. “DB’s not relaxed.”