Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“You don’t have to do that, Mr. Wilcox,” she rushes to reassure. “We’re just doing our jobs.”
“You’re exceeding expectations. That should be rewarded.”
“Quality of life for children in our care is the reward.”
“Then accept the donation I’ll be making on behalf of them.”
Her mouth twitches – most likely to argue – when her buzzing pager captures her attention. “SeasmeStreet,” leaves her mouth in the form of a swear before our eyes connect once more. “I have to go. I’m needed for an emergency, but your nurse is Asha Singh. She was the one who gave him his last band-aid. She’s making her rounds now, but if you need her or he needs her, just push the call button.”
I nod my understanding and watch her promptly flee the space.
My re-entering the room is wordlessly done yet the instant I’m inside, I remain silent.
Take the moment to actually drink in Wy’s disheveled appearance.
Note the dirt stains on his khaki shorts.
Holes in his mismatched high socks.
Socks I swore that he hated.
That he’d never wear.
I’m glad I was wrong.
Which is absolutely not something I say lightly.
Or often.
Correlating Ramos’s descriptions with the marks on his body is an easy task that I’m equally grateful and resentful about.
I’m thankful I know exactly where his injuries are.
I’m even more thankful I know exactly what happened.
However, I loathe that with one look at him I can relive his attempted kidnapping.
Envision the very moment I could’ve lost him.
Them.
“Blox-o-tock, Gampi!” Wy enthusiastically announces while pumping his tiny fists into the air. “Dit me!”
“Why does my son sound like he’s at frat party?” I curiously ask his nanny. “And please be aware if this was your doing, we will be reevaluating your employment position.”
“Breathe, Weston,” Clark lightly chortles enroute to grab Wy’s bag. “That was Bryn’s doing.”
“Why?” There’s no stopping me from quirking an eyebrow. “Why would she teach him a riff on drunken college behavior? He’s. Two.”
“And da halv,” my son snips with a sharp point of his finger.
“Two and half going on fifteen,” mutters the oldest male in the room during his digging around. “Alright, Mr. Wyland,” Clark gradually begins, “our juice options for the moment are Totally Turtle-”
“Kale, cucumber, seaweed, apple, and coconut water,” Jessie explains to the group.
“Or Bursting Barnacle.”
“Pineapple, orange, blueberry, seaweed, and coconut water.” Our attention cuts to her prompting the woman in the room to add, “Bryn recently discovered a small, local company that creates healthy juices for children and uses a healthy portion of its proceeds to then donate to ocean conservation projects. Wy loves them so much that she’s pitching B&P to pick up the product to sell in the giftshop.”
“Bamicle, pwease,” the small charmer calls out.
My hands find their way to my pockets. “How long ago was this?”
“Uhh…” Jessie dives into her own pocket for her cell. “Couple months ago?”
“Question or statement, Rous.” I fight the urge to narrow my stare. “Pick. One.”
“It was a couple months ago. We got a bottle at the Red, White, and Blue Festival. They had a booth.”
“I don’t recall that.”
“It might’ve been when you stepped away for that photo op for Runt’s.” She bounces her head slightly back and forth. “Or when you got that phone call from the meat people-”
“Bennett Enterprises.”
“-about some private yacht party.”
“Regatta.”
“Are those really the important takeaways from this conversation, Weston?” Clark scolds as he slides the bottle of juice into Wy’s possession.
No.
The fact I had no idea my son had a new favorite juice or that my wife was pitching something to her company she felt was worthy of more capital is clearly where my focus should be.
Although, I don’t need more evidence that I’m not present enough for my fucking family.
Hell, at this point, I could use less.
I could use a little acknowledgement that I’m here for them.
That I am capable of being here for them.
All of a sudden, movement occurs at the entryway, prompting Holmes to reach for his holster and me to move towards my son.
“Stand down, dude. It’s just us,” my best friend proclaims, hands innocently lifted in the air.
“Don’t say dude,” I instantly reprimand. “You’re not a college freshman back from his first Spring Break.”
“This room does look like the view we had while snorkeling,” Janae Reese, formerly known as Janae Boucher – twin sister to the infamous NBA legend Jericho Boucher – warmly announces from his side. “Which I do recommend doing sans the clothing if ever given the opportunity. It's a much more freeing experience.” Her dark brown eyebrows bounce in a playful fashion. “One we will be thanking Bryn for when she wakes up.”
The pain in my chest that had briefly dulled roars with a vengeance.
“She’s gonna wake up, Wes,” J.T. quietly promises. “We both know the only reason she hasn’t is because Bryn does ish on her own time.” He arrives at my side to deliver a comforting pat to my back. “The woman was literally late for her own wedding.”