Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“It’s not on fire,” I mutter, grabbing a dish towel and fanning the haze.
At least it isn’t yet.
I shove the window over the sink open before the whole building is evacuated. That won’t exactly make me popular with the board.
“I can barely breathe!” Elody complains, waving her hands.
“I know, bug. I’m working on it.”
After four years of parenting, I really should be better at this.
Shutting down a game-winning breakaway?
That’s easy.
Keeping one tiny human fed and dressed on six hours of sleep?
Not so much.
The toaster gives one last pathetic click before dying a sudden death. I unplug it and dump the charred remains into the sink. The toast looks more like coal than something edible.
Elody claps. “Yay! You did it, Daddy!”
“Yup,” I say dryly. “It’s a true victory for the team.”
When she continues to grin, I grab a banana from the bowl and hand it to her. “Let’s try this instead. Pretty sure it’s the breakfast of champions.”
I lift her onto the marble island, steadying her small body as she peels the banana with fierce concentration.
“’Member how Mommy used to do it?” she asks, not taking her attention off what she’s doing.
Every time she brings Sarah up, it’s a punch to the gut.
A bruise that never fully fades.
“Of course I do,” I say, making sure to keep my voice even. Elody doesn’t need to hear how the word mommy slices me wide open. Sarah left over a year ago, but some mornings it feels like she walked out yesterday. “You’ve almost got it.”
Elody nods, proud of her accomplishment. Once she’s devoured half of it, she grins, showing off the banana mush coating her teeth.
With a snort, I shake my head. “Pretty gross, El.”
Her laugh is bright and unbothered, and I take it as proof I’m doing something right. My girl is happy. Loved.
Although, it doesn’t stop the fear that I’m failing her in other ways from sneaking back in.
When the smoke alarm chirps, Elody’s eyes widen. “Daddy, it beeped again!”
“There’s nothing to worry about. It just means the air is still smoky. By the time we get home later, it’ll be fine. Promise.”
When my phone buzzes on the counter, I pick it up and glance at the screen.
Steele:
Where you at? Practice is in fifteen.
That’s when I notice the time.
Well, shit.
How are we already so far behind schedule?
“Okay.” I grab Elody’s backpack from the chair. “We’re officially late. Socks, coat, preschool. Let’s move it.”
She freezes mid-bounce. “I don’t want socks.”
“Elody…”
Her eyes widen. “They’re itchy!”
“They’re not itchy,” I mutter, not wanting to have this argument now.
“They are. They’re so itchy! I hate wearing them!”
I inhale slowly and remind myself that she’s only four. Then I crouch until we’re eye level. “How about the sparkly ones?”
Her brows slam together. “The rainbow sparkles?”
“Yep. Rainbow sparkles. You can be fancy today.”
“I thought those were for special times.”
“Well, today, running late counts as special.”
“Yay!”
My shoulders loosen as I exhale.
Disaster averted.
For now.
Five minutes later, Elody is zipped into her coat with her polar bear hat jammed over her curls, twirling in circles while we wait for the elevator. When the doors slide open, she bolts inside and nearly trips. I lunge and scoop her up before she can face-plant.
“That was close!” she says, arms locking around my neck.
“Sure was.” I press my mouth to her hair. “But I’ve got you.”
Always.
The elevator doors slide shut, and the breath I didn’t realize I was holding releases from my lungs.
The ride down is a barrage of questions about the toaster we now need to replace, along with a detailed plan for what happens on Tuesdays at school. I barely register half of it. My mind is already sprinting ahead to practice, film, sitter coverage, travel, and how I’m supposed to hold everything together without giving the McIntyres another weapon to use against me.
Life is a juggling act, and I’m one dropped ball from imploding.
Once in the parking structure, Elody slips her hand into mine as she skips toward the Escalade. I lift her into the booster seat, buckle her in, and check the straps twice.
Then again just to be sure before giving her a kiss on the nose.
After closing the door, I slide into the driver’s seat and pull out. I don’t make it a block before the dash lights up with an incoming call from Richards Family Law.
My stomach drops as I glance in the mirror. “Hey, bug. Daddy’s going to take a quick call, okay?”
With a nod, she goes back to staring out the window.
I tap the steering wheel button. “Hey, Mark.”
“Morning, Laiken,” he says. “Got a minute? I have a few updates.”
“Yup. Go ahead.”
“We received notice that the McIntyres filed another motion. They’re pushing for expanded visitation and potentially joint custody.”
My grip tightens on the wheel. “On what grounds?”
“Stability concerns. They cited your travel schedule, late pickups, and reliance on childcare. They’re arguing a more traditional environment would be better for Elody.”