“That’s how I learned how to operate mine,” Bellamy tells me.
I open my mouth to tell her that I’ll take her up on lessons, but I’m watching Foster and see his face go pale. “What?” I ask. He’s staring down at his phone. “Foster?”
He looks up at me, swallows hard, and shakes his head. Instead of telling me, he hands me his phone. Foster is one of those guys who keeps to himself a lot, so for him to be showing me what’s going on must mean it’s serious. Taking the phone from his hands, I peer down at the screen, and my heart drops to my toes.
“No.” I shake my head. “No,” I say again.
“What? Oh, fuck,” Landry mutters.
I can’t even remind him to clean up his mouth because my world just tilted on its axis. This can’t be true, right? It’s got to be clickbait, some made-up headline. It has to be.
“Daddy, cake!” Camden cheers.
When I lift my eyes toward my son, I have to blink the tears away. It’s not just my life, but his that’s been altered if this is true. “I love you,” I tell him, because I need him to know that now more than ever. He doesn’t understand, but I do. I know what those three little words mean.
“Baker, man, what do you need?” Knox asks.
“It’s not true, right?” I look at Knox, then Landry, Reid, and finally Foster, whose phone I’m still gripping tightly in my fist. “Right?”
“I don’t know, brother, but we’ll find out,” Foster assures me.
Knox raises his phone to his ear, already in investigative mode, while all I can do is stand still, frozen in time, my heart breaking, not for me, but for my son.
Chapter Eight
Sloane
* * *
I don’t know what’s happening. The look on Baker’s face tells me whatever it is, it’s not good news. He’s pale as a ghost, and he’s looking at his son with so much pain in his eyes. And if I’m not mistaken, the glassy sheen is not just a reflection but an overwhelming display of emotions.
Camden starts to fuss; I’m sure he’s picking up on the change in atmosphere in the room. He’s covered in cake and icing, and looks as if he’s about ten seconds away from losing his shit. I want to go to Baker. I want to tell him that whatever he just read on Foster's phone, we’ll be here to help him through it. However, his son needs to be taken care of, and right now, I’m the best person for the job. It is, in fact, my job to care for him, but this is different.
“Look at you, bud,” I say softly, into the now quiet of the room. “I think someone needs a bath.”
“No baf.” He shakes his head.
“Yes, bath,” I tell him, working to free him from his highchair quickly. He’s long overdue for a nap, and I have a feeling I’m about to see cranky Camden in full swing. Hopefully, I can diffuse it. “You have those new tugboats you need to play with,” I remind him of one of his birthday gifts.
“Swoan, pway,” he says, and even his tone sounds sad as I lift him into my arms, and he snuggles into my chest.
“Of course, I will. Come on, you.” I make it a point to walk past Baker, and with my free hand, I reach out and give his arm a gentle squeeze. “I’ve got him,” I whisper. He nods, but I’m not even sure he really hears me or understands what I’ve just said. He seems to be in a state of shock.
I make a quick stop in the living room for the new bathtime tugboats that Amanda got him and slowly make my way upstairs. I head straight for the bathroom, turning on the water so it can warm while I strip Camden out of his birthday-cake-covered clothing.
“Are you so excited about your new boats?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light and airy. Whatever has everyone up in arms downstairs doesn’t need to touch him. This is his special day.
“Boat,” he says, rubbing his eyes.
“Somebody is sleepy,” I coo, testing the water before placing him in the tub. I don’t add bubbles because I can tell he’s crashing. This is going to be quick, and I hope it doesn’t turn into a battle of wills when I tell him it’s time to get out of the tub.
I try like hell to keep a happy smile on my face while giving Camden his bath, all while my mind races with what could have elicited that type of reaction out of Baker. And I can’t figure out why I want to run to him and hold both him and his son in my arms. Sure, we’ve spent a lot of time together this week, but this need to be the one to hold them both steady rocks me.
“All clean,” I say in a cheery voice. “Now, it’s time for jammies and a book.” I widen my eyes dramatically, and Camden gives me a sleepy smile, tossing his boats to the side and holding his hands up for me. The trust this little man has put in me has my insides feeling like mush.
“How about your football jammies?” I suggest, pulling them out of this drawer.
“Ball,” he says.
