Despite being a grumpy asshole with us, Israel doesn’t turn his moods on small children. Even he musters a smile for Owen as hemumbles his agreement.
Owen cheers, then starts tugging at my shirt sleeve again. “Come on,” he urges. “Let’s go!”
I look at my friends and shrug. “You heard the kid. Let’s go.”
Chapter Three
Webarelymakeitoutside when Gabe is rushing through the door behind us.
"Where are you going?" Gabe asks.
"We're walking home?" I cock my head slightly at him, wondering why he's asking. He just stares back until it dawns on me. "Oh, yeah. I guess I should probably give you the address."
"Or…" he drags out the word and lifts a key fob to unlock a car nearby. A mini van, actually. "You can be smart and let me drive you home instead of walking through this heat again. Before you argue, I have a car seat Owen can use. Perks of having nieces and nephews."
"Oh, we can't do that." I look from Gabe to Owen. His cheeks are already red and, despite being adamant he wanted chocolate milk, he downed two kiddie cups of water in the short time we sat in the diner. Even just a couple minutes’ walk back doesn’t seem all that appealing.
"Daddy, please? It's hot." Owen looks between the two of us and my shoulders sag. Gabe's friends are loitering by their cars already, waiting for me to make a decision. I love Owen with every fiber of my being but having to make all the decisions and constantlyweighing pros and cons is not my favorite thing in the world. I had to grow up fast at home on top of Owen being a surprise.
To be a kid again, I think.
"Sure, buddy." I give Gabe a short smile. "Only if you're sure and you have the right car seat for him."
"I have all three stages. My youngest niece is only a couple of months old and my oldest nibling is around Owen's height, so he should be able to use that one. Come on."
The blast of cool air when Gabe turns on the car is more than welcoming. The car is nice, a newer model. Definitely different from my 2010 Toyota. Not that there’s anything wrong with my car. It is reliable and easy to maintain; something that's necessary when you're a single dad.
Owen is buckled up, asking a hundred questions to Gabe about whatever he can see while I point directions. It's really just two short turns and then pointing out the house with the moving truck in the driveway. My car is currently with Lauren’s parents, Owen's maternal grandparents. They let me leave it at their place two weeks ago when I came out to sign for the house. Owen has never officially met his mom’s parents since she passed away; outside of the job offer, knowing they would be close by seemed like another tick in the plus column for moving here.
Gabe pulls into the driveway next to the moving truck. "This place is nice. Good neighborhood too."
"Do you live around here?"
"Not too far," Gabe says. He turns the car off and climbs out, my cue to drop that line of questioning. Despite the random invitation for him to help me unload the truck, we know nothing but each other’s names.
Owen is already unbuckled and waiting for me to open the back door. He hops out without my help, something that sends a small pang through me. He's growing up too fast.
Gabe's friends are parked along the road, and we all meet at the front door.
"I would offer you all a beer or something for the trouble, but I only have tap water." I was never one to host events or anything. I had friends that would come over, some with their own kids, but most would just invite me out. Half the time I had to decline because I didn't have anyone to watch Owen. They never really made the effort to do things where kids could be included, and I couldn't blame them. Your twenties are supposed to be a time to have fun and go out to meet people. Small children get in the way of that.
"Beer in this heat would mean trouble," one of the guys says as we walk into the empty house. I want to ask them to take their shoes off, but we'll be going in and out for a couple of hours at least. I'll just have to mop once everything is settled.
"Gabe! Want to see my room?" Owen takes Gabe's hand and leads him through the house before the guy can even answer. I'm grateful that Gabe stops just at the door frame and looks back at me with a nod. It relaxes my nerves a bit that I can keep my eye on him. I might be inviting these guys into my house, but I don't know them enough to let them out of sight with my kid. Gabe and his friends seem trustworthy enough, but the world can be a cruel place.
I hate that my brain goes there.
"He's great with kids," one of the others says, like they just heard my thoughts. There are three of them, and they're big. Theirmuscles are on full display in their short sleeve shirts and shorts. The same guy holds out his hand. "I'm Israel. Izzy for short."
"Noah," the second guy says.
"And I'm Marshall."
“Marshall?” I hear Owen's voice behind me and can't help the smile that tugs my lips upward. I shake Marshall's hand.
“I hope you know your Paw Patrol," I warn him.
“Oh, do I ever!" Marshall turns to Owen, who is now leading Gabe back to where they're standing. Marshall squats down to Owen's eye level and points to my son's shirt. "That dalmatian right there is Marshall. Rubble. Chase. Skye. Zuma. Rocky. Then there's also Ryder and Mayor—”
