2
Wes
If I were being held at gunpoint, and the only way to save myself was to recite a song word for word, no mistakes, it would hands down beWe Don’t Talk About Bruno. The offending song blares through my house as I pack Lilah’s bag for her sleepover at my parents’ house. Thankfully, I don’t need to pack much because my parents keep their home stocked as if my daughter was their own.
I toss her toothbrush into her backpack and make my way down the hall to her bedroom. I rummage through her dresser drawer to find the pajamas she specifically requested to wear tonight at her Nana and Papa’s.
Why does nothing stay folded?
I swear everything is neatly put away when I do her laundry, but sure enough, her drawers transform into a sea of tiny, tangled clothes.
I spot the pink dragon pajamas shoved in the back corner of the drawer and dig through the mess to get to them. My heavily tattooed hand and arm are asharp contrast to the plethora of pinks and purples. Pajamas secured, I step over to Lilah’s bed and grabBurrito—her beloved stuffed dragon—and shove everything into her mini dragon backpack.
I turn on my heel toward the door and immediately trip over a very tall magnet block tower I somehow managed to avoid on the way in. The thing crumbles under me like a booby trap, and I stumble, struggling to gain my footing under the slippery plastic tiles.
I mercifully remain upright and leave the room, shutting the door behind me. That’s future Wes’s problem. My boots thud against the dark hardwood floors as I stride into the living room, where Lilah is waiting by the front door, slipping her sock-covered feet into her rain boots. It’s not raining, but apparently, that’s her footwear of choice today.
“Where is Miss Kayla?” she asks over the blaring song still playing on repeat, her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.
“Miss Kayla moved away, remember?” I remind her gently.
Lilah’s nanny—well, former nanny—decided to go on the road with her musician boyfriend, leaving me without childcare. Kayla, the girl in her early twenties who’s been watching my daughter for the past year, gave me two days’ notice before leaving town, leaving me to scramble.
“Oh. Yeah.” She shrugs, taking the backpack from me. I guess I should be grateful for how unbothered she seems.
“Yay! Nana and Papa’s!” she shouts excitedly, yanking open the front door.
I shut off the music, grab my own bag for work, and chuckle. “Glad you’re excited, bug. Let’s go.”
We step off the porch and head toward my truck in the driveway.
“Hurry! You’ll be late for work!” My four-year-old scolds.
“I know the boss. I think I’ll be okay,” I chuckle. “Also, Nana and Papa live down the road. We couldn’t be late if we tried.”
I sit and watch patiently as little Miss Independent struggles to buckle herself into her booster seat. After a few minutes, she finally gets it, and I’m free to hop in myself.
We drive up the gravel road flanked by wooden fencing, leading toward my parents’ house. After only a few seconds, the big white farmhouse I grew up in comes into view. It sits on top of a grass covered hill, overlooking mine about a mile down.
I’m incredibly lucky to have my family so close by to help with Lilah. We all live on the same property after all. My parents bought this land when we were just kids, and as we got older, they sectioned it off so each of us got a piece. My house is the closest to theirs. Sophie and Maverick live near each other a couple miles past mine, with Lincoln’s place being the furthest one out.
I throw the truck in park just outside my parents’ house, and Lilah lets herself out, running straight for the wrap-around porch where my mom and dad are waiting, arms open wide for their granddaughter.
“Nana! Papa!” Delilah squeals, jumping up and wrapping her arms around my moms neck in a tight embrace.
I slide out of the truck, grab the mini backpack she left behind, and join them on the porch. My chest tightens watching them. Knowing my mom is the only motherly figure my daughter has, I pray like hell she gets to have her for as many years as possible.
I wish Sarah could see how big our girl has gotten.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, shaking off the thought and leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Thanks for this. I’ll figure something out soon.”
She waves me off. “Don’t ever thank me for watching my grandbaby,” she replies, taking the bag from me. “Have a good night at work. We’ll see you in the morning.”
I thank her and my dad, then scoop Lilah up in a big hug and kiss her cheek. “Love you, bug. See you in the mornin’.”
“Love you, Daddy.” She kisses my cheek back. “Draw something badass,” she says innocently, like a four-year-old cursing is no big deal.
I’m going to kill Maverick.
