Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
No word could describe how good it felt to be a proper team again. It wasn’t only about being back together with the love of my life; this was the man I had four kids with, and we were at our best when we worked together as a strong unit.
“Hey, Dad.”
I looked toward the entrance to our lot and spotted Dylan coming over. “There you are, buddy. How was the Metro?”
“Packed. Public transit makes me hate people.”
I chuckled and got to my feet, and I pocketed my phone. “You’re too young to become a misanthrope. Give it another twenty years.”
To my surprise, he came up and hugged me.
Hot fucking damn. That didn’t happen every day.
“Who are you, and what have you done to my moody teenager?” I hugged him back, obviously. Taking every chance I got.
“It’s your birthday. Savor it.”
Something told me that wasn’t the only reason.
I gave him a tight squeeze and even dared to kiss his temple real quick. He was getting so tall. He had to be around five-ten now.
He eased back and smirked, ’cause that’s what he did. He was a smirker.
“You ready to drive?” I asked, grabbing my ball cap again.
“Yeah. Can we do 95?”
I tossed him the key. “Sure, if you wanna stand still for forty-five minutes.”
He wrinkled his nose and disappeared behind the truck. “Or we’ll just wing it.”
Winging it, it was.
I got in next to him and buckled up. “Recite the Riley Student Driver’s Creed, please.”
He laughed through his nose and adjusted the mirrors and his seat. “Uh, always address cops as sir or ma’am, someone is always watching, I’m not street-smart enough for juvie, it’s okay to flip people off for not using their lights when it’s dark, and fuck diplomats.”
“Because…”
“Because toddlers drive better than them.”
“Attaboy. And if Dad or your driving instructor asks you…”
He put on the seat belt. “I rarely take advice from you.”
Perfect. “You’re good to go.”
He eased out of the lot, nice and calm, and I reminded him to plan his route. Even if he was going to “wing it,” he needed a plan. He couldn’t make split-second decisions and switch lanes two seconds before a stoplight. Not as a default anyway.
“Did Dad text you about Mikey eating vegetables?” he asked.
“Yeah, he did. He texted you too?” I was a little surprised at that.
“He asked me to say good job or something like that if it was mentioned.”
I hummed. Come to think of it, that made sense. Mikey looked up to Dylan something fierce, and it wouldn’t be a bad idea if I included the big brother in my plan.
“I don’t see the big deal,” he added. “So he’s a little chubby. He’s got a lot of growing to do.”
“We’re not worried,” I assured him. “We’re just trying to get ahead of something before it becomes a problem. It’s easier for children to form healthier habits than adults. You’ve seen Pop-Pop tryna give up smoking. And Grandma tryna give up the sweets.”
My ma needed to watch her blood sugar.
“Blinkers,” I reminded.
“Fuck.” He moved over to the middle lane and checked the rearview again. “All right. So I’ll tell him good job when he eats vegetables…?”
I tipped my head, weighing my answer. “I think what would work even better is if you ate your own damn vegetables. He looks up to you, buddy.”
Good turn—he was steady and relaxed.
“It got me thinking, actually,” I continued. “Dad and I wanna get him to enjoy more physical exercise, so I’m gonna dust off my mountain bike. If he goes with me for half an hour every day, we’re gonna do a boys’ trip at some point. You should come with. Tragic as it is for my ego, you have greater influence on him as his big brother.”
I’d expected Dylan to smirk or chuckle. Instead, he smiled. “I’ve missed this.”
“Missed what?”
He shrugged, eyeing his side-view. “I don’t know—the extra activities, I guess. Youse were always full of ideas in the past. Weekends were never boring. But this past year, it’s been…you know, more about surviving the day or something.”
Dylan could surprise me. Nine times out of ten, he was the epitome of shrugging teenager who shied away from affection and spending extra time with the folks. But then he picked up on things, filed them away, until he was ready to drop a truth bomb or two.
He wasn’t wrong.
“That’s actually what we’re supposed to be talking about right now,” I said. “We can discuss Mikey another time. I wanna know your thoughts about Dad and me getting back together. And if you have any questions.”
He thought about it. Or he was concentrating on traffic. Either way, I wasn’t rushing his response.
“Ease up a bit,” I advised. “You don’t wanna be too close to the car in front of you. That’s the type of driver I wanna step on my brakes for.”