Page 60

Payton

Deaton cries, arching his back and kicking his feet all around, doing his absolute best to fight against the fresh onesie I’m sliding his arms into, his third outfit change of the day. And mine.

“Okay, okay, little man.” I manage to get the two outside buttons done and decide the middle one isn’t necessary.

Tickling his tiny, sock-covered feet, I grab ahold, wiggling them back and forth with a big smile to pretend we’re playing a game.

It works like a charm, and he stops flailing for half a second, just long enough for me to quickly slide on his cotton shorts.

He screams then, his arms stretched out, fists opening and closing over and over, making grabby hands to let me know he wants me to pick him back up.

“One second, mister.” I turn to my own mess of a wardrobe in search of another clean top, but my drawer is empty aside from the T-shirts I wear to bed, and when I look in my closet, bare hangers stare back.

That is, on the side dedicated to the clothes that actually fit.

My eyes fall to the clean basket of laundry at the foot of the bed, and I sigh, reaching in and digging around for the least wrinkled one.

I still need to shower, so what’s the point of worrying about ironing or, hell, matching.

Ironing . I scoff. Yeah right. The most I’ll take the time to do is throw the entire load back in the dryer and hope it works out the mess I created by tossing them carelessly into the basket in the first place.

“Well, mister man, looks like we’re officially adding laundry back to the never-ending to-do list.”

Deaton cries harder, reminding me why it’s so important to keep him to his normal routine no matter what’s going on outside of it.

“I know, I know. It’s my fault you missed your nap, and we’re all going to pay for it.

” I yank the shirt over my head, my lack of finesse causing it to tug the bun I seem to be living in down with it, but I don’t bother to pull the now loose strands out from under the thin cotton, let alone fix the damn thing.

I scoop up the little boy who suddenly hates being put down for any and every reason that doesn’t include water.

Foolishly, I thought he’d grow more independent with age, but it seems the opposite is true.

Too bad I can only give him so many baths a day to free up my hands, and even then, it’s not to get anything done.

It’s the ten-ish minutes of sitting on the tile floor with zero responsibilities that make the fight to dry him off and put on his diaper and clothes worth it.

Well, no responsibilities other than the ever-present fear I’ll mistakenly look away for the split second it would take for him to twist and slip under the water.

Yeah, baths aren’t all that relaxing, but the little smile when he splashes water all over the place is better than any restful moment could be.

I bounce around the room, walking back and forth from one corner to the next, but Deaton continues to fuss, rubbing his face in my chest and playing with the curls of his hair.

“Are you tired, sweet boy?” I kiss his head, cradling him against me, but my little man hates to miss a thing. The moment he recognizes the move for what it is—my attempt to sway him until he’s sleeping—he lifts his little head, blowing air between his lips and sending drool sliding down his chin .

“Oh, we’re blowing bubbles while we cry, huh?” I swiftly snag a bib and snap it into place, not once pausing the bouncing of my body. My eyes catch the clock and widen. “Shit.”

My lips snap closed, and I sigh. I was supposed to be ready an hour ago. Knowing what’s coming this evening, I suck it up and take a deep breath.

“It’s now or never, mister man.” Blanket flung over my shoulder and a toy in my hand, I slide into a pair of flip-flops, doing what I told myself I wouldn’t do today.

I head over to Lolli and Nate’s house next door.

Inside, I pause to listen, the bickering in the hall cluing me in on where to go, and I throw the door open to Lolli’s office.

“Someone, for the love of hot coffee, help. Please .” The words leave me before I fully take in the sight, and sadly, I don’t even have the energy to gape. Or laugh.

Lolli, the girl terrified of marriage and most anything that has to do with acknowledging feelings, though she is getting better at that, stands on a stool in the center of the room wearing a giant, white wedding gown.

Her cousin and new roommate, Mia, kneels beside her with a needle and measuring tape in her hand.

Mia is lucky Lolli loves her and wants her new business endeavor as a seamstress to work out, or Lolli would never be caught dead in that gown.

My shoulders fall instantly. So much for sneaking away for five minutes.

“Aw…” Lolli’s attention locks on Deaton, and she attempts to step down, but Mia is quick to hold her still.

“Ha! Lolli, get real!” She shakes her head. “Baby puke is another big fat no to be spilled on this dress,” she says, as if they’ve already had this argument.

“Again, Mia, potentially . And you’re getting on my nerves now.” She looks to me, an apology drawing lines to her forehead. “Sorry, she’s being full drill sergeant.”

“It’s fine. I just…” I hesitate, deciding one truth is enough. “Re ally wanted to shower before Nate’s parents get here. I hate looking like I suck at life when they come.” Again.

I look out the large back window, watching as a few people run by on their way to the ocean, and hope she doesn’t call me out for any other potential reason my stress meter is clearly overflowing today. Thankfully, she doesn’t.

“You don’t suck at life and know that Sarah and Ian would never judge.” Kalani, or Lolli as we call her, reminds me of what I already know.

If she ever decides to give in and let Nate marry her like he wants, she will officially have one of the best sets of in-laws on the planet. Though I have to say, they’re tied with another certain set of parents I know. Not mine, of course. His.

I swallow, shaking away the thought.

“Bright side is they won’t be getting into town until around five,” Mia adds with a grin.

“True!” Lolli agrees.

My brows snap together, and I decide they’re not joking. Seems I’m not the only one time got away from today. “It’s five thirty.” I break the bad news.

Lolli swings her glare to Mia, who laughs loudly, and I watch the two as I move Deaton from one arm to the other, swinging slightly as he grows more and more restless.

Fussy baby or not, I can’t help but smile as I listen to the two bicker like sisters.

Lolli lets out a little growl. “I gotta get out of this before they get back and?—”

“We’re back!”

Lolli cuts off at the sudden intruding voice, the shouted words coming from the front of the house, and like being dipped in liquid nitrogen, we freeze instantly.

My stomach drops to my feet, a cool sweat breaking out over my palms.

Oh god. No, no, no …

My eyes snap up, locking with the girls’. The panic whirling its way through me is reflected on both their faces, none of our reactions related to the reasons of the others’, but the reason for mine is secret. Not the best kept one, but a secret nonetheless.

A soft thunk snaps us out of our stupor, and at once, we start moving.

Mia hurries to unzip Lolli while Lolli reaches up, yanking clips from her long, dark hair.

I spin on my heels, doing everything I can to escape, my hand wrapping around the handle of the door, fully prepared to race through the back side of the house so no one sees me.

I’m not ready for this. I thought I could put on a brave face, but it turns out I’m not brave. I feel sick at the mere thought, and I just…cannot.

I need a little more?—

The door is shoved open from the other side, and I yelp, nearly knocking myself off balance, but then my eyes snap up to the newcomer. I swallow my tongue.

It’s as if cement is injected into my veins, every inch of me growing heavy before turning to stone. My pulse pounds, then plummets as my eyes lock on a pair of pensive brown ones so familiar, I could pick them out in a lineup of hundreds.

My fingers curl into Deaton’s blanket, and I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Those dark eyes narrow, searching, seeing.

Softening.

My stomach flips and twists, and I can’t tell if it’s unease or elation. Or downright dread.

How can they still turn so tender when trained on me?

“What’s wrong?” His words are a low demand, and I want to scream and cry at the same time.

“Nothing.” Everything . “Everything’s fine.”

“She needs help with Deaton,” Lolli says, calling me out.

“Lolli,” I hiss, my head snapping her way briefly. I try to stay focused on her, but it’s too obvious, not to mention hard , so I slowly move them back to the man before me.

And he is a man. I swear, every time I see him, there’s a little something about him that’s changed.

Sometimes it’s subtle, a shorter haircut than the time before or a deeper tan than the one his olive skin keeps all year—a result of the endless hours he puts in on the football field or natural, I couldn’t say.

Other times it’s more than that. His shoulders have grown wider in the year since I met him, his jaw sharper. His hands…

I swallow, unable to break away from the choke hold of his gaze.

If there is one thing that hasn’t changed, it’s his eyes. The honey-brown irises are as rich as ever, the perfect mix of dark and light, vivid yet grave. A flawless illustration of his character.

Mason Johnson is as fierce as he is tender. He’s yin and yang.

And after nearly nine weeks of sudden silence, he’s standing before me with an expression that threatens to break me down right here, right now.

He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t have to. The slight frown blanketing his features says enough—he’s worried, frustrated.

Angry.

It’s deeper than that, though. I can see it in his troubled gaze.

Did something happen? Did I do something wrong? Did you change your mind…