Page 42 of The Only Thing That's Real

Sawyer at his first birthday party.

Under the message is a picture of my son in a highchair with a handful of birthday cake.

The kid is fucking perfect.

Gus

You on your first birthday.

Holy shit.

I’m completely dumbfounded. With his second message is a picture of me with blond hair the same color as Sawyer’s, sitting in a highchair with a handful of cake. We look like the same little person. If it weren’t for the fashion, and the picture quality, you would think both photos were of Sawyer.

Happy tears stream over my first genuine smile in weeks, but I don’t bother wiping them away.

I’m a father.

My stomach flips and a jolt of energy races to my heart.

I. Have. A. Son.

Sure, the situation is far from ideal. My brother is morelike his dad than I am, and that messes with my head, but we’re gonna work it out. Our conversation may have been one of the hardest of my life, but I feel better.

No longer hopeless.

I’m still a piece of shit, but I may not be a piece of shit stuck to the bottom of someone’s boot.

Nope. Just a regular piece of shit and for right now, I’ll take it.

Knox

Thank you.

Gus

We got this.

I don’t miss that he sayswegot this. I’m a lucky bastard. If I were to trust my child to be raised by anyone other than myself, Angus or Callen are the only two on my list. Lucky bastard for sure.

Feeling better than I have in ages, I inhale a deep breath, puffing up my chest with just a morsel of confidence making an appearance. Hell, I think I’m gonna be social and grab a beer with the guys.

Still fixated on the photo of Sawyer, I open the bedroom door, and a gasp snags my attention.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Deep strokes of red paint my vision.

“Get the fuck off my bus!”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ryan

No, no, no, no, no!

“Get the fuck off my bus!”

My legs are dangling off my bunk in preparation to leap out, but I’m frozen to the spot.

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