Page 119 of Sin Bin Daddies
Then, because it would be worse not to, I follow it up.
>> Let me know if you need anything. I’ll figure it out.
I set the phone down on the counter and drain the rest of the whiskey. The burn doesn’t calm me. It just clears the taste of vomit from my mouth and replaces it with something bitter and clean.
I want to be the kind of man who steps up. Who shows up. Who doesn’t run. But I’ve never trusted myself to stay whole when shit gets messy.
I always fold inward. Always bury myself in work. That’s how I’ve survived this long.
I press my forehead to the cabinet door, breathing deep.
Crap!
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Ford
The secondI pull into the driveway of my beach house, I kill the engine and just sit there, staring at the waves crashing gently beyond the dunes.
The moonlight’s soft on the water, and there’s a breeze tugging at the palms, rustling through the leaves like they know something I don’t.
My mind’s buzzing. Not in the usual post-practice, post-press-conference kind of way. This is different. Bigger.
I step out, leave my shoes on the deck, and walk straight inside. The place smells like sea salt and cedarwood, that mix that always calms me down.
I open the fridge and grab a cold beer, popping the cap with the edge of the counter. I take a sip and lean against the kitchen island, letting the chill cut through the heat swimming in my chest. A baby.
Damn.
I’m surprised by how fast that word brings a smile to my face. Not the nervous, forced kind I give reporters. This one’s easy. Real.
There’s still panic under it, yeah, but more than that—there’s a rush of something warmer. Something alive.
Madeline’s going to be incredible. She’s already nurturing and brilliant and strong as hell. She’s going to be so good at this.
I shower, let the steam wrap around me while I scrub the day away. By the time I’m out and toweling off, it’s almost two in the morning.
My body’s exhausted, but my brain won’t slow down. So I drag myself to the sofa, flick on the TV for background noise, and fall into the cushions, phone in hand.
I shoot a text to Asher.
>>She get any sleep?
It takes a minute. Then he replies.
>>Threw up once. She’s out now.
I stare at the screen. Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I send another.
>> This is huge, man.
He replies almost immediately.
>>No kidding.
I chuckle. Then I say it.
>>We’re gonna have a kid.
