"I'll get him," I cut her off. The words escape before I can swallow them back.
"Are you sure? I know this is?—"
"I said I'll get him. Do I pick him up from your parents' house? I'm leaving now."
"Yes. I'll let Mom know. Thank you so?—"
“All good.” I end the call, already reaching for my keys.
I end the call and grab my keys from the desk drawer. Four steps to the door, and I poke my head into the reception area.
“Kaley, reschedule my five o’clock. Family emergency.”
Family. The word doesn’t belong in my mouth. At least it hasn't for most of my life. Suddenly, I'm lightheaded. I clear my throat and walk to the elevator.
The drive to Margaret and Hank’s blurs past in a string of traffic lights and palm trees. My thumb taps restlessly against the steering wheel, too much energy burning under my skin.
Anger simmers, but not at Beckett. It's never at him. But at Janie, at the mess we’re in, at myself for being too weak to take a decisive stand.
And under the anger, something else coils tighter. Something I don’t dare name.
I pull into Margaret and Hank's driveway. The familiarity hits me in the chest. This was my home once.
I barely knock before Margaret pulls the door open, her face lighting up like I'm some kind of hero.
"Warren! Thank you so much for coming." She ushers me inside, the scent of cinnamon and apples wrapping around me. "I just put a pie in. Beckett helped with the crust. Can you take it out in fifteen minutes?"
My throat tightens. Another first I missed.
"Sure. It's no problem." I follow her into the living room, passing photos of Blake and Janie growing up. New frames have been added of Beckett as a baby, Beckett with his first soccer ball, Beckett missing his front tooth.
I didn't stop to look at them last time I was here. They were part of the scenery, but now they are so much more. I want to study them, but I follow her instead.
"He hasn't stopped talking about the carnival." Margaret beams, collecting a small backpack from the couch. "He said Uncle Blake's best friend fixed his butterfly wing. He's really warmed up to you."
Uncle Blake's best friend. Gut punch.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"And Coach Mike praised you again today when I took Beckett to practice. He said Beckett's kicks have improved since you showed him that technique." She zips the backpack closed. "It means so much to him, you know. Having someone like you around."
Her eyes soften, and what comes next is inevitable.
"Since he doesn't have a dad."
The words suck the air out of me. I force my face to remain neutral while something primal inside me screams:He does have a father. I'm right here.
"I'm grateful to be able to be around," I manage. "He's a great kid."
"He is. Smart as a whip, too. Gets that from Janie, of course." Margaret hands me the backpack, our fingers brushing. "You can leave the pie on the stove. Feel free to dig around my kitchen to put something together for dinner."
I barely hear everything she's saying as my brain can't let go of the more important points she made.Since he doesn't have a dad..The thought rises unbidden.
"Oh! And his dinosaur phase! Did Janie tell you? He can name fifteen different species, pronunciation and all."
I swallow the lump in my throat. "That's impressive."
"I know. Makes you wonder how these kids are so dang smart."