Page 53 of Sweet Redemption

Suck it the fuck up and get your ass to my house.

Playing the dead wife card isn’t cool.

But did it work?

Dick.

—Text from Hendrix to Ryker

“Hey, bud.” I shift Bodhi from my hip to the counter and drop the grocery bag next to him. Some nights, he’s desperate for a nap after a day with Grace. Others, he’s bouncing off the walls. Tonight seems to be falling somewhere in-between. My kid is mellow. “Do you want scrambled eggs or waffles for dinner tonight?”

He scrunches his nose, looking so much like his mother, I can’t help but laugh. She was never a breakfast girl. Coffee and chaos. That was Britt.

He clutches his stuffed dinosaur to his side, and I make a mental note to maybe buy a backup. Rex has seen better days, and I don’t want to see what it looks like if this thing disintegrates before his eyes. “That’s breakfast, Daddy. Not dinner.”

“Yeah, I guess it is. But I’ve got the good syrup.” Okay, sue me. Bribery is basically the only form of currency that works on an almost three-year-old. At least on mine. “Come on. Waffles and sausage with strawberries?” I ask, holding up the berries I grabbed from the market on the way home from practice earlier. “I think we even have whipped cream.”

Dinner of champions?

Maybe not so much. But protein, fruit, and sugar should count for something, right?

He sighs a great big sigh and smooshes my face between his already sticky hands.

What the hell has this kid been eating?

“It’s okay, Daddy. Aunt Gracie says you’re doing your best.”

Fuck.

Just what every father wants to hear from his kid.

I scoop him up and drop him down on his feet. “You want to help me make the waffles?”

“Nope.” There goes that nose scrunch again.

It’s going to be a long night.

Two Goodnight Moons and one If You Give A Mouse a Cookie later, and it’s barely eight o’clock. Bodhi’s finally tucked into his race-car bed under his Lightning McQueen blanket, sound asleep, which gives me just enough time to make the call I’ve been dreading all day before the guys show up for what we’re calling Ryker’s bachelor party tonight.

With my iPad and the monitor in hand, I move outside and settle on the couch.

Less than a minute later, Melissa’s face is filling the screen. “Hendrix . . .” She glances past me, most likely searching for Bodhi. But there’s a reason I chose to wait until after he was sleeping to call.

“Hey, Mel. How are you?” Britt’s mom has always been around. She grew up and raised Britt right outside of Kroydon Hills. And when Britt followed me to Chicago to work as my assistant, Mel followed too.

She’s not a bad person. She’s just a bit . . . much.

“I’d be better if Bodhi was with you. I miss his sweet face, Hendrix. Where is he?”

A wave of unwanted guilt hits. “He’s in bed. We’re an hour ahead, remember?”

“Right.” Her shoulders slump as she deflates. “I don’t know how I keep forgetting. How is he?”

“He’s good, Mel.” I fight the urge to say he’s exactly the same as he was when she FaceTimed with him a few days ago.

I get this is hard for her. But the guilt trips aren’t helping.

“I miss you both,” she sighs. “I was thinking about coming in October.”