Page 206 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

“A boys’ night, huh?” I ruffle his hair.

“Yeah. We had root beer and pretzels and watched a game of soccer. Grandad yelled at the TV when the referee made a bad call. He was so funny.” A pang hits my chest that James doesn’t have his father around; someone who could take him to games or play with him in the backyard. “I really liked watching soccer. My friend, Josh, plays. Do you think I could play?” he asks with a hopeful grin.

“Uh, that might be tough with me working until dinnertime. Can you ask Josh more about it, and we’ll see if it works with my schedule? I can also ask Hope where Evan plays soccer. His practice may work with my schedule if Josh’s doesn’t.”

“Yes!” He throws his fist into the air. “Thanks, Mom.”

If I can make it work, I will. I’d love for him to play sports, but I don’t want to ask Dad to take him. I try to do most of the parenting, and Dad’s great about not stepping in unless I ask for help, which I try not to do more than I already have. He lets us live with him, for goodness’ sake—he already helps us plenty. I brush my son’s hair out of his eyes, then tell him to meet me in the kitchen for breakfast.

James tells me about his day yesterday while I make breakfast, lunch, and afternoon snacks. Dad’s still sleeping, which is common when he works on his manuscript until late, so I try to keep our noise to a minimum.

I drop James at school and tell him I’ll pick him up so he doesn’t have to catch the bus. You would think I told him I’d bought tickets to Disneyland with how excited he was. I figure I can take him out after school, since I’m home today. Stopping at the store, I grab what I need for fish quesadillas and head home.

“Is that you, Sophie?” Dad calls from the back of the house as I step inside, a note of worry in his tone.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I call.

His toast is frozen halfway to his mouth, and the furrows across his forehead are deep when I step into the kitchen. “Why are you home?”

I shrug. “I don’t feel one hundred percent.”

He pushes away from the table. “You’re not coming down with something, or did you drink too much last night when you were out with your friends?” The disapproval in his voice is thick as he asks. He’s very anti-alcohol since the truck driver that caused the derailment was intoxicated.

“No, Dad. I didn’t drink last night.” I turn my back to him to put the fish in the fridge and hide my lie. Technically, it’s not a lie. I didn’t drink last night. “I think something I ate has disagreed with me. I’m gonna take it easy today.”

“Do you need to report the restaurant for food poisoning? That’s most unsatisfactory, Soph.”

I chuckle. “I don’t think so, Dad. I don’t think I have food poisoning … just an upset stomach. I’ll be fine with a little rest. But I’ll cook dinner tonight, okay?”

He nods. “Okay. Did you let your boss know you’re unwell?”

I guess I should send Linc a message. “Not yet. I’ll do that now.” I finish putting the groceries away, kiss Dad on the cheek, and retreat to my bedroom.

Dragging out my phone, I chew on my bottom lip when the time stares back at me. I should be arriving at work right now. I wonder if Lincoln has a cup of coffee waiting for me at the reception desk. I know they’ll manage just fine without me, but it will be inconvenient when they need to stop to answer the phone and greet clients.

I pull up Lincoln’s number and type a message.

Me

I’m sorry, I won’t be at work today

I need to take a personal day

I delete the message. Damn. Is he going to be pissed? Or is he expecting me not to show up today? Or maybe he’ll fire me. My stomach sinks at the thought of our carelessness costing me my job.

Maybe I’ll send a message to Ken instead. Cowardly, I know.

Me

Hey Ken

Can you please let Lincoln know I won’t be in today?

I don’t feel well and I don’t want to get you guys sick

I jump when my phone buzzes straight away.

Ken

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