Page 155 of One Big Little Secret

I’m not sure how I haven’t combusted into bits.

In the flickering light from the screen and Arlo’s soft snore, it all feels half like a fever dream. So surreal I’m half worried I’ll blink and wake up in my boring old life.

Am I really here with my son sleeping away, holding the hand of the woman who gave birth to him?

Yes.

Fuckingyes.

And it doesn’t make a lick of sense why a joker like me should be this lucky.

That beat in my chest gets stronger, though, like my heart wants to break through my ribs and escape.

“I hope he isn’t drooling on you,” Salem says as she stretches, gently easing Arlo away from me. “I’d better get this little boy to bed.”

“Let me.” I scoop him up, catching his head against my shoulder, using a softness I never knew I had not to wake him.

He stirs and mumbles—something about an octopus, I think—and we pad upstairs slowly. I’m walking him toward the guest room with a big enough bed for the boy and his mother, a perfect place for them to—

I catch myself mid-thought.

No, shit.

This is too new, too delicate for assumptions.

Still, it feels right as I carry him into the room. Salem sets his little backpack down in the corner.

That might be a good sign.

When I decided which room they should have, I picked this one deliberately.

Right now, it’s decorated in earthy browns and off-white. Modern and cozy without being too bright or intimidating.

If I close my eyes, I can see into the future, the walls plastered with movie posters. The bathroom is right next door, and he could have a bunk bed against the wall.

The next room over, a small walk down the hall, that’s my master bedroom.

Danger.

It’s scary, having thoughts like this when we haven’t even made the decision to be a family yet, but I can’t fucking help it.

They crowd my head more by the second.

Arlo stirs as I lay him on the bed. His eyelids flutter, but he just rubs his cheek on a chubby hand and goes back to sleep.

“Thanks, but I’ll take it from here,” Salem whispers.

I half want to argue that if he’s my son, I should be more involved.

Then again, she’s put him to bed for five years. It’s her domain and I’d be a jackass idiot to challenge that, wouldn’t I?

One day, maybe.

Tonight, I’ll prove I have a functioning brain.

“Okay. I’ll wait for you outside,” I tell her, holding back a balmy smile.

I still can’t believe he’smy son.

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