Page 132 of Mr. Broody

“I love you too. You need to sleep.”

“Thanks again,” I say, not wanting to get off the phone with her, but she has to be up early to get Bodhi to school, and I have another day of travel tomorrow.

“You don’t have to thank me. Good night, Henry.”

“Good night,” I say, and we hang up.

I miss her as soon as I can’t hear her voice, and I almost pick up my phone again and say fuck our schedules, let’s talk all night like we used to when we were younger.

I’ve been genuinely happy these last three years with Bodhi, but adding Jade to our mix, I find myself finally believing that maybe I can have everything. The family I feel like I missed out on after my parents died and my hockey career.

Fifty-Seven

Jade

So far, we’ve made it two nights without any issues, and I’m proud of myself. Bodhi has had nutritious snacks and dinners. I packed him a lunch today that would challenge any moms on social media. Sure, I didn’t cut the fruit into shapes, but I did cut off his crust.

I’m settling into this mom thing, and honestly, I think I’m kind of rocking it. I finish washing the dishes while Bodhi gets dressed.

“Ready.”

I turn to see him all dressed and ready. “Almost. Let me finish the dishes. I made you some protein banana pancakes.”

His smile falls. “Oh.”

“What?” The moms online said their kids love them.

“Okay.”

I wash the mixing bowl I used and dry it, turning around to see him chewing with his mouth open and a disgusted look on his face. Maybe I missed an ingredient because the videos all showed their kids asking for seconds.

“Are they bad?”

He nods. “They taste like cardboard. Can I have some milk?”

“Oh yeah.” I never gave him a drink. Crap. Where was my mind? I know where it was. Trying to follow the recipe and mixing ingredients. Waylon and Owen are right, I’m not a cook in any sense of the word.

I pour him a glass of milk and set it in front of him. He downs half the glass and stares at the plate.

“You don’t have to eat them,” I say, reaching to take the plate.

“No, I like them.”

“You don’t. You already said they taste like cardboard.”

He pierces his fork into one. “I was wrong.”

“Nope.” I shake my head and take the plate. “But let’s go now so I can pick you up a muffin or something on the way.”

“Chocolate chip?” he asks, eyes wide.

“Sure.” I mean, I’m already failing at the breakfast thing anyway. Might as well fail spectacularly.

We leave the condo, and our Uber is waiting for us. Jackpot.

I ask our driver nicely if he can drive through the doughnut place and get Bodhi a chocolate muffin, and we still make it to the school early.

“You’re gonna rock that spelling test today.” I hug him goodbye. “And we’ll celebrate tonight.”

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