Page 14 of Can't Text This

“I told ya, tell her about the banging thing.”

“Please leave.”

He laughs and claps me on the shoulder, giving me a good shake. “You’ll figure it out. Let me know if you need any more pointers. I’m gonna say goodbye to the rugrat. I’ll see you at the office.” I hear him shuffle down the hallway and into Xavie’s room. “I’m out, kiddo. Here’s five dollars for letting me in. Make your dad get you some ice cream or something.”

“You’re the best, Uncle Zach!”

“I know.” I picture him dusting off the shoulder of his leather jacket as he says this, because that’ssosomething Zach would do.

He gives me a wave when he walks back through the apartment.

“Don’t be late! Your boss hates that shit!” he hollers over his shoulder before the door clicks shut.

“Uncle Zach said shit! You said shit was a bad word!” Xavie yells.

I groan and remind myself to kick Zach’s ass when I get to work. “I know. Just get dressed. We’ll talk about it on the way to school.”

I begin cleaning up the small mess left over from breakfast and grab Xavie’s backpack. I’m in dad mode now, putting in the final additions to his lunch—writing out the joke I always slip inside the box—and grabbing the miscellaneous school supplies scattered throughout the apartment.Kid is a mess.

I head back to my own bedroom and make quick work of shucking my sleep clothes and exchanging them for my work ones. Thank god Zach is chill and doesn’t make us dress up. I love being able to work in jeans and a polo.

Right on time, I meet Xavie in the hall. I grab his backpack and he grabs his lunch, then we slip our shoes on and off we go.

We have our routine down to a science by now. When Holly and I agreed to an every-other-week custody agreement, I was a bit nervous. As bad as it sounds, I was only used to having Xavie around every other weekend and each Thursday, not for an entire week at a time.

But, we got the hang of things fast, and now I wish I had him every day of the year, not just when the court allows.

We buckle into my car and head about eight miles down the road to his school for the day camp he’s taking part in this year. I both love and hate it.

I hate it because it takes time away fromusand love it because it allows me to spend time with him and still pay the bills.

Luckily, he’s forgotten all about theshitincident with Zach, and we just jam out to some Parkway Drive.

What can I say? My kiddo loves some metal.

I park in front of the school and hop out of the car, pulling Xavie’s door open.

“Be good. Be smart. Be kind.”

“Be good. Be smart. Be kind,” he repeats.

We bump fists twice. “Love you. See you at three.”

“Love you too!”

He runs off to his friends and I head to work.

It still feels weird not driving to Zach’s, where our headquarters used to be, but I couldn’t be prouder to pull up into my very own parking space at Embody Positivity.

Delia’s climbing out of her car as I park, lifting two boxes of donuts and two trays of coffee from inside.

“Hey!” she calls when I step out. “I heard you finger-banged some girl in the bathroom of a bar.”

“I fucking hate your boyfriend.”

She gives me a look telling me she doesn’t believe a word I say. “Are you two still texting? You know that’s my and Zach’s thing.”

I realize then I never texted Monty back. I pull my phone from my pocket and see I have four unread messages.

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