Page 49 of Fractured Destiny

Lake sent it at two-nineteen, long after I’d crashed from exhaustion from confessing the worst parts of my life. A wave of relief floods my soul. He probably realized how vulnerable I’d feel when he left and went out of his way to reassure me of his commitment.

No man I’ve had sex with has ever done that for me.

I can’t help but wonder if he’ll feel the same way in the light of the day. The thought stays with me while I throw on my clothes and pad down the hall.

Levi sits up in bed, one finger points proudly to the bandage above his eyebrow. “Owie.”

“I know, bubba.” He lifts both arms and I bury my face in his sleep-warm curls before carrying him into the bathroom.

When the pull-up comes off, it’s dry.

His whole face lights up. He claps for himself. “Dwy!”

“It is.” I clap, too.

We’ve been working toward this for months, celebrating every small victory from remembering to tell me when he has to go to doing his business in his little potty. Overnight is huge. He’s so close now, I can almost see the finish line.

I smile to myself, thinking maybe I’ll let Lake take the next lesson. Little boys eventually have to learn how to aim. Despite the emergency room visit yesterday, he and I were already planning to tell Levi today.

By the time we drive home later, our little boy will know the man who’s been quietly earning his trust all these months isn’t just Lake anymore.

He’s his dad.

Twenty minutes later, while he watches a show on my iPad, I pour my coffee into a travel mug and go on autopilot, packing his necessities bag. Wipes. Snacks. Extra clothes. Truck. Book. Halfway through, I realize Lake will probably have all of this at his place.

Maybe he won’t, though. We haven’t actually talked about specifics, other than he’s making us breakfast. As far as his setup is concerned, Hannah told me Lake passed the home inspection, which was all I needed to know. It resisted asking what it looked like because some things deserve to be discovered instead of described.

Today will be the first day we see the place where Lake has been quietly building a life for our son.

On the way out the door, I almost go back and change until I stop myself. Lake has seen me exhausted, sticky from playgrounds, wearing the same leggings three days in a row and my hair in whatever knot survived the night. He’s also seen me showered, with a little makeup and put together.

None of it has ever seemed to matter to him. Why, then, does it suddenly matter to me?

You want him to want you.

Ugh. Old thoughts.

Still, I trade the ratty sweatshirt for a striped Henley, glance once in the mirror, then let it go. Enough.

I’m enough.

When we visit Lake’s home this morning, I want to do it as my most authentic version. “Ready, bubba?”

“Rweady.” Levi follows me to the car.

We play his favorite YouTube song playlist on the way over. Levi babbles behind me, occasionally reminding me his forehead still has an owie, as though I might have forgotten in the last forty-five seconds. Traffic is light and we arrive twenty minutes later.

Lake waits outside in a hoodie and jeans, with two coffees balanced in one hand and a white paper bag beneath his arm. He must have been tracking us.

I release Levi from his car seat and he runs over to Lake, who crouches to his level. “Hey, buddy.”

“Wake, I have owie.” Levi leans against his knee while Lake studies the bandage without touching it.

Lake taps his nose gently. “Big brave guy.”

Levi nods solemnly, accepting the report. Lake looks up at me and I swear he’s smoldering.

I feel myself blush as he hands me my coffee. “Should we go up and have breakfast?”