Page 54 of I’m Already Gone

I reach out and slide the door open for her, but then hesitate, my hand still on the frame, unsure if I should follow her inside. I decide to give her space and wait outside on the patio.

A few minutes later, Lily reappears at the doorway, a deep, worried frown etched between her brows. She clutches a small, damp washcloth in one hand. “Ollie is not feeling well.”

Her gaze meets mine with a flicker of genuine regret. “Ethan, I am so sorry to do this, but I need to take care of him. Can we please, please talk another time?”

“Oh, yeah, of course, Lily. Don’t even worry about it,” I say quickly. “Go. I really hope he feels better soon.”

She gives me a thankful nod, then turns and disappears back into the house.

The sliding door clicks shut with a soft, final thud behind her.

Ethan

An unrecognized number.

Usually, I’d let it go to voicemail, but it could be the new client I haven’t added to my contacts yet. I tap on the screen.

“Hello, this is Ethan Hartley.”

“Ethan, don’t hang up!” Sam’s voice is a little thin and crackly through the phone, almost like she is out of breath.

I blink.

“Are you there?” she asks.

“Ah, yeah, sorry,” I mumble, shaking my head a little, trying to clear the lingering fog of why she was calling me. “I’m surprised to hear from you.”

“I know, I know,” she rushes, her voice softening, “but I’m in a bind. I really need a favor, and honestly, I don’t know who else to ask.”

My brow furrows. “Okay... what can I do for you?”

“I can’t leave class right now, not for another hour at least, and my parents are still out of town until tomorrow night. Ebony isn’t answering her phone, and Lily is sick⁠—”

“Wait,” I cut her off. “She’s still sick?” Worry and guilt tighten my chest. My mind flashes back to that night at her place.

“Yes. Listen, I was hoping you would be willing to pick up Ollie at daycare.”

My heart, which had started to beat a little faster with worry for Lily, slams to a halt.

Ollie.

Her son.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You... you want me to pick up her son at daycare?” I stammer, the words feeling foreign and heavy in my mouth.

There is a long silence on her end, then a quiet, “Yes.”

Pick up my ex-wife’s son. The one she had with another man. My brain feels like it’s short-circuiting.

She sighs. “You know what? Never mind. I’m sorry, Ethan. I never should’ve asked you.”

Before I can string together a coherent response, the line goes dead.

“Damnit!” I mutter, slamming my hand on the desk. I immediately redial her number.

It rings once, twice, then a third time before she picks up.

“I can pick him up!” The words tumble over each other, no thought given to how crazy this is, or how much it’s going to screw with my head.