Page 62 of Already Callin’ You Mine

15

JACE

“This fuc-” I cut myself short, swallowing the rest of the curse word so that the little mind in front of me doesn’t pick up on it. That’s the last thing I need. “This thing requires a degree to get undone.”

“Just push the button!” Otis giggles, his mother’s blue-gray eyes staring back at me, making my insides squeeze.

If only it were that easy, kid…

Rolling up to Presley’s place this morning, I fully expected to be escorting her and Otis to the Fall Festival in my truck. Even had it detailed yesterday afternoon so that it was sparkling clean and smelling like a chemical pine tree for them. And then Presley took one look at me and said the two words that made me feel like a dumbass on top of a jackass.

Car seat.

So much for being the safety first guy.

Admittedly, car seats are not in my wheelhouse. I’ve watched Owen help new mothers install them a bunch of times—even held an event with the Georgia State Patrol preaching car seat safety. But I’ve never actually dealt with one myself.

Something that is completely obvious as Otis’s twenty-seven-point harness system gets the best of me as I try to undo him.

“Want me to do it?” Presley asks, rounding the back of her car.

“I got it.” I think. Pushing down on the latch, I finally get the stiff plastic to move. At least we know he’s in there good.

Otis giggles again, kicking his feet, clearly anxious to get out of this contraption. Can’t blame the kid; he looks like he’s squeezed in here like a sardine in a can. The harness comes undone, all of us breathing a sigh of relief, and I reach in and pull him out. He holds on tight, his skinny little arms circling my neck, making the battle totally worth it.

“Ready?” he exclaims as his feet hit the ground.

“Hold on a sec,” Presley instructs, gathering his sweatshirt from the trunk.

“Take a minute to stretch your legs, Little Man,” I say, shaking out my own in example. “Get those muscles warmed up.”

Otis follows my lead, shaking his whole body like he’s doing the Hokey Pokey.

“I know rear facing seems extreme,” Presley tells me again. “And he’s pushing the height limit, so my hand is going to be forced soon, but he’s still very much under the weight limit, so I’m trying to delay flipping him as long as I can.”

She gave me the same justification as we were loading him in, my ignorance about the whole process shining bright. My agreement with her logic hasn’t changed in the ten minutes since we left the house.

“You don’t have to try to convince me,” I remind her. “Safety first. Right, Little Man?”

“Right.” Otis nods, as serious as a judge laying down the law.

“Okay, buddy.” Presley kneels down so she’s eye to eye with the little guy. “You know the rules. You need to stay with mommy and Jace the whole time. If you’re not standing right in front of one of us, then you need to be holding our hand.”

Otis nods emphatically. He’s heard these instructions before.

“And what do we do if we get separated?” she asks, keeping her voice light.

“I look for a helpful grown-up. Like a policeperson.”

“Very good. And do we go away with people we don’t know?”

“Nope! And if a stranger tries to make me, I scream bad words really loud! Like Jace almost just said.”

Oooops. So much for my word choice going unnoticed. Although, I have to admit, that’s a clever tactic. A small child screaming obscenities in a crowd is absolutely going to draw attention.

“Yes, you do. Now, big choice time. Do you want to hold Mommy’s hand? Or Jace’s?”

“Jace!”