Page 135 of One Night with Number Nineteen

And breathe.

Two-fifty-eight.

“Fuck,” I hiss then pop open the door and get out, surveying the shredded front tire. “Fuck,” I growl, kicking at the useless hunk of metal and rubber.

Buzz. Buzz.

I yank my phone from my pocket, glance at the message on the screen.

LAINEY: They’re starting. Where are you?

I grab the keys, the congratulatory present for Ollie from the back seat.

And then…

I start running.

Forty-Two

Lainey

I look at my phone—no response.

Then to the door of the preschool’s amphitheater—no Sawyer.

Then at my boy—who’s clearly searching the room…and whose face fills with disappointment when there’s no sign of Sawyer.

My stomach clenches.

Because I’m disappointed too.

But I just slap a smile on my face and nod encouragingly at Ollie.

His bottom lip wobbles, and my body tenses, ready to swoop forward and get my baby out of here.

Then the music starts and after a beat, he starts singing along with the rest of his classmates.

They sing about a fish counting to ten and about a shaky egg and then about a snowman. They do the hokey pokey and give us a full rundown of their heads and shoulders and knees and toes.

And finally, they go to town ringing some bells and singing about how they jingle.

Then the show is over and the kids are giggling as they’re shepherded off-stage—which is just really into the adjacent room.

I look to the doors…just in time for them to swing open and Sawyer to rush in.

He’s sweating, clutching a bag and⁠—

I frown as he hurries over.

“Did I miss it?” he asks, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple.

“Yes,” I say tersely.

His eyes slide closed. “Fuck⁠—”

“Language, Sawyer,” I hiss. “We’re in a school.”

Pain ripples across his face. “You’re right. Fu—shoot. I’m sorry. I had that lunch for Bri’s charity thing and it ran long. Then my tire blew and I ran here⁠—”