Page 126 of When Sky Breaks
“Yeah, right, we could hear you two cackling from the truck—you’re so high.”
I settle down next to him. If I’m honest, I could use the distraction as well. “How did the scans go?” I direct toward Foster, whose eyes are closed, a dopey expression on his face. He had a doctor’s appointment a few days ago, and I’ve been nervous, yet optimistic, about the results.
“Scans came back good. So relax a bit, honey. I’m going to be okay at the end of this.” He pats around for my hand, and I give it to him. “How did your afternoon go?”
Because I don’t want to spoil the mood, I elect not to tell him I was visiting Marley for information on my mom. The atmosphere is light, they’re happy, and it’s a moment of celebration for Foster. And for us as a family.
Family.
The fire glows, and for once, I’m not transported to a time where even the mere mention of a flame would leave me cowering. It’s now warm and beautiful, signifying communion, a gathering of love and hope. So much hope.
After the visit with August’s mom, we stopped by the firehouse to check on The Villain’s Playground and help with any last-minute details. August took pictures of all the rooms while I played his assistant; the decorations much less scary in the daylight. Next week is the fall festival, and aside from the day of prep, everything is ready to go.
“The haunted house is looking really good,” I say, waving away some smoke from the fire or pot, not positive which. “Do you plan on going, or will it be too much?”
Foster shrugs. “Not sure. I told the guys at the firehouse I’d try to come out if I felt like it. Right now, I feel pretty good.”
August laughs to my right. “I bet you do.”
Foster cracks open an eye and smirks at August, and then down at our hands clasped together. “Are you taking care of my little girl?”
August nods. “I got her. You know that.”
Trek pipes up, straightening in his seat, the cushion letting out air under his weight. “Is it true you’re the one who added those can lights to the living room above the fireplace?”
August gives an affirmation, and Trek raises a brow. “YouTube, Trek. You might try it sometime. Very handy.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Trek jokes, shoving August and they both laugh.
My heart thumps with a happiness I didn’t think I’d ever feel again.
Trek suddenly turns to Foster. “Dad, look at me. Real quick. Can you focus?”
Foster releases a tiny chuckle, trying his best to keep a straight face at Trek’s silly, pot-laced tone. “Yes, son, I can. What is it?”
Uh oh.
I brace my hands on the chair’s arms. I have a feeling this is the moment where Trek blurts out?—
“Well, here’s the thing. You’re going to be a grandpa.”
Foster squints before swinging his eyes toward me and August.
I wave my hands in front of me. “No, no, not us.” Not yet, at least. We haven’t discussed children or marriage, but it’s obvious we’re both on the same wavelength and that together forever is our future, no matter what it brings.
A choked sound comes from his throat as he swivels to Trek. “Who then? You?”
“Technically, Hazel, but yeah, me. I’m going to be a dad.” The laugh Trek utters is a mix between a stutter and something unhinged. Perhaps telling Foster while high was a bad idea.
Foster’s head falls back, and he giggles like the sound we heard pulling up. Tears slide from the corner of his eyes, and he wipes them, grinning. “Oh, that’s a good one. It’s not even April Fools yet.”
I pat him on the back of his hand. “He’s serious.”
The pause is enormous as the information settles in Foster’s brain.
“Did you know too?” he asks August, who spreads his hands. “Who’s Hazel?”
“My baby mama,” Trek says, amusement dancing in his eyes. “We’ll get into what she does when we’re thinking more clearly.”