Sway (Landry Family #1)(93)

He doesn’t answer, probably thinking I’ve been drinking.

“I’m not drunk.”

“No, I know that.” He pauses and exhales. “Okay. I agree. Let’s do things your way. It’s your career, your life to fuck up if that’s what happens. So what do you want to do?”

“Schedule a press conference for me tomorrow. Early.”

“Me? I don’t have the contacts for that, Barrett.”

“Call my publicist and Rose. They’ll get the word out. I want to go on record first thing.”

“Are you absolutely sure? You do realize this conference has the potential of doing more harm than good, right?”

I nod. “Yeah, I know. But if I lose this election based on who I am, then did I want it to start with?”

Graham sucks in a breath. “What about Alison? I mean, depending on what you say, there’s a chance you could lose her over this too.”

A grin touches my lips. “Someone told me to believe in myself. So I’m going to set the record straight on everything and . . . hope it all works out.”

“If you’re sure.”

Before I can reply, my phone buzzes. I pull it away to see Alison’s name. My heart stops. “Ali is calling.” I don’t bother saying goodbye, knowing he understands, and try to ignore the pounding in my chest as I click over. “Alison?”

The line is quiet. No response.

“Alison, talk to me, baby,” I plead, my heart jumping to my throat.

“It’s me. Huxley.”

I spin in a circle, confused. “Hux? Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Is your mom there, buddy?”

“Yeah.”

His voice is steady, strong, yet a little nervous. I have to calm the fuck down if I’m going to get anywhere with him.

“I’ve called you guys a few times tonight,” I say. “I couldn’t get through.”

“Mom’s phone was dead and it’s been on the charger since we got here.”

“Where are you?”

“I don’t know.”

I pull the phone away from my face and take a deep breath. I can’t start barking orders, demanding shit. I have to walk a fine line. “Are you okay, Huxley? Is your mom okay?”

He doesn’t answer me again. The line is quiet. I hear a television on in the background, but no other voices.

“Hux?”

“You made her cry.”

My heart splinters, my shoulders slumping at his words. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You told me you wouldn’t.”

I pull the phone away and mutter a few profanities under my breath. How can a simple statement from a child make me feel like a kid myself?

“Sometimes,” I start, my voice shakier than I’d like, “adults do things they don’t mean to, just like kids do. But Huxley, I promised you, I would never make her cry on purpose and I didn’t. Right now I’m at the Farm, where you played ball with Linc, remember? And I’m worried sick about you and your mom. If you tell me where you are, I’ll come and get you. I’ll make things okay.”

“I can’t tell you because I know she doesn’t want you to know. And . . . I have to protect her.”

I bite down on my bottom lip. “Yes, you do. And if you feel like you have to protect her from me, I’m not going to argue with you. Because if there’s one thing in this life I want you to know, it’s to trust your gut.” I squeeze my eyes shut and wish to God I had taken my own advice sooner. “Don’t let anyone tell you what to do or how to feel, okay?”

“Okay.” He gets quiet, his little breath firing through the phone. “Barrett?” he asks, his voice unsure.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Do you love her? For real?”

I drag in a hasty breath, my chest tightening at his words. “I do,” I insist. “I love her very much. And I had planned next week to sit down with you, man to man, and ask you what you think about us being a family.”

“Really?” His little voice sings through the phone and it nearly breaks me in half.

“Really. I love your mom, but she’s your girl. I trust that you know what’s best for her and if you don’t think it’s a good idea, I’ll listen. Because I respect you. But I would love the opportunity to help you take care of her. And, you know, be there for you for the stuff girls suck at.”

“So guy stuff other than baseball?”

I laugh. “Yeah. I’ll use Linc for the baseball stuff because God knows I don’t want to mess you up there.”

I can tell he’s grinning, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Maybe when you get back to town, we can go to dinner, just the two of us, and you can tell me what you think about that, okay?”

“I think it’s a good idea. I need some help with her,” he says, a touch of exasperation in his little voice. “When she cries, I don’t know what to do. I need an adult, and my grandma just cries too, and then I have two crying girls to deal with.”

I wish he was here. But he’s not. And that’s a problem.

“I’ll gladly be your help with her. And if you tell me where you are, I’ll come now.”