Follow the Play (Nashville Rampage #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Baker

Camden slaps his hands against the water and giggles as his bath water splashes us both in the face. Joy lights his expression, even after the shock of the water splashing in his eyes.

“You’re cute, but come on,” I complain, chuckling as I grab his towel and wipe off my cheek. I smile down at my son.

My son.

When Natasha first told me she was pregnant, I was scared out of my mind.

I was a single guy, living my best life, with a career I loved.

I didn’t know how a baby would fit into my world.

But I shouldn’t have been worried, because the minute I held him after hearing his first breath, I just knew that he was my life.

There was no making room for him. He just fit. He’s my little man, my heart, and although I can’t stand his mother, this little guy is my entire universe.

“Pash!” he squeals, slapping the water again. His little body jiggles with his laughter.

“All right, little man, you’re all wrinkled, and Mommy will be here to get you in an hour.”

“No.” He furrows his brow, and my heart cracks.

He’s two months shy of turning two, and already, he doesn’t want to see his mother.

He should be smiling, laughing, and excited to see her.

The truth is, he doesn’t know her. Not really.

Before Camden was born, Natasha and I worked out a schedule for coparenting.

We would each have a whole week at a time, then switch off.

I hated it, but with our schedules, it was the easiest way, especially for her.

Our agreement accommodated her schedule for photo shoots around the world.

I hate not seeing my son for seven days straight, but looking back, I don’t think that’s ever happened.

Very rarely has she had him the entire time.

She leaves to go out of town in the middle of her week, and I always tell Mrs. Ward, his nanny, to bring him here. I want every minute I can get with him.

However, now, more often than not, Natasha has a reason for not getting Camden on her weeks. Not that I mind, I love my son. I want him with me full-time, but that’s not the reality of our situation. I hate that she’s missing out on so much of his life, but that’s the choice she has to live with.

At almost two, Camden doesn’t know her, and if she keeps this up, he never will. He’ll resent her, and Natasha is going to miss out on the very best thing that has ever happened to her.

“Yes, come on,” I tell him. “Bathtime is over.” He juts his bottom lip, but I hold firm, pull the plug on the bath water, and lift him out, wrapping him in a fluffy towel.

“You’re going to have so much fun with Mommy and Levi,” I tell him.

The words taste bitter on my tongue, but I refuse to talk badly about his mother and her boyfriend in front of him. I’ll never be that guy.

“Daddy, no,” he says, his pout growing more prominent.

“Camden, yes,” I say, tickling his side. He wiggles and takes off running out of the bathroom. His tiny feet slap against the hardwood floor as I take off after him. I have a gate at the stairs, and my little man is a master at sliding down them, but I still worry he might fall.

That’s something I wasn’t prepared for when it came to fatherhood.

The worry. It’s heightened because I don’t get to talk to him while he’s with his mom, and if I’m being honest, I’m not confident in her skills at keeping an eye on him.

Natasha is self-absorbed, and while she’s not mean to him, I still worry if he’s getting the love and attention he needs while he’s with her.

It's not just that. I worry about his eating habits, sleeping habits, his bowel movements…. Yeah, that’s one that got me, too, but when you’re a dad, you worry about it all. It all rests on my shoulders.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was supposed to have a partner, a wife who I loved more than life to share these worries with, but that’s not the hand I was dealt. Besides, if that hand had come my way, I wouldn’t have Camden, and nothing in this world could make me regret my son.

“Got you,” I say, lifting him over my head.

He squeals in delight, and I know I need to get a diaper on him before he pisses all over me.

Another thing I’ve learned during my short stint as a father.

You get pissed on, and shit on… a lot. I imagine it’s worse with a boy, at least the pissed-on portion, because that arch of piss always seems to hit in very inconvenient places.

Like my shirt, and even my face—yeah, that’s a moment I don’t want to relive, but I keep that memory tucked away to embarrass my son when he brings home a girl.

After carrying him into his room, I get that diaper on him and then wrangle him into an outfit. It’s a one-piece with short sleeves and shorts. I don’t really know what it’s actually called—a romper, maybe? Anyway, it’s got a football on it, which he loves. He is my son, after all.

“What’s that?” I point to his chest.

“Ball!” he exclaims.

“You’re a genius,” I tell him, not that he understands what that means.

“Okay, let’s get some shoes,” I say as my phone rings.

Camden races off to the corner of the room and starts pulling books off his shelf as I retrieve my phone from my back pocket.

“It’s Mommy. I bet she’s on her way,” I tell my son, who ignores me. “Hey,” I answer.

“Baker, dear, how are you?”

Turning my back to my son, I roll my eyes. How I ever slept with this woman is beyond me. She’s a knockout, but she’s also fake as hell and annoying as fuck, among other things. “What’s up? You on your way?” I ask her.

“About that, I’m still in Paris.”

I have to clench my jaw to keep from going off on her.

Not because I want time away from my son, but because she’s missing his life, and it pisses me the fuck off that he doesn’t have a mother who puts him first. “Delayed flight?” I ask, when I know damn good and well what the answer is going to be.

“No, nothing with the flight. They asked me to do another shoot for a new and upcoming designer, and I couldn’t tell them no.”

She could have told them no. She doesn’t need the money.

She does well for herself, and I pay her a large lump sum monthly for child support, even though we have shared parenting.

I want to make sure my son never goes without.

I also cover Mrs. Ward’s salary, so I know that Natasha is not hurting financially, but it’s not stopping her from prioritizing her career.

Maybe I should suggest she talk to Bellamy about how that affects a kid, but I won’t.

I’m keeping my mouth shut. “So when are you coming home?”

“I’m staying another two weeks.”

“So you’re going three weeks without seeing our son?”

“He’s not even two yet. He won’t remember. Besides, he has you and Mrs. Ward to take care of him. He won’t even miss me.” Someone calls her name in the background. “Gotta go,” she says, and the line goes dead.

Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I focus on deep, even breaths.

She didn’t ask about him or want to talk to him.

I just don’t understand how she can care so little about our boy.

I call her every day, multiple times a day sometimes, when it’s her week to check on him, to talk to him.

She’s never once done that. At first, I thought maybe I was being a helicopter dad, but then I quickly changed my mind.

I love my son. I care about him, his day, and his well-being.

If that makes me a helicopter dad, then fuck it, I’ll own that title.

“Book!” Camden comes toddling toward me with a book in his hand. “Read.” He stretches out his little arms to hand me the book.

“Looks like you’re staying with Daddy, kiddo,” I tell him, as I settle on the plush carpet. I’m barely seated before he’s climbing onto my lap and settling in for a story. “One book, and then we’re going to see your aunts and uncles and baby Coral.”

“Baby.” He nods.

He loves his baby cousin. Sure, they’re not really related, but blood doesn’t make you family.

Look at his mother. “All right, bud, let’s do this.

” I open the book and begin to read. By the time I reach the last page, Camden’s eyes are closed.

Carefully, I climb to my feet and settle him in bed before quietly tiptoeing out of the room.

Across the hall, I shut my bedroom door and drop down on the bed.

My heart breaks for my son, and angry tears prick my eyes.

I fucking hate Natasha for how she treats him, as if he’s a pair of shoes she left behind before jet-setting off to Europe.

I’ll always be grateful to her for giving me my son.

I’m aware that the outcome of the pregnancy news could have been different, and I love that little boy with all that I am.

However, I hate her, too. Lying back on the bed, I take a few deep breaths and slowly exhale.

I need to call Mrs. Ward and let her know where she’ll need to be next week.

She’s off this weekend. Her daughter and son-in-law are in town visiting.

I might as well get that out of the way.

I hate interrupting her time with them, but she should know where she’s supposed to be on Monday.

I’ll make it quick, I decide, as I tug my phone out of my shorts pocket and dial her number.

“Mr. Sinclair, is everything okay?” Mrs. Ward asks.

“Everything is fine. I was just calling to update you for next week.”

“Let me guess, Master Camden will be with you?” she guesses, and I can hear the distaste of the situation in her tone.

“Yeah.” I sigh. “Natasha has a shoot.”

“Mm-hmm,” she replies. “You hug that young man of yours for me. I’ll see you on Monday, Mr. Sinclair.”