C89 89

Easton

Twenty-nine weeks later

“E

aston! Oh my God, Easton! Get in here!”

There’s a special speed I can run through my house. I call it the I-think-my-girlfriend’s-in-labor speed. That’s the speed I use as I fly down the hall and into the den. I grab the doorframe as I turn the corner and narrowly miss falling on my ass on the hardwood floor