I would sell a kidney for a good twelve-hour stretch of rest.
“Get the hell out of my room,” Luke bellowed from down the hall.
Shit.
I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of my bed. Twelve hours wasn’t coming anytime soon.
“You killed the Fruit Loops,” Luke growled at his younger brother.
Drew looked up from his phone with a shrug. “I was hungry.”
Luke turned his thunderous look at me. “And let me guess, we don’t have any more.”
My back teeth ground together as I moved toward the pantry. I’d known the teenage years wouldn’t be easy, but it was as if Luke had morphed into a different human being when he turned sixteen. He mainly communicated in grunts and scowls and never told me what was actually going on in that head of his.
It cut more than he’d ever know. He’d made me a father, and we’d always had a special bond. Fishing, hiking, camping. We did it all. Until he suddenly wanted nothing to do with me, seemingly overnight.
I scanned the pantry shelves: Cheerios. Cocoa Pebbles. Shredded Wheat. Cap’n Crunch. Kix. No Fruit Loops. I winced as I saw that while we had a world of cereal, we didn’t have much else. I needed to get to the grocery store. Stat. I grabbed all the boxes and headed back into the kitchen.
Depositing them onto the island, I met Luke’s pissed-off stare. “Bad news. No Fruit Loops. Good news? We’ve got every other cereal known to man.”
Luke shoved back his stool. “I’ll get something at school.”
I opened my mouth to argue but then closed it. I’d learned that I needed to pick my battles with Luke. And whether or not he ate breakfast at home was not the hill I wanted to die on.
Drew and Charlie didn’t seem to even register their eldest brother’s outburst. It happened so often that it was just background noise to them now. Charlie had his nose shoved into a book about reptiles, and Drew’s fingers flew across his cell phone screen. I’d gotten him the damn thing so he could let me know where he was or if one of his various sports practices ran late, but it was now permanently attached to his hand.
I turned around and scanned the counter. The bananas were way past their prime, but there was a lone orange in the bowl. I reached for it, removed the rind, halved it, then quickly put the pieces in bowls, shoving them at the two kids who still spoke to me.
“Do me a favor and eat something that isn’t just sugar and carbs so I don’t get fired as a dad, okay?”
Charlie giggled and popped a wedge of orange into his mouth. “Not fired.”
Drew made a face like he smelled something bad. “Oranges are gross.”
I stared at my thirteen-year-old. His hair swooped into his face in a way I knew the teen girls loved. It was a touch lighter than mine, closer to his mother’s color. Just that flicker of thought had anger surging, even after all these years. And quick on its heels came the guilt.
I did what I always did—shoved it all down to that place that would never be opened.
“Since when?” I probed.
Drew let out an exaggerated shiver. “Since I realized how gross all the strings are. It’s like chewing on one of Gran’s knitting projects.”
Charlie’s chewing slowed, and he spat the piece of orange back into the bowl. “Yuck.”
I sent Drew a withering stare. “Thanks for that.”
He just laughed. “Can’t help if I’m always right. It’s one of the main reasons the babes love me.”
I bent my head and pinched the bridge of my nose. If we made it through high school without a pregnancy scare, it would be a miracle.
“Dad, can Cady come over after school for a playdate?” Charlie chimed in.
“I think they’ve got a lot going on with the wedding tomorrow, bud.”
Charlie frowned. “Since Uncle Roan is marrying Cady’s mom, does that mean I can’t marry Cady?”
Drew choked on his cereal. “It’s kind of incestual, little dude.”
“What’s in-in-ses-tal?” Charlie asked, struggling with the word.
I glared at his older brother. “Remember what we talked about? Not all words are meant for little ears.”
Charlie’s face scrunched up. “I’m not little!”
Drew rolled his eyes. “If you’re still crawling into Dad’s bed because you had a bad dream, I’d say you’re little.”
Charlie’s face went red, and he dropped his spoon into his bowl. Sliding off the stool, he bolted for his room.
A muscle beneath my eye began to flutter. “Drew.”