More Than Everything (Family 3)

Charlie shook his head and snorted. “Not gonna happen.”

“Famous last words, baby,” Adan said. “Remember what happened last time you made that claim?”

“That was a long time ago.” Charlie’s cheeks reddened. “It won’t happen again.” His breath hitched. “I’m not going to bed with you guys.”

“We’re not asking you for sex in exchange for letting us take care of you,” I assured him.

“Then what do you want?” Charlie asked.

I cupped his cheek. “We want you to let us in.”

Adan dropped to his knees and grasped Charlie’s hands. “We want you to rely on us. We want you to trust us to be here for you and for Stephi and Bobby.”

After several long moments, Charlie let out a shaky breath and said, “I do trust you.” He shook his head. “That might make me the biggest fool around after everything that’s happened, but I trust both of you.”

“Thank you, baby,” Adan said.

“You’re sure about this?” Charlie said, flicking his eyes from Adan to me. “I can quit my job and you’ll support me and the kids?”

I nodded. “We’re sure.”

“Okay.” Charlie dragged in a deep breath and wiped his palms on his jeans. “Okay. I’ll give my notice tomorrow.”

He sounded nervous, but also relieved, and his body looked less tense, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. I glanced at Adan and dipped my chin in acknowledgement of his part in making that happen. His words had been horrifyingly offensive, but his heart, as always, had been in the right place. He knew exactly what Charlie wanted, what Charlie needed, and he’d found a way to make it happen.

A timer went off in the kitchen, and Charlie jumped up. “Pasta’s ready.”

He was halfway to the stove when Adan said, “Oh, and Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“If you change your mind about the no-sex clause of our agreement, just let us know. I think you can probably convince us to amend that term.”

“I’ll be sure to do that just as soon as pigs start flying,” he said sarcastically. “Go wash up for dinner.”

“YOU said we were having pasta dogs,” Bobby whined as he pushed his fork around his bowl seemingly searching for something that wasn’t in it.

“That is pasta dogs,” Charlie said.

“No, it’s not,” Stephi argued.

“It’s sliced up hot dogs with spaghetti,” Charlie insisted.

“Ten bucks says those aren’t real hot dogs,” Adan muttered under his breath.

I threw Adan an elbow.

Charlie glared at him and said, “They’re tofu dogs and they taste exactly the same.”

“When was the last time you ate a hot dog?” Adan challenged Charlie.

“In 1999. But I’m sure they taste the same.”

“Says the man who hasn’t put a real beef wiener in his mouth this century.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I think you should let me and Scott put an end to that dry spell, baby.”

I started laughing and coughed to cover it up.

Charlie rolled his eyes.

“Uncle Charlie!” Bobby shouted. “The spaghetti is supposed to go through the hot dogs.”

“Like beads on a necklace,” Stephi added helpfully.

“Through the hot dogs?” Charlie said disbelievingly. He walked over to the bowls on the counter and picked up a slice of hot dog with one hand and a cooked noodle with the other. “You guys have any ideas?” he asked me and Adan.

“I’m sure we can figure it out,” I said as I joined him at the counter and picked up my own sliced dog and cooked noodle. “Maybe we need to poke a hole in it.”

“That’s a good idea,” Adan said. “I’ll get a fork.”

He grabbed a fork and came to stand on the other side of Charlie. “Give me your wiener,” he demanded.

“You’re incorrigible,” Charlie said as he handed over a piece of hot dog.

Adan lined up the endmost prong of the fork and pushed it through the sliced hot dog, then set the fork down on the counter and held his palm out. “Noodle.”

I handed the noodle to Charlie, who handed it to Adan, who tried to thread it through the hot dog.

“The hole closed up,” Adan said in frustration.

“Here, let me try it,” I said.

Adan handed me the dog. I picked up a fresh noodle and gave it a try, but all I succeeded in doing was squishing the pasta against the hot dog before dropping the whole thing onto the floor. “Damn it!”

“That’s a bad word!” Stephi yelled.

“Sorry,” I said. “Are you sure the noodles go through the hot dogs?”

“Yes!” both kids insisted.

“Maybe if we make the hole bigger,” Charlie said as he picked up the fork. He shoved the prong through the hot dog and wiggled it roughly.

“Damn, baby,” Adan said. “I know you don’t have a lot of experiencing being on the prong end of a good forking, but don’t be so rough.”

Charlie snorted as he picked up a noodle and tried to push it through the hole. He managed to get the tip inside but nothing else. “It’s too soft,” he lamented, turning to me.