Depends On Who's Asking (SWAT Generation 2.0 12)

He said that as Clayton, my dad, and Connor all dug in.

“Does anybody find it weird,” Connor said around a large bite of donut. “That our sister is dating someone named Saint? Because our dad is named Saint, too. That’s just weird. Right?”

I rolled my eyes. “Dad’s name isn’t Saint. His name is Michael. And he hasn’t gone by Saint since he got off the SWAT team years ago.”

“The old-timers still call him that at work,” Connor disagreed. “And now everyone’s confused on which Saint they’re asking about.”

“Well,” I said. “I’ve never called my father Saint. I have called Saint, Saint, though. So no, it’s not weird. You’re just stupid and annoying.”

Connor flipped me off, and then my mother popped him in the side of the head with a dishtowel.

“Saint, would you like some coffee?” Both my dad and Saint looked up.

Okay, this could be a bit odd at first.

I could see why now.

But we’d figure it out, because Saint would be here for a very long time if I had my way.

Together we had a family breakfast, talking and laughing about nothing consequential. Eventually, the excitement of gifts started to overtake me, so I begged and pleaded to start opening.

I was excited to see Saint’s face when I showed him what I got him.

“Do you mind if I get changed and grab a quick shower first?” Saint asked. “I haven’t been able to change out of yesterday’s clothes yet.”

My mother immediately jumped up. “You can go to take one in Carolina’s old room. Don’t worry about all the lovely boy band posters still on her walls. She’s grown up since the Jonas Brothers. She’s into real men now.”

I sighed. “Mother.”

Mom giggled her way down the hallway, but Saint stopped about halfway. “Oh, I forgot my bag.”

“I’ll get it.” I stood up.

He looked at me thankfully. “Thanks, baby.”

I winked at him and slipped my feet into shoes this time before going outside.

Saint was right. Going out there in bare feet wasn’t the best idea. It was too cold.

As I arrived outside, I walked to his cruiser, surprised by the utter silence of the world around me.

The only sound that could be heard was the soft tap-tap of the snow hitting solid surfaces.

I walked to the back of Saint’s police cruiser and opened the back hatch.

That’s when I saw all the presents.

What. The. Fuck.

I picked up the first present, which, might I add, looked to be professionally wrapped, and looked at the tag. ‘To Carolina.’

I looked at the next one. And the next. And the one after that.

Every last one of them said, ‘To Carolina.’

I felt my eyes well with tears as I picked up his gym bag and left the presents there.

Or, I would have had my brothers not followed me out.

“What the hell are you looking at so closely back here?” Connor asked as he stopped me from closing the hatch.

“Wow,” he said. “Nice wrap job. Makes my shit look like shit.”

I rolled my eyes and tried to close it again, but Connor shoved me out of the way, nearly making me fall.

I shoved him back and he barely moved an inch.

Connor had put some meat on his bones. Used to be I could take them both down with a well-placed shove. But over the last couple of years they’d put on a lot of bulk, and more resembled my father in stature now rather than two snotty-nosed teens.

“Damn, sis,” Connor said as he started to stack presents. “These are all for you.”

“I know,” I said. “That’s why I was intending to leave them in here. I’m not sure if Saint wanted to open these here or not.”

It also made me feel bad because I had only gotten him a few things. Saint had gotten me a few times ten.

“Nah, we’ll bring them in,” he said. “We want to see what you get.”

Clayton was then at the door saying, “Carolina, you better hurry up. Mom said that men don’t take long showers like women do. Which, I want to point out, I tend to agree with her. Did you know your man wears glasses like a nerd?”

I rolled my eyes and left my brothers gathering the presents.

Walking inside, I headed to my room where not only was Saint taking a shower in my bathroom, but his dog was laid out on my bed.

When I got in there, I found Smoke, his tail nub thumping on the comforter, laying there as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He looked blissed out, and I had a feeling that had to do with his person coming home and probably giving him a good scratch.

I dropped the bag onto the floor, gave Smoke a good rub behind the ears, and snuck into the bathroom.

Saint was still in the shower.

But seeing him in the pink-tiled bathroom that I’d chosen when I was fourteen, made me smile.