“I’m sure there are beans on it.”
He scoffs. “Just get your ass into the kitchen. I’ll make you eggs or something.”
My brows rise.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” he informs me coolly. “I want an omelet, so I’ll make you something too. I won’t be your bitch boy again.”
For some reason, I follow him into the kitchen and sit at the island. The stools are cushioned, so I’m not uncomfortable as I watch him pull things out of the fridge.
“What do you want?”
“Scrambled is fine.”
He gapes. “You need more than scrambled eggs. Will you eat bacon if I make it? Toast? Cheese, for the little Mouse?”
“Stop calling me that.”
He waits for an answer.
“Fine. Yes, I’ll eat those too.”
He smiles victoriously.
While he gets to work, I peer around the empty kitchen. The fridge is littered with pictures and random magnets, there’s a calendar with dates circled and bill payments in sharpie on it, and the dishtowels are all the same shade of blue that match the placemats on the table.
There’s no noise, but I know Dad and Cam are here. Their cars are in the driveway indicating as much.
“Where are our parents?”
“They know to leave me alone when I leave for a while,” is his terse reply.
I play with an orange from the fruit bowl placed strategically in the center of the counter. Everything about how Cam decorated the home is with a plan—the exact opposite of Mama’s house. There, nothing matched. It was organized chaos.
“They don’t know that about me.”
He shrugs. “You were with me.”
“How could they know that?”
“Because I told them I’d get you.”
Nothing but the butter sizzling in the pan fills the silence. He cooks effortlessly, like he cooks his own meals all the time. He’s rarely at dinner, but almost always eats breakfast with us.
By the time he’s finished, he sets a steaming plate full of eggs sprinkled with cheese, bacon, and a slice of buttered toast down in front of me. My mouth waters at the sight and smell as he passes me silverware.
He cleans up his mess, hands me a bottle of water from the fridge, and leaves the room.
He never made himself an omelet.
Chapter Five
I’m out of school Monday after waking up Sunday in my worst flare yet. When Cam found me in bed with swollen arms and a tear-stained face, she made Dad call my rheumatologist. Since I refused to go to the emergency room, the doctor suggested staying in bed and resting.
I nearly laughed when he also advised me to try avoiding stress. Life is stressful. While I attempt to minimize putting myself in situations that can cause flareups, they happen. Since moving in with Dad, new stresses have presented themselves—his actions toward me, Mama’s silence…
Early Tuesday morning, I’m sporting fuzzy yellow pajama bottoms and a sunflower tee when Kaiden shows up in my room. He doesn’t knock before opening up, so I’m thankful that I’m just curled up with a book beside me.
He takes one look at me and frowns. “I take it you’re not going to school again?”