I scramble to follow her into the big house. She has one of my band sweatshirts mixed in with Reed’s laundry lying on the bench of the breakfast nook.
“I can do my laundry today, Mrs. Matthews,” I say as I pull the hoodie over my head.
“Give it to me,” she argues. “I’ll take care of it.”
“I can do it,” I tell her.
It’s an argument we’ve been having for over ten years now.
“Maddox, you have a lot to do today. Let me take care of it,” she insists. “I miss having the laundry of all four of my boys in the house. Especially when you've all finally grown out of the gross years.”
I laugh. The things we did with our clothes as teenage boys makes me question how I don’t have a permanent rash—and how she didn’t kick us all out.
“At least let me feel somewhat helpful and put it in the washer,” I concede.
She smiles fondly at me from the other side of the bar. “Well, now that that’s settled, what would your overnight friend like for breakfast?”
I nearly snort into my cup. “Ah… I’m not sure,” I reply. “Groupies don’t usually spend the night.”
“I hope you’re using protection, Maddox,” she sighs. “And having them sign an NDA. Especially if you're not wearing your mask around them. I know how much you value your privacy.”
Shit.
I should have thought to grab that.
“Always,” I tell her.
I hear Randall, Andi’s father, coming down the hall. I know his barreling footsteps because I’d had them memorized as a teen when Reed and I used to stay up late or sneak out of the house for a party. And when he comes around the corner, his smile meets me.
It’s a broad smile, even if behind his gleaming eyes, he appears wholly haunted. It rests in the creases by his eyes and how he holds his shoulders—as if they once carried the world upon them. Andi shares his complexion, dark hair, and nose, though the rest of her…
Her mother's face flashes behind my eyes, and I blink to shut it out.
Tina sweeps in and presses her lips to Randall’s cheek as he grabs a piece of bacon from the tray.
“Looking well-rested this morning, Mads,” he says with a coy look over me.
“Oh, mother fuck,” I mutter, pressing my hands to my eyes. “I’m going back to bed,” I add, only half-joking.
Tina snickers and Randall’s grin widens.
“It’s your hair,” Randall says. He comes around the table and sits in front of me. “Who is she?”
“Just a groupie,” I lie, and it feels like an insult.
Randall raises his brow. “You know the road rule, Mads,” he says. “No over—”
“—night guests,” I finish for him. “This one slipped up.”
"Seems like she saw a little more of you than usual," Randall says. "No mask?"
Fucking fuck, fuck.
"Again. Slip up," I mutter.
God, between Andi’s lipstick and my forgetting the mask, they'll have it figured out by the end of the day.
Randall’s smile is considerate, and I stand before he can begin drilling me with any more questions.
