Shrugging, Brooks closed the door behind him. The blasted heat had followed him inside, competing with the chugging air conditioner. “I mean, this is the last place I’d be if I had a choice.”
“I heard that!” Mitch called from the dining room.
“See?” Brooks rolled his eyes and shuffled off in the direction of the kitchen.
“Ungrateful brats, the lot of you!” Mitch shouted at his retreating back. Turning to Flynn, he said, “I swear, that kid gets mouthier by the day.”
“What do you expect from a fifteen-year-old?”
“Not a whole lot, let me tell you. But he complains about everything from his share of the chores, to his bedtime, and about living here when he could go back to his mom’s.”
Flynn frowned. “Has his mom petitioned the court again?”
“Yep.” Nodding, Mitch adjusted his waistband and sniffed. “Said how she’s a changed woman now, and she never meant to leave him all alone with her drugged-out friend for three days straight.”
“And she’s real sorry it happened, promising it’ll never happen again, and now that she’s clean, she can see the error of her ways?” At Mitch’s nod, Flynn continued. “Yeah, never heard that one before.”
“Look, son, I know my wife and I aren't your parents, but we do what we can. Can you talk to him?”
“Of course.” There was no hesitation on Flynn’s part. He would have talked to him without Mitch asking, if only because he wanted them all to be happy.
“Thanks. They look up to you.”
Another brick landed heavily on his shoulders. He had too many responsibilities for someone his age. After all, he was only barely twenty-one himself. “Yeah.”
What else could he say? He’d been their older brother/father figure for years, whether or not he’d asked for the position. Walking away, he stopped off in the living room to see who was hanging out. Only Ace was there on the couch, so Flynn said hello and continued to the kitchen.
It wasn't exactly a commercial kitchen, but it was bigger and better equipped than most home kitchens. The non-profit that ran the place tried to fundraise as much as they could and make it easier on the foster parents. Barb was at the stove, mixing something together while Brooks and Lock sat at the table a few feet away. Since Lock was playing on a handheld game, Flynn focused his attention on Brooks for the time being.
Sitting down between them, he dipped his head to meet the eyes of his troubled brother. “What’s going on?”
He said it quietly, and Barb either didn't hear or was good at pretending. Brooks had been staring down at the table, kicking his foot against the chair leg. He stopped, glancing at Flynn’s face.
“I’m sick of being here.”
“I know how you feel.” At the ugly noise somewhere between a snort and a growl coming from Brooks, Flynn said, “You know that I really do. I’m not like your social worker pretending she has a single clue what it’s like.”
“My mom is trying to get me back, and I don't know how to feel about it.”
Though Flynn wanted to put his hand on Brooks, he knew the touch would be unwelcome. “I understand. On one hand, you remember how shitty it was to live with her. On the other hand, it would mean escaping from the home.”
“Exactly.” Brooks side eyed the woman at the stove. “If I’m not one thousand percent grateful every second of the day, they ride my a—butt.”
Smiling at the slip, Flynn watched Barb for a few seconds. She’d moved to the counter, judicially ignoring them and scooping cookie batter onto a baking sheet. If he’d saidassout loud, Barb would have automatically corrected him, belying her attempts at not listening to their conversation.
“It’s not as bad here as you think. It’s easier to see that now that I'm on the other side.”
“Really, like how?” Brooks asked dubiously.
“As in, I’m solely responsible for feeding myself. I have to pay all the bills—on time—and I have to get up seriously early to go to work. No one is there to wake me if I oversleep. No one is there to talk to at the end of the day, either.”
Brooks rubbed his eyes and blinked at Flynn. “You make it sound like you’re real lonely, Flynn.”
“I am.” It wasn’t easy to admit, but he’d always aimed for honesty with his brothers. Sometimes, the dead silence in his apartment was deafening.
Lock spoke up. “Don't worry, I’ll be living there soon.”
Reaching over to ruffle his hair, Flynn said, “Thanks for asking first, butthole.”
