CALLUM
As always, I woke up before the sun, my body clock refusing to let me have just one damn lazy morning. I sat up, rubbing my eyes and mentally cursing myself for being awake when I realized the sky was only just starting to turn slightly gray outside.
I groaned and looked away from the window, spotting Brody coming down the stairs. Wearing dinosaur pajamas, his hair was sticking up in a thousand different directions like he’d wrestled his pillow—and lost—and he stopped walking when he saw me, little head cocking as if he wasn’t sure if he was still dreaming.
“Callum?” His voice was still rough, eyes blinking hard like he thought I might disappear. “Why are you sleeping on our couch?”
I chuckled. “Good morning to you too, kid. How about I make a pot of coffee before I start answering life’s big questions?”
He gave me a long look, suspicious but curious, and then shrugged. “Okay. Can I have some water? Mom says I’m not old enough for coffee yet.”
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll never start drinking the stuff.” I stretched my arms out above my head before I stood.“If you’d like something warm, I think I might be able to manage some hot cocoa.”
He pulled a face at me. “Too sweet.”
“Water it is,” I said. “I thought kids loved sweet stuff, though.”
“Not this kid.”
“Smart,” I joked. “Right, I remember now. More fries instead of dessert. You’re like me.”
He followed me into the kitchen, moving quietly for someone his age, like he was used to being the only one awake at this hour. That thought tugged at me. It was something else we had in common.
I found the coffee, got the pot going, poured him some water, and opened the fridge. “Are you hungry?”
“Yeah. Do you know how to make pancakes?”
“Not without a mix,” I admitted, going over to the pantry and checking, but he was crap out of luck. “Sorry, man.”
He sighed dramatically. “Maybe Grandma knows how to make them.”
“Maybe she does.” Michelle probably did, but she was also still asleep. “How about scrambled eggs and toast in the meantime?”
His face brightened up immediately. “Yeah, I can help. I know how to mix the eggs.”
“Alright, let’s do it.” After grabbing everything we needed, I cracked the eggs into a bowl and slid it toward him. He hopped onto a chair, grabbed the whisk like he knew exactly what he was doing, and went to town.
“Guess what?” he said, glancing over at me. “I scored two goals at soccer during break last week.”
“No kidding? That’s awesome,” I said, pulling a skillet from the cabinet. “I didn’t know you played soccer too.”
“Sometimes.” He shrugged. “I like it, but hockey looks cooler. I like it more.”
The revelation hit me square in the chest, but I kept my tone even. “Yeah? I’m with you on that one. Hockey’s a lot of fun. It’s hard work too, though.”
“I don’t mind hard work.” He paused to lick a bit of egg off his finger that had splattered out of the bowl, pulling a face as he swallowed. “Wow, that’s gross.”
I laughed. “That’s why we usually cook it before we eat it.”
While I melted some butter in the pan, he kept right on chattering. “Math is way easier than English. English is the worst.”
“Really?” I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Why?”
“Because it’s dumb that we need, like, a million different words to say the same thing. Math makes sense. It’s just numbers. You either get it right or you don’t.”
I grinned. “You take after your mom, then. She’s always loved numbers too.”
His chest puffed up a little, making it clear that he was proud of her. “Yeah. She helps me with my homework. I like that, but Grandma makes me read out loud and I hate it.”
