“My foster siblings and I could get really competitive, and that was over dumb shit. I can’t imagine what this feels like. I’m not judging you.”
I sigh and rub my hand through my hair.
“Do you have any plans tonight?” I ask, not wanting to go home alone.
“Sloane’s busy,” he says.
“Didn’t ask about Sloane, mascot. Asked about you.”
He clicks his tongue, and a wide smile takes over his face.
“Let’s go, goalie,” he says, and I wonder what the fuck I just set myself up for.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I say as Ethan takes one side of the couch and I take the other.
“You’re the one who needed an alibi to get away from your brother-in-law,” he says as we both take a breath and lift the heavy beige loveseat that’s kind of a piece of shit.
“First off. It’s my brother that I’m avoiding. Second off, where in the fuck are we taking this?” I ask as I go up the first set of stairs and he carries the bottom.
“My dad—foster dad—he doesn’t really leave his place anymore. His current couch should be condemned. This one was on Marketplace for eighty bucks. So I figured I’d grab it for him and get that other piece of shit out of his place.”
“No other foster siblings to help out?”
“No massive Alpha ones. Most of them are younger. Only Kimmy and Marisol still live in town.”
“How many foster siblings do you have?” I ask as I heft the motherfucker around the bend to go up the second section of stairs.
“Who knows? Dave took in so many kids back in the day. Some stayed a few days, weeks, or months. Then there’s kids like me who never left.”
“You like your old man?”
“Yeah,” Ethan says simply. “What about you?”
“My stepdad is cool. Mom’s overbearing. Brother hated me until recently,” I say with a shrug.
“Family shit is always complicated.”
“I know that’s fucking right. Christ, what floor does he live on?”
“Third,” he huffs out as I continue up the stairs, both of us exerting our strength to get this piece of shit up the stairs.
Ethan takes out a key and unlocks the door.
“Hey, Dad,” Ethan says as an old man with an oxygen tank turns off the TV and glances at the two of us.
“The fuck you got there?” his dad asks.
“You can’t sleep on that shitty couch anymore. I got you a new one,” Ethan says as we put the couch down.
The older man grabs his walker and takes a moment to stand, his oxygen tank trailing behind him.
“Looks nice, thanks, kid. Who’s this?” he asks, tilting his head to observe me. His eyes are milky, and most of his hair is gone. He’s clearly not doing so great.
“Max. He’s the goalie for the Foxes.”
A smile takes over the old man’s face.
“See. What did I tell you? As soon as they got to know you, they’d love you.”
