“I’m yours.”
14
JUDGE
The familiar deliciousvanilla smell of cooking waffles floated through the air, and I stared around the kitchen with my eyes half open as I sat on one side of the white oval table in the breakfast nook, glaring at everyone else. The light over the table gleamed far too bright.
“I told you not to stay up too late last night,” Flynn said with a grin as he slid a cup of coffee onto the table in front of me.
“Jury can’t playMario Kartby himself. It’s boring to play against the computer, no one to give the finger to.” I gratefully wrapped my hands around the warm mug. Papa’s rumpled blond hair was everywhere, and his black tank top was half untucked from the plaid sleep shorts he hadn’t bothered to change out of before he came downstairs. I forced myself to smile at him as he came over and dumped heavy cream in my cup, and I grunted at him, too. He splashed more in as he chuckled, and Dad rolled his eyes at me from where he was manning the waffle iron.
“You’re a delight this morning. That’s my bouncing baby boy, a joy to the world,” Dad snarked. Unlike Papa he only wore long black sleep pants with no shirt, but he’d never been shy around strangers.
Papa laughed and went to the counter, dragging a large metal bowl toward himself, and he cradled it in his arms and turned to rest against the countertop while he dumped the rest of the cream from the carton into the bowl. Next, he took a whisk out of a drawer and began to beat the liquid inside. This was a Saturday ritual and had been for my entire life—Dad would whine all morning long if he was forced to eat “nasty store-bought” whipped cream. How Papa hadn’t murdered Dad by now I would never know, but then again, maybe that was my early morning grumpiness talking.
Flynn rinsed strawberries at the sink, and I loved watching his shoulders flex under the thin white undershirt he’d slipped on before coming downstairs. His sleep shorts were black and clung to his ass in the best way possible. When he was done at the sink he began slicing the fruit into a bowl. The white tiles on the floor and backsplash behind the counter reflected too much light, and I half-heartedly wished I had my sunglasses.
Glancing around, I couldn’t help but notice Jury hadn’t gotten dragged out of his bed yet. Maybe I could sneak away and go hide in his room with him until all the food was done. I glared at the bay window to my right—the sun was barely a golden streak in the sky. Dad, Papa, and Flynn were talking softly, but I didn’t even know what the conversation was about. My eyes might be open but actual consciousness was a dicey proposition.
“Why am I awake before six in the morning if we’re not even going to the gym?”
Flynn turned toward me, and he must’ve finished with the strawberries because he put a dripping, clean knife in the drainer beside the sink. Dad handed him a dish towel, and he used it, then flung it on the empty drying rack.
“Because River said I needed the paperwork out of the filing cabinet at my house. Well... fuck it, yeah, my house.” He dipped his head and scowled at the floor. “Jayce, the cop you met the other night, has been covering overnight shifts for a guy who is out because his wife had a baby. If we go over soon, he will be the one to come to any calls at the house and keep us out of trouble. Plus, there is a chance I can sneak in and out if we get there early enough. It would be best to avoid confrontations.”
I grunted. Damn it, that all sounded reasonable.
Papa gave Flynn a sad smile, then beamed at Dad. “I’m so glad I never had to worry about anything like what you’re going through.” He rested a hand on Flynn’s arm. “You deserve better. No one should need to deal with this.”
“Thanks,” Flynn said. He crossed his arms and stared at the floor some more, and I smiled as a blush lit up his face. He was so fucking cute.
Dad used tongs to pop a waffle off the iron and put it on the top plate of the stack he already had sitting beside him to his right. Flynn carried the waffle over to me along with the strawberries, and Papa, who was still whipping, laughed when Flynn went back over and stole the bowl from him to continue making the cream.
“Why aren’t we using an emulsion blender or something?” he asked, though the question simply sounded curious and wasn’t a complaint.
Papa patted his shoulder. “It’s fluffier this way. And full of love.”
Flynn snorted, and Papa went over to wrap his arms around Dad, who was putting the top of the iron down on the next waffle.
“We could all go,” Dad said, turning to look at me. The light caught the top of his head and I could tell his hair was thinning. He seemed older than I last remembered, and a strange pang zipped through my chest. I didn’t want to think of them getting older. I swiped a fork from a pile in the middle of the table, then went to the fridge. I preferred syrup to the strawberries. Snagging the cold glass bottle out of the fridge, I stared at Dad.
“All go where?”
“To Flynn’s house.”
Smiling at Dad, I nodded.
Flynn showed the bowl to Dad, who grunted his approval at whatever he saw in there, and Flynn heaved out a big sigh before he carried the whipped cream over to the table and set it down. “I would hate to inconvenience anyone.”
“No,” Papa said, moving over to the corner of the counter. Beside the coffeemaker sat a kitschy golden mug tree shaped like an octopus, and he grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee. “Roger has a good idea. Your ex will think twice about causing trouble with more witnesses. He can’t lie about events as easily that way.”
Flynn rubbed the back of his neck and squinted, and I had to laugh because he and I both knew Papa was right. “I don’t know, I don’t want you to—”
“We’re already awake,” Papa said. He passed the mug of coffee to Flynn, who took it with a nod, then went back to the coffeemaker to glare at it. “We need a bigger pot.” He dumped what was left of the brew into his mug, then started making more coffee.
“Yes,” Dad said, shaking his tongs at Flynn. “We’ll go. I like it.”
Jury wandered into the kitchen with his hand covering a wide yawn—somehow we’d managed to wear matching blue pajama pants last night, and it drove me crazy when that happened. Even though we did our own shopping now, half the time we still managed to choose the same stuff from the same stores. “What are we doing?” he asked, eyes barely open. He came over to the table and stole my coffee, and I swatted at him, but he tipped the mug up and drank most of the caffeine before I could do anything about it. He grinned as he set the empty mug on the table.
