Page 77 of Red Fire

I instantly feel a black cloud descend at the thought. I like her. I really fucking like her. My dragon has decided that she’s ours. Thankfully, I know better, and since I’m the one in control, we’re all good.

I knock on the front door. I hear my parents argue over who is going to open, which makes me smile.

“I’m washing dishes, love,” my mom says.

“I’m almost done with the crossword,” my dad answers back.

“Please, sweetheart,” my mom shouts back.

My dad sighs as he gets up. “Coming,” he yells.

Nothing has changed.

Everything has fucking changed.

I hope they’ll be happy to see me. It has been my single biggest fear. That my folks will think less of me. I think less of me, so I wouldn’t blame them if they did.

My dad opens the door. His mouth falls open. He takes a step back. “Creed,” he chokes out my name.

“Creed!” my mother screams from somewhere in the house. “Is it you? Oh, my son.” I hear her running as my father grips me in a bear hug. He has more gray in his hair, but otherwise, he’s looking good.

I hug him back, my throat clogging.

He hits me on my back. “It’s good to see you, son.”

“You, too—”

Then my mother is ripping my dad away; her hands are covered in water and soapsuds. “Creed. Oh, my boy!” She dissolves into tears, which has me starting up on the waterworks, too. I can’t help it.

I hold my mother tight. My father joins in. The three of us hug and laugh and sniff. Then we hug and laugh some more.

We finally let go of one another, and I wipe my eyes. “It’s good to see you.”

My mother reaches up and cups my face. “You do, too. I think you have more muscle. What do you think, Benji? He’s bigger, isn’t he?”

“I think so too, Pearl, dear.”

“Our manners!” my mom gasps. “Come in, son. Come in!” She grabs my arm and pulls.

“You look good. Both of you do,” I tell them as we walk into the living room.

“My back isn’t what it used to be,” my dad says, even though he looks amazing. He still has a powerful body.

My mother hasn’t changed at all.

“Let me get you some lemonade,” she gushes. “You sit right there.” She points at an overstuffed sofa.

“Is this new?” I ask.

“Yes, your dad finally let me throw out the last living room set.”

“I miss my recliner,” he grumbles, but from the way he is smiling at my mom, I know he is winding her up on purpose.

“It didn’t even recline anymore,” she says as she leaves the room.

“I still loved it,” he shouts after her, chuckling. Then he turns to me, growing more serious. “How are you, Creed? We were worried when you didn’t come home. We thought…well, we thought something might have happened.”

“I wasn’t ready.”

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