Page 121 of Honey Pot

“I don’t need some bullshit talk about how to treat my parents. Thanks though,” I grumbled.

“You really are a brat, you know that?” Arlo said. “You’ve got two parents that give a shit about you, and all you wanna do is fight back against them?”

“You don’t know me or my parents, King. Not really.” I scoffed. “How aboutyougo back in and play family with her? That’s all this is. A fucking endless sitcom.”

Arlo stared at me for a moment, his heavy brows paired with dark eyes that felt like they were burning holes through me.

“What?” I snapped when he didn’t answer.

“I know they don’t beat you. They don’t punish you. I’ve never met a mother so patient and filled with love, and you just walk all over her.” Arlo slapped me with his judgment. “Maybe your Dad can’t figure out how to manage work and his family, but that’s not your Mom’s fault.”

“She lets him get away with it,” I argued.

“God damn it, kid, you’re like a cornered alley cat,” he growled. “Maybe she’s choosing to let the fight go because it makes your Dad happy, and maybe she’s too busy fighting you at every corner to have the energy to fight your Dad.” Arlo offered, and I turned to look at him in defeat.

“Wow, thank you for your sage advice,” I said, pushing off the step. “Mind your business, Arlo.”

“Pick and choose your battles, Cael,” he said, “but make sure whatever battle you decide to fight, it’s worth it.”

CODY

“The boys said you were out here.”

Dad’s voice interrupted the ending of the golden sunset that was falling over the dock. Snow had started to fall faster, thick enough to coat the leaves of the lavender bushes that would soon be barren from the cold.

“Theboysare chatty at all the wrong times.” I rolled my eyes. “What do you want?”

“Watch your tone,” Dad snapped and sank down in the grass behind me at a distance.

“Answer my question,” I responded, keeping my eyes trained on the horizon.

“I came to make sure you were alright,” he said.

I couldn’t stop the laughter that exploded from me. “Are you serious?”

“Cael.”

“Dad.”

He groaned, a loud huff of air leaving his lips. “Dean said Ella drove Clementine back to town. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” I turned to look at him finally. “You’re the reason she left.”

“That’s not true.” Dad shook his head, and a few pieces of his graying blond hair fell against his forehead. “She left because she has a job to do.”

“Recycling a seven-year-old excuse,” I groaned and rubbed the back of my neck. “Classy.”

“Adults have responsibilities,” he responded.

“It’s different, Dad. You dragged us across the country because you wanted to chase your dream. You didn’t care what it meant for us. but we followed. Sure, I dragged my heels and made it your problem, but I was just a kid.”

“You were seventeen years old,” he corrected me.

“Yeah, Dad, I was.” I stared at him for a long time, his tired green eyes screaming back at me. “I was seventeen when Mama collapsed in the kitchen of our brand new sparkly house while she unpacked dishes. You were at the stadium. I was seventeen when I broke my arm climbing up on the roof to put up the Christmas lights for her because she couldn’t climb the ladder.”

“You never broke your arm…” Dad said.

“In two places. There’s still a pin in my wrist.” I held up my arm to show him the scar. His face twisted in confusion and hurt.

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