Page 33 of Fiery Romance

I know that.

It’s just hard for me to switch that mode off when I’m home.

Harder still to understand Abe’s sensitivity.

I can’t tell my kid to suck it up. I have to let my boy cry. Even more, I have to tell him it’s okay.

It goes against my grain.

Anya was better at the comfort and nurture part. Hell, she was better at everything.

I knock on Abe’s door. “Son, it’s zero seven hundred hours. You almost ready for school?”

“Yeah,” Abe responds dryly.

“Well, hurry up and come downstairs. Breakfast is ready.”

No response.

I stiffen. “Abe, you answer ‘yes sir’ when I talk to you. How many times do I have to say it?”

“Yes, sir,” Abe mumbles.

My chest rises and falls on an exhale. I feel a little finger poking into my forehead and glance at Regan. She’s smoothing out the wrinkles that form when I frown.

My lips curl up. I bring her finger to my lips and kiss it. “You hungry, sweet pea?”

She nods.

I whirl her downstairs.

“Daddy, did you know that Abe got a part in the play?” Regan says as she reaches for her spoon and scoops up some scrambled eggs.

I go still. “He did?”

“Mm-hm.”

“How do you know that?”

“I heard him on the phone yesterday.”

Why didn’t he tell me?

Footsteps thump down the stairs. Abe appears, looking small and pale. At his age, I was already towering over my class. Anya was tall too. Sometimes, I wonder if more than just our personalities skipped a generation.

“You good, soldier?” I ask, handing him a plate. “You’re not wearing your hoodie.” The jacket is like a second skin. He even wore it to the pool once.

“I left it in Nan’s car.”

I stiffen at the mention of his grandmother. “What do you mean you left it in Nan’s car? You definitely had it with you yesterday.”

He lifts a shoulder in a listless shrug and looks down at his plate. My son wears his hair long with bangs that cover his eyes. I bite my tongue whenever I see all that hair.

There’s a reason the military has the buzz cut requirement. It’s a sign of uniformity. Of purpose. It speaks of order and discipline. Two things this shaggy cut do not.

I inhale deeply. “Why didn’t you tell me you saw your nan yesterday?”

“Why do I have to tell you that? Am I not allowed to see her?”

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