Page 94 of The Falcon and the Foe

“No, Romeo, there is not.”

Cal untangled his pants and stepped into the leg. Sadly, he lost his balance and fell backward into my closet—a curious visual metaphor if I ever saw one.

And that brought the attention of the boys.

“Dad?” Quentin knocked at the door. “Are you up?”

Cal’s eyes bulged from his face, cartoon style. Watching him wiggle into his pants on the floor was like watching a fish flop around on dry land. I probably shouldn’t tell him how entertaining this was to watch.

“Give me a few minutes, Q.”

“Can you make us pancakes?” Quentin exhibited the patience of a goldfish. He twisted the doorknob a few times before realizing it was locked.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Cal finally managed to get his pants on, neglecting the age-old wisdom of putting them on one leg at a time. “How are you not freaking out about this?”

His question wiped the amused grin off my face. I didn’t know why I was being chill. Cal was right. I should’ve been freaking out. Telling Quentin about Cal and me was a can of worms I hadn’t prepared for. Hell, I didn’t know whatCal and meeven meant. My life had turned into disorder.

And yet, a sense of calm had come over me, like things, crazy as they were, were sliding into their rightful place.

“Dad?” Quentin knocked over and over until I had no choice but to answer.

Cal dashed into the master bathroom and shut the door. I opened the door to Quentin and Josh looking confused and hyper.

“Good morning!” I glanced over my shoulder to ensure the bathroom door really was closed.

“Could you make us pancakes? I told Josh that your pancakes kick so much butt.”

I shrugged modestly, though I was well aware of their butt-kicking status.

“Sure. Give me a minute. I just woke up.”

Quentin looked past me. “Your blankets are all pulled up.”

“What?”

“You always sleep on one side and you can fold the blankets back down when you get up. But they’re all torn up.”

“Oh.” My usual orderly bed had sheets pulled untucked, blankets a whipped mash. It was live footage of the aftermath of Hurricane Cal. “I had a wild bout of sleep.”

I gulped a gross lump back in my throat. I’d lied to my son.

“Is my dad still here?” Josh asked.

“Your dad? He went home last night.”

“But his car’s in the driveway.”

Shit. Another lie. One more got me a first-class ticket to hell. The pint-sized Sherlock Holmeses stared me down.

I heaved out a sigh. “Boys, give me a minute. I’ll meet you downstairs. Q, get the ingredients out, but don’t start mixing anything.”

Quentin’s face softened with concern like he could see the stress forming at my temples and knew to back off lest I explode. It only compounded my guilt. “Okay.”

“I’ll be right down.”

The boys scrambled downstairs, a mash of colorful, branded characters disappearing into the hall. I shut and locked the door.

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