Page 26 of Hollow Heart

I can’t help that I respond to his tone, instead of asking what’s wrong.

Sue me, I’m his father.

A good roast is fine, but I’m not about to let him disrespect the hard work I put into this family, the sacrifices I’m making so he can have a good, comfortable life with good opportunities. Opportunities a smart kid like him deserves.

“Right. I’m such a cheapskate. I took a job playing for one of the biggest acts on one of the biggest tours, just so you could go to college.”

Bobby frowns. “Dad, I didn’t mean?—”

“I have always done what is needed to give you better opportunities. Opportunities I didn’t have when I was your age...”

Bobby’s eyebrows furrow. “That’s not fair. When you were my age, you were playing shows on the strip, and auditioning for record labels, and I—” He shakes his head, pushing away from the door, and I can see the strain in his body language.

I get up, immediately following him. “What? You what?” I bite, my tone much harsher than I intend it to be.

“Nothing,” he says as he heads for the kitchen, throwing his backpack on the floor by the couch.

He opens the fridge, taking out a seltzer water.

What sixteen-year old drinks dragon fruit flavored soda water?

“Bullshit, Bobby. Something’s up. “

Bobby glares at me as he drinks his seltzer. “Just forget it. Forget I said anything.”

I know I’m at a crossroads. I can press him, but the last thing I want to do is push him away more. Iwantthe kid to talk to me.

But I also know I’m terrible at teenager bullshit. For all I know, the kid is just hangry.

I fix my glare at him. “I don’t know what is going on, and I won’t push you. But, taking out your bullshit on me, talking down to me like I’m not busting my ass to give you everything, I won’t tolerate that shit, Bobby. Your mother wouldn’t tolerate that shit.”

I know the moment I say it, it’s the wrong thing to say.

Bobby’s lip quivers and his eyes glaze over.

We don’t talk about Marci. Ever.

“Whatever. Sorry I interrupted your importantresearch,” he says coldly as he turns away from me.

“Bobby...” I call out after him, but it’s too late. He’s in his room, door shut, and probably blocking out the world with his headphones.

Real smooth, Duncan.

I sigh as I look at the clock, which boasts it’s a quarter to six. I hadn’t meant to get so involved in playing and researching. I open the fridge, taking stock of what we have, trying to figure out what to make for dinner when I settle on a plate labeledDadwhich is filled with chicken, mashed potatoes, and some green vegetable I can’t decipher. But it looks amazing, and I suddenly feel like absolute shit.

Why are teenagers so difficult?

I sigh as I push it back, opting to make some stir-fry.

I’m not the best cook, not like Marci was. She had a passion for food, and I’m pretty sure that’s where Bobby gets it from.

I’m not completely inept, but I’m not making Duck à l’Orange either.

I pull out the veggies in the fridge that need to be used up. Some red pepper, green onion, and a dried chili pepper.

I put my headphones back in and continue to listen to theBlack Seaalbum while I prep.

Felix’s raspy vocals settle over me as he sings.

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