Chapter 4 #2
There was no response to that either, unless he counted the sounds of halting footsteps on the stairs outside that never materialized into a person at the door.
“Creepy.”
In the bathroom, the sound of running water, once he turned on the tap, covered any other sounds the house might have made.
The heat did feel good, doing its job to relax muscles tensed from being held in one position too long. As he settled in, head against the back of the tub, he opened one eye and peered at the pretty plaster medallion where a fancy chandelier hung.
“If something goes wrong down there, if Shelly freaks out or something, can you let me know? Somehow? Is that a thing?”
He waited a few minutes, getting no discernable response, until the scent of pie—Shelly’s go-to treat—wafted through the room.
“Is that your way of telling me she’s being spoiled and is fine?”
The lights dimmed, the smell settled around him, and the water remained comfortably warm for longer than seemed possible. Eventually, he closed his eyes and let some of the tension soak out of his muscles.
After his bath, once he was dressed in clean clothes, he almost felt suitable for polite company again.
And still, he hesitated to go downstairs.
The thought of confronting his ex with all he had to atone for still hanging between them made his head hurt.
After everything he’d been through in the past months with his sister and her kids, he would have thought that was about as vulnerable as he could ever feel.
Wrong again. Like he was so much of the time when it came to other people.
But he couldn’t hide out in the attic forever. Shelly would start to look for him. And with her just getting used to the idea of her mother being gone, he didn’t dare do anything to make her feel like someone else in her life was on the verge of disappearing.
Pulling himself together, he gripped his cane and puffed out his chest. He was here now. He had to face Ozzy sooner or later, so the sooner he got it over with, the better for everyone.
“Keep telling yourself that,” he muttered as he eased himself down the stairs.
Thankfully, he didn’t need the cane to reach the bottom. It was a comfort to have it, but, at least for the moment, not a necessity.
“There you are.” From the window seat, Jet’s exasperated tone set Myles’s teeth on edge. “Shells has been asking where you were.”
“Thank you for keeping an eye on her.”
“Dude, she’s my sister.”
A useful argument only when it suited Jet, but Myles let it go. “Where’s the dog?”
That got him an eye roll. “At least you remembered we have one.”
“Where—”
“Lucky took him into the back while Scratch was here. They were haywire together. He’s still back there. Which is fine. I’ll show him around tomorrow. He’s happy in his crate.”
“Okay. Did you eat?”
Jet nodded.
“We had fresh fries and fishies and cooked spears,” Shelly offered as she jumped off the window seat and came to wrap an arm around one of Myles’s legs. “And—” A jaw-cracking yawn cut through her words, making most of them unintelligible. “—ies wiff pink hats.”
“Sounds delicious?” Myles glanced at Jet.
“Fish and chips with asparagus, and some weird fluff cookies… macarons? Macaroons?” He shrugged.
“They were good.” Taking Shelly’s hand, he led her back to the passthrough window, lifting her up to sit on the counter when he got her there.
“Tris made them. Apparently, there’s some kind of dessert rivalry between him and Kreed. But not in a bad way.”
“Tris likes to think he can make anything gluten-free and it will be just as good as the real thing,” Kreed offered as he came over to the window.
“It was a contest,” Shelly piped up.
“Who won?” Myles ruffled her hair, and she looked up at him, eyes shining.
“Tie. Diff’ent. Boff good. Tris’s were pretty.”
“Kreed’s were good dunkers,” Jet said.
“Fine. Its fine,” Kreed muttered as he wandered back to a pot on the stove. “Out-cooked in my own kitchen. Again.” He glanced at Myles, eyes sparkling. “You want to have a go too?”
Myles snickered.
“Oh God, no,” Jet chimed in. “Please don’t let him anywhere near a stove. There are health and safety rules, right? There must be. I’m almost positive his cooking breaks about a dozen of them.”
“Oh, thank you,” Myles shot at him.
“You see how skinny I am?” Jet shot back, grinning.
“Now that’s not all down to my cooking.” He ignored the way Jet’s grin made his voice falter. It had been too long since he’d seen it.
“Isn’t it, though?” Jet made a speculative face, then turned to Kreed. “I had to learn how to cook in self-defence.”
“Hey now!”
Shelly giggled. “Uncle My-my burnt water, once.”
Kreed lifted an eyebrow at Myles.
“I—that was—I mean. Now, I had a lot going on at once.”
“He was playing Scrabble on his phone with Auntie Pat.”
Myles opened his mouth, closed it, and sighed. “I won, didn’t I?”
“But at what cost?” Jet asked, throwing a hand against his brow dramatically.
“’S’okay,” Shelly said through another yawn as she patted his cheek. “We like cereal. And the hot dog cart down the street.”
“Cereal.” Kreed slow-panned to look at Myles. “Hot dog cart?”
“Well, it’s—we’re a work in progress.”
“Mmm.” Kreed rubbed his forehead. “Then it’s a good thing you came to us. Cooking lessons all round while you’re here, I think.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes,” Jet spoke over him. “Yes. That’s a good idea. I’ll even take them too.”
“Then that’s settled.” Kreed turned back to his pot. “Good deal.” He stirred a bit, then cocked that eyebrow again, “I have some stew left, if you’re interested, Myles.”
Myles’s stomach growled. “I am. But maybe after I put Shelly to bed.”
“I’ll do it.” Jet took her hand.
“You sure?”
“She’s my sister,” he said again.
Myles nodded and watched them straggle to the bottom of the stairs, where Jet picked her up. “Jet.”
“Yeah?” He stopped on the bottom one to look at him.
“Thanks.”
“Sure.”
“Do you mind if I take the room down here?” He lifted his cane slightly. “For now.”
“Whatever.”
“Okay. Well, you two settle in. Text if you need anything. Take whatever beds you want.”
“Sure.” He turned, whispering something to Shelly as she laid her head on his shoulder.
Myles watched until even Jet’s feet were out of sight.
“You’re good with them,” Kreed said.
A speculative noise escaped before Myles could contain it. “That’s the closest thing I’ve had to a conversation with Jet in weeks.”
“He’s what? Sixteen?”
“Yeah.”
“Then maybe one conversation every couple of weeks isn’t so bad. And he loves his sister. So there’s that.”
“I guess, yeah.”
“Come through,” Kreed said, voice soft, head tilting towards the swinging door leading into the kitchen. “Have a seat.” He set the steaming bowl he held on the counter across from one of the comfortable-looking high stools.
The door swung on silent hinges without Myles having to put much effort into it, then stayed open long enough for him to shuffle through before it swung gently shut behind him.
He turned to watch it, feeling like he should be thanking it for being so helpful. “Your house is really…”
Kreed nodded. “You get used to it.”
“Makes me wonder if maybe the house in Calgary sort of hated me.”
“Ozzy says that can be a thing. Unhappy buildings. I hear this place was a real pill before I came along. Some of the stories are… surreal.”
“Because talking about a house like it’s alive is completely normal.”
“Meh.” Kreed shrugged and set a plate of bread next to the bowl of stew. “You get used to that, too.”
Myles sat and picked up his spoon to stir his stew a few times. “Looks good.”
Kreed grinned. “Tris might be ahead in the dessert arena, but he can’t keep up with my stews.”
“Heh.” A relaxed smile found its way onto Myles’s face. It felt odd. Rusty. “Everyone seems to like him.”
“He is hard not to like, once you get past the spiky bits.” Kreed pulled a wooden stool up to his side of the counter and a set two coffee cups on the surface. “Got tea or something cold, if you prefer.”
“This is good. Thanks.” Myles sipped the brew and sighed in appreciation. “Good stuff.”
“We aim to please.”
“So I guess Lucky must have told you all about me?”
“He did. Eventually.”
Myles grimaced. “Yeah. He told me about that. Sorry. I didn’t mean for him to keep it from you. I just didn’t want…” He sighed.
“Didn’t want Ozzy to know you were struggling.”
“He had his own shit storm going on. He didn’t have to know I was…”
“I get it. But he’s good now. As good as maybe anyone can be who’s gone through what you guys have.”
“Tris is good for him?” Myles looked up, needing to see the truth of Kreed’s answer on his face.
“Tris is good for him. They’re good for each other.”
“Good. I’m glad. I’m not here to mess up anyone’s life.”
“No one thinks that. And we all agreed you should come. Family is family.”
Myles almost snickered but held it back at the last minute. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know Lucky. And Ozzy. And he and I had our moments, at the beginning, trust me. We had enough bullshit between us to choke a horse, but we talked it through. So I trust him to be real with me, and if he says tell you to come, he means it.”
“He always was a good talker.”
“I’ve never known him to be anything other than honest.”
“To a fault. Sometimes, that’s the problem. Or at least it was with us.”
Kreed sipped his coffee without speaking.
“Guess back then, I wasn’t ready to hear the truth.”
“We all have those moments.”
“I had a lot of them. I was not a nice person. Especially to Ozzy.”
“Eat your stew.” Kreed got up, knocked his knuckles on the counter, and set his almost empty mug down. “Get some sleep. Take it one day at a time, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Myles would have said just thinking about his past with Ozzy had put him off food, but an additional spoonful of Kreed’s cooking changed his mind. The man knew what he was doing in the kitchen.