Like He Never Left

Chapter 5: Chicken

I wake up with my head pounding and my gut aching. What the hell was I thinking last night, drinking all that shit knowing I hadn't drank more than a couple glasses of wine and champagne in the last couple months. I lie there for a few more minutes, not wanting to wake up

"Jesus," I groan after sitting up, clutching the sides of my head. 

There's a banging on my bedroom door, making everything worse, making my eardrums feel like they're exploding. 

"Wake up, Cole! You've slept the day away. Get outta bed!"

Damn fathers. 

"Cole Michael Roberts if you're not out of that rack within 20 seconds I'm keeping the chocolate chip pancakes I made to myself!"

My father grew up living with my grandfather who was in the Air Force. He would blow "Reveille" in his ear and yell at him to get out of his "rack," and that's how my father decided me to raise me too, after my mother died. 

I scurry out of the bed and open the door as fast as humanly possible while dealing with a hangover. He will not keep pancakes from me. I don't care how old I am.

Too much motion. I'm gonna vomit. I'm gonna vomit.

I rush to the hallway bathroom, letting the contents of my stomach flow out of me into the toilet bowl. 

"That's just downright nasty," Dad comments. Even though he's being a sarcastic ass, I can't help but agree with him. It is nasty. Very nasty.

When I'm done, I find some mouthwash in the medicine cabinet and swish it in my mouth, getting rid of the vile taste. God, that feels so much better. 

"So gross," I gripe after spitting the mouthwash into the sink. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and turn to my father, who's leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed loosely. "What time is it?"

"A little after two p.m. You're welcome, by the way."

"Thanks," I say sardonically. "You just made pancakes?"

"Yeah, figured you could use a pick me up after the 'morning' you were sure to have, and I was right. Though I reckon pancakes might be too much for your stomach to handle at the moment. How about some toast and orange juice?"

"That works."

I slump into a chair at the table, grateful that my father is here to drag me through the beginning of my day. He places my meal in front of me a couple minutes later and leans against the stove, watching me eat. Some might think it's weird that I'm letting my father take care of me and watching me eat, but I wouldn't trade this moment for the world. I missed being taken care of, and he knows just how to do it cause he brought me up. Not that Brooke doesn't or wouldn't do the same, but it's not the same. These people know me inside and out, better than anyone, and no matter how badly I screw up, this solidifies the fact that they'll always have my back.

"Good night?" he asks.

"I think so. . .Hey, Dad?" He gives me a look that encourages me to keep talking. "Why didn't you tell me about John sooner?"

He blinks, his eyes widening in response. I definitely caught him off his guard. 

"Uh, well. . ." He scratches the backside of his elbow. "I just figured that if anyone should be the one to tell you, it's Josie. I mean, he is-was-is her father, you know?"

"I mean, why didn't you tell me when it happened? I sent you my address, you saw me after I got Johnny. I should have been here, Dad."

"When I saw you, it was a year after you left. He died three years ago. How was I supposed to know he'd be going back overseas? As for your address, that was your college address, idiot. Not where your new residence is. I did send you a letter, saying you had to come home, but it was returned by someone else who lived in your old dorm. So don't you dare try to pin this on me, Colt."