After Hours (boyxboy) | ✓

Chapter Twenty-Five

My dad’s place was small. I’d spent two weekends there since he moved in. And I can’t say I liked either. But he was my dad, so I didn’t really have a choice when it came to that stuff. 

It was Friday night. My dad was picking me up at six-thirty. We’d grab some drive-thru dinner, drive to his place, and probably watch some stupid TV show. This was how we spent every weekend I was there. Tomorrow, we’d play board games all day. I’d break my back sleeping on the couch. And then, I’d finally go home on Sunday. 

I packed tomorrow’s outfit into my backpack. It was getting pretty full. I could grab a suitcase, but that was a bit much for just two days away from home. I shoved the contents of the bag down, then crammed the rest of my stuff inside. The zipper barely moved. But somehow, I fit everything. 

“Emmett!” my mom called from downstairs. 

I sighed, knowing what she’d say next. “What?”

“Your dad just pulled in!”

“Okay!” I yelled back. 

He was ten minutes early. I was ready, but I didn’t want to leave. It was weird sleeping in his apartment. I missed my room already. The harsh air conditioning, the comfortable silence, the abundance of extra sweatshirts in my closet. Everything was much more comfortable at home. 

I heard the front door click open. Heavy footsteps followed. My dad’s voice said something quietly to my mom, who responded in an even quieter voice. Part of me didn’t even want to know what they were talking about. 

His voice rose slightly, just enough that I could hear it. “Is he ready?”

“Ask him,” my mom said. I groaned to myself and lifted my bag onto my bed. 

I glanced over at my desk chair, where Brendon’s red lifeguard sweatshirt used to sit. It was vacant now. Brendon hadn’t called me, or responded to my note. I assumed he didn’t care anymore. Maybe he never had.

“Emmett!” my dad called, “Almost ready?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, coming!” 

After a few more longing stares at that stupid chair, I grabbed my backpack and headed downstairs. My dad was waiting at the end of the stairs. He looked excited, for some reason. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he beamed, “Ready to go?”

“Sure.”

I kissed my mom goodbye and followed my dad out the door. He led me to the truck, which was even more muddy than it had been last week. Maybe he’d been fishing, or something. 

It was getting dark out when we left. I guess August is when the sun starts setting earlier. I hopped into the passenger’s seat and threw my bag in the back. My dad sat in the driver’s seat, shuffling through rock CDs in the glovebox. His arm bumped into my face on multiple occasions.

“Is this one okay?” he asked, holding a Metallica CD in front of my face.

“Sure.”

I didn’t really like rock music. It was loud and heavy. And I’d gotten used to softer sounds. If Brendon taught me anything, it was music. And a few other things of course. I had to give him some credit. He wasn’t all bad (he was mostly good, in fact).

“What d’ya want for dinner?” Dad asked as he pulled out of the driveway. I thought for a minute before answering. I just named some random fast food place. My dad looked satisfied with my choice. I knew he would.