“No, he wasn’t in pain, he promised me he wasn’t,” Cam managed to say. He could still see himself sitting in the middle of the dark street, the car horn going off and utter destruction all around them while he held his brother as he bled out faster than anyone should be able to. They’d had less than two minutes. That was it. “He made me promise him to look after Winnie and the baby they’d just found out she was carrying.”

His dad remained quiet for a long moment. “And so you’re here, honoring that promise,” he finally said raggedly, and when Cam looked over at him, he saw tears on his cheeks.

Twisting the knife.

“Dad—”

That was all he got out before his dad yanked him into a bear hug. “Thanks for not dying too,” he whispered thickly.

Emmitt Hayes was thirty-three years older than Cam, but strong as hell. There was no escaping. So Cam wrapped his arms around his dad, and they both set their heads on each other’s shoulder.

After another long minute, his dad finally released him and stepped back, swiping his eyes with his arm. “So . . . want to help me clean out the fish guts?”

Chapter 11

“When I say whatever, I really mean screw you.”

After another sleepless night, Gavin found himself in the kitchen at the crack of dawn. In the old days, Piper had been the one to put together meals for their little Bad News Bears family of three. Simple stuff, like mac and cheese and hot dogs. Sometimes she’d chop up some broccoli and try to hide it in the cheese, but he and Winnie had always been good at sniffing out anything green, stomping all over Piper’s hope that they’d eat healthy.

Truth was, he and Winnie had been blissfully ignorant, not understanding their precarious position, which was that Piper, a kid herself, was doing the best she could to keep them together. He hadn’t appreciated it then.

Actually, he hadn’t appreciated it until he’d gotten out of rehab with a relatively clear head, if not a still-confused heart. Piper had single-handedly saved their lives and he hadn’t ever given her enough credit for it.

He’d been such a dick back then, to everyone. He liked to think he’d changed, that he’d grown up, though it’d taken him a lot longer than it should have. But hey, better late than never.

This time around, he wanted to be of value. Toward that goal, he made breakfast, the one thing he was good at. He whipped up southern eggs Benedict, with maple bacon on sourdough toast, only he completely forgot about their shit toaster being broken.