The emptiness hit me for real when I got home and I’d talked to August, showered, and thrown myself on the couch with a beer and a bag of chips.

I’d promised August I’d get something to eat…

Chips were food, right?

I sighed and rubbed my jaw, feeling strange after having shaved for the first time in a week. Then I caught sight of the bracelet on my wrist, and I read the word over and over. Daddy. He’d said I was one too.

Fuck.

It was too quiet here. I stood up and grabbed the remote from the kitchen bar, then turned on the TV.

It took care of the silence, but it didn’t stop my thoughts from wandering. Throwing a handful of chips into my mouth, I glanced around my home and pictured August and Camden here. They might even like my kitchen. The only thing missing was some extra workspace. Nonna had told me to install an island between the kitchen and the stairs. There was plenty of room—for a table and chairs too. I’d just never gotten around to it. Money used to be tight, and I hadn’t cared enough. I ate at the bar or right here.

Next to the stairs, a narrow entryway lead to Nicky’s old bedroom, the guest bath, and the closet where I kept most of my instruments. I still hadn’t done anything with the bedroom, unless you counted loose plans to turn it into a larger storage area for my gear. Maybe Camden would have some ideas.

Before I could prevent it, a pipe dream of a future appeared right before my eyes. Camden would have his own room there. My instruments wouldn’t get their own space; they’d stay in the closet and in the small unit underneath the stairs. August and I would share my room upstairs. Perhaps we’d hang a lot of pictures on the walls.

I’d been meaning to put some up, but fuck, drilling into brick…

No more postponing that shit. I had plenty of photos from my stay in Nashville, and I’d bought the damn drill—oh, some six years ago. Tomorrow after work, I was gonna develop some photos and hang my family on the wall, including August and Camden.

Even if nothing happened with us in the end, I’d cherish my memories.

Cazzo, I missed them so much already.

“No running in the halls, kids,” I hollered.

Giggles and “oops” flooded the area outside of a classroom.

“Sorry, Mr. Fender!”

“Sorry, Mr. Fender.”

I waved it off and wished them a good choir practice, then ducked into my office where my lunch waited for me.

A Twizzler and a small bag of Doritos.