Page 50 of Grouch-ish

I chuckle.

“She said you’d let us have the party if we only asked,” Nick explains.

Have I been so tough on my kid that he’s too afraid to ask if he can have friends over? For that fact . . . is he preferring I’m not home, so I don’t embarrass him? These are hard thoughts to have.

“Nick.” I swallow that lump rising back up in my throat. “I trust you.”

Silence fills the line again, and I’m assuming another eyeball conversation is happening between siblings.

“Gone by midnight,” I suggest.

“Sure, Dad.” Nick’s voice sounds lighter.

“But no drinking and driving. If people need to stay the night, just . . . let me know.” I should definitely know who is staying at my house when I’m not present.

“Absolutely,” Ellie confirms.

“Okay, well, have fun.” I swallow hard once more, wishing I was the one ordering pizza and watching the game with my kids. But I also understand that hanging with their old man isn’t high on the list of good times anymore.

“I love you guys.” My nose starts to tickle. My eyes burn.

“Love you, too, Daddy,” Ellie says, her voice cheerful and sweet as always.

“Love you.” Nick’s voice is quick but not insincere. He’s a good boy. A good man. I have much to be thankful for with my kids.

On that note, the phone goes dead, and I stare down at the device in my hands. After a quick text to Ma in the family group chat with her and my siblings, I have one more text to send.

I open the contact labeled Nat’s Parents, type a message and hit send.

Happy New Year. Thinking of you.

I don’t expect a reply. I rarely get one.

A short knock comes to Cap’s bedroom door, and I lift my head as Pear opens it, hesitating as she pokes her head around the barrier.

“Hey. I’m done in the shower. You’re up.” A smile fills her rosy face, freshly scrubbed and sparkling a bit with light makeup. Her lips are brighter red. Her lashes darker.

“You okay?” she questions, opening the door wider.

“Yeah.” I blink once and rub my eyes with my forefinger and thumb. “Just checking in with my kids.”

The tender touch of Pear’s hand on my arm has me flinching. My eyes snap open to see her pulling back her hand.

She remains quiet and I lift my phone, giving it a gentle shake as I stare back at the device. “I sent a text to my family, and one to . . .” My throat tightens. “One to Nat’s parents.”

Pear doesn’t ask at first and quiet seconds pass between us before she says, “Who is Nat?”

“Was. He was a newbie in the department under my charge.” I twist my lips. With a deep inhale and a shuddering exhale, I add. “He passed away a few years ago.”

Without looking up at Pear, I explain. “It was my fault.”

“What? No. No,” her quiet plea softens. Her lowers beside me on the edge of the bed and wraps her hand around my forearm.

“Bomb threat. Turned into a three-alarm fire.” I almost can’t breathe as I recall the smoke, the heat, and the scream. “He fell down an airshaft. Four floors.”

Closing my eyes, I add, “He was only twenty-four.” He had so much life before him. No wife. No kids. Just a happy-go-lucky guy with a laugh like a hyena. He was so fucking funny.

“Brock, that was not your fault.”