Prologue
Dr. Brian Jones slogged up the steps of the porch, his eyes catching on the unwelcome sight of Jeremy's shoes just outside the front door of the rustic cabin. He shook his head. He never could get that boy to take his shoes inside.
As he opened the door, the smell of fried chicken hit his nose, and his annoyance with Jeremy flew away with that wonderful smell.
"Hey, baby."
"Hi, Mom."
He dropped his duffel beside the door and strolled to his mom, who was standing at the stove. "That smells heavenly."
"Well, I'm glad you're finally home to enjoy it."
"Where's Dad?"
"With Jeremy on the back porch. They're whittling."
She flipped the last piece of chicken in the pan and then turned to face him. "You've been working a lot lately.” Her brows furrowed. “You look tired."
"I am tired."
"More than usual."
"The hospital's chief of staff is retiring soon. If I want that job…" His voice trailed off as Jeremy stomped in the back door, his grandfather, Mac, at his heels.
He barely spared Brian a glance as he went to the sink and washed his hands.
"I'm going into town after supper," Mac said as he nudged Jeremy out of the way to take his turn at the sink. They originally hailed from Tennessee, and Brian smiled at his use of the southern term. He kissed his wife, Mary, before turning back to his son. "Do you and Jeremy want to go with me?"
He really didn't. He wanted to take a shower, lie down, and sleep for days. He turned to his son, who was staring at his sock-clad feet. "Is it something we can do tomorrow? We can get up early and go out for breakfast."
Mac leaned against the counter as his wife took something off the stove and set it on the table. "Maybe."
Mary took rolls out of the oven and carried them over, setting the hot tray on a trivet. "Get the butter, Mac."
Mac turned, grabbed the butter dish, and sat it by the rolls. Jeremy was in his seat before Brian even realized he’d moved, the teenager practically drooling over the steamy bread. "Go ahead," Brian murmured, and the boy grabbed one and stuffed it in his mouth. "I'm going to take a five-minute shower, then we'll talk." He grabbed his duffel off the floor and dashed up the stairs.
The shower felt wonderful on his tired and aching body, and he wanted to sit under the spray for a few minutes and get his bearings back, but no time. His mom's fried chicken had won awards, and he wasn't about to let it get cold.
He slipped on some pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt before grabbing his phone and charger. He wasn't on call this weekend, and part of him wanted to just leave his phone to die, but he still carried it to the kitchen and plugged it in on the counter. As Brian slid into his seat just as his mom put the platter of crispy goodness in front of him. "Now, before Jeremy eats us out of house and home, Mac, the blessing." They bowed their heads, and after the Amen was said, picked up their conversation again as the food was passed around.
"So, is it urgent you go tonight?" Brian asked his father.
His dad studied him, concern written clearly across his face. "I'm sorry, Son. I know you're tired. Get a good night's rest, and we can go tomorrow. Do you have a bad case at the hospital?"
Brian didn't talk much about his work. When his shift was over, he tried to leave it at the hospital, but a certain patient crept into his mind.
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Well, It happens sometimes." He took a bite of chicken and almost groaned out loud. Living off hospital food for the past few days made him appreciate his mom's cooking even more. He looked over at Jeremy, who was stirring gravy into his mashed potatoes but not eating much. "Not hungry, Trey? Did you fill up on rolls?"
"I only had two," he snapped.
Mac opened his mouth, but Brian held up a hand, stopping his father's reprimand.
"Watch your tone," Brian scolded his son.
"May I be excused?" Jeremy gritted out, already standing up. He grabbed his plate, ready to bolt as soon as he received permission.
"No, sir. If you're leaving the table, no food. If you want your grandmother's cooking, you sit and finish it."
Jeremy plopped down in the chair, and everyone resumed eating in silence.
When Brian looked at his son's plate again, it was almost empty. "Finish up and bring your shoes inside. Make sure no creatures are in them, and then go to bed."
"It's only seven!"
"Do I look like I care?"
Jeremy stabbed at his last bite of food before standing.
"Put it in the sink."
He glared at his dad, but grabbed his plate and did what he was told before stomping upstairs.
Brain ran his hands through his still-damp hair. "Sorry."
"His mother—"
"Is not here," Brian gritted out.
"But Julie—"
"I don't want to talk about her," he interrupted his mom. "Thank you for the wonderful food, but I need some sleep before I say something I regret." He stood, picked up his plate, put it in the sink, and then ran up the stairs.
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