Page 99 of Rules to Love By

“Don’t you bullshit a bullshitter, son. Sit your ass down and tell your Uncle Ezzy all about it.”

Eli snorted, but he couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Of course I am. Now sit. Talk. What’s got your face so long?”

“Life, mostly.” Eli climbed into the chair next to Ezra as it turned slowly to accept him. Had the shop always been this accommodating and he’d just never noticed before? Or was it because of his foul mood and the fact it was just the three of them, all family present at the moment? Whatever the case, it banished some of his worry as he put his feet up on the bar and leaned his head back, eyes closed. “You want me to start with this morning and work backwards or last year and go forwards?”

Eli turned his head and peeked one eye open when his father sighed.

Ezra spun his chair around to face his brother. “Tyrone, I think this is going to require some of that fine whiskey you have behind the shabby desk you call a front counter. Bring it out here, and don’t bring the cheap stuff, eh.”

With one eye still partially open, Eli turned his head without lifting it to track his father’s movement across the room to the hidden stash. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Uncle Ezra always had his back, didn’t he? And his father might get mad, sure. But he wouldn’t stay that way. Not forever, anyway.

Once the whiskey had been poured and Eli had slammed back the first glass, then held out the vessel for a refill, he felt ready. Sitting up straighter, he gazed into the pretty amber liquid, watching it crawl up the sides of the glass as he tipped it, then slink back down.

“So.” He sipped.

“So.” The grim expression on his father’s face didn’t encourage him. Nor did the way he poured his second ounce down his throat, then refilled his glass a little fuller than before. “Let it out, son,” he said gently. “Ain’t gonna get any easier with time. These things never do.”

“You got that so right, Papa.”

Tyrone raised both eyebrows. “Papa? It’s like that?”

“Yeah.” Eli raised his eyes to meet his father’s. “I dropped out again, Papa.”

He said nothing.

“Last year.”

Slowly, Tyrone nodded, drained his glass, then set it aside. He rose and walked over to Eli’s chair. “Come here.” He held out his arms.

“What?”

“Get up.”

Eli did.

His father hugged him hard.

For a second, Eli was frozen in place, unsure how to process the reaction. Then the warmth of his father’s body seeped into his and he hugged back. He should have known. He should have justknownhis father wouldn’t withhold affection from him, even over this.

“Thank you, Papa,” he whispered.

That got a grunt and a momentary tighter squeeze, and then his father stepped away to frown at him. “Now you sit yourself down and tell me why.” He pointed at Eli’s chair, which abruptly turned, as if with the same demand.

Okay. So the hug was about the love. The tone was about the rest.

Eli shuddered but retook his seat. He owed it to them to try and explain. He told them about the endless struggles to keep up, the headaches trying to make the reading make sense and the writing flow.

“I even tried the voice-to-text apps from high school. But there was no one there to read it over and secretly fix all the grammar.” He nailed his father with a look. “I didn’t know you did that at the time, but I figured it out quick enough in my psych class. Why do that when you knew it was a false positive? It made me look better than I was. Think I was better than I was. The university looked at scores that weren’t mine and let me in under false pretenses.”

“No, son, they let you in because you knew your stuff. You’re smart. You learn fast.”

Eli glanced past his father at the back wall where his useless shelves had hung. Now, with Marcus’s fancy paint job, even with the display only half done, the area had a professional touch it hadn’t had before. “Not everything.”

“No one is good at everything, son.”

“No shit.”

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