Page 30 of Steadfast

Richie was so sure that everything would work out well in the end, but after nights like the one I’d just had, I knew that was wishful thinking. It was only a matter of time before the shit hit the fan again. Mom might have appeased child services for the moment, but if things continued on like they had been, I wasn’t sure how I could keep everything under control.

We had an aunt in Oregon, and I tried to remember what I knew about her. She was Mom’s older sister, and I hadn’t seen her since Dad’s funeral. When she’d tried to talk to Mom about getting her act together so she’d stop scaring her kids, they’d gotten into a massive fight. Mom had kicked her out, Aunt Ashley had ignored her and stayed two more days, and then she’d gone home. Every once in a while, I’d hear Mom on the phone with her, but it didn’t happen often. Aunt Ashley was a self-proclaimed lone wolf, and I secretly loved that about her. When Dad was alive, she used to come out once a year to visit, spending the week taking us kids to the park and arcade and out for ice cream. She seemed to like us.

I prodded at the idea of calling her like a loose tooth, moving away from the idea as I tried to remember everything from those weeks she spent with us, but always eventually circling back to wondering if she’d be willing to take us on. I couldn’t imagine how I could even ask her about it. I didn’t know her number, and I was pretty sure my mom wouldn’t give it to me. From the few comments she’d made, she was still pissed at her sister. She’d be suspicious and nasty if she thought I was trying to reach out to her.

I fell asleep somewhere between thinking I needed to find a way to sneak into Mom’s phone and waiting for Richie to respond to my texts. The next morning, I woke up to the kids scrounging around in the kitchen for breakfast, and my boyfriend walking in the front door.

“Rough night?” he teased, coming to lean over the back of the couch.

Lifting a hand to my face, I traced the lines the textured throw pillow had left on my cheek. “Kids fell asleep on the floor, so I slept down here,” I rasped groggily.

“I brought doughnuts,” he said, lifting the box with one hand.

“You’re a saint,” I groaned, pushing myself up. “Ronan is going to worship you.”

I checked out the front window to make sure Mom hadn’t somehow snuck in while I was sleeping, but her car wasn’t in the driveway. Grabbing my hand, Richie tugged me with him to the kitchen.

“I smell doughnuts,” Saoirse said instantly, pointing her nose in the air.

“Bloodhound,” Cian muttered.

“Doughnuts!” Aisling yelled. “Yes!”

“Who’s hungry?” Richie asked, setting the box down on the table.

Saoirse, Ronan, and Aisling dove in, but Cian just looked at me from across the kitchen.

“I made coffee,” he said, lifting his own mug.

“Bless you,” I murmured, heading his way. “When did you start drinking coffee?”

“Two years ago.”

“What?” I did a double-take. How did I miss that?

“I hate getting up early,” he muttered. “Grade schoolers don’t mind getting up at the ass crack of dawn. They should be the ones starting early. Middle and high school should start later.”

“No argument there,” I replied, pouring my coffee. “You ready for high school?”

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbled. “I’m gonna get my ass kicked.”

“What? Why?” I stared at him.

“Because I’ll be the youngest one there.”

“Speaking of,” I mused. “Your birthday’s coming up. What do you want to do?”

“Disneyland,” he joked drolly. “Make it happen, yeah?”

“Shut up.” I rolled my eyes. “We can dosomething. What about paintball or something like that? You could invite a couple of friends.”

“Nah, nothin’.”

“We have to do something,” I argued.

“Fine, I want stroganoff for dinner, a carrot cake—the one you make from scratch, none of that box shit—and the TV all to myself for a whole night.”

“That’s the dumbest birthday ever.”

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