Page 6 of Rebellious

Asp.

His nickname for her is a punch straight to the gut. My little angel, the little girl I taught to throw a ball and beat her brother’s ass on the PlayStation, is someone’s Asp.

My eyes narrow to slits, but then my daughter returns with, “No, thanks,” like she has some say in the matter.

“Aspen,” I snap.

Really?

It’s been one exhausting night. Dealing with Jameson was difficult enough. His PTSD cripples everyone when it hits him. The last thing I want is to argue with a nine-year-old about sleeping arrangements.

“Please, Aspen,” Breck interrupts, sliding under the covers next to Bennett.

Aspen shakes her head. “No, he needs me to sleep.”

He needs a fucking teddy bear is what he needs, not my daughter.

“I know, sweetheart, but just tonight, let me sleep with Bennett? I promise, I’ll protect him until you get back.”

I roll my eyes at my neighbor, who has more patience than I do. We shouldn’t have to negotiate with our children; yet, here we are, Breck begging to lie with Bennett and me impatiently waiting for Aspen to agree to come home.

Aspen lifts her head and eyes Breck like she’s assessing if Breck can really care for her own child better than she can.

She gets that defiant attitude from her mother.

“In three hours, you’ll be back together,” Breck adds, hoping a countdown will seal the deal.

Aspen turns and looks at Bennett, who is now sitting up looking like someone took a shit on his LEGO bricks. At first, I think it’s because I’m forcing Aspen away, but then he barks, “Go, Aspen!”

I take an instinctive step forward before Breck’s calm voice stops me. “Aspen, your daddy looks tired. I think he might need you to take him home. I promise, I’ll take care of grumpy Bennett.” She rumples Bennett’s hair, and it only serves to deepen his frown.

Grumpy Bennettbetter get some rest because if he barks at my little girl again, I’m going to bark back. I nod to Breck and grab Aspen while she’s stunned at Bennett’s reaction. Hoisting her over my shoulder, I grab a blanket, draping it over her back. “Tell Bennett goodnight,” I say, as we walk toward the door.

When she doesn’t speak, I look back and see Bennett has rolled to the edge of the bed, his back to us. Breck and I share a confused look.

“Bennett?” Breck asks. “Aspen is leaving. Do you want to tell her goodnight?”

He doesn’t move, and Breck adds, “I think he fell asleep, sweetheart.”

“He’s not asleep,” the little girl on my shoulder whispers.

I don’t have another heart-to-heart in me tonight. Aspen and Bennett will be fine in the morning. “Bye, B,” I mutter. “Don’t let Jameson fall asleep. He owes me a run.”

Breck nods, and I hurry out the door until I’m pulled to a stop, my chest fracturing into tiny pieces when Aspen cries, “Goodbye, Bennett.”

No touching—unless absolutely necessary

Aspen

All I requested was one last night with my boys before graduation.

No chicks.

No sleepovers.

Just booze and more booze.

And maybe a bit of dancing.

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