Page 94 of Meet Dare

I have a sneaking suspicion I know exactly what they’re doing here. I’m going to kick my big brother’s ass the next time I see him.

“Well, son, are you going to stand there staring at us all day or let us in?” Dad asks.

Mom doesn’t wait for my reply before pushing her way inside. “Where’s my hug?”

She throws her arms around me and pulls me close. I hesitate for a second before wrapping myself around her and laying my cheek on top of her head.

“It’s a good thing we’re staying with Rowan because there’s no way the three of us would fit in here,” Dad says, and I step away from Mom.

I feign not knowing why they’re here. “Are you here to visit Patience?”

Mom fists her hands at her hip. “Are we here to visit Patience?”

I glance at Dad since I know better than to answer her. He shrugs. Apparently, he doesn’t have a response either.

“Shall I make some coffee?”

“I’ll make it,” Mom says before she marches to the kitchen. She sets her purse down on the counter and purses her lips as she studies the area.

“At least it’s better than the van you lived in when you were in Oregon,” she mutters as she opens and shuts cupboards until she locates the coffee and some mugs.

“The van was only temporary,” I say.

“Temporary?” She snorts. “What isn’t temporary in your life?”

“This tiny house isn’t temporary,” I argue. “It’s perfect for me, and it’s completely off grid.”

“And way too small for a family.”

I rub a hand over my beard. “Aren’t you supposed to give me a break since you already have one grandchild?”

“Nope. I want tons of the little critters running around the house.”

“Critters?” I force a chuckle. “Are we discussing grandchildren or mice?”

“Enough!” Mom slams the kettle down on the stove and promptly bursts into tears.

Shit. I stand to go to her, but Dad stops me. “I got this.”

Dad folds Mom into his arms. He whispers in her ear as he rocks her back and forth. Envy burns in my stomach and I haveto look away. What they have is exactly what I want with Cassie. But I haven’t heard from her since she stormed out of here over a week ago. I’ve phoned. I’ve messaged. No response.

Dad leads Mom to the sofa to sit down and I stand to finish making the coffee. While it brews, I try to think of how to get out of this situation. I don’t want to hurt my parents by telling them what I overheard. What good could possibly come of it?

“Nuh-uh,” Mom says when I hand her a mug of coffee.

“You don’t want a coffee?”

She points to me. “Whatever you’re thinking in that big old brain of yours is wrong.”

I grab a chair from the kitchen table and drag it over to the sofa while I consider how much to tell them.

“Stop procrastinating.”

I take a sip of coffee before answering, “I’m not procrastinating.” I am, but apparently, I’m not very good at it.

Mom sets her coffee on the table. “Rowan told us.”

“Told you what?” I hedge.

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