Page 31 of Heartstring

“Thank you, Dad.”

He puts the pan on the stove to make the pancakes. “So, have you got any special plans for today?”

“Nah, just hanging out with Mik.”

“How about I take you boys to that diner on the way to Royal Oaks. My treat.”

“Really? I get pancakes twice in one day?”

He laughs, and I love the sound so much. It’s like none of the bad stuff exists. No noose around his neck or impending loss around mine.

“I’m counting the days to when you’ll be too cool to hang out with your old man, so I’ll take what I can. Even if it means feeding you pancakes twice.”

“Nah, Dad. I’ll always want to hang out with you.”

A knock on the door makes my stomach contract, a rush of heat spreading over my entire body.

“Uh-huh, sure you will,” Dad says, smirking. “Go on. Don’t let him wait.”

I don’t even care how obvious I am. I rush to the door and open it so quickly Mik takes a step back, laughing.

“Jeez, Ty. I think I may have shit my pants.”

I take his hand and pull him closer until we’re chest-to-chest.

“If you want, I can help you check your pants upstairs.”

His magnetic eyes land on my lips, but before I can take the kiss I desperately want, my dad shouts from the kitchen, “Does Mik also want pancakes?”

Mik’s expression changes immediately, and he answers, “Yes, please.”

I sigh. “Come on in then.”

“Don’t sulk, Ty. I promise to make it up to you later.”

His low voice reaches deep inside me, more specifically, the lower parts that are wondering which of the things on oursex listwe’ll tick off today.

We join my dad in the kitchen, where a tall stack of pancakes sits on a plate in the middle of the table. There’s also chocolate sauce, maple syrup, and a bunch of fruit.

“It’s a little much, but you’ll be at college for your next birthday, so I wanted to make it special,” Dad says.

“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll be here.”

He looks at me like he wants to argue against it, but I change the subject.

“What’s more important is that now that I’m finally eighteen, we’re allowed to play at the open mic nights.” I turn to Mik. “And the next one is at Stu’s Bar in two weeks. I think we should go.”

Mik smiles wide. “Really? You think we’re good enough?”

“Son, you’re more than good enough. Take the word of a weathered musician. Many bands would kill to have someone with the talent you two have. Sure, you need more practice and you’re still young, but what you have can’t be taught.”

We both preen under my dad’s words. The conversation shifts into music, guitars, and what songs to play at the open mic night, but as much as I try to participate, there are two very important things on my mind.

I haven’t told my dad I’m going to stay home with him instead of going to college.

I haven’t told Mik I’m not going to college with him, so I can stay home with my dad.

“There’s something on your mind,” Mik whispers as he follows me up the stairs to my room that evening.