"I got tired of waiting, wondering if you were ever coming around," I sang to Dawson. "My strength in you was fading, when I met you on the outskirts of town."

He just stared at me, per usual.

I'm almost certain that he hates me.

I heard the front door open, and I leaned across the counter. "How did it go?"

And then Bryce's dad appeared in the kitchen.

My eyes widened, and Dawson immediately jumped to his feet, letting out a series of barks.

"Down D," I stated.

Dawson continued barking, his tail pointed and his ears laid back.

Bryce's dad was looking between Dawson and me, his eyes wide.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, rounding the counter and grabbing Dawson by the collar, pulling him towards the side door.

Dawson never stopped barking as I pulled him outside, closing the door behind him.

"He's not usually like that," I apologized, turning back around to face Bryce's dad.

Bryce's dad nodded, looking just as confused as I felt.

He definitely wasn't supposed to be here until Monday.

"Would you like a pecan waffle?" I suggested.

"Um, no, thank you though."

"Bryce is out," I explained. "He and Clayton are on a run. They'll be back any moment though."

"That's alright. It's probably better this way."

"You're early. Bryce said you were coming in on Monday."

"My meeting got moved up to tomorrow," he explained, his eyes still flickering around the kitchen.

Probably wondering why I was making breakfast in Bryce's kitchen.

"Well I can-" I started, and then the front door clicked open again.

"There's a car in the driveway!" Clayton's voice called. "Any idea who..." He trailed off as he came into the kitchen, his eyes landing on Bryce's dad. "...that could be," he finished. "Hello."

Bryce's dad nodded.

Clayton was flushed and sweaty, his hair sticking up at odd angles.

"This is Bryce's dad," I said, with a bit of a forced smile. "Mr. Harrison, this is Clayton, Bryce's friend."

Clayton looked over his shoulder, but before he could say anything else, Bryce came into the kitchen.

"Hey there's a car-" Bryce started, but the words died on his lips when he saw his dad.

"Yeah we've established that," Clayton said, with a nod.

An awkward silence filled the kitchen.

"So the guest room," Bryce's dad said, looking around at the three of us. "Where would that be?"

I looked over at Bryce, raising my eyebrows.

Bryce stared back at me.

Clayton nudged Bryce in the side, giving him a look.

Bryce let out a sigh. "It's this way," he muttered, stepping past his dad and storming towards the back.

"A warning would have been nice," Clayton said, once they were out of earshot.

"He walked in here 30 seconds before you guys did."

"As I said, a warning would've been nice."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes Clayton, let me pull out my cell and send you a quick text while there's a guest standing in the kitchen."

"He's not a guest."

"Well what would you call him?"

And then the front door opened again, and Steven came waltzing in.

"Look who finally showed up!" Clayton announced, leaning against the counter.

Steven held up his hands in mock surrender. "Better late than never, right?"

"Well you missed the entire run," Clayton informed him.

"How far?"

He pulled out his phone, checking the distance. "3.1 miles."

Steven shook his head. "Oh damn, too bad."

"But you're here in time for abs."

"Of course, just my luck."

Bryce came out of the back. "Where's Dawson?"

"I put him outside because he wouldn't stop barking at your dad," I informed him.

Bryce headed outside, calling out for Dawson.

"Let's go," Clayton said to Steven.

"Bryce's dad?" Steven asked me. "Does Bryce have one of those?"

"Shut the fuck up!" Bryce called from outside.

I rolled my eyes, pouring the first pecan waffle into the presser. "Just go."

Steven chuckled, following Clayton outside.

I resumed the preparation of my waffles, shaking my head.

After a few minutes, Bryce's dad reappeared in the kitchen.

"Hello," I greeted.

"Have you seen a brown notebook?" he asked me. "I must have put it down somewhere."

I came out from behind the kitchen counter again, helping him look around the living room.

"I don't see it, no," I declined. "Maybe you left it in your car?"

"Maybe," he agreed, jogging out towards the front door.

He looked a little stressed.

I opened up the waffle press, pulling out the first pecan waffle before pouring in the next one.

Feeding three boys and myself takes time.

Bryce's dad came back inside with a leather-bound notebook in hand.

"You found it then?"

He nodded. "It would not have been a good day if I lost this."

I chuckled. "Are you sure you don't want a waffle?"

He shook his head. "Thank you though."

"Well if you change your mind there's plenty to go around."

He peered outside, where the three boys were still working out.

"That's Steven," I said, leaning against the counter. "He's the pitcher for the high school baseball team."

"I thought Bryce was the pitcher?"

Oh. Awkward.

"Yeah."

I didn't really know what to say to that.

"I know he's not thrilled about me staying here," Bryce's dad informed me, with a wry smile. "I tried telling Regina that I'd stay in a hotel. But convincing Regina of anything that isn't her idea is near impossible."

I personally think that it'll be good for Bryce and his dad to stay under the same roof for a week.

But I wouldn't say that out loud to either one of them.

"Regina is pretty stubborn," I agreed, with a slight laugh.

And then the door opened again, and Bryce came inside, Clayton right behind him.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"Get him some water, would you?" Clayton asked me.

"I can get my own water," Bryce informed me, already halfway to the refrigerator.

"And some ice," Clayton added, coming inside himself.

"I can get my own ice as well," Bryce added, pulling out a bottle of water.

Bryce's dad took that moment to disappear, probably back into the guest room.

"What's the matter?" I asked, grabbing a baggie.

"It's hot out there," Steven said, coming inside.

"You let us get distracted between running and abs," Clayton said, taking the baggie from me. "And we forgot to grab some water."

"Wow, everything seems to be my fault today."

"It's not your fault," Bryce declined. "We're perfectly capable of remembering to drink water by ourselves."

"He's mid-Chemo cycle, he needs to stay hydrated," Steven commented.

"Hush," Bryce ordered, looking back for his dad.

Steven looked over his shoulder. "Is it a secret? Does Dawson not know?"

Bryce rolled his eyes, taking the ice bag from Clayton and pressing it against the back of his neck as he leaned against the refrigerator.

"Did you just get overheated?" I asked Bryce.

"He was feeling dizzy," Clayton informed me. "Dizzy and nauseous."

"Go lay down on the couch," I suggested.

"I'll eat your waffle," Steven said. "So it doesn't go cold."

"I'd rather just stand here for a minute," Bryce informed me, his eyes closed.

I slid Steven a plate with the first waffle on it before pulling out the second one.

It was slightly burnt, but not too bad.

"Here Clayton, this one is for you," I said, offering him a smile.

"How thoughtful."

"Oh shit, your dad's here," Steven said, looking back over his shoulder. "Does he not know?"

"Would you stop talking?" Bryce demanded, reopening his eyes.

"Your dad's like this mythical creature. What does he look like?"

Clayton just shook his head.

"Why do we invite him?" Bryce asked Clayton.

"You invited him," Clayton corrected, taking a bite of his crispy waffle while still standing.

I poured the batter for the third waffle. "Love, leaning against the fridge isn't going to help ease the dizziness."

"Actually that depends," Steven piped up. "Are you lightheaded, or is it vertigo?"

"What's the difference?" Bryce muttered.

"Lightheaded is just the feeling that you're going to pass out. Vertigo is when the room is spinning around you."

"Vertigo, definitely vertigo," Bryce said.

"Then standing there is actually the best thing for you," Steven said, before taking a bite of his waffle. "Lying down will only make it worse."

Both Clayton and I stared at him.

"My dad is pretty familiar with Chemo," Steven defended. "After four years, I know the basics."

"Stop saying the word," Bryce muttered.

Steven rolled his eyes. "You should at least tell your dad that you have-"

Clayton reached over and slapped his hand over Steven's mouth. "Keep talking, and I'll kick your ass for him."

Steven held his hands up in mock surrender, and Clayton released him.

"Just my opinion," Steven muttered.

"Your opinion is irrelevant," Bryce stated.

"Take it from a guy who would give anything to spend more time with his dad," Steven said, stabbing his waffle with more force than necessary. "The least you could do is hear yours out."

~*~

"You want me to go and hang out at Clayton's house by myself?" I reiterated.

"We'll be there in ten minutes," Bryce promised. "Clayton just has close up at the shop."

I let out a long sigh, my fingers drumming on my steering wheel. "I don't know, maybe I'll just pull through a Starbucks or something and wait for you guys to get there."

"Taylor's there," Bryce reasoned. "I hang out with Taylor all the time."

"But you know Taylor. I just met him."

"He's cool. You'll be fine. I promise we'll be there ten minutes after you do."

"Bryce Harrison, I swear-"

"Ten minutes," he promised. "But it's going to be longer if I don't start helping Clayton close up."

"Alright, ten minutes," I agreed.

"Love you."

"I love you too."

I hung up, tossing my phone onto the passenger seat as I headed over to Clayton's house.

What do I even say to his dad? I've hung out with Bryce's mom before, but that was different. I'm dating her son.

I pulled into Clayton's driveway, debating whether I should wait here for Bryce or not.

But before I could decide, the porch light flipped on, revealing Clayton's mom.

She took a seat on the front porch, propping her feet up on the banister as she opened up her book. Her eyes glanced up towards my car, her eyebrows raised.

My cover has been blown.

I stepped out, making my way towards the front door.

"Hello dear," she said, with a wave. "Clayton mentioned you'd be coming over."

"Hi."

"Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

I shook my head.

"Take a seat," she said, motioning to the chair next to her.

I did as she asked me to do, her motherly aura helping me to relax a bit.

"Bryce didn't mention you'd be home," I admitted.

"I managed to sneak out of work a bit early," she confessed, taking a sip from her Martini glass. "And Taylor is in there shouting things at the MMA Fight that I don't care much about. So I decided to take my leisurely evening to the porch."

MMA Fights don't interest me much either.

"I suppose I'll have to go back inside momentarily though," she said, with a long sigh. "I'm in the process of boxing up the back room."

"What for?" I asked.

"Redecoration," she informed me. "Right now it's just an old storage room, but we're turning it into a weight room. At least that's the plan, we'll see how long Taylor's motivation lasts."

I couldn't help but laugh.

"Such great hosts we are," she said, offering me a teasing smile. "Clayton invites you over and you're stuck either watching a MMA Fight or boxing up an old storage room."

"I don't mind helping you," I offered. "I know the boys are going to be longer than they said anyways."

"How long did they say?"

"Ten minutes."

She rolled her eyes. "Never trust a man when he gives you a time estimate."

I followed her inside, past Taylor who was throwing some popcorn at the TV while yelling some obscenities.

"They can't hear you dear," Clayton's mom sang.

"They damn sure can," Taylor sang back.

"I'm Clarissa by the way, I don't know that we've officially met," she said, opening the storage room door.

Clarissa, Clyde, and Clayton. I sense a pattern.

"Sophie," I introduced.

"The one who brought Clayton home on that crazy and weird day," she filled in.

I nodded.

"Thank you for that," she said, walking inside the half-boxed and half-messy storage room. "I don't know that I ever officially thanked you, but I can't ever repay you for bringing him home in one piece."

"It was Bryce really. I was just the messenger."

She just offered me a smile, resting her Martini glass on the computer desk. "So as you can tell, we haven't gotten very far."

"How long have you been working?"

"Oh, about three weeks now."

I couldn't help but laugh.

"I know, I know," she defended, laughing as well. "But Clayton and Taylor aren't very good helpers."

I wouldn't guess so.

"I'm basically just sorting through the stuff in these closets," she said, gesturing towards the two doors on the opposite wall. "Most of it's junk, and it goes in those trash bags," she said, pointing to the box of trash bags on the floor. "But there is some stuff in there worth saving, which is what gets boxed."

"How do you know what's worth it?"

"I'll be right next to you. It'll be like a trip down memory lane."

Oh boy.

She threw open the two doors to reveal a closet stuffed with papers, folders and miscellaneous junk.

It was worse than cleaning up for Mrs. Wilcott's summer camp, and that was saying something.

Clarissa let out a low whistle.

"Let's just start on the left?" I suggested.

She nodded, taking a pile of papers and plopping down on the floor.

We began to sort through various crayon artwork and macaroni pictures.

"Oh look at this one," Clarissa said, showing me a piece of artwork. "I think it's a dog."

It wasn't the dog that caught my attention; it was the name at the top.

It wasn't Clayton Johnson. It was Clayton Simmons.

"I should trash it, shouldn't I?" she asked me. "Clayton would say yes."

"These are your memories," I reminded her. "If you want to save them, then you should."

"You're right," she agreed, tossing it into the box behind it. "These are all I'll have left of my little boy when he's gone."

Oh boy, I feel a crying session coming.

But I guess I judged Clarissa wrong.

She just moved onto the next piece of paper, which was another piece of artwork.

With the name Clayton Simmons at the top.

"I love the way he writes his name," she said, acknowledging the thing I couldn't stop staring at. "The way that the Y is bigger than all the other letters combined."

I wanted her to comment on the last name so that I wouldn't have to.

And she stared at it for a few moments, but she didn't comment, tossing it into the box behind her.

Simmons must be Clyde's last name. And Johnson must be Taylor's. That's the only explanation I could possibly think of.

And when Taylor adopted Clayton, he just took on a new last name.

The storage room door opened, and Bryce and Clayton walked in.

"You roped Sophie into helping you?" Clayton asked, with an amused smirk.

"Look at this," Clarissa said, holding up a piece of macaroni artwork. "It's me. You made me."

"Looks just like you," Clayton mused, taking a seat next to her.

Bryce leaned against the doorframe.

"Who taught me how to write my name?" Clayton asked, studying the paper.

"Isn't it just the cutest?"

"Look at the S in Simmons," Clayton pointed out.

Finally, someone acknowledges it.

"It looks like I started at the bottom and went to the top," he continued.

"You did," Clarissa said, with a laugh. "And no one could teach you otherwise. You did that all through elementary school."

"I don't remember that," Clayton declined, tossing the artwork in the trash bag.

"No!" Clarissa exclaimed, pulling it back out and saving it.

"You can't save all of this," Clayton reasoned. "That's why we're cleaning it out."

"I'm saving your artwork," she defended.

He rolled his eyes but didn't argue, pulling out a different section of the storage closet.

Bryce came and joined us, looking at some of the pieces in my pile.

I had a drawing of his family, which consisted of his parents and him. I had a feeling this was Clyde and not Taylor. And judging by the look on Clarissa's face, I was to trash this one.

Clayton didn't even acknowledge the picture as he sorted through the pile he'd just pulled out of the closet.

"What's this?" Clarissa asked, pulling out a bright yellow folder.

Clayton shrugged, watching as she opened it up.

She pulled a few of the papers out, chuckling. "The fireman is holding a hose because," she read off.

Clayton rolled his eyes.

"The astronaut is happy because," she continued. "The vet is helping the dog because."

"The vet is helping the dog because he doesn't want it to die," Clayton deadpanned.

"That's not nice," Clarissa chastised.

He took the paper back, tucking it back into the folder and tossing it into the trash.

"That was a part of your childhood," Clarissa chastised.

"And now it's not."

Bryce took the purple-colored folder, flipping through it. "I remember doing these."

"Remember how we used to have to bribe Clayton with Oreos?" Clarissa reminded him.

Bryce nodded, laughing.

I peeked over Bryce's shoulder.

They were speech therapy exercises.

"I used to have to do these exercises with him just so he'd do them," Bryce said, with a half-smile. "And then I ended up having to do them for myself."

He only continued speech therapy on Clayton's urging, otherwise he would've dropped out.

Clayton didn't meet my eyes as I looked back over at him. He just continued to flip through the papers in his lap, his jaw shifting.

Bryce tossed the purple folder in the trash as well.

"Oh look, it's your first story," Clarissa gushed.

"No," Clayton declined.

"It's one of those fill in the blanks," Clarissa informed Bryce and me.

Clayton let out an audible sigh.

"One day mommy and..." she paused for a moment. "One day mommy and daddy decided to jump while on their summer vacation."

I couldn't help but laugh.

"Mommy grabbed a crayon and hit the road."

"That's reasonable," Bryce agreed.

Clayton rolled his eyes.

"Mommy thought they should sleep which daddy thought was very wild."

I couldn't help but bust out into laughter, Bryce burying his head into my shoulder.

"Funny," Clayton deadpanned.

"It's summer vacation, we have to eat, mommy exclaimed."

"That one makes sense," I said, still laughing a little.

"While one their journey, mommy saw a duck climbing a rock and that scared daddy."

I busted out into laughter again, and even Clayton cracked a smile at that.