Dirty Dreams novel · Chapter 23 of 24

Chapter 23: The Kitchen Table

At nine o'clock exactly, the five of us stood in the kitchen with our hands at our sides.

Brody had put on a shirt with a collar.

Wyatt had combed his hair.

Tate looked the same as he always did, and Dylan looked like a boy who hadn't slept.

My mother sat at the table with a mug of coffee.

Dylan's dad sat across from her, with his big hands flat on the wood and his face closed.

Nobody offered us chairs.

"Your mother told me twenty minutes ago," Dylan's dad said, to the table. "On the porch, with the bags still in my hands. I haven't been able to sit still since."

"Sir," Brody began.

"Not you yet."

Brody shut his mouth.

Dylan's dad looked up, and his eyes went to each of us in turn.

They stopped on his son.

"Is it true?"

"Yes," Dylan said.

"All of it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Whose idea?"

"Mine," I said.

"Mine too," Dylan said.

"It was all of ours," Wyatt said, in a voice that cracked at the end.

His father held up a hand.

"I'll tell you what I'm not going to do," he said. "I'm not going to shout about what you did. Dylan, you're eighteen. Kenna, you're nineteen. You're not related, and none of you is a child, whatever I'd prefer."

My shoulders lowered an inch.

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