Chapter 4 - The Maple Syrup Truce
The neon sign of the Starlight Diner hummed with a cracked, buzzing buzz that cut through the predawn fog along Highway 9. Inside, the booth was covered in cracked red vinyl patched with duct tape, smelling of stale coffee grounds, griddle grease, and bleached linoleum. It felt like heaven.
Kaden sat across from me, his shoulders slumped beneath his oversized Carhartt jacket, his knuckles pale where they held the ceramic mug of hot chocolate. The steam curled between us, softening the sharp, wounded edge in his eyes.
"Eat up, buddy," I said, sliding the ceramic plate toward him.
The stack of blueberry pancakes was almost structural—four inches of golden batter bleeding violet syrup, topped with melting butter that ran down the sides like fresh grout. Kaden stared at it for a long second, then picked up his fork. He didn't eat like a private academy golden boy. He ate like a boy who had been starved for warmth, cutting off huge wedges and chewing with the desperate intensity of someone trying to fill an empty void in his chest.
"She told me you were drinking again," Kaden said between bites, his voice cracking slightly on the last word. He kept his eyes glued to the plate. "Back in August. Before she shipped me off to St. Jude’s. She said you fell apart after the Cedar Ridge bid fell through. Said you were sleeping in the truck bed and smashing up drywall in the garage."
My throat tightened, the bitter taste of betrayal sharper than the black coffee in my cup. "I lost the Cedar Ridge bid because Spencer bought out the prime subcontractor three days before the deadline, Kaden. I didn't drink. I worked eighteen-hour shifts framing duplexes in North County so we wouldn't miss a single tuition payment."
Kaden looked up, his jaw set, a sudden glimmer of hot tears catching the fluorescent diner light. "I believed her, Dad. That’s what kills me. She had the paperwork from the clinic in her purse. She showed me a prescription printout with your name on it."
"She had access to my medical portal," I replied, keeping my voice level, anchoring him against the storm. "She’s been laying track for this train wreck for at least nine months. It’s called building a custody profile. Dale Whitmore’s specialty."
Kaden let out a shuddering breath and put his fork down. "She made me feel like I was crazy for missing you. Every time I asked why you hadn't called, she told me you were too sick to talk. But Spencer was always there. Spencer brought me a new laptop. Spencer took me golfing. It felt like being swallowed by plastic wrap."
"You're out of the wrap now," I said firmly, leaning forward and resting both hands flat on the table between us. "Listen to me, Kaden. We go home tonight. The house is a mess because she stripped it, but the roof doesn't leak and the locks are being changed by noon tomorrow. Monday morning, Whitmore is going to file emergency petitions. Spencer is going to use his bankroll to choke my supplier lines. It’s going to get ugly before it gets clean. Are you ready for that?"
Kaden wiped his cheek with the cuff of his flannel sleeve, then picked up his fork again, stabbing another bite of pancake. "I know how to swing a hammer, Dad. You taught me that when I was ten."
A knot in my sternum unraveled. "Good. Because tomorrow, we tear out the rot."
May you like
Outside the window, the first sliver of dawn was cutting across the asphalt, cold, gray, and unforgiving. But for the first time in seven months, the passenger seat of my truck wasn't empty, and the silence had finally stopped lying.
***
