Three

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Aaron, he asked for you

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Aaron, he asked for you. D.

I stare at my phone for a few seconds, blinking. Fuck, I shouldn't have read the text my colleague sent me just before I got to my dad's house. I'm already on edge with the rumors that have been flying around at work lately, and now I'm sure I'll snap at the smallest thing. I'm supposed to fix my father's pool filter system today, but I don't think I can concentrate on anything right now.

"Dad?" I call as I step through the front door.

"Hey, son." My dad walks out of the living room to greet me. "Thanks for coming by."

"Sure," is all I say as I follow him into the kitchen. Damn, I need a drink. I could use an ice cold beer right now, but I shouldn't have alcohol before noon. It's an already unbearable 80°F out, and it's only 10am on a day in June. I don't usually mind the heat, but I prefer to hang around a pool surrounded by some gorgeous women in skimpy bikinis and a cocktail in my hand to endure it.

My dad grabs some glasses while I go to the fridge to get some water. When I open the fridge, my gaze falls on the many containers that are stacked inside. "Fucking shit, Dad! What's with all this food? Where did you get that?" I turn to him with a glare before spotting the cookies on the kitchen isle. "And those!" Then I open a box that sits on the countertop next to the stove. "Damn," I mutter when I look at the cake inside the box. "Dad! You're supposed to watch your diet. All this sugar is gonna kill you."

My dad shakes his head with a chuckle. "Relax, son. I appreciate your concern, but I swear I don't eat all of that. At least not all at once. Kaitlyn's just such an amazing cook."

"Who the fuck is Kaitlyn?"

"She's Jannie's niece."

"Jannie? Your girlfriend from next door?"

He rolls his eyes. "She's not my girlfriend, but yes. And Kaitlyn is spending the summer here to house-sit while Jannie is gone on a work trip."

"Did you tell her you have diabetes and shouldn't eat all this crap?"

He lifts his hand. "Aaron, calm down."

"Fuck," I growl. I grab the box with the cake and storm out of the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" my dad calls after me.

"To give this woman a piece of my mind."

"Aaron, wait! You don't-"

I don't give him a chance to say any more. I'm so mad right now. My dad has been having trouble with his diabetes ever since he was diagnosed about two-and-a-half years ago, and even though we don't have the best father-son-relationship, finding him dead on his kitchen floor from eating too much sugar isn't exactly something I'm looking forward to. And throw in his minor heart and liver problems, he's a ticking time bomb.

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