The restaurant is as nice on the inside as it was the outside. Dark red carpet covers the floor, and the heavy wood tables are draped with matching tablecloths. Candles are the primary source of light, but a few light fixtures are mounted on the walls and one grand chandelier in the middle of the room. The windows are covered with sheer curtains. I watch them from my table in the back corner of the restaurant after checking my watch.

Claire is ten minutes late for our first date, and I can't help but fear that I've been stood up. The traffic isn't bad and I was told she doesn't have any kids, so I don't know what could make her late. Maybe she's having car trouble, or maybe she got stuck at the train tracks.

After five more minutes, a young girl walks in. I sigh when I see how she's dressed. Tall heels, low top, high skirt. If she drops the gold-colored clutch purse she's carrying, she won't be able to pick it up without exposing her panties, if she's even wearing any. She speaks to the waiter, and soon is strutting over to me. I take a big gulp of my wine in an attempt to loosen up. Damon told me Claire was a modest, funny young lady. This girls outfit is far from modest, and she looks around twenty years old. At thirty-eight years myself, she looks far too young for me.

"Hello, Owen." She says with a flirty smile. I stand, smile back and pull her chair out for her.

"You must be Claire." I respond as she sits. I retake my seat. "It's nice to meet you."

She waists no time in scanning the menu. She talks as she does, saying she's late because her favorite skirt ripped and she had to change her entire outfit. I take another sip of wine. As she looks over the menu, she questions the names of the entrees and snaps her gum, a major pet peeve of mine. She finally settles on the most expensive meal: a massive steak.

"So you know Damon," she says. I nod.

"We work together."

"So are you one of those men who wear a suit to work or are you like, a janitor or something?"

"I'm a marketing engineer." I say. She lifts one brow at me, as if she's confused. "I'm one who wears a suit to work."

"What do you do?"

"I deal with the companies marketing strategy."

"Oh. That's nice." She says, her attention wavering from me to the dessert menu on our table. "Does it pay well?"

I hold back a groan. In this little town, everyone knows everyone's business, so I was excited when Damon said this girl he was setting me up with lived one town over. With most of the men around here working in factories and garages, the thought of a business man raised many questions, the most common of those concerning my salary.

"It pays the bills." I answer simply.

"Just the bills?"

"I have student loans, two car payments, and a mortgage." I tell her. "I have to make sure my debts are being paid."

"I guess so." She shrugs.

"So what do you do?"

"Oh, I don't work." She says. "I babysit for cash."

"You must do a lot of babysitting."

"Only three days a week. I live with my parents, so I don't have to worry about car payments and mortgages."

I nod slowly. She's totally jail bate.

The waiter comes over and takes our order. She asks for a margarita, and the waiter has to card her. I hide my face as she digs through her clutch. He didn't even question my age. What must he think of me, on a date with such a young girl? I'll have to find a way to let him know it's a blind date.

She finds her license and to my surprise, she's twenty five. That's still a thirteen year difference.

Once the waiter leaves, she starts questioning me, but never let's me answer. She asks about the two cars I mentioned, then tells me about her light purple Cadillac convertible. She goes on to ask about my college degrees, my house, and my favorite parts of town, and follows her questions by telling me about her high school diploma, how her parents house is too small, and that she loves the night club down town.

Our food comes and I hoped that maybe having food in front of her would slow her down. It doesn't, though. She just takes a second to spit her gum into a napkin before continuing. Just as she spoke while chewing her gum, Claire keeps chatting while chewing her food.

"So I really like going to Style Zone to get my hair done, but my niece works at Beauty Boutique, so she expects me to let her do my hair, but she's really not that good of a stylist. She always cuts my bangs crooked. But it's my sisters kid. How in the world am I going to tell her why I won't go to the Boutique?"

"That is quite the predicament." I sigh.

"And the lady I go to at Style Zone, Lesley's her name, knows exactly what I like done. I've been going to her for two years now, and-"

Claire's sentence is interrupted by my ringing phone. I glance at the number.

"I'm sorry, Claire, but I have to take this." I say. She looks offended, but I don't really care at this point. The call is more important than her hair. "Hey, Clay, what's up?"

Hey Dad, can I go over to Heather's house?

"You're watching your brothers." I remind the teenage boy on the other line.

But it's Heather Boylan!

"She sounds lovely, but you're watching you're brothers tonight."

Fine. I won't go. Clay huffs and hangs up on me. I chuckle.

"That was my oldest boy. He's babysitting for me tonight." I say as I set my phone on the table. It wouldn't surprise me if Clay calls again with an argument of why I should let him go to Heather's house.

"You have kids?" Claire asks, sounding repulsed. I nod.

"Three boys. Clayton, Ethan and Koby." I smile, pull out my wallet and slide out the four pictures I keep amongst my credit cards. I had them to her. "The dark haired boy is Clayton. He's fourteen. He wrestles, and he's won almost every match he's been in."

She nods unenthusiastically, but I keep going any ways. I've listened to her stories for a half hour, she can hear about my boys for ten minutes. She flips to the next picture.

"That's Koby. He's ten. He's a little cutie. And a bit of a Daddy's boy." I chuckle. "He's shy, but kind hearted."

"He is cute." She mumbles before looking at the third picture.

"And Ethan. He's too smart for his own good. Twelve years old. He's been on the honor roll sense the first grade."

She nods and flips to the last picture, then eyes me suspiciously. I sigh, but not out of annoyance. The picture is the last family photo we had taken before my beautiful wife Emily passed away. We were on our front lawn, Emily sitting in front of me, and me kneeling behind her. Koby is sitting next to Emily and her arm is draped over his shoulder. He's leaned into her, wearing his shy smile. To my left is Clay. He's standing tall with his shoulders rolled back, his nose in the air and a smirk on his face. Ethan is to my right, showing off his famous half-smile that he always gives. We're all in jeans and white polos. Cheesy outfits, but a wonderful picture.

"That's my wife. She passed away two years ago." I explain. Claire doesn't even nod this time. She just shoves the pictures back to me.

We eat in silence and I can't tear my mind from the picture.

Ethan looks so much like Emily. He's our only biological child, and was the spitting image of his mother. His light blond hair curled slightly and his pale blue eye were full of mischief. From pictures I've seen of Emily when she was a child, she always had that same trouble causing look in her eyes. Everything from his hair line to his jaw line is purely Emily other than his smile. That's the only physical trait he got from me. Now his hair isn't as pale and his freckles are fading. He's lost the little bit of baby fat that surrounded his face. He still looks like Emily, though.

Clay still looks the same as he did in the picture, just taller. My smug son was born to show off. He's always been the cocky one, but he could always back it up. His black hair is still only half an inch long. He won't accept anything else. His skin is tanned and his body is tall and lean. His level of charisma is baffling. It's like he's never met a stranger before. Clay could befriend anyone.

And my little Koby. He's changed the most in looks. He was a little chubby because he had the tendency to deal with his anxiety by finding comfort in food. In the picture, his brown hair was a dull, mousy color and he was short for his age. Now he's thinned out and grew taller. His brown hair slowly gained more highlights in it as he learned to love the outdoors. You can still see the demons he's fighting in those blue eyes, though, but I've come to accept that that will never change. He's seen and been through too much.

And my lovely Emily. She was my everything. I asked her out six times before she finally agreed. We married after dating for two years. We tried to have kids, but she couldn't seem to get pregnant. We decided to adopt instead of going through fertility treatments. Clay came to us when he was eleven weeks old, and has been with us ever sense. Ethan was our miracle baby. We never thought we would ever have our own child, but we did. The pregnancy was rough and we feared that we would lose him, but Emily pulled through and delivered a healthy baby. When Ethan was seven, we decided we wanted one more. Koby came to us from a horrific past. It took a while to gain his trust, but once we did, we knew he was meant to be part of our family. Emily loved our boys with all of her heart. When she passed, I didn't know how I was going to raise the three of them by myself. I don't think I'm doing half bad, though.

My phone rings again, pulling me from my thoughts. Just as I expected, it's Clay again.

"What's up, buddy?" I ask.

Can Heather come over here?

"No. You're watching your brothers." I say. Claire glances up at me and rolls her eyes. "You need to keep your eyes on them, not on this Heather girl."

This so isn't fair! They don't even need babysitters. They're old enough to stay home by themselves!

"If you keep complaint then I won't pay you." I threaten.

Fine. Clay huffs and hangs up again.

After a few minutes of silence, Claire starts chatting about the weather. We make small talk until we're done eating. I pay the bill and walk her to the car. Our goodbye is short and not personal. I have no worries of a second date being set up. She seemed to have as lousy of a time as I did.

I get in my car and pull out the picture of my family. Who wants to date a man who still carries a picture of his departed wife? So far, I've found no one. Maybe I'm meant to be alone.

My phone rings a third time.

"Clay, what is it?" I ask.

Koby wants to know how your date is going. Clay says. I can hear Koby in near hysterics in the background.

No! Clay, stop calling him! He's going to be so mad!

"Clay, stop torturing Koby." I say.

Aw, we're just messing around.

"He sounds like he's about to cry. That type of messing around will get you grounded for the weekend. That means no wrestling practice." I warn. At the threat of keeping him from wrestling, Clay's attitude instantly changes.

Sorry, Dad.

"Let me talk to Koby."

Koby, chill out so Dad can talk to you.

Hello? Koby says in barely a whisper.

"Hey buddy. How's your night?"

Are you mad, Daddy?

"No, I'm not mad. I love getting calls from my boys." I say with a smile.

When will you be home?

"I'm in my car right now. I'll be pulling out of the parking lot as soon as we're off the phone."

Be careful! It's suppose to rain.

"It's not suppose to rain until eleven, son. I'll be home by ten."

But what if it comes early? He asks frantically.

"Koby,"

Just because they said it would come at eleven doesn't mean it will!

"Koby," I repeat in a singsong voice.

If it rains at ten, you won't be home and then-

"Koby!" I snap at him this time, sounding much harsher than I like to be with him. He's going to go into a fit if he doesn't calm down, though.

You're mad. He whimpers.

"No, but you need to calm down. Nothing is going to happen to me. I'll be home by ten."

Promise?

"Promise." I say on a nicer tone. "I'll be home soon."

Okay. I'll see you soon.

"I'll be home in thirty minutes. I'll see you in no time."

We hang up, and get a small smile. I won't ever be alone. I will always have my boys.

2: Chapter 2

"Dad, Ethan's being mean!" Koby calls from inside the living room. I groan.

"Ethan! Get your ass in here!"

"Little snitch," Ethan grumbles. He drags his feet into the kitchen. I point to the other side of the bar where three stools stand. Ethan knows the drill. He's been in trouble from the day he was born. Pulling a stool out, he plops down and slumps over the counter.

"Why do you have to torture your brother?" I ask.

"I wasn't torturing him!"

"What were you doing?"

"Nothing." He mumbles.

"I don't believe that." I say. He rolls his eyes.

I continue to dry the dishes on the other side of the bar. Ethan glares at me as I put cups and plates away in the top cupboards. I'm used to it, though. His attitude already sucks at fourteen years old, and I can't help but cringe when I think of the upcoming years. Clayton got a car for his sixteenth birthday a few months ago, but I don't trust Ethan with such a big responsibility. If Ethan has a car of his own, then once he gets mad he'll take off. The last thing I need is an angry driver.

"Did you see the neighbors are moving?" I ask him. He shrugs. "Hopefully a nicer family moves in. Someone who doesn't complain about Nugget."

"You complain about Nugget all the time." Ethan scoffs.

"That's different. He's our dog, we can complain about him. Others can't."

"He's a pain in the ass, and that's that."

"Yeah, but Koby loves him."

"But he's so old. He's going to be biting the dust soon."

"Hush!" I say quickly, earning another eye roll. "Don't talk like that! You know it upsets Koby."

Nugget is our old Irish Wolfhound. At one-hundred and twenty pounds, he's no lap dog, but is as gentle as can be. Koby fell in love with Nugget, and they've been inseparable from day one. The old gray dog is able to calm my nervous boy like nothing else.

"Clay has a wrestling seminar this weekend. Are you coming with us?"

"Uh, no." Ethan chuckles. "I wouldn't be caught dead at a wrestling seminar."

"You could come to support Clay. Not everything is about you, you know." I say, half joking, half serious. Ethan rolls his eyes once again.

"Hell no. Wrestling sucks."

"Fine. Don't come." I shrug. I know if I make a big deal over him not coming with me and his brothers, it will do nothing but encourage him to stay home. "You know the rules while we're gone."

"Yes, Dad." He groans.

"Tell me."

"No girls over, no more than two friends over at a time, everyone gone by ten, no staying out past-"

"Dad!" Clay's voice cuts Ethan off. Ethan simply huffs, folds his arms on the counter and lays his head on them. "Dad, we need your help!"

I hurry out of the room without bothering to look at Ethan. I'm sure he's in no hurry to help out.

In the living room, Clay is in the doorway with a woman in black capri leggings and a purple hooded jacket. She holds one foot up as Clay guides her to the couch. Her breathing is shallow and her arms shake. Koby is sitting on the other side of the couch. Nugget jumps on the furniture, putting himself between Koby and the woman.

"What happened?" I ask and go over to Clay and the woman. I realize quickly why she was holding her leg up as Clay walked her in. Her calf is dripping with blood from two deep, semi-circle wounds.

"It was the Yacci's chocolate lab. She was jogging past our place and the damn thing ran up and bit her!" Clay explains. The lady nods, but is too busy trying to breath to respond.

"Damn it." I mumble. This woman is the third person the Yacci's dog has bit. "Koby, go get the first-aid kit! Ethan, bring me a towel!"

I hear Ethan groan, but I also hear his chair scraping against the ground. Koby instantly jumps off the couch and runs upstairs to get the kit from the boys' bathroom. Nugget follows right behind him.

"It looks pretty deep." Clay says worriedly. I sigh.

"She'll need stitches." I tell him, then look up at her. Her brown hair is pulled tight in a ponytail, her pale face has a coating of sweat and tears. "Do you have a phone on you?"

"No," She says quickly, shaking her head.

"Get the phone, Clay." I instruct. Clay lunges across the room, snatches the phone off the end table and passes it to me. I hand it to the woman. "Call whoever needs to know you're not coming home right away."

She shakes her head again and sets the phone on the couch.

"Live alone." She whimpers.

"Oh." I say.

Ethan comes with a towel and Koby comes with the kit. I wrap her calf with the towel. Koby opens the plastic box containing the first aid supplies and instantly backs off. Ethan eyes us, offering no help. Thankfully, Clay stays by my side. When I ask for tape, he has it ready. We secure the towel on her leg, and Clay helps me get her to her feet again.

"Are you okay with me driving you to the hospital?" I ask. She nods.

"Please, this hurts like a-" She starts to say something, but instantly cuts herself off with a groan. Clay opens the front door, then returns to her other side to help me get her to the car. Just like he did with the front door, he jumps to the car and opens the passenger door before helping me set her in the seat.

"Clay, I need you to stay here with your brothers." I tell him once this woman is in the car.

"But the doctors will want to know what happened!" He protests.

"I'll tell them. And once she calms down, she'll be able to tell them. But you have to stay home." I explain. He groans. "You know we can't leave Ethan with Koby."

"Fine. But this will cost you."

"You'll get forty bucks. Now go." I give him a pat on the back, and he turns and heads back into house. I go to the drivers side of the car, climb in and pull out of the driveway.

Things get awkward real quick in the car. I don't even know this woman's name, and I'm taking her to the hospital. That bite is a bad one, though. She has to go.

"What's your name?" I ask her. She sucks in a shallow breath before answering

"Chrystal."

"I'm Owen."

"Good to meet you," She mumbles and keeps her eyes glued on her wrapped up leg.

I assume our conversation is done- I can't expect too much conversation right now- but she shocks me when she starts asking me questions.

"Clay's the one who took me inside?"

"Yeah."

"Is he the oldest?"

"Yes. He's sixteen."

"What about the other two?"

"Ethan brought the towel, and Koby brought the first aid kit."

"How old are they?"

"Ethan's fourteen and Koby's twelve."

"Okay," She nods, but when I hit a pothole, she winces and bites her lip.

"I'm sorry!" I apologize quickly. She shakes her head, then rushes out her next question.

"Was that his car he was washing?"

"What?"

"Clay. He was washing a car." Chrystal grunts out. "Sorry for prying. Talking just distracts from the pain."

"No problem. Yeah, that was Clay's car."

"Looked like it was in good shape."

"He takes very good care of it. It's his baby."

"I have a Ford Focus." She says. "Red. 2000. Twenty-five miles per gallon."

"Those are good cars."

"Not mine, but it gets me where I need to be. Most of the time." She takes a deep breath. "Does your wife know where you're going?"

"My wife passed away two years ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"No husband?" I ask her, changing the focus of our subject. Talking about cars with a stranger is one thing, but I don't want to tell her about Emily. Too early.

"Just an ex." She groans. "That's why I moved here."

"Sorry to hear it didn't work out."

"Life is better with us apart."

She goes on to tell me about this ex of hers, the house he now lives in, his lack of job experience and work ethic. That leads to questions about my job. As she talks, I can tell that doing so really is distracting her from the pain. I answer everything, and she starts talking about her stay-at-home job. She works customer service for a phone company and it works well for her because her Focus always breaks down.

We pull up to the hospital and I park the car at the curb. I run over to Chrystal's side, open her door and help support her weight as she hobbles in. The nurses see us and instantly has a wheelchair ready. They ask her to fill out a form, and it must be enough to keep her distracted from the pain, because she doesn't ask anymore questions.

They take her away, and I'm stuck in the waiting room, not sure of what to do. What social protocol is there for taking a stranger to the ER? She doesn't have a husband to call to pick her up, and I can't leave her stranded here, but I don't think I can stand to be in the waiting room. I step outside to try to clear my head. When it doesn't happen right away, I pull my phone out and call Clay.

Dad, Ethan is the devil! Clay says right after he answers. Ethan, get off of him!

"What is he doing?"

He has Koby pinned to the ground and is threatening to spit on his face!

"Put me on speaker." I sigh. Why can't Ethan just leave Koby alone? Once I'm on speaker, I can hear Ethan's laugh and Koby's almost-in-tears voice. "Ethan Patrick, get off your brother right now!"

I'm not on him!

"Do you want to be grounded?"

No, He sighs dramatically. There's so bustling around before I hear a loud 'ouch!' from Koby and a pair of feet stomping up the steps.

He went upstairs. Clay says.

"Good. Put Koby on."

I'm taken off speaker and I hear Koby's trembling voice.

Hi, Dad.

"Hi, Koby. Try to stay away from Ethan, okay? He's not the friendliest."

Trust me, I know. But I wasn't bugging him or nothing! He just tackled me to the ground. And he tried to spit on me again!

"He's going to get in trouble when I come home. Just keep your distance and let me deal with Ethan."

Thanks Dad.

"Give the phone back to Clay."

From the sounds of it, you would think I asked him to run through an obstacle course to get the phone to Clay. The phone is dropped, kicked, tossed and finally caught by Clayton.

You know, shit like that is why we never could have a regular sitter. Clay groans. How is it that I always get stuck watching that hellion?

"Hey, you get paid, don't you?" I chuckle. "If you can keep Ethan from making Koby cry, I'll give you an extra ten bucks."

Make it thirty.

"Twenty, take it or leave."

Fine. Twenty.

"Thanks, buddy. I really appreciate it. I'll call and have a pizza delivered for lunch if I'm not home soon. There's money in my nightstand."

We say goodbye and plop down on a plastic bench pushed against the wall. The last thing I want is to go back in the waiting room. All I can think of in that room is Emily.

-----

"Is she okay?" Clay asks as I walk through the front door. He's sitting in my recliner in the living room, and Koby's sleeping on the couch. It took much longer to get Chrystal out of the hospital than I expected. They didn't want to release her until a few hours after they gave her the anesthetics for her stitches. I give Clay a nod, then go over to Koby and look him over. His arm is bruised right bellow the hem of his t-shirt sleeve.

"Did Ethan do this?" I ask. Clay sighs.

"Yeah. After you told him to get off of him. And before the pizza, I walked down to the store to get some pop. It was dropped off after I left, and when I came back Koby was pissed because Ethan hid the pizza so Koby couldn't have any. And you know how Koby is about food. I made Ethan tell me where it was, though. But once Ethan went upstairs, Koby started to cry because he was so mad."

"Ethan and I are going to have a long chat tomorrow about this shit." I mumble and pull my wallet out. I thumb through my cash and hand Clay sixty dollars. He counts it, then gives me a sad look while holding the twenty back towards me.

"Koby cried."

"But you had to deal with the hellion."

He smirks and shoves the bills into his pocket. Without me having to say anything more, he stands from my recliner and sits next to it with his back against the side. Ever sense he was three years old he declared the side of my recliner as his spot. I plop down in my chair and pull the lever to pop the footstool up.

"We saved you some pizza. Want me to heat it up for you?" He asks.

"That would be great, Clay."

He rushes to the kitchen and I hear the microwave start. As he prepares the pizza for me, I look over at Koby and sigh. Koby can be a baby sometimes, but it's justified by what he's dealt with in the past. And Ethan knows better than to mess with Koby's food. He's definitely in trouble for that stunt. This physical bullying is far out of hand as well. He's never left that big of a bruise on either of his brothers before. Sometimes I wish it was Clay that Ethan made a target instead of Koby, because Clay wouldn't tolerate Ethan's bullshit. The first time Ethan would tackle Clay, Clay would have Ethan pinned to the ground and immediately regretting his decision.

Clay comes back with a plate and a can of pop. He hands me the plate with a tiny sliver piece of pizza on it, then opens the pop and plops down to the right of my chair, leaning against the side. I glance down at him.

"Is this all you boys saved for me?" I ask.

"We were hungry."

I sigh. I should have know I wouldn't get any. Even though Clay is suppose to keep his weight down for wrestling, the boy ate a ridiculous amount of food. Ethan's appetite is slowly growing, and I've noticed that when I leave the boys alone, Koby eats more than usual. The joys of living with teenagers.

"Is she going to be okay?"

"Yeah, she's going to be okay. She got stitches. She'll have a scar, but she'll be fine."

"Good."

We don't say anything more. I eat and he sips on the pop. The volume on the television is turned down so it doesn't wake Koby. After a few minutes, I tell Clay that I'm going to bed and ask him to take the plate into the kitchen. He does, and I hear him clanking around with the plate in the dishwasher. When he comes back, I stand and Clay follows me towards the steps. He says goodnight and runs upstairs, and I go down the hall to my room.

My bedroom is the biggest room in the house. When Emily and I were looking for a new home after we adopted Clay, one of Emily's requests was big bedrooms. The boys have large rooms as well, but not like the master bedroom. Off to the side of my room is the door to the master bath. Oak furnishings and family pictures fill the bedroom. Emily loved this room. She loved everything from the lighting to the carpet, the dark wood dressers to the throw pillows on the bed. She was always buying new picture frames to hang on the wall or to display on the nightstands. I haven't changed anything in here since she passed. It looks fine the way it is.

Crawling into bed, I sigh and try to get some sleep.