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Obligation, yes. William Tyler Brennan had done what he considered his duty to his grandmother in Kentucky.
For whatever reason, Ty always had felt the connection. To the woman, certainly. And to the place? He wasn’t sure except he’d enjoyed his brief visits.
Not even brief ones in the last few years, he admitted, and felt that pang of regret. But Braydon, and complications, and life.
Remembering those visits, he walked through the house. Less than half—considerably less than half—the size of his place in Philadelphia, but he could fix that if he and Bray decided to stay.
Some rearranging needed, especially when his piano arrived. Cheaper and more efficient to buy one locally, but he was attached to his own. Oddly enough, he’d written “Ever Yours,” the song Thea had mentioned, on that piano, and it had been Code Red’s first major hit.
So much room, he thought, for Bray to run. And yeah, maybe nearly time to get the puppy his boy yearned for.
A reasonably sized puppy that would grow into a reasonably sized dog. And not an enormous, white-chested black mountain.
He went upstairs again, looked in on Bray. Out like a light, and no surprise there. In the bedroom he’d chosen, he made up the bed. Thought about taking a shower, but made the mistake of stretching out first. Just for a minute.
Just for a minute lasted an hour until Bray bounced on him.
“Time to wake up!”
“What? Why?”
Wrapping his arms around Bray, he shifted, snuggled him in, made Bray giggle.
After the expected wrestling and rib-tickling, Ty hauled him up.
“I’m hungry!”
“Yeah, me, too.” And he didn’t have it in him to drive into town, find dinner as he’d half planned.
But he had peanut butter, jelly, bread, some lunch meat, milk, frozen pizza, and cans of SpaghettiOs, ravioli.
They’d absolutely not starve.
“Let’s go down and figure it out.”
Bray, all energy, bounced in his father’s arms. “Can we go see Bunk?”
“Let’s give that a day or two, pal. We’ve got to get organized.”
“I’m organized.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not. We’re going to take it easy tonight, but tomorrow we’re men at work.”
Had to make room for the piano—first priority. Figure out where to put what. He knew his granny had kept a garden, but he didn’t see himself planting anything. If they stayed, maybe. But there was a lawn to mow, and general yard work.
The third bedroom didn’t rank above a good-sized closet. The size and the proximity to Bray’s bedroom made it a bad choice for a studio.
Since he couldn’t see them using the dining room for dining, that seemed the logical choice.
He’d figure it out.
Right now, he wanted a beer. It might not be the best accompaniment for SpaghettiOs, but he wanted a damn beer.
He’d just opened the fridge when someone knocked on the front door.
“I get! I get!”
“Braydon, what’s the rule?”