Cheesy on the Eyes by Teagan Hunter Page 0,15

the water.

When I realized I needed to move out of Winston’s, I knew the first place I wanted to look for housing: the docks.

I found this small houseboat that had been sitting empty for far too long. After tracking down the owner, I learned the boat had belonged to his deceased father and he had no idea what to do with it because boats had never been his thing. I told him I could fix it up and help him sell it if he’d let me live there while I did the repairs, but he didn’t want the liability. Instead, he signed the title over to me for a stupid low price, and I’ve been living there since, slowly making her sparkle again.

I love living on the docks, being out on the water all the time. The sea is unpredictable and wild, and I love everything about her.

Even if Winston hadn’t let me crash on his couch, I would have stayed in this town anyway. The moment I crossed the city limits, I knew this was where I was meant to be, and it had everything to do with the ocean.

Since planting my ass on Winston’s sofa, I’m the most content I’ve ever been. I don’t have much to complain about.

A roof over my head? Check. Steady work? Check. Friends I know would do anything for me? Check.

I’m good. Life is good.

Finally.

“Not yet,” I tell Porter, “but I’ve talked with him a few times. He seems down to earth. Kind of nerdy, maybe a little crazy.”

“Crazy?”

“Either he’s crazy or I’m going crazy. I heard a lot of goats in the background.”

Porter laughs. “Don’t worry, your sanity is intact. The dude has a thing for pygmy goats and will not stop adopting them. Dory keeps asking me to steal one every time I meet up with him to talk security measures.”

“She’s insane if she thinks she can handle a goat, Kyrie, and you.”

Porter tips his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at Winston. “Did Foster not smack you around enough and you’re that desperate for another beating?”

“I want to go on record that I am in support of you beating my son’s ass. He could probably use a good whoopin’.”

Simon appears, tray in hand. He slides it onto the table and distributes chocolate milk to each of us.

“The hell is this?” Winston frowns down at the beverage.

“If you act like children, you’ll get served the same as children,” his father tells him.

“Your daughter once pulled this same shit,” Foster comments.

“Where do you think she got it from?” Simon asks.

Porter lifts his glass to his mouth, smirking. “Joke’s on you. I love chocolate milk.”

“What? No bendy straws?” Winston gripes, sulking with his arms crossed over his chest.

Simon plucks a straw from his pocket—then proceeds to snap it in half. We all hear the telltale pop.

“The hell… You broke it! How am I supposed to use it now?”

“Figure it out.” Simon turns his wrathful eyes on me.

I raise a challenging brow, not scared in the least. “Yes?”

“Just waiting on a smartass comment. The rest of the peanut gallery had something to say.”

I chuckle, lifting my glass. “Thank you.”

“That right there”—he points at me—“is why you’re my favorite, Sully.”

“I’m your son. I should be your favorite.”

“It’s for that very reason you’re my least favorite. I’ve spent way too many years with you already. I need a change.”

“That’s not how parenting works!” Winston complains to his retreating back. “God, I love that old asshole,” he mutters, stealing Foster’s straw from his cup.

“Dude!” Foster tries to snatch the stolen straw back, but Winston smacks his hand away. Foster growls. “I fucking swear, Winston…”

“Boys, boys, boys. We don’t need a repeat of your pitiful fight,” I say. “Just take a deep breath. Cleanse yourselves.”

Winston rolls his eyes, sighing. “Here we go with the hippie shit.”

Being roommates, Winston had a front-row seat for me being “in tune” with people and situations. Though I’ve never lied about the feelings I get, I’ve played up the hippie stuff just to annoy him.

Except I do meditate. That part isn’t a lie. I started doing it when I first moved here and put the bottle down. It’s helped me sort through all the shit in my mind regarding my parents. I was wound a little tight when I first arrived, but now it’s all in the past. I’ve learned to not put myself in situations that will trigger a spiral, and that’s exactly why I’ve only been home twice since my