𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑，𝑐𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑎 𝑘𝑎𝑖

eleven | time to play dad

I wake to the smell of burnt toast, and what I hope I identify correctly as potatoes.

I toss away the thin blanket; the hardwood cold against my feet despite the early summer warmth. Our AC is broken, and no, it doesn't surprise me that we can't afford to get it fixed.

In the kitchen, Dad stands over the stove, humming as he cooks. I miss this side of him. It feels like it's been so long since—

"Good morning, Rhys!" Dad grins when he turns around and spots me lingering in the door frame. "Happy Birthday."

"That's today?" I quirk a brow, checking my phone. Holy shit, it is!

His face contorts slightly as he plates the fried potatoes with the premade scrambled eggs and toast, the edges burnt. "Of course it is. How could you forget?"

I shrug as Miles struts into the kitchen, a bottle in his hand. "She spent the last one in juvie. Hardly doubt they celebrate over there."

"Miles," Dad warns, glaring at his son, while setting the food on the table.

My gaze falls. Juvie, sad birthdays, and gray walls. Yet another time from my past I've tried to block out. Well, until now.

"You coming?" Dad asks. "Food's getting cold."

I nibble my bottom lip, fiddling with my fingers. "I'm actually, not that hungry," I say, reeling back into the living room. "I'm gonna go; got some plans with a few friends."

Miles snorts while Dad looks like he just bit into a lemon. Guilt wells in my gut, and I try to put on my best face of sympathy.

"Thanks for the thought, Dad."

Dad.

The word tastes like salt. No amount of 'thank yous' can make up for how much he's sacrificed for me and Miles. Yet, here I am ditching out on my own birthday breakfast to go hang out with Robby Keene and Mr. LaRusso.

Guilt. Sorrow. Grief. Not my fault I hate my birthday; not my fault I forget it every year. But it's just easier that way. I need no cake, no fancy party. I don't need money in a card or for them to sing a song to me.

Even if Dad tries, it won't change my mind about the date. He nods, plastering on a smile despite the disappointment brimming the corners of his eyes. Meanwhile, Miles snorts, cracking open a brand-new beer.

I roll my eyes, going back to my room to grab my board and change before I leave, heading straight for Miyagi-Do.

Once I get there, I find the boys in the main hut, Mr. LaRusso holding a broken shelf in his hands as Robby stares at two banners with Chinese lettering on them.

"What'd I miss?" I ask, unable to keep the slight chuckle away from my tone as I glance between the two.

"Ah, Rhys." Mr. LaRusso smiles as he turns to me. "You're just in time. We were about to go to the hardware store." He explains, holding up the broken piece of wood.

Twenty minutes later, were pulling into a parking lot at the Home Depot, Robby and I arguing in the back seat of Mr. LaRusso's fancy car.

"Stop!" I laugh. "That film was so underrated."

Robby glares at me. "No, no. No, it wasn't. It sucked."

"How dare you!" I gasp dramatically. "You break my heart, Robby Keene."

We've been arguing about The Breakfast Club since we left the dojo. Contradicting opinions make the best topics. For the whole conversation, Mr. LaRusso has sat quietly in the front seat, smiling and oftentimes glancing at us in the review mirror.