Fighting the Fall ✔

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Dustin King

"All right, guys. Third on the list is--"

"Sugar cookies?"

"Very funny, Kenna. Not with your sore throat."

My little sister rolled her eyes. "But they'll make me feel better."

"I'm sure they would," I replied, "until your sore throat turns into a full blown cold. Let's stay away from sugar for now, okay? You know how Dad gets when we have colds."

McKenna nodded, while Bishop, who had his hands on a pack of pudding, turned around to pout at me. I stood firm.

"He does get kind of mean about them," McKenna told our little brother when he wouldn't budge. "Remember last time?"

"But--"

She cut him off, adding, "He put you in the garage and locked the door. You couldn't get out until I got home and found you."

This was the first time I was hearing about this, but I had no doubt that it was true.

Not only were colds uncomfortable when any of the three of us had them, but Dad hated them even more than we did, it seemed. We learned quickly that he was hardly able to tolerate the noise and germs of our constant coughing and sneezing when we were sick. Now, whenever Bishop or McKenna did either one of those things, they immediately looked to him to gauge his current tolerance level. Nine out of ten times we were simply sent to our rooms. Other times the punishments for not exercising "self-control" around him were much worse. I hated having to say no to him but it was for the best. I kept that in mind as Bishop started begging for the sweet treat.

"Third thing on the list is eggs," I finally said, having to talk over him.

I started leading the way to the other end of the supermarket. McKenna was at my side, but Bishop lingered behind.

"Bishop, let's go."

He reluctantly put the pudding pack back on the shelf but still wouldn't move, nor take his eyes off of it.

"Bishop," I said again, this time extending my hand for him to take.

"But Dustin... I won't get sick. Promise."

"Dustin? I thought I heard your voice."

I recognized Coach Dunst's voice instantly. I hadn't spoken to him, not really, since Monday at the gym, and I still hadn't quite gotten over the shame I'd felt since then. But that was the least of my worries at the moment.

"Hi, Mr. Dunst." I made sure to call him by his name rather than Coach. Neither Bishop nor McKenna knew anything about my boxing, and it needed to stay that way. I couldn't risk Dad finding out.

I held my breath, waiting for him to inquire about my siblings. He would sooner or later, I knew, but I was hoping for later.

"And who are these two?" he asked with a smile.

My little brother answered for himself. "My name is Bishop." Then he answered for our sister. "Her name is McKenna. She's my sister! Dustin is my big brother."

Inside, I sighed, knowing some of my efforts to maintain a private life had gone to waste. I'd known Coach Dunst for nearly a year, but he didn't know all that much about me. That's the way I wanted to keep it. He knew only what I cared to share, only what was safe to share. My siblings didn't fall into that category. I could tell he had questions since we met, questions I'd usually been able to avoid altogether. I knew I wouldn't be so fortunate if he learned I had siblings. Especially since they were significantly younger.