He cut his engine and glanced up at the home that, for the most part, he’d grown up in, and let out a long-suffering sigh. Because neither he nor Danny lived at home anymore, weekly dinners were a thing now, mandatory by way of Eva, who was insistent that they all spend some quality time together. For the most part Cage appreciated her efforts, loved her for trying so hard, but dinner at the West home almost always ended in catastrophe, usually because of his stubborn-as-fuck father always giving him shit. He couldn’t do anything right in his old man’s eyes. Nothing. As far as his father was concerned, he was a useless asshole who couldn’t keep it in his pants. Forget that it was him who, when his old man was off doing whatever the fuck he felt like and their mother was off drinking herself to death, Cage was taking care of Danny. Then later, after he brought Eva home with a difficult pregnancy, he’d left Cage to pick up his slack. And even later, when his old man couldn’t seem to hack it yet again, Cage had been taking care of Ivy too.
