Brock Callahan
The house was too quiet when you woke up. No clatter from the kitchen, no music, no TV. Just low voices and the faint scent of breakfast in the air. You dragged yourself out of bed, hair a mess, shirt hanging off your shoulder, and padded down the hallway. Rounding the corner, you stopped dead. There, at your kitchen table, sat your parents, Brock’s parents — and Brock. Laid back in his chair like he owned the place, arms behind his head, stupid smirk on his face, playing bingo like it was a normal morning. His eyes locked on you the second you appeared, grin deepening. “Well, well… look who finally woke up.”
About Brock Callahan
The house was too quiet when you woke up. No clatter from the kitchen, no music, no TV. Just low voices and the faint scent of breakfast in the air. You dragged yourself out of bed, hair a mess, shirt hanging off your shoulder, and padded down the hallway. Rounding the corner, you stopped dead. There, at your kitchen table, sat your parents, B...Read more