But before he could make his way over to the table, the fridge light flickered and died, leaving what little food remained inside in the dark.
"Fuck," he snarled under his breath. If it wasn’t one thing in this place, it was another.
"Oh, you said a bad word,” Fred cooed from behind him and Luke had to strangle the urge to glare at his little foster brother before squeezing a healthy portion of ketchup onto the child's plate.
"Dad does it in criss-cross over the eggs,” Fred protested.
“Yeah, well, too bad. Tonight you dip them,” Luke shot back, then crossed the room to check on the baby in his playpen.
When he was sure Tyler was snoozing quietly, he peered out the kitchen window again and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Mom's home, booger,” he said, and then ruffled Fred's hair as he zigzagged through a minefield of toys to get to the front door.
When he opened it, his mother was still only just getting out of her old suburban, but he didn't care. Babysitting duty was over for the night and he finally had some time to blow off steam and, with any luck, make a few bucks while doing it.
“Hey, Luke.” She grinned at him and settled her mountain of papers on her hip as she surveyed him. "Heading out?"
"Yeah, won't be back until late."
"Staying out of trouble?" she asked, cocking her head.
"Always." He kissed her on the cheek, then added, "Fridge light is out."
"Third time this month,” she tsked. "Okay, I'll take care of it. And be careful when you park your motorcycle, tonight. Your father won't be home until dawn and you know he likes to park in the garage.”
As if Luke could have forgotten. Among all the boxes of junk and accumulated clutter from their years in this house with kids coming in and out pretty regularly, the Andersons had only one little space in their two-car garage barely big enough to park a sedan. Still, his father insisted on parking his beat-up old truck in the space and making Rex and Luke both leave their dirt bikes out to rust. Lately, Luke had taken to covering it with a tarp if only to keep it in shape for races.
Unfortunately, his brother, Rex, hadn't had that foresight. His bike was chained against the fence, rusting to shit in the Louisiana damp.
“Make sure you look after your brother,” his mother said, and Luke nodded as he dragged his bike from the garage and started the motor.
Once it began to purr, he tossed a wave over his shoulder and then left the tiny house in his dust.
He loved his family, he did, but sometimes...
Sometimes he wished his parents would stand back, look at their tiny house and their less-than-profitable jobs and decide that enough was enough. That it wasn't their job to save every foster kid in the system. That maybe—
No. He wasn’t being fair. Even if he was crammed into a small house, even if he didn't grow up with all the luxuries the other kids in town had had, his parents had been the best. Loving and tough on him when they needed to be. They were the ones who'd truly sacrificed to take him in when no one else would. So what did it matter if he had to stick around and chip in with the bills and groceries? It was the right thing to do. Even if it was the one thing that kept him chained in this Podunk ass town into the first half of his twenties.
But soon all that was going to change. Tonight, with any luck, he was going to win the money that would put his bank account over the ten thousand dollar mark and jettison him out of this two-bit hellhole. With that kind of cash, he could finally buy the little shop in the city he'd had his eye on, open a motorcycle repair store, and live in the loft above it. His parents would have more space in their house and he'd be in an even better position to help them financially if they needed it.
All he had to do was win this one little race. No problem.
With one last rev of his engine, he veered off the main road, a hot rush of anticipation running through him. He pulled off and parked his bike in an empty spot beside the little knot of cars beneath the trees twenty yards from the lakeshore. After chaining the bike up, he headed over to find his brother, Rex, putting one of the kegs on ice and yelling at one of the other guys.
"I'll bet you a hundred dollars Eli ends up with his bike in the lake by the time the night is over," Rex said. “Him and that Evel Knievel shit are due.”
One of the taller, muscular guys "taste testing" the other keg guffawed in response. "Double if it's some girl that throws it in there because she found out he was trying to get with her best friend behind her back."
"I wouldn't bet against that one,” Luke chimed in, and his brother looked up at him and grinned.
"Just the guy I was hoping to see. You looking to set up a bonfire?”