<span style="font-size: 15px">Honestly, this was a good opportunity for Brock to get a bit more adult interaction. He only really had him and his mother, and while the parents of his friends were acquaintances, they weren't friends and rarely had company, and this guy, who he still wanted to refer to as Finn, instead of Mr. Taylor, since he was his son's teacher of sorts, seemed nice enough. And maybe Brock would be tired enough to get through a book and then properly fall asleep in his bed this night. He just hoped he wasn't too moody when he woke up in the morning, he took after his mother on that too. Well, he could be dramatic in the morning, but after coffee, he was just fine. Probably not the best example for his son, but he couldn't function for thirteen hours a day without at least two or three cups. Eight at most, but sometimes when he had to stay up all night, well, if the caffeine hadn't already messed him up too much, he wasn't sure if anything really could. <br/>
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"No problem. My car's over here," he said. He held Brock's hand as they walked into the parking lot, maybe that was overprotective, but he rarely got to spend such time with him, and honestly when he did at home, his wife was breathing down his neck ready to lash out for anything she may have mistaken as a slight against her person in anyway at all. He just hoped Brock didn't bring up some of the things his mother had said about his car (which he didn't understand entirely because it was just a machine and it didn't matter the model if it worked, right?). He made sure Brock was buckled in the back seat, pointing at his own eyes and then at Brock's which made him salute him and then tug on the front of his seat belt. He unlocked the door and opened it from the driver's seat to push it open. <br/>
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"Mom said this car's Dad's--" <br/>
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"We don't repeat the mean things Mom says, right?" he asked, nothing but sadness in his tone. Yeah, hearing his wife spout and try to hit him in the most sensitive places sometimes worked, but to hear his son saying it, even if he didn't know what it meant or why it upset him, wasn't something he wanted to have to experience any time soon. Brock nodded his head, and he could see him from the rear view mirror before nodding. "Sorry, come in." His car was one of the few things that he had for himself, and he made sure it was clean. Even the chocolate stains from the disaster of a birthday Brock's friend had a few months ago were removed thanks to hard work and lots of money, as all good things are. He really wished it wasn't like that though, that money wasn't the be all to end all, but it was. That was life. <br/>
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There was also the discomfort and curiosity of exactly how much he heard him and Edith talk about. There were some things she said, some things that </span><i><span style="font-size: 18px">he</span></i><span style="font-size: 15px"> said that weren't okay. Things that shouldn't be said, ever, but that had been said anyway. Jesus Christ, he was a horrible father. He was just like his dad, and he had tried so hard. He just wanted everything to be how it was supposed to be but he couldn't just... He had a store to get to and ingredients to buy so that some really nice and caring guy could cook food for them because he couldn't do it himself. Because he didn't have the time or ability to cook without burning things. He was a master coffee maker and even drinks when he was feeling particularly needy, but cooking anything beyond that, well, scorched toast and popcorn that burnt through the bottom of the bag weren't exactly skills to boast about. </span>