I yelped, then immediately clamped my hand over my mouth. Shit. I hope I didn’t wake Gunner up. I was up at the ass-crack of dawn, cooking breakfast for my stepbrother—something I never did. The cooking part, I mean. I was a master chef only in the realm of microwaveable meals and flavor packets. But Gunner had bacon and eggs in his fridge, and I figured how the hell could that possibly go wrong? The kitchen hadn’t burst into flames yet, so I guessed that was a pretty good sign. I just hadn’t expected bacon to be so damn_._._._volatile. Made me wonder how Mom could stand it. Shit_._._._Mom. Mom had been the breakfast champion since as far back as I could remember. She insisted we all eat something every morning, even if it was just a slice of toast. It was hardly ever just that, though. She’d whip up omelets, sausage, breakfast burritos from scratch, French toast—you name it, my mom could make it. But then she’d died, and I hadn’t had a homemade breakfast since.
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