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“Hello?” I stepped over the rug in the hall, which led towards the kitchen and the dining room. The air smelled like cooked Bratwurst. Marvin had already fixed dinner.

     Or maybe he had finished it; I hadn’t planned on coming home early. It was eleven at night. Maybe he’d been in a good mood; enough to feed the son that wasn’t his blood.

     As I popped my head into the dining room, I saw Grant, my little half-brother, still in high school, finishing up his dinner and cleaning the table. Sitting there, still eating slowly, was my step-father Marvin. Large, and quiet, Marvin wasn’t even close to what my real dad had been. My real father had been a loud, energetic character that Mom had divorced because he’d cheated on her twice with a stripper and a younger girl, almost my age.

     But just because Marvin spoke softer tones did not mean that he wasn’t a tough guy. The man had seen service in the military since he had been twenty. He’d retired as a colonel in the marines three weeks before him and mom got married. He was lonely, and bored from retirement, and she had just divorced my real Dad…

     The rest, they say, is history. Grant had been conceived, and I’d sat by, watching my family grow once more, with different rules and regulations in the house.

     “You’re late.” Marvin commented after having a sip of water. “I said ten. You’re back at eleven.”

     “I went up into the mountains. I didn’t think we were going that far.” I shrugged his comments off.

     “Yeah, well next time you’re going to regret it,” he stood up, wincing as arthritis attacked his knees. “I’m not kidding around anymore. When I ask you to be home at a certain time, I want you home. Understood?”

     “Sure thing,” I never said the word ‘dad’ because I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Couldn’t call him Marvin, either, because that was rude to disrespect a former Marine.

     Marvin sighed as he carried his plate to the kitchen. “Hey, Grant,” he leaned into the living room. “Wash the dishes, will you please?”

     “Fine.” Grant was a good kid. I loved the little guy, even though he really wasn’t a full-blooded brother to me. Mature for his age, he was built exactly the opposite of Marvin, yet he tried to act like him. Claimed he wanted to enlist after high school. He’d even gone as far as to shave his head; a fifteen year old without hair looked frightening to me; stocky or not. His countenance was that of a sickly child. But he made up for it with a mental toughness that was impressive at the least. A toughness not a lot of people saw.

     “Hey,” Grant said to me. “Are you planning on playing your guitar tonight?”

     “Why does it matter?” I had indeed been planning on it. Guitar was a daily task for me, and it was one I looked forward to.

     “Do you think you could tone it down for tonight? I’ve got a big test tomorrow.”

     I laughed as he did the dishes. I sat down at the small coffee table in the kitchen, gloating at his statement. “That’s right. You still got a week before break, don’t you?”

     “Shut up, man.” He grumbled and muttered darkly.

     “You know,” I