Dedication: To my loyal reviewers, SillverMedal, WKDVIP2, and RandomNZChick. Thank you for reviewing!

I own nothing.

Chapter 3

Drinking the Night Away

The phone was ringing. At 4:28 in the morning, in a small two bedroom flat in Maine. What the hell?

Kurt Martin grudgingly drug his body away from the warmth of his bed to answer his screeching phone, kicking empty Mountain Dew cans as he went. He shivered at the chill that had shrouded his apartment. He could remember to pay the insurance for his motorcycle but not the damn heating to his flat? Pathetic…

"Hello?" he answered groggily, running a weary hand down his face, feeling three days worth of stubble as he did so.

"Mr. Kurt Martin?" inquired the smooth, professional male voice.

"Yes," he affirmed curtly.

"Sir, I've got your two fifteen year old sons down at the Boston Police Department. I'm really sorry but their mother, your ex-wife just died,"

Kurt, who had grabbed a half empty can of flat Mountain Dew to take a sampling sip, gagged on the warm sugary beverage, slopping it down his chin and onto his already stained night shirt. Heart thudding painfully in his chest, he shakily set the can back down and drew up a seat at the kitchen table, (wrinkling his nose in disgust at the molded pizza he had yet to dispose of).

"W-What?"

"Mr. Martin your ex-wife is dead. She was struck be a out of control car that swerved up onto the sidewalk. Hit and run. The driver is yet to be identified."

"Shit…," Kurt swore softly, roughly rubbing at his suddenly damp eyes. He covered the receiver, muffling the petite, unmanly sob choking him. He snatched up a used napkin, stained with pizza sauce, and swiped it under his eyes. Clearing his throat several times, he lifted his hand from the receiver and with extreme effort, ignored the pang in his chest that made him want to curl up in his bed like a child and just cry.

"I'm really sorry about your loss Mr. Martin," the cold monotonous voice had switched to sickening sympathy.

"Uh…right. Sorry. Can I-Can I speak to my sons please?" he mumbled distractedly, just wanting to get rid of the simpering man. Passing a nervous hand threw his unkempt hair he waited for the officer's reply.

"One moment…"

A brief pause. Then…

"Dad?"

"Cody! Are you alright?" Kurt jerked to life at his younger son's sorrowful voice, still very thick with tears.

"Yeah, fine. Moms dead dad. Sh-shes not coming back,"

Kurt closed his eye against the threatening tears and swallowed the persistent lump, lodged in his throat.

"I know bud, I know," he whispered soothingly, forcing comfort and assurance into his tone, despite his swimming eyes and stuffy voice. He was the parent after all. It was his duty to be strong when his children couldn't be. He had to lock his feelings inside and hold steady.

"How's Zack?"

"I…I don't know. He completely lost it when he found out. Demolished the suite. He hasn't said anything since. Officer Dickens thinks he's in shock and is making noises about getting him looked at cause he wont st-stop shaking. But…I don't know dad," Cody's grief stricken voice was coated in concern and rose a notch on the octave scale.

Kurt frowned worriedly. "It's alright Codester. I'll…tell you what, I'll be in Boston by morning. I'll head out around…," he glanced at the timer over the stove. "6:30. And I should be there around noon maybe earlier. Depends on traffic. Sound okay bud?"

Cody sniffed wetly before answering. "Yeah, alright. I'll tell Zack,"

Kurt moved over to the fridge, intending to get another Mountain Dew when Cody's question froze him in his bare footed tracks.

"Are we going to live with you?"

"Uh…"

Crap! He hadn't thought of that. He cast a glance around his ramshackle flat. The carpet was littered with Mountain Dew and Budweiser cans that he would lazily deposit upon the floor, constantly telling himself he would throw them away later. The curtains, TV, and counter tops, were equally thick with a film of gray dust and the love seat was ripped with stuffing over flowing out of the gashes. He took a heart sniff, inhaling the rotten odor of sweaty socks, molding food, and stale alcohol. He grimaced in disgust; This was place was barely fit for human habitation let alone that of two growing teenage boys.

"Yeah," he said slowly, stretching the word as he kicked at the clutter in front of the fridge.

"Oh,"

"Listen we'll discuss the living arrangements when I get there okay?"

"Mm-hmm," he heard Cody stifle a yawn through the phone. He could feel one coming on himself.

"Get some sleep, bud. I'm going to get off here and clean up a bit k'?" he cast an appraising look around the apartment.

"Okay, dad. L-Love y-you," Cody yawned.

"Love ya too. Tell your brother I love him and I'll see him in the morning,"

"…K'."

Kurt hung up the phone feeling at his wits end. He roughly yanked the fridge door open (failing to ignore the shelves empty of anything consumable) and selected a beer over a Mountain Dew. It was going to be a long night and he needed something strong and heavy. Something to bury the pain in his heart and numb his agonizing thoughts. A Mountain Dew just didn't cut it.

Flipping the top off the can, he sunk down into the ragged sofa and drank thirstily, ready to loose himself in the alcoholic buzz he hadn't really enjoyed when he had no reason to get drunk. Now he had a reason.

Again he was suddenly aware of the biting cold drifting through his apartment. He was going to have to pay the bill if the boys were going to live with him. And clean. And cook. And do all the things Carey had done…

He chugged the rest of the can and tossed it to the floor, allowing it to join the many others already accumulating there. He fetched another beer and collapsed back down into the stuffing of the sofa, telling himself repeatedly that after he finished this one he would drag his ass up and tidy up. He never did.

He spent the rest of the night, consuming the rest of his Budweiser supply and staring blankly into space, wondering what he had gotten himself into.

To be continued…

Review!