Michael Kyle Jr Direct

Michael looked down. "I'm just doing what you asked."

Michael Jr. was just "Little Mike." The quiet one. The artist. michael kyle jr

Michael looked at his father, then at his own hands—the ones that had learned to hold a wrench, but would always prefer a pencil. He was Michael Kyle Jr., but he was no longer just a shadow. He was his own man, with his own kind of strength. And for the first time, he knew his father saw it, too. Michael looked down

Michael Sr. looked up. He looked tired. Not the tired that came from a double shift at the plant, but something deeper. It was the look of a man who had suddenly realized the ground beneath him wasn't solid. The artist

"Dad?" Michael dropped his backpack by the door.

"You did this?" his dad asked quietly.