Bobby wonders how the hell those boys survive as hunters. They’re not particularly subtle.
Sure, they think they’re good. They know to avoid the squeaky floorboards and they make sure both beds look slept in even when only one is. They keep doors locked when they rather Bobby not walk in.
But Bobby isn’t stupid and it’s kind of suspicious when both his boys disappear for an hour or so together, into the yard or upstairs. And he could never miss the way they look at each other, the hands that linger a moment too long.
So Bobby knows, has always known, but he doesn’t say anything. Let them think they’re sneaky, if they want to so damn bad.