“Why do you have that?”
“Dad always has a few spares in his home office. I took one.” She gripped my shoulders and turned me ninety degrees. “Look.”
I came face to face with myself. Chelsea hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said the picture of me in my VVU uniform was poster-size. She also hadn’t been lying about it ruining the decor. But there I was.
Huh. I felt… I didn’t know what I felt. Numb. It didn’t make sense to me why he would have this here. He’d never shown more than a passing interest in my football career.
Chelsea pointed at another part of the wall. “These are new. They weren’t here the last time I was here.”
Multiple small pictures were framed, and they were all stills of me—yelling after I’d scored a touchdown, running with the ball, evading a tackle, jumping into the fans sitting behind the end zone. I could identify almost every game they were from, and a lot of those games hadn’t been televised.
“Where did he get these?”
She shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him.”
“I still don’t understand.”
Sighing, she put her arm around my shoulders. “I already told you. Mom and Dad are different. They’re like puzzles. They’re proud of you, but they’ll never tell you. You have to read between the lines.”
I thought back to the obnoxiously large gift basket that had shown up on my doorstep a few days after I’d talked to Chelsea. It had contained fancy cheeses, meats, and crackers, plus dried fruit and wine—the kinds of things my mom liked to serve at her functions. The card had simply read “Get well soon,” with no signature. I’d known who it was from, though. That was all I’d gotten—no phone call, no text, just a ridiculous gift basket filled with things I didn’t even like.
“That’s kind of messed up, don’t you think?”
“I never said it wasn’t.”
I stared at the internal elevator that would take us up to my dad’s office. While he was at work, Becca’s dad was most likely planted on the couch with a beer in his hand, waiting for the football game to start. That was if he didn’t have duty. When Officer Zizzo worked on holidays, it was because the community needed him to, not because he wanted to. I wondered if he’d started sneaking into the kitchen to steal bits of food. That drove Becca’s mom crazy, but he still did it. I could picture the scene at the Zizzo house as clearly as if I were there. I wished I were there.
Yet my father was at his office. It wasn’t like he had a reason to sneak into the kitchen to steal food, though. My mother always had Thanksgiving catered. She was most likely working in her home office as well.
“I wish they were different,” I said. I wish they were like the Zizzos.
“But they’re not.” Chelsea’s tone was matter of fact. “And the sooner you accept them for who they are, the better off you’ll be.” Her words were likely true, but it wasn’t so simple.
“I don’t know if I can.”
“They accept you.”
I snorted. “Bullshit.” I gestured to the wall of photos. “Is this your proof?”
“That’s about as much proof as you’re ever going to get. I’m showing you this because I used to be bitter like you, and—”
“I’m not bitter.” Yet I could hear the bitterness in my own voice.
“Now it’s my turn to call bullshit on that one. You are so bitter, it’s seeping out of your pores.”
I scoffed, but I couldn’t deny it.
“I’m not going to lie. Mom and Dad probably wanted you to follow in their footsteps. They’re probably disappointed that you didn’t. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t proud of the path you have taken. Because that, right there?” She gestured to the pictures. “That’s pretty fucking awesome. Lawyers are a dime a dozen. Do you think Dad’s going to make a wall for me? Hell no. But you’re living a dream.”
“Maybe not for much longer.”
“So what? Then you’ll do something else.”
I turned to face her. “Like what, Chelsea?”
“Hell if I know. I don’t know you anymore. You’re more like our parents than you realize. You’ve shut me out, which is a total Fleck move.”
“No, I…” But I trailed off because I guessed I had. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d talked to my sister before her recent call. I’d more or less written her off because she reminded me of my parents—she reminded me that I wasn’t what they wanted me to be. She was everything I wasn’t.
Taking me by surprise, she wrapped her arms around me. “You’re the only brother I’m ever going to have, and even though we’re very different, I love you. More importantly, I like you. I know you’re hurting right now, and even though you won’t tell me what’s going on, I know it’s more than just this injury.”
When she released me, I couldn’t meet her gaze. She was throwing some deep shit at me, and it was totally unexpected but also really needed. Maybe I wasn’t as alone as I thought. “Thanks. I, um, I love you too. I’ll try to be better.”
“Do that. Or else I’ll make you run a marathon with me.” She smiled. “Don’t beat yourself up. I only recently figured out how to navigate my relationship with Mom and Dad. I thought I’d save you a few years of frustration by telling you.”
“I doubt I would have figured it out on my own.”
“Maybe. Good thing you have me.” Her eyes took on a mischievous look. “Ready to run back?”
My sister was trying to kill me.
CHAPTER 25
Carson
I ADJUSTED MY tie in the mirror. Although I might not have packed running clothes, I had packed dress clothes. Like everything else in my family, Thanksgiving was a production. Even though it would just be the four of us, my mother insisted we all dress for the occasion.
Personally, I thought sweatpants were more appropriate attire for a holiday that was centered around eating. But no one had asked me. No one in my family ever did.
When I got to the dining room, my parents and Chelsea were already there. Though Chelsea claimed to understand my parents, it appeared that understanding included wine—a lot of wine. She smiled tightly at me and raised her glass. After yesterday, I understood my sister so much more than I ever did before, and for the first time, I wondered if being the golden child was as much of a burden as being the fuckup.
My mother smiled brightly, using what I considered her politician smile. Hell, it was the only smile we ever saw these days. Though, to be fair, I wasn’t around much.
“Should we get started?” she asked. “It’s exactly two o’clock.”
“Of course,” my father said.
We took our places at the table, and my mother presented my father with a carving knife. “Would you do the honors?”
He smiled at her. “This looks lovely, Marie.”
She looked pleased. “Thank you.”
I wondered what she was so pleased about. She hadn’t done a damn thing to prepare this meal other than place an order, and Stacey had probably taken care of that.