Moment of Truth - Kasie West Page 0,47

I couldn’t articulate to Heath Hall the other night. The reason I feared expressing my frustrations to my parents. I feared that if I told my parents how I really felt, they would admit that there was no competition. They would admit that Eric had already won. And if they admitted it, then I couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine. I couldn’t talk myself out of that truth.

I turned toward the window and wiped at a fresh set of tears that silently slipped down my cheeks. It took a few deep breaths for me to regain my control and turn back again.

Jackson pointed to the padded envelope on the floor. “So you won an award for your parents?”

I laughed, then sniffled. “Yes! And do you want to know the worst part about it? It didn’t matter. They didn’t want to go to the awards ceremony. They still chose him.”

He seemed to analyze my comment. “Was it a choice between an event for him and one for you?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “Yes, actually, it was.”

“But that’s not fair. I mean, that would be hard for a parent to have to choose between their kids. You must’ve wanted to support him too because you obviously missed your own awards ceremony if you were just getting that award today.”

“I did miss my awards ceremony. For his charity banquet.”

“I’m sure he appreciated it.”

“He didn’t.”

“Unless he told you that he didn’t, you can’t just assume—”

“He’s dead.”

He cussed under his breath, then his eyebrows shot up. “Well, technically you still can’t assume he didn’t appreciate it.”

I laughed.

“Now you laugh at me?”

“I already cried enough, right?”

“I’m sorry. When did he . . .”

“Die?”

“Yes.”

“Eighteen years ago.”

“So . . .”

“I didn’t know him. He died of cancer before I was born. That truck on our lawn? That’s his truck. It’s been there for eighteen years.” I put my head back against the seat. “If that truck won an award the same night I did, they would go to its ceremony over mine because it belonged to my brother.”

“But what if the truck won an award the same night as the charity dinner?” He was trying to make me laugh again. It kind of worked.

“The truck would be out of luck.”

“And the truck would have a right to be pissed.”

I laughed louder this time. “Really? In this fake scenario you’ve presented, you think my parents should pick the truck’s award ceremony over my brother’s charity dinner?”

“Well, no, but in my head that was a much better metaphor where I was making you the truck and telling you that you have a right to be pissed.”

I smiled. “Yeah, I got that.”

He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Did you? Because, Moore . . .” He met my eyes. “You have a right to be pissed.”

“I am.” I pressed my palms to my eyes, even though I knew that was just going to make a bigger mess of my mascara. “But mostly I’m just sad.”

I brought my knees up on the seat with me and hugged them against my chest, resting my forehead on them while more tears fell. This was so embarrassing. “You have to promise me this doesn’t leave your car.”

“Nobody would believe me anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Moore. Tough, competitive, stoic swim star. You’re kind of known for walking through the halls in the zone. Your headphones in. Your game face on. Your veins pumping chlorine.”

“Okay, I get it.” I had been shutting out my problems, and apparently people, for years, trying not to think about how I felt second-best in my home.

Jackson moved next to me and put his arm around my shoulders. Because of my compact position, I fell against him. I thought about pushing away but I was already there and it felt nice, so instead, I turned my upper body toward his, wrapped my arms around his torso, and didn’t try to stop the tears.

His hands went to my back, where they softly ran up and down. Soon they were the only thing I felt, his hands, sending tingles along my spine. I had to remind myself four times that he was still annoying. Very, very annoying. This changed nothing.

He cleared his throat, and as if to prove me right, said, “It’s kind of nice to know you have weaknesses like the rest of us. I mean, your problems aren’t as bad as most people’s but you do actually cry over them.”

I let out a single laugh and shoved away from him. “You know, you’re really