brother’s eyes flit to mine a few times, but he doesn’t stick around long. Probably because I’m full-on gawking.
“I was a king?” I laugh at the statement, thrusting down on the chair handle and kicking my feet up again because fuck this! “Go on. Please.”
My dad’s brow is pulled in tight, maybe as surprised by this outburst as I am. I’m starting to think, though, that maybe this is calculated. My brother doesn’t back down, holding my stare as long as I hold his. The longer I look into eyes just like mine, the more animosity stews in my belly. Hayden’s eyes, however, haze with a sinister fog. That bit in the gym, the stretching of my legs and asking me to be on my best behavior here, it was never about Mom or this session. It was about Abby, and those things Chaz put in his head.
My lips curl of their own accord, my chest gradually bubbling with laughter until it finally erupts and I’m practically cackling, minutes into our family therapy session. Look who’s the crazy man in here!
I smile with a wide open mouth and look off to the side, trying to form words.
“Unbelievable.” That’s the only thing I can say.
“Why do you think your brother was our favorite?” our mom asks, twisting to the side to face my brother.
“Because I am?” I even surprise myself with the words. I don’t mean it, but now I’m just pissed.
“Tory,” my dad says, only the second time he’s spoken since we got in here, and both times it was my name.
I push my feet down again and look my father in the eyes. He doesn’t want to make any of this work. He’s going through the motions. There’s no way he is forgiving my mom for what she did. And there’s probably no way I’ll ever be able to either. This is where the ride ends. My dad isn’t coming to any more of our games, driving in from the city when he’s not traveling. He’s taking his albums, too. And maybe I’ll see him a weekend here and there.
All of those frames in my mind are just bullshit. Me hoisting up my first MVP trophy and him holding me on his shoulder, him placing my hand on the right strings to make a G chord on the guitar, him telling me to be careful who I love because if I pick wrong, she’s going to chew my heart up and spit it out. He wasn’t talking about me on that last one; he was sharing experience.
“You know what?” I stand, knowing my pocket is light of keys and that my shit is still in the car. I’ve taken busses before, and it’s not that cold out tonight. I could use a walk. “I’m done. You guys figure out whatever you need to in here. I’m going to take care of things my way.”
I get to the door before my dad stands to utter my name a third time. I stop him before he does.
“Don’t act like you want to be here,” I say. His confession is all over his face, his eyes relenting first, followed by the tight line of his lips and the sag in his shoulders. He used to seem like this strong, amazing man. Now he’s just a shell.
I push open the door and meet the gaze of the front secretary. She doesn’t speak, and she doesn’t even look surprised to see someone making a run for it. I bet this happens all the time. I hold up a hand and tell her to have a good evening, then step out onto the cold sidewalk in my practice jersey and shorts, still cold from old sweat. I tug on the car handle, glad my brother forgot to lock our car again, and pull out my sweatshirt, throwing it over my head and slamming the door behind me. I stand at the edge of the parking lot for a minute, looking up and down the street for signs of a bus line. Traffic is steady but light. I look over my shoulder one last time, giving my brother a last shot at redemption, but he isn’t coming after me.
I want to choke him, but I also understand this is all coming from somewhere else. Hayden isn’t good with change, and this has been a major adjustment. He’s lashing out, and I’m the one who can take it. But I won’t pretend there wasn’t a trace of