"Pizza!" Sarah blurts, her face bright red. "We're ordering pizza.Right now."
An hour later, we're sprawled across the living room, empty boxes forgotten as Matt boots up the Nintendo Switch. Curled up like a content cat, Sarah's already reaching for her controller with laser focus.
"Babe," Matt says gently, "maybe we let someone else win Rainbow Road tonight?"
"Absolutely not." She sits up straighter. "I've been practicing."
I snort, grabbing my controller. "You mean Matt's been letting you win."
"I have not—" He starts, but Sarah's already throwing a pillow at his head.
"He absolutely has," I stage-whisper to her. "You fall off the track at least twelve times per race and somehow still win? That's some serious husband manipulation."
"I'm naturally talented," She sniffs, but fights a grin.
Three races later, and Sarah's character is somehow in first place, despite spending half the time driving backwards.
"This is painful to watch," I groan. "You're embarrassing the Miller name."
"You're jealous of my superior gaming skills," Sarah quips back.
"Superior my ass," I mutter, catching Matt deliberately swerve away from a power-up that would've knocked Sarah off. "He's just trying to get laid later."
"Language!"
"Sorry,Mom." I yelp as Matt's character finally uses a red shell—on me. "Dude! She's the one in first place!"
"Sorry, bro." Matt grins, not looking sorry at all. "All's fair in love andMario Kart."
"Yeah, except you're playing dirty." I narrow my eyes at him. "You've had like three blue shells, and mysteriously aimed them all at me, when Sarah's been in the lead this whole time."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Matt's character swerves again, somehownotmissing the obvious banana peel Sarah left dead center on the track.
"Oh my God." I throw my hands up as she somehow wins again. "You're so whipped."
"I'm getting more drinks," Sarah announces. "Try not to cry too much about losing to a girl."
The moment she's gone, the air shifts. Matt sets down his controller, and I know what's coming before he opens his mouth. I'm surprised he left it this long.
"I should've called more. After I moved here."
I stare at the pause screen, finding Mario's frozen face fascinating. "Yeah, well." I shrug, aiming for casual. "I could've picked up a phone too."
He sits up straighter, and something in his tone makes me look at him. "I was so focused on proving I could make it here, on being what Dad wanted, I forgot what it meant to be your brother."
"Matt—"
"No, listen." He drags a palm down the back of his neck, a gesture so familiar it aches. "I promised you wouldn't be stuck there alone, remember? And then I left you to deal with Dad's expectations and disappointment by yourself."
The truth of it hits like a punch to the gut. Because yeah, that's exactly what happened. What I've been angry about all these years without being able to name it.
"I didn't want to need you," I admit finally, voice rough. "Kept telling myself I was fine on my own. That I didn't miss having someone who got it—gotme—you know?"
"But you did need me." It's not a question. "And I wasn't there."
"You're here now." The words surprise me as much as him becausethey're true.
"So," he says carefully, "want to tell me what's really bringing you home?"
