My lips twitch. Iknow that tension well. Idon’t know if it’s fueled by hatred or annoyance or chemistry, but it doesn’t matter. Fable’s her normal feisty, sarcastic self to everyone, but as soon as she looks my way, she turns up the volume. Her eyes get all fiery and her cheeks flush pink.
I love every fucking second of it.
Mom gives me a knowing look. “Mary and I did always hope you two would fall in love, and there’d be a wedding and babies in no time.”
Immediately, something clogs my throat. Ican’t swallow around it. “We’ve talked about this. There’s never going to be a wedding and babies for me,” I say as gently but firmly as possible.
Sadness pinches her expression. “Theodore, just becausehehurt us doesn’t meanyouwill.”
Pain burns in my stomach as I watch her eyes turn glassy. Ishove my hands into my lap and squeeze them together.
The truth is, I have hurt people—including Fable.
Mia sighs. “You’re not him, Theo.”
I can hear their words, but they don’t make it past the barriers in my mind. They can’t get through the doubts and deep-seated fear that terrorizes my thoughts of having a real relationship one day.
My father’s rage was unpredictable. We never knew when it was coming or what caused it. Even as a child, I could see the obvious signs—the shouting and slamming doors and throwing things across the room. But I didn’t know what was happeningwhen I wasn’t there. I didn’t know he was hurting Mia. The smallest of us. The easiest target.
I’m haunted by pieces of his reflection when I stare into the mirror. We have matching eyes, the same bone structure. And that reflection distorts how I envision my future. When I picture myself years from now, every image holdshimin my place, like we’re interchangeable.
As a teenager, when a flash of anger hit me, I let myself succumb to it. Iwas so mad all the time—at my father, yes, but mostly at myself. For not seeing it. For not protecting Mia and Mom. For not standing up to him when I should’ve.
Over the years, I’ve worked to find other ways to dissolve myanger, and I’m proud to say I haven’t been in a fight since my college days. But I’m still terrifiedhisviolence is lurking beneath the surface of my skin, waiting for me to let it out. Show my true colors.
I’ve seen the damage that man left in his wake—the pain he caused my sister and mother and the emotional tolls they still carry—and I never,everwant to subject someone to that.
So, I won’t be the one to get married and give my mom grandchildren to spoil, but I’ve mastered a different role over the years: distraction and deflection. It’s my self-appointed job to brighten up the mood when Mom and Mia are struggling. It can be hard to keep it going when my own thoughts creep darker, but I have to make sure they’re happy. It’s the least I can do at this point.
“Let’s go get breakfast.” I put an arm around Mom’s shoulders, forcing a grin. “Mrs. LaGrande is making lemon poppyseed scones today.”
“Theo.” Mia’s voice is soft, concerned. “Don’t push this away. Have you been going to therapy?”
Mom’s gaze warms my cheek, and I can practically feel Mia holding her breath for the answer. “Sometimes,” I reply, eventhough I’ve canceled the last few months’ worth of appointments. We all went for years when we were younger, but it doesn’t feel like a priority right now. Besides, it was Mia who endured the worst of it. She’s the one I’m worried about.
“It might really help with all this,” Mia says.
“I’m okay. Promise.” I stand and stretch out my legs. “But I really need to move a bit after that run. Ididn’t have much of a cooldown.”
“When I come to town then?” Mia asks. “We can talk about it?”
“Sure,” I mumble, knowing full well that I’ll find another way to change the subject when the time comes.
Chapter 7
Fable
“Are you kidding me?” I stare at the newly broken step, my tailbone throbbing. The board slipped forward as I stepped down, then the railing swayed under my weight, and my poor tailbone took the brunt of the fall. This makes two unusable steps in the last two weeks, and if it keeps happening at this rate, soon I won’t be able to reach my bed upstairs.
I’m not giving up.Iremind myself of my words from last night in the garden. This is fine. A minor setback. Isimply have two boards to replace now. Okay, well, maybe I should replace all of them, really? But I’m trying to stay positive, so let’s not focus on that.
I take extra precautions on the rest of the way down, trying to stay on the inside edge. At the kitchen counter, I blink at the red notification bubbles on my phone. Imissed twelve calls and forty-three texts yesterday, and honestly, the thought of catching up on all that—especially when most of it is probably about Gramps’s birthday or the photo with Theo—sounds rather exhausting, so I tuck it into my pocket. Maybe I shouldn’t have stolen a cord from my parents after all.
With a warm mug of tea in my grip and Knocks on my heels, I head to check on the bathroom pipe I fixed last night. Without the list at work, I had tried my best to remember what I needed, and although I was missing one piece, I think I made it work. When I turned the water back on after, I didn’t see any leaks, so third time might be the charm.
I’m one step into the hallway when I come to sudden halt. There’s a puddle filling the space—soaking into my socks—and the faint sound of trickling water coming from the bathroom.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I shout, my body bursting into action.
