Because none of us have said it since that call.
Not once. Not a single mention in five days.
We've talked about everythingexceptit. The game. The road trip. Biscuit's bathroom habits. Diego's hangover. Hell, we had a damn hockey game to distract ourselves from the doom we've been waiting for our entire life.
We've built an entire week out of avoidance, brick by brick, like if we just don't say the worddivorceout loud, it'll stop being true.
But the thing is…
Even though my siblings have finally realized just how bad our parents relationship is… Istillknow things they don't. Things Zoey is just learning about and can't make any sense with.
These are things I haven't toldanyonebefore, not even Josie, not even after she cried in my arms about her own mother and I sat there with my own secret burning a hole straight through my chest.
Because I know exactly why my father filed.
I know about the yoga instructor Mom mentioned. I know her name's Brianna, and I know he's been sleeping with her since she was twenty years old. I fuckingsawa photo on his phone three Christmases ago that I warned Mom about, but she didn't want to hear it.
She never listened. Not once.
I've been carrying this shit since I was twelve, watching Dad from the top of the stairs while he laughed it off and lied through his teeth. The worst part was, Mom just hid from it. Refused to believe it, maybe just to keep the family together.
So I buried it the way I bury everything, and now it's clawing its way back up at the worst possible time.
"Okay, well," Zoey says, clapping her hands together like she's trying to physically push the mood somewhere lighter. "I just wanted to wish you boys luck before you left. Kick some butt. Bring home some Ws."
"WE WILL DESTROY THEM," Beck announces, hauling Biscuit up by the collar. The dog immediately goes limp like he's been shot. "Beck Morrison does not lose on the road. That's afact, Zoey. Write it down."
"I'll alert the media."
Diego, who's been quietly sipping his smoothie at the end of the counter, like he's waiting to witness the slow demise of our family, finally speaks.
"Alright. Enough! If you three do not get in that car in the next ten minutes," he says, voice flat and deadly calm, "I will personally drag you both to the airport by yourvery expensive haircuts."
"Diego—"
"Mason.Beck.Declan. Say goodbye to your sister, andmove.I have a household to run and I cannot do that with three grownmen loitering in my kitchen like a boy band that got dumped by their label."
"Way to gay it up, my man," Beck mutters, grabbing his bag off the floor.
"I have a vision,mijo.You are ruining it."
Mason chuckles, grabs his duffel, and leans toward the tablet. "Love you, Zo. Talk soon."
"Love you too. Bye, Mase."
Beck turns for the door, but then pivots back, suddenly serious in that lightning-fast way Beck does sometimes—on, off, on again, like a switch nobody else can see him flip.
"Hey, Zo. You sure you're—"
"I'mfine, Beck."
"Right. Okay." He hesitates a half-second too long. Then, because deflection is his love language, he grins. "Tell Mom I said hi, if you talk to her."
The second the word leaves his mouth, the air in the kitchen changes.
Zoey's smile flickers, and my heart fuckingshattersas Beck races towards the front door.
"I'd better go—" I begin, but Zoey interrupts me.
