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“Starving.”
I smile and laugh when appropriate for their banter, but I feel nothing but an ache on the inside.
Brothers don’t mess around with each other’s sisters.
* * *
It’s just after sunset when I finally make it home.
Walking inside, I hear voices carrying in from across the house. I angle in that direction, walking on mostly auto-pilot until I hear the distinctive, devious cackle of a woman who, as far as I’m aware, has never set foot in this house before.
Trisha Wells.
Sports Illuminated magazine.
I round the corner, stopping in the entryway to the living room. My mother looks up from the couch as I approach, my father sitting next to her. Trisha lounges in the armchair across from them, her trusty phone for note-taking in her hand.
“Conny!” Trisha greets me. “How was your Saturday?”
I glance between the three of them, the air thicker now that I’m here. With everything that’s happened, I’d almost forgotten.
Scandal at Chicago North.
“It was fine,” I say.
“Not too embarrassing, I hope.” She winks. “I hear those Delta Xi boys can take hazing to the next level. You’re rushing, right? Like father, like son.”
“Nothing my boy can’t handle,” Dad says with a proud nod. “Right, Connor?”
“Right.” I step into the room, his stiff delivery making me pause. I look at my mother, her smile just as firm. “So, what’s going on?” I ask.
Trisha gathers her things. “Oh, your father was just answering a few questions for me. The little details. You know how it is.”
“Questions about what?”
She chuckles warmly as she comes to stand next to me. “I’ll let him fill you in on the good news. I hate to run, but I have to get back to the office if I’m going to make deadline.”
My mother rises. Hospitality mode activated. “Of course. Have a good night, Trisha. It was nice to see you again.”
“You, too. Don’t worry. I’ll see myself out.” Trisharubs my arm in goodbye. “Call me,”she whispers to me before heading out the front door.
The three of us linger in silence until the door opens and closes again.
“So, what’s going on?” I ask. “What’s the good news?”
Dad rises off the couch. “Let’s take a minute for you to settle in. Get some food in you, and we’ll talk.”
“Or you can just tell me.”
“Junior.” My mother tilts her head toward my father, the motion full of words only audible to someone who’s been married to her for twenty years.
Dad nods, his jawline tight. “Well, you’ll hear all about it soon anyway,” he says, his eyes traveling over my shoulder and down Trisha’s trail. He takes a moment to smile, his expression showing excitement. “Connor, I am, starting next Saturday, the head coach of the Chicago North Bearhawks.”
I blink, stunned. “You’re our new coach?” I ask. He nods, so proud of himself. “What about Coach Thomas?”
“He’s...”Dadpauses, choosing his words. “Coach Thomas is stepping down. There are a few personal matters that he needs to deal with that might reflect poorly on the university if he stays on,” he says, his tone still stiff. Rehearsed. I’ve heard it enough throughout my life; a celebrity reading from a pre-approved script. “The department thinks some fresh blood will shift focus in a positive direction. And I’ve always wanted to coach, especially the Bearhawks. It’s a dream come true.”
I realize I’ve been frowning this whole time, my face fixed in a snarl as I glance from him to my mother. She looks at me, unmoving, as she waits for my reaction.
