Page 38 of Unforgettable Player

Connor’s balled his napkin up and is scrunching it in his hand. “I was put on academic probation and I couldn’t catch up. The classes were too hard and with hockey and everything … I wasn’t smart enough for Harvard, just like you thought, sis.”

He tosses his napkin into the center of the table before pushing his chair out with an awful scrape. Naomi tries to call him back, but he ignores her and storms out of the room.

Scout looks shellshocked. It takes a lot to stun Scout into silence.

“I’ll go and check on him,” Naomi says.

“No,” Richard gently wraps a hand around her wrist. “Leave him. I’m sure he wants to be alone right now.”

Naomi sits down and for the rest of dinner, they have a muted conversation about Connor’s failure at Harvard, asking themselves why he wouldn’t tell them. I don’t get it, either. Naomi and Richard are kind, supportive parents. Nothing Connor could ever do would make them love him any less. Doesn’t he know that?

“Do you think he quit his job, too?” Naomi asks her husband.

Richard lowers his head. “I don’t know. I think he’s in a bigger crisis than we initially thought.”

Naomi bites her lip.

The whole time, Scout remains silent, barely touching the rest of her food.

She doesn’t say a word until we’re alone in her room with Bowie playing quietly on her record player.

“What the fuck, Eli? Why didn’t Connor tell me he was struggling? I would have helped him. You could have helped him. You guys literally share a campus. Didn’t you ever see him around?”

“Sometimes.” I shrug. “But he always looked happy with his hockey bros. I never went over to talk to him. He’d say hi if he passed, but that was it.”

She slinks down on the bed. “Fuck. I feel like a total bitch now.”

Usually I’d make a joke and tell her she is a total bitch, but it doesn’t feel like the right time.

I take a seat beside her.

“Do you think he was scared to ask me for help? I know I always say I hate him, but he is my brother. I wouldn’t let him flunk out of school. I’m not a total psychopath.”

“I’m sure he knows that,” I say. I’m not entirely sure he does, but I want to comfort her. “Why don’t you talk to him?”

She shakes her head. “It’s late. Maybe he’s asleep.”

I doubt it.

“What can I even say? Hey, idiot, why didn’t you ask for help? It’s too late now.”

“Maybe it isn’t? He didn’t say he flunked out. He said he was put on academic probation.”

“And his job? Is he just an unemployed college drop out too scared to tell his family in case we judge him?”

I bite my lip. “I don’t know.”

She’s quiet as she slinks into bed and turns out the light. I wait for her snores to tell me she’s asleep.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been lying there, wide awake, when I hear footsteps out in the hallway, the creaky step on the staircase. I wait about five painful minutes before getting out of bed and going downstairs.

I find Connor on the couch. The TV isn’t even on. He’s sitting there in the dark.

“Connor,” I whisper.

He jumps, like I snapped him out of a daze.

“Hey,” he says when he sees me, offering me a weak smile.