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Maybe our little family isn’t beyond saving, after all.
3
Sebastian
Being brought up in a certain way puts specific expectations on me.
I can stand out, but not in a negative sense.
I can live my life, but not where it matters.
My whole existence has been mapped out ever since I was born as the senator’s grandson and have had to play the role that goes with it.
Maybe that’s why I’m often tempted to allow my rebellious side to get the better of me.
Why I sometimes let it rear its head and show the world the turbulent side of me.
You know, basic rich kid problems.
After practice, Owen drags me and a few other team members out for drinks with the cheerleaders.
I’d rather be sleeping, but Owen would probably display my head on a stick for the world to see. I kind of need my head—and everything inside it.
Besides, drinks with them is better than being trapped under the senator’s and his wife’s tenacious stares. Yes, they’re my grandparents and the people who raised me, but I don’t quite appreciate them when they barge into my apartment any chance they get, even long after I’ve moved out of their house.
Instead of drinks, Owen goes all the way for a meal at The Grill. We like this place because it belongs to Coach’s brother, Chad, and he’s a big fan of ours. Not only does he give us one of his private booths where we’re hidden from the rest of the patrons, but he also serves us his best meals.
As soon as we walk inside, accompanied by some of the cheerleaders, Chad grins and points at us. “Give it up for the Devils, ladies and gents!”
Owen and the others make a show of tapping their jackets, on which the team’s logo rests. The cheerleaders hoot and the men make howling sounds.
Most of the patrons clap, and endless praise and compliments shower us.
“Let’s win State, son!”
“Show the Knights no mercy!”
“See you in the NFL!”
“Our heroes!”
Yeah, that’s far from the truth, but this town is too obsessed with football. It’s kind of unhealthy.
And yes, my thoughts remain, even as I grin, shake their hands, and take random selfies. In the span of a few minutes, I put on the show I was taught to perform when I was a kid.
Always smile. Always be on your best behavior.
Always put on a mask.
By the time we reach the stairs, I’ve shaken hands and taken pictures with most of the people present. Let’s just say that Chad likes us as much as we like his place. Since everyone knows we hang out here, the restaurant is almost always full.
He gives me a bro hug, then clutches me by the shoulders. The smell of grease and pepper comes off him in waves. “My star quarterback.”
“Not really a star yet.”
“Oh, yes you are.”
I grin. “I guess I’ll show you this Friday.”
