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“Then why aren’t you together right now?”
I chuckle. “It’s adult stuff.”
“I don’t want to be an adult. Sounds complicated.” There’s more noise in the background. “Oh, they got in. Gotta go. Love you, Uncle Rylan!”
The line dies and I press the elevator button.
By the time I’ve reached my condo, Mandi has sent an apologetic message for Maisie poking around in my private business. She says she knows I don’t like when my siblings involve themselves in my personal life.
I plate the orange chicken and rice, then head to the family room to watch something on Netflix. One bite of the orange chicken and I spit it back onto the plate. The egg roll isn’t any better. I dump it all in the trash. Nothing compares to Wok For U. I don’t know why I even bother.
Mandi’s words repeat in my mind about how I don’t like them to insert themselves into my life. I always felt as though they didn’t care to or that they were doing it out of obligation. By the time I was grown enough to form any real relationship with my siblings, they were adults, busy raising kids of their own.
I walk to my bedroom, open the bedside drawer, and take the ring out of the box. I have no idea why I’ve kept it. I didn’t want to be that guy returning a ring to the store, that was for sure. But I think a part of me always thought we’d get back together eventually. But there was a finality this time, more so than any other. I blow out a breath and lie on my bed.
My eyes drift closed, and I have the same dream I’ve had all week—Calista in that wedding dress and an unknown groom waiting for her at the end of the aisle. I’m chained to a chair, having to witness her walk down the aisle with that smile. She stops in front of me and puts her hand on my face. “It’s okay, Rylan. Everyone has a number one in their life.”
She turns almost robotically and walks down the aisle. The guy strips her of her dress and says they’re going to consummate the marriage right there for everyone to witness.
She screams no and I try to free myself of the metal binds, but I’m not strong enough. The guy’s face turns into a monster with a lot of teeth and the white fabric of her dress flies everywhere when he drops his mouth on her.
I wake up in a cold sweat.
The buzzer of my condo goes off and I frown. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I get off the bed and deposit the ring back in the drawer.
I open the door and my dad strolls in with his luggage. “About time. I’ve been ringing that thing for five minutes.”
“Dad?” I push a hand through my hair and look after him, holding the door open. “At least when your brothers had their heads up their asses, I only had to travel five minutes down the road.” He opens my fridge, takes out two beers, opens them, and sits at my table, patting the place across from him.
I look out the door again.
“Only me. Sorry to disappoint.”
“I just figured Mom…”
“Nope. Come and sit, son.”
I close the door and slide into the seat across from him.
He slides the beer my way. “I think when it comes to you and Calista, I’ve ridden in the back seat long enough. I thought you two would’ve figured your shit out by now.”
“Dad—”
He raises his hand. “No, Rylan.” He rarely uses my full name, so I sit up straighter. “I’ve sat back long enough, and now your mother isn’t talking to me because she doesn’t think I need to be here. She’s wrong. But I’m not going to tell her that.” He squares his gaze at me and I’m wondering who this man is.
“What?” I ask meekly.
“When you decided that soccer was your sport, I didn’t understand. We were a football family. All your brothers played quarterback and I assumed you would too. But I supported you, as did your siblings. We drove you to your practices and tournaments. We bought your equipment, got you extra coaching, and cheered you on at all your games. And you were good. You excelled beyond our wildest imagination. But you aren’t my first son who made their sport professionally.”
Here we go. Time to compare me to Xavier.
“Yes, the seasons are different, but you have time off throughout the year. Do you know how many times I’ve heard your mom cry after a phone call from you?”
Guilt weighs down my shoulders, and they sag. “I’m sorry.”
He takes a long pull from his beer. “I’m sorry, it was a bad flight and I’m irritated.”
“Okay.”
