Chapter 11 Family Pressure #2
Lena’s smile changed.
Gentler.
Real.
“Hi, Mrs. Reyes. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Carmen,” his mother corrected. “Mrs. Reyes sounds too serious.”
“Nico gets that from you,” Lena said.
His mother laughed.
Lena Hart made his mother laugh.
Nico was not prepared for how badly that hurt.
Not a bad hurt.
That was the problem.
A good hurt could still wreck a person if it found the right place.
Carmen looked at him through the screen. “You look tired.”
“I’m fine.”
All three women reacted at once.
Sofia rolled her eyes.
Lena’s brows rose.
His mother sighed deeply.
Nico scowled. “This is harassment.”
“This is love,” Carmen said.
Sofia added, “And harassment.”
Lena’s smile slipped into something soft and private.
Nico saw it and wanted to look away.
Did not.
His mother’s gaze moved between them through the screen. She did not say anything. She did not have to. Mothers had a way of seeing trouble before it introduced itself.
“Nico,” Carmen said gently. “Call me later, yes?”
His stomach tightened.
There it was.
The reason for the call beneath the jokes.
Money. Sofia’s applications. Rent. The things his mother would not say in front of Lena because pride ran in the family like blood.
“I will,” he said.
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
Sofia leaned into the frame again. “And my essay.”
“Send it.”
“And don’t be mean.”
“I’m always mean.”
“To other people. To me, you’re useful.”
“Touching.”
“Love you!”
The call ended before he could answer.
The screen went dark.
The media room felt too quiet afterward.
Nico set the phone facedown on the table.
He did not look at Lena.
He could feel her watching him.
It was different now.
Before, she had seen pieces. A call declined. A text preview. His voice strained around words he did not want translated.
Now she had seen Carmen.
Sofia.
The part of him that existed before Westbridge and would still own him after every headline died.
“That was your sister?” Lena asked softly.
“No. Random criminal who stole my last name.”
Her lips curved. “She’s funny.”
“She’s a menace.”
“She loves you.”
The words were simple.
Too simple.
Nico’s hand curled around the edge of the table.
“Yeah,” he said.
Lena waited.
He hated that she was good at waiting too.
Finally, because the silence had teeth, he said, “She’s applying to colleges. Application fees, campus visits, deposits. All of it adds up.”
Lena’s face softened.
He tensed.
Not pity.
Please not pity.
“She seems excited,” Lena said.
“She should be.”
“And you?”
He gave a short laugh. “I’m the financial aid office with a backhand.”
“Nico.”
“What?”
“You’re allowed to want things for yourself too.”
He looked at her then.
Really looked.
Her eyes were steady, but there was something in them he did not know how to hold.
Belief, maybe.
Or the beginning of it.
“You say that like wanting makes money appear,” he said.
“No,” she said. “I say it like wanting is not a crime.”
Something moved inside him.
Something old.
Uncomfortable.
He stood too fast.
The chair scraped back.
Lena did not flinch, but her eyes followed him.
“I have practice.”
“You have interview prep.”
“I’ve answered enough questions.”
“You answered one.”
“Efficiently.”
Her mouth tightened like she wanted to argue.
Then she looked down at his phone.
It buzzed again.
A text lit the screen.
Nico reached for it, but Lena saw it first.
He knew because her expression changed.
Not dramatically.
That was worse.
He grabbed the phone and turned it over, but the damage was done.
The preview had been clear.
FINAL NOTICE: Payment due by Friday.
Lena’s voice was quiet. “Nico—”
“Don’t.”
“I wasn’t going to—”
“Yes, you were.”
He shoved the phone into his pocket and grabbed his bag.
Her chair moved behind him.
“Nico, wait.”
He stopped at the door.
Against his better judgment.
Against every rule he had.
He turned.
Lena stood beside the table, one hand pressed to the interview prep sheet, looking at him like she could see the weight and hated that he had been carrying it alone.
That look was dangerous.
He needed to leave before he started trusting it.
“I don’t pity you,” she said.
His throat tightened.
He wanted to say something sharp.
Something cold.
Something that would put the wall back where it belonged.
Instead, all he managed was, “Good.”
Then he left.
He made it halfway down the hallway before his phone buzzed again.
Not his mother.
Not Sofia.
Lena.
He stared at the message.
For the interview tomorrow, answer this if they ask what Westbridge means to you: It means pressure. But it also means the chance to turn pressure into something that lasts.
Nico read it once.
Twice.
Then a second message appeared.
Also, your sister is right. You get affectionate through insults.
Despite everything, despite the bill in his pocket and the scholarship hanging over his head and the girl in the media room slowly becoming a place he wanted to stay, Nico smiled.
Just a little.
Then another text came in.
Unknown number.
No profile.
No name.
Cute family. Shame if everyone knew what Vale said about them.