Chapter 35
brIELLE
I poke Wes’ rock-solid bicep and frown when he doesn’t immediately tell me to stop.
He hasn’t said more than a handful of words since we got to our parents’ house an hour ago, and even then, Mom was the only one he’d speak to.
There’s been this foreboding sense of dread inside of me since we walked through the door, and while I’ve tried to ignore it the best I can to ensure this party doesn’t go up in flames, I’m struggling. Badly.
The way he’s sitting screams fuck off. You’d think he was about to get his dick cut off from how tense he is, not seconds away from blowing out the candles on the birthday cake Mom stayed up all night baking for him.
The icing is too loose and, from experience, is sugary enough to make my teeth ache, but she tried.
I think that may be the only reason Wes hasn’t left already.
“You look miserable, Wesley,” Dad scolds him from his reclining chair.
It’s the only place he’ll sit because he’s old and grumpy and too stubborn to dare park his ass anywhere else.
Everyone knows not to even step too close to it, too scared to be on the receiving end of one of his chastisements.
Well, mostly everyone. Wes used to purposefully sit in the chair when he was itching for a fight.
“I’m not.”
“Don’t lie to me in my own home. If you’re going to be a broody bastard, own it.”
I close my eyes and hold my breath, calming my nerves.
“I’m here. Isn’t that good enough?” Wes snaps back.
“Finally. If only we got to see you on your actual birthday. Do you have any idea how disappointed your mother was when you didn’t spend the day with her and we were offered a day weeks afterward?”
Dad’s leaning forward now, his brutal, dark brown gaze drilling holes into Wes’ face.
My stomach flops with guilt, knowing I’m the reason he’s here, listening to this.
I keep trying to remind myself that I did this for Mom.
That my pushing Wes to come wasn’t for Dad at all, but for the woman who has loved us fiercely our entire lives.
“It was my fault that he didn’t come on his birthday, Dad. I threw him a party at my place instead,” I say, lying through my teeth, but doing it well.
I’ve been lying to my father since I was a preteen. One could say I’m a pro at it now.
Dad flicks his glare my way, though it softens a fragment. “Why didn’t you say that, then? You let your mother think her only son didn’t want to spend time with her. Neither of you come home nearly enough as it is. If you’re avoiding us, you should come outright and say so.”
“Oh, wow. I wonder why we would want to avoid having such overwhelmingly joyous conversations more often,” Wes mutters, folding his arms stiffly across his chest. “You make coming home such an enjoyable occasion, Dad.”
“Watch your mouth—”
“Cake time!” Mom cheers as she sways into the room, a bright smile on her soft features.
I blow out a breath and stand, instantly yanking my shorts down my thighs as far as they’ll go. I already received a scolding for their length the moment I stepped through the door. I don’t need another one.
Standing beside Mom, I match her expression and face Wes. The twenty-eight candles on the cake are lit and flickering as she extends it to him and nods encouragingly.
“Blow them out, honey.”
I tip my chin toward the cake when he looks at me, stress pulling at every corner of his face. The guilt is ruthless as it jabs right through me, leaving my insides sliced to bits.
Wes unfolds his arms and takes the cake from Mom’s hands before blowing them out in one steady stream. The lack of candles left burning has Mom laughing and taking the cake back.
“Still no girlfriends, Wes?” she teases, her tone so obviously innocent that it makes my heart tug.
Our mom has the softest soul of anyone I’ve ever known, and while I love her all the more for it, there are times where I wish she were harder. Her gentle nature allows others to take advantage of her, our father included. And it’s led to a thousand arguments between all of us.
Maybe if she’d stepped in for Wes sooner, the relationship between him and Dad wouldn’t be so beyond repair. There wouldn’t have been so many silent, early morning rides to practice or empty seats in the stands during games where he should have had everyone in attendance.
“No.”
The sharp blade of Wes’ voice draws my eyes, concern blazing behind them. I sweep them over his face and try to make sense of the discomfort I see in every pull of his lips and ticking muscle in his jaw. They’re nearly unnoticeable tells, but I know my brother.
Or . . . I thought I did.
I slowly look at Dad and find myself even more confused.
He’s focused on the candles, watching the warm wax drip down the side before cooling.
Mom’s too busy searching for a place to put the cake to notice anything else.
Finally, she sets it on the glass top of the unused drink cart in the corner of the room and spins back around, clapping her hands.
“Do you want presents first or cake?” she asks.
Wes shifts slightly closer to me, keeping his eyes forward.
I react instantly to the silent plea, recognizing it from when we were kids and he would do the same thing to get out of a situation that he was uncomfortable in.
The first time he did it, I ignored him and assumed he was just trying to bug me.
That was the same day he and Dad got into an argument so heated a vase wound up smashed against a wall.
I still don’t know who threw it because I took the blame before either of them could, knowing Mom couldn’t handle more of their fighting.
“Could me and Wes cut the cake? I can take it into the kitchen. You stayed up baking, Mom. Just sit and relax,” I suggest, already moving toward her.
Her face scrunches as she takes me in. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t mind.”
“Please.” I drop my voice.
Realization floods her features before they droop, sadness flooding her eyes. “Alright.”
Already drowning in guilt, seeing her being so upset doesn’t send me spiralling the way it would any other day.
I shove her reaction to the back of my mind and grab the cake platter.
Without needing to look behind me, I know Wes is keeping pace with me the entire way through the dining room and, finally, into the kitchen.
The moment we reach the huge, expensive marble island, I set the cake down and reach for the edge of the counter.
Squeezing it tightly, I force myself to look at my brother.
Even at six four and easily two hundred pounds, my brother looks tiny in this kitchen.
I think that was the point when he bought our parents this house.
It was his way of rubbing Dad’s nose in his success and the name he’s made for himself despite the tough love he was punished with.
“One day, Wes. One. Day. That’s all I wanted.”
He rolls his jaw. “You think I don’t want the same thing? I just can’t be around him, Brielle. I fucking can’t. Everything about him pisses me off.”
“Is this because of baseball? Did something happen recently to make things worse off between you? He hasn’t even been to any of your games this season, and I can’t see that changing. Is that why you’re angrier than normal?”
“It’s always been about baseball.”
I exhale and twirl my bracelet around my wrist. “We’re here for Mom.”
“And who’s she here for? Because this might be my party, but it sure as hell isn’t me.”
“Don’t say that.” My stomach tumbles anxiously. “She loves you. I know for a fact that she was up well past midnight last night making you this cake because she knows it’s your favourite, and the stupid recipe she always uses requires way too much time and attention.”
Wes looks away, his teeth grinding. I try to touch his arm, but he just takes a step back and shoves his hands into his pockets.
“She could do better,” he grits out.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Than Dad. She could do better.”
My mouth hangs half-open as I let those words sink deeper. I can taste the venom in them, and it makes my throat close up.
“They’ve been married for nearly thirty years, Wes. That’s not something you should just be throwing out there.”
“But you agree, don’t you?” He scrubs his mouth with a harsh touch before slamming that hand to the counter. “You have no idea who he is, Brielle. Not a fucking clue.”
“So, tell me. Don’t hide things from me and then expect me to know them. I’m on your side here. I’ve always been on your side, but you need to help me understand so I know how to move,” I explain, half-rambling as desperation coats my tongue.
He shakes his head. “I can’t. You just need to trust me.”
“We don’t keep secrets from each other,” I say before immediately shutting my mouth.
That’s not true anymore.
I have one that’s burning a hole in my heart. Still, I keep it to myself. This isn’t the time for me to tell him that I’m falling for his coach, and I’m pretty sure he’s falling for me, too. Or that I’m failing in doing the one thing he’s warned me not to from the moment he joined this team.
“This isn’t a secret that you can learn and let go. Just drop it, Brielle. I mean it.”
He moves around the kitchen like an angry bull, bumping into a bar stool and clinking cups together as he searches the cupboards.
Mom reorganizes so often that nothing ever stays in the same place for long, but after slamming three cupboard doors, he reaches inside the fourth and roughly grabs a stack of plates.
“I’m not going to go out there and eat cake like nothing’s wrong.” I step in front of him and grab the opposite side of the plates, tugging once. “Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”
He blows out a breath through his nose. “Let go.”
I pull harder, ignoring the sound of glass scraping when his grip loosens. “Not until you tell me what’s going on between you and Dad.”
“Fuck—just leave it. You’ll only break your own heart.”
“I’m not a little girl anymore. I can handle the hard shit in life. Let me help you. Please. I need to know what to do here.”
A raw, ravaging anger flares in his eyes before his lips part, and words I couldn’t have expected in a million years escape him.
“Dad’s a fucking cheater, Brielle. He’s a piece of shit who doesn’t deserve to sit in that ugly chair and have Mom wait on him ever again. But she knows, and she hasn’t left him. She won’t. So you can do whatever the fuck you want, but I can’t be here anymore.”
He releases the plates.
So do I.
They crash to the floor and shatter.
He sucks in a breath and stares at me, his eyes wide but still just as angry. The concern dissipates the moment he sweeps his eyes over my legs and feet and realizes I’m not hurt. Then, he’s gone, and I stumble back a step, finding it hard to breathe.
There’s a weight on my chest that’s growing in size by the second. I reach up and rub at where it’s crushing me but feel nothing there besides thin fabric.
“What happened?” Mom shrieks, rushing into the room.
I stare at her, but she looks different now. Like a stranger. “Is it true?”
“Is what true?”
It’s like I can feel when he enters the room. There’s a shift in the air as it begins to sour, the stench burning the back of my throat.
“How many times has he cheated on you?”
Mom’s inhale is as sharp as it is exposing. “Brielle, honey, this isn’t the time for this conversation. You don’t understand.”
I ignore her, moving on autopilot. My blood pumps hot through my veins as I reach for the cake and carry it with me toward the archway. Dad’s piercing gaze finds mine, and for the first time in all my life, it’s full of shame.
“Don’t go yet, Brielle,” he pleads, reaching a hand out for me.
Evading it, I keep my eyes on his and launch the cake directly into his two-timing mouth.