Chapter 24
Jack pulled into his parents' driveway and cut the engine. The house was lit up warm against the night, and through the front window, he could see his mom moving around in the kitchen. The sight made something settle in his chest.
He grabbed his gym bag from the back seat and headed inside. The smell of his mom’s cooking lingered in the air, making his stomach rumble despite the pasta he'd just eaten at Rachel's.
“Hey, Mom,” Jack called out as he stepped into the kitchen.
She looked up from wiping down the counters and smiled. “Hey, honey. How’s Rachel?”
“Good.” He grinned, then smiled wider as he spied his mother’s smile. He set his bag by the door and walked over to kiss her cheek. “We’re good, Mom.”
She nodded, her smile still in place.
“Where's Carson?”
“He's upstairs doing homework. Or at least he's supposed to be doing homework.” Carrie's smile was knowing. “Go on up. I’m sure he’d love to see you.”
Jack climbed the stairs to the second floor, the old wood creaking under his feet. Carson now had the room that Jack had lived in when he first moved into Colt’s house.
Jack knocked on the doorframe. “Hey, got a minute?”
Carson looked up from his desk, surprise flickering across his face. “Yeah, sure.”
Jack stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
Carson's room was neat but lived-in, with posters of baseball players on the walls, a bookshelf crammed with textbooks and novels, and a backpack dumped in the corner. It reminded Jack of the way he’d decorated the room, back when life seemed simpler.
“What's up?” Carson asked, swiveling his chair to face Jack.
Jack sat on the edge of the bed, resting his forearms on his knees. He kept his posture relaxed, wanting Carson to be at ease. “Just wanted to check in. See how you're doing.”
Carson shrugged. “I'm fine.”
They sat in silence for a moment, and Jack could feel the quiet between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was definitely careful. Carson had always been quieter than Jack, more thoughtful, less quick to trust. But they’d always had a good relationship.
“You know,” Jack said, sitting straighter, “I've been thinking about when Colt first started dating Mom.”
Carson's eyebrows lifted slightly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jack smiled at the memory. “I thought it was the greatest thing in the world. I was, what, eleven? And suddenly, there was this guy who wanted to hang out with me, teach me things, and show up at my games. It felt like I'd won the lottery.”
Carson listened, his expression unreadable.
Jack continued, his voice dropping lower. “My biological dad never wanted anything to do with Mom or me. Not until he decided to run for an office in Maryland and knew it would be embarrassing if the press found out he had a kid he'd never provided for.”
Carson's eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Jack nodded. “I never told you that part, did I?”
“No.” Carson shook his head slowly. “I mean, I knew your biological dad wasn't around, but I didn't know why.”
“He didn't want the responsibility,” Jack said simply. “Didn't want the complication. And when he finally showed up, it wasn't because he cared about me. It was because he needed me to stay quiet so his political career wouldn't tank.”
Carson was quiet for a long moment, processing. “That sucks.”
“It did,” Jack agreed. “But it also made me realize how lucky I was when Colt came into our lives. Because he chose to be my dad. He didn't have to be, but he showed up, and he stayed.”
Carson's expression softened. “He's a great dad.”
“The best, and I’m glad you’ve had that every day of your life.” Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But you know what else I learned in high school? Having the sheriff for a dad was mostly good, but sometimes others didn't want to be around me because of it.”
Carson's eyes met Jack's, and something flickered there. Recognition, maybe, or understanding.
“People would act differently around me,” Jack continued. “Like they were afraid I'd tell Dad if they did something wrong. Or like they expected me to be perfect just because of who my dad was. It was...” He searched for the word. “Heavy sometimes.”
Carson nodded slowly. “Yeah. Mostly, I don't care, but sometimes it seems like a weight. Don't screw up, don't make a bad grade, don't do anything wrong. Not because Dad will be disappointed, but because some people act like I have to be better just because of who my dad is.”
“Exactly.” Jack's voice was gentle. “It's not about dad.. He's never put that pressure on you. But other people do it for him.”
“Yeah.” Carson's shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension seeming to ease.
They talked for a while after that, shifting to easier topics. Baseball. High school. Jack asked if it was weird that Carson's brother would be his coach, and Carson's face lit up.
“No, it's great,” Carson said, genuine enthusiasm breaking through his usual reserve. “I mean, most of the guys on the team are thrilled. Your trophy is legend.”
It was the kind of smile that reminded Jack of when his little brother was five years old and thought Jack hung the moon, and he rolled his eyes.
“That was a long time ago. Don’t get me wrong…
it was great at the time. But I can’t rest on just being that guy from high school.
I had to keep learning and growing as I got older. ”
Carson nodded, seeming to think on the words Jack just said. Then Carson grew quiet, his gaze dropping to his hands resting in his lap. Jack remained still, hoping Carson would tell him if something was wrong, even if it was about one of his friends.
Carson cleared his throat. “We all survived the freshman prank last week. I just had to carry the head coach’s bag back and forth to the locker room all week.
” He twisted his hands together. “Someone else had to hide in a locker in the boys’ locker room for fifteen minutes without being seen or caught. ”
Jack knew the kids pulled pranks, but they were closely monitored to prevent hazing.
Various silly pranks were written on slips of paper and put in a bag.
The freshman could look at the one he drew, then put it back and choose another if he wanted.
They ranged from singing while in the locker room to walking backward around the baseball diamond before practice. “Yeah, I remember.”
“It was stupid,” Carson agreed. “But it could've been worse. There were a bunch of different stupid things we could do, and I thought mine was the least stupid.”
Jack noticed the shift in Carson's tone. His brother had gone quieter again, his shoulders tightening just slightly. “Were you okay with it? Hazing isn't allowed, you know. I don't want—”
“No, it wasn't like we couldn't say no,” Carson interrupted quickly. He paused, then added, “My friend… he just heard a student and someone talking. Then nothing.”
Jack's detective instincts kicked in immediately—the way Carson said it, the careful casualness of his tone, and the way he wouldn't quite meet Jack's eyes. Something happened in that locker room. Something Carson didn't know how to talk about.
Jack waited, keeping his expression open and patient. He'd learned that sometimes the best way to get information was to simply be quiet and let the other person decide when they were ready to share.
The silence stretched between them. Carson stared at his hands, his jaw working like he was trying to decide what to say. Finally, he looked up. “It was probably nothing,” Carson mumbled.
“Okay,” Jack said. He didn't push, but just sat on the edge of Carson's bed, watching his younger brother stare at his hands. The kid looked miserable, caught between loyalty and doing what was right.
“Carson,” Jack said gently, “I’m pretty sure it was Robbie, and he asked you to keep this quiet. And I know you take promises seriously. That's one of the things I respect most about you.”
Carson's jaw tightened. “Then you know I can't break my word.”
“Can I tell you something?” Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“When I was in the Navy, I had a buddy who made me promise not to tell anyone he was struggling.
He was having panic attacks and couldn't sleep, but he was terrified they'd kick him out if anyone found out.
He made me swear I wouldn't say anything.”
Carson looked up, curious despite himself.
“I kept that promise for two weeks,” Jack continued.
“Until I found him one night, passed out in his rack because he'd taken too many sleeping pills trying to knock himself out.
He almost died, Carson. And I realized something…
the promise I made to protect his secret wasn't as important as keeping him alive.”
“But Robbie's not going to die,” Carson protested.
“Maybe not. But someone else might, depending on what he saw.”
Carson's throat worked as he swallowed. “Robbie didn't want to be a snitch.”
“There's a difference between being a snitch and being someone who speaks up when people are in danger.” Jack's voice was firm but kind.
“A snitch tells on someone to get them in trouble or to benefit themselves.
But telling the truth to protect people?
That's called having integrity. That's called being brave.”
“It doesn't feel brave,” Carson whispered. “It feels like betraying my friend.”
“I know it does.” Jack put his hand on Carson's shoulder.
“But Carson, promises made under duress, when you're scared or pressured, or promises made to protect someone who's doing something wrong, those aren't promises you have to keep. Especially when keeping them means other people could get hurt.”
Carson was quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the floor. “What if Robbie hates me?”
“He might be mad at first,” Jack admitted. “But real friends understand when you do the right thing. And if Robbie's the kind of person I think he is, he’ll eventually realize you did this to protect him and everyone else.”
“You really think so?”