CHAPTER 38
Troy
DAD’S BACK FROM Santorini.
A fact I would not have known this soon if I wasn’t dropping Karl off from Kyle’s house today.
“You should stay for dinner,” Karl insists, as I pull into Dad’s driveway. “Camila’s making a shit ton of lasagna, and Dimitri’s already on his way.”
Dimitri has his own place like me but still makes the effort to join weekly dinners with Dad and Karl.
I used to do the same, until every dinner grew into a fight between my father and me.
The reminder that Karl might be the first one of us to move away from this town in less than a year suddenly daunts me.
Maybe I can make more of an effort to block out our dad’s frustrating behavior.
“Yeah, sure,” I say. “I can stay.”
“Sweet. I’ll go tell Dimitri.” He pats my shoulder in excitement before jumping out the car.
My heart swells, seeing my younger brother looks so happy. I love seeing him carefree like this. It reminds me of the simpler times when the five of us were here, still together.
After I’ve parked and reach the front door, I’m ushered in by yet another unfamiliar face. Reaching the living room, I plop down onto the giant couch, where Karl’s now lounged across the chaise by the flat screen.
He lifts his eyes off his phone, glancing at me. “Dimitri just said, ‘are you sure you were talking to our brother?’”
I scoff. “Send him the middle finger emoji with a red heart next to it from me.”
“Done and done,” he salutes.
While we wait for Dimitri’s arrival, I move into the kitchen to help Camila set the table.
Dad wouldn’t approve of this, but there’s also not much I do that my father would approve of.
Camila’s eyes widen in surprise as I begin stacking the plates of fine porcelain in my arms, tagging along with her to the dining room.
My mother taught me to never value someone for solely their wealth.
That money could disappear one day, but your character stays with you.
Mom didn’t come from a rich family. She was raised in a quaint town in North Carolina, just off the promenade, by immigrant parents who lived on a small island near Santorini.
Her parents passed before she ended up marrying into one of the wealthiest families on the East Coast. Dad’s family.
Karl was just six-years-old when Mom died. He was a little sad from her passing. Mostly confused. I don’t think he initially grasped what had happened when Dad broke the news that morning. The morning before, he still had a mom. The next, he didn’t.
At fourteen-years-old, I was considerably older. But the news stunted me so deep I felt even younger than my little brother. Everything changed for me overnight, and nothing I saw was ever viewed the same again.
I was an observant kid, my mother used to always tell me.
Then, how did I not see her death coming?
I place the last pieces of shiny silverware across our father’s obnoxiously large dining table before returning back to the living room. The cheeky grin that lifts Karl’s face gains my attention. He’s slumped deeper into the navy furniture, his legs lazily extended out.
Maybe he’s just mucking around with his hockey teammates. Or texting a crush. Or even brain rotting on social media.
I smile to myself.
Carefree. Little things.
Little things that I didn’t notice when I was so young, not expecting that one day they wouldn’t be there for me to notice. Sometimes you don’t notice the little things until the big things are gone.
It’s nice that Karl got to relatively enjoy his childhood and teenage years. Part of me is glad he had the chance to grow up without the weight of what really happened to Mom. A bigger part of me is dipped in guilt for keeping the truth from him.
Some secrets are too big to reveal, Dad had said to me and Dimitri.
We have an image to protect.
_________
Karl wasn’t kidding when he said “shit ton”.
That lasagna was generously sized. Three plates of the seven-cheese masterpiece, and our white tablecloth is now stained tomato red with meat sauce.
Though neither the meal, nor the company of my brothers, was enough to cancel out Gustaf Larsson’s passive aggression toward me during the entirety of dinner.
The man couldn’t even help himself when it came to his greeting,
“Troy. Is it Christmas, already?”
I’ve actually been doing a decent job at dodging most of my father’s comments tonight, letting his pockets of resent bounce off my skin like tiny missiles that fizzle against an unbreakable metal.
While I’m sipping my beer, I notice Dad slide out his phone to the sound of a ding. He focuses on the screen, his whole expression frowning with intensity.
“What?” Karl asks, intrigued.
Dimitri and I lean forward to listen in.
“Bennet just informed me of an expansion at the rink in Wisteria,” Dad explains.
Bennet Hale is Mr. Larsson’s notorious publicist. He’s the best in the sports biz, and just as feared among rink goers. It’s no surprise that Hale knows about the Wisteria Rink expansion, but there’s no way he’ll find out about my coaching gig there later this year. I have a foolproof plan.
A plan that Dimitri will probably tell you sucks. In true oldest son fashion, Dimitri cares a ton, and with that care, he often worries the most.
I can feel the stressed gaze of my older brother on me, as our father goes on, “They’re wasting their time. I’ll have to set up a meeting with my guys to see if there’s a way we can stop it.”
Anger rips through me at his nerve. He has his rink. The biggest one in the country. Yet he has to continue to stop potential competition from providing more athletes opportunities. Opportunities that may pose as a threat to his own hockey empire.
I want to say something. I have to say something.
But, I bite my tongue at the reminder of remaining calm, to restore somewhat of normalcy for the sake of “family.”
“That rink thinks it stands a chance against us,” Dad growls. “They’ll be broke in a few years.”
That’s it.
“How can you be so sure?” I finally snap.
“The place is a dump,” he laughs out.
“Yeah, well, Mom loved that dump, if you have any recollection about anything that doesn’t involve you.”
He sets down his phone, tipping his head my way. “Your mother’s taste was questionable at times, Troy.”
I slam my beer onto the table, catching Dimitri run his hand over his face, tense.
And that’s how dinner turned into a shitstorm. The end.