Page 422 of Ruthless Court
I don’t feel alone.
Not even close.
* * *
By December, Christmas hangs over me.
Not decorations.
Dad.
Specifically Dad meeting Kane.
The conversation happens after another road game.
Kane and I are back in his room.
I’m sitting cross-legged on his bed wearing his T-shirt and my glasses while he folds clothes for tomorrow.
He is terrible at folding.
I watch him destroy a sweatshirt.
“You know you can fold sleeves inward.”
“It’s going in a bag.”
“That doesn’t erase geometry.”
He looks at me.
“Is that why you’ve been quiet?”
“No.”
He drops the sweatshirt.
“What is it?”
I trace one finger along the edge of his comforter.
“I have to go home for Christmas.”
“Okay.”
“Alone.”
That stops him.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
“Okay.”
I hate that he makes it easy.
“I need to fix things with Dad.”
