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.”