Page 39 of Contested

Sebastian’s hand went to his cheek before he could stop it. He touched the edge near his eye, pushed his glasses up, then rested both palms face down on the table.

“Training,” Sebastian lied. “Gets rough.”

Loren scoffed. “You lie like Dad.”

That hit harder than Marcos’ shoulder had.

Sebastian knew she hadn’t meant it in the worst way. Loren could be careless when she was annoyed, but she wasn’t cruel for sport. Still, the words landed in the exact place they needed to, and his jaw clenched before he could stop it. He had spent most of his life trying not to become his father in the ways that mattered. Being compared to him, even loosely, made something sharp press against Sebastian’s ribs.

He shook his head and wrapped one hand around his mug. “What’s up? Why did you wanna see me?”

“Can’t just want to see my brother?” Loren questioned, taking another sip of her drink.

Sebastian scanned the café. “Not usually.”

Loren inhaled deeply through her nose, and that was when he knew whatever she had come to say wasn’t small. Her fingers stayed around her mug, but she didn’t lift it again. She looked past him, toward the window and the people moving outside, then back at him.

“Dad’s sick. Not seriously, they don’t think. But he needs surgery.”

For a moment, the café noise thinned around him.

Sebastian kept his hand on the mug. The ceramic was too hot against his palm, but he didn’t move. He watched Loren’s mouth after she finished speaking, as if there might be something else coming to help the words settle more easily.

There wasn’t.

“Sick?” Sebastian clicked his tongue. “What kind?”

“Tumour. On his neck. They’re doing tests to see if it’s spread and all that.”

Sebastian dropped his gaze to the foam in his mug. The word ‘tumour’ seemed to take up too much space. It sat there between them, larger than the small table, larger than Loren’s careful tone.

His first thought was not clean enough to say.

His second wasn’t much better.

His father had always seemed too solid for illness. As though sickness would just bounce off him and fall to someone else.

His father was work boots left by the door, heavy footsteps, hands that could fix things and break them with the same blunt confidence. He was a voice from another room. A door shutting too hard. A man who had learned later than he should have that being tired didn’t excuse being angry.

Sebastian ran his finger around the rim of his mug and felt the heat creep into his skin.

“Okay,” he finally said, meeting his sister’s gaze again.

Loren’s eyebrow lifted. “That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. I just thought you’d have more to say.”

“I’ve got a lot of other shit going on at the moment.”

“Clearly.” Loren gestured at Sebastian’s face, and he rolled his head, feeling it click as he did.

It was a mistake, saying it that way. He knew that before Loren’s face changed. But the defence had come up on its own before he could think about it. Because he needed to keep things simple.

“Look, if it’s not serious, it’s not serious,” Sebastian stated, shrugging. “He’ll get the surgery and be fine. I don’t really think it needs my attention.”

Loren stared at him for one full second.