Page 17 of Fault Line

His voice is as stiff and formal as it’s always been. “Holden, how are you?”

My lips press into a flat line, smile dropping as I say, “I’m good.”

I’m almost certain that he doesn’t actually care about how I’m doing. There’s no need for pleasantries here. I know the robotic attempt is simply a way for him to fulfill his designated role.

He’s the loving, supportive Father of the Year type, after all.

“I’d like to take you out to dinner after your game this weekend. I’m coming into town to see you play.” The way he phrases it makes my blood boil. It’s not a request; it’s a demand. But I know better than to argue with him.

“Sure, that sounds great.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you after the game, then.” He hangs up before I manage to get another word in edgewise, leaving me to stew in my own irritation.

I know he means well. He’s always been proud of me, my successes with hockey and with school. But I still feel like a pawn in his game. A way for him to show off his successful son to all his rich pals.

I take a deep breath, trying to relieve the sinking feeling in my gut. My father’s looming presence always feels like a weight on my shoulders, dragging me down. But I can’t let it distract me for too long. I need to focus on the shit Icancontrol and try to ignore the pressure of my family’s picture-perfect image.

I grab a drink and find a booth to slide into, shaking off the resentment.

I’ve been playing this role for my parents for as long as I can remember. The perfect son. The shining star. All the things my younger brother, Harris, sure as hell won’t bother with.

As I take a bite of my food, my mind dwells on my father’s stilted attempts at connection. It’s tough to ignore the strain that’s cut between us for the last five years. We both pretend like it doesn’t exist, but it’s an ever-present storm cloud looming in the distance.

Hockey is my escape, my one indulgence, and the driving force behind my pursuit of excellence in all aspects of my life. When I step into the rink and onto the ice, it’s the only time I truly feel like myself.

Running a ragged hand through my hair, I make a concerted effort to erase thoughts of my father’s visit from my mind. There’s a game this weekend to prepare for and a dissertation to work on, and I need to stay sharp and focused if I’m going to stay on top.

My teammates, my coach, my peers—they’re all counting on me to succeed. So, I paste on a smile, tucking all the uneasy feelings away for now.

Out of sight, out of mind.

7

KAIA

As I lieawake in bed, a heavy weight presses down on me, suffocating me slowly. I’ve been trying to sleep for hours, but my brain’s playing like a broken record, ruminating on all the same endless thoughts.

My mind drifts to schoolwork, the never-ending pile of assignments and deadlines that seem to cast an everlasting shadow. Right now, I can easily manage my workload, but even the thought of falling behind sends a jolt of tension through my spine.

It’s not just school—the perpetual fear of failure—that weighs me down. My thoughts inevitably wander to my parents. For the most part, I try to keep them from entering my panicky, late-night thought spirals.

I doubt I even cross their minds on a good day.

I know this because they gallivanted off to Greece only a couple of years after Sofia graduated high school. It was meant to be a temporary thing, but they ended up moving there for good and leaving me behind. It’s like they were waiting for their prodigal daughter to finally leave the nest.

And once she was gone, my future was in my own hands.

They acted like they wanted me to come along, but I knew I’d be burdening them with my presence. A nuisance to their careers. So, I stayed in Boyer, the tiny town that sits a few exits off the nearest coastal highway.

This place is all I’ve ever known. My aunt let me stay with her until I finished high school myself. And now, here I am, on my own again in college.

Well, Elio’s here to keep me company, at the very least.

But God, he was acting so fucking strange in class earlier today. He didn’t speak to me all weekend, and then he shows up to our lecture completely strung out.

I don’t want to automatically assume the worst, but still, the worry grips me like a vice, refusing to let go. I can’t help but wonder if he’s fallen back into old habits.

But he’d tell me about it if he had, right? He’d confide in me, ask me to pull him up from beneath the murky water. Because we promised we wouldn’t go back there again. We said we’d always lean on each other when the temptation became too strong.

---