Page 22 of The Hang Up

But, like many of my decisions concerning Sean, that had turned out to be a mistake.

“I can order things for myself, Dad. I’m not a child.”

Ordering for him was just my first mistake. Talking to him about his goals for his job and how he could do so much more than working at a call center was next. I was glad Ben wasn’t his boss anymore—and, of course, he was defensive about that. I tried not to react. Not to say anything. But I couldn’t help myself. It was like the big rut that used to be on the road in front of my childhood home. I always ended up in it whether I intended to or not.

But at least Ben wasn’t his boss anymore.

I had to stop Sean from leaving more than once.

“I’m trying.”

He sipped his drink and stared at the glass as if it could tell us why we were so fucked up. Not that I needed anyone to tell me. I was the reason. The reason our relationship was messed up. The reason Sean was messed up. Although he seemed to be turning that around. “I know you’re trying, Dad. That’s why I’m still here. But maybe stop—I mean, it used to be so easy. Of course, I was ten back then. All I cared about was baseball and spending time with my dad.” His hands were in his lap, and I was positive he was mangling the napkin. I’d seen him do it often enough.

“I just want you to be happy.”

“That’s it? Because I am happy. Ben makes me happy, Dad.”

“You’re right. I guess that’s not all I want. I’d like to be a part of that if I can.”

Sean studied my face. Was he looking for the truth? I didn’t look away. I wanted him to see how sincere I was. That had been Brock’s advice: be sincere.Stop thinking about Brock.“We’ll see how it goes,” he said, with that smirk I remembered so well. It had driven me crazy when he was a teen. It meant he was up to something. And it usually involved his best friend.

Once he laid out the ground rules, things seemed to go better.

Then I asked the one question I shouldn’t. But wouldn’t he expect me to ask? We were still waiting for our food. And I wasn’t sure what else to talk about. I took a drink of water, trying to keep my voice neutral. “How’s Brock?”

I could tell I wasn’t successful because he was suddenly focused on me. My hands felt sweaty, and I wiped them on my napkin.

“Brock’s fine.”

I wanted to shake him and say I needed more than that. Was Brock joking around? He loved to laugh. What was he making for dinner? Because sometimes I could tell his mood by what he cooked. Italian meant he was happy. Baking was his go-to. But lemon-blueberry pound cake meant he was sad. It was a comfort thing. I also wanted to know if he was crying himself to sleep and pretending to be okay. I didn’t ask any of those things.

I asked about Angel and Regina. Mostly so it didn’t seem like I was singling Brock out. I avoided his gaze, worried he could tell. Thankfully, our food arrived, and I focused on eating.

“Somehow, all of Angel’s medical bills have been paid.”

My fork was halfway to my mouth, and I set it down. His tone had been accusatory. Of course I’d paid off Angel’s medical bills. I had the money, and besides, it was part of—but it didn’t matter. That’s not how Sean or Brock would see it. But I wasn’t trying to be the hero. My goal had been to wipe the shadows from Brock’s eyes. To take that burden away. And if it also softened Sean toward me, I was good with that.

“I’m sure Regina—and Brock—are both relieved.”

“Mrs. Abbott is very grateful to whoever did it.”

I nodded, poking my broccoli with my fork. “Can you tell them I’m glad?”

Sean nodded. He studied the tablecloth, his mind clearly somewhere else. “It was really hard for a while. Brock was a mess. He’s always been the strong one. It was hard to see him like that.”

Did he realize what he was admitting? I studied the face I knew so well. The scar he’d gotten from a bike wreck when he was ten. The freckles sprinkled across his nose. When he talked about Brock, I could hear how much he cared about him. Loved him. Brock was his best friend. And here I was, selfishly thinking of kissing Brock and wanting to be with him. Could I do that to Sean? Choosing between the two didn’t seem fair. And yet it did. Because I’d chosen wrong all those years ago. And this was my chance to make it right.

Our goodbyes were awkward. “Thanks for coming, Sean.”

“Sure, Dad,” he said, “No problem.” But he studied the floor instead of looking at me. Did I read everything wrong? “Maybe you could come for dinner and meet Ben.”

“That sounds great.” I tried to keep my voice even. “Are you cooking?”

His eyes darted to my face. “God, no. I’ll leave the cooking to Brock.”

My face heated. “Oh, okay. Yeah,” I said lamely. “That would be amazing.”

I didn’t call Brock afterward, even though he’d sent me a message saying it was fine. Making things right with Sean meant I needed to be strong. I texted him and told him I thought it’d gone well. We exchanged a few more texts, and I tucked away the part of me that missed him.

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