Page 47 of Pack Rivals: Part Two
“I’m not bad at apologizing.”
“If that were true, you and Angel would have made up a long, long time ago.”
“He hasn’t apologized to me.”
“So what?” Molly says, placing her cup on the table. “You’re both shitheads. You both hurt each other. Does it matter who apologizes first?”
“He ruined my football career!”
“Molly is right,” my mom says. “I’ve heard both sides of the story many times–”
“So many times!” Molly groans.
“You were both to blame in this, Axel. I wish you could put it behind you.”
“We’ve had this discussion numerous times before.”
“You say you like this Bea,” my mom says. “You’ve messed things up. You need to put them right and you’re failing. Do you know why I think that probably is, Axel?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
My mom glares at me. “You’ve never been good at swallowing your pride and admitting when you’ve been in the wrong.”
“I told her I messed up. I told her I’m sorry.”
“Have youshownher?”
“Shown her?”
“Axel,” my sister says, “you can tell me a million times that you’re sorry you don’t come and visit more often, that you don’t call more often, I’ll never believe you truly are. Not until you start showing up on our doorstep more often.”
“Shit,” I whisper, scrubbing my hand through my air, feeling all the weight of shame I ought to.
“You’ve always been your father’s son,” my mom says, “you always wanted to be just like him and follow in his footsteps. But being a man is about taking responsibility, doing the difficult things – not just the easy ones – admitting when you are wrong and fixing yourself so it doesn’t happen again.”
I sit there with those words humming in my ears as my mom and my little sister sip their coffee.
I’ve always considered myself a man, an alpha, this big player, the top dog. People look up to me. People fear me. People respect me. Fuck, they want to be me.
But now, sitting here eating fucking cookies I realize I’ve been acting like a child. Playing games with people’s hearts.
As the chocolate chips melt against my tongue, I realize I’m not only a child, I’m also a massive fucking asshole.
The doorbell gongs somewhere in the hallway and my mom glances towards the window.
“Ahhh, good, that’ll be Angel.”
11
Angel
I was hopingI wouldn’t see my brother again for weeks. Months. Even years.
I’ve spent more time with him in the last 48 hours than I have in the last decade, and while it hasn’t been as terrible as it could have been, it’s still been painful. Working with him, to bring Bea home, a reminder of all that we’ve lost.
Somehow, though, I find myself sitting out back with him on the porch, the vast patch of land that was all ours to explore when we were kids spread out in front of us. My mom, who summoned me here this morning, and my sister have both conveniently disappeared into thin air.
Usually, I’ve resisted every attempt to maneuver me into the same room as my big brother. Today, I’m too damn tired and deflated to try.
