Page 84 of Fatal Fame
Ethan pulled out his earbuds and looked up with the guarded expression that had become his default whenever confronted by authority figures, even his own father.
"Where's your sister?" Noah asked, settling down beside his son on the sun-warmed planks.
"Celebrating, I guess."
"Yeah, I heard about the incident at the hospital." Noah studied his son's profile, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his hands fidgeted with the earbud cord. "Seems Mia got to solve her first case."
Noah sat down fully beside Ethan, brushing lint from his pants as he looked out over the lake. The water reflected the dying light like hammered copper, and somewhere in the distance, a loon called across the water with its haunting voice. This conversation was long overdue, perhaps years overdue, but the events of the past week had made delay impossible.
"How are things with you, Ethan?"
"Fine."
"You always say that, but really, how are you doing?"
"I just told you. I'm fine."
Noah nodded, recognizing the defensive walls his son had built around himself. Without warning, he reached over and grabbed Ethan's wrist, pushing up the sleeve of his hoodie to reveal the network of cuts that crisscrossed his forearm—some old and silvered, others fresh enough to still carry the pink of recent healing.
"Get off," Ethan said, jerking his arm away.
"That doesn't look like fine to me."
Ethan's face flushed with anger and embarrassment. "She told you, didn't she?" He cursed under his breath and started to stand. "I'm going inside."
"Sit back down."
"Why? So we can have a heart-to-heart? So you can tell me how everything is going to be fine? How life will just work things out?" Ethan's voice cracked with the emotion he'd been holding back. "Well, let me save you that conversation. It's all going to be fine, Dad. Fine, fine, fine! Is that good enough? Did I put a big enough smile on my face? Satisfied?"
"Sit down, Ethan."
"No, I'm going inside."
"Sit down! Now!" Noah's voice carried across the water with enough authority to draw the attention of their neighbor Ed, who stepped out onto his porch to investigate.
"Everything okay down there?" Ed called.
Noah raised his thumb in acknowledgment. "Please, son," he said to Ethan, his voice gentler now. "Sit."
Ethan reluctantly lowered himself back onto the dock, his body language radiating resentment.
"I can't help you if you're not honest with me," Noah said.
"If I was honest with you, Dad, you wouldn't help me. You'd lock me up."
"What are you talking about?"
"You don't know the thoughts that go through my head. I'm not a good person."
"Of course you are. You're a Sutherland."
Ethan gave a mocking laugh that contained more bitterness than any teenager should possess. "Even you don't believe that."
Noah felt the weight of his words. There was truth in what Ethan said, painful truth that Noah had been avoiding for years. At one time, the Sutherland name had been associated with morality, honesty, integrity—but over the years, that line had been muddied by town politics, rumors, and secrets. His own father's legacy cast shadows that Noah had spent decades trying to escape.
"What's going on with you?" Noah asked, fighting to keep his voice level. "That whole thing you did with Mia—tracking her, sending those messages—that's not you, Ethan. I didn't raise you to be that way. And don't tell me it's because you were scared for Mia's life. Those messages you sent were designed to inject fear. So what is it? Jealousy?"
"No," Ethan shot back, the speed and force of his denial revealing how close to the mark Noah had come.
