Page 91 of The Score We Never Settled

My sisters begged me to be nice, and this is me being nice.

Quiet.

If I’m quiet, I can’t say anything. And, if I can’t say anything, then it won’t stress out the only two people that I give a shit about.

So, I remain neutral.

However, it’s grating because sitting across the head of the table from my father was not on my shit to do when I came back to Magnolia Ridge.

Far from it.

I didn’t plan on visiting or shooting the shit about the latest and greatest in my life. There’s zero need or willpower to fill him in on anything in my life.

I’m immune to him, and I’m glad I don’t wear a watch because I think that would make it more painful.

“Briggs,” Everly suddenly says, looking in my direction from my right. “Caleb used to play baseball, too. He played catcher.”

I flick an unimpressed glance at the little shit nestled up at the table next to my sister. He wears a slightly nervous grin and bobs his head in confirmation.

“Important position,” my father chimes in when no one asked for his opinion. “How long did you play?”

“Eight years, sir,” Caleb returns. “I tore my rotator cuff my freshman year of college, and I was never able to regain the power in my arm again.”

“That’s awful,” Adeline sympathizes. “Was that something you were trying to go professional with?”

“Not really. It’s a lot of moving around, I would imagine.” He looks at me for confirmation but, I mean, that’s common fucking sense, isn’t it? “Besides, I wouldn’t be what you’d call big league material.”

I don’t doubt it, quitter.

“You don’t know that,” Evely croons, touching his arm gently on the table. “You could’ve been amazing and played with my brother.”

Doubt it.

He’s a quitter.

“No need to have two huge egos in the room,” Adeline teases over her glass of lemonade, and the joke falls on Everly and Caleb but not me and our father.

No, we’ve been silently at war from across the table while Adeline promised dinner would be ready ten minutes ago, but it feels like it was yesterday that she said that.

As if reading my mind, she slowly gets up and stands while running her palms down her green dress. “I’m going to go check on dinner.”

For the love of God, let it be done.

“Briggs,” Everly beams, her smile genuine and happy, and I’m happy for her. However, not with the little quitter at her side. “Do you think if the Tornadoes make the playoffs this year, we can come?”

“That’s a given,” I deadpan.

“You’re up eight games,” Caleb calls out like a kiss-ass. “This has to be an exciting year.”

You can say that.

But you wouldn’t know, would you, quitter?

Taking another long sip of my beer, I do that instead of answering when Dad clears his throat.

“So, civil engineerin’,” he says. “What kind of jobs can you get with that?”

“Plenty. The options are endless, really.”