Page 218 of Tell Me I'm Enough

“It’s going fine,” I answer.

My father cuts into his steak, not looking up. “Define fine.”

I take a bite of food just to keep my mouth busy before having to respond to him, so my words don’t come out as bitter as I feel.

“It’s going.”

He watches me like he’s assessing a stock he invested in. “We need more than ‘it’s going.’ How’s your shoulder feeling? Is it affecting your game?”

“Considering I was in an accident that fucked it up pretty badly and it’s not healing well, I’d say yeah, it’s still affecting it. But don’t worry, I’m pushing through, wouldn’t wanna be more of a disappointment or anything.”

He lifts his fork, pointing it towards me. “Don’t get smart, son.”

Rose laughs lightly. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t mind him. He’s probably just tired.”

My dad doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Mason doesn’t get tired.”

That sentence is supposed to be a compliment, but it feels more like a threat.

The boys start talking about school—Asher excitedly describing the project I’ve been helping him with all break, Easton quietly answering when his mom asks him questions.

Rose at least seems interested in them. Dad barely listens. He just eats, nods, and drinks from his glass of wine like his only job around here is to provide a roof over our heads, and then use us as he pleases—pawns onhisboard, inhisgame.

I sit there and answer when spoken to, but my thoughts aren’t here; they’re on that bruise.

I can still hear his tiny voice sayingI’m sorry,Mase, like it’s somehow his job to apologize for a grown man losing control.

My jaw is starting to hurt from how hard I’m clenching it, having to sit here and listen to him.

He speaks again, keeping it casual—cold even. “You staying in shape over break?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He looks over at the boys. “Practice and discipline. That’s how you become something in life, boys.That’swhy I’m so tough on my kids.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Since when did discipline need to come with bruises?”

My dad’s head snaps up to look at me. His jaw tightens.

The table quickly goes quiet. Rose freezes mid-bite. Asher’s fork stops halfway to his mouth. Easton’s eyes flick toward me, then down. My father sets his knife down slowly, like he has all the time in the world. Like he’s not the kind of man who will explode like a ticking time bomb.

Guess what. That’s where we’re alike.

I can go off too.

“Who are you talking to, Mason?” he asks, this calmness settling over him, like he doesn’t even care that someone is calling him out.

I don’t look away. “I’m pretty sure I’m talking to the only person in this room putting their hands on those boys over there.” I look over to Rose. “Unless you do too…”

She looks at me with sincere eyes and shakes her head no.

I look back over to my dad. “Guess that leaves…you.”

“You better watch your tone, boy.”

“Watch your fucking hands, and keep them off those boys.”

My father’s face doesn’t change much. That’s what’s scary about him. He can be so cruel and cold.