Page 21 of Always Love You More

I nod, but it must not be convincing.

“What?” my brother asks.

I pick at my fingernail. “It was just nice to hang out with someone. I don’t really have any …” I clear my throat, not liking how vulnerable I sound. I’ve never had an easy time making friends.

“I know,” Johnny says as we pull into the driveway. “Maybe I can bring you along with me sometimes. Would that …? Would that help?”

Surveying the house, I notice our father’s car then the light on in the living room and go rigid. Distractedly, I answer, “Yeah, thanks.”

Johnny watches me. “You’re okay.” It’s a statement rather than a question.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I answer, anyway, forcing a smile onto my face.

He already does so much for me, carries so many burdens that aren’t his own. The least I can do is give him this lie.

Johnny pushes open the front door, and I follow in behind him.

Our father keeps his eyes on the TV when he asks, “Where’ve you been?”

Johnny steps farther into the living room. “I got a—”

“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” Our father turns, cutting Johnny off. He points to the game on the TV. “You’re spending way too long in the pocket.”

Carson shifts next to him. “I wouldn’t have to if—”

“Excuses don’t win games,” our father barks, pausing the tape they’re reviewing of one of Carson’s games.

It’s off-season, but football never stops in our house. Our father played all through high school. He was good, but never good enough to get recruited.

Johnny played up until his sophomore year. It was a big deal when he quit. I think he finally hit a breaking point with our father’s obsession around the game, around winning. I don’t know exactly what pushed him over the edge, but one day, he just quit. Our father didn’t speak to him for weeks.

After that, Carson became the golden boy. Not only did he keep playing, but he’s really good. Our father is convinced he’ll go all the way, that Carson is gonna be the one who gets us out of this neighborhood.

He turns from Carson to Johnny. “What’d you say?”

“I got a new job.”

Our father sits up straighter. “Where?”

“Baxston & Sons.”

“Money must be good.”

Johnny’s jaw ticks. “It is.”

Our father’s gaze cuts to me. “Stop hiding behind him.”

I step around my brother and mumble, “I’m not.”

“And where have you been?”

“I—”

“What happened to your face?” Carson asks before I can respond.

“I picked her up from school,” Johnny answers for me. “The nurse called. She tripped on the stairs and cut her face. Made her miss the bus.”

I keep still, not wanting to give away the fact that Johnny just lied to cover for me.