Page 64 of The Sweet Spot

Peter leapt out of his seat and lunged for Brandon, but he saw it coming and stepped out of the way. Peter tripped on his chair and went down on his knees. Susan ran over to him to help him up. I was too stunned to do anything, and Brandon certainly wasn’t going to help either one.

“Two minutes.”

Susan gave her son a long, cold stare, then focused back on Peter. “I think we should go.”

“Go where on Christmas Eve?”

“We’ll find a hotel. I think we should leave and let Brandon have some time on his own.”

They gathered their jackets, and Susan grabbed her purse. Brandon watched them as they prepared to leave.

“You’re forgetting something,” he said. “Take all your things from the bedroom. I thought I made it clear you areleaving. That means not coming back.”

“You’re not serious,” Susan said. “It’s Christmas.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he went to the spare room, pulled out their small luggage, and set them down on the floor. “If you left anything else here, I suggest you get it now.”

They snatched up their luggage and made for the door.

“I expect an apology from you,” Peter said.

“Don’t hold your breath.”

They stormed out, and I was still standing at the table, unable to do anything. I snapped out of my stupefaction and rejoined reality.

“Are you okay?” I managed to get out.

“I need a minute,” he said and disappeared down the hall to his bedroom. He shut the door, and I looked around the table, staring at plates with food still on them. The only thing I could think to do was clean up. I put away the leftovers—a lot of leftovers—did the dishes, cleaned up what needed to be cleaned, and then thought of going home. Almost an hour had passed. Ifigured he needed time to deal with what had happened. So much had been said, and I felt terrible as a mere spectator. Maybe I should have done more.

I walked to his bedroom door and gently knocked.

“Maybe I should go home? We can talk tomorrow.”

The door opened, and I could see all the pain etched on his face. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

“You warned me. It’s fine.”

“Maybe we should talk.”

Something in his voice had me on edge, and I was more scared of what was coming next.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Brandon

Isat her on the bed and got ready to tell her everything about growing up in the Warde house. She looked terrified, as if I were about to blow up at her, too, so I needed to put her at ease immediately.

“I’m sorry about today. You shouldn’t have had to sit through that, but I’ve had enough of them. They pushed me too far. You have no idea what it was like in that house,” I said.

The fear from her face slipped away, and she reached out to touch my hand. “You know you can talk to me. You don’t have to keep it all to yourself. It will only eat you up inside.”

I nodded and let out a deep exhale. “I was the oldest, so I endured the most,” I began. “My dad wanted to be a hockey player when he was young. Made it to Juniors, never got drafted, and that was that. He went to school, got an education degree—poor fucking kids who had to be taught by him—met my mom at the same school, and got married. They both probably should have stayed single.”

I massaged my temples as all the shitty memories as a kid flooded back. I’d compartmentalized them, shutthem away, telling myself to never look back, but today had brought every damn one back.

“He was an asshole from the moment I have memories of him. The moment I could walk, he had skates on me. He drilled discipline in me, that I had to be the best at everything I did. I don’t remember having much joy or doing fun things. It was all about being a good student, an obedient child, and the best hockey player. He had me in every elite camp; he hired skating coaches, you name it. I had no time for being a kid. The few good times I had were at school, where he couldn’t get to me. But because he’d conditioned me to be the best, people didn’t like me much, especially my teammates. I was always lucky if more than one or two talked to me.”

I got up and paced the room because I had too much pent-up energy. If someone put me on a treadmill, I could probably run a marathon.