Chapter 1
Desmond could still hear his ears ringing from the residual noise of the stadium. The Panthers had won.
"-Honestly, everyone's been raving so much about the victory. They were about to drag me to the afterparty, but I told them no, I had to attend this dinner first."
Mason spoke around a mouthful of mashed potatoes, shoveling them in with the grace and urgency of a starving orphan who had just spotted food after three business days of famine.
"You should've gone to the party, honey. It's your team," the older woman sitting beside him said kindly.
She scooped another serving onto his plate even though the previous one was nowhere near half finished.
Mason shook his head, laughing.
"How could I? I had a promise to keep."
His gaze drifted sideways.
Not toward their mother sitting on his other side.
Toward the young woman seated beside him.
Her blonde hair was perfectly curled, not a strand out of place. Her green eyes were bright and trusting, her pale skin practically glowing beneath the warm dining room lights. A soft, non-threatening smile rested on her lips, the sort of smile that probably convinced strangers to donate to charities and helped old ladies cross roads without even asking.
"I'd promised her that if the Panthers won this game, I would finally introduce her to my family. This dinner is worth much more to me than some afterparty with drinking and loud music. Here, I'm with my favourite people in the whole world."
Desmond had to physically stop himself from choking.
"But I do feel a little bad. Mom had to whip all this up on such short notice. We could've gone to a restaurant, but I didn't want fans to swarm us, and besides, Mom's food is the best."
Patricia grinned so widely Desmond wondered whether her cheeks hurt.
"Oh, honey," she sighed, sounding delighted despite attempting exasperation. "I'm just glad you like it. It was no trouble at all."
Everleigh took a dainty bite of pie.
Eager to join the conversation, she smiled warmly.
"Mrs. Chen, you must give me the recipe for this pie. Mason tells me it's his favourite, and he especially likes the way you make it. I'd love to make it for him too."
Desmond resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
Actually, he didn't need to resist the urge.
Even if he had rolled his eyes so hard they disappeared into another dimension, nobody would've noticed.
Nobody was looking at him.
It had always been this way, hadn't it?
From when they were little right up until now, when both of them were adults with jobs and taxes and lower back pain slowly creeping toward them with murderous intent.
The air inside the suburban home was warm.
The scent of rosemary and roasted chicken wrapped itself around the dining room like a cocoon, comforting and familiar and painfully domestic. If you asked Desmond, however, the smell didn't inspire anything that could be called comfort anymore.
Not these days.
Maybe when he was younger.
Back when he didn't know any better and couldn't see what was laid out so plainly in front of him.
Back when he genuinely believed that even if everyone spent most of their attention orbiting Mason like he was the sun and the rest of them were unfortunate celestial bodies caught in his gravitational pull, they still cared what Desmond was doing too.
Even if only a little.
Desmond looked down into his glass.
The scarlet liquid coated the sides as he swirled it lazily.
He'd already had two glasses.
He probably shouldn't have too much.
He still had to drive home.
Mason, the golden boy, the star, the pride of the family, chose that exact moment to start talking about his victory, about how incredible it felt, how grateful he was, how much family meant to him, and how they were the best family in the world.
Ah.
Fuck it.
He should drink the wine.
There was absolutely no way he was surviving this dinner sober.
"Mason is just so dedicated to his sport," Everleigh cooed.
Her voice was like chicken seasoned exclusively with thoughts and prayers.
If she were a colour, Desmond thought there was only one correct answer.
Beige.
A soul-crushing, mind-numbing, load-bearing beige.
"It's just so inspiring to be with someone that dedicated," she continued with a dreamy sigh.
Mason gave a modest smile.
The liar.
"I'm just doing what I'm supposed to, Eve-"
"So humble too."
She steamrolled right over him.
The smile on her face was practically brighter than the sun itself.
Desmond wondered how someone could be that happy about literally anything in their life. She looks like her life must be so stress free.
Depression really hadn't hit everybody equally, huh.
Unaware of the side-eye being directed her way, Everleigh barreled forward, clearly intending to captain the SS Mason Appreciation Society all the way across the Atlantic.
"He made a diet plan for us too. Mason, tell them about that."
Desmond stared at his plate.
Then he took another sip of wine.
He could feel Aunt Carol's gaze.
Aunt Carol was nursing a similar glass.
Also on her third.
The fact that somebody was drinking in solidarity with him did not make Desmond feel any better because Aunt Carol was forty-eight and functioned as a cautionary tale.
Meanwhile, Mason launched into a detailed breakdown of macronutrients, carbohydrate cycling, protein intake, meal timing, and whatever other horrors lived inside the minds of professional athletes.
The family listened with rapt attention.
Even their father.
Richard Chen, accountant, tax enthusiast, and owner of a resting expression so intimidating it had frightened salespeople into leaving the property, usually contributed a maximum of two lines during family dinners.
Tonight he had already grunted approvingly twice.
Patricia oohed and awed as though Mason had personally invented meal prep, calories, and the concept of healthy eating itself.
It was in the middle of this absolutely riveting presentation, while Desmond was pouring himself a fourth glass of wine, that somebody finally paid attention to him.
Of course it was Aunt Carol.
The only person at the table not currently enchanted by the Gospel According to Mason.
She was also, as Desmond had learned throughout his entire life, an absolute menace who did not believe in letting a single thought remain inside her head.
Desmond loved and hated her in equal measure.
Loved her because she was the only member of the family consistently unimpressed by everything Mason did.
Hated her because the woman was a threat to public safety and applied her chaos equally to everyone in range.
Desmond included.
"Well, well," she mused. "Looks like somebody is drinking a lot tonight."
Desmond immediately regretted existing.
"Desmond, sugar, you haven't said two words during this whole conversation. You haven't even greeted Everleigh."
A smile slowly spread across Aunt Carol's face.
The kind that preceded violence.
"What do you think about Mason bringing such a lovely young lady with such a riveting personality to dinner?"
And just like that, the spotlight that had previously been focused on Mason like a divine halo swung violently in Desmond's direction.
The entire table looked at him.
Desmond resisted the urge to throw a glare at the smirking woman across from him.
God.
Aunt Carol was such a piece of work.
