Chapter 1: The Bruises We Hide
The smell of garlic and roasted chicken hung in the air, a warm, ordinary blanket over the dining room. Erik moved his green beans around with his fork, making trenches in the mashed potatoes. The china was too bright, the crystal water glasses too tall, everything on the table straining for a perfection the people around it couldn’t match.
“So, Jett’s picking you up at seven?” Kitty Menendez asked, smiling across at Kate.
Kate—Katelyn to everyone but them—nodded, pushing a piece of chicken around her own plate. She hadn’t taken a single bite. “Yeah. He made reservations at that new place on Main. I told him I didn’t need a three-course meal, but you know him.”
“He’s a gentleman,” Kitty said, approval softening her features. “You look beautiful, honey.”
Kate did. She wore a simple black dress, her hair down. To Erik, she looked like a piece of calm in the center of their constant, low-grade storm. She’d been sitting at this table since they were all in booster seats, knew where the knives were slightly dull, which floorboard by the sidebar creaked.
Lyle, next to Erik, was sawing his chicken with more force than necessary. “What’s the rush? Can’t he let you finish a meal?”
“Lyle,” Jose said. His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
It was a stone dropped into the room, sinking through the conversation, leaving silence in its wake. Jose sat at the head, his posture rigid, his eyes on his plate as he meticulously cut his meat. The sound of his knife scraping the porcelain was very sharp.
“It’s fine,” Kate said, her voice deliberately light. “I’ll grab a breadstick there or something. I’m not that hungry anyway.”
“You should eat,” Jose said, not looking up. “A young woman needs her strength. Skipping meals is a bad habit.”
It sounded like concern. To anyone else, it would have been concern. Erik felt his shoulders tighten, a familiar coldness settling in his gut. He kept his eyes on his beans.
“Oh, I will, Mr. Menendez. Promise. I just don’t want to be late.” Kate’s smile was visible in her voice. She was the only one who could maneuver around Jose’s moods without setting them off. Her family closeness was a diplomatic passport.
A car horn sounded twice from the driveway.
“That’s him!” Kate said, the relief palpable. She scooted her chair back, the legs scraping softly on the hardwood. She came around the table, leaning to kiss Kitty on the cheek. “Dinner was amazing, Mrs. M. Thank you.”
She moved to Jose next. He turned his head, offering his cheek, his expression unchanged. “Have a nice time, Katelyn.”
Then she was between Erik and Lyle, looping an arm around each of their necks for a quick, hard squeeze. She smelled like vanilla and shampoo. “Love you guys,” she whispered, a private beat in the ritual. A piece of their childhood, intact.
“Love you, too,” Erik mumbled. Lyle just gave a slight nod, his jaw still tight.
And then she was gone, the front door closing with a solid thud, leaving the four of them in the sudden, vast quiet. The absence of her energy was a physical thing. The buffer was gone.
The clock on the mantel ticked.
Jose took a slow sip of his water, set the glass down precisely. His eyes landed on Lyle’s plate. “You’re tearing that chicken apart, Lyle. Is there a problem with it?”
Lyle stopped cutting. “No.”
“Then eat it. Don’t play with it.”
Lyle put a piece in his mouth, chewing mechanically. Erik could see the muscle in his brother’s temple jumping.
The focus shifted, inevitable as a tide. Jose’s gaze settled on Erik. “You’re quiet tonight.”
Erik shrugged. “Just tired. Had drills after school.”
“Tennis,” Jose said. The word was neutral, but it felt like a dismissal. A frivolous thing. “You’ll need to shower after. You shouldn’t sit at the table smelling of sweat.”
Erik felt a hot prickling at the back of his neck. “I showered at the courts.”
“Did you?” Jose’s eyes held his. They were dark, unblinking. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll shower again after. Thoroughly. I can still smell it.”
The food in Erik’s mouth turned to paste. He couldn’t swallow. The air felt thicker, heavier, pressing down from the ornate ceiling. He nodded, looking back at his plate.
Kitty’s voice fluttered into the silence. “More peas, anyone? There’s plenty.”
No one answered her.
”
The silence stretched, broken only by the click of Jose’s knife and fork. He finished his last bite, wiped his mouth with the linen napkin, and placed it neatly beside his plate. The gesture was final, a period at the end of a sentence nobody had enjoyed reading.
Kitty stood, starting to gather plates. “I’ll get the coffee.”
The phone in the kitchen rang, a shrill sound that made Erik flinch. Kitty hurried out, her heels clicking on the tile. “I’ll get it!”
Now it was just the three of them.
Jose leaned back in his chair, his eyes travelling from Lyle to Erik. The appraisal was cold, clinical. “Katelyn is a lovely girl. From a good family. She’s been a positive influence here.”
Lyle shrugged, his anger seeming to have hardened into something sullen and immovable. “She’s Kate. She’s always been around.”
“Precisely,” Jose said. His finger traced the rim of his water glass. “Familiarity is a good foundation. It’s time you both started thinking seriously about your futures. About legacy.”
Erik’s spine went rigid. He knew this tone. It was the prelude to a verdict.
“Erik,” Jose said, turning his full attention on him. The weight of it was like a hand on his shoulder, pressing down. “You and Katelyn have a natural rapport. You’re closer in age. Comfortable with each other. I’ve observed it.”
A cold sweat broke out under Erik’s shirt. He felt Lyle go perfectly still beside him.
“What are you talking about?” Erik’s voice was thin.
“It’s not complicated.” Jose’s smile was a flat, lifeless line. “I’ve spoken briefly with her father. He sees the merit in the idea. A union between our families would be… advantageous. For everyone. You should ask her to the Spring Formal. Begin the process properly.”
The room tilted. The perfect chicken, the bright china, the ticking clock—it all curdled into something grotesque. Kate was his friend. She was his refuge. The thought of turning her into a piece on his father’s chessboard, of touching her with the same hands that felt filthy...
“No,” Erik whispered.
The word hung there, daring and small.
Jose’s eyes darkened. “No?”
“She’s with Jett. She’s happy. And she’s…” He couldn’t say it. She’s like my sister. She’s clean.
“Jett is a placeholder. A distraction. This is about something permanent.” Jose’s voice softened into something worse than anger; it was pity, for Erik’s childish inability to grasp the obvious. “It would secure your position. Give you a focus beyond… tennis.”
He made the sport sound like a dirty habit.
Next to him, Lyle made a sharp, choked sound. It wasn’t a laugh. It was a crack. He slammed his palm flat on the table, making the glassware jump. “You’re trying to set Erik up with her?”
Jose swung his gaze slowly toward his eldest son, unimpressed by the outburst. “It’s a sensible match. He needs the structure. The right partner can fix a lot of problems.”
Lyle’s face was white, all the blood drained away except for two spots of high, furious color on his cheeks. He looked at Erik, and for a second, Erik saw not anger, but a raw, bewildered hurt.
Then Lyle looked back at their father, and his voice dropped, low and thick with a conviction that stopped the air in Erik’s lungs.
“You can’t do that. She’s not for him.” Lyle swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbling. “I’m going to marry her. Someday. I am.”
The declaration echoed in the lavish, stifling room. Even the clock seemed to skip a beat.
Erik just stared. His brain couldn’t process it. Lyle? Marry Kate? The idea was so bizarre, so utterly foreign, that it scrambled his understanding of everything. Lyle, who barely tolerated most people. Lyle, with his simmering rage and his brittle pride. Wanting to tie himself to someone, to her, permanently. It wasn't jealousy Erik felt. It was sheer, uncomprehending shock. It was like hearing his brother say he planned to breathe underwater.
Jose studied Lyle, his head tilted. A strange, calculating light entered his eyes. It wasn’t disapproval. It was evaluation. “You,” he said finally. “You want that?”
“Yes.” The word was a stone.
“Interesting.” Jose laced his fingers together on the tablecloth. “And does Katelyn have any inkling of this… aspiration?”
Lyle’s defiance wavered, just for a second. “Not yet.”
“I see.” Jose nodded slowly, as if pieces were falling into a new, more intriguing arrangement. His gaze slid back to Erik, who sat frozen, his dinner a cold, greasy monument in front of him. “Well. That complicates the simpler solution. But perhaps it’s for the best. Perhaps a little competition will be clarifying for you both. Help you… mature.”
He pushed back from the table and stood, his shadow falling across them. “You’ll each need to prove you’re worthy. Of the family. Of such a consideration.” He placed a heavy hand on Erik’s shoulder. The touch seeped through the cotton of his shirt, cold and possessive. “Shower, Erik. You still stink of the court.”
He walked out, his footsteps measured and firm on the hardwood.
Erik couldn't move. The aromas of garlic and rosemary, once comforting, now churned in his gut. He looked at Lyle, who was staring fixedly at the empty doorway, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle spasmed in his cheek.
The silence was no longer just oppressive. It was charged, split down the middle by Lyle's staggering confession and their father’s vile game. Kate’s empty chair between them wasn't just empty; it was a prize, a trap, a betrayal waiting to happen. Erik felt the walls of the beautiful dining room press closer, the future narrowing to a dark, intolerable point.
He thought he might be sick, right there on the polished table.
He thought he might be sick, right there on the polished table.
The silence after their father left was a vacuum, sucking all the air from the room. Lyle was just a statue of tension beside him, radiating a shocking, proprietary heat. Erik pushed his chair back, the legs shrieking against the floor. He needed to move. He needed to not be here.
“Where are you going?” Lyle’s voice was a low scrape.
“Away from you.” Erik didn’t even look at him. He just walked, his steps unsteady, out of the dining room and toward the sanctuary of the hallway bathroom. He slammed the door, twisted the lock, and leaned over the pristine sink, gulping cool air. His reflection in the mirror was pale, his eyes wide with a kind of horrified confusion. Lyle? How long had that been there? How had he missed it?
How had he missed it?
He splashed water on his face, the cold a sharp shock. It didn’t help. His father’s words and Lyle’s declaration tumbled in his head, a sickening carousel. A union. Advantageous. Worthiness. And Lyle, with that stone-in-his-throat voice: I’m going to marry her.
Erik wasn’t jealous. The thought didn’t even compute. Kate was his friend, his quiet ally in this house. The idea of wanting her like that felt as bizarre as wanting to merge with a sunset. It was just… he’d never seen that look on Lyle’s face. That raw, possessive want. It was a side of his brother he didn’t know, and in this house, unknown territories were dangerous.
He unlocked the door and stepped out into the hallway. The smell of coffee and leftover roast chicken was cloying. He just wanted to get to his room, put on his headphones, and exist somewhere else for a few hours.
Lyle was leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom, arms crossed. Waiting. He’d clearly been pacing; a faint sheen of sweat gleamed at his temples under the hall sconce.
“We need to talk,” Lyle said, his voice low.
“No, we don’t.” Erik tried to move past him.
Lyle’s hand shot out, forearm barring Erik’s path. It wasn’t violent, but it was iron. “Yeah. We do.”
“What is there to say, Lyle? You want to marry Kate. Great. Congratulations. Tell her, not me.”
“You heard him. He was going to just… hand her to you. Like a fucking brokerage bonus.” Lyle’s eyes burned. “Like you’re the better bet.”
“I don’t want a bet!” Erik hissed, shoving Lyle’s arm away. “I don’t want any of this! Don’t you get that? He’s turning her into a… a thing. And now you’re playing his game.”
“It’s not a game.” Lyle stepped closer, his intensity magnified in the narrow hallway. “I’ve always… looked out for her. You know that. Since we were kids. When those assholes in seventh grade said she developed early, who made them shut up?”
“You shoved Austin Miller into a locker. I remember.”
“Exactly. I protect her. From everyone. From guys like Jett, who just want one thing. From guys at parties. From everyone.” Lyle’s voice cracked with a fervent, awful sincerity. “I’ve always wanted to be the one. The one to really love her. To take care of her. To be her first, so no stupid man could ever disrespect her. So she’d always know it was me, that it meant something.”
The words hung between them, solemn and monumental in Lyle’s mind. Erik stared at his brother. At the fierce, deluded pride in his eyes. The tragic, twisted chivalry of it.
A sudden, hysterical laugh bubbled in Erik’s chest. It felt like glass. He choked it back, but a disbelieving smile twisted his lips anyway.
“What?” Lyle snapped, defensive at the reaction.
Erik shook his head, the awful, ugly truth he’d carried for two years—since a tipsy, tearful confession at a homecoming after-party—pressing against his teeth. He’d never told a soul. It was Kate’s. But now Lyle was building altars to a phantom.
“Lyle.” Erik’s voice was quiet, almost pitying. “You’re five years too late.”
Lyle blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means she lost her virginity to some exchange student guy from Sweden, or maybe it was Switzerland, I don’t know, at Tara Hammond’s party sophomore year. He was gone a week later. She cried about it to me, said it was awful and she felt so stupid. She made me swear never to tell anyone, especially not you, because you’d…” He gestured at Lyle’s coiled, protective posture. “Because you’d do something exactly like this.”
Lyle’s face didn’t change at first. It was like watching frost slowly form on a windowpane. The fervor in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a blank, slow-processing shock. His arms, previously crossed in conviction, fell limply to his sides.
“You’re lying,” he whispered. But it wasn’t an accusation. It was a plea.
“Why would I lie?” Erik said, the weight of the secret leaving him, replaced by a hollow sadness. “I didn’t even know you… thought about her that way. Not until ten minutes ago. I’m not trying to win a point. I’m telling you, the girl you’ve been picturing, the one you need to ‘protect’ like that… she doesn’t exist anymore. Maybe she never did.”
Lyle took a staggering half-step back, his shoulder hitting the wall. He looked unmoored. The entire narrative of his longing—the noble protector claiming the precious gift to save it from the world—lay shattered at his feet. All his carefully guarded fantasies, rendered pathetic and obsolete by a random guy at a high school party.
The back door slammed. Their mother’s gardening shoes shuffled on the tile. “Boys? I’m putting the leftovers away.”
The mundane sound broke the spell. Lyle’s eyes focused, the shock hardening into something else. Something darker and more familiar. He looked at Erik not with brotherly hurt, but with a fresh, searing blame. As if Erik hadn’t just revealed a truth, but had personally desecrated the shrine.
Without a word, Lyle pushed off the wall and shouldered past him, heading for the stairs. His footsteps were heavy, deliberate, a door slamming shut with every step he took upward.
Erik stood alone in the fragrant, empty hallway, the echo of his own words and the ruin in his brother’s eyes the only things left swirling in the still air.
Erik stood alone in the fragrant, empty hallway, the echo of his own words and the ruin in his brother’s eyes the only things left swirling in the still air.
He felt scraped out. Hollow. The secret had been a weight, but handing it to Lyle felt worse, like he’d thrown a rock through a stained-glass window. He heard the heavy thud of Lyle’s bedroom door upstairs, a final period on the conversation.
The kitchen light was a warm yellow square at the end of the hall. His mother was there, humming softly, wrapping Saran wrap over a bowl of potatoes. The ordinary sound of it was almost offensive.
“Everything okay, sweetie?” she asked without turning around. “You and Lyle sounded intense.”
“Just talking,” Erik muttered. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with tap water, drinking it slowly, trying to wash the acidic taste of the evening from his mouth.
“Your father had to take a call in his study. Business, you know.” She turned, giving him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “He just wants what’s best for you boys.”
Erik just nodded. There was no point. The ceiling creaked above them—Lyle, pacing. The sound was like a ticking bomb.
He couldn’t stay in the house. The walls felt like they were breathing, inhaling all the oxygen. He slipped out the side door to the patio, the night air cool and sharp in his lungs. He stared at the perfect, manicured lawn, the dark shape of the tennis court beyond. His refuge. Even that felt tainted now.
About twenty minutes later, headlights swept across the driveway. A car door shut, followed by a lighter, quick thank-you and Jett’s deep, muffled laugh. Footsteps on the flagstone.
Kate came around the side of the house, her silhouette soft in the gloom. She jumped a little when she saw him. “Erik! God, you scared me. What are you doing out here in the dark?”
“Just getting some air.” His voice sounded rough. “How was the date?”
“It was good. Nice. The food was crazy expensive.” She leaned against the patio table, her arms wrapped around herself. She was smiling, but it was a tired, contented smile. “He’s sweet. Uncomplicated.”
Erik let out a short, humorless laugh. “Uncomplicated. Sounds nice.”
She peered at him. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
You are the ghost, he thought. The ghost in a story my brother and my father are fighting over.
“It’s nothing. Dinner was just… dinner.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t believe him. She knew the tones of this house too well. She nudged his foot with hers. “Spill it. Did Jose lay into you about college apps again? Or was it Lyle? He was in a mood before I left.”
“Both. Neither. It’s stupid.” He looked at her, her face pale in the moonlight. His friend. The person he’d just weaponized. A sick feeling tightened his gut. “Kate… has Lyle ever said anything to you? Like… anything… not brotherly?”
She went very still. The casual ease drained from her posture. “What kind of question is that?”
“Just… has he?”
She was quiet for a long moment, looking out at the dark yard. “He looks out for me. You know that. Sometimes it’s a little… intense. Why?”
Before Erik could form a lie or a half-truth, the French doors from the dining room slid open with a sharp rasp.
Lyle stood there, framed by the light from inside. He’d changed into a dark t-shirt and sweatpants. His face was unreadable, a calm mask perfectly fitted over whatever was raging beneath.
“Kate,” he said. His voice was normal. Too normal. “You’re back.”
“Hey,” she said, her own tone cautiously bright. “Just telling Erik about the sea bass.”
Lyle stepped out, letting the door close behind him. He didn’t look at Erik. His entire focus was on Kate, a laser point. “Good. I’m glad you had a good time.” He took a step closer. “We need to talk.”
“Okay… about what?”
“About us.”
Erik felt the air crystallize. “Lyle,” he started, a warning.
Lyle ignored him, his eyes locked on Kate’s now-confused face. “I need you to stop seeing Jett.”
Kate barked a laugh, but it was nervous. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. He’s not right for you. He’s just passing time. I know you might have… experiences… with guys like that.” The word experiences was brittle, sharp. “But that’s over now. I’m here. I’ve always been here.”
Kate took a step back, bumping into the patio table. “Lyle, what is wrong with you? Are you drunk?”
“I’ve never been more sober.” He took another step, invading her space. He reached out and took her hand. She tried to pull away, but his grip was firm, not hurting, but implacable. “This is forever, Katie. You and me. I’ve waited. I’ve been patient. I’ve protected you. Now it’s time.”
“Let go of my hand.” Her voice was low, shaking.
“Lyle, stop it,” Erik said, moving forward.
“This doesn’t concern you,” Lyle said, not turning his head. His thumb stroked the back of Kate’s captured hand, a grotesque parody of tenderness. “This is between me and my future wife.”
The words hung in the cold air.
Kate’s expression shifted from confusion to dawning, horrific comprehension. She yanked her hand free with a violent jerk. “You’re out of your mind. Absolutely out of your mind.” She looked at Erik, eyes wide with a plea for sanity. “What did you say to him?”
“He just helped me see clearly,” Lyle answered for him. “He helped me understand I’ve been waiting for no reason. The past doesn’t matter. Only the future does. Our future.”
The back door opened again. Jose stood there, a crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand. He surveyed the scene on the patio: Kate, backed against the table, eyes blazing; Erik, poised like he might jump between them; Lyle, radiating a fervent, unshakeable certainty.
A slow, approving smile touched Jose’s lips. He took a sip of his drink.
“See, Erik?” he said, his voice carrying easily across the night. “I told you a little competition would be clarifying. Lyle seems to have found his focus.” His gaze rested on Kate. “Welcome home, Katelyn. The conversation seems to be getting interesting.”