Less than fifteen minutes later, his mom rapped on the guest room door. The sharp staccato sound was loud enough to puncture the music blaring in Tristan’s ears. With a soft curse, he rose from the bed and shuffled to the door.

Flinging it back, he glared at his mother, grimacing when he spotted Curtis behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. “What! What is so important that I need to eat a meal with you guys to discuss it?”

Curtis forced a calm smile. Tristan could tell by the way his right eye twitched that it was an effort. “Son—”

“I’m not your son,” he spat, gripping the door handle so tightly the metal ridge dug into his palm.

“It’s just an expression, Tristan,” his mother snapped. “Would you just shut your mouth and listen, please?” Her biting tone disappeared, nervous energy pulsing from her as she looked up at Curtis and gave him a tender smile.

Curtis met her gaze, his expression so loved-up it made Tristan want to gag. He squeezed her shoulder. “I’ve asked your mother to marry me.” His eyes remained on Shannon while Tristan’s stomach plummeted down to his shoes. He clenched his fist, fighting the dizzy spell trying to drop him to the floor.

That would kill his father.

Curtis looked across to him, his gooey smile making Tristan sick. “We wanted to tell you before we told anyone else.”

Tristan swallowed, sour words clogging his windpipe. His gaze danced from the guy who’d come in like a leech and torn their family apart to the two-faced woman he was struggling to call ‘mother.’

“Well?” His mother smiled, her eyes dancing with expectant hope. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

All Tristan could do was swallow and slam the door closed. He shut out their deluded happiness, even going as far as locking the door to prevent them from trying to win him over. The buds were back in his ears as soon as he reached the bed and he cranked the volume so high he was sure his eardrums would be damaged by the morning, but he didn’t care. Anything to drown out the nightmare unfolding even further.

* * *

Irritating was the best way to describe Tristan’s drive home from Albany on Sunday afternoon. After the rude way he’d treated his mother and her boyfriend over the weekend, she should have been bawling him out and not inviting him back, but in her usual fashion she decided the best form of discipline was to try and woo him with extravagant offers and gifts.

“Curtis and I were thinking of buying you a car.”

“Why?” Tristan tore his gaze away from the scenery outside.

“So you can get around more easily.” Her chipper voice was strained tight, the plastic veneer already cracking.

“I don’t even have my license yet,” he muttered, slumping further into his seat.

“Why not?” Her voice pitched high.

He shrugged, his jacket rustling. “Haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Well, get around to it.”

“I like my bike.”

“You can’t bike to Albany.” Her manicured fingers slashed through the air. “This is a long way for me to come every two weeks, and it’d be great if you could drive yourself down.”

It was logical reasoning and Tristan really should have said yes, but he was still in a belligerent mood after his plastic-coated weekend.

“I don’t want Curtis buying me a car,” he finally muttered, his gaze traveling back to the window.

“What is your problem with Curtis? He’s been nothing but nice to you!”

Tristan clenched his jaw and stayed silent.

His mother huffed and tapped her nails on the steering wheel.

“The car would be from both of us, not just him.”

Tristan still didn’t budge, his blue eyes trained on the tractor rumbling through a field in the distance.

“You can’t punish me for wanting to move on with my life,” his mother snapped.

He gripped his knee, his fingers digging into the denim as he fought the urge to explode. He kept his gaze out the window and eventually his mother gave in with a loud tut and a huff.

The irritating vibes buzzing through the car were replaced with an icy silence for the rest of the trip. Thankfully they reached the borders of Burlington soon enough. Tristan sat up in his seat, eager to get the hell out of the BMW.

With another disgusted tut, his mother pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, snatching at Tristan’s jacket sleeve before he could escape.

“Look, I’m sorry if the engagement has come as a shock to you, but Curtis makes me really happy and it would mean the world to me if you could please get on board with this.”

Slowly turning to her, he studied her desperate expression, locking away his feelings. His head jerked with what could have been deciphered as a nod, but the movement was minimal enough to be questionable. After a thick swallow, he muttered, “Mom, it’s your life. You can do what you want with it.”

Her head tipped with a cynical frown. “That’s what your mouth is saying, but your eyes tell me something different. Are you ever going to forgive me?”

His jaw worked to the side, his tongue feeling thick and pasty. Clearing his throat, he shouldered the door open and mumbled, “Thanks for the weekend.”

“Wait, let me walk you in.” His mother scrambled to undo her seatbelt.

He paused by the back door of the car, a sudden anxiety whistling through him. “Why?”

“So I can see how you’re doing. I want to see your room.” She smiled, flicking her door closed.

Tristan’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits, his mouth pulling into a tight line. She didn’t care about his room. She wanted to check up on Dad. He yanked the car door open and snatched out his bags, shuffling towards the house on reluctant feet. His mind scrambled for ways to get rid of her.

“Mom, you don’t need to come in. My room is boring, just a desk and a bed.”

“Really? What about all your baseball posters?” Her hand rested on the thick wooden railing as he brushed past her and up the front steps.

He dropped his bags on the front porch with a sigh. “You don’t care about the posters, Mom. You just want to check on Dad.”

Her cheeks grew red, her lips spreading with a strained smile as she looked to the ground and fiddled with the chunky car key in her hand. “All right, fine.” She glanced at him, clipping up the steps. “I want to make sure he’s looking after my son.”

Tristan tried to block her way, subtly shifting into her path. “He is.”

Her blues eyes narrowed, her right eyebrow arching high—never a good sign. Her painted nail tapped him lightly on the chest. “You know, when you say it like that, it makes me think you’re lying. What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.” Tristan frowned. “I just don’t want you guys to fight.”

“Oh come on, we’re over that now.” She breezed past him, opening the door and waltzing in the front entrance like she owned the place.

Tristan grabbed his bags and hustled in after her, a little freaked out by what she might find. His head popped up behind her shoulder and he cringed.

His father was on the couch, his socked feet on the coffee table, his big toe exposed through the fraying fabric. Three beer cans were lined up next to his feet, one fallen over and empty while another was resting on the arm of the couch, his long fingers wrapped around it. A baseball game was blaring out of the TV so loud he didn’t even hear them come in.

“Hey, Dad,” Tristan called.

“Oh hey, buddy!” Dad raised his hand and started talking before he turned to face them. “Come check this out, the Yankees are killing these gu—” His eyes hit Shannon and he lurched off the sofa, tugging at his shirt in a feeble attempt to make himself presentable. “Shay.” The edge of his mouth rose with a gentle smile, his gaze softening at the corners as he whispered her nickname.

Tristan’s heart splintered and it was an effort not to let the emotion show. Clearing his throat, he pointed at his father’s dirty shirt behind his mother’s back. It took his dad a second to work out what he was silently saying, but he finally glanced down and let out a bashful chuckle, brushing the chip crumbs onto the floor.

Tristan’s mother crossed her arms, a marked frown on her narrow, pointed face.

Scratching the short locks on the side of his head, Leon looked at his ex-wife—fleeting hope dancing in his eyes. “So, what—what are you doing here?”

“Dropping Tristan off, of course.” His mother’s hard tone dashed any promise of reconciliation. If only his father knew the whole truth. Tristan silently begged his mother not to say anything about the engagement.

His father sensed the hostile vibes and his defenses went up, surrounding him in quick formation like they always did. His chin bunched, his gaze turning stormy. “I mean what are you doing in my house?”

Shannon rolled her eyes, doing nothing to help the situation. “Oh please, Leon. I’m just making sure it’s clean.”

He stood a little taller, pushing out his broad chest while his nostrils flared. “We’re doing okay. You don’t have to worry.”

“How many empty beer cans are on the coffee table right now?” She pointed past his father’s scrappy jean-clad legs to the littered table at his knees.

“Mom, leave it, please.” Tristan’s whisper was ignored as she stepped farther into the room, noting another two cans at the foot of the sofa.

“Geez, Leon! Are you drunk?” Her hands flew into the air before slapping onto her hips.

“Of course I’m not drunk. I’ve had a few beers while watching the game! Everybody does that.” His father’s hands started waving in the air as well. A storm was brewing and Tristan couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

“If you are intoxicated I am taking this back to court.” Shannon’s pointer finger looked like a wand, aimed straight at her ex-husband’s heart. “I will not have my son in your house if you can’t look after him!”

“It was his choice to come with me!” his father barked. “The court said he could decide. You take this back there, it’s just going to cost us a shitload of money we don’t have!”

“Watch your mouth! And I don’t care what it costs. This is about the well-being of my child, who seems to have turned into a surly mute since moving in with you! And why hasn’t he started up baseball again? His talent is being completely wasted!” Her pointer finger landed on Tristan. He flinched away from it, slowly backing out of the room.

“That is his choice.” His father’s deep voice grew a notch louder, sounding like thunder in the small living space. “I’m not going to force him into something he doesn’t want to do anymore.”

“He’s sixteen; he doesn’t even know what he wants. He needs guidance and if you loved him—”

“If you think I care about him any less than you, you’re delusional. He’s my son too, Shannon! I’m not the one who started screwing my boss, okay? You’re the reason he quit. You broke up this home, not me!”

“Do you think I would’ve been interested in anybody else if you’d paid any attention to me? A little conversation goes a long way, Leon!”

It shouldn’t have surprised Tristan that the old arguments reared their ugly heads within ten minutes of his parents being in the same room.

With a resigned sigh, he slipped away from the maelstrom, making a beeline for the back door and escape. He didn’t know where he wanted to go; he just didn’t want to be near them.

Closing the kitchen door behind him, he dropped onto the concrete steps and sucked in a few lungfuls of chilly air. His breath puffed out of his mouth like white smoke. He followed the disappearing wisps and found his gaze on the dark green tower next door.

Images of Helena’s dancing smile played in his mind and before thought could stop him, he lurched from his spot and traipsed towards the fence, climbing the wood and jumping into the unkempt backyard.