Page 17 of Man On

Grandfather said men weren't supposed to cry. But I'm not the man he wanted me to be, and I probably never will be.

Letting the tears fall seems to soothe some of the pressure in my chest, and I can breathe again through the pain.

CHAPTER 5

NOAH

"Cut it out, you two."

I aim a death glare at my dad. Of course, I'm getting roped into the blame here. Like I have anything to do with Lane's pissy mood over our room assignments changing. If anything, it should be his mom that he's mad at, not me. She's the one that questioned why I wasn't in the athletic dorm with the other scholarship athletes and called to have it corrected. I didn't ask her to. Hell, I didn't even know she was going to call. I was perfectly happy with my dorm placement, because… Hello, co-eds.

Miah, of course, laughed his ass off when I told him I wasn't going to be staying in the party dorms after all. He said it was karma I deserved for being such a shit about it. To be fair, I rubbed it in his face pretty hard.

Don't get me wrong, there are definitely perks to staying in the athletic dorms. The rooms are set up more like an apartment with separate bedrooms, a small kitchenette, sitting area, and full bathroom—which is probably the biggest perk. Lugging my shit back and forth to a communal bathroom that is shared between a hundred other dudes didn’t really sound great. I’m thankful not to have to wear shower shoes or risk flesh-eating bacteria or something equally nasty. Although, the risk might have been better than getting stuck living with my asshole stepbrother.

I'm not happy about it. It wouldn't have been my choice. It wasn't my choice.

But he's acting like a huge fucking baby about it and it's really putting a damper on move-in day.

Lane drops what must be a box of lead weights onto the floor in the bedroom he’s claimed as his own—without consulting with me, shocker—and then pushes past me on his way out of the room. I nearly drop the duffle bag and full hamper of bathroom supplies Hannah packed for us and aim another glare at my father.

"I'm not the one that needs to cut it out."

"Give him a break. He's going through a rough time."

"I've been giving him a break for four years, Dad. If you want to scold someone, talk to him—he’s the one that’s probably going to break in and murder me in my sleep."

He sighs, sounding as tired as he looks. He didn't have to come, but he and Hannah wanted to be here to help us move into our first college dorm. Poor Hannah had a terrible migraine this morning and wasn't able to come with us, but wouldn't stand for Dad to miss it. I wonder if her migraine has anything to do with the way I saw her come up from the basement in tears last night, and the sobbing I heard through my parents’ door last night. But it’s not my place to ask.

"He's got a lot going on right now. You know about the church bust."

My exasperated sigh and eye roll are admittedly immature, but I’m so sick of hearing about this. "That was weeks ago.”

“Yeah, well. There was more to it than we knew.”

The dark circles under his eyes are suddenly a lot more noticeable, and there are frown lines etched on the edges of his mouth. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen my dad like this before. It makes me pause and let go of some of my anger.

“Are you alright?”

He releases a heavy breath. “Just tired. The detectives are trying to get Hannah and Lane to testify, and she’s really stressed out.”

I remember the day the detective came to our door, right after Lane and I got back from soccer camp. My dad made me leave the house with him to go pick up dinner, and when we got back, both Lane and Hannah had disappeared to their rooms. We ate without them, and the next day, they both pretended like everything was normal.

“Why would they need to testify?”

“It wasn’t just a church, Noah. It was basically a cult, and a lot of terrible stuff went down. Hannah’s struggling with it. And we’re worried about Lane.”

Oh damn.

My chin tilts down, and I take a moment to study the ground. Hannah has been part of our family since I was eight years old. She’s always seemed so infallible to me. The only time I ever saw her so much as shed a tear was the day she told me she had a son my age. I never asked too many questions, because I didn't want to pry. I didn't like seeing her upset.

"Lane seems like his usual self,” I say, because I can’t think of anything else to say.

It’s not like I can tell my dad that whenever I notice Lane getting worked up, I force him to jack off so he’ll calm the hell down rather than talk to him at all. Not that it’ll happen again. He made it pretty clear he didn’t want to do that anymore. So maybe he’ll be even more of a joy to live with. Great.

“Look, it’s not my place to say anything. Just… cut him some slack. I know you two don’t really get along, but I also see how you look out for him. He’s lucky to have you, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

I avert my eyes and try to will away the heat rising from my collar. If he only knew how I was looking out for him.

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