Page 1 of Close Knit

Chapter 1

Cameron

“Am I alive?”I tug at the bow tie collaring my shirt as candlelight wanes in the private room of the restaurant.

“For many, deep in their hearts.” From the seat beside me, Brooklyn nods through a saccharine smile. Despite the innocent glint in my older sister’s eyes, I’m certain she’s fucking with me.

Dante scoffs, running his lacquered pointer finger over his glass of wine. “A figment of imagination lacks physical matter and consciousness, so it cannot be considered alive…” My brother, only a year younger than me, lifts one of his sharp cheekbones with a ghostly smile. “Now, if we’re to contemplate—”

“Let’s not.” I cut him off. Dante’s musings are endless.

“Boys, this is a friendlygame of Who Am I?, remember?” Dad raises his whiskey tumbler while Mom, glued to his shoulder, plays with the lapel of his tuxedo.

The pair are the ultimate picture of love. Even after so many of these anniversary dinners, they look like two lovestruck teenagers.

“Doesn’t matter to Cameron.” Alec swirls his glass of amber liquid before splitting the seam of his grin and tossing thedrink back. “Even the friendlies are critical. Aren’t they, little brother?”

“Can we focus?” I rap my fist against the tablecloth littered with eight place settings. My siblings groan.

Teasing, jabbing, and occasional competitive combat—minus the excessive bloodshed—is my family’s love language.

That, and games like these.

For as long as I can remember, from when we were six boisterous children to now, as fully grown adults—well, most of us—our gatherings have always ended in a game of my parents’ choice. Corralling six intense, hot-blooded kids must have been a Herculean task, yet they never seemed flustered.

We are all record-breaking champions in our respective sports, but tonight, we’re those kids again. Teeth bared and laughter trembling the crystal chandeliers overhead.

I’ve never loved anything more than I love the people at this table.

Well, except for football.

Football is the love of my life.

“Am I a fictional character?” I fumble with my bow tie again, feeling the suffocating grip of my tuxedo.

“Yes, and you only have three guesses left,” Francesca roars from the other end of the room. She props her heels on the restaurant table, adjusting her long chestnut hair over the straps of her beaded gown.

“Francesca, must you be so…” Dante begins.

“You really want to have a go at me tonight?” My baby sister shoots him a wicked glare.

“Right, because we all know how well that went last time, Frankie,” Ezra chimes into the brigade. Our youngest brother is right. If I don’t end this, the pair of them will turn their verbal sparring into a wrestling match.

Tonight’s game is my least favorite. Who Am I?The name leaves much to the imagination. I scratch the paper stuck to my forehead, wanting to tear it off. We’ve been at this for hours, and I’m starved for some quiet.

I rack my brain through all the previous plays. Indiana Jones for Alec. Anna Karenina for Brooklyn. Daenerys Targaryen for Dante. Captain America for Ezra. Mulan for Frankie. That can only mean I got stuck with the gag.

“Do I have any resemblance to this character?” I ask.

Dante quirks an eyebrow. “Everywhere but the looks.”

“Come to think of it, you were this particular shade of green last time we were yachting.” Brooklyn nudges her elbow into me. My dinner somersaults in my gut at the reminder of our last boat outing four years ago, which I spent retching over the side of a railing while everyone enjoyed the coast of Monaco.

“Not fair.” Frankie swings her legs off the table and stands, pointing her finger at Brooklyn. “She gave it away.”

So, I’m green?I roll my eyes. “Am I the Hulk?”

“Less destructive.” Alec shrugs. “More isolated. Same grimace.”

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