Page 38 of For The Record

My heart drops like a stone in my chest. Unfeeling. Cold. Too heavy a burden to carry. Yet I lug it around anyway.

I completely forgot about her karate tournament. She hates karate and told me the only way she was going to stick around and make it to the tournament was because I was going to be there.

And I wasn’t.

Like a selfish, forgetful bastard, I completely abandoned her.

“Raina, lo siento,” I start to say, but she cuts me off immediately.

“Save it, hermano major.” Her tone is icy. Devoid of any emotion but anger. I suppose—no, I know—I deserve it. But it doesn’t help the sting.

“I’ll make it up to you,” I try to assure her. But my actions betray my words. I cut Thanksgiving short. I spent the night working. I brought home gifts and weariness.

“I’m really tired of trying to be your sister,” she says, her cold fury giving way to a sound that hurts me even more. Tears. I’ve made the unflappable, carefree, capricious Raina Aguilar cry. And that sob smarts more than any of her harsh words could. “I’m so tired of trying to matter to you, Leo. I don’t know…. Why I bother. Why I ever thought I could be more important to you than your work. I get it. You’re busy. But maybe you could spare me a few hours to make me feel like I’m more than an annoying little sister who follows you around, crying and begging you to play with her. I guess not. I guess you’re too preoccupied with all yourgrown-up, adult stuff to check your freaking phone.” She sniffs. “Bye, Leo.”

The dial tone slices through me after she hangs up. Dazed, I stand still in the darkened office, my phone sliding from my fingers to clatter on the desk.

You’ve done it now, Leo.

Worse yet, and completely unbidden, I hear my father’s words echo in my mind. Something he said to me the day of the wedding.

Sometimes, great men aren’t that great. Sometimes, they might seem downright awful. But you have to understand that’s what makes them great. To make it in this world, sometimes a successful man has to sacrifice. And those sacrifices might be difficult, they might hurt him, but at the end of the day, they’re worth it.

Worth it. Worth what?I wanted to ask him.

Whatcould be worth leaving his family; his girlfriend, and his unborn son? What did he gain from it? And why did he tell me his sacrifices hurt him, as though he had never hurt me?

The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Am I becoming him? Is this look at my past a glimpse into my future? I need to make it up to her somehow. Even if she can’t forgive me yet, I need to.

Facedown on the wooden desk, my phone buzzes, and I jump. Skye’s texting me. My thumb hovers over the message icon, almost feeling guilty for reading her text and not my sister’s. Am I choosing work over family or am I choosing a girl over them? I put my phone down again, pacing the empty office and feeling like a madman. No, I’m being irrational. I open the text.Thanksgiving sucks. Hope yours is better.

A stab of guilt buries itself inside of me, like conviction rooting me to the floor. We had a short Thanksgiving dinner last night, but I was so consumed with work and worries about Ryder Black’s song being leaked that the food tasted like ashes in my mouth.

It’s just this once, I tell myself. Just this time. Just this crisis. Just this artist. Then it’s going to be over. Everything will go back to normal. But there’s always another crisis. Always another artist. Always another ship to bail out and I don’t have enough buckets.

Slinging my jacket over my shoulder, I shove my phone deep into the pocket of my slacks and exit the nearly empty office. The elevator ride is solitary, the loneliness amplified by the memory of riding the lift down with Skye a few weeks ago. I pull out my phone and reply to her message.Mine, too. What was so bad about yours?

She replies with an audio message, and something about the tenor of her voice soothes the raw hurt inside of me that refuses to go away. The pain that I’m clutching like a reminder of how I hurt my sister. “Well, my dad ignored me as always, and my older sister has the stomach flu, so if I don’t show up to work, you’ll know why.”

A smile crosses my face. I call her. “Are you referring to the stomach flu or a hangover?”

“They’re one and the same.”

“Tell that to my mother,” I blurt out before remembering what we are. Which is… on the fence. Casual. The opposite of serious.

She brushes it off. “I’d rather not, in case I get hit with a slipper.”

I laugh as the elevator comes to a stop. “Speaking of family, do you think you could help me with something?”

A tinge of worry colours her voice. “I don’t know… I don’t really have the best track record when it comes to family. What is it?”

“My sister is mad at me.”

“Did you borrow her flatiron without telling her? That’s the only experience I have with angry sisters, I’m afraid.”

“More like. I didn’t show up to her karate tournament when I promised to.”

She gives a sharp inhale. “I’m usually the one getting cancelled on. Try grovelling… ice cream… more grovelling…”

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