Page 34 of Puck You Very Much

Yes, so would he. He thought it was great that her lifelong dream of studying medicine was coming true. But it was sometimes hard to watch his sister run herself ragged. “You didn’t say anything about eating enough, Anna,” he reminded her.

She laughed. “You’re not my father, Dax. You should stop worrying.”

Yes, but even her father hadn’t really been her father. Someone had to fill the gap. “That tells me your fridge is empty and you are living on pasta with pesto,” he replied tersely.

“Pasta and pesto are filled with valuable vitamins, healthy fiber, and salts.”

“And you’re full of shit,” he remarked. “I have another game on Friday, but I’ll come over and cook something on Saturday, okay?”

“Fine, fine,” she replied grumpily as if it were unnecessary. But he knew she was grateful to be fed every now and then. It forced her to take a break. Besides, it was his fault that she had never learned to cook. He had taken on the task for the first twenty years of her life.

Anna was the type who burned water, but Jack had been much worse. He had scorched through one or two pop-up toasters trying to heat up leftovers. Dax’s mouth twitched at the thought, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Jack was still a disaster in the kitchen, or if he’d learned to cook in the last decade.

“Since I have your attention, Dax, I want to discuss something with you briefly. Your birthday is in a few weeks…”

“No,” he interrupted her. “No and no.”

“Oh, come on, Dax,” she complained immediately. “You’re turning twenty-eight. I want to throw you a party.”

“No,” he repeated. He hated his birthdays and Anna knew it.

As if she had read his mind, she sighed heavily. “Okay, no party. But then at least stop by for dinner. I’ll cook… No, I’ll order something. That’ll give you more incentive to come.”

Groaning, he tilted his head back. Every year, she tried. And every year, he gave her the same answer. “Being born is not an achievement that should be celebrated.”

“Just like tonight’s game, you mean?” she replied, annoyed.

Ouch. Now she was being mean. “I won’t be celebrating,” he insisted.

“Dax, I know you’re in an even worse mood than you were already in because Jack joined your team,” she said with a sigh. “But couldn’t we use this year to make everything…better? Reconcile with Jack?” Her voice had grown softer and gentler, like every Christmas when they were kids and she’d tried to talk him out of his chocolate Santa Claus. Jack, the idiot, had fallen for it three years in a row until Dax had explained to him that most of Anna’s tears weren’t real.

“I don’t intend to make anything better,” he explained impatiently. “My life is rather great. I am incredibly happy with it.”

“Liar,” she whispered. “Dax…it’s time to start anew.”

No, she was wrong. So wrong. “See you, Anna.”

An audible sigh was his answer. “God, I was truly hoping you’d be a little more reasonable. That would’ve made my next words a lot easier.”

He frowned suspiciously. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, I’ve decided not to give you a choice this year,” she said firmly. “You will come over, eat cake, and smile. And, oh yeah.” The next words came out hastily, tumbling out one after the other. “I’ve invited Jack over for your birthday, too. He’ll bring the appetizer. You will sit at the table together, be civil and nice to each other. Like the family we are. End of discussion.”

“Excuse me?” he said, crushing the phone between his fingers.

“You heard me.” There was a clear warning in her voice. “I’ve had it. You’re both my brothers. See you then.”

Before he could open his mouth again, she had hung up.

He pressed his lips together and slowly lowered the phone. Silent anger and frustration slid through his veins, making him suddenly incredibly hot, despite the clouds of condensation forming before his mouth.

He angrily silenced the phone and stuffed it into his pocket. Was everyone suddenly convinced that they knew what was best for him?

God, he was tired of it—following rules that others imposed on him. He had spent his entire youth following the hair-raising rules his mother had imposed on them so that she would feel like she was contributing at least something to their upbringing. As if sending her kids to bed at ten would make any difference, when Dax had to get up three hours later and accompany her to the casino next door because she wasn’t strong enough to pull his drunken father away from the craps tables alone. As if it made sense to forbid sweets when his old man had already offered him his first beer when he was thirteen.

No. He had always done whatever he wanted outside the house. And it had given him this life, hadn’t it?

He had more money than he could ever spend, had a job he loved. He had dozens of friends he worked with every day. And he had Anna. So why would he change anything if he was happy?

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