Page 37 of Rules of Association

Clint confirmed this by the incredulous scoff he huffed into the phone receiver.

“Connor, I don’t have the time or patience for this argument right now. Can you just figure it out?” he asked.

I sighed. “Yeah, fine. But I’ll have to do it from home. And I’ll keep you posted on the details.”

I hung up before I could get any angrier with my brother’s dismissal. We might fuck around with each other a lot, but there was a part of me that looked to my brothers for a certain support system that our parents weren’t able to give us.

We’d always been in it together. In a family that half raised us and forced us to half raise ourselves. In a life that was unforgiving—abundant in money but ruthless in the other things it took. In a nightmarish five years where our sister was taken from us and hidden away like a hostage. Having to learn a life with one of us ripped away with no explanation why.

But really it wasn’t all his fault. Clint listened to our mother first and foremost, he always had. There were at least four formative years in between when Clint entered this family and when his first sibling did. In which, we had no idea what kind of life he’d lived. All we knew is that this stoic, almost stiff brother we had, had always been this way. Unyielding always, except when it came to Mom.

I also knew, while he didn’t fully understand all that I preached, he trusted me enough to listen. Mom was the one that found it useless. Sometimes it felt like she was doing her best to findmeuseless unless I started to consider doing the things she asked of me. It wouldn’t be far off from the way she’d always seen me.

Clay was at least vocal about his rebellion. You knew exactly what he was thinking because he told you so, and if he didn’t say it out loud; it was almost impossible for him to keep his emotions off his face.

Something about that emotion my mom found hope in. Maybe because, for all his talk, Clay loved the family business. He loved working close to us and he loved keeping up with Clint in competition whenever he could.

Me, on the other hand, I was a stubborn kid. I did what I wanted and what I wanted had nothing to do with what the Fergusonsshouldwant. When I chose something, I backed it one hundred percent. Immovable almost. And for a woman who had done a lot of moving with the cards of her family, I could only imagine how frustrating it was to have a child like me.

Which held testimony to why I was even still here toughing it out at a company I didn’t want to be at. Defending a career I didn’t even want while also not going for what I did want. Because I stood by my own. No matter how hard or unforgiving, I’d always stood by them because in a pathetic but almost desperate way, I also wanted to be seen as something by them.By her. And even if I was in a dumb tech room running even dumber systems I had no interest in I’d do at least that to keep myself relevant to them. Because even if I wasn’t exactly what she wanted, I wasn’t ready to be nothing at all to her.

I didn’twantto be the stubborn one, I just wanted to be enough. But if I couldn’t be that then at least, with this job, I could be something.

Still, it frustrated me to no end to be ignored about these things. Only ever serving to bring up deeper shit, like now.

Enough.

I wanted to be enough. For my mom. For my family.Forsomeone.

Looking at my phone, which was still devoid of messages from a certain person, I sighed. I shook the maddening thoughts from my head as I and sauntered back into the kitchen to dump my tea.

From the looks of the shit-show that just dropped into my lap, I was going to be needing coffee tonight instead.

Chapter Nine

CECI

It’s amazing how laughter can be both infectious and infuriating depending on whether people were laughing with you, or at you.

I was being laughed at. Ruthlessly.

“I kid you not, it was like she was flying in slow motion,” Mateo said as he passed around a basket of tortillas at our family dinner table. “It was like a movie.”

“Keep talking Mattí, and the last scene will be your funeral,” I threatened. But I wasn’t feeling it. I wasn’t feeling it at all. This was now thetwelfth straightcomment about my week of working, and what I thought would calm down after a few teasing lines was only ramping up. My siblings going on and on about thehilariouscomedy show that was my genuine effort.

Annoyed, I just stared straight ahead, my eyes holding nothing as I listened.

Around the dinner table sat my brothers and sisters. Weekly dinner was something my family had done since we were kids, inviting over our grandparents or other relatives on the weekend. Now with all of us kids out of the house, we kept up the tradition by getting together once a week for a meal. Not everyone made it every time, but we made it a point to keep up with the tradition more after our abuelo died a couple of years back, having needed the support of family through that emotional time.

Now I was feeling the opposite of supported. Actually, I was feeling quite singled out as each of my siblings took turns recalling something that wasoh so funnyabout this week.

And to make matters worse (or better, I couldn’t decide yet) I was met with a surprise at tonight dinner.

“Your sister is right Mateo. You shouldn’t be laughing at her accident. She could have been badly hurt,” Amá said, looking as if she was pleading for me to take the olive branch she offered.

I fucking hated olives, and I made it a point not to acknowledge her.

Matteo scoffed, “She’s more hurt from whatever idiotic thing she did to her wrist than falling off a nearly parked moped, Amá.”

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