Page 92 of Love in Training
“To pursue the thingsIlove?”
Their silence echoed through the room as he realized that’s what this was really about. He’d spent most of his life putting these people first, meeting all their expectations and demands. But they’d never once done the same for him. And certainly never his brother.
What they called “love” was a condition.
Kyle had always understood that.
But Drew was certain now that as strong as his brother was, it had still eaten away at him.
And these people weren’t worth it.
“Youarea doctor,” his father finally snapped.
Drew’s mouth rose on one side as he gripped Rufus’s leash. “Iwasa doctor. But now I’m not. And I never will be again.” He took a deep gulp of air as soon as he said it, and it felt like his first breath. “Kyle had the right idea.”
“Your brother is dead,” his mother said, voice quavering like he’d just announced he was going to kill himself too. And then he realized thatwashow she saw it.
“He is. AndI’mvery much alive.” He shrugged. “But I guess whether you lose both your sons is up to you.”
“Is that a threat?” his father growled. And in a moment of pure poetry, Rufus looked at him and growled back.
“Get that animal out of here,” Dr. Patricia Forbes hissed.
“Easy...” Drew whispered to Rufus. Then an idea occurred to him, and he gave another command.
The dog looked up at him, probably thinking he hadn’t heard right.
Drew suppressed a smile and repeated himself.
Two seconds later, Rufus had sprung from the floor and was standing over the Cornish hens in the middle of the formal supper table. Drew ignored his parents’ horrified gasps, carved some meat off a bird to reward the dog, then directed him back to the floor. In testament to his agile grace, not a single dish or crystal glass had broken. Not even Drew’s own chipped dinner plate.
Drew didn’t look back as he guided Rufus to the door. He wouldn’t waste another second on these people. He’d made mistakes—years and years of them. And it was far too late for Kyle to forgive him. But maybe there was still hope for his heart.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
The dayafter my first feature in a series about chronic depression and mental health runs in theMile High Observer, Randall calls me into his office to celebrate. I’d given Kyle a pseudonym for the piece, but it was essentially a profile about him and his lifelong struggle. I cried when I finished writing it, while Randall assured me this was exactly the kind of story he knew I could produce. And apparently it resonated with people. A cluster of follows and shares led to a wider discussion of psychiatric and family support, and it was picked up pretty quickly by several national outlets.
One comment stuck with me in particular. A brief note from a mom whose son’s life drew an eerie parallel with Kyle’s—a head injury early on, which accelerated his already pervasive depression. But that young man was still here, still fighting, and she thanked me for bringing awareness to his unique situation and needs.
“I thought that would be the highlight of my day,” I say, “until I got this.”
I pass my phone to Randall, who trades me for a celebratory Hershey bar from his personal stash.
He scans the email pulled up on my screen, then looks up at me, grinning.
“A personal invite from the Features editor atDenver Editorial? Are you going to apply?”
I bite my lip. “Probably?”
He scoffs. “I mean, it’s onlyDenver Editorial. You could hold out forThe New York Times...”
I roll my eyes.
He chuckles and folds his arms. “You deserve it, Caprice. You’ve outgrown this place.”
My eye catches on a forgotten dog toy sticking out from under his desk, and I frown. “Think of all the lattes I could create, though.”
