Page 3 of Touch Me

I glance down at the upholstery on the chair and realize not only would I never wear paisley so I can’t disappear into the chair, but I also just lost because my dumb ass moved. I lasted less than ten seconds. I would so die in the woods.

Dr. Lancaster clears her throat, and all heads turn toward her at the sound. “It’s okay, buddy. You don’t have to play sports.” She paints her face with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and looks between her son and her husband.

Mr. Lancaster purses his lips, his breathing becoming audible. Aggressive. “Will you quit coddling him! He is eighteen years old, for god’s sake!” He throws his hands in the air and gestures toward Jace. “He never even leaves his room. When Jack was his age, we couldn’t keep track of him.”

No one moves a muscle. Not even the tink of a fork breaks the silence. The only sound I hear over the blood whooshing past my ears is Mr. L. seething at the end of the table.

Can you hear someone seethe?

I’ve never witnessed this kind of private family spat at the Lancaster’s house. I guess it shows the level of comfort and acceptance I’ve received with this family, but I don’t feel the least bit comfortable right now. I feelrage.A rage so tangible I have to physically restrain myself from telling Mr. L. to shove it up his ass.

“I’m not Jack,” Jace whispers.

His scrunched face is painted pink, and the tick in his jaw matches the pulsing blood rushing past my ears.

“No one wants you to be me.” Jack levels a hard stare at his father. “You do you, brother.”

Dr. L. turns to Jace. “Of course, honey. You are who you are. You don’t have to play sports for me to be proud of you.” She straightens her spine and speaks with a little more conviction in her voice as she levels a glare at her husband, reaching over and squeezes Jace’s hand. His eyes twitch as the muscles in his forearm bunch up.

“I could use your help with math this year,” Jess adds, trying to decrease the tension stifling the room. No matter the situation in this house, as different as it is from what I always thought, these siblings have each other’s backs.

He looks up at her and quirks one side of his mouth. An attempt at a smile. “Of course.”

Jack rises from the table. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, the guys are waiting.” He leans in and speaks quietly. Only Jace meant to hear, “I’ll be home later. Call if you need me.” A small nod is all Jace can manage.

Dr. Lancaster clears her throat. “So, Cassie, tell me about the new school clothes you got for this school year.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, her eyes widen, and mouth drops open as she clutches the collar of her shirt.

My face heats as I push a stray carrot around my plate. “I, uh, didn’t really get a chance to do any shopping. I’ll manage with what I have.”

This whole family knows my situation. I’m sure the intensity of the dinner conversation has clouded her filter. I know she would never intentionally embarrass me. My gaze falls to my plate, and I squash a carrot flat with my fork. Then another. After an eternity of silence and the realization they were all just witnesses to my murderous carrot tantrum, I take a risk and lift my eyes from the plate.

There it is again. The pity face. My eyes ping from face to face, and I rear back when they land on Jace. He’s looking at me like he wants to rip my throat out.

What the hell?

He never looks at me.

Of all the times I wished to look up and see Jace watching me, this is when he decides to comply? After I slaughtered my dinner? Now, I can’t pull myself away from the intensity of his stare. His nostrils flare, and his jaw clenches so hard I’m surprised I can’t hear his teeth cracking. My heart rate kicks up, beating erratically in my chest as it tightens, robbing me of the ability to take a full breath.

Why is he mad at me? I’m the one that should be humiliated here, not him.

A glance around the table confirms my panic was correct, and all eyes are on me. Burning pricks the back of my eyes, and no amount of fidgeting can draw the sting away. Is he disgusted by the fact that I can’t buy new clothes?

Am I that repulsive?

My eyes shift from him to each pair of eyes at the table. I would like to say that I’m glad the attention is off Jace, but my selfish need for acceptance wins out, and I secretly want to throw his ass under the bus right now. I glance down at the worn, discolored jeans, shame leaking out of my pores as I will it to fill the holes in the tattered material.

Do something. Say something.

“Why are you staring at me? Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

Jesus. Not that.

No wonder he never pays any attention to me. Of all the juvenile, third-grade, idiotic bullshit responses in my head, that’s what I say out loud?

Lord, take me now. Open up this floor and swallow me whole.

Jace pushes off the table and stands to flee.

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