Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(22)

Yeah, with Mike. “Uh-huh.” I shove a hunk of pot roast into my      mouth.

“Her mom said she still talks about you.”

I stop mid-chew and glance at Mom. Proud for earning a reaction      from me, she smiles.

“Leave him alone,” Dad says. “He doesn’t need a girl      distracting him.”

Mom purses her lips and we enter another five minutes of      clinking forks and knives. The silence stings...like frostbite.

Unable to stomach the tension much longer, I clear my throat.      “Did Dad tell you we met Scott Risk and his—” psychotic “—niece?”

“No.” My mother stabs at the cherry tomato rolling around in      her salad bowl. The moment she spears the small round vegetable, Mom glares at      Dad. “He has a niece?”

Dad holds her gaze with irritated indifference and follows it      up with a drink from his longneck.

“I gave you a wineglass,” Mom reminds him.

Dad places the longneck, which drips with condensation, next to      said glass right on the wood of the table—without a coaster. Mom shifts in her      seat like a crow fluffing out its wings. The only thing she’s missing is the      pissed-off caw.

For the last few months, Dad and I have been eating our dinners      in the living room while watching TV. Mom gave up food after Mark left.

Mom and Dad began marriage counseling a few weeks ago, though      they have yet to directly tell me. The need to project perfection won’t allow      them to admit to a flaw like their marriage needing help from an outside source.      Instead, I found out the same way I discover anything in this house: I overheard      them fighting in the living room while I lay in bed at night.

Last week, their marriage counselor recommended that Mom and      Dad try to do something as a family. They fought for two days over what that      something should be until they settled on Sunday dinner.

It’s why I invited Mark. We haven’t had a dinner together since      he left and if he’d showed, maybe the four of us could have found a way to      reconnect.

I wonder if Mom and Dad feel the emptiness of the chair next to      mine. Mark possessed this charm that kept my parents from fighting. If they were      annoyed with each other, Mark would tell a story or a joke to break the chill.      The arctic winter in my house never existed when he was home.

“Yeah, he has a niece,” I say, hoping to move the conversation      forward and to fill the hollowness inside me. “Her name is Elisabeth. Beth.” And      she’s making my life hell—not too different from suffering through this      dinner.

I tear a biscuit apart and slather on some butter. Beth      embarrassed me in front of Scott Risk and I lost a dare because of her. I drop      the biscuit—the dare. A spark ignites in my brain. Chris and I never set a time      limit on it, which means I can still win.

Mom straightens the napkin on her lap, disrupting my thoughts.      “You should be friendly with her, Ryan, but maintain your distance. The Risks      had a reputation years ago.”

Dad’s chair scrapes against the new tile and he makes a      disgusted noise in his throat.

“What?” Mom demands.

Dad rolls his shoulders back and focuses on his beef instead of      answering.

“You have something to say,” prods Mom, “say it.”

Dad tosses his fork onto his plate. “Scott Risk has some      valuable contacts. I say get close to her, Ryan. Show her around. If you do a      favor for him, I’m sure he’d do one for you.”

“Of course,” says Mom. “Give him advice that goes directly      against mine.”

Dad begins talking over her and their combined raised voices      cause my head to throb. Losing my appetite, I slide my chair away from the      table. It’s gut-wrenching, listening to the ongoing annihilation of my family.      There is absolutely no worse sound on the face of the planet.

Until the phone rings. My parents fall silent as all three of      us look over at the counter and see Mark’s name appear on the caller ID. A rocky      combination of hope and hurt creates a heaviness in my throat and stomach.

“Let it go,” Dad murmurs.

Mom stands on the second ring and my heart beats in my ears.       Come on, Mom, answer. Please.

“We could talk to him,” she says as she stares at the phone.      “Tell him that as long as he keeps it a secret he can come home.”