“He disappeared.”
“I know.”
“He missed fourteen years.”
“I know.”
“He does not get to arrive at the state championship and pretend he belongs in the highlight reel.”
“I know.”
Noah looked up.
“But I invited him anyway.”
There it was.
Not rebellion.
Decision.
I wanted to say no.
I wanted to tell him Adrian was not allowed inside Evermere High School Gym.
I wanted to protect him the way I had protected him at four.
Six.
Ten.
But Noah was eighteen.
Protection changes when children become adults.
Eventually, if you keep choosing for them, it stops being protection.
He said:
“I need to see him.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not enough.”
“It has to be.”
He breathed out.
“I need to see whether I feel anything.”
“Anger.”
“Nothing.”
“Whatever.”
“I need him to be a real person instead of this thing that happened before I can remember.”
That I understood.
I hated that I understood.
