Chapter 8 - The Unraveling at the Steakhouse
While we were sitting in my quiet kitchen drinking beer out of bottles, the scene at the steakhouse downtown was reportedly falling apart in slow motion.
Deacon dropped by our apartment an hour later with a takeout bag of onion rings and a grin that stretched from ear to ear. He kicked the door shut behind him with his heel and tossed the bag onto the table.
“You missed a masterpiece,” Deacon announced, pulling out a chair.
“Tell me everything,” Emmett said, leaning forward.
“Well,” Deacon said, taking a sip of my beer without asking. “First off, they sat down at a twelve-person table reserved under Colton’s name. Except half the family was still looking for you in the lobby. Aunt Sherice was hyperventilating into a napkin because someone asked why the twin wasn't there.”
“What did Colton say?” I asked.
“Colton looked like he swallowed a cactus,” Deacon grinned. “Uncle Dale tried to cover by standing up and making a toast about family unity and business school excellence. Except he forgot your name for three whole seconds. He literally called you ‘the other one.’”
Sloan winced. “Ouch.”
“Oh, it gets better,” Deacon said, leaning in. “Grandma Lorraine asked if you didn't show up because you failed something. She genuinely thought you flunked out at the finish line. When Aunt Sherice finally had to admit that you graduated with departmental honors and won some big award she didn't know about, the table went so quiet you could hear the ice melting in the water pitcher.”
He took another bite of an onion ring.
“Uncle Vance asked if it was a participation trophy. I told him it was a five-hundred-dollar check and a plaque heavier than his golf bag, and he told me to shut my mouth.”
I couldn't help it. A small, dry laugh escaped my throat.
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For twenty-two years, my family had operated like a well-oiled machine designed to keep Colton in the spotlight while I served as the backstage lighting technician. They didn't hate me; they simply forgot I had a script of my own.
And now, for the first time, I had walked off the stage.
