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It’s uncomfortable and tense.

“So,” Lakeland begins, tone light, “have you given any thought to what comes next, Storm?”

I grab the large serving spoon and scoop a corner piece of mac and cheese onto my plate.

“Don’t fuckin’ talk to me.”

Lakeland’s smile grows wider.

“Well, with graduation just a few months out, you really should start putting a plan in place.”

“Are you fucking dumb, asshole?”

“Storm!” my mom says with a gasp.

“Just one dinner. I just wanted us to get one dinner.” This comes from my father.

“You know, indecision is its own choice,” Lakeland continues, but now my father glares at him.

I slam the serving spoon down hard enough to rattle the silverware.

Dad finally looks at me, completely unable to hide it: The shake behind the eyes. The flicker of bewilderment from someone who’s no longer calling the shots.

“Who is going to answer my questions. You or him, Dad?” I keep my voice low, directed only to my father.

His mouth tightens.

“You?” I tilt my head in Lakeland’s direction. “Or him?

And I’ll do whatever I need to get to the bottom of this shit.

Whatever I need to do.

“Storm,” my dad says, his voice a strained whisper. “You need to stop, son.”

Heat flares in my chest. “Stop what?”

“You need to stop asking questions.”

The sentence lands between us on the pristine tabletop.

“Dad,” I start, but he surges to his feet so fast that he knocks over the chair. It falls to the marble flooring with a loudclack.

“I’m no longer hungry,” he says, and he strides away from the table.

Mom whimpers, shaking her head slowly as if all is lost.

“Why can’t you let this go?” she murmurs, looking down at her empty plate. After a long moment of silence, she rises from the table and rushes off to find my father.

I let the quiet linger and pivot toward Lakeland. He has that stupid fucking smile on his face, the one that’s earned him the label of playboy younger brother of the billionaire savant, Chuck Sandoval.

To me, the twist of his lips feels demonic.

“Why don’t you just level with me, Lakeland? Tell me the truth about what’s going on.”

I lean back in my chair, resting my head on my closed fist with my elbow placed on the table.

“The truth?” He raises an eyebrow and makes a rough sound in his chest. “That depends. Are you ready to play the game, Nephew?”