Page 250 of For the Fans

Shaking my head, I slump back in my seat, the anger and depression over voicing all these truths weaving through my limbs. And I let it.

I don’t try to stuff it down or ignore it. I just sit, buzzing with tension, reminding myself to breathe.

“I’m so proud of you, honey,” she whispers, and my eyes fling up to hers. “I am. I know I haven’t been there for you. But just seeing how well you’ve done… how far you’ve come. No matterhow much your father and I screwed up, you still turned into such an incredible man.”

I swallow, my chest swelling at her words. I hate the fact that I have to drag this out of her, and that it’s taken this long to even get it. But at least it’s something.

“I just want to know that you’re okay, Kyran,” she goes on. “Leaving school and taking off like that… it doesn’t seem healthy.”

“But that’s just it, Mom,” I mutter. “I’mnotokay, and I haven’t been healthy. Not emotionally… That’s why I left. Because sure, it looks like I’m winning on the outside, but inside, I’m still scared shitless.” She cowers a bit, fussing with her hair, likely because she knows where this is going. Leaning forward on the table, I whisper, “It wasn’t all Dad’s fault. You’reequallyto blame. Because I was abused by someone you both considered a man of God, and you didnothing.”

My mother gasps, her hands covering her face. In shame, in remorse, yes. But also, because I know she hates hearing about it. Shestillwants to pretend it never happened.

Deny. Avoid. Bury it all six feet deep.

At that moment, my father strides over to the table.Perfect timing.

We both glance up at him, watching his eyes flick back and forth, likely to figure out where he should sit. He obviously doesn’t want to sit next to my mother, or at least he doesn’t want her thinking he does. But I’m at the edge of my seat and I’m not moving over.

Sit down next to your ex-wife, Pops. So you both have to look me in the eye for this.

Finally, my mother concedes and scoots over, allowing my father to reluctantly plop down beside her. They share a brief, unenthused look, and my father mumbles, “Elena…”

To which she sighs, “Tom.”

I roll my eyes.Parents are fucking insufferable.

My dad glances at me from across the table, his face etched in his usual stern, unforgiving lines. Only he looks much more exhausted than usual; beaten down and almost desolate. His facial hair is grown out a bit, his clothes slightly rumpled.He looks like shit…

I guess he’s been working at some new job I know next to nothing about, so that could be part of the reason why he looks miserable.Or he’s also been dreading this little encounter.

“Kyran, I’m glad to see that you’re alright,” he rumbles. “I was worried…”

“Were you?” I huff. “So we’ve established that you were both worried, but not enough to actually do anything about it.”

“Don’t be this way.” He frowns. “I called you and asked you to come home. Why would you leave school, son? You need your education, no matter what.”

“Dad, we both know I’m going to have to choose…” I straighten. “Between football or business school. It’s highly unlikely I’ll be able to do both…”

He makes a face as if he knows this is true, but he doesn’t want to admit it. “Either way, you need to be in school. It’s far too important to leave behind so you can go off gallivanting—”

“Gallivanting?!” The word comes out with an incredulous scoff. “So you think I left just to run around, fucking off like some irresponsible moron??”

“That’s not what I meant,” he grumbles, but I don’t want to hear it.

Now I’m fucking pissed.

“Okay, let’s just get this out of the way. Because I didn’t ask you both here to talk about football, or business school, or whatever the fuck I decide to do with my future.” I attempt to control my anger, channeling it into finding my words. “We’re here because I’ve been seeing a counselor, talking through myissues,finally, after eight years of stuffing this shit down. And I realized that I’ll never be able to move on if I don’t tell you both exactly how I feel.”

My parents share a nervous look, but I don’t give them time to deflect.

I grip the edge of the table and growl, “Youfucked me. Almost as bad as he did.”

“Kyran—” my dad starts, but I cut him off with a hiss, as quietly as I can manage.

“Both of you! You aresupposedto love and protect me. You’re supposed to listen to me and support me… You were supposed to stand beside me no matter what, and you should’ve wanted to fucking decapitate that motherfucker for what he did! Butinstead, you acted like it never happened.”

My eyes zero in on my father. “You told me I wasoverreacting. You accused me of making it up. You made me feel likeIwas sick for being raped!”