Pushing the Limits (Secrets Kept 2)

Helena put a hand on my shoulder, then one on Lane’s too. “We’re a family now. I promise to love you and support you just like I would Lane. Family is the most important thing.”

I swallowed hard, liking her words, liking the thought of having that again. When my gaze flickered up, it met Lane’s big brown eyes, firmly on me, questioning.

I cleared my throat and nodded at Helena.

One of Dad’s friends handed him a glass of champagne, and he held it up. “To my family—my beautiful new wife and our incredible two boys. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

And while everyone cheered around us, Lane and I just watched each other.

“How’s Isaac doing? That boy adored his mom,” Grandma asked Dad, and I hurt down to my bones at just the question.

“He’s good. He loved her so damn much, we both did, but Isaac…I don’t know, he’s just better at coping than most people. He’s the strongest kid I’ve ever known. Maybe it’s easier on him because he’s young and doesn’t quite get it?” I knew I shouldn’t be listening to them talk, but I couldn’t make myself step away. “I envy him. He’s like an adult in a ten-year-old’s body. Even the way he called when I needed you. He’s a good kid, the best. I wish I had his resilience, though. How sad is it to envy your own son?”

Dad was…what, jealous of me? He thought I was strong? I didn’t feel that way. I just didn’t have a choice but to pretend I did.

I’m hurting too. I just don’t know how to admit it.

But then, I wanted to make him proud. I wanted to be someone people could depend on. Mom had been like that. Maybe if I was that for Dad, he’d feel better again.

“You’re just hurting right now, Timothy,” Grandma said.

“It’s still not an excuse.” Dad was quiet for a moment, then added, “It hurts…to look at him sometimes. He favors her so much, reminds me of her so much. Both so strong, so resilient. What kind of father am I? What kind of father struggles to look at his own son?”

His words cut into me, slash after slash at my heart, and when Dad started to cry, I did too.

“Isaac, wake up. You’re having a nightmare or something.”

My eyes jerked open at the sound of Lane’s voice. He was sitting on the edge of my bed, had switched on the lamp on my nightstand, and I hadn’t even realized it.

“What are you doing in here?” I yanked my arm from under his hand.

“I went to the bathroom. Your door wasn’t closed all the way. I heard you crying in your sleep.”

I rubbed at my face, and holy crap, he was right. I was crying.

“Was it about your mom? I still cry sometimes too when I think about my dad.”

What the hell? How did he just say something like that? I didn’t get it, couldn’t wrap my head around it…or why I wanted to answer. Why would I want to tell him how I felt? This kid who’d just moved into our house because our parents got married today.

But for some reason, I did. “I’m fine.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“No.”

“Oh… Can I stay for a bit? It’s weird, knowing I live here now. I can’t sleep.”

I stared at him for a second, at those brown eyes that looked almost too big for his face. I opened my mouth to say no, but that wasn’t what came out. “Sure.”

We didn’t talk. I sat up, and he stayed where he was, and we just were.

Sometimes I have nightmares about when my mom died, I wanted to tell him, but I didn’t. Dad thought I was strong, and I was still trying to prove him right.

Isaac

“Go long!” DJ, one of my friends, shouted. I ran across the backyard as he pulled his arm back and threw the football my way. I caught it, then launched a perfect spiral back at him.

“Dude! That was nice!”

“Thanks!” I yelled back. We played catch for a while before Johnny, another friend, came over. We’d only been back in school for a month—Dad and Helena had been married for a couple of months now. They weren’t home, but Lane was inside, doing whatever it was he did in his notebooks.

When we got tired of playing, we went to the porch and sat down.

“What do you have in math so far?” Johnny asked me.

“An A.”

“You’re so lucky you’re good at that shit,” DJ added, but I just shrugged. “What’s it like having a new mom and brother?”

“She’s not my mom,” I snapped.

Johnny frowned. “You don’t like her?”

Guilt immediately washed over me. Helena was great. “She’s cool. She’s just…I don’t know, ignore me. It’s cool. She likes to bake, and her cookies are the bomb.”