Chapter 192 - You Shamed Us
ZAC’S POV
Zac turned off the engine and remained behind the wheel.
The downstairs windows were lit. Nathan’s car sat near the garage, and Holly’s was parked beside it.
Everyone was waiting.
Zac looked at the house.
A few more months.
He only had to make it through a few more months before Tennessee. Once he left, his father could arrange interviews, issue orders, and complain about the family name without Zac standing in the room to receive any of it.
He left the truck and crossed the driveway.
His parents had spent that morning at the interview Zac had already refused to attend.
He had known the house would be empty. That was why he came home, showered, changed his clothes, and left again before they returned.
He told Roxie it was a military academy dinner.
A dinner sounded smaller.
It required fewer questions.
They had probably noticed the wet towel as soon as they came home.
Zac unlocked the front door.
His father stood near the fireplace.
His mother sat in the center of the couch with her hands folded over one knee. Nathan occupied the chair across from her, his elbows resting on his thighs. Holly sat beside him.
Mia was upstairs.
Nobody greeted Zac.
His mother looked at him.
"Where were you?"
Her voice was calm.
Zac closed the door and removed his jacket.
"Dylan’s."
His mother glanced at Nathan.
Nathan’s expression barely changed, but Zac saw the disbelief.
His father remained near the fireplace.
"For two nights?"
"Yeah."
His mother studied him.
"And Dylan had no charger, telephone, or way for you to tell us you were alive?"
"My phone died."
A small smile touched her mouth.
"Of course it did."
Zac placed his jacket over the back of a chair.
He knew how these conversations worked.
His father spoke until Zac agreed.
His mother turned every command into concern.
Every answer gave them another sentence to argue with.
Silence ended things faster.
His mother folded her hands again.
"We spent two nights wondering where you were. You ignored every call. Your friends claimed they had not seen you, and Nathan could only tell us you were safe the last time he heard from you."
Zac looked at Nathan.
Nathan kept his eyes on the floor.
His mother continued.
"Your father drove around looking for you. We called hospitals. We considered contacting the police."
Zac said nothing.
"We thought you might be hurt," she said. "Then we returned from the interview this morning and discovered you had been inside the house."
Zac pressed his tongue against his cheek.
"You showered. You changed your clothes. You left a wet towel in your bathroom and took clothes from your closet."
His father moved away from the fireplace.
"You knew where we were," his mother continued. "You waited until the house was empty, came inside, and left again while your father sat across from a man who expected to interview you."
Zac remained still.
His father stepped closer.
"I called before the meeting. I called again from the parking lot. I spent forty minutes making excuses for a son who was inside my house avoiding me."
Zac kept his eyes on him.
His father’s voice grew louder.
"I gave my word that you would attend. That man rearranged his morning because I assured him you were serious about your future. Instead, I sat there while he asked whether you had changed your mind, whether you were unstable, and whether recommending you would embarrass him too."
Zac had already refused the interview.
His father had decided that no meant Zac was upset and would eventually obey.
His mother waited.
"Is there anything you would like to say?"
"No."
Her mouth tightened.
His father took another step.
"You disappear for two nights, humiliate your mother and me, then return with nothing to say?"
Zac looked toward the stairs.
He could leave the room.
His father would follow.
His mother would accuse him of refusing to communicate.
Nathan would get in his way.
The result would remain the same.
His mother spoke again.
"Your father placed his name behind you. You may dislike the interview, but you had no right to let him enter that room without warning."
Zac finally looked at her.
"I told him I wasn’t going."
The room became quiet.
It was one answer.
It still felt like more resistance than he had given them in months.
His mother’s expression hardened.
"You were upset when you said that."
"I said it more than once."
"You had just lost the championship. Your father understood that disappointment was affecting your judgment."
"He decided I didn’t mean it."
"He decided one emotional reaction should not destroy your future."
Zac looked at his father.
"It’s my future."
His father’s shoulders shifted.
"You have shown no ability to manage it."
Zac almost returned to silence.
His father continued.
"You walked away from football after one loss. You have become secretive, angry, and disrespectful. You disappear, refuse to answer your family, and reject every opportunity we provide."
Zac forced his hands open at his sides.
His mother leaned forward.
"We understand that losing affected you. Your father is trying to give you structure before one disappointment ruins everything you worked for."
They were still talking about football.
Nathan knew Roxie’s mother had died.
Zac had sent him a message saying Roxie needed him and he would be gone.
Nathan had told their parents nothing.
Zac looked at him.
Nathan met his eyes.
There was no apology there.
Zac looked back at his mother.
"You could have come home and spoken to us," she said.
He stayed silent.
His mother stood.
"You may believe this is only about an interview you rejected. It is larger than that. You frightened this family, avoided your responsibilities, and allowed your father to be humiliated."
"I wasn’t trying to humiliate anyone."
"Then what were you doing?"
Zac could tell them.
He could explain that Roxie’s mother died from an overdose.
Roxie had identified the body, signed the cremation papers, and carried Claire’s ashes home inside a temporary box.
His mother would hear Roxie’s name and decide she had manipulated him.
His father would ask why another family’s crisis mattered more than the interview.
The truth would give them someone else to blame.
Zac kept it from them.
"I had somewhere else to be."
His father laughed without humor.
"Somewhere more important than your family and your future?"
"Yes."
Nathan shifted in his chair.
Zac’s mother stared at him.
His father pointed toward the floor.
"You live in this house. You use our money. You drive a vehicle we helped provide. Every advantage you have exists because of this family."
His voice rose.
"You owe us everything."
Zac’s jaw tightened.
He needed to reach his room without giving them anything that could damage Tennessee.
"I never asked you to arrange the interview."
His father’s face changed.
Zac continued.
"You used my name. You promised I would be there after I told you no. You got embarrassed because I meant it."
His mother stepped between them.
"Stop provoking him."
The warning was directed at Zac.
He looked at her.
"I’m provoking him because I said no?"
"You are challenging your father after everything he has done for you."
"I’m saying he should have listened."
His father moved around her.
"You think this is amusing?"
"No."
"You entered my house while I sat there looking like a fool."
"You made the appointment."
"I gave you an opportunity."
"I refused it."
"You are eighteen years old. You have no idea what you are refusing."
Zac laughed once.
The sound escaped before he could stop it.
His father stared at him.
The entire conversation had been about the interviewer, the family name, and the embarrassment of having a son who refused to follow instructions.
Nobody cared where Zac had slept.
His father stepped closer.
"You brought shame to us."
Zac looked around the room.
His mother stood beside her husband.
Nathan watched from the chair.
Holly remained beside him, silent.
They had gathered the family because someone outside the house had seen Zac disobey his father.
Zac laughed again.
His father punched him across the mouth.
Zac never saw the arm move.
His head snapped sideways.
His shoulder struck the hallway table hard enough to shake the framed photographs above it.
Pain cut through his lower lip.
The room went silent.
Zac tasted blood.
Nathan moved first.
He stepped between them and shoved their father back.
"Dad. Enough."
Their father tried to move around him.
Nathan held one arm across his chest.
Zac straightened.
His first instinct was to hit back.
His fist closed.
The floor creaked above them.
Mia.
Zac forced his hand open and wiped his mouth instead.
Blood covered his knuckles.
His mother looked at it but remained beside her husband.
"You know how far you push people," she said.
Zac stared at her.
"That’s what you have to say?"
"I am saying this family cannot keep living around your anger."
"He hit me."
"And you laughed in his face after deliberately humiliating him."
"So it’s my fault?"
"You knew what you were doing."
She looked at the blood on Zac’s hand as though he had caused it himself.
"You owe your father an apology. You also owe one to the interviewer whose time you wasted."
Nathan turned toward Zac.
"Go upstairs."
Zac looked at him.
Nathan stepped closer.
"Go before you make this worse."
"You think he’s right?"
"I think disappearing for two nights was stupid."
"That wasn’t what I asked."
Nathan released a hard breath.
"The plan isn’t bad, Zac. You need something solid after football. Fighting Dad every time he speaks makes everyone else deal with your shit."
Zac stared at him.
"You used to tell me to fight back."
Nathan’s jaw tightened.
"That was before you started throwing everything away."
Zac’s hand closed again.
Nathan saw it.
He stood straighter and shifted his weight forward.
They had fought enough times to recognize when another one was about to start.
Zac wanted to hit him.
Nathan would hit back.
Their mother would scream.
Their father would use the fight as proof that Zac was unstable.
Mia would hear everything through the floor.
Nathan’s opinion would mean nothing once Zac left.
Zac forced his hand open.
"Move."
Nathan remained in front of him for another second.
Then he stepped aside.
Zac walked toward the stairs.
His father spoke behind him.
"The interviewer agreed to meet again."
Zac kept walking.
"You will attend this time."
His mother added, "You will apologize and repair the damage you caused."
Zac reached the stairs without answering.
He climbed past Mia’s closed bedroom door and entered his room.
He shut the door carefully.
Slamming it would scare her.
He locked it instead.
The bed was made because he had barely used it. A clean sweatshirt remained folded over the chair. His football bag sat near the closet.
Zac entered the bathroom, wet a towel, and pressed it against his mouth.
Blood spread through the fabric.
The cut inside his lower lip throbbed. The outside had split near one corner.
He sat on the edge of the bed and concentrated on breathing slowly.
His father’s punch still burned across his face.
Nathan’s words bothered him more.
A knock sounded.
The handle moved before Zac answered.
The lock stopped it.
"Zac?"
Holly.
"What?"
"I brought the first aid kit."
"I’m fine."
"Your mouth is bleeding."
Zac looked at the towel.
Blood had soaked through the center.
He crossed the room and unlocked the door.
Holly stood outside holding the white plastic case from the downstairs bathroom.
She made no attempt to enter.
"I thought you might need this."
Zac looked at the first aid kit, then at her.
A laugh escaped him.
Holly frowned. "What?"
"Run."
"What?"
"Run before you start thinking any of this is normal."
Her expression tightened.
"I was only offering to help."
Zac took the first aid kit from her hand.
"You offered. I accepted."
"Nathan was trying to stop things from getting worse."
"He can tell himself that."
"I was only trying to be nice."
Zac stepped back into his room and closed the door.
Zac carried the first aid kit to the bed and opened it himself.
He cleaned the blood from his lip, pressed gauze against the split, and checked whether any teeth felt loose.
A few minutes later, three quiet taps came from the door.
Zac stood and opened it.
Mia waited in the hallway wearing pink pajamas. Her hair had been braided for bed, though several strands had escaped near her face. She carried a small ice pack wrapped in a dish towel.
Her eyes went directly to his mouth.
"Dad hit your mouth?"
Zac looked toward the stairs.
"Dad got angry."
"He gets loud when he’s angry."
Mia held out the ice pack.
"This one doesn’t leak. The other one leaks."
Zac took it.
"Thanks."
She entered and climbed onto the edge of his bed. Her feet remained several inches above the floor.
Zac closed the door without locking it and sat beside her.
Mia watched him press the ice pack against his mouth.
"Are you staying home tonight?"
"Yeah."
"All night?"
"All night."
She nodded.
"Your room looked weird empty."
"What does that mean?"
"It was too clean."
A small laugh escaped him.
The cut pulled painfully, but the laugh still came.
Mia smiled.
Then her face became serious.
"Are you leaving tomorrow?"
Zac thought about Roxie.
She had sent him home but still wanted to know whether he was inside.
He thought about Claire’s ashes beside the blue mug and the Tennessee papers hidden in his drawer.
"I don’t know."
Mia looked down at her pajama sleeve.
"Tell me first."
She only wanted to know before his room became empty again.
"I will."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
Mia hugged him carefully around the middle.
Zac placed one hand against her back.
She released him and climbed down.
"You have to return the ice pack."
"Go to bed."
Mia slipped into the hallway.
Zac waited until she entered her room before closing his door.
He locked it and returned to the bed.
Roxie had sent another message.
Roxie: How bad was it?
Zac touched his split lip.
Zac: Fine.
Her reply came quickly.
Roxie: I knew they’d be mad.
He could tell her his father had punched him.
He could send a picture of the bloody towel and show her what going home had meant.
Then he pictured Claire’s ashes beside the blue mug.
Roxie had sent him home because she feared his family would blame her.
Learning about the punch would make her blame herself too.
She might ask him to return.
He would go.
Zac typed a different answer.
Zac: It’s handled. I’m fine.
Roxie: Sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.
Zac read the message twice.
They would talk tomorrow.
She had also said they would talk when she could think.
He typed one word.
When?
His thumb hovered over the screen.
He deleted it.
Zac placed the phone beside him and pressed Mia’s ice pack against his mouth.
Voices carried through the floor.
"The interview will be rescheduled," his father said.
His mother answered too quietly for Zac to hear.
"I don’t care whether he wants it. He will attend."
Zac lowered the ice pack.
He crossed the room and opened the bottom drawer of his desk.
Old football papers covered the Tennessee envelope.
Zac checked that it remained there.
Everything was still hidden.
Once he reached Tennessee, his father could no longer call him into the living room and choose his future for him.
Zac locked the drawer.
He only had to make it through the next few months.