Trying to live

Chapter 39

The silence was suffocating, my impulsive words sinking into the room like an anchor, pulling the energy down with them. Mr. Monroe's smile remained, but the temperature seemed to drop, the air growing colder and thicker, like the walls were slowly closing in around me. His eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

I had crossed an unspoken line, and we both knew it.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, trying to fix the tension. "I shouldn't have interrupted."

"Is that so?" Mr. Monroe's voice was low, smooth. He leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine slowly, deliberately.

I nodded, my jaw tight. I wasn't going to apologize again. Not to him.

The dinner dragged on unbearably after that—every clink of silverware, every low murmur of conversation seemed to amplify the tension. The only people speaking were Juliette and her father. Henry offered the occasional comment when addressed, and Wyatt's mom remained silently focused on her plate, her food untouched. Wyatt sat beside me, a steady presence, but his posture was strained, as if he too felt the weight of his stepfather's attention.

"So, Emerson," Mr. Monroe suddenly addressed me, his tone casual but his gaze anything but, "I heard your brother wants to play professionally after he graduates?"

I swallowed, caught off guard by the question. Scott and I had talked about the future plenty of times, but he had never once mentioned wanting to go pro in lacrosse.

"Uh, yeah, I guess," I said, unsure of what else to offer.

Mr. Monroe gave a slow nod, as if my uncertainty confirmed something for him. "You know, with two children, there's always one that turns out to be... a bit of a problem." He glanced briefly at Wyatt, then back to me. "Take Wyatt, for example. I've done my best with him, but sometimes you wonder if a firmer hand—"

"Wyatt's not the problem," I blurted out, my voice sharper than I intended. The words were out before I could stop myself. Under the table, Wyatt's hand brushed mine in a subtle warning to back down, but I couldn't. Not after hearing this man tear down his stepson with such casual cruelty.

Mr. Monroe chuckled—a short, booming laugh that made my skin crawl. "Ah, I see the defense mechanism's kicking in," he said, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Did that happen before or after you slept with him?"

My stomach dropped, the comment hitting harder than I expected.

"Emerson, relax," he said, raising a hand as if to dismiss my discomfort. "It was just a joke." Then his gaze sharpened again. "Anyway, my daughter mentioned you're quite the little... drug addict—"

"Dad!" Juliette interrupted, her voice strained, shooting me an apologetic glance. "I didn't—"

"Sweetheart, I'm speaking to your classmate," Mr. Monroe cut her off, waving dismissively. "Let's not interrupt."

I clenched my jaw as Juliette mouthed an apology. I believed her, but that did little to calm the anger boiling in my chest.

"I'm not a drug addict," I muttered, gritting my teeth.

Mr. Monroe waved a hand like it was irrelevant. "Doesn't matter. But you're still a problem child. You know, I met your mother at a charity event a couple of years ago. She told me how easy it was with her son, but you? You were different. I recommended a place to her—a facility to show you the hard realities of life."

He winked at me, a twisted glint in his eye. "But I forgot the name."

I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to let him bait me. I was already a fool for speaking up, although it wasn't intentionally but still Mr. Monroe was fixated on me. I turned my head away and grabbed my fork. Of course, it would be nice to ram the fork into his mouth but I wasn't a murderer and he was just a vile human being.