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24 - Keith's Tantrum

LANCE

"No training today?"

Lance looked up from his Nutella sandwich. At the end of the dinner table, his dad's eyes were already trained on him, the intensity of his gaze almost making him feel like he was strapped on the chair.

Or maybe Lance was just overreacting. "Nope," he answered, munching down on his sandwich.

Jorge raised his eyebrows. Beside the man, Rachel mimicked their dad's expression, except that she looked less iffy but more to urging her twin to elaborate.

"I mean," Lance added, catching up. "It was postponed to next week."

"Really?" he asked in the middle of bringing his mug of coffee near his lips. "I thought your coach usually calls for practices every Saturday morning these days?"

"Mr Wright doesn't—" Lance paused, a frown knitting his eyebrows together. Coach? "Are you talking about my basketball practices?"

"What are you talking about?"

Lance blushed. "I thought – maybe you were referring to, you know – since me attending flying classes is ... your priority and stuff,"

"Well, I am referring to your basketball practices," Jorge informed him. "So, no practices today?"

"Everyone's pretty busy going Christmas shopping," he said. "So no."

But Lance was more drawn to the fact that Jorge McClain, his father with a burning determination that his youngest son get recruited into the Air Force, had brought up the subject about basketball at all. Or the fact that he was aware Lance had practices almost every Saturday at all. His dad; a man who normally couldn't care less about the one sport that ignited passion in Lance's spirit; who had only acknowledged its existence probably five times (Lance counted) since Lance first joined the team; who would see it as a waste of time when Lance could be doing something more useful like serving the country.

Nothing good had to be coming out of this, Lance was more than certain. As far as he was concerned, Jorge never did quite fancy the prospect of his son being in the basketball league. So instead of letting hope stir his head and heart, Lance let cynicism weigh him down like an achor. Make it tether him to the ground before anything could catapult him sky-high only for him to come plummeting back into the harsh reality.

"When is your next practice, then?" his dad asked further.

By now, Rachel mirrored Lance's bewildered expression. "Next week, I think?" he said, not knowing why the answer felt off-gride on his tongue. "Probably this Wednesday?"

Because for all he knew, his dad had never asked such questions – unless it was to make sure Lance's schedule was cleared for his flying simulations. "And your next match?"

"February or March,"

Lance chanced a perplexed glance at his twin, the latter of whom merely shrugged. "Well," Jorge smiled. "Buena suerte. It's still early, but you'll do great, mijo."

Who is this guy?

Lance was too busy wondering when was the last time his dad had wished him luck, when the man proceeded, "Anyway, no flight trainings this week?"

Now that sounded more like the man at the end of the dinner table. "Mr Wright pushed it to next week,"

"Any particular reason for that?" his dad asked, sipping from his mug.

"Er – well, his – um ..." Lance wasn't sure why he was suddenly reluctant to say it, or felt like his flight instructor wouldn't want anyone knowing about his love life. Adam Wright was out, wasn't he? Otherwise he wouldn't have a framed picture of him and Shiro in his office. "His – boyfriend got into an accident."