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Henry and Alice McLaughlin sat across from my parents. Henry talked football with my father, and Alice had already begun to divulge recent town gossip to my mom. Jude had planted himself next to Mom, sitting as close to her as feasibly possible without actually being in her lap. If she minded, she didn’t say a word. In fact, she seemed to enjoy having him so close.

Theo sat across from me, looking far too attractive for my own good. Every so often, his gaze flicked toward me and a small smile turned his lips. It was fleeting and barely noticeable before he returned his attention to the football questions my father was throwing his way.

“Before we start,” Mom said, loud enough to be heard over all the conversations. “I would just like to point out that my boys cooked everything.”

Jude immediately sat straighter, and I tensed a little. There was a good chance she was about to make some speech—some emotional commentary—and I wasn’t sure any of us were ready.

“So, if it tastes bad, just know it’s not my fault,” she finished with a grin. The tension snapped almost immediately as her words incited a round of laughter and commentary about our cooking experience—or lack thereof. Mom looked far too pleased with herself while Jude slumped back in his chair, his expression sour.

“Thanks, Mom,” he replied loudly, rolling his eyes. Even though I knew he was being intentionally dramatic, I lifted my glass in his direction.

“Hey, we did a damn good job,” I said.

“Hell yeah, we did!” Jude agreed with a grin, grabbed his water, and toasted me. The moment was short-lived as our father interjected, his expression hardening.

“Watch your language at the dinner table,” he snapped, his tone so sharp I felt it in my bones. I was used to that tone. It didn’t matter that I was an adult. Some part of me still reacted before I could stop it, my shoulders tightening as the old instinct to fall in line clicked into place. I hated that he could still do that to me with nothing more than the tone of his voice.

“Yes, Sir,” Jude and I muttered quietly.

“It’s all right, David,” Mom interjected. “They’ve earned a little leeway after cooking everything for me.”

My father grunted but didn’t say anything else. Thankfully, the conversation shifted to the food on the table as serving dishes made their way around in both directions. Alice immediately complimented the stuffing, which Jude claimed full credit for, even though I’d been the one who stopped him from adding nearly twice the amount of seasoning the recipe called for. Henry went back for mashed potatoes before he’d finished his first helping. And Mom spent several minutes insisting everyone take more turkey because we’d picked out one large enough to feed a small army.

For a while, it was easy. The conversation was light, the laughter was plenty, and I was proud of what Jude and I had managed to pull off. I stole every glance in Theo’s direction that I could without drawing attention to myself.

And it was nice… right up until Dad started talking politics.

Henry had made some harmless comment about something he’d seen on the news—the kind of comment meant just to be a one-and-done thing—but that was all the invitation my father needed. The conversation shifted to a rough place, and my appetite disappeared with it.

I knew this version of him. His tone always changed first, becoming angry and short. Then came the dismissive comments and ridiculous assumptions. The little statements grew into bigger ones as he talked about people whose lives he’d never bothered to try understanding but somehow felt qualified to judge anyway.

Everything he said was nothing new. I’d heard them my whole life. The only difference was that he had different news and situations to reference. I set my fork down; any desire I had to eat was gone.

Across the table, Theo had gone silent. The happy grin on his face was gone, completely wiped away by the words coming out of my father’s mouth. His shoulders had stiffened as he stared hard at the food in front of him.

Something hot burned in my chest. Anger was too simple a word for it. I’d spent years learning how to sit through conversations like this without reacting. I’d learned to let my father talk and talk until he was ready to change the topic on his own. That had always been the easiest way to handle him.

But seeing Theo’s discomfort as he heard them changed something in me. I could tolerate being uncomfortable. I could tolerate the hate. I’d been doing so my whole life. I could swallow my anger, keep my face blank, and wait for it to pass.

Watching Theo do the same was different. The way he made himself smaller because my father couldn’t keep his opinions to himself was wrong. He shouldn’t have had to pretend the words didn’t apply to him. To us.

For the first time in my entire life, keeping the peace didn’t feel like the safest choice. And it certainly didn’t feel right either.

“Enough!” I exclaimed loud enough to override my father’s angry voice.

In a heartbeat, everything stopped. Forks paused halfway to mouths, and conversations died instantly. The silence in the room pressed in around me as Dad slowly turned his attention toward me along with everyone else. I didn’t dare look at Theo. If I did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to contain the decades of anger boiling beneath my skin.

“David…” Mom said softly, her tone pleading. Any hope of her reeling him back in disappeared as his expression hardened.

“What the hell did you say to me?” he demanded. And there it was again. That fucking tone. I hated it. I hated what it did to me—how it threatened to shove me back into a box I’d built because of him.

But I was so fucking tired of that goddamn box. And maybe I would’ve gone back into it to keep the peace if Theo wasn’t there. It was stupid to think that maybe he was the catalyst I needed for this moment, but he was.

I was done letting my father go unchecked.

“I said enough,” I repeated as I met his stare, lifting my chin defiantly. I caught how his jaw ticked as he considered me.

“You don’t get to speak to me like that,” Dad said. He didn’t shout, which somehow made the warning beneath his words worse. “I don’t care who you are outside of this house. You don’t get to walk into my house and sit at my dinner table and talk to me like that.”