(Kyle Morris POV)
"Dammit, why won't this boss just die?!" I muttered, gripping the controller tighter. My voice cracked in frustration, though it was more of a whisper than a shout. I wasn't exactly the loud type—unless I was alone. Or in a game.
"Seriously… ten arms? Who even designs something like this? Eight of them just exist to stab me every single time. Like, come on. Are you trying to win a chicken -making contest or what?"
The screen flashed red. My character let out a guttural scream before collapsing into a puddle of blood and pixels.
I groaned and let the controller drop onto the desk. My head hit the backrest.
"…Screw this," I mumbled.
"Kyle Morris!"
I jolted upright. Mom's voice could shatter stone walls.
"No swearing in my house! You're cursing more than your drunk old man!"
I flinched, scratching my head. "Sorry, Mom…" I said softly.
She stormed into the room, her eyes immediately narrowing. "And what in the nine heavens are you wearing? Mud? All over your shirt? You didn't even wash up after football practice, did you?"
I looked down at the mess on my clothes and shrugged sheepishly. "I was gonna…"
"Kyle." Her tone cut like a blade.
"…Okay, fine, I wasn't," I admitted, my voice quiet.
She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Then her gaze softened, just a little. "You're hopeless, you know that?"
Before I could respond, she reached out and pulled me into a quick hug. I froze, surprised, then let out a small chuckle as I hugged her back.
Her perfume was faint—lavender and something else. It reminded me of calmer days. She gave me a squeeze before pulling back and brushing some of the messy hair out of my eyes.
"Don't think hugs erase your mistakes. You still need to wash up," she said, trying to sound stern, but there was warmth in her smile.
"Yeah… I know," I replied quietly.
"And Kyle…" she added, crossing her arms now, "…don't forget that today is the deadline for your college application. If you miss it, don't even think about stepping foot back in this house."
My eyes widened. "Crap!"
I jumped to my feet, scrambling for my jacket. It was scorching outside, but I yanked it on anyway to cover the mud. No way was I showing up looking like a wreck. I grabbed my cap, my bag, and headed for the door.
"Sweetie!" Mom called again.
I paused.
"Don't forget… it's your sister's birthday today."
Her voice was softer this time. Almost fragile.
I turned halfway, meeting her eyes. "…Yeah, Mom. I wouldn't dare forget."
Truth was… I had. A little.
But when I saw her expression, the way she looked almost wistful at the mention of my sister, guilt crawled up my throat. Ever since sis moved out, things had never been the same. We hardly talked, and Mom… Mom missed her more than she'd ever admit out loud.
They'd gone all out this time. Cake, decorations, even the old family photo albums dusted off from the attic. Maybe tonight was supposed to be some kind of "fresh start."
I wished I could believe in that.
As I slipped on my sneakers, Mom suddenly stepped forward again. Before I could react, she wrapped her arms around me from behind.
Her voice was quiet this time, almost trembling. "Kyle… promise me you'll be there tonight. For her. For us."
I swallowed hard, staring at the floor. "…I promise."
She let go, and I felt the weight of her hands slide away. For a moment, I almost wanted to turn back, to say more. But I didn't. Words never came easy to me—except around her.
So I just walked out, the heat of the sun slamming into me as the door shut behind.
And as I made my way down the street, I muttered under my breath, "I just… hope things can go back to the way they were."
Even though, deep down, I wasn't sure they ever could.