CHAPTER 15
Brothers, Shadows & Stress
POV: Aiden Hart
The second I stepped through the front door of the Hart estate, I knew something was off.
The house smelled like rosemary lamb and wine, Mom's signature celebration comb, and the lights were just a little too bright for a normal Wednesday. Music played softly from the vintage stereo in the living room and the dining room. I heard laughter, calculated and too perfect.
That's when I saw him.
Caleb.
He was standing in the foyer, just finished hanging up his coat, tall and confident in that way that made you want to both hug him and punch a wall. His smile was easy. His eyes lit up when he saw me.
"Aiden," he said, voice full of warmth. "Long time, little bro."
Before I could say a word, Dad's voice boomed from the kitchen.
"There he is! We're celebrating tonight. Caleb's big news. Promotion at the hospital, state award nomination. Can you believe it?"
A cork popped. Glasses clinked.
I blinked.
So that's why Caleb was home. He rarely came back unless it was something big, always claimed he needed to stay near the hospital since he was on call. But apparently, awards made exceptions.
Mom was practically glowing beside him, clinging to Caleb like he was oxygen. She touched his arm constantly, laughed too hard at his stories, and kept smoothing invisible wrinkles on his shirt like she couldn't believe he was real.
And just like that, I disappeared again.
No hello. No "How was practice?"
Just Caleb and celebration.
I hung my jacket by the door and followed the polished laughter into the dining room, trying not to let it get to me. But it always did.
The dinner table looked like something out of a magazine. Candles. Crystal glasses. Lamb roast. Herbed potatoes. Everything Caleb liked.
They talked the entire meal about wedding plans, hospital gossip, and Dad's reelection. I moved food around my plate, barely tasting it.
"Harvard sent the invitation to speak," Caleb was saying. "I told them I'd think about it depending on the rotation schedule."
"You're a damn star," Dad said, clinking his wine glass against Caleb's. "State award, engagement, Harvard... You've got the trifecta."
Mom sighed like a woman who just finished praying and had her wish granted.
I chewed slowly, eyes on the table.
Then it happened.
"So, Aiden," Dad said, finally noticing I existed. "You've been quiet. How's the team looking for the playoffs?"
I sat up. Swallowed. "Good. We're strong this year. Coach is uh, optimistic."
"Mmh." Dad nodded like a general inspecting soldiers. "And Maddie?"
I blinked. "She's... good."
"Hope you're being a good boyfriend?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
Caleb smirked. "Still? She's cute. Keeps posting those cheer selfies. Half the hospital staff are following her."
Dad laughed. "Maddie's a fine girl. Comes from good people. You keep that up, son. No distractions. No scandals."
My stomach tightened.
I thought of Monroe.
The locker room. The way he looked at me. The way I couldn't stop thinking about him. The dream that still clung to my skin like smoke.
I forced a smile. "Yeah. No distractions."
Dad raised his glass again. "That's my boy."
I raised mine, too. The sip burned on the way down.
After dinner, I slipped away the second the plates were cleared, claiming homework. The laughter behind me faded as I climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last.
My room was dark except for the glow of my desk lamp. I shut the door and sat on the edge of my bed, phone in hand. My screen lit up with notifications, group texts, practice reminders, and Maddie's Snap.
And one message from a number I hadn't saved but knew too well.
Monroe:
You looked like you wanted to vanish today after gym. You good, golden boy?
I stared at it. My thumb hovered over the reply field.
Typed: I'm fine. Leave me alone.
Deleted it.
Typed: Why do you keep looking at me like that?
Deleted that too.
I let the phone fall beside me on the bed, chest tight.
But then, like I wasn't even the one making the decision, I picked it back up and typed:
Aiden:
Have you ever gotten the feeling you're living someone else's life?
Three dots appeared.
Monroe:
Only every damn day.
Then, after a pause:
Want out?
I didn't know what he meant if it was a dare, a threat, or an invitation.
But my pulse quickened.
Before I could think too hard, He typed:
Meet me at the quarry. Midnight.
My breath caught.
I didn't expect Caleb to knock. Or rather, not knock just walk in like it was still his house.
"Hey," he said casually, flopping onto my desk chair. "Room still smells like football socks."
I smirked faintly. "Don't sit on my homework."
He raised an eyebrow. "You still pretending that's your top priority?"
I leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed. "What do you want, Caleb?"
He was quiet for a second, spinning slightly in the chair.
"You okay?"
That question again.
"I'm fine."
He tilted his head. "You didn't look fine at dinner. You looked like you were swallowing glass."
I didn't answer. He waited.
Finally, he said, "You know, I get it. The pressure. Dad's weight. The whole golden family performance."
I looked at him, surprised.
Caleb's voice lowered. "I play the part, too, Aiden. But sometimes… It's just that. A part."
That caught me off guard. I'd always seen him as flawless, Mr. Perfect. But now, there was a tiredness behind his eyes.
"Have you ever thought about not playing it?" I asked.
His smile was sad. "Yeah. And then I remember who raised us."
He stood slowly. Walked to the door.
Just before he left, he said, "Just be careful with your choices, okay?"
There was weight in his voice I didn't understand. Not fully.
The door clicked shut.
Midnight couldn't come fast enough.
I stared at the ceiling, heart thudding.
Everyone downstairs is still laughing. The house was so full of joy and celebration and masks that I could barely breathe.
And Monroe's words still echoed in my mind.
Want out?
Without thinking, I grabbed my jacket and slipped out through the back porch. The night air hit me like a breath I'd been holding all day.
Each step toward the quarry felt like stepping away from who I was expected to be.
And toward whoever I might be becoming.