Playing With Fire

CHAPTER XV (15)

CHAPTER XV
Solana

I hadn't gone home right away after last week's game. Mostly because I had to mentally prepare myself for whatever Jon would say to me.

And thank God I did, because after Mera dropped me off right after midnight, Jon was already waiting for me by the front door. His expression was burning red from fury, and for an hour, he shouted, bellowed and roared to his heart's content. Presley stood behind him through it all, and so did Malik.

I could say I felt hurt by their silence, but I knew they would never go against Jon. Either because they were best friends, or they were scared of him, but nonetheless, I didn't expect anything from them.

But after all was said and done, and Jon stormed up to his room, I couldn't help but notice the enormous amount of guilt that had settled in my chest. Because while I tried to prepare myself for the consequences of going to Kane's game, I didn't really think Jon would find out.

For the last week, I've still been wrecking my brain to understand: how did he know?

Still, even with the guilt, I was angry. Which was why I found myself getting ready the following Saturday to leave for Kane's away game.

Carrying the large backpack I used for sleepovers, I stepped out of my bedroom and slowly locked the door when I heard Malik's voice coming from the living room.

"Lana?" He spoke softly, almost hesitantly. As if he was worried I was a rapid dog that was seconds away from chewing out his arm. "Where are you going?"

With a slow exhale, I spun around and concentrated forward, where I saw Presley and Malik sitting on the couch. The TV was on, playing a football game, but their attention was on me. Although, Presley tried his best to avoid staring directly into my eyes. He may not be mad at me, but he was definitely hurt.

I tightly smiled and gripped the straps of the bag. "Where's Jon?"

"Kitchen." His expression twisted in discomfort. "Are you staying with Mera or something?"

"She better be," Jon scoffed as he entered the room. I forced myself to glance his way, only to see him carrying three beers back to the coach. His eyes never left mine as he moved.

My brows rose. "Oh, you care what I'm doing now? What happened to you disowning me?" I hissed, reminding him of the words he used on me last week.

"At this rate, maybe I will," he sneered, bending down to slam the beer cans on the coffee table. "It's not like you're giving me the respect you're supposed to give your brother."

He straightened his posture and turned his body toward me, all while I was grinding my teeth together. If the coffee table wasn't separating us...

"And what about the respect you should give to your sister?" I started laughing sarcastically as I crossed my arms. "Oh sorry, I forgot you're part hypocrite, part asshole."

His chin lifted as his hands balled into fists, but I continued. "You know, maybe I can blame your attitude problem on the fact that dad died young. Mom treated you like you could walk on the fucking sun, and clearly you got a complex. And I didn't care! Because I knew losing dad hurt you just as much as it hurt me." I threw my arms up in exasperation while trying to ignore the tears threatening to release. "But I'm tired of you throwing me around. I lost dad too, but at least I don't treat people like I'm better than them."