Larry had barely stepped into the living room when Margaret fired the first shot.
“So, that’s it? You’re really just walking away?”
Larry exhaled, tossing his jacket onto the couch. His jaw tightened as he turned to face his sister. “Margaret, we’re not doing this again.”
“Oh, we are,” she shot back, arms crossed, voice sharp. “Because it’s been months, Larry. Months of you avoiding this conversation. Months of you pretending hockey wasn’t your whole damn life.”
Lauren sat stiffly on the couch, tension rolling off her in waves. She had promised herself she wouldn’t get involved. It wasn’t her fight.
But watching Larry’s fingers twitch, his shoulders tense, his breath come just a little sharper—she knew she couldn’t stay quiet.
She stood. “Margaret, you can’t force him to go back.”
M
