ALLEGIANCE

Chapter 5: -Cracks Beneath the Surface

When they pulled into the driveway that evening, the last of the sunlight clung to the rooftops, casting long shadows across the quiet street. Ethan sat on the front porch with his elbows resting on his knees, his backpack slumped beside him where it had been dropped without care.

His hair was tousled by the breeze, and the sleeves of his hoodie were pulled over his hands. There was a heaviness about the way he sat, as though the day's anger had drained away, leaving only exhaustion in its place. He didn't look up when the car doors closed.

Deborah lingered beside the car for a moment before making her way up the porch steps. The wooden boards creaked softly beneath her feet. Without asking permission, she lowered herself onto the step beside him, leaving just enough space between them for neither to feel crowded nor alone.

They sat without speaking. The silence no longer felt awkward; it had become something their family wore every day. Across the street, a basketball struck the pavement in a steady rhythm before bouncing off a rim. Laughter followed, bright and effortless.

A father chased a toddler across a neatly trimmed lawn while a golden retriever bounded after them, its collar jingling with every leap. Somewhere farther down the block, a lawn sprinkler hissed to life, sending arcs of water shimmering in the fading light.

Cars rolled past every few minutes, their headlights sweeping briefly across the porch before disappearing around the corner.

Ethan watched it all without really seeing any of it. Deborah folded her hands in her lap, her gaze following the orange glow spreading across the horizon.

For a few quiet moments, they simply breathed the cool evening air, neither of them certain where to begin, yet both grateful that, for once, they didn't have to face the silence alone. The silence lingered until Ethan finally broke it.

"How did it go?"

Deborah turned her head toward him. The tightness around her mouth eased, if only slightly.

"Better than we expected."

Ethan let out a quiet breath and gave a single nod. His gaze remained fixed on the street, following a passing car until its taillights disappeared into the distance.

"That's good."

The words came easily.

Too easily.

They settled between them, followed by another stretch of quiet. Somewhere nearby, a basketball bounced against concrete before laughter carried across the evening air. Neither of them looked toward the sound.

Deborah studied her brother's profile. His shoulders were no longer tense with anger, only heavy with something he seemed determined to keep to himself. She had watched him pull away a little more each day, retreating behind short answers, late nights, and closed doors.

She drew a slow breath.

"Ethan..."

He glanced at her.

"What's really going on?"

A faint line appeared between his brows. He looked away almost immediately, rubbing the back of his neck before forcing a shrug.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you."

The words were barely out before Ethan's eyes dropped to the porch steps. His jaw tightened, and he rubbed the heel of his hand across the back of his neck, buying himself time.

For Deborah, that was answer enough. She didn't press him, she simply waited.

The evening breeze stirred the leaves overhead. Somewhere down the street, a basketball bounced against concrete, followed by a burst of laughter that faded just as quickly.

Ethan drew a long, uneven breath. "I'm scared." The confession settled quietly between them.

Deborah turned to look at him. Not because the words surprised her. She had seen the fear hiding beneath the anger for weeks. What caught her off guard was hearing him give it a name.

Ethan had always buried his hurt beneath sarcasm, stubbornness, or silence. Even as a little boy, he would scrape his knees, grit his teeth, and insist he was fine while tears threatened to spill. Vulnerability had never come easily to him.

Yet now, at seventeen, he sat beside her with his eyes fixed on the weathered porch boards, admitting the one thing he had been fighting hardest to hide.

"I know."

A humorless laugh slipped from Ethan's lips. He shook his head once, slow and uneasy, as though even he couldn't believe the thoughts circling his mind.

Tilting his face toward the darkening sky, he ran his tongue over dry lips before folding both arms tightly across his chest. His hands gripped his upper arms, holding on with quiet desperation, as if trying to keep himself from coming apart.

"No, you don't."

The last word splintered in his throat. He swallowed hard and pressed his lips together, but the tremor in his voice had already betrayed him.

Deborah turned fully toward him, her heart tightening at the sound.

"Ethan..."

He dragged a shaky hand across his face and stared out at the quiet street. The muscles in his jaw worked as though he were trying to force the words back down, but they came anyway.

"What if she dies?"

The question burst from him before he could soften it. It hung in the evening air, stripped of anger, stripped of pride. There was nothing left in it but fear

"What if the surgery doesn't work? What if the treatments don't work? What if one day she just..."

The words faltered. Ethan's mouth closed, and he lowered his head, his throat working against the sentence he couldn't bring himself to finish. His arms tightened around himself, his fingers digging into the sleeves of his hoodie as though he could somehow hold the fear inside.

Deborah felt the familiar burn gather behind her eyes. She had seen the anger, the slammed doors, the sharp words, the constant need to be somewhere else. Now she saw what had been hiding beneath all of it.

Not rebellion or tubbornness, just a seventeen-year-old boy terrified of losing his mother. She reached over and gently rested her hand on his forearm.

"I think about it too," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ethan turned to her, surprise softening the tension in his face. "Really?"

Deborah gave a faint nod, her eyes drifting toward the quiet street. "Every day."

The evening settled around them once more. The distant bounce of a basketball faded. A breeze stirred the trees, carrying with it the scent of freshly cut grass. Side by side, they remained on the porch, saying nothing at all. For the first time in weeks, the silence didn't feel empty.