Annie looked at the pile of candy between them, trying to hide her smile. "I... I can give you the rest of the sour strips? Or the big chocolate bar?"
"Not what I had in mind," Ethan said, his voice dropping an octave as he looked at her. He tapped his index finger against his cheek, a silent, hopeful request written all over his face. "One second present. Right here. To make things fair. To heal the emotional damage of being the less-painted Hawthorne."
Annie felt the familiar heat rise to her cheeks, the navy velvet of her dress feeling warm against her skin. She glanced toward the glass doors to make sure her father and Kia were still occupied, then leaned in. She lingered for a second, her heart hammering against her ribs, before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.
When she pulled away, Ethan was grinning, the shadow of the dinner party and Vanessa's cruelty finally completely erased.
"Okay," he whispered, his thumb grazing the back of her hand. "I guess we're even now. Though, for the record? That was way better than a second painting."
He pulled the blanket tighter around them both, looking back at the image of him and his dad on that field. "Happy birthday to me," he added softly.
*~*~*~*~*
The transition from the warmth of Ethan's porch back to the reality of her own home was only a matter of yards, but it felt like crossing into a different climate. Annie and her father walked across the manicured grass separating the two houses. Looking back, Annie could see the soft amber light of Ethan's porch still glowing, a small island of safety she wasn't ready to leave.
When they stepped into their foyer, the silence of the house felt heavy. The absence of Annie's mother was always loud, but tonight, the halls felt particularly hollow.
Dylan shed his charcoal suit jacket, tossing it over the back of the sofa. He looked tired- not just work-tired, but the kind of weary that comes from realizing the foundation of your home has cracks you've been stepping over for years.
"Annie," he called out softly as she started toward the stairs. "Can we talk for a minute? Just us?"
Annie paused, her hand gripping the banister. She felt the weight of her navy velvet dress, the hem slightly damp from the night dew. "Is it about tonight?"
"Sit with me," he urged, gesturing to the armchair across from him. Annie sat, her long black hair falling over her shoulders like a protective veil. Dylan leaned forward, his blue eyes searching hers with that doting, gentle concern he always wore when he wasn't at the hospital.
"I was blindsided tonight," Dylan admitted, rubbing a hand over his face. "The things Kyson was saying... the way he was looking at you. It wasn't just 'brotherly teasing,' Annie. It felt personal. Has he... has he always been that way toward you? When I'm not here?"
Annie looked down at her lap, her voice small and steady, though her heart was racing. "Yes. Since you've married, really. It's just... it's louder now."
Dylan winced. He thought back to when he had adopted Kyson at eight years old, trying to be the father the boy had never known.
He had loved Kyson as his own, never realizing that his presence in Annie's life had planted a deep, jagged seed of resentment. To Kyson, Annie was the girl who had been born into the security he'd had to be "invited" into. She'd had both biological parents for seventeen years, he'd had a ghost for a father and a mother who kept him on a leash of "us against them."
"I didn't know," Dylan sighed. "I mean, I knew there was friction, but I thought he'd feel secure by now. I didn't realize he was taking his insecurities out on you."
"He thinks I'm a liar, Dad," Annie said, her blue eyes finally meeting his, glassy with unshed tears. "He thinks everything I feel is a performance."
"I know. And it's wrong," Dylan said firmly. He looked toward the hallway leading to the master suite. "I need to speak with him. But... you know how it is with Margaret. She's always been very clear that she wants to be the primary disciplinary for Kyson. She's so protective of him, and I've always tried to respect that boundary to keep things peaceful between us."
He reached out, taking Annie's hand. His grip was warm and loving, the same father she had always known, yet there was a frustrating passivity in his words that made Annie feel a cold sinking in her chest.
"I'll talk to her," Dylan continued. "I'll tell her she needs to sit him down and explain that this behavior is unacceptable. I'm sure she'll see reason once I explain how much it's hurting you. She just... she doesn't see the world the way we do, Annie. She's a bit more protective of her own. She probably thinks he's just being a difficult teenager."
Annie looked at her father- the man who saved lives every day but couldn't see the venom in the woman he shared a bed with. He didn't see that Margaret's "passive" comments were the blueprints for Kyson's outbursts. He truly believed his wife was an ally who just had a different "parenting style."
"Do you think she'll actually punish him?" Annie asked, her voice a whisper.
"She loves him, Annie. And she cares about this family," Dylan said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "It's not my responsibility to override her as a mother, but I promise you, I will make sure she knows this has to stop. I won't have my daughter feeling like a stranger in her own home."
Annie gave a small, resigned nod. Her father was a kind man, a family-oriented man, but his heart was too big to see the cruelty hiding in plain sight.
"Go on, get some sleep," Dylan said, standing up and kissing her forehead. "It was a long night."
Annie climbed the stairs, her feet heavy. When she reached her room, she didn't turn on the light. She walked straight to the window.
Across the narrow strip of lawn, Ethan's window was already open. He was sitting on his sill, the painting of his father and the football jerseys propped up on a chair behind him.
He saw her and offered a small, two-finger wave- a silent check-in. Annie waved back, "open that book, hopefully tonight's poetry reading is birthday oriented," he gave her a genuine smile.