♟️Eyes Don't Lie by Isabel LaRosa
❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎
"Sorry for my daughter's behavior, boys," her father spoke, sighing as if tired. "She has anger issues and ends up lashing on people who have nothing to do with the reasons why she's angry," that made me and the boys scoff.
And her glare was deadly, "Which is not the case in here, father," she hissed, eyes on mine, before turning to him. "And you shouldn't apologize to a person like him."
"Excuse me?" I gasped. "What the hell did I do to you, exactly?"
Her eyes flashed with an emotion that made me halt, she looked hurt, really fucking hurt, as if I had just punched her bloody grandma in the face, "The fact that you don't know, makes it worse, Tristan De Vere Beauclerk," she hissed, then she grabbed her siblings hands and stormed away from us, chin high and jaw clenched.
"What the hell?" I frowned absolutely confused.
The men sighed tiredly, passing his hand over his hair, and when his eyes looked at his daughter walking away, he seemed heartbroken, then he looked at me with his eyes full of apologies, "You're Tristan, right?"
Swallowing, I nodded, "Yes."
"I'm Dean Constantine Diamantini," he offered me his hand which I reluctantly took it, "we are familiar with your family, but not in a... good way. You probably don't know about us, because to your parents we are... nothing. My oldest daughter doesn't take being nothing so well, so, don't take it to heart, I've tried my best but she doesn't know how to deal with her emotions. I've made her an athlete in hope that she would be able to canalize all that anger that she feels, but I seem to have failed it."
"You don't sound British," I blinked. "My family is based in England, how are you familiar with my parents?"
He clenched his jaw and avoided my eyes, "No, we are not British, I am from Boston, Massachusetts, and my kids were all born in Los Angeles, California. But we don't need to be from the UK to have met your parents. Don't worry your young mind too much, kid," he looked at me again, "we are not important enough for them to even mention us for you. I may not agree with how my daughter deals with her bottle up emotions, but I understand why she is angry. I guess I'm to blame for that, I used to be angry too, but I... don't have that luxury anymore."
"What do you mean by that, sir?" My best friend, Killian Villin, asked, and I remembered that they were still with me, blinking and clenching my jaw, I looked from Kill to Dean Diamantini.
"We'll never see each other again, so, I guess it's not a trouble to tell you," he smiled self-deprecatingly, making me feel a terrible feeling. "I don't have much time left," he sighed tiredly again, and finally realized that his tiredness could be related to something entirely different reason to Aella's reaction to me. "I can't find it in me to tell them that, definitely not my daughter. She already took a big weight for herself after her mother left our lives, as a daughter and an older sister. Knowing her, she would try to do the impossible to help me, but it wouldn't work, and she blame herself, so I would rather not say anything."
I froze when he said that, because I lost my mother when I was 4 to a car accident, and I can't even phantom what I would do without my father. But I loathed feeling a familiarity with the hostile girl, even then, I couldn't help it.
Yohan Hawthorne, my other childhood best friend froze at my left, jaw clenching, because he lost his father when he was 9 years old, "I'm sorry to ask you this, sir, but are you terminally ill?"
He smiled softly, eyes on where his daughter had sat down far away from us, seemingly talking to her baby siblings, and my bad feeling worsened.
"I was diagnosed with stage 3 stomach cancer, two months ago, my doctor gave me one year. I haven't been the best father, definitely not to Aella, so I'm trying to make up for it now. I... I feel like I'm failing her, because she'll have no one," his voice broke and he clenched his jaw, "to rely on after I'm gone. Because of me and her mother, she is closed off and doesn't trust anyone, she barely relies on me, she has no friends and she'll suffer more than anyone. Especially because I just know she'll repress it all to be a mother to her siblings, more than she already is."
"Athena and Atlas are innocent, kind, they are sweet kids, and she's scared of them growing to be as hurt as she is. They are friendly and easygoing, but she once was too, even if that was a long time ago, I'm just scared that she might lose herself by repressing everything she feels and letting herself be consumed by so much anger. I know how that feels, and I'm scared she might end up like I almost did. She's just a kid, she's 15 and she acts like she's twice that age, she didn't live her childhood and neither is she allowing herself to live her teenager years."
After a suffocating silence, he passed his hand over his red fiery hair again. "Sorry, boys, here I am overloading you youngblood with what I don't even tell my therapist," Dean chuckled self-deprecatingly. "I used to think I had forever, but now that came back to bite me in the ass, and there's nothing I can do about. I feel helpless. Even more helpless when I think of what will happen after I die," sigh. "I'll stop bothering you will my illness, I guess it's a stranger privilege. And I hope you will be successful on hockey, I saw your matches, you did well," then he made a soft mention and left as if he hadn't said shit.
"I feel nauseous," Yohan groaned.