I sat at the dining table with my hands folded tightly in my lap, so tightly my knuckles felt cold. The table was already set with roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, broccoli, and a bowl of salad, the usual meal the chef made when Scott wanted something simple. Yet nothing about tonight felt simple. It felt heavy. Tense. Awkward in ways that stabbed quietly under my skin. 

Michael had left, thankfully, and now only Scott, Ace, Courtney, and I sat around the long table. The seats felt ...