A few hours later, after I have showered off the scent of Taylor and gotten myself ready, I stroll through the all glass doors of the training facility. There are no classes today for the federal holiday, but that would never stop my father from holding football practice. I didn't call him first, but I know my father will be here, he always is. His job is no nine to five, especially if he's working through a particularly tough plan of attack.

I went through all of my photos from the weekend and chose the ones I would submit to the paper. I sent them to Grey right away and he responded almost immediately. He raved over them and Alyssa's insider piece on Family Weekend, that the photos will accompany. She used her pull as Anderson's girlfriend to get exclusive interviews with several players, their families, and the biggest alumni to the football program. I wouldn't be surprised if it's one of the articles that gets traction from larger sports news sources.

Alyssa sent me a snip of her article this morning too. She painted my father in a light with the brightest shades of gold. He is a star among the commoners of this city and this campus, afterall. Regardless of the strength it would take me to say that statement with a straight face, I have to give it to Alyssa. The parts about him are tasteful. Mostly comments from followers sharing my father's praise, but also about how his dedication to this school and program are driving factors for their children's lives. One quote from a former player who is now in his fourth season in the NFL claims that my dad's style of coaching provides valuable life lessons that his player's can take with them no matter where their career takes them. Apparently he and my father still have a relationship and talk regularly.

Ryan Quinn hasn't always been the most loving father figure to me, but he has been to someone. That gives me hope, that those attributes live somewhere inside of him. Alyssa and Taylor have both been insistent that other's show they care in different ways. So, maybe my father's way is to act like he doesn't care.

Which is one reason I'm walking to his office right now. I want to show my dad the pictures I chose before the issue is released. He showed an inkling of pride the other night over my photography. I'm not fishing for his compliments, but even the slightest acknowledgement that I too, should feel proud, is a step in the right direction. He sees the positivity in me, or least he's starting to. I have a newfound happiness within me and it's not forced. For once, happiness has come naturally. And for once, I'm optimistic that healing our relationship will too.

I turn the corner and walk down the long hallway. I spy through glass walls that look into the weight room to try and catch a glimpse of Taylor, but a sea of testosterone blocks any chance of a good view. My father's red door comes into view at the end of the hall. I'm nearly there when the sound of raised voices on the other side stops me in my tracks.

"You can never just do what you're told can you? How could you be so fucking reckless Callan? Do you have any idea the trouble you could be in? The trouble I could be in? Paying someone under the table? That's called a bribe Callan. You could cost me my job, your scholarship. Do you understand?"

I lay my back flat against the wall next to the door. I'm frozen in place as I listen closely. I've only ever heard my father raise his voice at Cal when messes up a play, but even then, he never reaches the magnitude of anger I can hear in his voice now.

"Dad, come on! I didn't do anything wrong!" Cal is trying to defend himself, but something tells that he did in fact, do something wrong. It's not my place to intervene though.

"You have been paying another player with money that I gave you. And right under my nose! It's against the rules for players to accept any money outside of their scholarship. What about you and Taylor? You both could lose your eligibility and any chance at playing here or anywhere else."

The mention of Taylor's name sends all the blood rushing to my head. A wave of nausea fills my stomach and rises up into my throat. I have to grip the wall to remain vertical. My legs finally get the strength to carry me through the threshold. I don't knock, my presence in the room goes practically unnoticed. My father is standing behind his desk. My brother is across from it and him, sitting in one of the two leather chairs he's had in this office since he first got the job. I close the door behind me again as my father and brother both turn to look at me.

"Why would Cal be paying Taylor? What's going on?" It comes out as a whisper. I'm unable to make my voice go louder for fear of missing something.

"Camryn you shouldn't be here. Go home, I'll call you later," my father says, before returning his eyes to Cal.

"What's going on dad? Why would Cal and Taylor be in trouble?" I ask again, almost pleading for him to just tell me, to get it over with.

"What lie are you going to tell her now dad?" Cal spits from his chair across from my dad's desk.

I watch as Cal moves, resting a foot against the desk and crossing his arms over his chest. I hate him for never acting like anything is a big deal. But I've also never heard him speak to my father like this, with such conviction in his voice. With the way I heard our father yelling, this is obviously a big fucking deal. And Taylor is somehow involved.

"You do not get to lecture me Callan! It is your fault that we are in this position in the first place!"

"Me? Are you fucking serious? If it wasn't for you, there wouldn't have been money to give in the first place! I'm done doing your dirty work for you. You tell her now! Tell her— or I will!" My brother relaxes against his seat once more. I want to slap the smug look off of his face. If someone doesn't start talking, I might just do it.

"Tell her!" Callan says again, his face remains twisted. He's challenging our father.

My stomach drops into my ass. I can't move. It's the type of fall you feel over something horrific even if you're not directly involved. The aftershock will affect you just the same. The look on my fathers face isn't one I have ever seen before. A man that has only ever shown three faces my entire life—determined, anger, joy—now has a look of disdain on his face.

My father grips the edge of his desk and drops his head low.

"Callan was supposed to be keeping an eye on you for me. Making sure you were adjusting well given your history of...change," he says to the floor. He won't look at me. I swallow hard as if it will make everything suddenly make sense.

"And in return he was giving me a fat transfer of cash every single week," Cal adds. My body begins to shake, trembling uncontrollably as the words swim around my head still searching for their meaning.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I say. But our father remains silent from his side of the desk. His head is hung, he's still unable or unwilling to look at me.

"Dad has been paying me to babysit you like you're a toddler. He made me invite you to do things, have dinner with you. Just to make sure you weren't losing your fucking mind being at college. Why do you think I asked you to come to a party every single day when you moved in? Do you think I really thought you wanted to be there? You hid the entire time," Cal explains.

I find the second seat across from my father's desk, parallel to Callan. I'm afraid if I don't sit I'll collapse right onto the carpeted floor. If I crumble now, I'll be unable to pick myself back up again and I might not get the explanation I still need. My blood runs cold through my veins that are icing over with panic, only to burst and melt with anger a second later. It's a cycle that repeats and continues for a few seconds until I find my voice.

"But yet you did Callan? You took his money anyway? You still invited me knowing that I didn't want to be there and that you would just end up ignoring me? Did you ever stop to think that, yeah— I did need a fucking friend because my life had once again changed? That I was once again doing something that wasn't my first fucking choice? And you let him bribe you?! You have a fucking trust fund Callan! You don't need his money! But once again you only think about yourself and don't give a damn about me! And you never asked how I was Cal. Never once did you actually say the phrase, 'how are you doing?'" I rise to my feet before turning to face my father.

"And some fucking father you are! You couldn't just call your fucking daughter and ask how she was? So you paid him?!" I say, pointing to Cal again. "My fucking brother, my fucking twin! You couldn't be bothered to just call me and check in? Am I such work, such an inconvenience that you had to be PAID to talk to me? What am I to you guys? A problem puppy that was dropped off on your doorstep? You feel sorry enough to keep me around but don't actually give a flying fuck about what's going on with me or how I am? Why don't you send me out to fucking pasture then?!" I seethe as the words escape me, in long winded strokes.

I fight the urge to break down, to let them see me crumble from their choice. Once again I'm the victim of their selfishness. My emotional turmoil is a direct reflection of simply being a part of their lives. An unwanted part, at that. The seams of my eyes bulge, my tears threatening to tear right through them. I take my seat again and close my eyes. I push my palms over them creating nothing but blackness. It's a technique I learned in therapy to try and even my breathing.

"Come on Ryn, I just did it because he was offering. I knew you were okay. I talk to you because I want to." Cal attempts to comfort me by putting his arm around my shoulder, but I pull away, shoving his arm off of me and moving to the corner of the room. I need physical distance. When I finally have a small sliver of it, I can't hold it back anymore. The tears spill from my eyes faster than I can form thoughts, as if any thoughts would benefit me right now. I'd be better to shut down completely, then I could really show them the version of myself they think exists under the surface.

"What is so wrong with me that you felt the need to do this? I made one mistake and now I'm damaged for life? Is that it? I tried to kill myself dad, but only because I was already slowly dying. I was dying for you to care. To give a fuck about me, or how I was feeling. Instead you made me feel paranoid, like what I was going through wasn't real, that it didn't matter! I was dying for attention and anything was better than feeling isolated and alone. Anything was better than feeling the excruciating ache in my heart." My voice comes out small, the words, my history weigh heavy on me and steal my breath. They threaten to squish me right here in this chair. It's a weight that they claim to see, but only long enough to determine the price tag that comes along with it.

"I was hurting because my fucking mom died. Your wife! And you acted like she moved away. Like she chose to leave us so we shouldn't waste a single breath on her. I was hurting and used the wrong things to stop the pain, I know that. But I have worked my ass off to finally deal with her death and all the emotions that come with it even though it was fucking hard. It's still fucking hard." I pause to catch my breath and to whip my eyes. "I actually like my life, I understand now that I need to take care of myself, that I want to live. But you wouldn't know that because you have kept me at arms length my entire life. You have never once tried to get to know me or know the actual reasons for why I did what I did or how I've grown from it." The tears burn my skin like acid as they fall down my face. A few even escape onto and create dark spots on the floor underneath me.

The room falls silent except for the sniffles coming from me. The one thing I still can't understand is how Taylor fits into this, why this has anything to do with him. Except for the fact that he's now a fixture in my life.

"Why could Taylor get in trouble too?" I ask.

"Your boyfriend failed to tell you that I have been footing his bill for the last few months. Instead of doing what he was told, your brother has been paying Taylor to do it for him," My father says. His eyes go from a spot on his desk to my brother and then back again. He still won't look at me. He only cares about how this will affect him. Not what he's done to me or made me feel. I've stepped into a time machine, jumping out in the thick of it all over again. The similarities are scary. Except this time, another person is involved. Someone who was never supposed to be involved. My already crumbling castle has completely collapsed around me. The weight of Taylor's truth gives the final blow. I stand amongst the rubble, alone. I feel as if the room's oxygen has been sucked away leaving behind only the carbon monoxide to suffocate me. I'm gasping for air through the sobs racking my chest. I woke up this morning on cloud nine, floating on a cloud of Taylor as he held me, kissed me, promised me it was real. He promised me that he was real. But he wasn't, and he hasn't been. I storm out of my dads office without even looking back. I don't need to hear anything else from either of them. I need to find Taylor. I need him to wake me from this nightmare. He's the only one that can prove to me that everything I've known and felt the last four months wasn't a complete lie.