The Captain's Dirty Little Secret

His phone buzzed.

Zac looked down so fast his thumb almost slipped on the screen.

Roxie: I’m not coming.

For a second, Zac only stared at it. His chest loosened before he could stop it.

His hand tightened holding his phone.

He could breathe now. His father would not stare at her across the table. His mother would not smile like Roxie was an insect. Nathan would not watch the whole thing like entertainment.

Roxie had saved herself.

Maybe she had saved him too.

Zac typed back.

Okay.

He stared at the word.

It looked cold.

He added another line.

Eat something.

Then he deleted it.

Too much.

He typed again.

Okay.

Sent.

The message delivered.

No reply came.

Zac locked the screen and shoved the phone into his pocket before he could do something pathetic like stare at the bubbles that were not there.

Mia came back into the living room with a cookie in her hand and suspicion still on her face.

"Well?"

Zac looked at her. "Well what?"

"Is she coming?"

"No."

Mia’s face fell a little. "Oh."

"Yeah."

His mother called from the dining room before Mia could say anything else. "Everyone, table."

The Prescott Thanksgiving began the way it always did.

His father stood at the head of the table and said grace in a voice that sounded more like an order than a prayer. His mother sat straight beside him. Nathan sat across from Zac with Holly at his side, looking too comfortable for someone new. Mia swung one foot under the table until their mother quietly said her name.

The table looked perfect.

Too perfect.

Turkey in the center. Mashed potatoes in a white serving bowl. Cranberry sauce no one really liked. Vegetables arranged like they were trying to impress someone. Candles that made the silverware shine.

Zac put food on his plate and tasted none of it.

Nathan talked first.

He always did.

Base. Training. Officers. Some story about a field exercise their father listened to like it mattered more than anything Zac had done all season.

Zac chewed and kept quiet.

"Zac," his mother said.

He looked up.

"Your father told me Friday’s game went well."

"It did."

"A playoff win is always impressive," Holly said.

Zac looked at her. "Thanks."

His father set down his fork. "They won because the second half was disciplined. First half had problems."

Zac nodded. "We fixed them."

"You should have fixed them sooner. As the captain isn’t that what you were supposed to do?"

Mia made a face at her plate.

Nathan cleared his throat. "Still, a win is a win."

His father looked at Nathan, and his expression eased. "That is true."

Zac looked down at his plate.

Nathan could say the same thing and suddenly it made sense.

Zac cut into his turkey harder than necessary.

His mother noticed. "Zachary."

He loosened his grip on the knife.

Holly lifted her glass. "I think it’s exciting. Everyone at school must be proud of you."

Zac’s mouth tightened. "People like winning."

"People like winners," Nathan said, smiling.

Zac looked at him then back at his plate.

His phone felt heavy in his pocket.

I’m not coming.

He should have been glad.

He was glad.

Every time his father made a comment about focus, Zac thought about Roxie sitting there and taking the weight of it. Every time his mother smiled at Holly, Zac imagined that same smile turning polite and thin for Roxie. Every time Nathan laughed, Zac pictured him watching Roxie like she was a match tossed into gasoline.

She would have hated this house.

She would have hated the table.

She would have hated that he was quiet.

That one bothered him most.

Because she would have seen it.

She would have seen how small this house made him feel.

Dinner went on.

His mother talked about tradition. His father talked about discipline. Nathan talked about the army like the whole room had gathered to witness the model Prescott son return home.

By dessert, his jaw hurt from holding it tight.

Zac checked his phone under the table.

Nothing.

He knew there would be nothing.

Still, he checked.

After dinner, everyone moved to the living room. His father poured drinks for himself and Nathan. Their mother brought out old stories because Nathan was home and that meant comparing her perfect son’s achievement to his. Holly sat on the couch between Nathan and Mia, laughing at Mia’s questions.

Zac stood near the doorway, half in the room and half out of it.

He felt like furniture.

Useful when needed.

Ignored when placed correctly.

His phone stayed quiet.

After an hour, he could not stand it anymore.

He went to the kitchen.

The cook was packing leftovers into containers while one of the helpers washed serving spoons at the sink. The kitchen smelled warmer than the dining room. Less polished. More real.

The cook looked up. "You need something, Mr. Zac?"

He hated being called that.

"Can I get some food packed?"

"For later?"

"Yeah."

"How much?"

Zac looked at the turkey, the potatoes, the rolls, the pie.

Enough for one girl who probably had not eaten right.

"Two plates," he said.

The cook did not ask questions.

That made him grateful.

She packed turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, stuffing, rolls, and two slices of pie into containers. Zac found a paper bag under the counter and took it before anyone could see him carrying the good leftovers out like evidence.

He was almost at the back hall when his mother’s voice stopped him.

"Where are you going?"

Zac turned.

She stood near the kitchen entrance, still perfect, still calm, eyes on the bag in his hand.

"Out."

"It is Thanksgiving."

"I know."

"We still have guests."

"Nathan has guests. You don’t really need me here."

Her expression tightened. "Zachary."

His father appeared behind her. "Answer your mother. Where are you going?"

Zac’s grip tightened on the paper bag. "I’m bringing food to Roxie."

His mother’s face changed first. The smile disappeared. She looked at him like he had tracked mud through the dining room in front of company.

"Excuse me?" she said.

Zac kept his eyes on her. "Roxie."

From the living room, Nathan went quiet.

Mia stood near the doorway with both hands wrapped around the edge of her dress.

His father stepped forward. "We told you to drop that girl."

"I heard you. Doesn’t mean I’m doing it."

"You are embarrassing this family."

Zac laughed once.

"You are leaving Thanksgiving dinner to chase that girl," his father said.

That girl.

Zac felt the words hit.

His mother’s mouth tightened. "After everything we discussed, you still insist on making poor choices in front of everyone. Why don’t you just date that Whitlock girl?"

"Her name is Roxie."

His father’s eyes hardened. "We know her name."

"Then use it."

The whole room went still.

Mia’s eyes widened.

Nathan took one step forward. "Zac."

Zac looked at him. "Stay out of it."

His father’s voice dropped. "Give me your keys."

Zac’s stomach went cold.

The reminder that even the things he used to leave were things his father could take back.

His mother looked at the bag in his hand like it disgusted her. "This is humiliating."

Zac looked at her. "For who?"

Her face went pale with anger.

His father moved closer. "You have a playoff run. Responsibilities. The Academy. You need to learn to separate a distraction from your future."

Zac’s pulse beat hard in his throat.

"She’s not a distraction."

"She is exactly that."

Zac’s hand flexed around the bag. A stupid paper bag had become the line.

His father stared at him.

Zac had seen that look before games, before punishments, before lectures that ended with things taken away.

"Walk out," his father said, quiet now, "and everything we gave you is gone."

Mia made a small sound.

Zac couldn’t look at her. "I’m going."

His mother inhaled sharply. "Zachary."

He hated his name in her mouth.

He hated this house.

He hated that saying Roxie’s name felt like a crime.

He lifted the paper bag a little. "I’m bringing Roxie food."

His father’s face went flat.

His mother looked at him like he had ruined the table, the dinner, the family, and every quiet lie holding the room together.

Zac walked past them before fear could catch his ankle.

The night air hit cold when he stepped outside.

He crossed the driveway fast, got into his truck. He set the paper bag carefully on the passenger seat. He was relieved, but his hands shook once before he started the engine.

He had stood up to his old man for Roxie.

Zac stared through the windshield, jaw tight.

He remembered the look on her face when she said he let them talk shit about her. That he just corrected them. He might have. But not anymore.

Well, there.

Done.

Maybe Roxie hadn’t come inside. Maybe she hadn’t sat at the table. Maybe his father hadn’t gotten the chance to stare her down across the good plates.

But Zac had still dragged her into the room by name.

Ugly, stupid, and already costing him something.

Roxie and him were official now, whether she wanted to or not.

The drive to Roxie’s house felt shorter than it should have.

Maybe because he drove too fast. Maybe because every streetlight looked like a countdown.

He parked in front of her house and turned off the engine.

The porch was dark.

The living room window had a faint blue flicker behind the curtain.

TV on.

Zac sat there with the paper bag in his lap.

Now that he was here, the courage drained out of him all at once.

She had said she was not coming.

She had made a choice.

Maybe that was the answer.

Maybe not coming meant no.

Maybe no meant them.

Maybe he had read all of it wrong, and she was inside trying to survive the holiday without him showing up with turkey and ruining another corner of her life.

He looked at the house.

Then at the bag.

His throat tightened.

He got out anyway.

The front steps creaked under his shoes.

He stood on her porch with Thanksgiving dinner in one hand and his phone in the other, suddenly more nervous than he had been in his own dining room.

Through the curtain, the TV flashed blue across the glass.

Zac lifted his hand toward the door.

Then stopped.