"So, Miles. How's the hockey coming along?"
Richard's voice was warm when he spoke to my brother. Genuinely warm – the kind of warmth he reserved for people who hadn't disappointed him yet. Miles lit up the way he always did when an adult showed interest, straightening in his chair, launching into a play-by-play of last week's practice that involved hand gestures and sound effects and the unbothered enthusiasm of a thirteen-year-old who didn't know he was sitting at a table full of people quietly bleeding.
The restaurant was Richard's choice. Italian. White tablecloths. The kind of place where the waiters called you sir and the acoustics were designed for civilized conversation and anything louder than a polite laugh would draw stares from every direction. A venue selected specifically b
