They went around the block twice. I followed. I couldn’t hear what they said.
On the third time around, Wyatt stopped walking.
He turned around and shoved Graham in the chest with both hands. Not hard. A fourteen-year-old’s shove.
“You knew!” he yelled. “You knew the whole time! You sat up there at every game! You knew, and you never said anything! You let me think my dad didn’t want me!”
Graham didn’t move. He didn’t step back.
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“You let Mom think you hated me!”
“I know.”
“Harper’s my—” Wyatt’s voice broke apart. “She’s my sister. Isn’t she? She’s my actual sister.”
“Half sister,” Graham said. “Yes.”
Wyatt stood there on the corner of a strange city with his chest heaving.
Then he started to cry. The kind of crying he hadn’t done since he was small.
Graham opened his arms.
Wyatt didn’t step into them.
