The clinking of cutlery was the loudest thing in the room.
The dining table gleamed under the soft chandelier light, roast chicken steaming at the center, surrounded by bowls of mashed potatoes and salad that only Layla ever touched.
It was one of those rare nights, all four of them at the table, no one missing, no excuses.
A perfect family picture on the surface.
A storm brewing underneath.
Jett sat at one end, sleeves rolled up, his hair falling loosely over his forehead. Across from him, Alex looked like he'd stepped straight out of a business meeting, suit pressed, tie still tight, posture so stiff it made Jett's back ache just watching him.
Their father sat at the head of the table, quiet but observant, and Layla, ever the sunshine was talking enough for all of them.
"....and then she said the professor actually liked her presentation, can you imagine?" Layla laughed, her eyes sparkling. She noticed her brother's distant stare and frowned. "Jett, you're not even listening, are you?"
He blinked slowly, it was if he was gradually coming out of a daydream. "I am."
"What did I just say then?" Layla asked, crossing her arms.
"Something about a professor." he drawled out.
Layla groaned dramatically. "See?"
Their father's mouth twitched. "Layla, eat."
"I am eating." she said, spearing a slice of potato. "I'm just saying, he's no fun."
Alex, who had been silently slicing his chicken into perfect geometric pieces, finally spoke. "You've been training again, right?"
Jett's hand which was trying to steal a chicken piece from Layla's plate, paused mid-air. "What?"
"Your hand." Alex said, nodding toward the faint bruising along Jett's knuckles.
"What about my hand?."
"You're still doing that underground nonsense." Alex said calmly, but his tone cut like a blade.
Jett leaned back, fork clinking against his plate. "You make it sound like I'm robbing banks."
Their father sighed, folding his hands. "Jett, your brother's not wrong. We've talked about this."
"Yeah, and I said no." Jett said simply. "End of conversation."
"It's not that simple." Alex said, lowering his fork. "You're wasting your potential. You could be doing something real with your life."
"Because punching people isn't real enough?"
"Because you're not sixteen anymore!" Alex snapped, composure cracking for the first time that night.
"Dad and I let it slide because we knew how mom's death affected you, that maybe it was your own way of grieving, to get it out of your chest, you're 24 now Jett, you can't just live off adrenaline forever!."
"Alex-"
"No Dad, he needs to know. Next thing we know, Layla's getting into a club to be a stripper."
"I'd never do that." Layla argued.
"Well who knows?, You're attached to him by the hip whether he's here or not. Someday you're going to be influenced by his behavior." Alex's voice was sharp.
"She's not going to be a stripper. And those who do it are humans too, you're just a self centered bitch who thinks everything should always go his way, I'm starting to think you're the problem here and not Dad, you just won't shut the fuck up." Jett sneered.
This conversation was starting to remind him of the heated argument that went down between him and Jamie yesterday.
Layla glanced nervously between them, chewing slower. "Can we not fight during dinner, please?"
Jett didn't look away from Alex. "I'm not fighting. He's the one being a bitch."
"Mind your language Jett." Thier father scolded.
"Whatever." Jett replied nonchalantly.
"You think this-" Alex gestured vaguely toward Jett's bruised hands, "-is what Mom would have wanted?"
The room went cold. Even their father looked away.
Jett's jaw flexed. "Don't." he said quietly.
Alex held his stare. "You know damn well-"
"Don't. And let this be the last time you ever bring mum into our conversation like this." Jett's voice was a warning this time.
The silence stretched, tense and brittle. Layla pushed her plate away. "Why do you guys always do this? Every family dinner turns into a war zone."
Their father cleared his throat. "Let's not ruin the evening."
Alex exhaled, sitting back, forcing the suit-tightened stiffness back into his shoulders. "Fine."
Jett went back to eating, the motion sharp, mechanical.
Layla tried to ease the tension with a little laugh. "You two should really find a hobby that doesn't involve glaring contests."
Jett finally looked up at her, mouth curving up sightly at the side. "You mean like shopping for eight hours straight?"
She gasped. "Excuse me, I was celebrating! You promised that shopping trip, which you ruined by the way, because of that pretty guy you saw at the mall. You promised me another shopping trip, don't think I forgot."
Jett grunted. "I regret every word."
"Too bad." Layla said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "You can't bail now. I already told my friends I'm going out with my big brother."
"Big mistake." Jett muttered.
"What about that guy anyway?." Layla asked suddenly.
"What guy?."
"The pretty guy at the mall?." Layla deadpanned.
Jett realized she was talking about Jamie. Great, he had come here to occupy his thoughts cause he can't seem to stop thinking about Jamie yesterday after what happened at the cafe, his and Matt's words kept replaying in his head.
It kept his up all night and made him wonder ifhe was really a bad person. And now his sister seemed like a weapon fashioned against him.
"Earth to Jamie."
"What Layla?." The frustration in Jett's voice was palpable.
"I was asking about that guy you seem to really like him."
Jett looked at his father who was still eating, then at Alex, who was staring at him as he chewed. Fucking creep.
"Drop it Layla." He told his sister.
He didn't want Alex asking stupid questions later.
Layla smirked triumphantly, as if seeing more than her brother's guarded expression. "Okay then, but our shopping date still stands."
"Alright." He agreed. He didn't have a choice anyway.
"At least she still wants to be seen with you." Alex said as he reached for his water. "You could use a little more responsibility, Jett. Maybe spending time with her will help."
"Maybe you should try loosening that tie before it strangles you." Jett said dryly.
Layla snorted. Their father coughed into his napkin, clearly hiding a smile.
Jett's lips twitched for half a second before he wiped the expression away.
For a fleeting moment, the tension thinned. The air almost felt normal, like a family that wasn't constantly divided by expectations and rebellion.
Alex's phone buzzed. He checked the screen, frowned, and stood. "Dad, I have to take this. Excuse me."
As the door closed behind him, the quiet that followed felt heavier than before.
Layla reached for another spoon of mashed potatoes. "Let's have a great dinner shall we?, No fights."
Her father nodded absently.
Jett didn't answer. He just sat there, staring at his bruised knuckles again, the sting of his brother's words crawling under his skin.
"Jett?" his father said softly.
"Yeah?"
"Try to come home more often." his father said. "It's better when you're here."
Jett looked up, meeting his father's gaze. The man wasn't lecturing, wasn't judging, just tired. Trying.
"I'll... try." Jett muttered, pushing his chair back. "I have to go."
"Where to?" Layla asked.
"Training." He lied, he didn't have a boxing match today. But he wanted to get out of here.
"Of course you have to go training." Alex said as he reentered, tone clipped.
"Goodnight to you too." Jett said as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.
When the door clicked shut behind him, the house fell silent again.
Outside, the air was cool. Jett lit a cigarette and shoved his free hand into his pocket.
He could still hear his brother's voice echoing in his head. You'e wasting your potential.
Maybe he was. But the ring, the fight, the chaos, that was his.
And no amount of family dinners or guilt could change that.