My eyes narrowed as I knocked Avery’s knee. Curious as to who my sister could be chatting with, I acted like I was grabbing for turkey, but went for the phone instead.

“Hey!” Teresa shouted. “Give it back!”

Avoiding her grabby hands, I leaned over into Avery as my gaze flicked to the screen. Murphy? What the fuck? “Who’s Murphy?”

“It’s none of your business! God.” Teresa grabbed for the cell. “Give me back my phone.”

“I’ll give it back when you tell me who Murphy is? A boyfriend?”

The red cheeks were enough of an answer. Granted, I didn’t expect my sister to stay single forever, but she hadn’t been serious since that dickhead.

She slammed her back into her seat, folding her arms. “Mom.”

“Cam, give her back the phone,” she ordered, and when I didn’t budge, her smile tightened in the way that was rare for her. “We’ve met Murphy. He’s a really good boy.”

I was pretty sure that was what everyone had said about the dickhead.

“He’s really nice and I like him,” Teresa said quietly.

I snorted. “That’s not a ringing—”

“He’s not Jeremy,” Dad cut in. “Give her back the phone.”

Avery had been staring at her plate and when her hand landed on my upper thigh, I suddenly wasn’t thinking about Jeremy the Dickhead or Teresa’s phone.

Her hand was on my thigh, so close to where I wanted it to be, and in that moment, call me what you want, I didn’t give a fuck that it was Thanksgiving dinner. If she just slid her hand up a—

Avery snatched the cell phone from my hands.

Son of a bitch. “Hey, that was so not fair.”

She grinned at me as she stretched around me, handing the phone back to Teresa. “Sorry.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling at Shortcake like she was the messiah of cell phones.

I shot her a very promising look before I twisted toward Teresa. “I want to meet this Murphy.”

My sister sighed but relented. “Okay. Let me know when.”

I had no idea what Shortcake thought about this and it wasn’t until after the conversation picked back up that I knew this whole situation had to be weird to her. I thought about what Dad said about secrets and there had been plenty of moments today to bring it up, but none of them had seemed right.

How do you explain to a girl that it took months to get out on a date that you beat a teenager into a coma? That wasn’t something you brought up over dinner.

But Dad had been right. I needed to tell her.

I had to.