"Take your mum some flowers and your dad a ridiculously expensive bottle of whatever hard liquor he loves. A little bit of ass-kissing never hurt anyone."

Ana advised, her laughter ringing with a lightness that felt welcome. He'd weighed her suggestion with amusement and guilt swirling in his chest.

As he pulled into his parent's driveway, he couldn't help but dwell on the fact that his mother hadn't invited him for lunch, and in truth, she hadn't called since his return. None of them had reached out, and he understood why. Then again, neither had he. Their attempts to support and encourage him to do the right thing ended up pushing him further away. They feared pushing him too far again, and he hadn't done anything since his return to assure and encourage them. The onus was on him, and honestly, he wasn't doing a very good job of it. He'd invested more effort into establishing a relationship with Ana than he had into repairing the one with his family, and it showed.

The only time he'd called anyone had been to discuss Ana. Frustration gnawed at him as he rubbed his face furiously. "If this is you trying…" He grabbed the flowers and the bottle of whisky, his resolve hardening as he walked to the door with determined steps.

Grace must have seen his car pull up; the door swung open almost immediately. "Christian, we weren't expecting you."

"I hope it's okay," he managed, handing her the flowers as he pulled her into a brief hug.

"Of course, this is your home." She smiled at him, an expression that made his shoulders drop in relief. "Come in. Mia got a job, so she isn't here, but Elliot is in the back with your father."

Elliot and Carrick were in the backyard, playing basketball, more talking than actually playing. A scene that was reminiscent of his childhood. He remembered the countless afternoons spent watching them from the sidelines, refusing to participate for one reason or another. With a deep breath, he stepped outside, the cool air hitting his face as he approached them.

"Hey," he mumbled, feeling downright uncomfortable in the home he grew up in. The tension in the air was suffocating, and he'd never felt so uneasy in their presence as he did in that moment. This gulf between him and his family only seemed to be widening.

"Hey bro, how did it go with Ana?" Elliot asked, throwing the ball, missing the hoop by a whisker, his casual demeanor a stark contrast to Christian's internal struggle.

He groaned quietly. He should have called Elliot to fill him in on how things had gone with Ana, but it hadn't even occurred to him until now. It had been nearly a week, and it hadn't once crossed his mind to call Elliot and thank him.

"Yeah, it went well—better than I expected or deserved," he admitted, glancing at his father. "Hey, Dad." He greeted again as his father hadn't uttered a word. The greeting felt heavy in his throat, and he had no idea what to say next to either man.

Lunch unfolded in a strained silence, the atmosphere thick with unspoken words. No one was quite sure what to say; it felt like they were all treading on eggshells. It was a heart-wrenching realization that they had so little faith in him, worried that their words might push him away again. But the daunting truth was that he wasn't sure he could stomach what they had to say, either.

"That isn't your usual style, but it suits you," Grace remarked, breaking the silence. Christian looked up, momentarily lost in thought, unsure of what she was referring to. "Your haircut," she clarified gently.

"Since the pedophile is no longer in the picture, who cut your hair?" Elliot asked, shoving a large piece of lamb into his mouth and chewing noisily.

"There's a new salon—well, it's not exactly new. It's called Belle's," Grace interjected before Christian could respond.

"Yep, put the pedophile out of business," Elliot added, his gleeful expression unmistakable.

"Ana cut my hair. She couldn't take me seriously looking like Robinson Crusoe," Christian replied, sensing their palpable relief at the news.

"You really think I'd go back to Elena to get my haircut?" he muttered in disbelief. "I'd sooner shave it off." The anger flared within him; it was infuriating how little they seemed to trust his ability to stay away from her.

"Can you blame us?" Carrick replied, his tone laced with frustration.

"You turned your back on your family for three and a half years and only came back because Ana did a number on you. It took months of therapy for you to realize that Elena Lincoln was an evil, vile, vindictive piece of excrement. All because your need for control took precedence over everyone and everything else." Elliot slammed his fork down on the table, the clatter echoing in the tense air. "Let's see how long this lasts. How long until you find a reason to retreat back into that fortress of yours, and we find we are a proscribed list.?" Christian felt his gut clench. He'd gone that far; he'd truly allowed himself to go as far as that.

"Mom cried the entire drive back here. Do you have any idea what that does to a husband and son to see their wife and mother weep with such heartbreaking despair because the son she chose decided a pedophile was preferred?" Tears brimmed in Christian's eyes, the weight of guilt threatening to drown him.

"What the fuck are you crying for?" Elliot raged, and his chair flew backward, crashing against the floor as he stood abruptly.

"You can come here, sit there, have lunch, and pretend that when shit hits the fan, your ass won't fall apart, and you won't go running back to that bitch. Except she won't be there. By the time Ana is through with her, it will be a fucking miracle if there's anything of her left."

"Elliot, he deserves a chance," Grace whispered, her voice barely audible, but the concern was clear in her eyes.

"You're going to put yourself out there again for him to stomp on?" he shot back, his gaze unflinching as he directed his anger at their mother. "Let's pretend for years you didn't have to beg him to come to lunch in the first place. Let's pretend he didn't walk around Coping Together looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, and the only person that kept him there was that fucking bitch. Let's pretend he didn't moan and complain about every family holiday because he'd rather be whipped and butt-fucked by that pathetic excuse of a woman. He's been back for three weeks, and in that time, how many times has he reached out to any of you? He called once; I didn't even get a 'how are you'; it was straight to questions about Ana's action. Worse, he didn't bother to even text to tell me how it went with her. I had to ask. We have never been a fucking priority in his life. We didn't rank in the top ten, and you think after fifteen years of ingrained behavior, it's going to change now because what? He spent six months in some clinic run by a doctor who didn't do shit for him despite years of therapy? The second he faces any adversity, watch him disappear. Watch him desperately try to find some girl too clueless to realize what a fucked-up excuse she's given her autonomy to." Elliot looked away from Grace and turned a menacing glare on his brother.

"How is your fucking control now? Going to target Kate for your revenge?" he mocked, the venom in his voice cutting deep. "Oh, how about we blame your dead mother. You've had years to get your act together. Do the work to get over your touch issues. The day I realized you actually liked being fucked up was the day I met a man with burn scars on forty percent of his body. He'd been purposely set on fire by his wife for the life insurance money. The idea of touch was excruciating, physically and emotionally, beyond anything your fucked-up existence could ever imagine, yet he got over it. He went to touch therapy and actually did the work it took to get better. He was no longer going to be a victim. That day, I learned something about you.

You like that victim mentality. Victimhood, that's what it's called. It gave you the excuse to behave like a piece of shit, to rage and shout, to act like a fucking dog suffering from rabies. You've used your childhood trauma as an excuse for so long… and I will admit, we hold some blame. We let you get away with it. We were all too scared to call you out on your shit. Mom and Dad fucked up where Elena is concerned. Questions should have been asked, and tragically they weren't. We are all complicit in this thing you've become, well, no more. Get your shit together, don't get your shit together, I no longer care." He stormed out of the dining room, leaving Christian reeling. Elliot's words were a storm, a tornado of anger that left a heavy silence in his wake.

"Christian…" Grace started, but the words failed her. Deep down, they all knew Elliot was right. And so did he. Six months in a controlled environment didn't mean he was ready to face the very things that had driven him into the company of a woman he loathed. It took everything in him not to bolt. Just like his mother, words failed him. What more could he say? Sorry? What was sorry going to accomplish? The time for words was over; his actions were the only thing that could prove just how sorry he was for his past behavior.

He sat in that heavy silence, contemplating the path ahead. The journey to mend the frayed ties with his family felt daunting, but it was clear that it was the only way forward. He had to face their pain and their disappointment. He also had to face the truth of who he had become, and if he had any chance of redemption, it started here, at this very table, with his parents. The time for words was over; his actions now were the only thing that could prove just how sorry he was for his past actions.