Here's a deleted scene from Chase's point of view. 

Eric’s intel was right; there was a scout watching Lacrosse practice today, even though it was almost spring and pretty much everyone had already decided what schools they were attending in September. Chase was going to community college under protest; his parents refused to allow to go away to college.

After practice, Chase quaked in his cleats when the visiting coach approached him.

“You played well. What’s your name, son?

“Um. Chase. Chase Gallagher.”

“Did you apply to Manhattan College, Chase?”

Chase looked at his feet. “Uh, no, sir. It’s way outside our budget.”

The coach shook Chase’s hand. “Send in the app, Mr. Gallagher. If your grades are as good as your stick, you could see a nice incentive package. We need a goalie like you. We’re in a tight spot. Our pick decided to pursue another opportunity and our wait listed applicants moved on, so we’re scrambling now. That’s why I came out here today. I like what I saw, so go home and get that paperwork done.”

With his face split by a wide grin, Chase nodded. “I will, sir. Thank you, sir.”

The visiting coach jogged over to Chase’s captain. He stared after him, wide eyed. A scholarship. A Division I school. This was—

A horn honking caught his attention. Chase strode to the battered mini-van that faced the field.

“Dad!” He waved a hand at the coach’s retreating back. “Do you know who that was? You’re not gonna believe it!”

“Chase. Get in the car.”

The smile slid off Chase’s face when he saw his father. Dave Gallagher was — usually — an easy-going and cheerful guy. But today, he stood in front of his car with a clenched jaw and dark eyes.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Get your butt in the car. Now.”

“I need my stuff from the locker-”

“Now, Chase!”

“Okay, okay. Jeez.” Chase climbed in the passenger seat. His father started the mini-van and left the school lot, his fingers choking the life out of the steering wheel.

“What’s up, Dad?” Chase asked when he couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“What’s up. It’s five PM, you and your brother were expected home an hour ago, but you never even bothered to get your brother, and you ask me what’s up?”

Chase’s face burned. He’d forgotten all about Dylan. “I told Mom I couldn’t pick him up. I found out there was a college scout visiting today. I had to be at practice, so I texted her—”

“You texted her. Did it ever occur to you that she didn’t get your text? That she expected you to get your brother at four PM, as you’d promised her you would and was freaking out that you were both missing?”

Chase’s heart stalled. “He’s missing?”

“No.” Dave drew in a deep breath. “Dylan was missing. So were you. When four PM came and went with no sign of you guys, Mom called me at the store. You weren’t answering your cell so your mother thought you’d been killed in a fiery car crash. Before we started checking the hospitals, I thought I’d check here. Imagine my shock to see you in the net without a worry in the world.” His father sped down the expressway for a few miles in silence.

Chase tried to formulate his defense.

“Dad, I had-”

“Dylan walked all the way home. By himself. He’s eleven years old, Chase. He crossed four lanes of traffic doing highway speeds on Route 63. BY HIMSELF. SO DON’T YOU DARE START A SENTENCE WITH ‘I,’ DO YOU HEAR ME?”

Chase slouched lower in the passenger seat. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

Dave turned onto their street. “You haven’t even scratched sorry’s surface.”

“Dad, I said I was sorry!” Chase shoved the door open when his dad screeched into the driveway and parked.

He charged up the path to the front door, shouting his brother’s name.

“He’s in his room.” His mother said, her arms crossed and her face blotchy.

Shit.

He took the stairs two at a time, found Dylan face down on his bed.

“Hey, pal. You okay?”

One shoulder twitched in half a shrug.

“Dyl, I’m sorry, man. I had practice today. I texted Mom but she didn’t get the text and I didn’t know.” Chase walked around Dylan’s bed. Dylan turned his head the other way.

“Come on, pal, talk to me.” Chase sat on the bed next to his brother and nudged his shoulder. After a long, tense moment, Dylan spoke.

“I was really scared.”

Chase winced. “Yeah. I screwed up and I’m sorry. It’s okay if you hate me. I get it.”

Dylan’s head turned back. Red-rimmed hazel eyes peeked out from under a mop of brown hair. “Good, ‘cause I really do.” But he grinned a gap-toothed smile.

Chase feigned death. “Aw, that’s harsh. Okay, I guess I’m gonna have to do something really big to impress you again.”

Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “Really big, Chase. Like, humongous.”

“Humongous, huh. I was thinking a McDonald’s run.”

Dylan scrambled upright. “Could I get chicken nuggets and a burger and a shake?”

“Yeah, Dyl. You can.”

“Even if Mom says no?”

Chase held up his hand and promised.” Yes. Even if Mom says no.” Some things trumped even a mother’s rule. “So, are we cool?”

Dylan swiped a hand under his nose and lifted his shoulders. “I guess.”

Feet pounded up the stairs and the bedroom door flew open. Two tiny bodies blurred in and pinned Dylan to his bed, demonstrating an impressive mastery of classic wrestling moves. Chase rolled his eyes.

“Hey, Chase! Hey, Dyl! Why are your eyes all red? Why are you in your bed? Did Mommy put you in time-out? Chase, why do you smell bad?”

Chase saw Dylan’s body tense and intervened before Evan and Ethan made things worse. “Okay, okay, ease up, guys. Dylan’s feeling sad and doesn’t want to play right now.”

The twins went quiet. Two pairs of green eyes stared up at Chase and then over to Dylan. “If you play, you won’t be sad.” Evan said.

Ethan gasped. “Yeah. Oh! I got an idea. We could play video games. Dylan loves video games.”

Chase swallowed a grin. Ethan and Evan weren’t allowed near video games. His parents had warned him a hundred million times not to play Xbox until the boys were asleep. They didn’t want their impressionable young minds warped by all the violence. Ethan grabbed Evan in a headlock and as the boys tumbled off the bed, Chase figured that ship had already sailed.

“Okay, boys, I’m gonna take a shower and then, I’m buying everybody McDonald’s so—”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “You shouldn’t have said that, dude.”

Shrieks of pure job echoed around the small bedroom as the boys halted their wrestling match. “Happy Meals? I wanna get the toy!”

“I won’t forget the toy, Evan.”

“I got a toy!” Ethan shouted. “It’s in my pocklet.”

“Your pocklet?”

“Yeah! This tiny one.” He shoved his whole hand into the tiny watch pocket on his jeans and nearly tugged off his pants in the process. It took a few seconds, but he finally fished out a small car.

Chase looked closely. “Wow, a Micro Machine. I haven’t seen one of these since I was your size.”

“Can I keep it?”

“Sure.”

“What about me? My pocklet’s empty!” Evan’s face puckered.

“I think I have more in my room. I’ll look in a minute.”

Chase stood up and shifted his attention back to Dylan. A stab of pain pierced his chest when he saw Ethan was right. Dylan’s eyes were all red. That was his fault. “I’m sorry, Dyl. Really.”

Evan threw his tiny body at Chase’s ankles. Chase didn’t move an inch, but grunted to make it sound convincing. He held out his hand to Dyl. Dylan clasped it in a thumbs-up grip and nodded with a tight smile. Ethan now had his other ankle. Chase shuffled out of his brother’s room, dragging a kid behind each foot. “Wow, I really need a shower. Look at all the dirt on my legs.” He teased.

“Hey, I’m not dirt, I’m Ethan.” The three-year-old pouted.

“Hmmm. Let me see.” Chase peered closely at his brother. “I don’t know, you look like dirt to me. You should take a shower when I’m done.”

“No! I wanna take a shower with you.”

“Me, too!” Evan shouted.

Oh, God! He wasn’t that dumb. “No, there isn’t enough room in the tub for three of us. I’ll take a shower alone and then, go buy our McDonald’s, okay?”

“Okay.” The twins said in unison.

Distraction is better than gold, Chase thought with as a sigh when he was alone in the bathroom after having to search his closet for another Micro Machine. He scoured off the sweat and dirt from practice, wrapped a towel around his waist and practically jogged back to his room, the only place in the entire house where little Gallaghers were not permitted. He tugged on a fresh pair of boxer briefs followed by jeans and glanced across the back yard to Meg’s bedroom window.

At this time of the day, she’d be in the big bedroom, painting. He grabbed the binoculars hidden in his desk drawer, aimed, focused, and grinned. She was painting like someone was holding a gun to her head. He looked closer and the grin faded. Something upset her. He could see it in the set of her jaw, the way she held her shoulders. When she stepped back from her easel, flexing her hand, he knew she was done. He grabbed a pair of sneakers and ran down the stairs. Maybe he could give her a ride to work.