“Get the fuck off of me!” I growled, yelling and still swinging.
The vague knowledge that it was the police who were talking didn’t calm me down. Next thing I remembered, I was being carted off the Reyes’ property, my head being pushed into the back of a police car. I locked eyes with a furious Mateo Reyes as the squad car drove off. My gaze narrowed as I stared just as aggressively at him, my arms locked behind my back at the wrists by the metal handcuffs.
****
“What a mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”
I barely acknowledged my father’s words, rolling my eyes and snatching my belongings from the officer behind the desk. I squinted against the sunlight as I passed through the police station door behind my father. I wasn’t in any real mess, not legally anyway. I wasn’t formally arrested or charged with anything. The police captain did my family a solid by personally calling my father and having him come pick me up. The rest of my life had felt like it was going to shit, however.
“Look at me, Joshua.”
Begrudgingly, I lifted my gaze to meet my father’s stormy eyes. Usually, any look of disappointment I saw reflected in his gaze directed at me, would cause me to straighten up and get my shit together. But right then, I just didn’t care. I could barely see straight through all of the anger I was carrying.
My father had just explained to me, before we left the police station, that Mr. Reyes hadn’t lied. It was true, Kayla had moved to Portland to start medical school a month early. She left me completely and utterly alone. Fuck her.
“Son …” my father tried to console, placing a firm arm on my shoulder.
I didn’t want to hear it. I shrugged off his hand and proceeded to his awaiting, chauffeured SUV. I waved the driver off and opened the door myself, climbing in. My father rounded the vehicle and got in on the other side after a few hushed words with the driver.
He didn’t say anything for a while.
I was thankful for the silence. I wasn’t in the mood to hear or discuss how upset this would make my mother, or how it would be an embarrassment if this got out to the public. But, per usual, my father surprised me when he finally did speak.
“You’ve always been my slow to anger son.”
I pivoted my head in his direction but he stared straight ahead.
“People know to stay out of Aaron’s way when they see him coming. Carter doesn’t wear his anger on his sleeve the way Aaron does, but his temper is quick. Ty is my unpredictable child. But you … you’ve always been the steady, even-keeled one. At least,” he paused, turning to face me, “that’s what you wanted everyone to believe. You’ve got that intensity in you just like every other child of mine but you mask it with that easy-going charm. It’ll serve you well as you build our real estate division.” He paused, finally turning to me. “If your anger doesn’t take you down first.”
I remained silent, still feeling too consumed with resentment to even speak.
He nodded slightly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He sighed.
A few minutes later we were pulling up to an unfamiliar brick building in the heart of Williamsport.
Frowning, I watched my father get out and fold his arms over his chest, waiting for me to do the same. I pushed out a breath and slid over to get out of the car on the side closest to the sidewalk.
“We’ll be a little while,” he spoke to the driver before looking to me. Silently communicating that I was to follow him.
I did so as he pushed past the glass doors of the building. I was surprised when instead of heading toward the elevators he moved to the stairwell. He headed downstairs instead of up.
“You’ve gotten in three fights over the last month,” he stated, continuing down the steps.
I remained silent because the truth was I’d actually gotten into more but he’d obviously only heard of three.
“So now, we’re going to put that energy to use.” He stopped at a large metal door that read “Private” in black spray paint.
He knocked three times in quick succession, pausing for a heartbeat and knocked two more times. Some type of coded knock.
“Robert,” a large man with sandy blond hair greeted. He wasn’t friendly looking, but he obviously knew my father. What was really odd, was that he looked to be in his mid-twenties, closer to my age than my father’s. Most men my age referred to my father as Mr. Townsend.
The guy let his gaze rove over me, causing me to feel defensive. I stood up to my full height, which was still a few inches shorter than this guy.
“This him?” he questioned, still staring me down.
“Don’t ask dumb questions, Connor,” my father retorted.
I squinted. Connor O’Brien. I recognized him. He’d been an up and comer in the boxing world.
