The queasiness in my stomach after seeing my father deepens.
When I was a kid, he never threw a ball with me. We didn’t take hikes or do anything outdoors. However, he did teach me to play chess. Perhaps not very well because I never won. Dad is always anticipating his opponent’s next move and planning his own.
A dark thought claws at the edges of my mind. My father has always considered me to be the opposition rather than his son. It’s as if he thinks he competes with me. For what? What does he stand to win? Why is Rhett Collins so bent on ruining his father’s legacy and my career by blackmailing me? A scratchy feeling fills my throat.
I’m not a champion chess player or a sailor in a storm. I’m a quarterback on the football field. That’s the game I know how to win. However, my father does not.
While I shave and get dressed, I run through plays and strategies, thinking about my opponent’s strengths and weaknesses along with my own. I try to figure out how to get through lunch and beat my father at his game.
But I can’t come up with a winning play.
When I get downstairs, I receive a text with the time and location for lunch. Pippa waits and smiles pleasantly. I’m not sure what’s coming, but I don’t want to see her smile fade.
On the drive to the restaurant, Pippa tries to strike up a conversation, but I’m preoccupied and my answers are distant, dry. I need to focus. Get in the zone.
We meet my parents in a mahogany wood-paneled and brass-lantern-lit spot on Beacon Hill. Of course, my father would select a restaurant where private deals are made instead of a comfortable place. He’s a businessman through and through, but what’s his angle? Why Marlow Dwight?
The table is set for four, but the mean girl from high school hasn’t yet arrived. I pull out a chair for Pippa. My mother smiles and greets her warmly, probably in the dark about what’s aboutto go down. My father glares. Pippa’s expression falters, but she doesn’t waver from her good manners and role as an etiquette coach. “Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Collins. It’s a pleasure seeing you again.”
“I wish I could say likewise.” My father turns to me. “What is she doing here?”
“I want Pippa here and she’s my coach.”
“That’s correct, sir. As per the stipulations created between him and Commissioner Starkowsky, for the duration of his time in the Blancbourg Academy program, wherever he goes, I go. I’m both coaching him and observing him in various real-life situations for the final evaluation due shortly.”
My father’s neck bulges against the collar of his shirt and he adjusts it. “I couldn’t care less. I have business to conduct.”
My mother flinches and pats his hand as though to calm him down. “Dear, watch your blood pressure.” She leans toward me. “He’s been off the charts stressed lately. That’s why we’re heading to the cottage on Cape Cod later. I think a few days by the ocean will help.”
“But business, first, huh?” I snipe.
The whole situation feels wrong, is wrong, but what can I do? Let my father ruin his father’s legacy? It’s in the past, but because I’m part of the legendary Collins family, it’ll call my career into question. I earned my way onto the team honestly, but would anyone believe that after what Cap did? I’m torn down the middle between love and honor.
A strong gust of perfume blows in as the restaurant’s door opens and closes. “Hello, from the future Mrs. Collins,” Marlow singsongs.
I grimace.
Pippa frowns, but I catch the edge of an eye roll as if she, too has had enough of the mean girl.
My mother scowls and opens her mouth to say something, but my father cuts across her.
“The sooner we get things underway with the engagement and wedding, the sooner we can move on.” He places a velvet box on the table. “Chase, ready to do the honors?”
I glare. “There is nothing honorable about this.”
“Take the ring. We’re ready to toast your engagement, but first, you have to pop the question.” Dad says in a fake, jovial tone.
“I don’t think this is what my grandfather had in mind.” My tone is grim.
“Chase, you understand what’s at stake here, right?” Crimson creeps up my father’s neck and colors his cheeks.
I can’t bear to look at Pippa because I’m afraid she’ll think I’m just doing this for the money. I already have plans for the inheritance when the time comes—pizza-sized plans. But my father has other designs, and to preserve Cap’s esteemed memory as a football titan, I have to obey.
However, I can’t bring myself to pick up the box. Lips pinched with determination, my father shoves it in my hand. Just then, someone calls my name.
“Chase? Pippa? What are you doing here?”
We both startle and turn in the direction of a booming male voice.
