Peering over my shoulder, I ask Knox, “Want to go together?”
“Fine by me. Since you’re living here now, we can talk about it tomorrow. I’m hitting the sack. Nice to meet everyone. ‘Night, hood rat.”
“Good night, Knox.”
Prescott whistles after Knox leaves. “JD, don’t look now, but I think you’ve got competition.”
Chapter 14
“Good morning,” Mom says when I come down for breakfast. I sidle over and kiss her cheek before taking my seat at the table.
Dad looks up from his tablet, brows lowered. “Where the hell were you last night? You weren’t here when I got home,” he barks. “You know that you can screw up your throwing game if you aren’t well-rested.”
For some reason, his chastising interrogation this morning makes me angry instead of the usual shame and embarrassment I feel when he talks to me that way.
“For fuck’s sake, Dad, I’m eighteen, not eight.”
I hear my mom’s sharp gasp at my outburst, but it’s nothing compared to the anger that erupts from the man sitting across from me at the head of the table.
He slams his fist down on the tabletop so hard that the silverware rattles and Mom’s coffee spills over the side of its cup.
“How dare you speak so disrespectfully to me in my house!” he shouts, not caring that he just spoke to me in the same disrespectful manner.
And God forbid, he lets his family forget that everything we are and everything we have belong to him.Hishouse that we live in,hisfood that we eat,hisopinion that matters,hislife that got screwed up because he was too young when he got married and had a kid.
“William, would you mind passing me the salt, please?” Mom intercedes while dabbing at the spill with her napkin. Dad just stares at her, so I pass it to her. “Thank you, Jackson. So, when did you get home last night, sweetheart? I didn’t hear you come in,” she casually inquires as she sprinkles salt on her eggs.
This is bullshit. Having to sit here and watch Dad blow up, as usual, while Mom pretends everything’s fine and wonderful, as usual.
“I was with Dustin and Prez visiting a friend. I got in around two.” I push the scrambled eggs around my plate, no longer hungry. I don’t mention Aurora or the fact that I was at the Montgomery mansion.
“You need at least eight hours of sleep. Your first game is Friday,” Dad scolds me like I don’t already fucking know.
I’m the one at practice every afternoon. I’m the one who puts in extra workouts and does extra drills so I can be the best out on the field. I’m the one who has to work twice as hard at my academics to stay in good standing.
Dad is watching me, waiting for a response to Mom’s question, which was also his first question.
Mentally, I tell him to kiss my ass but in reality, I say, “I feel fine. I’m going to head on to school and get a quick workout in before first period.”
I’m actually picking up Aurora since her bike is out of commission. Fallon tried to offer her use of one of his cars last night before me and the guys left, but she turned him down flat. It was a Ferrari SF90 Stradale. Prez bitched and whined the entire way home, not understanding why Aurora would say no to a car like that. I have to agree, because,damn, that car was hot. But I get why she declined. She has worked hard for everything in her life. She’s independent and self-sufficient.
“Good,” he grumbles, not really paying attention anymore. “I expect you home tonight no later than eight. No excuses.”
He goes back to reading the financial news and dismisses me like I’m one of his low-level employees.
I excuse myself from the table and grab my keys, phone, and bag, as well as snatching a protein drink and a trail bar as I walk from the kitchen to the attached garage. I text Aurora as soon as I’m in my Jeep.
Me: On my way.
PrincessAurora: Almost ready. Got to play with the remote this morning. This is the before shot.
She sends me a picture of her standing next to the bathtub as water falls from the ceiling, her face lit up with a gigantic smile as she points to it.
PrincessAurora: And this is the after shot.
I about swallow my tongue when she sends another photo of just her wrapped in a towel, her hair wet and hanging down in front of her shoulders. She must have put on make-up because I can barely make out the bruise on her cheek.
Me: You better be wearing that when I get there.
