“Would you like to explain to me how that’s different from what you were doing last semester?”
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it again.
He didn’t miss a beat. “You failed two core classes. Not electives. Not something optional. The classes you needed.”
I clenched my jaw and stared hard at the floor.
Not like I didn’t know that.
Failing them had already screwed everything up. My schedule, my graduation timeline, my entire summer. While everyone else was out celebrating being done, I was stuck retaking classes like I had never figured out how college worked in the first place.
And yeah, I got why he was pissed.
He was paying for all of it. The classes, the housing, everything. Of course he wasn’t thrilled about me turning one semester into a more expensive, dragged out version of the plan.
Still, it wasn’t like I had meant to fail.
Things had just been… more fun.
There were always better things to do than sit in a lecture or grind out assignments. I had told myself I would catch up,that I would pull it together before finals, that I would scrape by with a passing grade if I just pushed at the end.
That had worked before.
Just not this time.
“I said I’ll fix it,” I muttered. “That’s why I’m taking summer classes.”
“And you are,” he said. “While staying somewhere I know you’ll actually do it.”
I dragged a hand through my hair. “Then let me come to London.”
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
Not loud, not mocking, but enough to make my face heat anyway.
“Not a chance.”
“Wow,” I snapped. “Okay.”
“You chose to prioritize having fun over your responsibilities,” he continued, completely unfazed. “Now you get to deal with the consequences. You will stay, you will retake the classes, you will keep your job, and you will pay me back part of what this is costing.”
I gestured vaguely at the open wall, even though he couldn’t see it. “So now I’m getting shipped off to your business partner’s place because the pipes decided to explode?”
“You’re being sent somewhere I trust.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“You have yet to prove otherwise.”
That hit exactly where he meant it to.
I squeezed my eyes shut, jaw tight, because getting louder wasn’t going to win me anything. It never did. My dad didn’t argue. He didn’t yell. He just stayed calm until I burned myself out, which somehow made it worse.
“As long as I’m paying for your college and your housing,” he said, “this is what’s happening. Unless you would prefer to go stay with your mother.”
