Page 117 of Hard to Score

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

DREW

THE BOTTLE OF WHISKEY IS empty.

My phone buzzing alerts is face down on the couch beside me.

My house is pitch-black.

But my thoughts don’t stop.

They walked away. Fucking walked out the door minutes after Brexton left when I demanded answers.

“She’s a Kincade.” My father’s voice is low, his expression unmoving, as Brexton’s taillights are still a glimmer down the street.

“Why don’t we address why the thought of me being with her has you in an absolute panic, Dad? Why don’t we talk about how scared you are right now that the goddamn ruse is up?”

“Her father ruined our family,” my dad says with a quiet steel to his voice.

“So you’ve said, but you know something?” I ask and make a show of scratching my temple. “It doesn’t make any sense. Why would he burn a big-time client who he was making a shit ton of money off of in commission? Why would he hurt the friends who were like a family to us? Only a coward would do that and from what I remember, Kenyon Kincade wasn’t a coward.”

But I’m beginning to see that you were.

I plant the seed. The bait. I wait for the reaction. I need to see if he’s going to stand and fight or turn away like a coward.

Two completely different reactions. Two completely different truths.

He lied about what happened. I know deep in my bones he did. Maybe I always have but was too much of a coward myself to admit it to myself. Maybe I needed to hold on to the hope that my father was the man I’d always wanted him to be.

“You’ve made your choice then,” my father says.

“No. You’re making the choice. Not me.”

My father’s eyes meet mine and I swear there is something in them akin to devastation, but it’s fleeting and wiped away by a harsh bout of tremors. My mom’s face falls, and I want to reach out and help support him but fear the reaction I’d be met with.

Emotion is thick in my throat as my mom murmurs to him to calm down and guides him down the walk away from me.

“Fuck,” I mutter into the darkness, into the loneliness, as the events replay over and over in my head.

I should have gone after Brexton.

I should have left my parents and their non-answers behind and run after the only person in as long as I can remember who is true and real and honest.

Goddamn Brexton.

My savior. My sounding board. My best friend.

But I didn’t chase after her. Now I’m left feeling like the asshole who didn’t do enough to stand up for her and the son who just walked away from his sick father.

Last time we fought, we didn’t talk for over a year.

Over a goddamn year.

What if the same happens now? Because I won’t bend this time. I won’t unless I have answers. I deserve that much.

But what if he won’t give them?

Will the disease have ravaged him by then? Will I lose out on time my father has left before it’s too late?