Page 26 of Knot Mine

Here we go.

It would start with the little gripes about football, before we moved to criticizing other aspects of my life like my friends, my girlfriend, my grades and sometimes my clothes or hair.

“I have no plans to teach, Papa. So, no.” He’s watching me like a hawk, waiting for me to roll my eyes or say something thatcan be misconstrued as having an attitude so they can pounce on what a neglectful and careless son I am.

We’ve walked this walk before.

After a few moments of silence, my papa finally concedes. “I’m just saying, darling.”

“The Thayer omega isn’t a bad looking girl either. And partnering with them might give us a way into the publishing industry.” My father finally contributes, while my papa nods along, adding in his 10 cents before going back to his steak. “We don’t own a publishing house yet.”

My papa has him on some grain and salad diet since his doctor told him he had high cholesterol, so Wednesday is the only day of the week he’s allowed to enjoy a little treat. Not that I doubt his assistant would order him a fillet mignon if asked. They would both just have to face my papa afterwards, and I’m not entirely sure my father or his assistant could survive that.

“That doesn’t mean we should,” I grind out, knowing that my father’s cogs are likely already turning as to how he can monetize a budding relationship with the Thayer family. I knew they were talking about more than just ‘partnering’. “Besides, I have a girlfriend.”

“Of course, but these college romances rarely last.” My papa frowns, a small crease appearing on his usually smooth forehead. “Is she your Fated?”

I hesitate. “No…”

“Well, then nothing is set in stone.” Papa’s perfectly manicured brow arches in a silent challenge.

Set in stone? I wasn’t a child anymore. I wasn’t naive. I knew that relationships came and went. I had grown up knowing that as an alpha there was a responsibility on my shoulders to choose my partner wisely. To think of the Blackwood reputation and legacy. But to downplay my choices, act like my girlfriendis nothing more than a passing whim in my life…well, that was fucking insulting.

Curling my left hand into fist until the knuckles turn white, I close my eyes briefly and count to ten. Not completely oblivious to the tensions rising at the table, my father decides now is the time to intervene. I didn’t think he could anger me more than my papa, but he does.

“I spoke to your coach on Monday.” I may take after my omega parent with my coloring but looking at my alpha father is like looking at a version of myself 30 years in the future, only with dark hair and eyes. We have the same square jaw and high cheekbones. We’d have the same Roman nose too if I hadn’t broken mine two years ago during a game. He avoids my gaze knowing just how much his words piss me off. “He thinks that you could work on tightening up your accuracy.”

I scoff. “Accuracy? We won our last game.”

“But it could have been a stronger win.”

I’m crushing the fork in my right hand so tightly I’m surprised it doesn’t snap in my grip.Why was I never good enough?

“Why did you talk to Coach Rath? You promised to stop doing that.” We’d been over this time and time again. My school guidance counselor, two of our previous family counselors and my grandmother on my papa’s side had all told my parents that micromanaging was only going to drive me away. That they were suffocating me with their expectations.

Yet they still did it anyway.

They were used to being managers, directors, geniuses in their areas—but parenting was something they’d never quite wrapped their heads around.

“We just think that you aren’t playing to your full potential.” He continues pushing as if he’s ever played football in college, he barely played it in high school. My father was a tech genius,running after a ball was not something he did but his skill with math and analytics somehow made him an expert. He didn’t even want me to play!

I let my fork drop onto the plate with a clatter, otherwise I might feel tempted to ram it into my eye socket just to escape this dinner a little earlier. The noise seems to interrupt his flow of criticism and unwanted advice while I’m barely hanging on by a thread.

“I care about my only son. I want him to succeed.”

Only son.

There.

Another burden.

Another expectation.

Another chain around my neck. If my papa had been able to have more children, maybe they wouldn’t be so hard on me. Maybe they would let me breathe. Instead, I feel like I’m drowning at the bottom of the lake with cinder blocks tied to my feet. When I look up, I can see the surface of the water, the ripples, but I’m out of reach in a place where the light doesn’t hit.

“Romilly Vos is a nice omega, from a good family. A little spirited. But that can be handled.” A little spirited? I wince. The way my papa says that makes me think he intends to break her. I can’t let that happen.

I may not have been sure if Millie was the endgame for me, especially after the incident in the kitchen, but she deserved better than to be talked about like a problem. An issue that needed careful consideration.

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