Page 118 of Small Town Firsts

“Brock’s being weird, and it has me crazy.”

“Weird how?” she asks, assessing me over the lid of her cup.

“Weird like…like he’s about to ghost me.”

“Girl. Please. I’m pretty sure that man loves you.”

I snort, but it’s sad sounding. “Doubtful. You haven’t been around us lately. He’s distant, and I hardly see him, which I get—I do. He’s busy with golf, but he’s even skipped our last two study sessions. When wearetogether, he’s glued to his phone. I’m talking full-on extension of his arm. The only time he’s his normal self is when we’re fucking.” I run my hands through myunruly hair. “I’ve been waiting all day for him to cancel our plans tonight.”

“I can see how that would be problematic. Now, don’t slap me for asking, but have you talked to him?”

I deflate at her question, because to an extent, she’s right. I haven’t outright asked him anything. Maybe tonight I will. You know, if he doesn’t bail.

“Tell ya what…you go take a bubble bath, and I’ll pick you out a killer outfit, and then I’ll do your hair and makeup, okay?”

“Okay. Love you, bitch.”

“Love you right back. Now, go!”

BROCK

I know Abby Jane can tell something’s off with me. At first, it was me processing the realization that I love her. Then it morphed into my wanting to make sure the first time I told her was nothing less than perfect. But now…now it’s more complicated.

“Brock!” my dad barks out my name like he’s a drill sergeant.

“Yes, sir?” I’ve been at the house for hours, going round and round in circles with him over my post-grad plans. Trying to get him to see my perspective is like talking to a rock.

He stalks over to where I’m seated in his office and thrusts a stack of papers in my face. “You’re going to apply to Emory! You’re going to follow in my goddamn footsteps! And you’re going to do it with a smile on your face. You should be grateful for the path I’ve paved for you. Here’s your future on a silver platter, and you’re dumb and naïve enough to pass it up.”

His face is beet red and sweat beads his hairline. If he were animated, smoke would be billowing out of his ears. “I’m not naïve, Dad.”

“And for what?” he bellows, steamrolling right over me like I hadn’t even opened my mouth. “To teach? To play golf? To give back? Get real, son! If you want to give back so badly, do as I say and make charitable contributions. I will tell you right now, though, no son of mine is going to waste his potential on my dime.”

He huffs out a breath as if trying to regain his composure. I’m about to take him down a peg when he starts back up, effectively cutting me off. “Not to mention, I’ve heard you’re gallivanting all around with Abby Jane.” He spits her name like a curse and I see red. “I’d say dating her is charity enough.”

My fury propels me forward from the couch, causing him to take a step back. “Don’t you dare talk about her like that. Don’t you even fucking say her name. She’s the best damn thing to ever?—”

But Dad’s not having it, and he roars over me. “She is a disgrace. A bad apple. And I forbade you from seeing her!”

“You forbade me? Get real, old man. I’m a grown-ass man, and I’m capable of making my own decisions—your input’s not wanted or?—”

My words are cut off when his fist crashes into my jaw. The force of the blow causes me to lose my footing, and I crash back into the couch.

“She’s not meant for you. She’s not good enough for the Larson name and I won’t have you disgrace our family any more than you have.” He moves in closer to where I’m slumped against the sofa, hand gripping my throbbing face. “You will fall in line Brock, or there’ll be consequences.”

I scramble up from my prone position and charge toward the door. “That’s right, Brock. Run.” I’m almost to the door when hecalls out to me again. His words—full of menace and dark intent—send dread snaking through my veins. “And be sure to have a good time tonight.”

He’s lost his goddamn mind if he thinks he has a say in who I date. And tonight, I plan to show my girl just how much I love her—his threats be dammed.

CHAPTER 22

AJ

Stacia left twenty minutes ago,after she finished dolling me up, in order to give me some time to get my head on right, so to speak. I’m seated at the foot of my bed, decked out in a form-fitting little black sheath dress with a floral lace overlay and a halter neckline. It’s demure and sexy all at once. Stacia suggested pairing the dress with black stilettoes, but I opted for nude pumps instead.

I gave her free rein on my hair and makeup. She styled my faded, barely-there pink locks in voluminous, beachy waves and complimented them with a fresh-faced look—subtly winged liner to make my brown eyes pop, rosy cheeks, and nude lips. All in all, I look pretty…tame. But pretty, nonetheless.

Maybe a glass of wine will help scatter this stupid melancholy mood that’s been hovering over me like a dark cloud. Maybe it’ll take the edge off.

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