Page 12 of Rebellious

I kiss him on the cheek. “You mean the house I’m moving out of this weekend?” I try for a light joke, but the undercurrent of pain slips through, and I end up just sounding bitter. It’s not my father’s fault I’m graduating. He was nice enough to pay for my entire undergrad schooling and encouraged me to go after a master’s degree, even though I didn’t need it.

I had a job at my father’s company before I could finish high school. But I wanted more, and when Bennett went into football, I decided I’d pursue sports agency rather than baseball scouting like my father. However, my father had other ideas; hence how I ended up with a broadcasting degree and a job in Boston.

“You won’t miss it,” he says, pulling me in for a hug. I might be twenty-three years old, but my dad wrapping me in his arms makes today bearable, even if he’s more excited to see me move away from Bennett than graduate.

After a moment, he pulls up and frowns. Right. I forgot to smile. It seems pointless at the moment. Today is not a happy day, no matter how many family members are here.

“Where’s your brother?”

I cringe, stepping aside. “Couch.” I learned a long time ago to stay out of Dad and Fenn’s way when they need to yell at each other.

“Fenn!” Pushing past me, Dad barrels his way through the house, banging the door as he goes. “Get your ass up!”

Cade shakes his head. “It’s good to see you, kiddo.”

I step into the arms of the man who has been a second father to me and bathe in his strength. Like his son, Cade isn’t the most affectionate, but he tries, which means more than anything.

“It’s good to see you too, Uncle Cade.”

He pulls back and smooths a hand down my hair. “I have mail for you in the car.”

I swallow. “Did you look at it?”

Cade frowns. “You need to tell him, Aspen.”

No getting drunk together

Bennett

Ishould have known my day would go from awful to disastrous.

Fortunately, I was prepared.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Closing the door behind me, I hold up the carton of cream. “Aspen likes her coffee full of calories.” I cut my gaze to Aspen’s father, who’s leaning against our kitchen counter. “But I’m sure you know that.” He takes his coffee the same way.

Aspen appears from the hallway dressed in one of my football shirts. “Dammit, Aspen,” her father whines. “Do you want me to kill the boy?” He looks at me harshly. “That’s strike two, Bennett.”

My brow arches in question. “Did I skip strike one, sir?” I stride toward the kitchen, stopping briefly when my dad stands from the sofa.

“Bennett,” he says, smiling.

“Sir.”

He holds his hand out for me to shake, and I move the carton of cream into my other hand, but he decides on a hug instead. “It’s good to see you, son.”

We haven’t been home in several weeks. Between mine and Aspen’s schedule, we just couldn’t make the time. “I’m sorry we didn’t drive down last weekend.”

My father pulls back and waves me off. “Don’t be sorry. You don’t have to humor your old man with pity visits.”

“They’re not—”

“Jameson, can we get back to yelling at them?” Theo interrupts. “We have limited time here, and I want to say my piece before their mothers arrive and stop me.”

My father grins, but then agrees with Theo, the skin around his eyes tightening with the tone of his words. “I hear you all went bungee jumping this morning.”

I glance at Aspen, who merely shrugs. “We did.”

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