Page 7 of Playing Dirty
What do I have to lose from it?
“Respect? Really? That’s what you’re going with? Why would I respect either of you for the choices you’ve made?” An emotionless laugh leaves me, and I motion around the table. “I mean,really. Are we planning to just brush the actions that led us here under the rug?”
From the dead silence greeting my ears, apparently we are.
Carla rests her hand over my father’s, and the sight instantly destroys what’s left of my appetite. Scratch that: The sugar-sweet smile she aims at him has me ready to upchuck. “We know this is going to be an adjustment for everyone, but we want this family to work.”
Fat chance of that ever happening, Carla.
I plaster on my own smile, this one far more menacing, before biting out, “I’m so glad to hear whatyouwant, but I’m not going to be the one suffering from the consequences of your actions.”
My father’s fuming when he utters, “You will not disrespect her again in this house. Do you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, Dad. Though I really don’t know why we’re still on that topic when you couldn’t respect your first wife enough to not screw your fucking secretary.”
I can tell my father’s barely holding his temper now. The cords of his neck are pulled taut, and the vein in his forehead is visibly pulsing as he stares me dead in the eye. But to his credit, he doesn’t yell or shout. He doesn’teven raise his voice when he announces, “The rooms and flights are already booked. And as for your mother, she and I already discussed this, and she’s planning your trip to Branson accordingly. So youwillbe there.”
I scoff. “Last time I checked, I’m not a toddler who needs your permission to do something.”
“You sure are acting like one.”
My gaze flashes to the source of the comment, finding two hazel eyes blazing in my direction. Madden’s kept relatively silent through most of this exchange, but he’s clearly done biting his tongue now.
Good.
Part of me was wondering if the ease he’s swallowing down this happy family bullshit is real or if he’s just really good at pretending he’s unbothered. Guess now I know.
“Funny, Hastings. I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”
“That’senough,” my father commands, slamming his hand on the table. He rises from his seat, the scraping of wood on wood when his chair scoots back sending a zap of adrenaline through my body. “The four of us will be going up to Vermont over winter break. As a family. The end.”
My father’s stare bores into mine, almost daring me to disagree or make another snide comment. The smartest thing would be to let it go—to drop it and move on.
But I don’t. Ican’t.
Because he’s destroyed everything, and I fucking hate him for it.
In barely more than a whisper, I mutter, “You can call us a family all you want, but that doesn’t make it true.”
With those parting words, I shove back from the table and head for the front door.
“Where the hell are you going?” my father calls before I even makeit from the room, but I don’t bother turning around. There’s nothing left for me here.
“To see the only real family I have left.”
Two
Madden
Mom sets the remainder of the dishes on the kitchen counter beside me, and I rinse them before placing them in the dishwasher. She’s been relatively quiet since Theo stormed out an hour ago, but I can tell it’s weighing on her.
“On a scale of one to ten, how bad do you think that went?”
I roll my teeth over my lower lip in thought, continuing with the task at hand.
I can count the things I know about Theo Greyson on one hand. He’s a senior—making him a year older than me—and he’s a damn good shortstop for Leighton; kills it when he’s at the plate too. Outside the baseball diamond, our interactions have been brief, mostly taking place at various parties my teammates and I would crash over on Leighton’s campus.
So gauging his reaction isn’t really something I can do. But for hersake, I try.
