Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 85267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Not this year, next year—I want to graduate with a degree first. But I haven’t told him that, and I’m not going to do it now.
I’ve never seen Charlie’s eyes so wide. She’s one part terrified, another part disgusted, and fully ready to flee.
“Jesus, Pops, keep it down,” I hiss, desperate to diffuse the growing argument.
“Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do.”
“Maybe I should go.” Charlie sighs beside me, speaking barely loud enough for me to hear as she slips away. I can’t catch a breath or turn my head to watch her go because my father is in my face, breathing fire.
I throw my arm out to stop her, but my father stops me instead.
“Let her walk away, Jackson. You’ll let her go if you know what’s good for your career.”
Exactly—it’s my career. My life.
Not yours, old man.
I don’t know where Charlie runs off to, if she left out the front door or the back, if she returned to my room and will be there when I finally return—if I return. I have to clear my head. Maybe I should just get the fuck out of here…
This behavior from my father isn’t healthy, I know this. But until the bastard leaves, I deal with it the best I can so he doesn’t lay me out in my own house.
My career, my life. My career, my life…
More of my friends have arrived since this argument started, but—bless them—they’ve cleared the room, giving us our privacy. Besides, they’re just as embarrassed hearing the shit spewing from Pop’s mouth as I am listening to it. No one wants to stand by and watch their friend get railroaded by a parent, but sometimes, it’s best to step aside and excuse yourself.
I know for a fact, any other day, Rodrigo or Tyson or Greg—or anyone else on the team—would have stood up for me. They’re doing me a favor by leaving, and I’ll thank them for it later.
I don’t have any more time to wonder where Charlie is, because my father gets confrontational.
“When’s the last time you spoke to Brock?” He’s asking about my agent, the one I called last week to discuss removing my name from the draft.
“I’m supposed to talk to him this week.” It’s a lie that won’t get me in any more trouble then I already am, and what Pops doesn’t know yet won’t get us into another fight.
“Good. I’m going to call him—I want to talk numbers. He’s getting too much as far as I’m concerned, and I want to renegotiate his salary.”
What? No.
Hell no.
No one is renegotiating my agent’s salary, least of all my father. Brock is the only adult male looking out for me right now besides my teammates and coaches. Not only that, he’s been dealing with my father’s bullshit from the time I was a junior in high school—the dude deserves his fair cut. I’m not a kid anymore, and Pops can’t touch my contracts now that I’m legally an adult.
Thank God.
“Anything else you want me to tell him?” Not that I’m going to.
“No.” My father is agitated to the point of an impending blowup. “Didn’t I just tell you I was going to call him?”
Jesus, sorry.
Why is being in this room with him making me so damn nervous? I have the upper hand here; he’s living through me, not the other way around. He needs me—I no longer need him.
I straighten to my full height. “Glad you made it today.”
My father nods importantly, pompous and full of importance. “Fucking embarrassment is what it was.”
Wow. Okay.
“Anyway.” I cross my arms and stare at him, nothing more to add.
Pops tilts his head to study me. “You gonna break up with that girl? I want an answer.”
“You already told me I was.”
“Don’t get smart with me.”
“Fine.” I huff, petulant. “No, I’m not.”
“Jackson, I’m warning you…”
“Warning me about what? What are you gonna do about it, Daddy? Whoop me?” I spread my arms wide. “I’m bigger than you. Ain’t much you can do about it, but you can sure try.”
My father’s face turns ten shades of maroon, heat rising from the collar of his blue, plaid, button-down shirt. It’s tucked into a pair of Wranglers, brown leather belt pulled through all the loops, a championship football belt buckle front and center, almost the size of a dinner plate. He earned it as a child—in high school—after winning the state title and has reveled in it since.
In my opinion, those days are gone. He’s a miserable sod of a man, living in the past, and if I let him, he’ll make me miserable, too.
“Think you’re tough shit, do ya?”
“No. I just think it’s time for you to lay off.”
Jackson Jennings Senior’s nostrils flare in my direction. “Everything you see around you, I helped build.”
A laugh escapes my throat. “Really? You helped build this house you didn’t want me livin’ in? Weird.”