Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
“Love isn’t always enough, Charlotte. You need to think about the practical stuff too. You can’t just float along forever.”
I slump against her and rest my head on her shoulder. “I know. Trust me, I know. I’m trying to take things one step at a time, but then I get overwhelmed by all the stuff I don’t have answers for. What if one of them wants more and the other doesn’t? What if I want more, and I’m the one who messes everything up?”
“You’re not going to mess it up. But you do have to start thinking about this stuff. If you’re going to make this work—really make it work—you have to figure out what the future looks like for all three of you.”
I nod, but inside, I’m still spinning.
Because the truth is, I have absolutely no idea how to make this work.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
WILL
Fathers and sons
ON WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, I STAND IN THE MIDDLE OF THE KITCHEN, staring at my phone, debating whether to make this call. I can practically hear my father’s voice in my head, barking orders, dismissing my thoughts and feelings like they’re nothing. But this job offer Tessa brought me is too big to ignore. I’ve spent the past four days researching every last detail about Harper Wozniak, the would-be congresswoman.
And Tessa was right.
I love her politics.
Finally, with a deep breath, I tap my dad’s contact name. The phone rings once, twice, and then his voice comes on the line, clipped and businesslike as always. A part of me is surprised he didn’t send me to voicemail the way he usually does.
“William,” he says. No hello, no small talk. Just straight to the point. “What is it?”
I mimic his approach, not bothering with pleasantries either.
“I got a job offer. From Pamela Kerry, the campaign manager for Harper Wozniak. She wants me to join the campaign.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line.
I can practically feel the temperature drop.
When my father finally speaks, his voice is like ice. “Wozniak is a piece of shit, William. You can’t be serious.”
“I am serious. I’m considering accepting.”
“Absolutely not.” He laughs in amazement. “Absolutely fucking not. Do you hear me?”
“Loud and clear.” Resentment climbs up my throat. “But you don’t have a say in this, Dad. This is my decision to make.”
“There is no decision. I said no.”
“And I’m tired of doing everything your way. Being your puppet. It’s time for me to make my own choices.”
“Your own choices?” he snaps. “Your choices reflect on this family, William. On me. Do you have any idea what this would do to my campaign? You would be viewed as a traitor. A son turning on his goddamn father.”
A surge of anger rises in my chest, hot and fierce. “This isn’t about you. This is about me. For once in my life, I want to do something that isn’t about furthering your career.”
My father scoffs, his disdain dripping through the phone. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not going anywhere near Wozniak’s campaign. I forbid it.”
“Forbid it? You can’t control me anymore. I’m about to graduate from college. I’m not a kid. I’m an adult.”
“You’re acting like a child,” he spits back. “And if you go through with this, you can forget about any support from me or Kelsey or anyone else in this family. You’ll be on your own.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I refuse to back down.
“Yeah? Well, maybe that’s exactly what I need. To be on my own, away from you and all your goddamn expectations.”
After a long, tense silence, my father speaks, his voice cold and final. “Do what you want, William. But don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart.”
With that, he disconnects the call, leaving me staring at the phone.
I want to curse, break something, but instead, I slam the phone on the kitchen counter and storm out the back door, needing some air.
To my surprise, I find Beckett’s dad standing out there, nursing a cup of coffee as he stares out at the small, frost-covered yard. He’s heading back to Indy tonight, and I have to admit I’m going to miss the man. He’s like a goofier, funnier, more dramatic version of Beckett. I’ve enjoyed having him around.
He glances up as I approach, taking in my stormy expression. “You okay, mate?”
I shake my head, unable to find the words to describe the mess of emotions churning inside me.
“Just had a fight with my dad,” I finally manage to say.
James nods. “Want to talk about it?”
I hesitate, and something in his eyes brings an ache to my chest. It’s the kind of look I’ve never seen from my own father. Warm, understanding. Like he actually cares about how I feel.
“I know it’s none of my business,” he says when I don’t answer, “but I’ve got a pretty good handle on this stuff. Fathers and sons…it’s a tricky relationship.”