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I told myself I could do it. as long as he was beside me.
I wanted to conquer my fears, wanted to leave my past behind. Truly and fully move on…
My scars throbbed harder, and I squeezed my eyes shut.
His hands smoothed up and down my back, ever so supportive and gentle. “Yeah, I’m ready. I’m going to pass this test.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second, little dragon.”
Little dragon…
Only Maddox could handle my fire... my scars... my pain... He was the mirror to my soul.
My lips twitched with a smile, and the fire burning in my chest slowly dissipated.
I never understood why they invited me for dinner when it was going to be like this. Icy cold silence… and they didn’t even acknowledge their son was sitting right there.
Father Dearest sat at the head of the table, while Mommy Dearest and I sat across from each other. She could barely meet my eyes, her focus on her plate, as she very primly cut her steak into little bites.
Brad, my father, didn’t even breathe in my direction. The only sound echoing around the frigid walls of the dining room was our cutlery against our fancy as fuck plates.
My throat closed, and it felt…suffocating.
The difference between my Thanksgiving dinner with Lila’s family and tonight with my own was vast.
I didn’t know why I still fucking tried. I hated this place. Loathed the idea of our ‘perfect family’ to the outside world, while it was anything but. I long gave up on the idea of us being even slightly happy.
My parents’ marriage was probably anything but happy, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found out they weren’t even sleeping in the same room.
With a mansion as big as this one, the distance between us grew even bigger. When I used to live here, I was an outsider and a burden.
Now that I had left for Harvard, I was still an outsider. To my parents, I barely existed… except, I was their heir and their legacy to the Coulter’s name and empire. That was probably the only reason why Brad hadn’t disowned me yet.
Yeah, fuck them.
I shoveled my food in my mouth, barely chewing. Swallowing it down with water, I finished my plate, before they were even halfway through theirs.
I pushed my chair out and stood up without a word. My mother’s head snapped up, and her eyes flared in surprise. “You’re leaving?” she stuttered, looking warily between my father and I.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, where was her goddamn backbone?
“Maddox,” she started, but then trailed off. She was looking at me like a sad, lost puppy.
My jaw hardened, and I clenched my teeth. “What?”
“Why don’t you stay for a little while longer? Your father and I–”
I cut in. “Don’t waste your breath, Mother.”
She opened her mouth, but was cut off, when my father started coughing. Her eyes widened, and there was a flash of fear in them, as she jumped to her feet and rushed to his side. He brought his pristine, white handkerchief to his mouth and continued coughing, his chest rattling with the harsh sounds.
“Brad,” Savannah breathed quietly, looking slightly pained.
My fists clenched at my sides, and I fought the urge to run, to walk out of these iron gates and never come back. This place smelled nothing like comfort or joy – it was a death trap.
His coughing fit ceased, and he straightened his back. “Maddox, I want to speak with you. Come to my office,” he said, in his usual hard voice. There was no familiarity or warmth in his words, like a father should speak to his son. He spoke to me like I was one of the people on his goddamn payroll.
He stood up and walked away, without waiting for me to follow. I was already taking a step back, refusing to follow his goddamn orders.
“Please,” Mommy dearest mouthed.
My feet paused, and I cracked my neck, squeezing my lips together. The muscles in my chest tightened, and against my own accord, my legs took me toward my father’s office.
I walked inside to find him sitting behind his desk. He nodded toward the whiskey bottle on the tray. “Have a drink?”
I let out a small, humorless laugh. Yeah, if I had to survive this talk with my father, I definitely needed a fucking drink. I poured a glass full and downed it quickly, feeling the burn in my throat, and my eyes watered.
“I spoke with your coach last week,” he started.
“Keeping tabs on me?” I snorted in amusement.
His eyes hardened. “He said you were one of his best players. That’s good to know.”
Praise… from Brad Coulter? Hmm. I wasn’t about to fall in that trap. I could barely remember the last time my father said something remotely nice to me. I had been… maybe five or six years old? That was almost two decades ago.
