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He cocked his head to the side. “I heard you’re dating Lila,” he deadpanned. “You didn’t tell us.”
I placed the empty glass on his desk, and my fists clenched. There was a reason why I never brought Lila here. I wanted to keep her far away from the toxicity that was my parents. They didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her. “Is this why we’re here? To talk about my dating life? C’mon, Father. That’s beneath you.”
My father was silent for a moment. I didn’t want to play his game, I really didn’t.
I grasped the bottle of whiskey in my hand and took a step back, raising the bottle up in mock salute. “Nice talk, Brad.”
His nostrils flared at the blatant disrespect, but I was already walking away, without waiting for his response. My heart hammered in my chest, my skin crawling and itching with the need to get away from him, from this suffocating place.
His next words halted me, my feet coming to a sudden stop.
“Don’t hurt her.”
My back snapped straight, and I swiveled around to face him, a low snarl on my lips. “I would never,” I hissed. “I’m not you.”
He stood up, calmly, and it grated my nerves. I hated the pacifying look on his face, like he actually FUCKING CARED.
“No, Maddox. You’re not me,” my father agreed, almost like he was relieved about that idea. “But you also don’t realize you’re on the path of self-destruction. You’ll end up hurting Lila in the end, Son. And do you know who will hurt the most? You.”
Fury burned through my veins like acid. My blood roared furiously in my ears; it was almost deafening. The sick feeling in my stomach was back, and I fought the urge to throw up. In the moment, I didn’t even realize he called me son. I was too angry, filled with so much loathing at the person who was supposed to be my dad.
Lila was the one good thing in my fucking life.
And he wanted me to give her up.
If, for one second, I thought my father cared… that brief notion was gone, before it even fully came to be.
“Thanks for the pep talk, Dad. I’ll keep that in mind,” I sneered, before stalking away.
My mother was outside the door, and I walked into her, practically slamming into her small frame. Her eyes blurred, and she reached for me, but I side-stepped her.
“Maddox,” she called out.
I didn’t stop, didn’t pause, until I was out of the iron gates.
I was done listening.
Done trying to be the son they wanted.
I. Was. Fucking. Done.
Maddox had been… quiet. Which was unusual. His cocky, arrogant attitude had been replaced with a brooding, silent Maddox. He looked like he was lost in his thoughts, and it had been three days since we returned to school from our visit to my grandparents’. We were back to our regular schedule and classes, but the Maddox, who returned with me, was not the same who left for the long weekend a week ago.
“I’ve never seen you stare at a business textbook so hard,” I said, placing my elbows on the table and leaning forward. We were sitting in a quiet corner in the library, and it was one of our late-night studying sessions. But I’d bet he wasn’t even focusing on the text he was supposed to be reading. His eyes barely moved across the paragraphs, and he was still on the same page for the last thirty minutes.
I could be overthinking again, but…
Something wasn’t right. Something was up with him.
I had been watching him carefully for the past three days, waiting to catch a glimpse of my Maddox behind the silent mask he now wore. He touched me, kissed and fucked me… but something was different.
Our love making was rough and quick. There wasn’t much to complain about, since he still made me feel good, but I missed his tender touch, his sweet kisses, his soft words.
I missed him making love to me.
I missed my Maddox.
Dread washed through me as I started overthinking the situation. My head told me he was tired of me. Maddox wasn’t the relationship type, and maybe, he realized this was a mistake. My heart argued with that fact, refusing to believe Maddox would be so careless with my feelings.
Maddox blinked at me, then scowled. “Sorry, I don’t understand shit,” he muttered, shoving his textbook away and slamming his laptop closed.
That was definitely not Maddox. He wasn’t a genius, but he was a smart student and on top of his classes. He worked relentlessly to keep both his football scholarship and his grades up where they needed to be.
“I’d help, but I’m more of a chemistry person,” I teased, nodding toward my own textbook, which was filled with highlighted paragraphs and pages. My yellow highlighter laid next to my laptop.
