Christian’s face turned an ugly reddish-purple and he shoved himself to his feet. I stood there watching as he grabbed his clothes from the floor in a huff and stuck his legs into his jeans, tugging them up and tucking his hard cock in before zipping the fly closed. When he was fully clothed he spun on me, finger pointed. “You missed out on the best sex you would’ve ever had.”
I quirked a smile at him. “Okay.”
“You’re such a fucking asshole.” He stormed out of my bedroom area and toward the front of my small apartment, slamming the door shut behind himself.
I probablywasan asshole, and I certainly wasn’t the saint everyone thought I was. A saint wouldn’t do any sexual favors for a friend, not even a blow job, and they wouldn’t avoid all phone calls from the parents who paid their tuition.
But that was a whole other drama.
I wasn’t sad to see Christian go. He’d flounced off more than once, and a few days later he always came slinking back with an apology before asking for another blow job.
My phone buzzed on the bedside table and I grabbed it, smiling at my sister’s name on the screen. I’d texted Athena hours ago, but she had school and then ballet rehearsal. At sixteen, she was well on her way to following the dance career laid out for her by our mom. She had the talent, determination, and an ungodly expensive dance coach.
Her text message had been in response to mine; I’d asked what our parents wanted with their incessant calls, seeing as Dad had managed to blow up my phone six times today. If I could avoid him altogether, I would, but he never called that many times. I didn’t want to talk to him unless the matter truly was urgent.
Athena:Don’t know what crawled up Dad’s butt. Something’s going down. Mom’s shitting bricks. U should call them.
I snorted at her text and responded, Got it. I’ll call now.
Taking a deep breath, I hit Dad’s number and watched the phone dial it. It only took three rings before he picked up.
“Why the hell haven’t you called us back until now, Noah? Your mom has been worried sick.” Dad’s rough voice had an urgent edge to it. I reverted to the childish guilt that swamped me when I was in the same room with him, the one I always felt when Dad talked to me with his typical disappointed tone. Every time I thought I’d overcome the fear of being an embarrassment to him, it roared right back like a punch to the gut.
I’d always been the one who was meant to follow in Dad’s footsteps and take over the family company when it was time. I was his oldest son and the firstborn, after all. But I had no interest in construction, our main focus. I wanted to be an artist or maybe a graphic designer, which meant going to art school, to my dad’s utmost horror. He’d argued more than once that I should focus on business because I had to sell whatever I created, but I couldn’t stand the thought.
I still remembered his words the night I’d dropped the bombshell on him that I didn’t want to be his successor. Mom had walked out to get Dad a drink so we could have a private conversation about the issue. He’d leaned forward. For a split second I’d thought maybe he would be supportive. Then, low enough for only me to hear, he’d said, “I never thought I’d have a queer as a son, let alone one who refuses to work in the family business. Not liking women isn’t the problem, son. I can get over that. It’s the lack of work ethics that is inexcusable. I’m disgusted with you.”
Apparently art didn’t take work, talent, or time—it happened magically overnight. He had never apologized, and I pretended it never happened. When he wanted something I always bent over backward for him, even now, and I had no idea why. He didn’t deserve it.
“Sorry, Dad, I’ve been busy with classes,” I lied easily.See? Not a saint.
“I don’t care about your excuses, Noah. What kind of classes could they possibly have at that school?” My dad’s tone made me wince and I fell onto the bed, sighing. “I need you to come to the house tomorrow, early.”
“What for?” I asked before I could stop myself. I knew better. Dad hated it when I questioned him.
“That doesn’t matter. Remember who pays your tuition, Noah. You could be doing better things with your time.”
How could I forget when you keep reminding me?I sucked in a deep breath to settle my anger and forced myself to smile, even though he couldn’t see it. He said my name as though I would forget it, but I knew he added it for dramatic effect. At least he hadn’t resorted to using my middle name. “I remember.”
“Nine in the morning. Be here. Your mom and I want to talk to you.” Just like that, he ended the call, and I stayed sitting there, staring at my phone. At least I hadn’t been caught in conversation with him longer, but he hadn’t asked me to come home since I started school, which probably meant that whatever the issue was, it had him stressed.
I fell onto my back on the mattress and stared up at the purple-and-white striped ceiling of my room, which I’d done myself, and the single hanging light. Technically this apartment belonged to my parents, but as soon as I’d gone to school they’d thrown me in here and pretended I didn’t exist—except for the occasional demand I show up with my dad at an event to give a strong showing of support from “the Divine family.” The time without anyone in my face had been the most exciting part of my life to date. I was finally free from them... or at least, I’d thought I was, but I’d quickly learned that as long as my parents paid for everything, I’d never be able to escape. The only reason I stayed was my four younger siblings.
Athena was the perfect daughter, the kind of kid they wanted me to be. She was smart and talented and all my dad’s colleagues mentioned what a civilized young lady she was. I’d be surprised if my parents weren’t already chatting with their richer friends about marrying her off to one of their sons, as though this was the fifties and Athena had no choice. But I knew my sister, and unlike me she would do anything they told her.
The twins, Harrietta and Henny, were ten and like oil and water. Harri preferred to be outside, playing basketball or watching the construction crew do their jobs, while Henny loved everything to do with dresses, makeup, and modeling. I’d hated the idea of our parents getting them phones so young, but they had, and now Henny spent most of her time on Instagram, taking “cute” pictures of herself.
Then there was my youngest sibling and only brother, Crew. He was five and idolized me. Most of the time when I talked to Athena on the phone she put him on, and there was something special about how he called my name in his small, sweet voice. It warmed my heart in ways I couldn’t explain. So, even if I wanted to break my connection with my parents, it wasn’t possible. I loved my sisters and brother too much.
“Fuck.” I scrubbed my hands over my face. I didn’t have a choice in this and Dad knew it. I just didn’t know what I should expect when I got there.
* * *
My parents’mansion sat in the rich hills of New Gothenburg, on Vert Island. They weren’t considered hills exactly, but they had inclines built specifically for the upper crust so they could have those million-dollar views they always seemed so hell-bent on possessing. The closer to the lake the house was, the more expensive the home, which was why my parents lived directly on the shore. I’d grown up in a two-story mansion with wooden shingles, gray brick, and asymmetrical facades. Everything about the mansion projected wealth, from the architecture to the expansive green lawn with a tennis court, Olympic-sized swimming pool, and deck that led onto the lake. If Dad got the chance to show off how much cash he had, he took it.
My car wasn’t the only one in the white pebble driveway as I pulled up, but it was definitely the ugliest. Dad had wanted to buy me a car—a Mercedes, like he preferred—but I had waved off his offers. Instead I went to the used-car dealership with savings from my weekly allowance and purchased a red Dodge Charger. Whoever owned it before me had clearly done some damage to it, and it still had the same dents and bumps as when I first bought it. All my money had gone to the Charger’s cost, and I didn’t have any left over to fix her up.
The other vehicle in the driveway made me nearly swallow my tongue. It was ocean blue and looked like a Talacrest 250 GTO, but I’d read about one selling recently for fifty-five million dollars, so this couldn’t be an original. Even if it was a fake, the car was beautiful. I was never surprised to see expensive things around Dad, though. If it didn’t belong to him, one of his friends claimed it.
