I expect him to say something along the lines of“Why are you wasting more time?”or something equally as annoying, but he doesn’t. Dad goes straight for the kill.
“I need a date, son. You have to grow up and tell us when you’re joining Ocean View.”
“W-what?” I sputter out, my blood pressure rising as I stare at the carpeted floor.
“There are plenty of people I could hire to take this position, and you’re prancing around telling ussoonevery few weeks. Enough of this. Give me a date for hire, and I’ll prepare everything. You just need to show up.” He sounds serious, annoyed even.
“But Dad, I’m not ready to commit—”
“You’re usingmycredit card to fly out and see your friend. We pay your bills. Give us a date or find your own income.”
Oh god, he’s serious. He wants me to lock in when I’ll be joining the family business, or he’s fucking cutting me off!
I know I’m a spoiled brat. Iknowthis. But it still hurts all the same, knowing I have to sign my life away or return to Burger King.
Sure, I have a degree, but I don’twantto work for some big corporation that’s going to suck my soul from my body and make this darkness so much harder to bear.
But I also need the means to get to Oregon, and someone to pay my rent.
“Those are the only options?” I murmur into the phone.
“Yes. Your uncle told me that he talked to you a few weeks ago, and that you sounded off. It’s time you grew up and bettered yourself, Landon. No more wallowing. No more fucking around.” His voice is so calm, yet so commanding, that I can’t even argue.
I run dates through my head, then say the latest I believe I can get away with. “The end of May. I’ll start at Ocean View at the end of May.”
Dad sighs, and I can practically see him rubbing his temples in annoyance from the other side of the phone. “Alright, bud. The end of May. Have fun on your trip, alright?”
Yeah. Fun.
Can I have any fun now that I know I’ve sold my soul?
The airport is crowded. It’s afternoon on a Saturday, so of course it is, but it annoys me all the same.
Everythingis annoying me because my entire future just became a lot more real, and I’m not one to be excited for the next big adventure. Not lately, anyway.
But I move through TSA anyway, clutching my carry-on and imagining a small cottage hidden in the woods, and a big, domineering man on his knees as I punish him the way he once punished me. Well, the same but different.
I have a plan. And if Nate hates it, well, he shouldn’t have ditched me this weekend.
I try calling the number he texts me from, but it keeps going to voicemail, which only pisses me off more. And ifthatwasn’t irritating enough, as I reach the screening machines, ready to run to my gate, my bag gets pulled for inspection. Of fucking course.
“Sir,” the middle-aged woman checking my bag calls out, “you can’t bring this in a carry-on. Our limit is 3.4 fluid ounces.”
She’s presenting the bottle of lube I packed to the whole fucking airport, leaving Nate’s gift right on top of my clothes. I guess it’s a good thing I’m not easily embarrassed.
And listen, I haven’t used coercion since Nate told me to lay low. I’m not sure what his deal was, but he seemed very adamant, and I haven’t really needed it.
But right now? As I’m trying to rush to my gate, and I kind of need that lube to equip Nate’s gift? Well, no time like the present. He’ll never know, anyway.
So I force my own will into my words, pressing the simmer in my chest up my throat as I say,“You’ll allow it this once.”
The security lady blinks, her eyes falling back to the bottle before she nods quickly, shoving all of my belongings right back into my bag and handing it over.
“Have a good day,” I tell her, not bothering to linger for her response.
I have twenty minutes until we board, and my gate isn’t particularly close. But I make it, settling into my seat with a sigh. The flight is short, sure, but it’s already late in the day, and I will only get so much time before I have to go.
My flight home tomorrow is a night flight, as it was the only one available, but as I arrive at an empty cottage, I’m still pissed. Where is he? Doesn’t he know we only get the weekend because of his pesky job?
