Page 121 of Break Points and Face Offs

I swallow, looking him in the eye. “If I have children, they won’t be biologically mine.”

He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Until this moment, I didn’t think I had an opinion on having my own biological children. But listening to my father lament on the family name and its importance, I’ve realized that if I do have children, I don’t want them to have my name, or my blood. I don’t want this man to have any influence over them whatsoever. I want them to be raised the way Will was, with the kind of unconditional love his parents showed him and the values they instilled in him from a young age.

“Will O’Reilly is my boyfriend.”

His head snaps back like I just punched him. He’s too confused to be angry, yet.

“I’m gay,” I reiterate.

He makes a noise I’ve never heard him make.

When Jamie came out, Father wasn’t exactly surprised. His main emotion was disappointment—disappointment he made damn sure Jamie could see.

This time, he’s flabbergasted. He can barely get his words out. It’s a little scary, seeing someone who has been in command of themselves for your entire life suddenly fall apart.

“You cannot be serious,” he finally spits out.

I almost laugh at the fact he unknowingly sounds like a bratty tennis player.

“I’m deadly serious, Father.”

“How can you be … gay. Jamie’s gay, you … you’re⁠—”

“Also gay.” He turns back to the window as if the view is going to give him the answers.

“This can’t be possible.” He’s muttering to himself, rubbing the back of his neck, skewing his pristine shirt collar. I went to London with him to have that suit tailored. Sat in the tailor’s chair, admiring the man I thought of as invincible. Now he’s crumbling before me like a block of feta.

“Is this because your mother and I divorced when you were children?”

I snort.

“Was it the school? The all-boys school?”

He is genuinely asking. He isn’t angry—he’s scared.

“No, Father, it wasn’t the all-boys school or the divorce.” I explain patiently. “Will had the most stable, heterosexual upbringing you can imagine. His father is a hockey-loving, macho firefighter and his mother is affectionate and present. Your upbringing doesn’t make you gay. You just either are or you’re not. It’s nature, not nurture.”

He blinks at me a few times before sinking into his chair and running a hand over his face. I watch in amazement as he loosens his tie. I have never once seen him loosen his tie anywhere outside of the house.

I give him time to compose himself and take it all in. Is he having a realization? Maybe he’ll see that in trying to push us to succeed, he has only pushed us away. Seeing him frightened rather than angry has shown him in a new light. Maybe⁠—

“Leave your cards on the table and go.”

I blink, wondering if I misheard. “What?”

When he fixes me in his gaze again, it’s cold, like he’s looking at a stranger. “If you want to be independent, Priestley, if you’re so disdainful of wealth inequality, let me help you by taking away those status symbols. I’m sure your communist boyfriend won’t approve of you having a Black Card, will he?”

My nostrils flare, but only because he’s trying to insult Will.

I stand, unfastening the button on my jacket before reaching into my pocket for my wallet. I take the Black Card out and place it down on Father’s desk before slipping the wallet back into my pocket.

“And the rest.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Surely you don’t want my bank card?”

“The platinum and the membership cards, Priestley. If you are so above the life I’ve built for you, then you won’t want to benefit from it any longer, I assume?”