Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86614 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86614 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“I wasn’t. I was just going to come down with you and make sure everything is okay. Shit, Rams. Does he do this often?”
“Often enough. When I don’t pay enough attention to his phone calls or do what he wants, this is what happens.” And I’d never shared it with anyone. Not even Houston. It was embarrassing as shit. I was lucky that I’d rarely had this happen when someone was staying the night, but when it did, I usually just asked them to stay in my room. I didn’t tell them Mike Ramsey got off on making my life hell.
I grabbed a pair of shorts out of my drawer and tossed them to him.
“Should I come down with you?” Garrett asked, his eyes filled with concern.
“He’s not stupid enough to try and lay a hand on me. He’s probably just drunk and wants money.”
Buzz. Buzz. Buzzzzz.
Still, Garrett tugged the clothes on and followed me out of my room and to the stairs. It was cute, him trying to protect me, but this was embarrassing enough. “I’ll be fine. Stay here. Maybe tucked around the corner some so he doesn’t see you.”
“Okay, but I’m watching. If he tries something, he’ll have both of us to fuck with.”
“Aww, my hero.” I pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, which was…what the fuck was that? It felt more intimate than having my dick in his ass.
I jogged downstairs before either of us could say anything. Once I had the door open, my dad staggered inside. “Why the fuck don’t you answer my calls? You think you’re too good for me? Big fucking NFL player in the goddamned league that fucked over your dad, and you can’t even pick up my phone calls?”
“They didn’t fuck you over. You ruined your career. You have no one to blame but yourself.”
“Don’t you talk to me like that.” He pressed a finger into my chest. I heard movement upstairs and knew Garrett was there waiting.
I grabbed his wrist tightly. “Don’t. Touch. Me.” God, I fucking hated him so much. Hated that when I was young I wanted to be like him, and now all I cared about was being better than him, on and off the field.
He jerked his hand back. “I need some money.”
It was never anything new. In the beginning, I used to give it to him, but that just made him ask for more. I’d decided a long time ago I was cutting him off and hadn’t faltered since. “Get a job.”
“Fuck you, Warner. I raised you. I gave you everything. I put food on the table and a roof over your head. You wouldn’t be shit if it wasn’t for me, and you sure as hell wouldn’t be in the NFL. You have a career because I built you!”
I inwardly flinched, hating that a part of me was still that scared, insecure kid who thought he might be right. Usually, I would have just tried to pacify him so I didn’t have to deal with the drama, but I was so fucking tired of this…of him. Of the fact that I had a gorgeous man waiting for me, and I had to be down here dealing with this shit.
That Garrett had to hear him say these things about me. I couldn’t even imagine what he thought, and that made embarrassment light a fire under my anger. “I worked my ass off to get where I am. Me.” I hit my chest. “Not you. All you did was tear me down, blow your career because you think everyone owes you and you can do what you want. Then you blamed me. I’m not that fucking kid, and I won’t deal with it. You want help, I’ll be there if it’s to straighten up your life, but I sure as shit am not going to give you money to blow on what-the-fuck-ever you want, and I’m not going to be your verbal punching bag.”
He spun around, pacing. “I built you,” he said again.
“You need to leave, or I’ll call the cops.” But we both knew I wouldn’t, not because I cared about him as much as I didn’t want to bring the media’s attention.
“Sometimes I can’t believe you’re my son. Your mother would have been disappointed.”
This time, my flinch showed. He knew exactly where to strike to hurt me, exactly what to say. In my heart I knew she wouldn’t. I knew she’d loved me, and she had to have seen him for who he was, but…what if she hadn’t? What if I’d built up this image of her in my mind and that wasn’t who she’d been? What if I really was a bad person? What if I was just like him? “Get out,” I said between clenched lips.
“Such a fucking disappointment.” He turned and walked away, leaving the door open behind him.