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The memory threatens to surge up, and I push it back. "Yeah, I don't think I'm going to hate it if that guy gets knocked down a peg or twenty."
"You and pretty much everyone else. He's just so damn good with the numbers. Or at least his employees are. He's good with people, cajoling them, threatening them, doing whatever it takes to get their money."
I blink. I know someone else who is good with people too. Not that I'd admit I found any similarities between Drew and his father to his face. He seems to hate the man, as I do. As does Seb apparently.
"So why is he holding the meeting if everyone hates him?"
"Good question. He’ll be asking himself that question after the meeting too if things go the way I want."
There's so much threat in his tone I sit back, putting some distance between us. I haven't heard that tone since before we found out the truth of our relationship. Back when he thought I was a pretty amusement for Drew.
"Well, tell me what I need to do," I whisper. "I can handle it."
He nods and smiles, his eyes softening, his shoulders slipping down now. "I know. We've got this. Together."
I nod, feeling not so alone anymore. "Together."
19
DREW
The desire to go to her calls to me. I want to see her, to be around her, to hold her, and be beside her, but I can’t. Not when I’m like this. In the past, I didn’t give a fuck about taking my anger out on her. I used her body as an outlet, and well, I wouldn’t have a problem with that so much if she wasn’t already fragile enough. I can’t risk doing something stupid and breaking the fragile trust building between us.
I pull out my phone and send her a quick text: I miss you. I care about you. I can’t wait to see you. I clutch my phone for a second, thinking about deleting it. Maybe it sounds stupid or too sappy. But I shake my head, lock my phone, and take a deep breath.
I can’t allow my anger to lead me. I’ve done that before, and it’s only ever left a path of chaos in its wake. I need to do better. I can do better.
Why didn't I destroy him? Time and time again, I've had the opportunity, occasionally, to take him out, but I’ve always hesitated. Pussied out. And why? Because he's my father? Before, I could see that, but now that I have the knowledge that I do, there’s no reason.
Yeah, he usually has guards with him. Their standing orders are always to punch first and ask questions later. The thought of my fist marks on his skin is enough to reignite the anger I'd started to feel simmering away. I want to crush his throat, slam his face into a wall, and punch him until he can't see straight. All things he's done to me over the years.
I'd take the pain to my hands, my knuckles split from hitting him, all of it. I'd revel in it, and then I'd show Bel so she'd understand what I'd done, that I had stood up to my father, and that I was done playing his little games.
I clench my fists and jog up the steps to the football team's training gym. The heat and anger blazing through me might keep me away from her for now, but I'll see her soon. I need to see her.
A few guys from the team are lifting weights when I enter. Weights line the mirrored room, leaving the middle of the floor open. The scent of sweat and rubber is overwhelming, but I ignore it. It's certainly better than the overfull gym on campus that the rest of the student body can use.
I drop my bag by an empty bench and turn to eye a heavy bag hanging from the ceiling. This is what I need. I'm a damn good football player because I practice. Now, the next time my father comes at me like that, I’ll be ready.
I sit on the bench and carefully wrap my hands. While I don't give a shit if they get bruised, I can't let these guys see me being careless with the quarterback hands.
One of the second-string linemen wanders over as I finish up and strip off my jacket.
"Hey, Drew, what's up, man? We haven't seen you around."
I make a noncommittal hum and study the bag. Most of the campus knows it's rush season, and most of the campus has no idea about The Mill, but the rich ones, the football players, the trust-fund kids usually know because of a family legacy at some point. So when I level the guy with a long stare, he nods once and returns to his workout.
I'm known for being brutal on the field, and I sure as shit don't want to invite open questions about my time or my whereabouts.
As I pound the bag, some of the anger begins to fizzle, channeled through my fists, burning away under the pain in my hands, my arms, my abs, as I move.
As always, my thoughts stray back to her. The way she'd look at me right now. I freeze. Well, shit. The way she used to look at me. Now, I feel like I might not know this new Bel at all. She's different, no less appealing to me, but different.
Regardless of how much I want to destroy him, I need answers first. I need to understand the depths of his evil mind and what he's done so I can make sure he doesn't wheedle out of this like he does everything else. All my life, he's gotten away from deplorable and evil things. Shit, I'm no saint, but what my father has done has always been so much worse. I once witnessed him cave a man’s skull in by bashing it on the side of his desk like an egg. He didn’t even bat an eye or seem fazed by his actions.
I punch the bag and think.
I punch the bag and plan.
