Page 110 of After Midnight

And it just makes him more enraged.

“See, this is why I wanted you to play college ball,” he says. Hands on his hips, he shakes his head. “Sports make you a man. But you still act like a boy. You take no responsibility, don’t show up when we need you.”

More heat builds inside me, and I fail at my goal of not rising to his bait. “I’m not a man now? Even though I’m the one keeping your fucking house intact? Keeping your piece of shit truck running?”

“Because you fucking owe me!” my father yells, his face going red.

And I know there’s no way Remi didn’t hear that. But I find it impossible to stop now.

“I don’t owe you shit,” I snap back. “You did fuck-all for me when I was a kid. I’ve worked hard for everything I have.”

“No, you got lucky.” He takes a bold step forward, but I don’t move. “You’ve spent years getting drunk, sleeping around, and banging on drums, acting like you’re better than all the rest of us. Hard work has nothing to do with it.”

“Seb?”

I turn, and Remi’s standing there, wrapped in a towel, still wearing her floppy sun hat. She takes her sunglasses off, her gaze flicking from me to my father and back. Slowly, understanding dawns on her face.

And my father lets out a low, scornful laugh. “I see. So, she’s the shit you’ve been doing, huh? The next one in your revolving door?”

The heat inside me turns into a snarling inferno. My gaze slides back to him, and I shift in the doorway so he can no longer see Remi standing behind me.

“You,” I say, voice low, “have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

“No? I have eyes, son. I see what you do. I know you.”

I shake my head. “You don’t know anything about me. You’ve never cared to know me. All you care about is what you can get from me.”

“Just like all the women in your life, huh?”

For a moment, there’s a rushing in my ears, a mixture of anger and shame and guilt.

Because even though he’s an asshole, he’s also right.

All these years, I’ve tried to buy affection, have believed that I’m only worth something so long as I can provide. It’s what my father taught me. I’m useless if I’m not willing to bleed money.

And he’s bled me more times than I can count. No matter how many times he does it, I just bandage myself up and keep going. Over and over again.

But not Remi. She bought me pizza on our first date and picked me up from the airport for the second. She makes me dinner and holds me when I need her and never asks for a single fucking thing from me, even when she should. And that just makes me want to give her more. To give her everything.

Because she fucking deserves it. And my dad doesn’t.

I look down at him, standing on my porch, and I see him differently.

Instead of a man I’m supposed to earn something from, I see a man who should’ve given freely—love, affection, praise. A child shouldn’t have to bleed for a parent to consider them worthy of love. I fucking see that now. Finally, after way more years than I care to count.

I draw myself up in the doorway. Dad looks smaller now, somehow, though that doesn’t stop him from glaring right back at me.

“You need to leave,” I say.

His eyes narrow. He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off.

“No. We’re done.”

His face is turning a brighter shade of red. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

I take a step forward onto my porch, forcing him to take a step back. “I’ve tried to earn your approval for years. I’ve paid your bills. I’ve fixed your truck. I’ve maintained the house. I’ve answered every fucking phone call, just to keep the peace. But I’m done trying to buy your affection.” I shake my head, somehow relieved and angry and disgusted all at the same time. “It’s not worth it.”

“Family takes care of family. And you owe—”