Page 22 of Striking Range

Ash and Felicita have only met Kelly once. Well, more of demanded that they meet her, so we had to attend a slightly awkward dinner my junior year of college. They had already met Henry, as we were high school friends, so I already knew of their distaste for him.

“He comes from nothing,” they had said. Being an art student did him no favors in the eyes of the Carmichaels, not that they’d ever show him that. To everyone else in this world, they are perfectly acceptable and completely accepting.

But Kelly, with her pink hair and punk rock attitude, was immediately on the hate list as far as my adoptive parents were concerned.

“Okay,” is all I say.

Ash turns those black eyes onto me, disapproving and angry. “Skylar has gone into the medical field—even has a job. He’s an outstanding boy. You would be smart to keep him around, to keep him close. But those other two—you need to stop wasting your time. I did not spend all of these years and all of this money raising you for you to roll around with a mutt and a delinquent.”

I can feel my blood boiling.

I wonder what he’d say if he knew what Skylar and I did last night. If he saw how tightly Sky clung to me, or the sounds he made as he groaned against my skin.

“They’re just friends. They won’t get in the way of my education, Dad,” I promise him.

He assesses me for a moment before lecturing, “I think you should find better company. Why aren’t you befriending kids in your own major? I’m sure there are some wealthy business heiresses or heirs in your classes.”

I shrug my shoulders, looking at his leather shoes to avoid his cold stare as I say, “It just didn’t work out that way.”

“You didn’t try.” His voice grows louder and more demanding. “You intentionally disobey me. I can make things difficult, Everett; I can take your car, cut off your living expenses. Is that what you want?”

I shake my head. My heart rate is skyrocketing, my blood pumping faster and faster. Why won’t this fucking headache go away?

“No, it’s not,” I concede. “It’s just that I’ve been friends with them so long now. I don’t want to—”

I feel his hand before I register that he’s standing. Ash is always so quick—almost as if he must catch me off guard. But I think he knows that even as I’m a buff, strong guy, I won’t defend myself. Not against him.

I have no one else to love me, not really.

“Do not disrespect me. I have done too much, sacrificed way more than you deserved, for you to be treating me this way. I am a revered man; you will treat me as such.”

“Yes, sir,” I whisper.

I can’t disagree with him; I can’t tell him no. That’s not how being a Carmichael kid works. It does not matter that I’ve kept my own last name; it does not matter that he is not my blood.

I am allowed to cower; I am allowed to bow and kneel and submit. Nothing else.

We watch the rest of Wheel of Fortune in silence. Felicita comes inside and takes a shower at some point, and I’m only allowed to leave once she’s done and ready to go out, dressed in her blouse and slacks. She loves to shop on Sundays, and Ash loves to drive her. Ever the loving husband.

“Are you coming back home tonight?” she asks as I follow them out front.

“I’m not sure. I’ll call,” I tell her.

Felicita nods, kisses me awkwardly on the cheek, and gets into the Cadillac, where Ash has the door held open for her.

Once she’s settled, he approaches me and clasps my shoulder. “Remember what I told you, Everett. Do not disappoint me.”

I watch the car back up and drive away.

Skylar works at the bar tonight, but until then, he should be home. I’m sure he’s already recovered from his hangover—bartenders tend to know all of the tips and tricks to recovering quickly, even if they’re normally a lightweight.

I use the house key I was given our sophomore year when he first started renting this place and walk in, kicking my shoes off at the front door. I steady myself for a moment, readying to take in the mess waiting for me.

Skylar was at the gym when I woke up this morning and hadn’t come back by the time I needed to leave, so I’ve yet to face him since… Well, since I had his tongue in my mouth.

It’s noon and all of the lights in the apartment are on. This man’s electric bill is always fucking ridiculous; he doesn’t know how to flip a switch.

I turn them off on my way to the living room, hearing the familiar sound of Family Guy playing from the TV. We’ve seen it all the way through at least ten times.