Page 67 of Striking Range

I’m in the kitchen taking another shot as Ash and Felicita come home. They’re laughing as they walk through the front door, and I try to slip back up the stairs before I’m spotted.

Felicita catches me, asking, “Everett? You’re up?”

“Uh, yeah. Hey.” I try my best to appear sober, to seem functional and not like I’m in the middle of an identity crisis.

“Have you been drinking?”

Okay, so I failed.

I offer her, and Ash, who has come up behind her, a smile. “Yeah. I’m celebrating a test I just aced.”

Lie. There was no test.

“Well, don’t drink too much,” Ash lectures, but I can see it in his face that they’ve been drinking too.

His eyes are glazed over, and he’s smiling at me. He never smiles at me without an audience.

“Yes, sir.” I turn to head back up the stairs, but he stops me.

“Why don’t you come hang out with your old man?”

I freeze. “I actually—”

“It wasn’t a request,” he interrupts.

Before I can say another word, he turns and heads for the living room, swiping a bottle of Brandy from the kitchen along the way.

In the living room, he pours us both a glass, handing one to me as we sit on the couch.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

“You know that I’m hard on you because I care,” Ash randomly says. His voice sounds wistful and full of pride.

“About me or your image?” I want to say, but even drunk, I can’t.

“I know,” is what I say instead, because I’m a bitch.

He smiles. “Good. So, how’s that girlfriend hunt going?”

I take a deep breath, swallowing thickly. I can hear Ashley in my ear.

Do I want to live in this misery? Do I want to be under his thumb until one of us dies? Will I ever be able to become who I want to be, even in the shadow of his death?

I don’t have to mention being into guys; I can just say I’m not interested in dating, right? How mad can he truly get? Plus, he’s in a really good mood, all hopped up on expensive booze.

If I don’t stick up for myself now, then when?

“Ah, well. It didn’t work out with that girl I was seeing. But that’s okay; I’m going to graduate, and then maybe I’ll meet someone at the office.”

Perfect. Nothing is revealed, and I can put a stop to this ridiculous relationship hunt. It can’t be affecting his image that much, my being single.

But the room has fallen silent after my little speech, and eventually I gather the courage to look at him. He’s staring at me, almost in awe—as if he can’t believe I’m turning away his bulletproof plan on how to be successful.

“I… you… What?” he stutters out.

I squirm, taking a drink of my Brandy. “I’m just going to focus on my studies right now.”

His glass shatters against the wall across the room.