“Pops, what? I want to talk to my son—I don’t need no jock chaser standin’ here while I do it.” He flicks his gaze at Charlie. “No offense, sweetheart. I’m sure you’re a great girl.”

Did my father just imply that my girlfriend is a slut who sleeps with anyone who’s an athlete? Yeah. I think he did.

“Charlotte isn’t a cleat chaser.” I feel the need to explain, though it’s pointless—he’s going to believe what he wants to believe, because he doesn’t want me dating. Charlie could be standing here in a nun’s habit and he’d still hate her on sight. Nothing I say is going to resonate with him. “We’re datin’.”

Pops leans back in the chair, balancing on two legs. Releases his hold so they crash back to the ground with a loud thud of his weight and metal.

“Since when are you allowed to date?” The arrogant asshole looks smug.

“I’m twenty-two.”

“I’m twenty-two,” he mocks in a placating voice. “You think you have it all figured out, do ya? Are you sleepin’ with her?”

Why is he doing this in front of Charlie, where everyone else in the house can hear us? Not many guys are back from the game yet, but they will be, and the last thing I want is them walking in on this argument.

It makes me look like a pussy with no control over his life, a boy whose father tells him what to do.

Because I’ve always allowed my father to tell me what to do.

“I asked you a question, son. Are you sleepin’ with her?”

Beside me, Charlie’s fingers dig into my hips—a warning squeeze I can’t translate. Does she want me to be honest, or does she want me to lie? Or, does she want me to say nothing at all? I can’t fucking tell.

“Charlie’s my girlfriend.”

“You’re datin’ a girl with a boy’s name?” He studies her crudely, as only my father can do. “You ain’t one of them alternative girls, are ya?”

Jesus Christ. Could it get any worse?

“My son is not allowed to date. I hope the ride was worth it, because the fun is over.” Pops shoots me a look over the top of her head. “Grab your bags—we’re movin’ you out of here. If you can’t focus, we’ll find ya somewhere you can.”

It’s official; Pops is nuts. “I’m not leavin’.”

“I’ll call in a favor. We’ll get you in an apartment.”

“I’m not moving into an apartment.” Then I do something I’ve never done before: I roll my eyes at my father.

Pops stands. Rises to his full height and attempts to look me in the eye.

Charlie grips my waist harder.

Shit, she’s anxious. I can feel the stiffness in her grasp, even without looking down at her. I squeeze her back, offering up some reassurance; it can’t possibly be comforting, but it’s the best I can do if she wants to stay standing next to me. I actually have no damn idea how this is going to end, but one thing’s for damn sure: it’s not going to end well.

“If this is the behavior you’re goin’ to exhibit while having a goddamn girlfriend, then you won’t fuckin’ have one.”

I pull a face; is he seriously trying to tell me to dump Charlie? With her standing two feet away? My father is officially off his rocker. “You’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m breakin’ up with my girlfriend because you’re tellin’ me to.”

“You’ll not only do it, you’ll do it today, before I leave this house.”

I tip my head back and laugh. “Whatever.”

Jackson Jennings Senior’s nostrils flare, pure contempt shining in his blue eyes. He looks like me—or rather, I look like him—and it’s freaky as fuck watching him as his blood boils. It used to scare the shit out of me as a kid, but now that I’m taller and bulkier, it’s not so scary.

“Pops, you should probably go.”

“What did you just say to me?”

I swallow, choking down the fear rising in my throat. I’ve never so much as spoken down to my father, let alone kicked him out of my house. The thought of it makes me want to vomit all over the fucking kitchen floor, nerves destroying my stomach.

“I said, you should probably go.”

He laughs, tipping his head back like I just did. “You keep talkin’ to me that way and I’ll knock your teeth so far down your throat you’ll be spittin’ ’em out single file.”

Jesus Christ—does he have to talk like this in front of my friends? Rodrigo’s sister is in the corner of the living room, eyes wide as she pops a potato chip in her mouth, totally watching the action with interest. Horrified.

I mean, Rodrigo’s been in some loud fights with his family in the main rooms of our house, but his parents have never threatened to bash his teeth in in front of his friends.

I’m so fucking embarrassed, the flush on my chest rises to my cheeks, burning my skin along the way.

Shit.

Charlie’s hands rub my back, but I just need her gone.

Want my dad gone.

Want to disa-fucking-ppear into myself, the drama too much for me to handle.

This is not what I signed up for when I started dating her. Not what I wanted to happen the first time she met my family—not that I expected it to go well, but I thought it would be at least slightly better than this shit show.

“Dad.” I’ve never used that word to address him a day in my life, and it has his full attention now. “Would you calm down?”

“No, Jackson, I won’t calm down. I rode halfway across the damn country to watch you fuck up half your plays, and now I’m standin’ here starin’ at the reason why.” His eyes rake up and down critically, starting at her feet. “She don’t even look worth it.”

That’s not true; I had a great game, and he’s just being a salty motherfucker. She is worth it, and I can’t believe he’d say something like that in front of her.

I’ve never been so humiliated in my entire life.

“Pops, tone it down. People can hear you.”

He laughs. “You mean the idiots who lost you the game? Are you forgetting you’re the only one on this team entering the draft this year?”

Not this year, next year—I want to graduate with a degree first. But I haven’t told him that, and I’m not going to do it now.

I’ve never seen Charlie’s eyes so wide. She’s one part terrified, another part disgusted, and fully ready to flee.

“Jesus, Pops, keep it down,” I hiss, desperate to diffuse the growing argument.

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do.”

“Maybe I should go.” Charlie sighs beside me, speaking barely loud enough for me to hear as she slips away. I can’t catch a breath or turn my head to watch her go because my father is in my face, breathing fire.

I throw my arm out to stop her, but my father stops me instead.

“Let her walk away, Jackson. You’ll let her go if you know what’s good for your career.”

Exactly—it’s my career. My life.

Not yours, old man.

I don’t know where Charlie runs off to, if she left out the front door or the back, if she returned to my room and will be there when I finally return—if I return. I have to clear my head. Maybe I should just get the fuck out of here…