Page 39 of Cade

Hopefully, I’ll get the chance to make it up to him.

CHAPTER 22

Weston

If there was one thing I hated more than coming home, it was dinner with my parents. I knew how much of a dick that made me sound like, but I didn’t care. No one could really understand the whole vibe of the Rhodes when they were off the clock.

But despite my own personal feelings of being subjected to parental gaslighting, I knew it would be easier to just play along and get it over with.

Sit down with mom and dad, have some dinner, listen to their nitpicking and take it with a smile. Dad would give the usual ‘one day when I’m gone’ speech, and I could make my exit after that.

So, when I pulled up to the Rhodes house, I was already in a shit mood and I didn’t anticipate a sunny, cheery dinner.

Not to mention I was still kicking myself for not leaning in and kissing Cade when it was more than apparent that was what he wanted.

What is happening to me?

I exited my Uber, the melancholy settling in as I looked up the long driveway at the colonial style mansion that I spent most of my summers in and out of. The dogwood trees framing the yard and the stark, white columns in the front of the house looked ominous. Walking through the front door was like walking through the gates of heaven, or hell, if you actually knew what lay behind them.

“Oh, hello Weston,” my mother said cheerily as I opened the door. She stood in the foyer with a martini in her hand, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright. Judging by the cavalier way she pulled me into a hug, practically sloshing her gin, I would have bet it was at least the third she’d had. It’s happy hour somewhere, dear, she’d always say.

“Mother,” I said dryly as I set my hand on her back lightly, steadying her for the moment.

“You are early, again,” my father said as he came down the hall, scotch in hand, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

His immediate presence made me straighten my stance, made whatever miniscule feelings of contentedness I had felt disappear in the cold, bitter air of the foyer.

“Father,” I said as I let go of my mother.

The scent of roast duck hit me, along with the pungent smell of garlic and I had to work to keep my face even. I never cared for the fowl, no matter how they prepared it.

Mother waved her hand, dismissing my father. “No matter what time he shows up, dear. This is his home.”

Yup, definitely her third.

“Home is in the city, mother, but thanks.”

My father’s eyes met mine for a moment, a dark look passing through his. It was as if he wanted to say something, but he refused.

Odd, usually the man just says what he wants with no regard to how other people will take it.

“Pish posh, darling, you will always be a Rhodes and therefore all roads will eventually lead you home to Jasper Springs where you belong.”

I dismissed her comment as she toddled off toward the kitchen. My father followed her without question, brushing past me with an intensity that made me feel on edge.

I’d rather he just say his piece and get on with it, so I could get on with my damn life.

I followed my parents through the oversized kitchen, past the actual chef, since my mother never touched a stove in her life, and the only time she used a cutting board was to slice her lemons and limes for her cocktails.

“Smells delicious, Margo,” I said with a rueful smile as I passed by.

Margo, who’d been the family chef since I was about eight, only looked at me with a bright smile of her own and a warmth that actually settled my nerves some.

“Thank you, sir,” she said sweetly.

I hated it when people did that. Called me sir like I was some old man, at least in the presence of my every day life.

However, I certainly didn’t mind it one bit when a blue-eyed god with silky blond hair and the lips of a fucking angel called me sir. Or submitted to my commands.

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