Page 1 of Unspoken Rules

Chapter One

Bryson

I stare at the text thread on my phone. It’s well past the time I gave my father to respond, but I’m a fool, so I hold on to hope. It’ll just be another minute. Just one more minute. But I’ve spent too much time waiting for this man. Waiting for him to change, to accept me, to be proud of a single thing I do. It’s clear it’ll never happen, and it’s about time I let it go and move on, but he’s my father. So, easier said than done.

I pick up my beer and wash away the guilt of being mad at my father for not saving me by finishing the bottle. I’m an adult. Twenty-three years old. I shouldn’t have to rely on him for anything. There’s no reason I don’t have my shit together. Yet here I am; hoping my father will support me for once in my life. It’s a lost cause, but it’s all I have left. I’m desperate. I’m also a huge idiot, it seems.

There’s a loud crack behind me, followed by raucous laughter. I glance over my shoulder at the group of men dressed in suits standing around a pool table. Their ties are loosened, top buttons undone, jackets slung over chairs. One of them broke the racked balls, and he did it well. They’re scattered all along the table. I was never good at the game, but I enjoy watching.

My phone buzzes with an alert. I dart my gaze to it, expecting to see a text from my father letting me know he’s on his way to pick me up—as he said he would. It’s not a text. It’s a $500 deposit to my bank account.

Well, there’s that. He’d rather send me money than see me.

Not surprising, but it still stings. Money is impersonal, but Bart Montgomery thinks he can solve everything with money. Something he’s done his whole life. Most people don’t complain about it. Guess I’m the moron who’d rather have his attention than his cash. It’s pathetic, really.

He knew I was flying in today. I’d reminded him many times. So many times. Thinking back on our conversations, I should have taken his vague responses for what they were—a reason to shut me up. The man wants nothing to do with me, but he’s my only option.

And he said he would do it!

Not sure why I came back to Oregon in the first place. I’m more suited for the east coast. Problem was I didn’t have anywhere to live there either. Not unless I wanted to stay with my douchebag ex—which I didn’t. My father was the lesser of the two evils. It’s why I’m here, trying to beg the devil himself to let me in his house, so I’m not sleeping on the street. It’s the least he could do for his son.

But no. That’s not Bart Montgomery. He, too, chooses the lesser of two evils, which is why I got money for a hotel room rather than a ride to his house. My father and I are not close, but I know him well. He didn’t send me the money as an apology; he sent it because he knows I don’t have enough to afford a place to stay. It was a dig. All of this would have been much easier had he just outright told me to fuck off and leave him alone. But again, that’s not Bart Montgomery. Always a lesson to be taught and learned with that man.

I appreciate the money he sent, don’t get me wrong. I’m not ungrateful. But I’m not sure I can afford a hotel here in Astoria even with my father’s addition. Maybe a night. Half of one? Do they have hourly-rate hotels here?

I shouldn’t have come back here. Putting any sort of trust in my father was stupid. What I should have done was go to Lynncastor, my hometown, where all my friends are. All my successful friends with jobs and lives. Friends who have made smart decisions over the years, unlike me, who has nothing to show for all I’ve done. Because apparently, getting a BFA doesn’t mean a damn thing anymore.

In hindsight, I’d have gone to Lynncastor and not told my father I was coming back to this side of the country. He doesn’t deserve my attention. Wish I knew why I kept giving it to him.

“Can I get another beer, please?” I ask the bartender when he walks by.

I hold up my empty one before placing it on his side of the bar. He nods and heads to the cooler.

He’s a good-looking guy, and he’s been eying me since I sat down. Wouldn’t be against going home with him for the night. He’s young, but he’d probably be fun in bed. I say that like I’m old. We’re probably the same age. Regardless, one-night stands aren’t my thing. Even if it means sleeping in a bed. Relationships aren’t really my thing either, though. I’m more of a stay away from people kind of person. My sexual appetite has never been high, so avoiding people is easy.

Maybe I’ll piss off my father and spend all the money he gave me here instead. At least I’ll feel better when I’m drunk. Until the alcohol wears off, and I feel like shit. Hangovers suck. Drunk-calling him and begging for a place to sleep because I used his money on alcohol would be satisfying. He already thinks I’m a disappointment, so I may as well do what I can to prove it. I’ll be pissed at myself when I wake up in a bathtub of ice, missing a kidney, though. I’ll only have myself to blame for more poor choices.

“Rough night?” the bartender asks, giving me a sad smile as he puts the beer in front of me. I think he told me his name when I walked in, but hell if I remember it.

“Yeah, you could say that.” I reach for the beer and guzzle half of it.

He watches me carefully. When I put the beer down, he picks up a bottle of whiskey and pours a shot.

“This one’s on me.” He slides it to me, giving me a soft smile.

“Thanks,” I say, picking it up and shooting it back.

Don’t usually like whiskey, but since my plan is to get so trashed that sleeping on the sidewalk won’t matter, I can’t be picky about what I’m drinking.

I should tell him he doesn’t have a chance. He isn’t even my type. I don’t go for the pretty boys; I go for the rugged ones who could squash me with their pinky finger. A guy who looks like he could bench press me—and I’m not tiny. I’m average height and weight for a guy. And not that I want someone resembling Hafthor Bjornsson, but I want to feel safe—both physically and emotionally. But I guess that’s what we all want at the end of the day, isn’t it? That, and to be railed so good we forget our own name.

I smile at the bartender because he gave me a free shot, and well, I can’t turn my nose up at free shit. I’m a broke college graduate with no job, no partner, no future, and soon enough, no morals. That last one is a joke. Maybe.

Probably not.

“Can I get two more of those?” A man slides up beside me, his deep timber of a voice like a magnet, causing me to look at him without thinking. It takes a minute to process who I’m looking at. I blink once. Twice.

Yeah, he’s still there.

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