Page 5 of Wicked Scandal

I sigh, the sound barely audible as I give my phone one last look. Just as I tap the like button on her comment, Rome nudges me again, this time harder, and somehow the volume on my phone goes all the way up, playing the sound on the video.

“It’s cool but you have to keep it down. My roommates are still sleeping.” It’s not my voice, but it’s the sound I used on my video that’s playing out loud. “You mean your parents?”

I fumble with my phone in my pocket, pushing my hand hard against it, trying to silence the sound, but it’s not working.

Dad pins me with a scathing glare and I gulp as I pull my phone out, holding my finger on the volume button until the sound disappears completely. “Sorry,” I mouth the word as my cheeks fill with heat.

“Should have listened to me,” Rome whispers with a low chuckle.

My chin drops to my chest and I shake my head, unable to look at anyone now. I can’t believe this shit just happened.

Even if my dad is holding it together right now, there’s no doubt I’m gonna get hell for this one. He’s made it very clear how important this is to him and he wants it to be equally as important to us.

Dad places his hands on either side of the podium and leans forward to continue. “As a lifelong resident of Willow Creek, this town is my home. I plan to use the skills I’ve garnered, as well as the relationships I’ve built, to achieve prosperity for every single one of us.”

The applause resumes and when I steal a glance at my dad, I notice his eyes are sparkling with pride. The crinkles around his mouth deepen as a broad smile stretches across his face. I really need to take this more seriously for him—we all do.

With this new venture for my dad comes great responsibility for our family. I get it. I’m not a complete idiot. I just hope this fuckup didn’t change my dad’s mind about me jumping right into my position at his company as his financial writer this fall.

College was never part of my plan. I’ve never been ashamed or embarrassed to admit that and my dad has never pushed me in that direction. My patience is lacking and I really want to jump right into the workforce after I graduate. After my mom passed away a couple years ago, I didn’t think I’d ever see my dad this happy again.

Yet, here he is. Basking in bliss from the electric energy of almost all of Willow Creek with his family surrounding him. He deserves this, and I hope like hell he buries the current mayor, Troy Jenkins, in this election.

“A word, Wilder.” Dad’s voice is stern as he curls his fingers from the bottom step in the basement back at the house. He turns around, giving me his back as he walks upstairs, knowing I’ll follow him.

Rome chuckles, his eyes locked on the video he’s playing on the television in front of the couch. He leans forward, tapping his fingers on the controller with his elbows on his knees.

“None of this is funny,” I assure him. “This mayor shit means a lot to Dad. Had you not…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don’t turn the blame on me. I tried to warn you, but you just had to keep on checking that stupid app.” It’s just like my brother to claim no responsibility for the chaos he causes while also discounting the thing I care about. He has this ability to float through life as if he rules the world around him, making me feel about two inches tall next to him.

“It’s not stupid. It’s a lifestyle, and now a job. It’s my escape from college.” I have tried to get him to understand, I’ve tried to explain it to everyone in my family. But no one gets it. No one understands how much social media is an escape for me, just as much as it can be for my followers. It makes life feel less overwhelming. Almost like I actually have control even when I know I don’t.

Rome shrugs on the couch, spreading his arms as if he couldn’t give a fuck. “Thought working for Dad was your escape from college? Not that you need it. Your grades are better than mine and I’m going to UCLA.”

“Football got you into UCLA.” Rome side-eyes me with a snarl. “I’m not saying you’re not smart. You’ve got the brains, but football paved the path for your future. As for me, working for Dad is my plan to keep him satisfied. My real passion is creating content. I don’t need college for that.”

“Wilder!” Dad’s voice booms down the stairs. “Now!”

With a heavy sigh, I walk shamefully upstairs, prepared to take whatever he gives me. Fortunately, Dad doesn’t yell at us often, so I don’t think I’ll be on the receiving end of rage and threats. He does, however, have a tendency to make us think really long and hard about our behavior and how it will affect us in the future. Especially when we’ve fucked up.

I find him in the kitchen, swirling a small crystal glass of scotch on ice. As soon as he sees me, he sets it down on the granite center island in the kitchen, eyebrows raised.

“Look, Dad,” I begin, hoping to explain myself before he reminds me of what I’ve done. “I know what I did was stupid. I just?—”

“Just what, Wilder? Decided my candidacy speech was a good time to make one of those little videos of yours?” His voice is calm, but his expression is loud as fuck.

“I wasn't making a video,” I say quietly, feeling like I made more than just one stupid mistake. “I was watching one.”

“Oh,” he pipes up, grabbing his glass. He brings it to his mouth, smiling coyly over the rim. “You were just watching a video in front of hundreds of people while I spoke to them. Everything’s fine then. Carry on with your day, son.” The sarcasm in his tone is apparent and it literally makes me feel two feet tall.

Shrugging my shoulders, I bow my head shamefully. “I messed up.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

There’s a stillness in the room that’s unnerving. A drawn-out silence that has me desperate to get out of here. Just when I think my dad might excuse me and we can move on from what happened, he gestures toward the barstool. “Have a seat, Wilder.”

I should've known he’d use this situation as a teaching moment. Everything is a teaching moment with my dad.

I sit down and instead of him joining me on one of the stools, he leans into the center island, elbows pressed to the countertop as he grips his drink, the ice clanking against the crystal as he swirls it.

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