Page 70 of Burn It Down

“Father, I’m a thirty-year-old man, a graduate of Yale. Please stop treating me like a child who isn’t capable of making good decisions.”

“Then start acting like an adult whocan.”

“For your information, I discussed this with Cora before I invited Dylan. And how dare you speak about him like he’s beneath you.”

“Is he not? The man fixes cars for a living, son. Why don’t you invite your plumber next time too? Does Dylan have an investment account? A retirement account? Hell, does he even have asavingsaccount?”

“Why does that matter? People are more than just the sum of their bank accounts,” I snap.

“Can you honestly say he sees past yours?”

Technically, he doesn’t know what’s in mine.

The ice in my father’s voice matches the color of Dylan’s eyes, but instead of warming me like those eyes do, his words chill me to the bone.

My father has no idea thatI’mthe one who pursued Dylan. Not the other way around. Dylan doesn’t look at me with dollar signs in his eyes unlike everyone else at this club and the office, who kiss my ass because of my wealth and my last name.

“Yes. I can. He’s become a close friend of mine and he’s here as my guest. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go ensure he understands that not all of us are like you.”

My father catches my arm as I start to move past him. “Watch it, son. Your future depends on you beingexactlylike me.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from releasing the harsh words I want to throw at him, and yank my arm free from his grasp. Controlling my steps, I walk with purpose, scanning the hallways for Dylan’s familiar frame, but start to panic when I can’t find him.

Jake 6:37pm

Where are you?

Dylan 6:38pm

Grabbing some air.

I burst through a side door, wanting to avoid the people still pouring in through the front doors, and whisper his name. I’d rather not draw more attention to myself if I can help it. Seems like my father is paying enough attention for all of the attendees tonight.

“Dylan?”

“Over here.”

My shoulders sag with relief when I see him leaning against the brick building, one foot kicked up on the wall. The way his foot is bouncing makes me feel like he’s about to bolt.

Not that I blame him.

“My dad is an asshole. I’m so sorry about that.”

“He might be an asshole, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong.”

“What? Of course he’s wrong, Dylan.Fuck him.”

I’m overcome with the need to touch the man in front of me. I inch closer, losing what little self-control I had to begin with, when he puts a hand on my chest to stop me.

I could sob with the pain and frustration billowing inside me.

“Goddammit!” I rear back to punch the brick wall, welcoming the pain. But Dylan’s faster than I am. Knowing what’s about to happen, he catches my fist in his palm, kisses my knuckles, and rests my hand over his heart. I let out a wail, no longer caring who hears or sees us. A broken hand would’ve distracted me from the pain I feel everywhere else over the mess my life has become.

With my hand on his chest, I let my head fall forward to rest on his shoulder.

“Jake, I need to tell you—“ he starts, but is abruptly cut off by someone else calling our names.

“Jacob? Dylan? Is everything okay?”

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