Page 197 of The Charlie Method

“There is no decision. I said no.”

“And I’m tired of doing everything your way. Being your puppet. It’s time for me to make my own choices.”

“Your own choices?” he snaps. “Your choices reflect on this family, William. On me. Do you have any idea what this would do tomycampaign? You would be viewed as a traitor. A son turning on his goddamn father.”

A surge of anger rises in my chest, hot and fierce. “This isn’t about you. This is about me. For once in my life, I want to do something that isn’t about furthering your career.”

My father scoffs, his disdain dripping through the phone. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not going anywhere near Wozniak’s campaign. I forbid it.”

“Forbid it? You can’t control me anymore. I’m about to graduate from college. I’m not a kid. I’m an adult.”

“You’re acting like a child,” he spits back. “And if you go through with this, you can forget about any support from me or Kelsey or anyone else in this family. You’ll be on your own.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I refuse to back down.

“Yeah? Well, maybe that’s exactly what I need. To be on my own, away from you and all your goddamn expectations.”

After a long, tense silence, my father speaks, his voice cold and final. “Do what you want, William. But don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart.”

With that, he disconnects the call, leaving me staring at the phone.

I want to curse, break something, but instead, I slam the phone on the kitchen counter and storm out the back door, needing some air.

To my surprise, I find Beckett’s dad standing out there, nursing a cup of coffee as he stares out at the small, frost-covered yard. He’s heading back to Indy tonight, and I have to admit I’m going to miss the man. He’s like a goofier, funnier, more dramatic version of Beckett. I’ve enjoyed having him around.

He glances up as I approach, taking in my stormy expression. “You okay, mate?”

I shake my head, unable to find the words to describe the mess of emotions churning inside me.

“Just had a fight with my dad,” I finally manage to say.

James nods. “Want to talk about it?”

I hesitate, and something in his eyes brings an ache to my chest. It’s the kind of look I’ve never seen from my own father. Warm, understanding. Like he actually cares about how I feel.

“I know it’s none of my business,” he says when I don’t answer, “but I’ve got a pretty good handle on this stuff. Fathers and sons…it’s a tricky relationship.”

I let out a bitter laugh, rubbing my face. “You have no idea.”

“But you’re a good kid, Will. I’ve seen how you treat Beck, how you’ve been there for him when he needed someone. You’ve got a good heart.”

I blink at the unexpected praise. “Thanks, but my dad doesn’t see it that way. He wants me to fall in line, do what I’m told.”

James sighs. “Yeah, some blokes think their way is the only way. They don’t realize that their kids need to find their own path, make their own mistakes.”

“I just want to be my own person, but every time I try, he shuts me down. He doesn’t care what I want.”

“I’m sorry. It’s tough when the people who’re supposed to care the most don’t give you the support you need. I went through that with my own dad. Beck’s gramps. Took him a long time to see me as a real, fully formed human and not an extension of himself.”

A lump forms in my throat, all the years of trying to live up to my father’s expectations suddenly overwhelming me. “That’s exactly it. I’m an extension. And I wish he could see me for who I am, not who he wants me to be.”

James touches my shoulder, and for a moment, I think I might actually break down and cry.

“You’re a good kid,” he repeats, firmer this time. “And don’t let anyone, not even your father, make you feel like you’re not enough.”

Before I know what’s happening, he pulls me in for a hug, a simple gesture of comfort and support that is wholly alien to me. I stand there, frozen for a moment, before finally allowing myself to relax into the embrace, a wave of emotion washing over me.

He releases me with a lighthearted clap on the back, and my throat tightens to the point of asphyxiation. A strange mix of gratitude and sadness is lodged in my windpipe, the ache of something I’ve never really had. A dad who cares more about me than about appearances.

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