Page 60 of Fight Or Flight

Eric

“So let me see if I got this straight,” my dad says as he widens his stance and crosses his arms. “You’re telling me the tires I just put on that car went flat and instead of calling me to come get you, you called Luca and neither of you two idiots could change the spare.”

“Only one tire went flat,” I reply pointedly.

No need for the man to get any crazier than he already is. I can just imagine the scenario he’s spinning in that head of his, he’s probably picturing the car on four bricks.

“And you couldn’t change it,” he reiterates, clenching his jaw.

Oh, look, there’s that vein again.

“It was dark, and I didn’t have a flashlight.” It seems like a plausible excuse if you ask me. Now, can we wrap this up so I can go get my girl and get back to the kissing?

Please and thank you.

“Fine,” he hisses. “Let’s pretend I believe you. Explain why Brooklyn snuck in the back door.”

I shrug my shoulders.

No problem, Tiger King.

“She felt bad about missing curfew and wasn’t sure how you’d react, so, me being the stand-up guy I am, I told her I would deal with you and she went to go check on her mom.” To really drive my point home, I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out the sleeve of condoms. Tossing them at him, I rise from the sofa. “Thanks for these, by the way. We didn’t really get around to using them, but there’s always next time. Any other questions?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow.

He brings his hands to his temples and starts to chant some of that namaste mumbo jumbo he thinks will bring him peace. I guess tranquility isn’t in the cards for him, though, because he lowers his hands and clenches his fists at his sides as he glares at me.

“You got an answer for everything, don’t you?” he grumbles.

I wish.

An exasperated sigh leaves my lips and I shake my head. There’s no use in arguing with him. What’s that saying? You can’t teach an old dog new tricks? Well, word to the wise, you can’t teach an old self-proclaimed Tiger new tricks either. I go to walk away from him, but something keeps me rooted in place. I knew once I kissed Brooklyn, there would be no going back, that I’d want to make her mine in every way possible. I can’t do that if my dad is going to keep getting in my way.

I didn’t mean to feel anything for her. All I wanted was to honor her dad and make sure I did right by her, but she wormed her way inside of me and took root to a part of my being I didn’t know existed. Now, I can’t turn those feelings off and after tonight, I don’t want to anymore.

Turning around, I meet his gaze.

Until recently he’s always been easy to talk to, the first person I turn to when I need advice. I know Brooklyn’s existence has thrown him for a loop because it’s thrown me too. Every emotion my father is experiencing, I’m feeling tenfold. The only thing that sets us apart is the fact I’m fucking crazy about her.

“Actually, I’m just tired of all the rules and regulations you suddenly feel the urge to enforce. I know you feel some kind of way when it comes to Brooklyn, like opening our home to her and her mom and taking care of them both will somehow even the score between you and Bones. I get it, I swear I do. She means something to you, and I love that. I love that someone so important to me is so important to you, but you need to back off.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, he draws his eyebrows together and studies me for a minute.

“Someone so important to you,” he repeats.

I nod.

It’s true, and I’m realizing it has very little to do with who her dad was and everything to do with how she makes me feel. When a guy can’t give a shit less about hanging out with his friends and runs home because there’s a pretty little hurricane waiting for him and he realizes he’d rather spend his night watching a movie with her and her dying mother than chase any other girl, that shit speaks volumes. And when he kisses her and wonders how he lived seventeen years without her in his life, he fights anyone who stands in his way—even if that person is his dad.

“This is crazy,” he hisses as he drags his fingers through his hair. “You can’t be talking like this.”

“Why?” I question.

What the fuck am I saying that’s so wrong?

“You’re seventeen! You should be…I don’t know… fucking up your life, getting into trouble…robbing cars! Can we go back to that? I promise not to make you paint the fence this time.”

I sigh.

He doesn’t get it, which is a little messed up if you ask me considering him and my mom’s history. He’ll tell you himself she came into his life like a freight train.

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