Page 31 of Unwritten Rules
“If I recall, she has dreams of being an interior designer, which is what she went to uni for. Piano is a hobby of hers,” I counter, trying to keep my voice even despite the frustration burning in my chest. “If she wants to help Gran, then that’s her prerogative. I don’t think either of you should have a say in her decisions.”
“Excuse me?” Dad lowers his wine glass, tension pulling his weathered skin taut.
“Eli, he didn’t mean it.” Mum reaches over to pat his hand in an attempt to thaw the ice consuming his rigid frame.
My spine straightens, ready for a fight. “No, I meant every word of it. Mia doesn’t have to answer to you about what she chooses to do with her life. If she doesn’t want to study law, then she shouldn’t have to. If she wants to play the piano for the rest of her life, then so be it. Hell, if she wanted to be a damn astronaut and go to the moon, then that’s her choice to make. Not anyone else’s.”
Tension coats the air so thick, you could cut it with a knife. My skin prickles with the need to scratch it off, hoping the uneasy feeling will dissipate and allow me to breathe properly.
Mum and Dad share a tense look, one that has me wanting to scream. It shits me that they’re so hellbent on controlling us. I don’t care if they do it to me because I’m already strapped up like a marionette anyway, so I may as well roll with the punches. But Mia has a chance to break free and make her own choices, free from what our parents want. And I’ll be damned if they try to drag her into the fucking perfect world they’re trying to create.
“Sin,” Mum drawls, her voice even as she holds my gaze. “That’s not what we’re trying to do. We want the best for your sister.”
“No, you don’t.” My lungs burn as I shove the wooden chair back, the fabric napkin on my lap falling to my feet. Pain spreads through my right quad, but I swallow it done and flick my eyes between my parents. “You don’t want the best for her. You want to control her. And I refuse to sit back and watch you do so. You can dictate my life all you like, but Mia is a no-go.”
“Sinnett!” Dad slams his hand on the table, rattling the wine glasses and cutlery. His heated eyes find mine, burning with anger and frustration. Tension coils the muscles beneath the suit jacket, mirroring my own hidden beneath the black hoodie I threw on before leaving the apartment. “You do not get to speak to us like that.”
I bite my tongue, the sting of pain grounding me. There’s no use in fighting them on the matter because they won’t change. They don’t realise the iron thumb they hold over us, and how it impacts our lives. Mia and I are too afraid to stand up to them for fear of what they might do or how they’ll react. Neither of them would lay hands on us, but I have no doubt they would find some way to put us back in line.
As much as it pains me to keep my mouth shut and cop it on the chin, I’m willing to do it if it means I can keep the peace—for now.
“Whatever.” I step away from the dining table, my parents’ eyes heavy on the back of my head. “I’m leaving.”
“Sin, wait!” Mum calls out as I trudge through the dining room, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Dad’s clipped tone grates against my ears, surging my steps forward, eager to get out of this fucking house.
“Out,” is all I manage as I step into the hallway. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with much needed air.
In my car, I drop my head against the headrest and expel a sharp breath. This has to be one of the worst weekly dinners I’ve shared with my parents. I didn’t think anything could come close to topping the dinner where Dad chewed my ass out after getting injured. Yet, here we are.
I rub a hand down the side of my face and reach for my phone tucked securely in my pocket. My thumb hovers over Khai’s contact name—which he changed toBig Dickfor whatever fucked up reason, and I haven’t been bothered to change it since—before tapping the screen.
He answers on the second ring. “Did you forget your apartment keys again? I told you to start clipping them to your belt loop.”
“That was one time,” I respond gruffly, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t leave the apartment without them now.”
“Yeah, well, I can never be too sure with you.” Shuffling on his end grates on my nerves, setting me further on edge. Khai exhales sharply. “What’s up, then? Aren’t you supposed to be having dinner with your parents?”
“Plans changed.” He doesn’t need to know about my family issues, despite what he already knows about my parents. Khai has his own family shit to deal with. “Call up some of guys to see if they want to go grab a drink.”
More shuffling, and I grip the steering wheel to keep from screaming at my best friend to quit fucking moving.
“A drink, you say? Well, you know I’m always down for a good time. Just can’t get too crazy since we have a training session in the morning.”
One that I’m not part of.
“That’s fine.” I jam the keys into the ignition, my car roaring to life. “I’ll see you soon then.”
Twenty minutes later,I’m sitting at a circle table with Khai to my right, Zane—the Wolves’ hooker—opposite me, and Nico—a front rower—to my left. Numerous empty glasses of beer litter the table, and deep voices bouncing off the walls of the small bar. OneRepublic’s “I Lived” plays from the speakers in the roof, some of the lyrics getting drowned out by the steady flow of conversation and laughter.
I met the guys at The Rusty Barrel since it is the closest bar to the apartment I share with Khai. It is our go-to when we want to grab a couple of beers and don’t feel like crossing the bridge to get to the heart of Sydney. Al, the owner, has every sport imaginable playing on the TV screens in the back room, keeping patrons entertained until the wee hours of the morning. A karaoke machine occupies the front room, allowing drunk people who are too far gone to care about their dignity to get on the small stage and belt out the lyrics to “Mr. Brightside” and “Sweet Caroline”. I’ve seen Khai get on that stage far too many times to count on both hands.
“I still can’t believe you went home with her,” Zane snorts, pointing a finger at Nico, red-faced. “She was fuckingcrazy.”
“Yeah, crazy hot and a freak in the sheets,” Nice retorts, shoving at Zane’s shoulder, who has to grip the edge of the table to not topple out of the chair.
“Let me guess, she blows up your phone every second of the day, wanting to talk to you or come by the training facility?” Khai wiggles his brows, sipping on a fresh beer. I bite back at grin as the colour drains from Nico’s face.
