Page 22 of Chasing Forever
He makes me wait—ten full minutes—watching the weather and sports before muting the television and looking in my direction. His feet hit the floor, and he swivels his chair to face me. “How nice of you to actually show up here after sending us to voicemail the entire day.”
His stare is cold, devoid of anything resembling what a father should feel toward his son. So different from the warmth Brad and Darla exude. No wonder I spent all my time on that ranch growing up.
“I was flying home.”
He nods, but it’s clear he’s not accepting my excuse. He’s not asking for an apology either—because he knows damn well he won’t get one.
“It’s an election year.” He crosses his arms.
My mom hasn’t moved a muscle. She’s frozen, just as she always is when things get uncomfortable.
“I’m aware.”
His signs are plastered over half the lawns in town. I’m not sure whether people actually want him to be the mayor again or if it’s a devil-you-know kind of situation.
“And did you think about how this stunt might hinder my win before you went ahead with it?”
“I’m not sure that what I do, as your adult son, has anything to do with your ability to govern Willowbrook.” I lean back in the chair, lifting my ankle onto my opposite knee.
“For fuck’s sake, Brooks, don’t come into my house and sit there and act like you don’t know exactly what this might do to my campaign.” He jabs a finger into his chest as though he’s trying to punch a hole through to his own heart. Doubtful he even has one though.
“It’s my life.”
“She’s your brother’s fiancée.”
“Ex-fiancée.”
Dad launches out of his seat, pacing like a caged animal, following the tracks in the carpet he’s made over the years with his tantrums.
“Really, Brooks, why would you do this?” My mom’s voice trembles, her eyes pleading as though I’m supposed to fix this with a few pleasing words. As if I’m supposed to sacrifice my happiness to keep Dad placated.
“I was drunk.”
“That’s the first problem. Only Emmett Noughton would go to Vegas to get married.” Dad shakes his head in disgust.
“Now the entire town knows. You could have been more discreet.” Mom’s lips thin as though she just sipped spoiled wine.
“We didn’t expect everyone to find out. It’s this town’s incessant need to know everything that’s why the picture got leaked.”
Dad stops pacing, glaring at me.
“It was sweet of Mr. Torres, wanting to post a picture of Emmett and Briar on the bulletin board at the library,” Mom says. “No one expected to find the wedding photo of you and her.”
“Her name is Lottie,” I say, my voice low, tight.
Mom waves me off as if Lottie’s nothing.
“She’s my wife.”
My mom blows out a breath, scoffing so hard I swear it could rattle her knickknacks on the bookshelves.
Dad stops, his hands on his hips, scowling. “You’ll post a public statement. Say you were drunk, and it was a mistake. That you’re getting it annulled or divorced or whatever the hell fixes this.”
I stare at him. Really stare. And wonder how I ever thought he was someone to look up to. “I’m not doing that.”
“You will if you give a damn about this family’s name.”
“This isn’t about our name. It’s about me. It’s about her.”
