Page 67 of The Vengeance You Crave
"Fuck, really?" I ask, reading the truth in his eyes.
"Apparently he's had enough of your bullshit too."
"Fucking hell."
Reaching in the refrigerator, I pull out an energy drink, although I wish it was vodka for the conversation that I'm sure is about to commence.
With a weary sigh, I pass Leon and head out into the hall to find my guest.
"Take whatever he says with a grain of salt," Leon says behind me.
"Easy for you to say, he's not constantly riding your ass about being better."
"You're right because being forgotten is so much better."
My lips part to respond but I quickly find I don't have a comeback for that.
Leon tries not to let it bother him, but I know it does. I never asked to be Dad's favorite. I don't want to be the focus of all his attention but sadly, it's the way it is, and both of us just have to find a way to deal with it because it's not going to be changing anytime soon.
Walking into the den, I find him sitting on the winged back chair that's usually reserved for me and Leon, with one leg bent over the other and his arms crossed over his chest.
As approachable as ever.
I fight not to roll my eyes at him but it physically pains me.
"Son," he says, nodding but not bothering to get up or anything as I fall down onto the couch opposite him.
"What do you want?" I grunt, knowing that he's not here to catch up. He's here to grill me about the season and my failed chance to enter the draft this year.
I was expecting it to happen in person over the holidays, but it turned out that he fucked off to Hawaii with some hot piece of ass that's meant to be a replacement for our mother. She's a fucking bargain bucket Barbie doll, if you ask me. I hope he knows what he lost when he started fucking around on the woman who stuck by all his bullshit. Mom's just another reason why I want to believe he's innocent in Peyton's accusation, because she's already dealt with enough of Dad's infidelity. Finding out that it is true would kill her.
"That's not the way to greet your old man after all this time," he mutters.
I sit forward, waiting for him to get to the point. He doesn't do social visits, so he can cut the fucking act right now.
I hold his eyes, begging him just to get it over with so he can leave, and I can drown every word that he's about to say to me in whatever bottle of poison I find in the kitchen first.
"You fucked up, Son."
My body tenses at his words.
There's no, tough season, or you can't win them all, with Brett Dunn. You either win or you fail, there is no middle ground. It's one of many things I will do differently if I'm ever lucky enough to have kids of my own.
It's bullshit. Totally fucking bullshit.
All my life he's been on my ass, telling me that I'm not good enough. That I'll never be him, I'll never be as good as him or as big of a success as him. What he fails to see or understand is that he's right, I'm not fucking him and neither do I want to be because he's a cunt.
Sure, Peyton might have a similar opinion of me right now, but that's not who I am, not really. I don't usually go out of my way to make anyone's life harder than necessary. And if I end up having a football team's worth of boys in years to come then I already know that I will not give a shit if not a single one of them wants to play. They can be who, and do what, they want.
"It wasn't a great season. There were things in my—"
"Don't make excuses, Luca. You didn't work hard enough. You didn't lead your team properly."
"Things didn't go as planned," I mutter. It doesn't matter what I say right now, he won't hear any of it, even if I accept the blame.
"Seeing as you screwed up our plan to enter the draft as a first pick—" He means his plan because mine has always been to get my degree before entering, but he doesn't give a shit about what I want.
"We need to discuss the next steps."
