Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
I messaged on our group chat to let them know I’m okay, and Hayes tried to call me, but I couldn’t pick up. I’m not mad, but too frazzled to go over what happened before I’ve had some time to process.
I turn the key in the lock and step inside, finding the apartment quiet. It’s late, and Dad has a routine where he’s in bed by ten most days. I head to the kitchen for a drink and find my father perched at the counter with his phone in his hands. He’s dressed in his pajamas, ready for bed, and the TV is on, muted, so it’s clear he wasn’t watching it. When he turns, his expression is grim.
Shit. Shit. Double shit. With a fucking cherry on top.
Does he know? I don’t want to have this conversation right now.
“Riley,” he says, his tone heavy with disappointment.
I pause in the doorway, my heart sinking. “What?” Please let this be about the state of my bedroom or that he picked up one of my romance books and realized how much sex was in it. Please be something about the state of my grades.
“You know I follow the Eastern sports social media channels, and some of the players.”
The sinking sensation turns into a plummet.
My diaphragm freezes, stalling my breathing, my whole body taut.
“Is it true?”
“Is what true, Dad?”
“Are you involved with all the Draytons? Because the internet thinks you are, and they have an opinion on it.”
I cringe, my face heating. Words form and die before I can utter them because how does a person explain to their father that they’re dating not one, not two, but three of the men they used to call son?
“Is it true?” he repeats.
I could lie. Maybe I should. But what would be the point? I have to tell him eventually unless I decide to break it off, but even the thought of not being with Hayes, Jacob, and Shawn is too hard for me to take without wincing in pain.
“Yes.” I whisper.
“How?” His expression is wide with incredulity, and he shifts to the edge of the stool, waiting for my answer.
“I don’t know.” It’s the truth, after all. “We didn’t plan it, but something was there… like we recognized each other and the rightness between us.”
“You recognized each other because you knew each other,” he says. “This… it can’t be real, Riley. What you’re chasing is an echo of the past. The links you formed when you were tenderly aged, confused into something…”
He doesn’t say ‘more sordid,’ but that’s how my mind completes his sentence.
“It isn’t, Dad,” I say. “It’s real.”
“Real.” He shakes his head. “When you get to my age, you realize that not much is real. Mostly, we’re tricked by our hormones, and being in a certain place at a certain time with wants and needs that another person works out how to satisfy.”
He’s not talking about sex, but he must realize how he sounds because color leaches from his face, leaving him palid and still.
“It’s not like that,” I say, but even to my own ears, it sounds weak. “We’ve found something. Something good.”
“Relationships are hard, Riley. They’re hard with two grown-up people working at them, let alone four kids.”
“We’re not kids,” I say, feeling very childlike, standing in my father’s kitchen, getting reprimanded for not being sensible enough.
“You’re kids,” he says. “And those boys… they’ve been through a lot. They lost their family… maybe they’re looking for something to replace it.”
“You’re saying they’re using me as an emotional crutch?”
The suggestion hurts, but an echo of truth takes me by surprise. Is that what our relationship is based on? Their need to replace something they lost. My need to reclaim something I wanted in the past and couldn’t have.
Maybe it is. And maybe that’s okay. Human beings aren’t islands. We can’t exist in a vortex without emotion. We need connection, love, and unity to base our lives on. We need a strong foundation and people we can rely on. If I’m that person for Jacob, Shawn, and Hayes, then I’m happy because they’re returning that stability and affection in droves.
“We care about each other, Dad. We care about each other so much.”
“Then you still have time to walk away,” he says. “Before care turns to love, and it’s too late.”
Walk away? The suggestion is like a knife to my soul. “NO.”
Dad flinches and presses a hand flat onto the counter. “Will they fight for you as hard as you’re fighting for them?” he asks. “Because where are they? When you’re all splashed over the internet, where are they?”
“I left them at a party. I needed some time.”
“And they let you leave.” He shakes his head. “When the going gets tough—”
“They haven’t gone anywhere,” I interrupt. “None of us intended for this to become common knowledge. Not now, anyway.”