“Your reputation,” I say with a scoff and a roll of my eyes. “Of course that’s what this is about. How could I taint your precious fuckingreputation? Do you even care whether I’m happy, or do you only think about yourself?”
“I’m trying to make sure you succeed!” Dad’s voice is thunderous as he yells, his face going ruddy and red in the cheeks. “Why can’t you just cooperate? All I want is for you to have a good life like your siblings, but you?—”
“I don’t need your help to succeed! I don’t need your help for anything!”
The kitchen goes deathly quiet at my proclamation, Dad and I glaring at each other as my chest heaves with emotion. Why can’t he just accept me as the person I am? I’ve told him over and over what I want, but he just won’t listen. Oakley and Bo aren’t the only standards of success in the fucking world.
Why isn’t anything I do ever good enough?
“You don’t need me for anything?” Dad asks, his voice so quiet I can barely hear him and threaded with both hurt and threat. My whole body freezes at that tone—the same one he used when he threatened to take my trust fund away in the first place. I don’t have time to backpedal before he continues. “Fine. We can see how you feel when I freeze your card. Open your own bank account, handle your own finances. I’ll start charging you rent. You can even buy your own goddamn groceries. You can’t be a bratty teenager forever, and if you’re so certain you can handle everything on your own, I’ll let you.”
My blood goes cold at his words, but I know he’d never go through with it. He’s too much of a soft touch, and it would probably be best to just turn on the waterworks, tell him I’m sorry, and beg for what I want.
Not this time, though.
I’m too angry, the frustration that’s been building over the course of the last year since I graduated getting closer and closer to a boiling point.
“Why is it so impossible for you to believe that I know what I want?” I shout at him, waving my arms around in fury. “You’re the only thing standing in my way, the only thing stopping me! I know how to take care of myself, but you won’t let me! If you’d just give me my money, I’d be out of your hair and I could prove to you that I can manage my own life.”
He’s never been anything but supportive of Oakley and her plans to take over Branson Logistics when Ricky and Kathy retire. And Bo’s got the whole ranch waiting for him when Mom and Dad want to take a step back.
I’m the only one without a fallback. Oakley and Bo got everything, and theonething left for me, he won’t give me. I had to plan my whole life myself, and he won’t even release the chokehold he has on me to let me fucking live it.
“You can’t keep acting like twenty grand is enough to live your whole life on!” he yells back. “That fund is supposed to help you start a life, not pay for everything you’ve ever wanted! I don’t give a shit if you want to go to California, but I won’t let you go until I believe you can actually support yourself.”
My temper snaps violently, and I shove my still full coffee mug into the sink, uncaring as it shatters against the metal. I storm past my dad, ignoring his shouted attempts to continue our argument and sprint up the stairs.
The door to my bedroom closes behind me with an echoing slam, and I collapse against it, falling to the floor as my body shakes with rage.
My heart pounds in my chest, anger and hurt mingling with the fear bubbling in my gut. Am I going to be stuck here forever, trying to gain my Dad’s approval even though I knowhis standards are impossible to meet? Am I going to fall short of every expectation he sets and hate myself for it more each time?
Am I going to have this argument with him a million more times, or am I just going to break?
Tears burn at the corner of my eyes, but I shove the heels of my hands against them before any can fall. I won’t cry over this. I’m stronger than that. Dad may not be able to see what I’m capable of, but I know damn well that I can figure things out on my own. I’ve done it this whole time, and I’ll keep doing it.
I stay in my room for the rest of the day, refusing to join everyone for dinner and sitting against my door until the sun starts to set, casting my room in a soft orange glow.
The time to fume is good for me, and I let my mind run wild with hare-brained schemes of packing up and running off to LA without so much as a note left behind. I feel stifled and suffocated, more and more every day, and my mind lashes out everywhere it can, finding fault in everything I’ve done.
I stew on the way I used to run around the ranch gleefully, the way that changed when the popular girls started making fun of me for having mud on my shoes and rips in my shirts. It was mostly Savannah’s little harem of assholes who no one could stand, but plenty of other people joined in when they spread rumors about me wearing my own designs to school. I never wound up even trying anything I made on, too scared that they’d somehow find out. The scraps of half made projects are still hidden in the back of my closet.
They’re better off staying there, just like my childhood dreams are better off in the past. When I was a kid, all I wanted was to make pretty clothes and be by my dad’s side. I ultimately had to choose one or the other. Having both wasn’t an option.
Dad made the choice easy.
He never took me seriously about fashion—he’s never taken me seriously aboutanything. When I started pulling away, hetried to force me out on the ranch, teased me endlessly about how long I spent getting dirt off my favorite dress. The fight that ensued damaged our relationship permanently, and now we’re always at each other’s throat.
He’s always been the controlling type, and I’ve never reacted well to it. It’s only gotten worse as I’ve gotten older. In the past, I’ve acted out in small ways—talking back, sneaking out to parties, refusing to do my chores or help out on the ranch.
This time, I need to make a statement. My mind won’t settle until I do something big, something that would make my dad’s head explode if he found out.
Running off to LA isn’t a smart move right now, but that’s not my only option.
A wide grin stretches over my lips as I catch sight of Bennett through my window. He’s slinging bags of fertilizer onto the bed of a truck, his arms flexing with every movement. His jeans ride low enough for me to see the waistband of his boxers, and I bite my lip when he bends again, the denim tugging tight on his muscled thighs.
It’s like the universe is telling me to go for it. Two birds with one stone. I’m not waiting any longer.
My mood slowly lifts as Mom and Dad shuffle in for bed, and I waste no time. I hop in the shower, shaving every inch of my body and exfoliating to within an inch of my life before drying off and dousing my skin in vanilla scented lotion. My hair is going to be ruined by the end of the night anyway, so I don’t bother with anything more than a quick brush through. I keep my makeup light, just some mascara and a coat of shiny gloss over my lips. All in all, it doesn’t take but an hour or two to put my plan in motion.
