𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.✓ completed

Untitled Part 11

Chapter Eleven

Beck

I haven't seen Willow since I towed her car back to her place, and the space is driving me insane. We've both been so busy and haven't had time to see each other. That's changing tonight, because she agreed to come to my party, surprisingly with very little persuasion. And, if I play my cards right, I can convince her to crash at my place for the night and get her away from that house for a bit.

I've talked to her a few times on the phone, and she mentioned how her mom hasn't been home in days. I don't know which is worse: her mom and her sketchy-ass friends being at the apartment or her being at the sketchy-ass apartment alone.

I asked a couple of times if she had made a decision to move out, and she still seems pretty undecided. Tonight, my mission is to change that. I don't know how yet, but I'll figure it out.

"Why the hell haven't you called me back?" my father's roaring voice shatters through my thoughts of Willow.

I spin around from my dresser as he storms into my bedroom. "Who let you in?"

Fury blazes in his eyes as he stops in front of me. "Let me in? Don't forget who paid for this house."

My jaw muscle spasms as I glide the dresser drawer shut. "You paid about ten percent of it, not all of it. And I thought this was supposed to be my graduation present, not some sort of collateral you could hang over my head."

"It was a present, but my name is still on the deed with yours," he says with a my-shit-don't-stink smirk, "which means I can take away some of the house if I want to."

I mentally roll my eyes at the image of him cutting the house into pieces and dragging some of it away.

"Sorry," I manage to get out. "I'm just confused why you're here. I thought you were in Vail with mom."

"I had to stay behind because of work, something you clearly know nothing about." He loosens the tie around his neck.

I pick up a leather-banded watch from my dresser and fasten it around my wrist. "So, you just let mom go off by herself again."

"She didn't have to go," he snaps, the vein in his neck bulging. "But she wanted to."

I don't blame her. Why would she want to stay behind and exchange mountains, snow, and ski slopes for an empty house and my dad's grumpy temperament?

I check the time. Shit. The party starts in less than an hour. He needs to leave.

"Are you heading to or from work?"

"I just took a break to get some dinner and thought I'd stop by to check up on you since you never called me back, even after I left you countless messages." He stares me down accusingly. "I thought maybe it was because you were too busy with school, but I should've guessed it was because of a party. It always is."

At first, I'm confused how he knows about the party. Then I remember the food and alcohol bottles set up in the kitchen.

"This is the first party I've had in a month." I take a clean long-sleeved shirt out of my dresser and tug it over my T-shirt. "And it's for Thanksgiving."

"Thanksgiving was yesterday," he says like that somehow proves a point. "You should be doing something better with your life than throwing pointless parties."

"I don't just throw parties." I try to keep my tone neutral, yet irritation creeps in. "I have a job, go to school, play soccer." You'd know that if you knew anything about me.

"A job?" He laughs disdainfully. "Loaning out money and trading stuff off isn't a job unless you're planning on working at a pawn shop for the rest of your life."

I don't know why he can't be happy with who I am. Sure, I do some stuff he doesn't agree with, like throw parties, but I get decent grades, haven't done anything too crazy like end up in jail, and while he doesn't think much of it, I do own a business. I help people who need cash fast by letting them trade valuable belongings for money, and then I sell their stuff online for a profit. It beats working in a stuffy office with my dad.

"Maybe I do want to work at a pawn shop," I tell him, though I really don't. "It's a decent job with an income."

His face reddens. "You need to stop messing around and focus on your career."

"My career?" I ask flatly. "Or the one you have planned for me?"

"Law is a good career to get into. You're lucky to have the opportunity to work with me." He inches toward me, a move he used to do when I was younger to intimidate me. Now, I'm five inches taller than him, so the effect is lost. "Do you know how many interns apply to work at my firm ... for free?"