Late that night, I'm sneaking downstairs for a simple bottle of water, careful not to let any of the house's old floorboards creak, when I see a large, hunched figure through the darkness of the kitchen. Instantly, I rock back on my heels, taking a rushed step backward. In my haste, my socked foot slips a tiny bit on the wooden floor, creating the softest noise.
A noise that just barely reaches my father's ears. He turns at the sound and peers at me as I remain still, hoping he won't see me. His eyesight has been poor lately, I reason frantically. There's no way he'll be able to--
"Jasper?"
My shoulder sag in defeat. "Yes?"
"What are you doing up so late?"
"Just getting water. From the... fridge," I answer quickly. Even though it's the truth, the words still feel like a lie. Everything does when I'm talking to him. "Before bed."
His eyes drift to the oven clock as his fingers tighten around what I recognize as a beer bottle on the counter before him. "You should already be asleep by now."
It's true -- I can't deny it. But thoughts of Miles won't leave me alone long enough to let me sleep. "I haven't been able to."
After a beat, my father motions impatiently. "Well, go on, then. Get your water."
I hurry to retrieve a bottle from the refrigerator, feeling its cold condensation seep across the skin of my palm. I want to sneak back out of the kitchen and up to my room, but my father's gravelly voice calls out, keeping me cemented in place.
"Hold on."
I pad over to him, holding my breath.
His dark gaze bores into mine, and his breaths deepen by the moment. "That other boy, earlier..." he begins slowly, and my heart leaps at the mention of Miles. "Were you really talking to him about sports?"
"Yes." His glare sharpens despite the alcohol threatening to cloud it, and I add, softly, "No."
My father's lip curls. "So you're lying to me now?"
"No, I..." I feel my heartbeat quicken in my chest. "I'm sorry, I--"
His hand shoots out to grab my jaw, and I stumble forward, wincing. I know by now not to struggle -- that only makes him angrier. His grip tightens as he mutters, "In this house, sons respect their father." Spittle flies from his mouth, landing across my face in a gross shower. I flinch. "They don't lie to their father, they honor their family." Then his glare deepens, and I brace myself, knowing what's coming. "Max understood that, why can't you?" He releases me roughly, an undeniable look of disgust crossing his features.
I hurry away, my fingers numb around my cool water bottle. My father didn't hurt me -- not tonight, at least -- but my heart still aches like he did.
YOU ARE READING
yours.
Romancetwo boys. two houses. two hearts. Seventeen-year-old 𝗠𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘀 has a long stretch of boring, lonely summer ahead of him. So when a new boy his age moves in next door, he sees an opportunity -- for what, he doesn't quite know yet. Meanwhile, 𝗝𝗮𝘀�...
