Reprobate - A River Bend Rebels M/M Romance - Book 1

15. Jamie

It probably comes as no surprise that out of all my friends' parents, mine were the strictest. You'd think that since I'd never gotten into any kind of real trouble before that they'd go easy on me for this one infraction, or at least consider the mitigating circumstances, like Trevor bullying Kyril and destroying his phone, but nope. My dad had it in his head that anything I did, good or bad, was a reflection on him and our family.

Punching out someone, especially the mayor's son, in front of the whole school, landing in detention for a week, plus being suspended from the football team for three games weren't things a man like my father took lightly.

And my mom? She'd tried to intervene on my behalf when my dad got out the belt like I was ten and not nearly eighteen, but really, she wasn't any match for his authority which she too lived under. That was Mom. Cowing to him as usual. She did it to keep the peace. To honor her husband and submit to him as the head of the family, as was her motto.

So Mom sat silently while my phone, my laptop, and my TV were taken from me. I glared silently as my dad informed me that for the foreseeable future, I was to go to church, school, football practice and games—once my suspension from the team was lifted, that is—and come directly home afterward. I wasn't allowed to drive. Worst of all, the next morning I had to call Trevor, invite him and his parents over for lunch, and apologize to him in front of both of our families.

Of all of the punishments my dad had meted out, that last one stung the worst. I didn't think I could feel any lower than I did that Saturday afternoon when I was forced to tell Trevor that I was sorry for punching him.

Except, as it turned out, that wasn't the worst.

If looking across the table at Trevor's smug face—one side of his mouth was bruised and swollen and I hoped it hurt like hell—and the pleased expressions our parents wore because we'd 'patched things up' hadn't killed my appetite for lunch already, what my father said as soon as he finished praying and we began to eat would've done it.

"You're not to associate with that boy again," he ordered, his eyes piercing through me. "That Kyril Ross." He almost spat the name. "Not in school, nor out of school. Am I making myself clear? I forbid it."

I stared at my dad. "May I ask why?"

"Because it's clear he's trouble," my dad said, flitting his eyes briefly to Trevor, who had the audacity to nod, and then back to me. "He and his father both. They don't share our values. They're certainly not Christians. Steve Ross allows his son to wear makeup and nail polish, Jameson, and you know what the Bible says about men donning that which is for women."

Trevor concealed his grin behind his glass of iced tea. "But dad, I have to talk to him," I objected. "We have classes together, and he's my lab partner in Human Biology. And besides, Kyril's not—"

"Then you'll inform your teacher that you wish to switch partners," Dad broke in.

"Mr. Hanisch assigns lab partners on the first day of school," I argued. "He doesn't allow students to change. He's super-strict about it."

My dad appeared to mull this over, and then he passed a hand over his face. "All right. I'll speak with Principal Thomas tomorrow after church. If this teacher can't be reasoned with, then you'll have to change classes. It's early enough in the year that your grades shouldn't suffer."

I slumped back in my seat and glared unseeingly at my nearly-untouched sandwich. Rage, hot and impotent, rose up in me. I didn't dare spill all that fury out, not in front of my father. It unfurled and swelled in me, a dull pressure that morphed into a hot leaden ball. That same heat swelled in my head too, my pulse thumping relentless and steady in my ears. Under the tablecloth I clenched my fists so tightly my nails cut into my palms.