Can You Fight? [ON HOLD]

Chapter 7

“Ryder Edward Carson! Why on earth are you here?” a man’s voice asked angrily from the door.

“Dad!” Ryder exclaimed suddenly making me drop my tornado kick. Everyone and everything was silent. Thick tension filled the room and vicious and menacing auras surrounded Ryder and his father as they glared at each other- silently waiting for someone to make the first move.

“Kids, let’s continue our lesson with Lia in the other room,” Grandpa said awkwardly as he sent the kids out. I trailed behind him giving one last glance at Ryder and his dad. His dad seems to hate him being here and Ryder seems to feel the same way as his dad. By the looks of it, they look like they’re just about to fight each other. I just hope no one gets hurt. Seems like Mr. Perfect, isn’t so perfect after all.

Ryder’s POV

“How the hell did you find me?” I demanded at my father. You see here, my father and I didn’t get along at all. My father was a very successful and rich business man. Ever since I was little, he envisioned me as the perfect son especially when we’re in front of the cameras; he taught me advance school subjects when I was young, he forced me to play football and soccer and stuff, he forced me to wear suits and very formal crap at home, he paid for guitar and piano lessons, he taught me about politics and money, and he taught me proper manners.

As a little kid, I listened to him of course because he’s an adult and all, but that was never me. Even as a little boy, I was rebellious, mischievous, and I was always up to something; I still am. I loved getting dirty (if you know what I mean) and just having fun - not worrying about the future, just worrying about now. I loved seeing the world and going on adventures, not wearing tight suits and listening to my father drone on and on about his business. I also loved painting, but my father thought it was too girly for a guy to do. And most importantly, I loved fighting. But my father didn’t accept this and did as much as he could to stop me.

“Watch your language young man!” he screamed at me. “And fix your posture!” Honestly, I just can’t stand him. I can barely utter a single word out loud without criticizing me for the most trivial things. It’s not like the paparazzi’s here to give his a bad name.

“You still haven’t answered my damn question!” I screeched. “How in the hell did you find me?” my father was pissed so much, but I didn’t care. He can’t control my life anymore.

“I was driving home and saw your car,” he answered barely meeting my eyes. I could tell he was lying.

“Bullshit!” I exclaimed. “I’ll ask one more time, how the hell did you find me?!”

“I already told you!” he roared.

“That’s all a bunch of crap!” I exclaimed. Then it hit me. “You’re spying on me again aren’t you?!”

“No,” Dad lied. I grabbed him by his shirt collar and brought him closer to my face.

“Where did you put the camera?” I asked him angrily.

“I didn’t put a camera!” he insisted.