Eastwood Academy

Chapter 27: Empty Threats (River's POV)

My father clearly is tracking my phone because the minute I step foot back onto the campus at Eastwood, he calls me. Just fucking great. I was planning to hit the gym for a workout to deal with the maniac energy that's been coursing through me ever since I pulled fuckface off of Brooklyn. Today was already bad enough, but I have a feeling it's about to get a lot worse. To say I don't get along with my father is an understatement.

"Meet me in the main parking lot," he tells me, not bothering to say hello, and hangs up before I can reply.

"Nice to talk to you too, Dad," I mutter, feeling my mood plummet even more. I didn't think that was possible, but I guess rock bottom has a basement. I turn and trudge towards his car, dragging my feet.

When I get to the parking lot, I don't have to look far to find my father. I recognize his black Lincoln Aviator SUV sitting in a handicapped car. Gritting my teeth, I yank the door open and slide into the passenger seat. He doesn't say anything as his eyes slide over the bruises on my face and arms, probably hoping the silence will intimidate me. An expression of extreme disappointment that I know so well I have memorized settles on his features.

Gordon Daniel St.Claire looks too much like me for my comfort. He has the same light brown hair, square jaw, and lightly tanned skin as me. The biggest difference between us lies in our eyes. His are whiskey brown, while mine are a deep green, like my mother's.

"Spare me the lecture about me letting you down, and just tell me if I'm getting expelled," I say, feeling my spirits lift a fraction as I watch my father physically struggle not to scream at me. I find pissing him off to be an art form, one that I'm exceedingly good at.

"You won't be expelled," he informs me coldly. "The boy wanted to press charges, but I talked with his parents and convinced them that it was in everyone's best interests not to."

"You mean you pulled out your checkbook?" I correct him tonelessly, trying to appear for all the world like I don't care about any of this. That couldn't be farther from the truth. Getting expelled from Eastwood would be about the worst thing that could happen to me right now. I'm barely hanging on, even with the help of my friends. I'm not sure what I would do without Tyler and Marina. They help keep me sane. And Brooklyn. The thought of leaving her has been tormenting me ever since I woke up.

"Yes, River, I pulled out my checkbook, and you should be damn grateful I did," he snarls at me. "Assault? Really? Again? Did you not learn your lesson after the last time? I thought I told you this could never happen again!"

I sit back and watch my dad rant, letting him get everything off of his chest. There's no point in trying to interrupt anyway. I learned a while ago not to expect any kind of empathy from him.

"What caused the fight this time?" he finally asks me after it becomes clear I'm not going to speak unless prompted.

"Nothing," I mutter, glaring down at my feet.

"Nothing?" he repeats incredulously. You're telling me you got into a fight for, and I quote, "Nothing?"

"That's what I said," I tell him. Because there's no way I'm going to confess the truth to this man. I didn't admit it to Tyler, so why would I tell my dad, who is as cold-hearted as they come, that I started a fight because I couldn't bear to watch the girl I like wrapped in the arms of some other guy.

"Jesus, River, you have got to be better than this," my dad says, glaring at me. "I thought you were past all of this insanity. If I had known that dating the Ward girl was going to cause this many problems I'd have banned you from so much as putting a finger on her."

My head snaps up, and my hands ball into fists. I'm so angry it takes me a minute to find my voice. "You shut your mouth about her," I tell him viciously. "Not one more word."

"She was just a girl, River," my father seethes, fully losing his temper now. "I know you thought you were in love with her, but the truth is if she was still alive, you probably wouldn't even be together anymore! Relationships never last at your age. There's a difference between love and lust, and you certainly aren't old enough to be able to differentiate between the two. Don't throw your entire future away because Imeria is dead. How is that going to help you?"

"Keep her fucking name out of your mouth," I tell him, my voice rising louder than I intended as rage coursing through my body. "You don't know the first thing about me or what I felt for Imeria. You don't know what love is, so stop trying to pretend like you have any comprehension of what I'm going through." It takes all my willpower not to scream the words at him. The only way I can win in this situation is to be better at his own game than him, and the way to do that is to never let my temper get the better of me. I don't want to tell him anything that he can use as leverage over me.

"What you're going through?" he sneers, looking like the idea of me admitting to having a hard time is the most pathetic thing he's ever heard. "I thought I raised you better than this River. Ranting about your feelings, unable to control yourself, you're one step away from sounding like a girl."

Trying to reason with him is pointless. I could tell him that he sounds heartless, that he doesn't understand the first thing about happiness, that he only knows how to make money, but he would never listen. The only thing I can do is interact with him at his level. Which is insults and bullying.

"A girl, gee, my dainty little feelings are so hurt," I say, keeping my voice level and throwing my signature. I think you sound like a fucking idiot smirk at him. Then, just for good measure, I add: "You know you should really get some new threats. Your generation might have been raised to cower at the mere threat of being labeled like a girl, but real men respect women."

I have the satisfaction of watching my father's face turn a shade of purple I haven't seen before. There's nothing that drives him crazier than being talked back to. I know he thinks I'm weak and don't have the constitution to run a successful business like he does because I don't aspire to his sleazy view of how the world works.

Our difference in morals and ideologies has been a constant thorn in our relationship, mostly because I know exactly how to push his buttons, and I don't hesitate to do so anytime I think my father is being a grade-A asshole, which is most of the time.

"You watch it, River," my father threatens, pointing an accusing finger at me. "One more step out of line, and I'll yank you out of here even if you don't get expelled."

"I don't believe you, Gordon. As much as you might like to ship me off, you can't do that without ruining your precious reputation," I reply calmly. I'm sure my father would love to ship me off to military school, but he can't afford the stain on the family name that this would cause. I'm one of Eastwood's most prized soccer players in a generation. My status on our team has been the source of bragging rights for my father with his old high school friends, many of whom he considers valuable business connections, and whose children also go to Eastwood. It boosts his status with his peers. My father can be shockingly petty.

He's made no secret of his disdain for my behavior, but he's also determined to see me succeed because he views my achievements as a direct success for him. That was why he was happy to pay off the family of the kid I beat up, but every time my mother suggested therapy, he dismissed it as a waste of time for weak minded bitches.

My father looks at me with open disgust. "You are my biggest disappointment," he tells me in the same calm tone I just used on him. A couple years back, I would have been crushed to hear my father speak so ill of me. But right now, I feel strangely devoid of emotion. Maybe it's because I already know that my parents and pretty much everyone I know considers me a fuck up. "Keep yourself in check, or I will," he threatens.

"Are we done here?" I ask. All I want is to get away from him.

"Get out of my sight," is the only reply I receive. I'm only too happy to comply, jumping out of the car and slamming the door as hard as I can for good measure.

Foul doesn't begin to cover my mood as I storm towards my dorm room. I seriously hope that Tyler is out because my only plan for the rest of the day is to drink the handle of vodka that's stashed under my bed and not talk to anyone.