Devil on the Rooftop [Book 1]

Chapter 101 - Khaleel -

The living room started spinning. I couldn't make sense of what was happening but I was sure it had something to do with the fact that my old man just said he was getting married. To fucking who? Where did he meet this stranger and why hadn't he said anything sooner? A man is defined by the woman who stands beside him—he said that to me, he engraved that fucking moto into me and now he was announcing his engagement to some random woman? It was a joke. He was joking. He had to be.

"What did you just say?" I asked.

My old man maintained his smile. "I'm getting married, Khaleel," he confirmed.

"Why?" It was the only thing I could ask that didn't follow a thousand curse words. I wasn't allowed to swear in front of him, no scratch that. It wasn't that I wasn't allowed to, it was that I didn't dare to. Respect your elders and the hand that feeds you—it was another saying he engraved into me. My old man never raised his hand on me unless we were in a boxing ring. I was also very careful to make sure he never had a reason to hit me. I grew up watching what happened to men who opposed him, men who questioned him, and men who made him angry.

"Kyun?" he repeated my question. "Because your papa is in love, Khaleel. After losing your mother, I never thought I would ever be able to feel anything close to it, but I have. It exists—"

"You asked her to marry you without talking to me about it," I said, seeing red. "You came here to invite me to your wedding, without thinking about how I might react to you replacing mom?"

"No one will ever replace her, Khaleel," my old man said. "This isn't about her, it's about me."

I glared at him. "Isn't it always?"

My old man glared back. "I came here to celebrate with my son, not to fight with him. So, if you need time to mull this over then you have until the summer. By then, I expect you to show up, smile, and support Rida and her daughters."

My eyes widened and I jumped out of my chair. "Daughters?" I raised my voice.

He stood up too. My old man walked over and placed his hand on my shoulder, and tightened his grip. "That's right," he said. "You're not an only child anymore, so it's time you stop acting like it. Too long, I've put up with your charades at school. Too long, I've let you get away with throwing your fists around. I ignored Kumar when he said you needed proper guidance because I called it as I saw it, a little boy craving attention and acting out."

Pain slid from my shoulder to my neck, as his terrifying eyes enveloped me. "I let you be because I hoped after you were finished throwing your little tantrums, you would grow up and ask me to come back home," he went on. "I was so proud the day you stood up to Waseem and the others and I hoped that would change you for the better, but I suppose it hasn't."

I tried to wiggle out of his hold, succumbing to the pressure, but I couldn't. He was too strong. "You want to waste time for another two years?" my father scoffed. "You want to keep going to this school and hold on to the friends you made? You want Kumar to lend you muscle when you get into shit with other little boys? Then you say Mubarak, you attend my wedding, and you do it all with a smile on your face. Have I made myself clear?"

My body was shaking and I was sure my old man could sense it. I took a slow breath, locked eyes with him, and said congratulations in Urdu. "M-Mubarak."

A sly smile appeared on his face and he released me. "Shukria," he replied.