Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
I mean, as low-key, passive-aggressive worried-pissed as Dad can get.
I huff out a breath, holding the phone away from my ear as he tells me he’s booking a plane ticket for my return home and he’ll text me the information later.
Of course, he also insists that I can’t miss the summer dance show this weekend.
Don’t I know how much they’re expecting me?
Don’t I know how many big players will be swarming like bees?
Don’t I know what it could do for my career?
All lines Mother would give him.
I’m sure she’s right behind him, whispering in his ear because she knows I’ll take it more seriously coming from him with his sharp, ever-so-diplomatic delivery.
But when he yammers on about how reckless, irresponsible, and stupid Uncle Dean has always been...
I wish that was Mother.
“He’s your brother, Dad, and he’s a good guy,” I say, having heard enough. “I’m happy helping him out. The Rent-A-Goats are actually profitable, believe it or not, and definitely one of his better ideas. I’m not coming home. Not yet.”
“Tory, I don’t think you’re understanding the significance,” he tells me, his tone flat. “The mayor and half the city council will be there for Mr. Delong, plus a large chunk of the local Fortune 500. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you to—”
“Do what? Grovel?” I snap. “Dad, if Jean-Paul Delong wants me there so bad, he can call me up himself. Don’t do his dirty work or Mother’s.”
He sputters, temporarily at a loss for words.
“Tory, please. I understand your personal reasons with him, but not for walking away from what you love and crash-landing in Dallas all summer. It’s not doing you a bit of good, just causing trouble. They’re such a nosy bunch out there. Nobody ever thinks things through, and you’re...”
I hold the phone away as he proceeds to rattle off reasons why I should fly home ASAP, and also why it’s such an atrocity I’m playing in the mud in this little Podunk town.
I don’t hear half of it. My thoughts have shifted to Quinn.
Mother would have an absolute cow—an elephant!—if she knew about him coming to my rescue, not once, but twice.
At least I know they’ve got spies among the locals, feeding them tidbits. Or else just well-meaning folks who just don’t know when to shut it.
Whoever told them about me working for Uncle Dean could’ve also mentioned my dinner with Quinn last night. But I guess the fact that Dad hasn’t brought it up yet means I’m temporarily safe from best friend ’dating’ drama.
“Dad,” I interrupt his rant while he’s dumping reason number thirteen why I need to think of my future. “I have to go. Granny and I have plans today. Love you, bye.”
I hang up before he can chew me out.
Spoiler: we don’t have plans. None that I know of, anyway, which could change any second with Granny.
But honestly? I like how she rolls. I adore spontaneity.
I enjoy the fun I’ve had since coming here, without stressing about my blown-out knee or my chasm of a future or my asshole ex who also just so happens to be my key back into the dance scene.
Sigh.
I’m over being told what to do twenty-four seven. That’s been the story of my life long before Madeline decided to literally kick me in another direction.
That’s what I’d told Quinn last night, too, in my own way.
Mother has always wanted everything to be perfect. Especially me. Her only golden child.
I’m tired now.
So sick and tired of trying to live up to everyone’s expectations. Namely my parents’.
They want me dancing again as soon as possible. They also wanted me to marry Jean-Paul at one point.
A possibility that makes me violently retch and reach for my glass of water.
Mother was pushing Jean-Paul for years, even back when I was actually interested in him.
He was older, cultured, moneyed, and fit.
She steered me into dating him, and she’d been hoping to hear about a ring up until I caught him with Madeline. Even after I told Mother, I think she still holds out hope we’ll reconcile, climb up a rainbow, and live happily ever after.
For all I know it’s the real reason why she wants me home so bad, and why she’s twisted Dad into calling and trying to talk “sense” to me.
Whatever.
I’ll go back eventually. I have to. Dancing is my life, after all, and even if I’m too messed up to ever be on a stage, I’d love to find another job in the industry.
But I don’t have to kiss and make up with Jean-Paul.
I don’t have to beg.
I damn sure don’t have to meet him again—unless it’s to deliver the resounding slap to the face the cheating prick deserves.
My palm itches at the thought.
Then I flump back against the chair, wondering what I’m doing.
Maybe my parents have no right to pull strings on my life, but they aren’t wrong to wonder. I can’t even answer the question myself.