The Harder You Fall (Rixon Raiders 3)

Hailee blanched. “He and my mom got into it. They said they’ll be here, but it was bad. I haven’t seen them argue like that in a long while.”

“Rough.” I guess we weren’t the only family hiding secrets. “Looks like we all need a stiff drink then. Follow me.”

The clink of silverware against glass ushered the room into silence. It was standing room only at my mom’s annual Christmas Eve party, the sea of familiar faces all watching my father as he took center-stage to give what I could only assume would be another stellar performance.

I spotted Coach Hasson and his wife, Sandra. Then Jason’s dad, Kent and Hailee’s mom, Denise. They’d finally made it although I’d noticed they hadn’t spoken a single word to one another since arriving. Apparently, the Bennets were better actors than the Ford-Raines.

But one face was missing.

While my friends stood hand in hand with their girlfriends, I stood alone.

I’d checked my cell at least fifty times, wondering where Mya could have possibly gotten to, not wanting to believe that she’d actually stood me up on what was proving to be one of the shittiest nights of my life.

“Welcome, friends, to our annual Christmas Eve celebration,” Dad started. “I think I say this every year but the chance to spend quality time with those we love is something I don’t take for granted. So thank you for choosing to spend your evening with us. We hope you enjoy the good food, good drinks, and questionable conversation. Merry Christmas, everyone.”

“Merry Christmas.” The crowd’s cheer rattled in my chest and I felt like raising my glass in the air and declaring my own version of Merry Fucking Christmas. Because nothing about watching my friends and their families hang onto every word of my father’s speech felt merry.

“That seemed a little on the short side,” Jason whispered out of the side of his mouth. “I was expecting an ode to Asher; apple of my eye, fruit of my loins type of speech.”

“Fuck you.” I mouthed, cracking a small smile. Dad wasn’t wrong, the drinks were good, the lingering warmth of his whisky running through my veins giving me a slight buzz.

“Son,” a heavy hand landed on my shoulder. “Can I borrow you for a second?”

“Sure thing, Dad.” It’s not like I have a choice.

“I’ll return him to you in one piece,” he said to my friends.

It was a joke.

A fucking joke.

And yet, it felt like a gunshot to the chest.

“What’s up, Dad?” I cleared my throat, aware of the slight slur to my words.

“You know the Ginlys, don’t you?” He guided me over to a tall man with thinning gray hair. “Malcolm, you remember my son, Asher.”

The man extended his hand. “How could I forget? Congratulations on a great season, son.”

“Thanks.” I gritted out. Of course he fucking remembered me. I’d been in his daughter’s class since grade school. Not to mention the fact, I knew he was an avid Raiders fan.

So what the hell was my father playing at?

“Malcolm was telling me earlier that Kellie has just accepted a full athletic scholarship to Pittsburgh. Isn’t that great?”

“Yeah,” the blood drained from my face, as realization dawned on me. This was a set up. My father’s attempt at keeping my eye on his future and off distractions.

Distractions like Mya.

My heart withered in my chest. He was never going to accept me dating her. No matter how bright or intelligent or beautiful she was.

Mya didn’t fit into the plan.

His plan.

So this was my father’s lame-assed attempt at redirecting things.

“Ah, talk of the devil. Hey, sweetie.” Malcolm placed his arm around Kellie’s shoulder and pulled her into the conversation. She batted her eyes right at me, smiling coyly. “Hey, Asher.”