The Harder You Fall (Rixon Raiders 3)

“As long as I have you, it’ll be okay.” My lips fixed over hers, finding solace in her softness, the little noises she made as my tongue stroked hers. Being with Mya was going to be complicated. But my whole fucking life was complicated.

At least with her by my side, I didn’t have to face the shitstorm alone.

After giving everyone a ride home, I returned the minivan to the rental place and picked up my Jeep. Mya had offered to ride with me, but I needed space. Time to clear my head, ready to deal with Dad’s bullshit when I got home.

Pushing open the door, I steeled myself when his voice drifted down the hall. “Asher, Son, we’re in the kitchen.”

Waiting to pounce, no doubt.

I ditched my bags by the staircase and made my way toward the back of the house.

“Happy New Year, sweetheart,” Mom greeted me first, her smile too wide, her eyes red and swollen.

She’d been crying.

Which meant he’d upset her.

Anger boiled in my blood. “Happy New Year, Mom. Dad.” I gave him a sharp nod while I hugged Mom.

“Did you have fun?” she asked, her voice significantly lower than usual.

“New York was great, thanks.” I forced a smile. “Did you have a nice evening?”

Dad and Mom spent every year at The Danforth, the only five-star hotel and restaurant in a twenty-five-mile radius. They always hosted an extravagant and exclusive dinner. It was the perfect place for Dad to rub shoulders with the other businessmen and wealthy people living in the local area.

“It was...” She hesitated, telling me all I needed to know, “lovely.”

Dad grunted. “The Ginly’s were there. Good people. Malcolm and I were hoping that since you and Kellie will be attending Pittsburgh in the fall together, that maybe you could—”

“The rest of the year is mine,” I ground out. “Isn’t that what you said?”

“I did. But then I didn’t expect you to be gallivanting around town with the Hernandez girl.”

“Mya. Her name is Mya.”

“I know very well what her name is, Son. What I can’t quite understand though is if you’re dating her to make a point or because you genuinely care about the girl?”

“Care about her?” I spat. “I don’t fucking care about her. I love her. I’m in love with her.” My chest heaved with the weight of the words.

“Love?” He chuckled darkly, the sound making my muscles tense. “You’re eighteen, Son. Love is for fools.”

Mom let out a pained gasp behind me, and then fled from the kitchen.

“Nice, Dad. Real nice.”

“Your mother knows how I feel about her.”

I wasn’t sure being a possessive jealous asshole translated into love, but what the hell did I know?

“Mya isn’t going anywhere,” I said resolutely. “So you need to get to used to that. I’ve kept my end of the bargain. I’m still going to Pittsburgh; I’m still going to focus on my degree and leave football behind.”

“Son.” My father rubbed his brow. “Mya is... not suited for our world. I’m sure she’s a lovely girl, but—”

“Save your condescending racist bullshit for someone who cares. There are still five months until graduation. Five months where I get to say how I live my life.”

He bristled, irritation flashing in his eyes. “Watch your tone, Asher. You might still have five months, but if you think for a second I’ll just stand by and watch you screw up your life for a girl who probably only sees you as her meal ticket, you’ve got another think coming.”