Falling For Dad's College Rival

Like cooking dinner or parking a—

BANG.

I feel my body jerking back into the seat, and Trent asks me if I’m okay before anything else.

“I’m fine,” I groan, knowing full well I’ve just reversed into the car behind us, its piercing alarm wailing like a guilty verdict as a small crowd gathers.

Some shaking their heads, another laughing once I step out of the car.

They stop laughing when they see Trent get out of the car though, and the crowd magically thins out.

He asks me again if I’m okay and I tell him I’m fine. But his voice changes after what I assume is him assessing the damage.

“I don’t fucking believe it,” he growls, and I wonder for a moment if everything we’ve enjoyed for the past few days is about to come suddenly undone, especially over something so stupid but all my fault.

“It’s not so bad.” I hope, moving to the back of the car, observing the dent in the fender of the car behind us. Trent’s car looks unscathed.

But looking up, I can see what he’s talking about.

I think I know who this car belongs to now.

I see her first, and then my dad, who’s two steps behind, carrying two ice cream cones.

The woman he’s with picking up speed as she figures out it’s her car I’ve just backed into.

There’s a sickening moment when all our eyes meet. Hers resting on mine, and then my dad’s on me, and finally, it’s all eyes on Trent.

The most unmistakable player in the drama, not just because of his sheer size.

“Well. I hope you’ve got insurance,” is the first words out of the woman’s mouth. She’s the one from the reunion but dressed in a uniform of some kind. Like she’s either going to or coming from work.

Nice touch, Trent. I completely understand your logic now. But seriously, who would have known?

The next words I hear are my dad’s.

His ice creams melting over both his hands and I’m sure it’s not because of the temperature outside today.

“Honey? Brooke, are you… Are you alright?” he asks, moving past the woman and looking me up and down, hardly recognizing me in my new clothes. My new designer sunglasses.

“Hi daddy,” I hear myself chime, noting his girlfriend’s eyes roll as she swears to herself.

“Oh my fucking god, are you kidding me?” she mutters, her hands moving to her hips as she stands firm, her legs moving slightly apart.

A fighting stance if ever I saw one.

“Hiya Mike,” Trent pipes in. “Bit of a bump but no real harm done,” he adds jovially. “Looks like you got your hands full there,” he observes, noting my dad’s ice cream covered hands.

I move quickly to the glove box, finding some wipes, thankfully, and trotting over to my dad I try to help.

“What the hell, Brooke?” is all he can say, balling up the ice creams and wipes, tossing them into the nearest trash can before pulling me by the wrist to one side.

Bad move dad.

I wouldn’t get physical with Trent around, not even a friendly tug of the wrist.

“I warned you,” Dad snarls. “I told you to stay away from that man… What the fuck’s going on here?” he demands to know, lifting my chin with his thumb and yanking my sunglasses off before Trent’s shadow blocks out the sun.

“Uh. Think you’d better take a step back there, Mike. Take your hands of Brooke. Now,” he growls. The most serious I’ve ever seen him.

My dad does what he’s told but only to turn his anger towards Trent.

“Then maybe you can tell me,” my dad spits, waving off the woman who I think is named Tracey by the name tag she has on, who seems more worried about her car than anything else.

Trent draws up close to my dad, not looking so friendly since he grabbed my wrist like that.

“Brooke here backed into your lady friend’s car trying to park,” he says in a low voice.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Trent and you know it,” My dad hisses, turning a scary shade of red as his sticky hands ball into fists, shaking with rage.

“Dad, don’t,” I hear myself tell him. Not pleading or asking. Telling him for his own safety if nothing else.

Trent shoots me a look and I shake my head subtly, signaling him not to do anything to my dad. I couldn’t bear it.

This is hard enough.

His look softens when our eyes meet but his body is as tense as I’ve seen it.

Sensing the situation, Tracey moves closer to my dad. “Alright. Let’s just all calm down here. Let’s start from the beginning,”

It looks like Tracey’s a nurse or something similar, someone who usually handles pressure for a living.

But my dad isn’t having any of it.

“Butt out, Tracey. This is my daughter and this man’s picked the wrong father to fuck with,” he snarls.