11. RYAN #3
Father’s still staring out the window. What’s up with him tonight?
Something’s different, but I can’t put my finger on what.
“You’re a Savage heir. You have a responsibility to the family.
I’ll agree that it’s not an optimal situation, but it is your future.
Tonight was for getting used to the idea. ”
Rocks sink to the bottom of my stomach.
My brain does what it usually does, whirring into how things won’t be so bad.
I won’t be with Kline for most of the year.
We’ll probably have nannies for the children who are likely only wanted to pass down the Kline name.
Not something I’d ever choose but doesn’t look like I’m getting the luxury of choice.
If I play nice with Kline, he’ll play nice with me.
I think.
Hopefully.
My hands clench in time with the rest of my guts. I could survive it, but I don’t want to survive my life—I want to enjoy it. Why are my fucking choices always the shittiest of fucking choices?
I peer at my father. Is that what he’s done? Is that what he’s still doing? Surviving his life. Maybe he’s forgotten anything else.
“I won’t do it. I’m not marrying Kline,” I say.
“You will, if I have to have you dragged down the aisle.”
“You can’t make me say I do.”
There’s a long, eerie silence. Father’s burning rage heats the air, but he says nothing.
His head snaps in my direction when he’s reached some kind of internal crescendo.
“Griffon isn’t making as much progress as he was.
If he doesn’t, maybe I’ll have to find another place for him.
There’s always the army or even Riverview. ”
Riverview is a psychiatric hospital in the middle of nowhere.
Our parents—all parents in elite society—like to threaten to send us there if North Point isn’t enough to make us fall in line.
Thankfully, I’ve never been sent there. I suspect that Kane has, but he’s never said.
Riverview’s usually an endpoint. If you get out, you consider yourself the recipient of a miracle.
My heart races, and I run a hand through my hair. If Father uses either of those options, Griff won’t be just beyond my reach, but Tate’s, too.
“Is that the trade-off? I marry Kline peacefully, and you leave Griff alone?” But I’ve been here before. I’ve made this deal. Griff was supposed to go to Shadowridge, not North Point. Look how well that worked out. How the fuck do I stop him?
“I’m not sure. You haven’t seemed to respond to the deals we’ve made. Making deals leads you to think you have negotiating power—you don’t. Maybe the solution is to put Griff away somewhere, and your behavior can dictate how soon he gets out.”
Those suffocating claws always lurking in the background when I’m with Father cinch around my ribcage.
I breathe carefully so that I don’t give myself away.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to beg him, but Savages don’t beg.
All I can do is leave that in the fucking air, pretending—and failing—not to give a fuck.
I close my eyes, heart pounding now. Fucking Tate comes to mind. Am I really gonna have a what-would-Tate-do moment? It’s such a fucking risk, but I’ve got nothing to lose, and I’ve got to do something.
“Do that, and I walk.”
Father’s steady gaze never wavers; mine wants to, but I hold firm. Don’t shake. Don’t shake. Don’t fucking shake.
“You would abandon your brother?”
“Never. But I can’t trust you. Your word means shit, sir.”
“My number one priority is doing what’s best for this family. Our name. One day you’ll be in my position, Ryan. You’ll understand what that means, what we have to do.”
On that fucking precious note, he resumes staring out the window, while my stomach twists and I fight back the nausea. I’ve either bought myself breathing room or royally fucked everything up.
The car carries on down the highway, and I spend a good half an hour dreaming up all the ways I could end Gregory Kline.
Thank fuck we’re headed back to North Point, and I let out a breath I definitely knew I was holding.
I should tell the guys in our group chat before one of them sends the cavalry.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, something flashes in my periphery. I look up just in time to catch a blur of shiny blue on the other side of the highway. Holy shit. That was a Lamborghini. The kind with headlights that make it look like a venomous snake.
My skin prickles.
Where’s the fire, buddy? But I guess if I had a car like that, I’d drive it that way, too. I almost went with a car like that, but while Father didn’t outright forbid it, he frowned, so I went with something flashy without being ostentatious.
My phone’s still open to the chat with Tate. Huh, looks like my message was sent a while ago. I would have still been involved in that “special time” with Kline when he got it. Maybe my mind went too far down Conspiracy Theory Road, and that washroom happened to be a dead spot.
Whatever, the asshole left me on read anyway. I’m not going to have a dark knight. I’m going to have to figure this shit out myself, and the prognosis on that is fucking grim.