Page 44 of Bitter When He Begs

“And if you think that’s enough,” he replies smoothly, “then you’re even more delusional than I thought.”

Jaxon finally sighs, setting his napkin on the table. “Alright, that’s enough.”

Our father doesn’t even look at him. “You want to coddle him, go ahead. But don’t come crying to me when he crashes and burns.”

Jaxon throws me a frustrated look, but it’s not aimed at me. It’s at our father and at this whole goddamn ritual we keep reenacting. “I’ll be right back,” he mutters, before getting to his feet and walking away.

My father gets a call before he can destroy me even more, and excuses himself to “take it outside” and I wait exactly sixty seconds before I shove back from the table and make a beeline for the bathroom.

Jaxon’s leaning against the marble counter, arms crossed, the Devereaux cufflinks glinting on his wrists.

He waits until the door swings shut behind me before speaking. “You don’t have to keep eating shit just because it’s being served.”

I scoff, turning on the tap and splashing cold water on my face. “Thanks for the Hallmark wisdom,” I mutter. “Should’ve written that in the card you never sent.”

“I’m serious, Luca.”

“So am I.” I grab a paper towel and drag it across my face too roughly. “He’s always been like this. This isn’t some big, shocking betrayal. I don’t know why you’re acting like it’s new.”

“Because you still give a fuck,” Jaxon says, pushing off the counter and stepping closer. “You still let it in. Still let him cut you open every single time and call it parenting.”

My jaw tightens. “I don’t—”

“Yes, you do.” His voice isn’t cruel, but it’s not soft, either. “You sit across from him and you wait for him to say something different. Like maybe this time he’ll look at you and say he’s proud.”

I look at him through the mirror, chest rising and falling too fast. “You seemed to survive it just fine.”

“I just learned how to stop listening to him,” Jaxon says, stepping closer. “You haven’t.”

I press my palms to the counter, dropping my head forward, my heart pounding like I just ran sprints instead of sitting through a meal.

“You don’t get it, man. You never did. You never had to try. You walked into every room with our name stitched across your back, and people gave you the world for it. I can’t win with him. No matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

I turn toward him, biting back the frustration curling up my throat. “You’ve always been perfect. Dad never looked at you the way he looks at me. He didn’t pick apart your games. He didn’t make you feel like you were lucky to be in his presence.”

Jaxon’s jaw ticks. “No, he never picked apart my games because he never cared enough to. I was the heir apparent; the one who would take over everything one day,” he shakes his head. “I’m not perfect, little brother. I just stopped trying to impress a man who’ll never be satisfied.”

He steps closer again, until we’re standing face to face, his expression calmer than mine, but his eyes—his eyes hold something else. Not pity. Not judgment. Just… recognition.

“You think this ends when you finally play the perfect game? When you get drafted? When your face is on a banner outside a stadium?” Jaxon shakes his head. “It won’t. He’s never going to see you. Not the way you want him to.”

“Then what the fuck do I do?” I snap, voice breaking before I can catch it. “What’s the solution, Jax? Just stop caring?”

“No,” he says. “You start choosing yourself. That’s the only way you survive him.”

I laugh, but it’s bitter. “Yeah? You know he’ll try to pull my trust. Block endorsements. Blacklist me if he thinks I’m not grateful enough. What happens when he tries to ruin my chances at the draft?”

“You’re on full scholarship, Luca. He can’t touch that, or the trust Grandad left,” he says. “Your future’s not tied to his bank account anymore. You’re not sixteen, and you shouldn’t let him scare you into being the version of yourself that he wants.”

“I still want him to be proud,” I admit. “Even after everything. I still want to hear it from him.”

Jaxon’s expression softens. “I know. I wanted it too, once.” He rests a hand on my shoulder. “But it’s a hell of a lot easier tobreathe once you stop holding your breath for something that’s never coming.”

Something about that hits deeper than I want to admit, and my grip on the counter loosens.

“You’re better than him,” he says, voice steady. “On the field, and off it. He knows it, that’s why he tears you down. Because he’s afraid of you surpassing him.”