Page 13 of Connor

I was supposed to be at the dealership at ten today.

By the time I finally pulled into the lot, my father was waiting.

David McIntyre stood at the front doors, arms crossed over his chest, posture stiff as he watched me climb out of my car. Aiden was next to him, leaning on his cane, his expression unreadable.

My stomach twisted.

Fuck.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, as I made my way toward them. My father didn’t say a word, didn’t move, didn’t blink—just turned and strode into the building without looking at me.

Aiden breathed, shaking his head. "You really gonna keep doing this, man?"

I didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.

I followed them inside, the air-conditioned lobby a stark contrast to the suffocating heat outside. The employees barely spared me a glance, used to my shit by now. But there was tension in the air, thick and heavy, crawling under my skin.

David led the way, straight into the conference room, and as soon as the door shut behind us—

"Sit."

I smirked. "Not a dog, Dad."

"Sit. Down."

His voice was sharp. I dragged the chair out slowly, deliberately, sinking into it as Aiden dropped into the seat beside me. My father stayed standing, his fingers braced against the table, his knuckles white.

"You think this is a joke?" His voice was quiet. Too quiet. It made my stomach knot.

I leaned back, stretching out my legs. "Guess it depends on whatthisis."

David’s nostrils flared. "You show up late every goddamn day. You drink yourself stupid every goddamn night. And now, now you’re showing up looking like you crawled out of a fucking dumpster."

"Come on, it’s every third night," I said lazily. "Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?"

"Shut your mouth."

I tilted my head, but I did.

He ran a hand over his mouth, exhaling through his nose like he wasthis closeto snapping. "I’ve given you every opportunity," he said, voice controlled, like he was struggling to rein it in. "Handed you a job. A career. You could have been something. And this—" he gestured to me, his lip curling in disgust "—is what you choose to do with it?"

I clenched my jaw.

Aiden cleared his throat. "Dad—"

"You stay out of this," my father snapped.

Aiden’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue.

David turned back to me. "You have two choices, Connor. You either straighten the fuck up and start acting like a McIntyre—"

I snorted. "A McIntyre?"

Should I marry a woman half my age and beat her every weekend? Would that make him feel better about how I acted? Would it make me seem more like him?

He slammed his fist on the table. The whole room shook. "DON’T FUCKING INTERRUPT ME!"

I let him believe I was thinking it over. My father’s eyes darkened. His hands flexed, the veins in his neck taut with fury. "Get the fuck out of my sight," he bit out.