Page 3 of Playing Dirty (Leighton U #4)

But while Madden Hastings may look like a straight-up delinquent, he’s currently the best catcher in all of college baseball. He was awarded an All-American designation last year, and there’s talk of him being drafted into the Majors once he becomes eligible at the end of the school year.

For his athletic skills, and that alone, he has my respect—though I’d never be caught admitting any praise for a Blackmore Falcon aloud.

Almost as if he could read my thoughts, a perfect, wicked smile spreads over his face.

“Theo,” he murmurs while pulling out the empty seat beside his mother’s. “Nice to see you.”

Wish I could say the same, pal.

I nod in greeting, barely paying him any mind .

Apart from the City Rivals game at the end of last season, I’ve only seen him a handful of times since our parents came back from Tulum to tell us they’d gotten married. Not that I’m at all mad about it; the less time I spend in the presence of a Falcon, the better.

Which is why I’d really love to get this show on the road.

Carla is the only one talking while the four of us load up our plates with food, rambling on about family recipes from Dad’s family that she was eager to mix with some of her own.

I’m barely listening, and to be honest, I may need a beer or something if she’s planning to keep filling the silence with awkward chattering all through dinner.

Sometimes it’s nice to just exist in the quiet.

“Can someone pass the green bean casserole, please?” I ask absently as I set the mashed potatoes back in the center of the table.

Carla’s face is slightly ashen when I glance up, and she shoots a quick look from me to my father and back again. “Your father didn’t mention green bean casserole when I went over the sides.”

“Because if it isn’t something he loves, he won’t notice it’s missing,” I reply immediately.

Apparently that applies to both food and people.

Dad shoots me a warning look, clearly reading between the lines of my quip. “This is already plenty of food; there wasn’t a need for another side.”

“There also wasn’t a need for two types of potatoes, but those seemed to make the cut,” I mutter under my breath.

And considering the only one with the weird sweet potato dish on their plate is Madden…

Carla clears her throat and glances at my father. “I’m sorry, Theo. I’ll make sure to make a note for it next year. Or Christmas, maybe?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get some at Mom’s later,” I say, leaving the Christmas comment alone.

She’s gotta be high if she thinks I’m spending Christmas anywhere near this shit show. Or any other holiday, for that matter.

My dad’s attention lifts from his plate when he says, “I didn’t realize you were having dinner with her tonight as well.”

“Yeah, well…” I spear my fork into the turkey on my plate with a little more force than necessary before aiming a saccharine smile in his direction. “Perks of being a child of divorce, I guess.”

At that, Carla’s gaze drops back to her plate, and I swear, my father’s expression smooths into a marble mask—nothing but cold stone gazing in my direction. I’m fully aware the pettiness and spite I’m currently radiating might not be entirely warranted, but also, fuck him and his feelings.

He certainly wasn’t thinking about mine when he destroyed our family.

We finish eating in relative silence after my mood-dampening comment, and honestly, it’s probably the only thing I’m grateful for this Thanksgiving. And maybe Carla’s apple pie, though it’s annoying for me to admit it’s better than Mom’s.

Of course, it’s hard to enjoy when my wonderful stepmother decides to start talking again, instantly killing my appetite with sweet sentiments.

“I just wanted to say how grateful I am for the four of us sharing our first holiday together as a family.” She beams, her gaze shifting around the table. “Transitions like this are hard and come with a lot of bumps in the road, but it means the world to both of us that the two of you are here.”

“Of course, Mom,” Madden says while flashing her a smile.

Oh, gag me.

“And while we have you here, for Christmas—”

“Can we get through this holiday first before we start talking about another?” I ask while stabbing my fork into another bite of pie .

“Well, that’s the thing. This will be our first Christmas as a family too, so Adam and I thought it would be nice to spend part of it at Snowline Resort up in Vermont. Your dad said that’s your favorite, Theo?”

My fork drops to my plate, not sure I heard her correctly. Because there’s no way in hell she just suggested…

But when I look up, sure enough, she’s plastered on this perky smile like she just told me Santa is real. But in reality, they’re trying to bribe me into acceptance, and I can’t stop myself from releasing a bark of laughter because of it.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“Watch your tone.” My father’s deep voice comes out with a hint of warning.

I shake my head, glancing between the two of them. “You’re both out of your goddamn minds if you think I’m agreeing to that.”

Another glare comes from my father’s side of the table when he utters a gruff, “It’s only a week, not the entire break.”

“I wouldn’t care if it was only a day. That’s time I could be spending with Mom in Branson. You know, like we did every year before you decided you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.”

“Theo—”

“Or I could stay in Chicago with my friends. Or maybe tag along to Florida with a couple of my roommates, since you decided to ruin the trip I took down there last year by dropping the divorce bomb on me,” I continue, on a roll now, and making no signs of stopping.

“Honestly, it doesn’t even matter what I could be doing, because it sure as hell would be better than cosplaying as one big happy family when I’m the furthest fucking thing from happy. ”

“Theodore Lucas Greyson!” my father booms, a deadly fury swirling in his gaze. “You’re not going to speak to me like that, and you’re certainly not going to continue disrespecting Carla either.”

Madden coughs, clearly an attempt to cover his laughter, and I pin him with a glare. It does nothing but make him chuckle harder, though, and it ignites my already short fuse.

Which is why I keep popping off at the mouth.

What do I have to lose from it?

“Respect? Really? That’s what you’re going with? Why would I respect either of you for the choices you’ve made?” An emotionless laugh leaves me, and I motion around the table. “I mean, really . Are we planning to just brush the actions that led us here under the rug?”

From the dead silence greeting my ears, apparently we are.

Carla rests her hand over my father’s, and the sight instantly destroys what’s left of my appetite. Scratch that: The sugar-sweet smile she aims at him has me ready to upchuck. “We know this is going to be an adjustment for everyone, but we want this family to work.”

Fat chance of that ever happening, Carla.

I plaster on my own smile, this one far more menacing, before biting out, “I’m so glad to hear what you want, but I’m not going to be the one suffering from the consequences of your actions.”

My father’s fuming when he utters, “You will not disrespect her again in this house. Do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Dad. Though I really don’t know why we’re still on that topic when you couldn’t respect your first wife enough to not screw your fucking secretary.”

I can tell my father’s barely holding his temper now.

The cords of his neck are pulled taut, and the vein in his forehead is visibly pulsing as he stares me dead in the eye.

But to his credit, he doesn’t yell or shout.

He doesn’t even raise his voice when he announces, “The rooms and flights are already booked. And as for your mother, she and I already discussed this, and she’s planning your trip to Branson accordingly. So you will be there.”

I scoff. “Last time I checked, I’m not a toddler who needs your permission to do something.”

“You sure are acting like one.”

My gaze flashes to the source of the comment, finding two hazel eyes blazing in my direction. Madden’s kept relatively silent through most of this exchange, but he’s clearly done biting his tongue now.

Good.

Part of me was wondering if the ease he’s swallowing down this happy family bullshit is real or if he’s just really good at pretending he’s unbothered. Guess now I know.

“Funny, Hastings. I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”

“That’s enough, ” my father commands, slamming his hand on the table. He rises from his seat, the scraping of wood on wood when his chair scoots back sending a zap of adrenaline through my body. “The four of us will be going up to Vermont over winter break. As a family. The end.”

My father’s stare bores into mine, almost daring me to disagree or make another snide comment. The smartest thing would be to let it go—to drop it and move on.

But I don’t. I can’t.

Because he’s destroyed everything, and I fucking hate him for it.

In barely more than a whisper, I mutter, “You can call us a family all you want, but that doesn’t make it true.”

With those parting words, I shove back from the table and head for the front door.

“Where the hell are you going?” my father calls before I even make it from the room, but I don’t bother turning around. There’s nothing left for me here.

“To see the only real family I have left.”