Chapter 40 Chapter Forty
Chapter 40 Chapter Forty
Nat’s POV
I trailed behind Dad as we headed upstairs after dinner. The house felt too quiet, the kind of silence that pressed on your chest. Emma had crashed early, her door left cracked open just enough for the soft glow of her nightlight to spill out. I paused there, gently pulling it shut with a soft click, careful not to wake her. She didn’t need any more of this tension leaking into her dreams.
Mom had already disappeared into the kitchen again, munching on those cookies like they were a lifeline while nursing another bottle of wine. And Dad… Dad had been checking his phone every few minutes.
Something about dad’s new behavior seems strange to me. I reached my bedroom door and paused, hand on the knob, but I couldn’t make myself go inside.
His footsteps kept going down the hall toward his study, steady but with that extra edge he gets when he’s pissed. Instead of slipping into my room, I kicked off my shoes, left them by the wall, and moved quietly after him, socks silent on the floor.
I eased it open just enough to slip inside without the hinges squeaking too loud. There he was, his back turned to me, phone jammed against his ear, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk so hard.
“If you don’t stop harassing me, I will call the police on you.” His voice came out low and tight, like he was barely holding it together.
I pushed the door open a little wider, leaning in to catch more. The person on the other end was loud enough that their anger bled through clearly, even if the words themselves stayed muffled. Dad tried to cut in, voice dropping even lower, but the other person kept going.
I shifted my weight and the floorboard under my foot gave the smallest creak.
Dad spun around. His eyes locked on me instantly. For a split second, something like panic flashed across his face before it hardened into cold control. He stabbed his thumb at the screen and ended the call hard.
“Nat.” His voice was flat. “What are you doing here?”
I stepped fully into the room, letting the door click shut behind me. My heart was pounding like I had just run suicides on the field, but I kept my face straight.
“Is it suddenly illegal for a son to walk into his dad’s study?”
“You don’t sneak up on me while I’m on a call.” He set the phone face-down on the desk. “You’ve been acting strange all evening. If you have something to say, say it.”
I crossed my arms, mirroring his usual power stance. “I could ask you the same thing. Who was that on the phone?”
Dad exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose like I was just another problem to manage.
“Business, Nat. Nothing that concerns you.” He straightened some papers on the desk without looking at me. “What concerns you is the next game. Coach called me again today. You’ve been losing focus lately and that’s not the profile we need right now. You cannot afford to look weak out there.”
My stomach twisted. “Really? Now we care about that?”
“Your season’s been rough lately, Nathaniel.” He still wouldn’t meet my eyes, just kept messing with the papers. “Three losses in two seasons. That’s not what scouts want to see.”
I let out a bitter laugh that burned in my throat.
“Funny. You’re the one who always said sports doesn’t give you real long-term clout. Wealth does, remember?”
“Both go hand in hand.” His jaw clenched hard.
“So which is it? Sports or Jeremy or Gramol? Because it changes depending on what you need that week.”
“I never told you to be terrible on the field. That’s on you.”
“If I’m terrible, then you’re a terrible father,” I shot back, voice cracking just a little with everything I’d been swallowing for months.
His face darkened for a second, his fists clenched at his sides. Then he forced a breath, shoulders dropping as he tried to regain control.
“I’m trying to be better, Nathaniel.”
I laughed again, sharper and meaner this time.
“If you think I’m buying this sudden nice-guy act like everyone else, you’re seriously underestimating me.”
“You know what? This is exactly why I can’t trust you with more responsibility. You don’t take corrections. All you do is sneak around listening to conversations that don’t concern you. That’s beneath you, Nathaniel, and I won’t tolerate it.”
He stepped closer, eyes hard as steel. “Get out of my office. Now.”
I held his gaze for a long second, chest tight with everything I wanted to say but couldn’t prove.
Before I could move, the door behind me swung open. Mom stood there in her robe, her eyes flicking between us. She took in the scene and let out a tired sigh.
“This is a father and son situation,” she muttered. “Nat, honey, let your dad handle his business. You two can talk tomorrow when everyone’s calmer. Okay?”
She gave me that pleading look before glancing at Dad with something unreadable in her eyes. I opened my mouth to argue, the words burning on my tongue, but the fight drained a little under her tired gaze. Mom gently steering me toward the door, murmuring something about getting some rest.
As I turned to leave, my eyes caught something on the corner of his desk partially hidden under a folder. The bold header across the top of the papers: Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.
Divorce papers.