NOTE: Make sure not to miss out on this week's awesome & intense audiobook performance by kaelking12!

https://youtu.be/-_XundjTvf8

CHAPTER 31

Elias

Friday - 5:25 PM

When it comes to days like this one, poking a hole in people's expectations is only possible with a certain amount of finesse.

Rule number one: If you're in the business of making promises, keep the ones that matter, break the ones that don't.

I should be at school right now. Kevin and Tyler are probably sweating their balls off at football practice hoping that I'll be waiting for them in the parking lot once coach cuts them loose.

Fortunately, no such thing is going to happen. Thanks to a handful of half-truths and a little bit of King-family charm, I'm at home sweet home while the idiot twins are stuck at school with more than a couple surprises in store.

I toss my backpack into the corner of my room, change outta my school clothes, and open up Instagram to see if my insurance policy is still in place.

Katie Walsh, the very blonde, very bribable "Benjamin"-crazed captain of the cheerleading team is turning out to be a better investment than I thought. A new post from her account is sitting on the top of my feed, and it's everything I paid her and her girls to do for me and more.

Looks like skipping science class to make a deal with little Ms. Walsh and MBH's squad of social she-devils was totally worth the trouble.

In the post, Katie and her teammates are dressed to the cheerleading nines and posing in front of Kev's black Dodge pick-up like they're modeling for Hugh Hefner. The pic's barely five minutes old and Katie's likes are already blasting off the charts. Her caption reads—"A chariot fit for the cheer team. Thanks for the party tip @longlivetheking. MBH ladies, head out to @kev27's tonight for the party of the semester."

Okay. Maybe party of the semester is pushing it, but, at least Katie delivers. Me not being at Kev and Ty's party shouldn't be a problem at this point.

Those idiots will be so stoked that there's real-life cheerleaders standing within two feet of them they'll forget about the whole me not being there situation faster than they can pop a boner.

Besides, I've got other priorities tonight.

And I'm about twenty minutes shy of blowing my chances.

It's 5:40, and I'm still standing in front of my closet in my boxers.

I don't remember clothes being this hard or wanting to try this hard to impress a girl—ever.

I mean, back when I was deliriously into Stacey, I thought spending 10 minutes picking out an outfit was heavy lifting.

It's been thirty minutes. I'm basically naked. And, if I don't get it together, I'm gonna be seriously late for the most important Friday of all Friday's.

I glance over at the clock on my table and watch another minute disappear.

I should probably text Lacey. I should've texted her three days ago, but her and her dad's conversation left me a lot less confident about things than I was hoping to be.

Turns out the guy's Mission Bay royalty. I mentioned his name to Tanner, and he spent an hour and a half gushing over Pete Sanders' baseball legacy at MBH. The only thing that stopped the guy from making it to the major leagues was him choosing his family over fame. He gave up going pro to stay in San Diego to coach little league and dedicate his life to the church. It's no surprise that he won over the whole community. Long story short, Pete's a hero, and Lacey's his little girl.

Most dads wouldn't want their little girls anywhere near someone like me, and Pete's probably no exception.

So I bailed on her. On talking to her, on being around her, on texting her back.

I nearly dropped the idea of going to this Friday thing all together until I realized what I'd be missing out on.

Who I'd be missing out on.

How, for the last six months, I'd missed out, checked out, and tapped out of everything going on around me only to cash in on some version of "me" I can't be proud of.

A "me" I don't even like.

A "me" that's been letting days pass by on autopilot by getting drunk and high in the company of fake friends and rotating chicks because nothing mattered.

But that was before.

I've been waiting six months for this chance. For this girl.

I only spent part of a school day with her, and I left campus feeling like my feet were barely brushing the concrete. I know what her dad will think of me. And I know I'm probably not right for her — but I wanna try to be.

And trying starts with showing up when she needs me to.

"¿Mama, puedes venir aquí por favor? I need help, and Tanner won't let me borrow any of his politician clothes for this church thing I'm about to be late for!"

Tanner appears in the door like the creep that he is and rockets one of his fancy button downs straight at my face.

"Mom's busy. Here's a shirt, señor. Take good care of it, okay? You ruined a perfectly good polo the last time I let you borrow my stuff for homecoming."

"It's not like I bled on it on purpose, okay? It's just so happens to be a side effect of getting clocked in the face. Sue me."

"Whatever you say, man. But try not to piss off any of the old people tonight. I don't wanna have to clean prune juice out of my clothes."

I flip Tanner the bird and flash him a smile which is my way of saying thank you without having to say anything at all.

"Relax. You only have to worry about fifty percent of the outfit this time. I'm gonna wear those fancy pants mom got me for Dad's friend's wedding or whatever."

Tanner cocks an eyebrow and doesn't even try to be subtle about judging my clothes. He crosses the room and stands next to me so the both of us are visible in the sliding closet door mirror.

He shifts his gaze down to my boxers which obviously makes me uncomfortable for a number of reasons. I snap in front of his face to redirect his attention.

"Up here. I know you're jealous, but try to keep it together in front of me."

Tanner doesn't hesitate to send his palm flying across the back of my head for that statement.

"Give me a break, Elias. I was trying to imagine you wearing wedding pants with that shirt to a nursing home, and, honestly, if you want my professional opinion—"

"Nah, I'm good."

"—I think you should skip the fancy pants unless you wanna walk out of their with somebody's granny as your new cougar wife. Just throw on a pair of jeans, and you'll be good to go. You don't want your little lady friend to think you're trying too hard right off the bat."

I swat at him, but he dodges the hit easily. I've gotta get better at this.

"Can you leave? Please? And for the record, Lacey's not my girlfriend—"

"Never said that. Freudian slip?"

"Freudia-what?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Anyway, I'm only doing all this for Lacey because—"

"You like her. It's okay. You can say it, Eli. We're not in elementary school anymore."

"I noticed."

"Then own up to how you feel, man. I get that you're scared to make a move, but you gotta go for it sometime. She's a beautiful girl, Eli. You're probably not the only one who's got an eye on her."

I step in front of Tanner and focus my attention on pulling my arms through the sleeves of his shirt instead of focusing on the conversation. He's right. I know it, and so does he. But, rather than giving him the satisfaction of actually agreeing with what he says, I do what I do best and completely dodge the conversation.

"I love it when you're quiet. It always means I'm right."

Basically.

"Only fifty percent of the time. And for the record, I'm not scared when it comes to her, Tan, I'm just—"

Terrified.

"—playing it cool until we get to know each other better. Speaking of cool, should I leave my hair like this or style it a little bit and blow Lacey's mind?"

"Classic avoidance move. Nice. Dad would be proud."

"Whatever. Gel, please."

I snap in the direction of my desk and motion for Tanner to grab my go-to miracle can of American Crew. Did it used to be his? Yes. Do I look better when I use it? Absolutely. He's been jealous ever since. Tanner rolls his eyes at me, tosses it over, and then pulls out his phone to most likely text his "wife".

I take advantage of his distraction and comb my fingers through my hair to try to make it look like I haven't been running around school all day like a crazy person. Trying to post little pink flyers all around campus without getting spotted by Ty and Kev wasn't exactly easy. But, at least, I got it done.

I hope a lot of people showed up for Lacey and the church. I need to show up for Lacey and the church which means this hair situation needs to be handled. Stat.

"Hey, Dr. Phil, how do I look?" I ask.

Tanner leans against my dresser frame and stares up at me from under his slightly out of control bangs. He lifts his phone up and points the camera right in my direction.

"What do you think, Caleigh? Gel in the hair or no?" Tanner asks.

Caleigh gasps through the phone and does that high-pitch squealy thing girls do when they're excited about whatever it is they get excited about.

"You look great, E! Go get her, tiger!" She says.

Tanner turns the phone around and reveals the always gorgeous Caleigh smiling back at me. She's wearing one of Tanner's t-shirts which fits her like a tent, but she totally rocks the look.

They've hit that weird stage of their relationship where him and his girlfriend are starting to turn into alternate versions of each other. Tanner's hair is starting to look less clean-cut swimmer and more surfer rat which is totally Caleigh's thing. Meanwhile, Caleigh's walking around campus wearing Tanner's swim team shirt with her hair pulled up in those weird onion bun looking things all the swimmer chicks wear.

If a squad of aliens landed at Mission Bay tomorrow, they could figure out those two were a couple in about thirty seconds flat without even having to ask.

Tanner and her have something going that I wanna have with Lacey. I wanna be as comfortable and confident as Tanner is in himself because he has a great girl. But I don't even know where to start. Hell, I don't even know what to wear that'll make her notice me—if she's even paying attention at all.

"Thanks, Cal. Any tips on how to not screw this up?" I ask.

"Well, first, put some pants on, and second, make sure you're on time. Lateness is not a good look. Don't be that guy, Eli."

Late? 

"Tanner, what time is it?"

He squints down at his phone and pales at what he sees.

"Don't kill me. 5:58."

He's not serious.

"Why didn't you say anything? We should've left fifteen minutes ago. Hang up the phone, man! Lacey's gonna be super disappointed if I'm not there for her like I said I'd—"

"Who's going to be disappointed? A girl? ¿Qué está pasando, Eli? (What's going on?) Do you have a date?"

My mom appears in the doorway with her old school headphones blaring Spanish music from around her neck and a plate of home cooked churros in her hands. She wearing my favorite apron of hers—the one I drew the design for when I was six years old. Obviously, I wasn't much of an artist, but there's a printed crayon drawing of her standing in the kitchen cooking enough food to feed an army.

Dad, Tanner, and I are sitting at the table with super lopsided smiles patiently waiting for her. Apparently in my mind, it wasn't necessary for any of us to have clothes or hair at the time. I guess I didn't mind the three of us basically being bald nudists because I put most of my effort into drawing Mom. 

Her hair's long and full, and she's rocking one of her summer dresses that I spent thirty minutes coloring. Granted, my coloring sucks and she looks so much more beautiful in person than she does in my picture, but I like to think I captured her heart in that little apron design.

She shuffles across the room in her slippers and traces the side of my face in her hands in the way that always reassures me of everything. I kiss her forehead and try my best to not look like I'm panicking in front of her.

"No, mama. I'm actually going to help volunteer at her church, but I'm super late so I can't stay to eat. I'm sorry."

She picks up a churro, taps the end of my nose, and leaves a little trail of sugar behind. I bite off a solid third of it, and it's so good I'm tempted to ditch sharing any of this with Tanner and eat the whole plate by myself.

"Buena suerte, mijo. This girl must be something if you're willing to go to church for her. You barely even go for me these days."

She's teasing, but she's right. I stopped going with her when I started feeling too guilty about what I did on Saturday nights to show up for Sunday services. I should go with her again. Maybe if I grow a pair, I can ask Lacey to come with me—if she doesn't totally write me off for showing up late tonight.

"Yeah, she's—she's something else."

"I can see that. You threw your clothes all over your room just to get ready."

"I promise I'll clean it when I get back," I say.

Mom shakes her head and straightens out my shirt before answering me.

"I'll do it. Just go and have a good time."

"You're the best, you know that? I promise I'll tell you about her when I get home. Me and Tanner are kinda behind schedule."

"Why tell her when you can show her?" Tanner asks.

He ends his call with Caleigh and comes sauntering over between me and Mom smirking like a conman. He lifts up his phone, winks at me, and sets off about a thousand alarm bells in my brain.

"Mamá, no vas a creértelo! (You're not going to believe this). I've got a picture of Eli's soon-to-be girlfriend that you're totally gonna recognize. Remember back when I was in the hospital, you met this totally hot—"

I slap my hand over Tanner's mouth to stop him from causing anymore disasters than he already has.

"He'll show you later! Hasta luego, Mamá! I'll call you when I get there!"

I grab a pair of jeans and dress shoes as I bolt out the door and nearly kill myself trying to put them on while stumbling down a flight of stairs. I jet past the kitchen and the living room and shout a series of threats at Tanner that mostly have to do with me blackmailing him if he doesn't get himself downstairs in the next thirty seconds.

When he doesn't respond, I grab his keys off the hook and reach for the handle completely prepared to steal his car and joy ride it all the way to Prospect Street.

But not even ten seconds into my GTA fantasy, the front door whips open and I jump back to keep from getting steamrolled by whoever's on the other side. I trip over my feet and tip off balance only to have a hand snake around my wrist and pull me upright.

Shock ripples through my body, and I plant my feet to resist the force of being yanked forward. I wait to be let loose, but instead of easing their grip, I watch five familiar fingers twist and tighten against my skin.

I'm dragged toward the door a second time and everything about the motion's hard and intentionally aggressive. Night and day different from Mom's touch. None of her gentleness is in these hands—none of her warmth.

Dad's home.

He isn't supposed to be home. Not for another four hours at least. In the King family, it's common knowledge that when it comes to Dad being here, late nights are the rule, not the exception.

It's been that way for longer than any of us have wanted it to. Back in elementary, before Dad shoved me in a school full of other rich sons and daughters of workaholics and no-shows, I used to hate talking about my father in front of my friends and especially in front of my teacher.

She was the type of teacher who lived under the illusion that everyone's parents loved each other and that happy homes were a dime a dozen. So, when I refused to talk about mine during most of the school year, she chalked it up to shyness.

So how did she fix my "shyness"? She forced me into a corner on Father's Day.

She decided to give the whole class a project that turned into my personal hell. She sat at the head of our sharing circle (staring right at me by the way) and asked the class to prepare a mandatory presentation about our dads for show and tell.

I went home with a giant red piece of poster paper and came back with it empty the next day. My classmates came to school with pictures and paintings of backyard barbecues, baseball games, and beach days that I didn't have. With memories I couldn't understand.

I stood up in front of everyone with that big, red, empty piece of paper wondering if I should explain why it perfectly represented my father. Why an angry, loud, aggressive color with no happy pictures inside it made perfect sense to me.

I talked about Dad's job instead. And his money. And our fancy house—even though I would've given anything to trade out Dad's beach-side castle for a loving home. 

My classmates didn't live in gated beach-side communities. They didn't understand the luxury of being driven around in expensive cars and dressed in expensive clothes. But their fathers understood the luxury of time. And time was and still is something Malcolm King will never give.

Once Dad made partner at the firm, he made it extremely clear that work would always be his priority. Having two sons would not be a roadblock to his success. Having a wife would not choke out his ambition. He traded in being a father for being the head of a firm—and that new position came with rules. Rules that no one in this family has ever had the right to question.

Clients come first.

Spending nights at the office is standard practice.

Family dinners are a once in a blue moon occurrence for someone in his position.

He makes a point to drill the last one into Mom's head every time she quietly mentions to him that she doesn't like seeing his food get cold.

But, it's six o'clock, and he's here when he shouldn't be.

It's six o'clock, and I'm here when I shouldn't be.

And now Dad's standing between me, Lacey, and everything good about tonight.

But, no matter how badly I want him to move, I can't open my mouth and ask him to.

Maybe it's 'cause I'm scared.

Maybe it's 'cause I already know he wouldn't—even if I had the balls to beg him to.

Dad steps across the threshold dragging mud-stained and water-soaked shoes across his always pristine floors. Soiling what he expects to be kept clean. His hands are still cold, rigid, and locked tight around my wrist like I'm six years old and seconds away from being scolded for doing something wrong.

I could break his grip. I'm an inch and a half from matching his height and stronger than he probably expects me to be. But, he's on edge today, more so than usual, and if I slip up, he looks like he'll tear the whole house down.

He steps toward me while his narrow blue eyes scan me from head to toe. He's dead quiet. Silently observing everything that's out of the ordinary about me while I do the same to him.

We look like reverse images of each other. His always clean Brooks Brothers suit is soaked through the lapels while every inch of my outfit is crisp and dry. The picture doesn't make sense. He knows it. I know it. And I know I shouldn't feel guilty about any of this, but it never takes too long for Dad to turn people's confidence into shame. Especially when it comes to me.

After a few uncomfortably long seconds, he locks his eyes on mine without even trying to hide the chaos going on behind them.

"Going somewhere? I'm impressed. You almost look presentable."

He practically spits the last word in my face, but I refuse to give him the reaction he's pushing for. I still need his permission to leave. I have to behave if I want his permission.

"Actually, I'm supposed to be helping out a friend tonight. She asked me to volunteer at her church and I—"

The hollow growl of Dad's laugh cuts right through the conversation. There's a hint of whiskey on his breath just under the stink of his cubans. He never drinks at the office. Only at home. So why is he—?

"C'mon, Elias. It's a Friday night, and you expect me to believe that you're going to church? Try again."

He takes another step into the house. Toward me. I hold my ground. I have to.

"I can show you the fliers if you want. I posted most of them around school, but I should have one or two left over. Let me just grab it out of my—"

Sometimes, little things become big mistakes. Like blinking. Or taking your eyes off the one place you should be looking when you think it's safe. I didn't think there was anything dangerous about taking my focus off of my father.

I was wrong. 

###

Thank you guys so much for taking the time to read and listen to this chapter! So sorry about not being able to finish it on time for last weekend but things were a bit hectic! However, we will be able to have the next chapter posted next weekend! See you then! 

#RealTalkQuestionofTheWeek

1. How do you get ready for a first date? Have you ever had a sibling try to sabotage or embarrass you before or afterwards? 

2. Has there ever been a day that you were really looking forward to that went completely wrong?