He shakes his head. “No, it’s not happening.”
He thinks he has a say in this? It’s my life, and I can do what I want. I fold my arms, trying to maintain my cool. “It’s not up to you.”
“You’re my son.” He chucks the box he gave me aside. “Goddammit.”
Fuck, he never swears like that. “Papa…”
“No,” he says, pointing his finger at me. “Don’t do this, Brandon. I told you not to hang out with those Burrells, and now you’re dating one behind my back? You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“No, I don’t know what I’m doing,” I say with a sarcastic tone. “Explain it to me, please, by all means.” I know I sound pissed, but that’s because I am. He has no right to decide for me. Besides, he doesn’t even know her. “Dixie is a nice girl. She doesn’t deserve all this hate.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know that family,” he responds.
“Oh, and you do?” I raise a brow.
He’s silent for a few seconds. “Don’t even try,” he says through gritted teeth after a few seconds.
He always shuts me out. As if I can’t tell he’s hiding something. “Why are you so upset with me for finally finding a girl? Finally having someone in my life I can trust and who’s there for me?”
“I’m here for you.” He marches toward me. “You can trust me, and I’m telling you that girl is not good for you.”
What the fuck? Why would he even say that? “You don’t know her like I do.”
He raises a hand. “I don’t need to, and I don’t want to.”
I ball my fist. “How can you say that?”
“I’m done with this conversation, Brandon. I told you it’s not happening, end of discussion.”
“What?” I say through gritted teeth. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“Brandon. Quit this nonsense right now.” He doesn’t even look at me as he judges me. Us. My girl.
Fuck no. I’m not letting her slip through my fingers because of some judgmental crap between my papa and the Burrells. Their issues aren’t my problem.
Fuck him. “No,” I bark, turning around and walking off.
My papa stomps after me, placing his hand on the door. “I gave you everything. Don’t you dare walk out on me, boy.”
“Everything? Is this what you call everything? Moving towns just because you feel like it? Ruining my childhood? You’ve given me nothing but pain.”
“I did it for you,” he says, his voice seething with just as much pain as I feel inside my chest right now. “You don’t understand this now, but one day you will. I promise.”
“No. I’m done. I’m leaving,” I say, opening the door and pushing him aside.
“Brandon, you’re making a mistake.”
“Yeah, well you were too. I’m fucking eighteen years old, Papa. I don’t need you to tell me what’s good for me. I know what I want. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
I mash my lips together and bite the inside of my cheeks, waiting for him to respond.
But the words never come.
He never says he’s sorry. Never says it’s okay. Never wants me to be happy my own way.
So I rip the pendant from my neck and shove it back into his hands. “I don’t want this. And I don’t want you.”
Before he can say another word, I turn around and walk out of the shop, slamming the door shut behind me.
My face stings with the tears I refuse to shed. And fuck me, do they burn.
Chapter Eight
Brandon
Present
Age 30
My cigarette burns away fast as I stare at it. The scorching bud reminds me of the traffic lights around every corner in this city. Las Vegas, the city of lights.
The only light I care about right now is the one around my wrist that says what time it is. Only two more hours until my shift is over. Good. This day’s been boring as fuck.
I take a final drag and chuck the cigarette on the asphalt, stomping it out before I go back inside. The noise from the hotel lobby hits me like a train rushing by. People bustling, suitcases rolling along, chitchat everywhere. It drives me nuts. I prefer peace and quiet. Not that there’s any of that here in Vegas. But I’m here with a reason and that reason is a well-paying job for a guy like me, so I can’t complain.
As a security guard, I’m tasked with keeping the guests and staff safe, and that includes mundane tasks such as watching the monitors in the staff room. But my favorite part is kicking out the misbehaving assholes. A hotel casino is a busy place with slot machines and poker tables at every turn. People can’t control themselves when it comes to money, so that’s where I come in. One stern look is usually all that’s needed to get troublemakers to leave, and if not, my co-workers and I round them up and throw them out.
Sometimes we have to call the police, but it usually doesn’t come to that. Violence is the last resort. Don’t wanna scare away the customers.
That’s what my uncle would say anyway, and he runs the place. Built it from the ground up.
I don’t always agree with him, but he’s a hardworking man, and I can get behind that. My papa raised me the same way, so I guess it runs in the family.
After a quick check on the floor to make sure everything’s running smoothly, I go into the office and tap Mateo’s shoulder. “Your turn.”
He spins his chair around and looks up at me. “That was quick.”
“Yeah, just had a smoke. That’s it,” I reply, tightening the hair band around my braid. I grew out my black hair over the years. It’s a way to honor my ancestors. And my papa. He always wore his braids just like this. It’s a small gesture to remember where I came from.
“Dude …” Mateo snorts, shaking his head. “What about lunch?”
I shrug. “Not hungry.”