Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
He does this often. It’s a show of power, a way to drag out the suspense, to remind me that he’s in control and that I should be cowering. His face is cold, devoid of any gentle expressions. As if he was cut from stone then put perfectly together, resembling a human. But he’s only perfect on the outside. On the inside, he’s hollow. Empty and dead.
I don’t bother sitting down next to Cole. I stay standing by the door, and wait for my father’s verdict. Henry Bennett is, after all, judge, jury and executioner. And he likes to remind us of that quite often.
He takes one last sip of his whiskey, and then finally speaks. “I got two phone calls today.”
Just get to the point, do what you have to do and let me get some fucking sleep.
“Your guidance counselor called.”
Mrs. Hudson is a goddamn traitor. She told me she’d give me another chance to make progress before calling my parents. But I guess not. She had to rat me out.
“You’re failing two classes,” my father continues, stoically, “and then surprise, surprise. Your coach called. He’s benching you for the rest of the season.”
Fuck.
I should have seen this coming.
But I thought Coach Reagan was a pussy. Thought he was only bluffing when he threatened me. I was wrong. Again.
“Do you know how embarrassing it was to take those calls?” He grits out, taking a threatening step toward me. “My son, a Bennett, is failing two classes at Berkshire Academy, and he’ll be sitting on his ass while his team is going to be on the field. Winning games that you will not be part of.”
He places his glass on his desk. “I keep waiting for the moment you’ll prove that you are, indeed, my son, but you just keep on disappointing me, Colton.”
You’re a disappointment, Colton.
You a worthless piece of shit.
Are you even my son?
His words echo in my ears. I’ve grown used to hearing them over the last few years, but after the accident, it seems Henry Bennett has reached the end of his ropes.
I am his loser son, and sometimes, I wonder if he’ll just kill me in my sleep.
It’ll probably be easier for him. To deal with my death rather than having me be an embarrassment to him on a regular basis.
“All I have ever asked of you two is to continue my legacy.” His eyes darken. “My sons can’t be failures. Is that too much to ask?”
I hold his gaze, keeping my back straight. Unease creeps through me, because I know what’s coming, but I push it all down. Into a dark abyss, where no one can see it.
His hand goes to his belt and my jaw clenches. Sienna pushes herself away from the shelves and her fingers brush against my father’s shoulder. “Do you have to do this tonight? We can finish talking about this tomorrow,” she says, her voice a soft rumble. “The boys must be tired tonight.”
My father’s eyes flash darkly. “No, he needs to learn. They both do. He keeps disappointing me, over and over again. It’s always the same fucking shit with this boy.”
He aggressively pulls his belt from the loops of his pants and folds it in half. “Take your shirt off, Colton,” he spits out.
I’m well-acquainted with pain and what’s going to happen next. I take my shirt off and kneel in the middle of his office. The floors are new and shiny, completely spotless, not even a speck of dust. Everything has to be perfect in Henry Bennett’s home — in his life. Nothing is out of place; nothing is unruly, and no one disobeys him.
Cole inhales a sharp breath and I hate the way he’s being forced to watch this. Knowing that I was in his place before. When he used to cover up for me and take the beating to pacify our father.
The first lash of the belt has me flinching, as pain ripples through me. My back strains when the second lash falls, hitting in the same exact spot as before.
SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
My jaw tightens, and I hold my breath, waiting for the next one. Somehow, I’ve grown accustomed to physical pain, but it’s the humiliation that follows that has me defeated.
“You ruined your brother’s chance at a football career,” my father roars, his voice shaking with fury. “Look at him. Look at what you’ve done. He’s a cripple! But that wasn’t enough. You have to continue fucking up our name and prestige. My dignity!”
The sharp blow of the belt keeps raining down my back without mercy, and my muscles twitch with each hit. My gaze drops low, and I start counting the lines in the hardwood flooring. One. Two. Three. Four.
The belt strikes my back again. “You are so worthless, even I am embarrassed to call you my son.”