Breaking The Rules: Book 2

Chapter 9: Ticking Time Bomb

𝚃𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟸𝟷𝚜𝚝
Griffin POV

I always seem to severely underestimate how easy it is for my dad to piss me off.

Mom certainly has her moments too, but Jesus Christ. If there was a yearly award for Parent That Can Do The Most Mundane Tasks In The Worst Way Possible, dad would be a winner for the eighteenth consecutive year in a row.

This very moment is a great example. Oxygen doesn't fill my lungs up very well as I watch him tap on the laptop keyboard. He uses each finger specifically, tapping the keys with his fingernails.

Tick-tick-tick.

There's no controlling the muscle near my eye that twitches.

"Would you rather be at the hotel that's downtown on Main Street," dad starts to ask and hums as he scrolls, clicking more buttons. Tick. Tick. "Or the hotel that's on the beach front?"

What I really want to do is that this damn laptop and break it in two separate pieces.

Instead, I lean back into the couch cushions and curl my hands into fists. "Which is closer to the campus?"

"Horse-a-piece."

I don't know a single person alive that still says shit like that. This is the goddamn 21st century. Besides, dad works with high schoolers. You'd think that he would've picked up some better slang terms by now.

"Beach, then. I don't want to fall asleep listening to traffic," I say and flop my head back into the couch.

"Good point. San Diego has beautiful beaches too with neat boardwalks. One night after the camp is over we should go walk around," dad adds and shifts his weight on the cushion next to mine. He's hunched over the laptop as he fills in all of the information for the football camp.

With Parker forced onboard the idea, dad gave the Nike camp directors the green light for our attendance. They were happy to send over the paperwork needed for this event, and dad took it upon himself to involve me in the plan for once.

The only thing is that I don't need to do jack-shit. Practically every question, box, or bubble on this form so far has been self-explanatory. As long as dad can still remember our address then mine and Parkers birthdays, that's all he needs.

Dad always does this, though. He manages to offend me, then he spends the next few days doing anything to get on my good side.

Other than apologizing, of course. That's obviously way too hard.

Instead he ropes me out of my room to make me sit next to him on the couch and watch him fill out forms. As if this will strengthen our fantastic father and son relationship.

"You don't have any allergies or dietary restrictions, right?" Dad looks over at me, a smile playing on his lips. It falls when he sees the look that I'm giving him.

"Only kidding, Grif," he mumbles and turns away to click the no bubble.

Tick-tick.

Something deep inside of my chest tugs harshly. I'm more surprised that he actually knows that I don't have any restrictions. He must have been paying attention at some point during my childhood.