His Secret Santa: A Phoenix Club novella

Chapter 12

"What happened to you?" Darren Pratt eyed his son's split lip. "Party get out of hand?"

Lincoln shrugged, too tired to dialogue with his dad. "Something like that," he mumbled as he poured himself a cup of coffee. It was almost dawn before he finally fell asleep and then, he was plagued by unsettling dreams.

"Tell me it was McKenna who clocked you."

"What?" Lincoln frowned. "Why?"

"Because you deserve it."

Lincoln sighed and sipped the coffee black, needing a pure shot of caffeine. "What're you talking about?"

"She called earlier and told me you two broke up."

Here we go. "That's right."

"Did you not hear a damn thing I told you yesterday?"

"I heard," Lincoln murmured.

"You just don't know how to listen, is that it?"

Exhaling tiredly, Lincoln said, "She's not the one for me. She's a bitch. A mean and cruel bitch. I don't want to be with someone like that."

"For fuck's sake, Lincoln—she's a woman. Of course, she's a bitch. The best ones are."

"I don't love her."

His dad huffed. "What's love got to do with anything? Marriage is a business partnership. You don't choose a business partner based on sentimentality. Grow up."

Lincoln pulled out a stool and sat at the counter, his head throbbing, though he hadn't been drinking at the party. It wasn't a hangover headache—it was fucking stress. And this back-and-forth with his dad wasn't helping.

"We broke up. It's done."

"No, it is not done," Darren Pratt countered. "Fix things with McKenna. And your friends. What the hell were you thinking of kicking them out last night? Are you trying to alienate everyone from your life?"

Maybe I am. Lincoln stared into his cup. "Maybe I need a new group of friends."

"What is with you lately?" his dad snapped. "It's as if you're determined to fuck up your life before it even gets started."

Lincoln sighed. "I'm just... reevaluating some things."

"Reevaluate this." His dad smacked the counter next to Lincoln, making him flinch. "Fix your relationship with McKenna and your friends—or you're on your own after graduation. If you want to fuck up your life, you're not doing it on my dime."

Roger that, Lincoln thought as the man left the kitchen. I wouldn't expect anything less from you, dad.

• • •

"You think it's funny, me having a naked gay guy in my bedroom? That's how bullshit rumors get started. Now, give me his fucking clothes so I can get him out of here."

Lincoln's voice—his cutting words—circulated inside Holden's head all night and into the following morning. The few times he managed to fall asleep, the quarterback's brittle words to his friends made their way into his troubled dreams.

Bullshit rumors.

Holden sat on his bed, his hair damp from the recent shower, water trickling down his neck from the tips of his hair. Everything about the previous night felt surreal, like a bad dream that stuck with him.

It can't be real. There has to be some logical explanation. There has to be.

His heart hurt as the fear of it being all too real consumed him. Why did he feel as if his whole world had been knocked off-kilter? It shouldn't be this important to him. It shouldn't matter this fucking much.