TWISTED FATE (Twisted Path Book 1)

Chapter 14

Shane

By the time I get home, Nick's accusations are still echoing in my mind, keeping time with the frantic beat of my heart. Not that I have much time to dwell on them, given the second I walk through the door, Harold's already standing there waiting for me.

"Welcome home, Mr. Montgomery. Your father wishes to speak with you now. He's in his office."

"Well, hello to you too, Harold." I force a casual smile, relying on years of practice to mask how unsettled I really am. The fact I'm being summoned like this can only mean one thing—Nick was right. Charles Kline is watching, and he's displeased enough he called my father. "I see he's got you working late again."

"You were my final task for the evening. You'll find your own way?"

"Of course. Have a good night, Harold." I open the door for him, standing aside to watch as he leaves, not closing it until he's crossed the portico and entered the small apartment over the garage that's been his home since he started working for my father nearly a decade ago.

I'm stalling, I realize. My mind racing through all plausible scenarios, trying to prepare for a conversation I'm not ready to have. When Nick called me a coward, I'm ashamed to admit he was right about that, too. That's why I force myself to take one step, then another, until I'm standing outside my father's office, determined to do what I should have done from the start.

"Shane. Have a seat." It's as friendly a greeting as any when it comes to my father.

"Hi, dad. How was your—"

"Care to tell me where you've been? I took the liberty of calling Coach Shine. He said you skipped the gym today."

I relax my shoulders, settling comfortably against the back of the wingback chair as if I don't have a care in the world. "Yeah, I did. I had a conflicting appointment, and after going over my training schedule, Coach Shine agreed I was due a rest day."

"Hmm," he hums under his breath, stilling his pen only briefly before continuing to sign the back page of what looks like a contract. Once done, he tucks the thick stack of papers into a file folder and adds it to the pile already stacked on the corner of his desk. "What kind of appointment?"

"A peer advisory meeting. That student I mentioned before—she's got a big microeconomics presentation due tomorrow. I was helping her prepare." Talking about Becca like she's nothing more than a job makes me feel like a complete asshole, but I promised her I'd keep our relationship a secret, so for now, this is how it has to be.

"This student, it wouldn't happen to be Becca Franks, would it?"

"Yes, that's right." I try my damnest to appear unphased, but I can tell he notices the slight twitch in my arms from my hands itching to dry my sweat-laden palms on the fabric of my jeans.

"Is there anything I should know about you and this girl?"

"No. Why do you ask?" I do my best to keep my expression neutral as his eyes scrutinize me, searching for my tells. It's in moments like this I'm grateful for my parents' relentless training, the constant reminders that helped me perfect the mask of indifference so crucial in our world.

"Amanda's father reached out to me this evening. He's concerned about your relationship with the Franks girl. Concerns that, after speaking with him, your mother and I now share." He clasps his hands on his desk and lifts his brow, waiting to see how I'll defend myself from their accusations. This too is part of the game. Every interaction with my parents is a test, another opportunity for them to shape and mold me in their image, because to them, how you present yourself, and how others perceive you are the only things that matter.