Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Releasing an exhale, I admit, “I guess you know why too.”
He groans. “Painkillers, right? That shit is the worst. Easy to get your hands on too.”
The door swings open and Dad waltzes in, plucking his AirPods out of his ears.
He’s shirtless and sweaty, in running shorts only.
“Breakfast should be delivered in about five minutes. Get the door, will ya, Levy?”
He breezes past me but not before brushing his sweaty shoulder against mine deliberately. I slam the fridge shut and roar, “Dad! Gross.”
“That’s rich, coming from someone who is literally an evolution of my spunk.” He evil-laughs on his way upstairs.
“Talk later. I gotta go barf, then find a new family,” I murmur to my phone.
“Too late!” Dad yells, his feet pounding the stairway. “You’re eighteen and not all that cute anymore.”
Knight cackles on the other line. “Never have I been happier to be adopt—” But he doesn’t finish the sentence because I hang up on his ass.
Ten minutes later, Dad is all showered and we’re both unpacking the breakfast we get every Saturday from the bougie bakery down the street.
They have the best coffee, hands-down. The table is laden with pastries and fresh kiwi juice when Dad initiates a conversation about his favorite subject in the whole wide world besides Mom—football.
“Saw my buddy Jim while I was out last night. Guess what? He says Nebraska is desperate for quality QBs for next year. I think they’re gonna have an offer for you, along with Notre Dame and Michigan, probably.”
“Dad, I’m not moving to Nebraska.”
“Don’t be a snob. It’s a good team.”
“It’s in Nebraska.”
What drives me nuts is that I’m one of the few people in this country with the physical ability, GPA, and SAT scores to make it into the Air Force Academy.
Of course, Dad is going to go nuclear if I mention I wanna join the military. Heaven forbid a Cole pursue a “blue collar” profession—or worse yet, risk spilling blue blood by dying prematurely.
Even though Dean Cole would deny this through his teeth, I know that’s what he thinks. No one at school is contemplating applying. It’s what the others do.
Those without cushy trust funds and a timeshare in St. Regis Residence Club.
Dad thinks I can make it to the NFL. Knight almost did, and I’m his last chance at fulfilling that bucket-list dream two generations of Cole men failed to do.
“I’m surprised you haven’t received any acceptance letters so far.” Dad sucks his teeth in, taking it as a personal slight.
Shrugging, I take a bite of my bacon and brie-covered, scrambled egg-filled croissant. “All Saints High is ranked fifth in the country. They’re probably making offers to the kids from Bosco first.”
“You’re in better shape than all of them combined. We’ve played them, remember?” Dad leans across the table, fire dancing in his eyes. “There’s no ‘see’ about it. You’re in a league of your own. Any college team would be lucky to have you.”
“Which is why I should be applying to the Air Force Academy,” I can’t stop myself from blurting out.
I want to swallow the words back.
Dad looks up from his croissant, his face whiter than a ’90s boy band member.
He is scared. And that’s when I remember it is not really my blue blood Dad is worried about—it’s his own blue heart. He lost a wife. He sure doesn’t wanna lose a son too.
And being a fighter jet pilot guarantees I’d be putting my life at risk on the reg.
I’ve only broached this subject with him once before, and he basically dismissed it as a childish dream, like I told him I wanted to be a cowboy astronaut.
He told me to get real and to take my life seriously, and to plan for things that make sense, then moved on to the next subject.
He never asks me about my aviation simulator. About volunteering at the airport. Any of those things that bring fire into my eyes.
“Not this again, Lev.” Dad’s jaw nearly jumps out of his skin, and his emerald eyes darken. “Look, I get the appeal. But aside from supersonic rides and the fact the Cole ass definitely looks bomb in a flight suit, military life is tough.
Boatload of stress, being hurled from one place to the other every couple years, no permanent residence, whacky schedule, family on the go. Not to mention being sent to war zones. Tell me when to stop.”
“Now’s a good time.” I violently stab my food with my fork. “I get it, being a fighter jet pilot sucks.”
“Not to mention, as I said, having a heart attack is gonna throw my schedule way off.”
“Nothing’ll happen to me,” I grind out. But I can’t really promise him that, can I?
“True that because you aren’t enlisting.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
“You’re right, I can’t. But I can tell you what would kill me. Do with it as you wish.”