Follow the River

“Uh, yeah, actually,” I swallow, feeling slightly less distressed with the football talk. “Riv has been throwing me some bombs. I’m really impressed with how well we’ve, uh, synced in such a short time,” I admit, and it’s not false. Eighteen hundred receiving yards puts me in the top ten of all time for a single college season, and we still have a couple games left. I’ve never had a season like this in my life, even with the QB at Clemson who I went to bowl games with the last two years.

River and I just…co

It’s magnetic.

His father, rather than smile and relax with my praise of his son, stiffens and flashes a glance between us. Giving us a tight smile, he nods. “Yes, well that’s all we can hope for to get us a National Championship this year.”

Just then, Kathleen enters the dining room carrying the biggest turkey I’ve ever seen as River’s sister sits across from me.

They’re both pretty, I suppose. If you’re into the typical perfect woman who goes to church on Sundays and gives you two point five perfect kids in your perfect house in the suburbs.

But that shit doesn’t interest me, and neither do they.

Unfortunately for me, I usually tend to attract those girls regularly. I blame the tattoos and the I don’t give a fuck attitude radiating off me in spades.

“Hi there,” the sister pipes up from across the table with a small wave. “Daddy said your name is Ciaráin? I’m Willow, River’s younger sister. So glad for you to join us.” She says the greeting with an overly sugar sweet voice, but the way she looks me up and down, pausing on my chest and arms, tells me this “good girl” definitely has a bad side.

Not fucking interested, sweetheart.

River’s mom finishes bringing in the rest of the meal, and once Roland cuts the turkey we begin digging in. The food and the conversation, while still a little awkward, isn’t terrible. Kathleen and Willow chatter on about her cheerleading bullshit while Roland and I continue to talk a bit of football, River sprinkling in a few words but, strangely enough, otherwise keeping quiet.

The guy never seems to shut the fuck up any other time I’m around him, but it’s as if he’s a completely different person around his family.

Briefly, I find myself wondering if they know he’s out. I highly doubt it, since I’m not so sure it fits into this perfect little family persona they have going on. But then again, people often surprise you.

They also never fail to disappoint.

And the way I notice Roland throwing subtle jabs at River and the way he keeps glancing between us and taking large sips of his drink, like he’s expecting us to jump each other at the fucking di

I catch an undercurrent of animosity towards his son, the golden boy, and it’s most definitely the latter.

As di

“Are we going to pussyfoot around the elephant in the room?” Roland asks the table once he is seated again. I glance over at River to my left, seeing his shoulders go rigid and his knuckled blanche around the fork in his hand.

But my attention moves back to this cocksucker who clearly has an issue with my presence at his fucking precious Thanksgiving di

Fuck. I knew I should have refused to come today.

“I’m sorry, sir—” I manage through gritted teeth.

Roland cuts me off, aiming a glare at River. “You couldn’t go one day in your miserable fucking life without parading around your boyfriend in front of us, could you?” The word boyfriend leaves his mouth like an insult and my blood begins to boil. “You had to take a holiday meant for family and turn it into…this.”

My stomach clenches, fists curling so my nails dig into the palms of my hands as I seethe.

This douchebag.

“You’re a fucking disgrace to this family and it’s values. It’s disgusting, this lifestyle you’re choosing to lead. You’re disgusting,” his father spits, venom and ice dripping from his voice. Roland swirls his tumbler, filled with maybe two fingers of what looks like whiskey before swallowing it down in two gulps, hissing through his teeth at the burn.

I’m on my feet before I even know what’s happening, my chair scraping loudly against the hardwood of the dining room floor. My eyes flash to River, who is gaping at me in what seems like pure fucking terror. The blues of his eyes are looking at me like they want to drown me and use me as a life preserver all at once and for some reason, the only thing I want is to drag him from the toxic storm about to hit his home.

My attention snaps away from him, zeroing in on the piece of garbage spewing some ridiculously vile shit to someone who is his fucking family.

“Where do you get off?” I say, getting into Roland’s face as he rises to his feet again, albeit a little unsteadily. “That is your fucking son you are speaking to. Your son, who is one helluva human being, I might add. He invited me to di

Whipping my head back to his father, I start in again. “Not that it is any of your concern, but you’re completely off base. I’m not interested in cock and honestly, River and I aren’t even friends, let alone anything more than that. Yet he still took me in like the fucking stray I am because he is a good person. Which is a fuckton more than I can say for you.”

Fury ignites behind his eyes as they darken and squint into slits, narrowing in and analyzing my defense of his son. Roland goes to open his mouth and I smell the liquor on his breath, I’m that close to him.

I don’t let him get a word out before my fist co

“River deserves so much more than the likes of you for a father,” I growl down at him before turning and heading for the front door.

The cool Colorado air slides over me, instantly making me regret not bringing anything more than the hoodie I’m wearing. It’s already after dusk, being late November, and I look around the lamp lit street before heading in the direction of campus.

Once I’m a block away and out of sight of the Le

Just as I’m about to order the Uber, River pulls up in his Range Rover and rolls down the window.

“Get in,” is all he says.

I let out a frustrated sigh before pocketing my phone and conceding to his request by climbing into the car. He looks at me for a moment in the dim lighting of the dash before pulling back onto the road, every so often tossing glances down at my hand. It’s fine, not broken, just going to be sore in the morning.