Marcus’s POV
The parking lot was nearly empty, the low hum of traffic in the distance was the only sound as I leaned against the hood of my car. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I didn’t bother to check it. Probably another message from someone I didn’t want to hear from.
My head is already a mess—Betty ignoring me, Brent throwing punches with his words, and me still trying to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do next.
I heard the footsteps before I saw him.
My father.
He was dressed in his usual crisp slacks and tailored shirt, looking as out of place here as I felt in his world.
"Marcus," he barked, his voice cutting through the air.
I straightened automatically, my stomach sank—a reflex drilled into me over years of expectation. "Dad," I said flatly, keeping my face as neutral as I could.
The walk alone told me he wasn’t here for a reunion. He didn’t stop moving until he was right in front of me. Without warning, he grabbed my arm.
"What the hell are you doing with your life?" his voice laced with anger. "Quitting the team? Wasting your potential? What’s wrong with you?"
I yanked my arm free. "I’m not your puppet. And I’m done pretending this is what I want."
His eyes narrowed. "You’re throwing your future away over some girl?"
"Don’t bring her into this.".
"That’s exactly what this is about, isn’t it? You’re throwing away everything you’ve worked for—everything I gave you—for her. What the hell are you thinking?"
I let out a sharp laugh. "What I’ve worked for? Everything you gave me? Let’s get one thing straight, Dad. Nothing you did was for me. It was all for you. To show off to your colleagues. To make your new family think you’re some goddamn saint.I know exactly where I stand in your priorities."
"Don’t you dare—"
"Don’t I dare?" I interrupted, my voice rising. "You left, Dad. You made your choices, and I’ve been picking up the pieces ever since." His face twisted with anger, but I didn’t stop. "You think quitting the team is throwing my life away? Betty is the one thing I haven’t screwed up. She’s real. She’s not some perfect little project you can show off at your fancy dinner parties."
"When you fail—and you will—don’t come running to me to fix it," he said, barely restraining fury.
He didn’t wait for a response. He turned and walked away. I slammed my fist into the brick wall beside me. Pain shot through my hand, but I welcomed it.
"Screw him," I muttered and leaned against the wall, pressing my forehead to the cool surface as my breathing slowed.
Betty’s face came to mind—the one person who saw me, even when I didn’t know who the hell I was.
I closed my eyes. I wasn’t going to let him screw this up for me. Not her. Not this time.