Page 1 of Boss and Brat
Chapter One
Ethan smoked a cigarette he wasn’t supposed to have and waited for the fallout. As he paced outside his dorm, he inhaled deeply, the smoke offering a brief, futile break from the frantic sensation in his chest. His father had said there would be severe consequences for his actions. Ethan had laughed it off at the time, but now, a wave of nausea washed over him.
The loud sound of the black Jeep turning the corner made Ethan freeze like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t.
And there he was. Mr. Samuel Evans. Tall and broad-shouldered, his father filled the space inside before he even stepped out. Sunlight caught the silver in his professionally cut hair and trimmed beard, sharpening the angles of his face and making him look carved from something harder than stone.
The sharp crease in his crisp white shirt didn’t budge, even with his seatbelt cutting across it. Tie straight, hair perfect, as if he stepped out of a boardroom and into a punishment patrol center. Meanwhile, Ethan stood there with cigarette ashes on his jeans and a stale taste of smoke on his tongue.
The older man didn’t even slow down, just rolled to a stop as if he were picking up trash instead of his own son. The trunk popped open with a sharp metallic snap. No greeting. No eye contact. Just the deafening silence broken. A sudden dryness seized Ethan’s mouth.
The suitcases thudded into the trunk, the sound sharp in the driveway. Heat radiated off the metal bumper, warming his palms as he shoved the last bag inside. His father didn’t move—didn’t even uncross his arms. He just watched, jaw locked.
The car door handle burned against Ethan’s fingers when he pulled it open. Vinyl seats waited inside, sunbaked and stiff, smelling faintly of old coffee and the cologne his father used too much of.
Ethan reached for the passenger door out of habit.
“Sit in the back,” his father said, pointing to Ethan and then the back seat.
Sliding into the back seat felt like stepping straight into a memory he didn’t want—knees bumping the same spot they had when he was twelve, shoulders curling in the same defeated way. With the door open, he realized he still had the cigarette between his fingers.
In the mirror, his father’s eyes darted to it. “Put that cigarette out. Now.”
Ethan took one last drag, then with a swift flick of his wrist tossed it onto the street, then crushed it under his boot before shutting the door.
“You really couldn’t wait until we got home.”
The words landed harder than any shouting. Not about cigarettes. Never about cigarettes.
“Didn’t think it mattered,” he lied. Everything mattered to his father.
“Of course you didn’t.”
His father sped away from California State University, the crunch of gravel under his tires a testament to the rapidly approaching consequences. The Jeep hit a bump, jostling them both. Samuel’s shirt stayed perfect. Ethan’s knee knocked the seat in front.
Another mile passed in silence before Samuel spoke again, voice low, almost conversational. “You always pick the worst moments.”
Ethan stared out the window. “For what?”
A pause. Long enough to sting. “Everything.”
The word hung between them, heavy and sharp, as if he’d been waiting to drop it the entire drive. His father didn’t elaborate. Didn’t need to. His disappointment filled the Jeep, thick as the dust trailing behind them. Ethan swallowed hard, throat tight.
“You failed every class,” his father shouted, voice sharp enough to slice through bone. “Every damn one. Do you know how much money you wasted?”
Ethan stared out the window. “I didn’t fail every class.”
“Oh, right,” his father said. “You passed art appreciation. That’s really impressive. Maybe you can paint me a picture of how stupid you are with my money.”
Ethan clenched his jaw. “I know I messed up.”
“No,” his father shot back. “Messing up is forgetting to turn in a paper. You partied. You messed around with who knows who. You skipped classes as if it were your full-time job.”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t pay tuition.”
Ethan’s chest tightened. “I’ll pay you back.”
