Dad’s chest rose once.

Mom kept her hand against him, like Zac was the problem and Dad was the one who needed protecting.

Nathan stood near the stairs, breathing hard, one hand pressed to his ribs. His mouth was bleeding too.

At least Zac had landed something.

Dad looked at him. "Kitchen."

Zac wiped his lip with the back of his hand. "I’m good."

"That was not a request."

Mom turned toward him, eyes wet and furious. "Zac, don’t make this worse."

He laughed once. "Yeah. My bad. Wouldn’t want to ruin the family reunion."

Nathan’s jaw tightened. "Zac."

Dad pointed toward the kitchen. "Now."

Zac went because Mia was upstairs, and the last thing he needed was her hearing Dad get louder.

The kitchen was too bright and too clean. Covered dishes sat near the stove, probably Nathan’s welcome-home dinner.

So Nathan got steak and pasta.

Zac got court.

Nice.

Dad stood at the island. Mom stayed beside him, arms crossed, face tight. Nathan hovered near the doorway like he wanted to disappear but also wanted to see how bad it got.

Coward.

Or maybe smart.

Zac could never tell with Nathan.

Dad’s voice came cold. "This ends tonight."

Zac leaned one hand against the counter. His shoulder hurt. His lip hurt. His whole face felt swollen and hot.

"What ends?"

"This pattern."

Zac almost laughed. "Pattern."

"Kendall Whitlock’s phone," Dad said. "Steve Harris. This fight with your brother. The calls. The rumors. The school watching every move you make because you cannot control yourself."

There it was.

Not because Zac was hurt.

Not because some grown man had tried to climb into Roxie’s room.

Not because Nathan had swung too.

Because people were watching.

Mom’s mouth pressed into a thin line. "Your father has had to make calls for you. Again."

Zac looked at her. "Sorry my life interrupted dinner."

"Do not speak to your mother like that," Dad said.

Zac pressed his tongue against the cut inside his mouth.

Bad idea.

It stung.

Dad stepped closer. "You are done embarrassing this family."

Zac stared at him. "You don’t even care what happened to her."

Mom’s eyes flashed. "Do not turn this into something noble."

Zac’s head snapped toward her.

"What?"

"That girl has trouble around her," Mom said. "Everywhere she goes, trouble follows."

Zac’s hands curled at his sides.

Nathan shifted.

Zac heard it and hated him for breathing too loud.

"Her name is Roxie," Zac said.

Dad’s jaw moved. "We know her name."

"Then use it."

Mom gave him that tired look, like he was being difficult on purpose. "Fine. Roxie. Since Roxie came into your life, you have been fighting, lying, sneaking around, and acting like we are the enemy."

Zac laughed.

"You’re doing a solid job auditioning for it."

Dad’s hand hit the counter.

The sound cracked through the kitchen.

"Enough."

Zac shut his mouth.

Not because he wanted to.

Because Mia was upstairs.

Because the whole house had already heard enough.

Dad leaned forward, both palms on the marble. "You will stop associating with her outside school."

Zac went still.

Nathan looked at him.

Zac looked back at his father. "No."

Mom blinked. "Excuse me?"

"No."

Dad’s face did not change. That was worse. "You do not tell me no."

"I just did."

"Zac," Nathan said quietly.

Zac turned on him. "Stay out of it."

Nathan’s jaw tightened. "I’m trying to—"

"You already helped enough."

Dad’s voice cut back in. "You will stay away from her. If I hear one more thing about you running around with that girl, then we’ll be grounding you."

Zac’s pulse kicked.

Dad straightened. "The BMW. The truck. Your phone. Your allowance. Parties. Weekends. Every privilege you seem to think is yours."

Zac smiled, but it felt wrong on his face. "You think I care about parties right now?"

Mom stepped in, voice sharper now. "You have been given too much freedom, and clearly you do not know what to do with it."

Zac looked at her.

Too much space.

Right.

The mansion. The cars. The curfew lectures. The cameras at games. His father’s friends watching from the stands. His mother asking if he had smiled at the right people.

So much space.

Practically endless.

"Hah," Zac said. "You call this parenting?"

Mom’s face tightened.

Dad’s eyes went cold. "One more disrespectful word and the truck goes first."

Zac lifted both hands. "There we go."

"Do not test me."

"You’re the one making a list."

Dad stepped closer. "Drop her, and this stops."

Drop her.

Like Roxie was a bad habit.

A late assignment.

A girl he could delete from his life because his parents had decided she was messy.

Dad kept going. "You are not dragging this family into whatever mess she comes from."

Zac took one step forward.

Nathan moved too, like he might grab him if Zac lunged again.

That made Zac angrier.

"I dare you," Zac said, voice low, "to say that again."

Dad’s eyes narrowed. "You will not threaten me in my house."

"I can do whatever I want."

"Zac." Nathan said in a shocked voice.

Everyone in this house acted like Zac being angry was some breaking news alert.

Dad stepped closer. "You think you’re a man now because of football?"

Zac’s jaw tightened.

"You think because people chant your name on Friday nights, you’re untouchable? You think because you throw a ball, rules stop applying to you?"

Zac’s hands curled.

His lip still tasted like blood. His shoulder hurt. His face was hot, and his whole body wanted to move again.

Hit something.

Break something.

Leave.

Anything but stand there and listen.

"You don’t know anything about football," Zac said.

Dad laughed once, cold and short. "That’s the problem," he said. "You think this is a life."

Then he looked Zac straight in the face. "You are nothing without us."

The kitchen went quiet.

Even Mom froze.

Zac stared at him.

For a second, the words just sat there.

Zac smiled, but it felt messed up on his face. "Good to know."

Mom’s voice cracked. "Arthur."

Dad did not look at her.

His eyes stayed on Zac. "You meet that girl one more time outside school, and I start taking everything."

Zac’s smile stayed there.

Barely.

"Everything?"

"Yes."

Dad lifted one finger.

"Your cars."

Zac let out a breath through his nose. "Take them."

Mom blinked.

Nathan looked at him like he was stupid.

Maybe he was.

The BMW. The truck. Fine. Whatever.

They were metal, leather, gas, keys.

Zac liked them.

He did not need them.

Dad’s mouth tightened.

"Your phone."

Zac shrugged. "Take it."

Mom’s eyes widened. "Zac."

"What?" He looked at her. "You want me to cry over a phone?"

Dad’s face hardened. "Your allowance."

Zac laughed again. "Terrifying."

Nathan’s voice dropped. "Dude, stop."

Zac turned on him. "Why? You scared he’ll take your new toy too?"

Nathan’s jaw clenched.

Dad slammed his palm onto the counter.

"Football."

Zac froze.

That one did it.

His body stopped like somebody had cut the power.

Just silence.

Dad saw it.

Of course he did.

His father had been waiting for the thing that would land.

Zac hated him for finding it.

"What?" Zac asked.

His voice came out lower than he meant it to.

Dad straightened. "You heard me. If you continue associating with her, I will speak to Coach Hayes. I will speak to the school. I will make sure you do not step onto that field."

"You can’t do that."

Dad’s face did not move. "Try me."

Zac’s pulse slammed hard enough that his bruised ribs hurt.

He could see it too clearly.

Coach Hayes calling him into the office.

The team hearing before he did.

Friday night with someone else wearing his number, someone else standing under center, someone else leading the Ravens while Zac watched from the sideline like a ghost with a rich last name.

No.

No way.

They were undefeated.

Every game mattered now. Every snap. Every throw. Every clip online. Scouts had started showing up in the stands with school logos on their jackets and fake casual faces. College coaches were calling. Coach Hayes had said if Zac kept his head straight, this season could change everything.

Football was not just football.

It was a way out.

Not out of money. That sounded stupid. Zac had money. He knew that.

But out of this house.

Out of his father’s voice.

Out of being handed things with strings tied around his throat.

Football was the only thing that felt like his because nobody could throw the pass for him. Nobody could read the defense for him. Nobody could stand in the pocket for him with a linebacker coming straight at his ribs.

Either Zac made the play or he didn’t.

That was clean.

That made sense.

And now Dad was standing in their perfect kitchen, threatening to take the one thing Zac had actually earned because he would not drop Roxie like trash.

Mom’s voice came softer. "It is only a few months."

Zac looked at her.

She said it like that made it better.

"You will graduate," she said. "You will go to college. You will have your future. But not if you keep letting this girl drag you into her life."

Dad stepped in. "You’re still seventeen. You think you know everything. You think whatever you feel right now is worth throwing away college, football, your future, your family."

Zac’s mouth went dry.

"You’re threatening college now?" Zac asked.

"I am reminding you of reality."

"No," Zac said. "You’re reminding me I don’t own anything."

Dad’s eyes sharpened.

Zac kept going because stopping felt impossible.

"Cars aren’t mine. Phone isn’t mine. Money isn’t mine. College isn’t mine. Now football isn’t mine either?"

His voice cracked on the last part.

Barely.

Enough that he hated himself.

Nathan looked down.

Mom looked like she might cry.

Dad looked satisfied.

That was the worst part.

Dad looked like he had finally gotten the right play call.

"You have a choice," Dad said. "A few months of discipline, and you leave for college with everything intact. Or you keep chasing a girl whose life is already a disaster and drag yourself down with her."

Zac’s whole body went hot again.

"She’s not a disaster."

"She is not your future."

Zac stepped closer.

Nathan moved fast this time, grabbing Zac’s arm.

"Don’t," Nathan said under his breath.

Zac yanked his arm free. "Don’t touch me."

Nathan let go.

Dad’s voice snapped. "Enough. Go to your room."

Zac laughed once, but it sounded dead.

"There it is."

Mom whispered, "Zac."

"No." He looked at all of them. "You don’t get to call her trash and then act shocked when I’m pissed."

Dad’s face darkened. "One more word."

Zac looked at him.

Then at Mom.

Then at Nathan, who stood there looking guilty now, like he had finally figured out his little football joke had handed Dad a weapon.

Nathan did not answer.

Zac turned and walked out before he did something worse.

He took the stairs two at a time, every step hitting his ribs, his face, his shoulder.

Pain was easier than the kitchen.

At the top of the stairs, he heard Dad’s voice below him.

"Think carefully, Zachary."

Zac stopped.

His hand tightened on the railing.

Dad continued, colder now. "That girl is not worth your life."

Zac looked down over the banister.

His father stood at the bottom, still in the kitchen light, still perfect, still acting like control was the same thing as love.

Zac’s voice came out low.

"That’s the problem," he said. "You think this is a life."

Then he went to his room and slammed the door hard enough to shake the frame.