CHAPTER ONE - COOPER
“Do you know what your problem is, Christopher?”
I hate it when my father calls me Christopher. He only does it to be a dick. No one calls me Christopher. Not even him.
Except when he wants to be a dick.
And he always sneers it. Because my given name wasn’t his idea. It was my dead uncle’s name on my mother’s side and she insisted on it. My oldest brother nicknamed me Cooper because my middle brother couldn’t say my name right.
“Well? Do you?” There’s a bulging vein sticking out the side of his neck.
“This a real question? You really want me to tell you what my problem is?”
“I asked”—he takes a moment to suck in air through his flaring nose—“if you knew what your problem was.”
I pull out my phone, bring up my notes app, and click on the starred title at the top. “My problem is”—I sigh as I read from the app—“I’m an inconsiderate little prick who thinks that this good life I’ve been provided is a right instead of a privilege. I’m also greedy, stupid, lazy, and will never amount to anything.” I slouch in the chair in front of his massive mahogany desk. “Does that about cover it, Dad?”
He hates when I call him ‘Dad.’ It’s only ever been ‘Father’ for him.
But hey, he called me Christopher first. So fuck it.
“I should throw you out,” he threatens.
“Do it,” I say back. I even narrow my eyes at him to put some threat behind the dare.
He won’t. If he was going to throw me out of High Court College—the college my family founded nearly two hundred years ago—he’d have done it long before the end of junior year.
“You’re on your own next semester. Do not expect that trust fund to mature upon matriculation.”
Why he has to use words like ‘matriculation,’ I’ll never understand. Can’t he just say ‘acceptance’ like everyone else?
No. He’s a pretentious bastard who feels the need to rub everyone else’s inferiority in their faces.
Like I even want to be a part of his stupid fraternity. It wasn’t even my idea. I was forced into it.
“No money,” he continues. “No cars. No boats. No trips. No—”
“I get it, Dad. I’m cut off. There are no favors from your criminal friends in my future. Are we done here?”
“Criminals!” He bellows a laugh up at the high ceiling of his office. “You’re one to talk.”
“So we got a little messed up. Who cares? That’s what guys my age do.”
“You were arrested!”
“It was a drunk-tank arrest. And we weren’t driving the boat. She was.” I almost manage not to laugh.
But not quite.
“This is funny? Boy?” And now he’s growling at me so I know we’re already done here. The growl is a sure sign he’s about to lose his shit. “You didn’t just get drunk. That girl’s father called me.”
“So? She wanted it.”
My father just stares at me, his unblinking focus on me as he probably wonders how a boy like me could possibly be related to him. “Do you have any idea how many problems you caused for me because of your actions last night? You’re not going to get away with it this time.”
“OK. Fine.” I throw up my hands and roll my eyes. “What’s my punishment?”
I expect the usual. Some high-visibility community service so the masses might see me as some relatable, humble human being. Which is stupid. Very few people can relate to me. And I’m not very humble. Humble doesn’t get you far in this life I’m living.
My father slides a glossy blue and gold folder across his desk. It slips right over the edge and I have to catch it before it drops to the ground.
School colors, ut-oh. I hold the folder up. “What’s this?”
Winston Valcourt, Chairman of High Court College and Prep, AKA my father, grins like he just slipped something past me and I haven’t realized it yet. “Your summer job, son.”
“Job?” I laugh. “No. I’ve already got a summer job. I’m out of here this afternoon. I put in my mandatory family appearance at the Prep graduation last night and now I’ve got a ticket to New Zealand with my name on it.”
“Not anymore.”
“Like hell.” I glare at him. “I’m not getting stuck here all summer. Ax, Lars, and I are all leaving for the airport in”—I look at my watch—“three hours.”
“Cooper, when are you going to understand that unless you do as you’re told, you have nothing in this world?”
“I bought that ticket with my own money. I worked for it.” This is not entirely true. Ax worked for it. And he sold drugs, so that’s probably not really considered work. But eh. Fuck it. It sounds good when you say it out loud. “You’re not footing the bill for my summer holiday. So I don’t get what the problem is.”
He points at me. “That is the problem. You think you own this world.”
“I wonder where I got that idea?”
“You”—he’s still pointing—“do not. Own this world. I do.”
I slouch even more in my chair and let out a long breath of air. “I’m not staying here.”
“You are. And so are your friends. The Judge and the Mayor have both been contacted. You and your buddies have been grounded.”
“Grounded? That’s funny. I’m twenty-one years old, Dad. You can’t ground me.”
“The plane, Cooper. The plane has been grounded. Not you. You”—I have a feeling, if I were close enough, he’d be poking me in the chest right about now—“you will be spending the next eight weeks running the Fang and Feather Summer Rush.”
“No. Fucking. Way. I’m not running that shit show. And you can’t just ground some commercial airline.”
“Can’t I?”
Can he? He has to be bluffing.
My phone dings a text.
“Check it,” my father says.
I slide my phone out of my pocket and glance at the screen. It’s an alert from the airline. My flight has been canceled. I mutter, “Fucking. Prick,” under my breath.
“As I was saying.” My father leans forward, his elbows on his desk, and he steeples his fingers under his chin. “You will run the rush this summer. Your brothers did it before you. And believe it or not, Cooper, this year’s pledges are expecting you.”
“You mean their fathers are expecting me.”
He just continues like I didn’t even speak. “They know that you are a symbol of what Fang and Feather stands for.”
“That’s fucking sick, and you know it. I’m not babysitting incoming minions!”
“You absolutely are. You and Isabella are going to run the entire camp all summer long.”
Fuck. He got Isabella mixed up in this plan? This makes me hesitate. “And if I don’t?”
“Walk out, Cooper. Go ahead. I dare you. Walk out. Walk away from all of it. Isn’t that your favorite threat? Isn’t that your dream? Tell me to just go fuck myself, slide your sunglasses down your face like you’re some hotshot with power, and walk off into the sunset?” He laughs. “I’m going to make it very easy for you to do that now, son. You’re nearly a grown man. Might as well let you make these decisions for yourself. But if you walk out, you take nothing with you. Your entire cottage was packed up last night while you were in the drunk tank. Your car has been taken to a secure location. Your bank accounts have been emptied. And you won’t be able to go to Lars and Ax, either. I’ve already spoken with their fathers. They are in the same situation. Either the three of you show up at the Glass House for the rush, run it for the next eight weeks, and move forward in life humbled into submission—or all three of you lose everything.”