~Sorry it took so long to get this in, but with the holidays and family, I hardly had anytime at all to get on the computer. I'm sure you understand. But here it is. I'm rather happy with the way it turned out, really. If you're reading it for the first time, please read Parts 1 & 2 so this one will make more sense. Hope you enjoy it!~
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Keith limped around the living room floor restlessly, his hands pulling at his newly donned shirt. Somewhere on campus, his terror of a father was walking around. What could he possibly want? He had called just yesterday. Generally that small amount of communication was enough to make his father leave him alone for several months. Had something happened that no one had told him about yet?
"Keith, you alright?" Mike asked from the couch. He'd watched Keith pace like a caged tiger for the better part of an hour. "It's just your dad, man. Not like some firing squad come to take you out."
Keith gave a half-hearted laugh, but kept pacing. Mike didn't understand. Of course not, how could he? He hadn't grown up with the tyrant.
A strong knock sounded on the door.
"He's here." Keith looked at the door, but made no move to get it.
Mike sighed and rose from couch. He headed for the door, patting Keith on the butt as he passed. He could practically feel Keith glaring at the back of his head.
Opening the door, he got his first glimpse of the man Keith refused to talk much about. Kelly had been right about the way the guy dressed. It looked as though he should be on the cover of some Italian businessman's magazine. His impeccably clean loafers, pressed suit, and royal blue tie definitely gave the impression of wealth and power. This was not a man you wanted to get on the wrong side of.
"Hello," Mike said opening the door. "You must be Keith's dad, Mr. Damon. Please come in!"
Mr. Damon looked at Mike as though he was some bug he couldn't decide weather he wanted to squash or not. With a simple nod in greeting, Mr. Damon walked in past him, his eyes scanning the small living space with distain.
"Father, it's good to see you," Keith said, stepping forward. It still surprised him that he could feel so nervous around his own father.
"Do I give you an allowance so you can live in squalor?" Mr. Damon looked at his only child, taking in the disheveled cloths and bare feet. "You disappoint me, Keith."
"Now wait a minute," Mike started, but cut off when Keith jumped in front of him, distracting his father.
"I don't believe you have met my roommate, Mike, have you, father? Jason is out at class right now. Don't you have class, Mike?"
Mike looked at Keith, barely restraining from glaring at the man he called father. "No, but I'm sure I can find something to do."
"Thanks."
Silence descended on the room as Keith watched Mike leave. He wasn't overly surprised by Mike's reaction to his Father. None of his friends ever liked him. The feeling was often mutual.
"That boy is heading nowhere but jail if he has the temper I saw in his eyes. You would do best to stay away from him, Keith." Mr. Damon sat down in one of the table chairs, somehow making it give off the impression it was a throne instead of the fifteen-dollar Wal-Mart special that it was. "You should have followed the family tradition and went into my old fraternity. It would have served you better. Made you a man!"
"Mike is my best friend, Father. I get along quite well with him." Keith's mind went back to the previous night and resisted the smile that threatened.
"I don't care if you get along with him or not. He is not of your class and therefore is beneath you."
Keith sighed. It was an old argument. "Why have you come here?"
Anger flashed in his father's eyes and then was gone. "You're grades are slipping. Your teachers are concerned so they called me."
"What do you mean, they are concerned? My lowest grade is a C!"
"In your business class! You're most important class! You are a Damon, and Damon's are not average. You will bring that grade up to an A. How else do you expect to take a hand in the family business?" He rose from the chair and began to pace thoughtfully. Keith could just picture him doing the same thing in the boardroom. "You just might have to get rid of that ridiculous art class so you will have more time to study."
"I will not get rid of my art class. I'm getting an A in it, and I happen to love that class."
"Don't be foolish. You can't do anything in the real world with art," Mr. Damon said with distain.
"You're wrong. Painting was one of the few things that brought Mom happiness. She always loved my art." Wishing he'd never brought up his mother, he continued on. "I hate that business class. I wish I could just drop it! The only reason I've kept it this long is to make you happy, which we both know is futile! You're never happy unless I'm not!"
Keith never even saw it coming. His head snapped back, twisting his body to the side to absorb the blow. Falling backwards, he landed on the stairs, his ribs breaking his fall. Tears stung the backs of his eyes at the pain his body now found itself in.
His father looked at him with pity, rubbing his sore knuckles. "Why do you make me do that, Keith? You know I only want what is best for you, don't you?"
Keith kept his head low as he slowly climbed back to his feet, resisting the urge to have his hand creep up and cradle his cheek. Weakness was not expectable to his father. "Yes, Father. I know you do. I-I'm sorry."
His father sighed. "I will allow you to keep your precious art class, but you must pull up the grade in your business class."
"Yes, Father, of course."
Mr. Damon started for the door before turning back again. "Ah, yes. You almost made me forget the reason I came today."
Keith felt his stomach drop. There was more to this visit? Had his father been saving up for the really bad news?
"You are to have dinner with my fiancé and I tonight. I would love for you to meet her since she will become a part of the family next month. I'm sure you will come to love her as I have." Mr. Damon walked toward the door once more, waving his hand indifferently in the air. "Bring your friend along, if you must. I'll send the limo for you both at seven. Do not be late."
Keith watched his father leave without a good-bye or a backward glance, than wiped angrily at the tears that had started to fall, smarting at the sting when his hand brushed over the rapidly growing bruise. His cheekbone ached fiercely.
Why did he let his father treat him like that? Why couldn't he just tell the man to go away and leave him alone? Why did he still yearn for the approval he knew he'd never get?
And what the hell was this about a fiancé?
"Damn it!"
He grabbed some ice from the fridge, wrapping it in a paper towel. He leaned over the sink and pressed it to his eye. Damn that hurt! Already his eye was beginning to swell enough that he couldn't keep it open all the way.
He heard the door open and groaned. He should have known Mike would have been lurking somewhere, waiting until his father left to come back in.
"Hey, Keith? I saw the limo pull away; I'm assuming your father was in it. Boy, he is some piece of work. No wonder you weren't looking forward to his visit." Mike came around the corner and looked into their kitchen, finding Keith leaning over the sink. "Hey, you okay?"
"Um, yeah, I'm fine. Just feeling a little sick."
Mike could hear the lie in his voice. Walking over, he gently turned Keith around to face him. With a sinking suspicion, he lightly pushed down the cloth Keith held up, his breath catching at the bruise forming around Keith's left eye. "What happened, baby?"
Keith didn't answer right away, but looked at Mike's chest. It was always humiliating trying to come up with some kind of excuse for his varying bruises. For some reason it seemed so wrong to lie to Mike, but what other choice did he have? How could he tell his best friend he was weak enough to have let his father continued to hurt him even after he'd moved away to collage? He just couldn't do it, couldn't face that truth about himself. Not yet. "I just slipped when I was walking my father to the door and hit the corner of the table." Keith gave a shaky laugh. "Pretty clumsy, huh?"
"Did that bastard do this to you?" Mike's hand touched Keith's chin, slowly tilting his friend's head this way and that to better look at the rapidly growing bruise.
Keith's voice went cold. "I said I tripped. Just drop it okay?"
Mike wasn't buying it. "Has this happened before?" He saw the truth in Keith's eyes just before Keith pulled his head away. At that moment he could have hunted down Mr. Damon and gladly killed him.
"I said drop it, okay? I don't want to talk about it." Keith sidestepped him and backed out of the little kitchen area, hating the edge of panic he heard in his voice. Couldn't Mike just pretend he didn't see the bruise and accept the lie like all of Keith's friends and teachers had done for the last nine years?
Desperate to change the subject, he pasted on a smile, twinging as it pulled at his eye, and fluttered his hands helplessly. "Hey, um, my father invited me to dinner tonight. Wants me to meet his fiancé or something. I don't know when that happened. He said I could bring you along, but I'll understand if you don't want to come. My father is a real suite and tie kind of guy even when he's eating. I know how you hate that kind of thing, and it was fairly obvious there was no love lost between you two the moment you met so you really don't have to go at all, I won't mind."