son’s discipline and drive and to see that he was committed to doing things right. He wanted Michael to be successful, but he wanted him to work for it so he would appreciate it.
It had taken Nate a long time to get to that point himself.
He’d been an orphan before he even knew his parents—his mother had been diagnosed with cancer while pregnant with Nate and succumbed when he was only eight months old, and his father drank himself to death after that—so he’d been raised by a grandfather who had far more money than patience and who parented with elaborate gifts, high expectations and little else.
Nate had been a single, teenage father, but he’d had nannies to take care of the middle of the night feedings and the colicky moments.
He’d gone to medical school, but getting in had taken nothing more than putting his last name on the application to the school where three generations of Sullivans had gone and where the medical school library was named after his great-grandfather.
Medical school itself had been as tough for Nate as for anyone, but he’d had his pick of residencies and been assured a job at the hospital where his great-grandfather, grandfather and father had worked.
Money and influence had created an easy path for Nate and it had taken him a long time to truly appreciate—and enjoy—what he had.
He wanted Michael to be more appreciative and humble than he had been. He wanted Michael to be a harder worker than he had been. He really just wanted Michael to be a better man than Nate had been.
And on top of all of their disagreements about college and his future, Michael was in love for the first time. Very much in love.
With Shannon Watson. The recently-turned-eighteen-year-old daughter of Emma Dixon’s best friend.
Not only was Shannon Michael’s first love—and everyone knew how stupid love made a guy—but she was beautiful, popular, vibrant, and loved to go out. Nate had only been around Shannon for fifteen minutes before thinking that if he didn’t know better, he’d assume she was Emma’s daughter.
Nate gritted his teeth as he dialed his son’s number.
Of course this most recent and gigantic pain in his ass had something to do with Emma Dixon.
Michael had met Shannon at a Hawks football game. Nate had played defensive back for the Hawks for the past two years and Michael never missed a game. Neither did Emma, their quarterback’s sister. Emma had brought Shannon and her mom, Dena, to a game last fall and Michael had fallen head over heels in the space of an afternoon.
Michael’s phone rang. And rang. Then went to voice mail.
Nate swore and disconnected, then called again. Michael was screening his calls, knowing that Nate was going to yell.
Nate could admit that he wasn’t crazy about Michael’s preoccupation with the young Miss Watson. She’d been distracting him for months from his schoolwork and other responsibilities—like spending time with his father.
But Nate especially wasn’t crazy about walking in on Michael and Shannon naked in Michael’s bed one afternoon when they should have been in school. Or finding out there were no contraceptives being used. Or realizing that Dena wasn’t at all concerned. Dena’s approach to parenting was incredibly laid back. She was more like an older sister to Shannon than a mother, as far as he could tell. And not a responsible, concerned older sister like Emma’s sister Amanda.
Michael’s phone rang and rang again.
Finally, Michael answered. “ Dad .”
“You will not be going out tonight without providing a lot more information to me and having a discussion about it first,” Nate said. Since the afternoon he’d found them skipping school and skipping the condoms, he’d grounded Michael.
Or tried to.
Michael had turned eighteen two months ago, but he was also still living under Nate’s roof and on Nate’s tab. Which meant that they argued on a daily basis now.
“What information do you need to have?” Michael
It had taken Nate a long time to get to that point himself.
He’d been an orphan before he even knew his parents—his mother had been diagnosed with cancer while pregnant with Nate and succumbed when he was only eight months old, and his father drank himself to death after that—so he’d been raised by a grandfather who had far more money than patience and who parented with elaborate gifts, high expectations and little else.
Nate had been a single, teenage father, but he’d had nannies to take care of the middle of the night feedings and the colicky moments.
He’d gone to medical school, but getting in had taken nothing more than putting his last name on the application to the school where three generations of Sullivans had gone and where the medical school library was named after his great-grandfather.
Medical school itself had been as tough for Nate as for anyone, but he’d had his pick of residencies and been assured a job at the hospital where his great-grandfather, grandfather and father had worked.
Money and influence had created an easy path for Nate and it had taken him a long time to truly appreciate—and enjoy—what he had.
He wanted Michael to be more appreciative and humble than he had been. He wanted Michael to be a harder worker than he had been. He really just wanted Michael to be a better man than Nate had been.
And on top of all of their disagreements about college and his future, Michael was in love for the first time. Very much in love.
With Shannon Watson. The recently-turned-eighteen-year-old daughter of Emma Dixon’s best friend.
Not only was Shannon Michael’s first love—and everyone knew how stupid love made a guy—but she was beautiful, popular, vibrant, and loved to go out. Nate had only been around Shannon for fifteen minutes before thinking that if he didn’t know better, he’d assume she was Emma’s daughter.
Nate gritted his teeth as he dialed his son’s number.
Of course this most recent and gigantic pain in his ass had something to do with Emma Dixon.
Michael had met Shannon at a Hawks football game. Nate had played defensive back for the Hawks for the past two years and Michael never missed a game. Neither did Emma, their quarterback’s sister. Emma had brought Shannon and her mom, Dena, to a game last fall and Michael had fallen head over heels in the space of an afternoon.
Michael’s phone rang. And rang. Then went to voice mail.
Nate swore and disconnected, then called again. Michael was screening his calls, knowing that Nate was going to yell.
Nate could admit that he wasn’t crazy about Michael’s preoccupation with the young Miss Watson. She’d been distracting him for months from his schoolwork and other responsibilities—like spending time with his father.
But Nate especially wasn’t crazy about walking in on Michael and Shannon naked in Michael’s bed one afternoon when they should have been in school. Or finding out there were no contraceptives being used. Or realizing that Dena wasn’t at all concerned. Dena’s approach to parenting was incredibly laid back. She was more like an older sister to Shannon than a mother, as far as he could tell. And not a responsible, concerned older sister like Emma’s sister Amanda.
Michael’s phone rang and rang again.
Finally, Michael answered. “ Dad .”
“You will not be going out tonight without providing a lot more information to me and having a discussion about it first,” Nate said. Since the afternoon he’d found them skipping school and skipping the condoms, he’d grounded Michael.
Or tried to.
Michael had turned eighteen two months ago, but he was also still living under Nate’s roof and on Nate’s tab. Which meant that they argued on a daily basis now.
“What information do you need to have?” Michael
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