“Dad.” I reached over to grab his hand, and he gave me two solid claps on the back. “Have a seat, son.”

He only used that formal tone when I was about to be reamed out. I figured he’d gotten it all out on the phone that morning, but maybe he had more to say. Even behind closed doors, my father was the consummate professional in his place of business. Suddenly I was thankful this meeting hadn’t taken place at their house instead. Even though I was an adult, I still sometimes felt like a twelve year old who’d just been caught taking a sip from his father’s beer when I was reprimanded there.

My father cleared his throat. “I’m glad you decided to work here this summer.”

I worded my response carefully. “Not sure I had much of a choice, Dad.”

My ears automatically tuned into the sound of the lame elevator music piping through the speakers. My thoughts veered off to the idea of creating different mood music in the casino before I realized I had totally tuned my father out. Fuck.

I heard my father sigh, and when I looked up his face was beet-red. “Have you heard anything I’ve said?”

“Of course I have,” I snapped, in a lame attempt to convince him. Besides, I’d heard all of his lectures before. Even the ones about smoking pot. “Whatever you need, Dad.”

“Look, son,” he said, sitting back down in his seat. “You tried it your way. Now let’s try it my way.”

I looked him directly in the eyes. The eyes that I’d respected and admired my whole life. “Is it your way or the highway?”

“Knock it off, Kai,” he rumbled, and I sat up straighter. His voice still had the power to disarm me. “Do you have a better idea for making a living?”

He had me there. He wasn’t going to spot me any more cash. And playing gigs paid shit. And I certainly didn’t want to flip burgers or put on a monkey suit for an office job.

Mom came up behind me and placed her hands on my shoulders. “Honey, I really want you to finish your degree somewhere in the fall. Have you thought about that any more?”

“Mom, I’m just not sure I’m cut out for school,” I said in a show of honesty. “I mean, I liked the classes I was taking, but I liked working at the studio more.”

“The classes are necessary in order to get to the thing you love,” my father said through a clenched jaw. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, sure. I just know music is where it’s at for me.” The only two things I’d even been good at in my life were playing music and taking care of Rachel. Even my parents told me how proud they’d been of me during her stay at the hospital.

“That’s obviously not working for you.”

“Then I’m out of ideas,” I said simply. Because it was true. I was at a roadblock. Or maybe a crossroads. Nothing really made sense anymore. Nothing ever really did to me.

My father stood to his full intimidating height. “Look around this casino, son. You’ve been given an opportunity to get an education. Something that many of our employees will never have.”

Same argument, different day. He thought he was doing a service to our people by giving them jobs and bringing money into the tribal nation. And he definitely was. But my uncle Elan disagreed. It was an old argument between him and Dad that dated back to Dad’s initial decision to invest in this casino with other tribal owners and become the majority shareholder.

Uncle Elan had argued that Dad was only adding to the problems plaguing our community. Alcoholism. Gambling. Elan mostly stayed away from the casino because of it. He’d always been inflexible. My father was stubborn as well, but he was also compassionate and giving.

But at least they both stood for something. I didn’t know where I stood on the issue. I could see both sides. And that had always been my problem. Nothing really mattered to me besides music and Rachel. I went through the motions, and if shit happened around me or to me, I just shrugged it off and kept on going.

“I understand, Dad.” I brushed my fingers through my hair in exasperation. “I’ll figure it out. I promise.”

Chapter Nine Kai

My mother, who had been raised in the Netherlands, stayed out of my dad and uncle’s argument as well. But she supported my father fully. I could see the admiration in her eyes. Privately, she told Dakota and me that every culture had examples of failures and successes—the Dutch Eighty Years’ War, for example.

Before I moved overseas, she gave me a quick lesson in her homeland’s history—about the pinnacle of her culture, called the Dutch Golden Age—which I appreciated. Amsterdam had its share of culturally tolerant and liberal thinkers, and I’d felt comfortable there—even though my heart had been someplace else—despite the fact that I was referred to as an allochtoon, the Dutch word for foreigner, everywhere I went. I snickered to myself at the memory.

My father’s booming voice brought me out of my reverie. “Today I’m putting you out on the floor under Stuart.”

“Got it.” Stuart was one of Dad’s oldest and most trusted employees.

“And you’ll get a regular paycheck,” Mom said. “Depending on how many hours you work.” Mom handled the books in the casino with a team of accountants under her. Dakota was learning the ropes from my very intelligent mother. Apparently she’d gotten all the smart genes.

According to my late grandfather, I took after some distant relative who loved smoking his peace pipe, dispensing advice to the tribe, and beating the poplar drum every morning. Cool by me. At least he’d been accepted by his people.

“I want you to take out those piercings you love so much,” Dad said.

“Honey, he’s fine,” Mom said, squeezing my shoulders. But had she known all the places where I was pierced, she’d have fainted right on the spot.

She leaned close to my ear. “Ik houd van jou.”

I love you. It’d been the phrase Dakota and I had heard our entire lives. One that was a quick reminder of our Dutch ancestry. Thanks to Mom, I’d been able to pick up basic phrases in Amsterdam like please and thank you. But I had certainly never used the words she’d just uttered with anyone besides my family.

My mother still retained a slight Dutch accent, but it really rose to the surface when she was upset or angry. That was her tell, and right now, I knew she was frustrated with my father. Probably thought he was being too rigid. But I deserved it. I’d never compare to Dakota, who had blind ambition and worked hard to please my parents and make them proud.

I’d just always preferred flying under the radar and doing my own thing. Except that plan wasn’t quite working out for me. I should’ve protested more to my manager in Amsterdam. Honestly, girls came on to me all the time. How in the hell was I supposed to know that Johan would walk in right at that moment?

Sure, I needed to cut back on the weed. It slowed my reaction time and made me care even less about the things happening around me. Even Rachel had noticed. Which was so not cool.

Last night probably needed to be my last hurrah with pot. The phone call with my father this morning was only the beginning. Mom apparently had a nice little chat with her cousin in Amsterdam about the stash of dope I’d left in a drawer. Dad said if I didn’t shape up, he’d make me submit to the company drug policy. He probably would anyway. So I’d better not come in looking like I’d smoked.

I may have stopped lighting up whether or not Rachel had asked me to. But old habits die hard, so I needed to be more determined than before. If only she’d allow me to believe that she was soley thinking of me when we’d been together last night.

I tightened my fists at the same self-loathing thoughts that had filled my head the last couple of years. When would I finally get my shit together?