When the Club Stood Their Ground

Chapter One Graduation Morning

I heard a few beeps. My alarm… or maybe just the tail end of a dream. My mind felt thick and unwilling, like it was glued to sleep. I was still deciding whether to drag myself out of bed or hide under the blankets for five more minutes when sharp knocks rattled my door — perfectly timed, too perfect to be accidental.

Then Mom’s voice: “Okay, girls, quit and give her a chance to answer us.”

“Okay!” the twins chirped, loud enough to shake the walls.

My heart jumped. I shut off my alarm and waited for Mom to finish talking.

“Come in,” I said, trying to sound awake.

Mom, my half sisters, and my stepdad walked in. The twins were practically vibrating.

“Happy graduation!” they screamed, the sound bursting through the room like confetti. They set a cake and presents in front of me. The cake was covered in pink roses with Happy Graduation written across the top. A card and two boxes wrapped in shiny pink paper — my favorite color — waited beside it. My chest warmed.

“Open the gifts!” Tammy and Sarah shrieked.

“Calm down, girls,” Pat said, trying to sound like he ran the place.

He didn’t. He never would.

He stood there with his arms crossed like he owned the morning, like he had any right to be part of it. Six foot one, a little heavy, black hair, brown eyes — and a permanent expression that said he thought he was in charge. He wasn’t. Not of me.

I didn’t even look at him. He thinks he’s my dad. Even if something happened to my real dad, Pat would never be my dad. I’m a daddy’s girl, through and through.

“Which one should I open first?” I asked the twins.

“The flat one!” they screamed, bouncing so hard the bed shook.

“Okay,” I said. “Calm down or I won’t open it.”

The twins froze instantly — but Pat didn’t.

His head snapped toward me, eyes narrowing like I’d just broken some invisible rule he made up. “Hey,” he said sharply, “don’t talk to my girls like that.”

My spine stiffened. My girls. He always said it like he owned them. Like he owned everything in the room.

“They’re just excited,” he added, voice low and edged, like he was correcting me in front of an audience.

I met his eyes for half a second — just long enough to make it clear I wasn’t intimidated — then looked away. “I wasn’t being mean,” I said calmly. “I just don’t want them to knock something over.”

Mom stepped in quickly, her voice too bright. “Pat, it’s fine. She didn’t say anything wrong.”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at me, jaw tight, like he wanted to say more but couldn’t without making himself look bad. The twins stayed frozen, watching us like they sensed the tension but didn’t understand it.

I forced a smile at them. “It’s okay. You can breathe again.”

They giggled, the moment dissolving — but Pat’s glare stayed glued to me for another beat before he finally looked away.

The air felt heavier after that, like the room had shrunk.

Mom cleared her throat. “Tara, you know it’s proper to open the card first. Have I not raised you better than that?”

Her tone stung. Graduation morning and she still had to correct me. “Yes, Mom.” I opened the card.

Tara, we love you and are so proud of you for graduating high school. You know you’re the first one on your dad’s side who did…

My stomach tightened. I tried not to get mad.

I forced a smile. “Thanks, Mom and Dad,” I said. If I didn’t say Dad, Mom would drag it out all day.

“Now you can open your gifts,” she said.

I looked at the twins. “Which one first — the big one or the flatter one?”

“The flat one!” they screamed.

“Okay,” I said. “Calm down or I won’t open it.”

They froze instantly.

I opened the flat box. Inside was an Alienware laptop — hot pink, covered in different shades of pink hearts. Custom. My breath caught.

“What?” I whispered, hugging the laptop. “You got me a custom laptop — and not just a laptop, but a gaming laptop?”

“Yes,” Mom and Pat said together.

Pat puffed up like he’d personally built it. He didn’t even know how to turn one on.

Emotion hit me anyway — because Mom tried, because the twins were excited, because the laptop was perfect. “Thanks,” I said, hugging them.

“You still have one more,” Mom said.

I moved to the next box. Inside was another box, taped shut. Pat handed me a pocketknife.

“You might need this,” he said, like he was giving me survival gear.

I took it without looking at him. I cut open the box. Another shiny pink box. And another. And another.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Just keep opening,” Mom said, smiling.

Six boxes later, I reached a white envelope. My patience was gone. I opened it — a one‑year Xbox PC Game Pass.

I stared at them. “Really? Who does stuff like that?”

Pat laughed like he thought he was hilarious. He wasn’t.

But I didn’t want to ruin the morning. “Thanks,” I said, hugging them again — Mom and the twins, not him.

“Tara, where is my hug?” Pat said, his voice almost commanding, like he thought he had the right to demand anything from me.

Mom agreed with him instantly. Of course she did. “Tara, give your father a hug.”

Father. The word scraped across my nerves.

I swallowed the irritation burning in my chest. Graduation morning. Not worth a fight. Not worth giving him the satisfaction.

I stepped forward and gave him the quickest hug possible — barely a touch, barely a second — then backed up toward my bed like the space between us was oxygen.

His smile said he noticed. Good.

“We should go so Tara can get ready for the big day,” Mom said.

“Aww,” the twins whined.

“No,” Mom said. “She’ll be out in a few.”

They left. Pat lingered a second too long, giving me that look — the one where he tries to read me, tries to understand me, tries to be something he’ll never be.

I didn’t give him anything.

He closed the door behind him.

The room fell quiet. Heavy. Like the moment before a massive storm.

I picked up the Game Pass and the laptop, tucked them into my backpack, grabbed my clothes, and headed to the bathroom to shower, do my hair, and my makeup. My hands were shaking — excitement, nerves, and the familiar tension that always came when Pat tried to insert himself into moments that weren’t his.

Graduation day had officially begun. And deep down, I felt the first c***k of something shifting — something big.