A Few Good Men Parents Guide Novels & Stories

"Steven, as long as you're willing, I'll always be your safety net. You can come anytime. Remember, I'll always love you." I held back the tears burning at the corners of my eyes and nodded. "Okay." Right after I hung up, my overseas account received a transfer of 50 million dollars. A message from my father followed. It read, "Steven, take care of everything back home first. If anything comes up, just call me." I knew exactly what he meant when he told me to take care of things back home. My gaze drifted to Sandra, still in the living room, laughing sweetly into her phone.

He had to go home, if only to discover more about what was happening. “And it isn’t ‘nice guys’ that finish last,” Father continued. “It’s weak men who do so. Men who hang in the back and wait for the woman to slink to them. Who are too scared to go for what they want. Who are too lazy to figure out how to get it. You’ve all been brainwashed to assume that being a submissive to a woman’s ever-shifting wants is somehow being a ‘good guy.’ No, it’s being weak.”

Emma, the fake heiress, and I were sold into an underground BDSM club. When my parents, the richest couple in the country, and my husband, Leo DeLuca, the feared Don of the DeLuca crime family, finally found us, I was bound with duct tape and covered in wounds. Emma lay beside me, heavily pregnant and unconscious. Three months later, doctors confirmed that her baby had died in the womb. She was the adopted daughter my parents had cherished for twenty years, and the girl my husband had never gotten over. My parents and husband went half mad, offering a nationwide one-hundred-million-dollar bounty for any lead on the person responsible. I was the only one who might have seen the culprit's face

Something that sat in the chest like a window being opened after too long in a closed room. Relief. Just…relief. Clean and uncomplicated. "Good," I said. A beat on the line. "...Good?" "Good riddance to bad rubbish." Silence. Then: "I'm sorry?" "You heard me." "I heard you," he said slowly, "I'm just, I was fully prepared for a lecture. Something about how this world doesn't have to function on violence and there are other ways to handle—"

Dad says. "I was expressing creativity." "You were expressing confusion." Kelvin laughs into his drink. "I wish I'd seen that." "I would've charged admission." "I would've paid." Dad shakes his head. "You encourage her." "I've noticed it's safer." "It isn't," I say. He smiles. "I know." The smile doesn't last long. After dessert, Dad quietly sets down his coffee cup. "I still don't agree with how this happened." The room grows still again. Kelvin doesn't hesitate.

"Oh, Mrs. Pearce, when you put all the blame on me, did you ever think it would end like this? If the report's fake, what about the blood type? You both have O-type blood, so how could Hanley have A-type blood?" Hanley, still in shock, finally caught on. "Dad, what does this report mean? How could I not be your son?" Kennard slapped him across the face without hesitation. "Don't call me Dad. Go ask your mother who your real father is!" He turned to Nicole, who was still staring blankly. "Mom, say something!" Nicole remained silent, her tears falling as she bowed her head. Her silence was as good as an admission of guilt.

A brief escape from reality that would ultimately leave them both in ruins? As Patricia stood there, the water cooling against her skin, the weight of her choices pressed down on her. It wasn’t just Kelly that complicated things. It was the history, the years of unresolved feelings, the bond that had never fully broken. They had been so young when it all started, too young to understand the depth of what they shared. But now, they weren’t kids anymore. They were adults, with responsibilities, with lives they had built apart. And yet, the moment they were alone together, all of that crumbled, leaving them vulnerable to the same old temptations. The realization hit her hard—what had once been

"I said stand—" "This isn't him." A different voice. Male, no doubt but older. "I'm his employer," the voice said. "And yours, if you think carefully about the last three months." My hand tightened on the phone. "Interesting move," he continued. "The exiled son grows a conscience by protecting the dying human." A pause with amusement sitting in it. "Don't worry, Cassian. We don't need the father anymore." "What does that mean?" "It means we already have what we need. The blood ritual in the council chamber was very illuminating," he continued. "She revealed herself beautifully. We couldn't have planned it better."

Sign the agreement, complete the engagement party, and behave yourself. "My father will be here soon, and I hope you won't bring up your father's death in front of him and turn this place into your family's funeral." The other guests erupted in discussion and praised his generosity and tolerance. "Six hundred thousand dollars! That old man was nothing more than a rude and ill-mannered country bumpkin, yet he's worth that much money? Mr. Alvarez is truly generous!" "What is she still hesitating for? Hurry! Sign it and zip your mouth!"

I told them about the blizzard, about how Trenton and I had talked and connected, about how we'd tried to resist but couldn't, how I fell in love with him despite knowing it was complicated. "You love him," my father said when I finished, unable to believe his ears. "Yes." I looked down on the floor, unable to meet his eyes. "And he loves you?" "He says he does." My parents exchanged a look I couldn't read. "This is going to cause problems," my mother said. "The age difference, Eudora's feelings, the gossip in this town, your career in Boston." "I know." "But," my father said, and my head snapped up because I'd expected only condemnation, "you're an adult. You get to make your own choices ev