Wicked men obey from fear; good men, from love.
Aristotle

Part three: Nick – Dallas, 1989

Nick waved to a few guys from his varsity team as they pulled away, and chuckled hazily to himself as he staggered awkwardly over the front curb. The looming white, two-story house was shrouded in darkness, and in the dim recesses of his mind, he attempted to make his steps as soundless as possible as he stumbled up the front porch and fitted his key into the lock.

He stumbled on the hall runner, and scoffed loudly at his sudden clumsiness. The loud, monotonous ticking of the grandfather clock he had hated so much as a child was the only ominous sound in the silence of the household, and he glanced at it with a grimace, noting its dark clock face read two thirty am.

He tiptoed through the vast family room towards the staircase the led to his room, wondering if his mother would be able to identify the smell of alcohol on his jersey shirt in the morning, when a loud, pointed cough stopped him dead in his tracks.

He whirled around, as the dormant corner lamp flooded the room with light. He blinked against the sudden brightness, head instantly throbbing with a heightened aversion.

"Well. Where have we been so late tonight?"

His father, the stoic, straight-faced figure he had inwardly come to know as The Judge stared intently back at him across the room, as he slowly rose to his feet from the stiff leather armchair he had occupied at least a good portion of the night.

Nick cleared his throat, attempting to mask the guilt from his eyes. The Judge didn't miss it. He never missed anything. "I was just out celebrating with the guys, Dad", he said carefully. "We won the big game, remember?"

The one you wouldn't even show up for, he thought distastefully.

The Judge's thick eyebrows narrowed over his features reproachfully. "Until two am?" he prompted pointedly. "You have a college admissions meeting tomorrow, or have you forgotten that?"

Nick gulped, swaying slightly unsteadily. He really just wanted to crash on his bed. The Judge noticed his wobbly posture immediately. "And you've been drinking?" he said darkly. "That's a great impression you're going to make on the admissions committee. Drowsy and hungover. Nice to see you have your priorities in order. We never had any trouble like this with your brother or sisters".

Like he wasn't reminded of that, every day. The youngest of seven, and he never seemed to measure up. He got straight A's and was at the top of his class, but Danielle just got her Bachelor in Law with record high marks, or Doug was the youngest rookie ever to get a commendation. He was the bottom rung of a family of overachievers, and he was expected to head in the same straight-laced direction as the rest of them. His entire life had been planned out the moment he was born to a Supreme Court Judge and Defence Attorney. Law was his calling. There was no other option.

"Your priorities, you mean?" Nick blurted out suddenly. His lessened inhibitions forced him to say what he had formerly never been able to.

The Judge blinked back at him, surprised at the sudden resentment in his tone.

"Excuse me?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "They're your plans, not mine", he spat. "What if I'm not ready for college yet? What if I don't want to go into Pre-Law?"

The Judge sighed impatiently. "Don't be ridiculous", he said calmly. "We've already discussed this. This is what you want. This is what is best for your future. You're tired and you're not thinking clearly. Obviously this is not the best time for this discussion".

"No", Nick said angrily, and he shot forward suddenly. The Judge was a towering form, and he barley matched his full height, but he ignored the vague warnings in his mind as he stared up at his father, infused with a sudden courage. "You decided. I never had a say in anything. You expected me to just go along with everything because you say so. I don't want to go to Rice yet. I want to… take a year off. I want to play football. You know UCLA sent me an acceptance form yesterday to go there on a football scholarship?"

The Judge stared at him like he didn't comprehend a word he was saying. "Nick, football is not a future", he said flatly. "We've tolerated it for now because it's socially valuable. That's all. Now go to bed, and try to sleep it off. We want you ready in the morning".

Nick swallowed as The Judge started to retreat for the stairs.

"I don't want to be a lawyer!" he yelled unexpectedly.

The Judge turned, face barely showing a sliver of emotion. "You don't have to be a lawyer, Nick", he said evenly. "There are many other equally suitable options in law enforcement."

Nick closed his eyes, scoffing disbelievingly. "You're not listening to me!"

"And you're not listening to me", his father said, suddenly vehemently. Nick blinked at the shift in his usually unruffled tone. He was deathly serious, and Nick swallowed, stepping back slightly in alarm.

"You are going to that college admission meeting tomorrow, and you are going to be accepted, just like your brother, and just like your sisters, because you are a Stokes. That is the end of it. If you want to throw away your future and all of your potential, then fine. But you can do that in another house, and in another family. Because that's not something I will tolerate here".

He turned abruptly, leaving Nick standing alone in the middle of the room.

Nick felt a shiver of disbelief run through him, quite convinced he had just heard his father disown him. His eyes slowly narrowed, and he waited several moments until he heard his father close his bedroom door up the stairs, before swiping the keys to his parents car off the silver hook beside the front door, and stalked out into the yard.

He swerved the dark blue Sedan angrily onto the road, pressing his foot deeply into the accelerator as he drove blindly into the night, no clear destination in mind. He scoffed as he glared down at the dashboard of the car, another thing his parents had deprived him of in favour of his academic success.

When he came to a shuddering park out the front of his darkened high school football stadium, he slowly cut off the ignition and stalked towards the oval.

He jumped the small fence; staring vaguely up into the bleachers as his shoes sunk into the slightly damp, lush green grass. He stopped in the middle, and just sunk to his knees, falling onto his back and staring up at the stars.

The Texan sky was vast and all encompassing, and he stared at it with a similar minuscule wonder as he had when he was a child.

His father could not dictate his life this way. It had to stop. His plans were a conflicted muddle in his mind, but they were there, as indistinctive as they were, and they had nothing to do with what his father wanted. His father had ruled his life with a heavy fist for as long as he could remember. He closed his eyes, wondering if his mother had heard their raised voices from her bed.

Unlike his father, she had attended his game, along with his sister Madeline and Doug. He reminded himself that though he was in a constant state of competition with his siblings, they never let him know it. The only person who made it that way was his father. They had supported and coddled him since he was born, four years younger than his next oldest sister. They made up for the Judge's emotional detachment, and he loved them all dearly.

Will they be disappointed if I don't do what they wanted? Will they abandon me too?

Of course he knew they wouldn't. But he could just imagine the strained state of his family if he did do what he wanted, the firm, domineering way The Judge would ignore him from his life, and how the rest of them would be forced to tread around his name carefully, and visit him in secret. He had no doubt the true influence The Judge had over the rest of his family, and though he knew they wouldn't intentionally abandon him, he would be isolated in a way they couldn't prevent.

Sighing deeply, he came to an inward decision, and climbed slowly to his feet. His slightly inebriated state had made his usually rational, responsible nature recede and he realised it had been stupid to drive here while he was still drunk.

He drove the Sedan back to his house with added carefulness, and climbed silently up to his room, collapsing on his bed.

In the morning, he dressed in the carefully ironed clothes his mother had set out for him, and popped a breath mint in his mouth. His mother never questioned him about the night before, and his father never even acknowledged the argument they had had. And Nick went to the meeting, just like they had asked.