A/N: Thank you so much to runninequalslife, jb1236, rachrep, FeJoy29, JohnKrasinskiLover, OhGollyMissMolly, and smartgirl231814 for their especially wonderful and lengthier reviews.

-EVERYONE: My personal laptop was taken away, and that includes the loss of access to the part of this chapter where Gabriella goes to Charity's. I didn't want to make you guys wait, so I decided to write about Troy's problem with his dad first, because I really, really don't want to have to rewrite that other bit over. I worked really hard. :( I'm truly sorry. If in the end, I do not get my laptop back in time, I will rewrite the chapter. I am terribly sorry if this chapter does seem to live up to the others, or if it seems a bit rushed, but I have tried my best in the current conditions.

Disclaimer: I do not own Disney or High School Musical or any of these characters except mine. I also don't own Victoria's Secret.

Troy knew what was coming. He tried to deal with his jackass of a father as least as possible, but of course, there were just some particular things the basketball captain couldn't evade, no matter how excellent his jump shot had been in the last game.

Like on that ironically dazzling and sunny Sunday morning.

Troy had never driven so fast in life. He slammed his foot on the pedal, the wheel spinning effortlessly in his rigid hands as he recklessly raced down the thankfully empty road. Faster and faster he persisted, dangerously accelerating the hazardous speed of the contraption, his heart thrashing wildly and pounding more rapidly as did the car did. The September air whipped nastily at his agonizingly attractive features, and he frantically shook the sandy hair out of his tantalizing cobalt eyes, which were set permanently to the road. His hands were trembling on the leather-covered driving wheel, his lungs closing and gradually giving up on him as his nervousness increased. "Almost there," he whispered reassuringly to himself, needing that extra boost of courage as he screeched to a halt a couple houses down from Coach Bolton's fine residence. He pulled up expertly, urgently calming down his flustered mind.

He could do this. He had to, and there was no possible exception. For Gabriella. She was the vital element that kept him going; what forced him forward, no matter how excruciatingly painful, all those endless months. Quivering, desperate whispers of truth, "I need you," and "I'd die without you," echoed hauntingly in his consumed brain as he set his ruddy truck in parking, his head aching at the sudden swarm of thoughts. He blinked his glimmering, fogged eyes furiously, not believing this was all happening, as he wrenched open his vehicle's door and crashed it shut again once he was out. He was so jittery. For some reason, it felt like it was his ultimate duty to protect Gabriella. To shield her from the unsafe worlds of the unknown, to act as her bodyguard in any time of need, and to defend her valiantly in front of any threatening offender.

He would be there. He would always be there. Gabriella didn't know that. She didn't understand. He needed his lover to know and understand. He needed her to believe in him. And this exactly was a rightful chance where he could prove himself of his claims.

Troy's large, rough hands were still wavering unmanageably as he knocked hesitantly on the red-painted door, so dreadfully familiar it made him ache. Troy heard heavy thumps in the distance, steadily nearing and loudening as they approached the entrance. The door was edgily yanked open to reveal the angriest Jack Bolton his son had ever glimpsed. White-hot steam was practically emitting from his ears, like they did in those loony cartoons. His handsome face was illuminating deep crimson, and his teeth were grinding in an intimidating manner in the back of his mouth. Troy had never been so afraid of his father, and it suddenly settled in again how much he had really despised him. The older Bolton's identical eyes darted up and down his child's built figure, investigating him for just a spare moment. Troy felt uneasy under his father's judging eye, or for that matter, in his presence in total. Mr. Bolton swallowed forcibly as his eyes met with the younger generation's.

"Troy," he gulped hoarsely. His jaw clinched threateningly as he spoke, straining himself to keep his raging emotions bottled up inside of him.

"Coach," Troy greeted apprehensively, trying not to take the anxious step backward.

It was silent between the two related men. Troy stared down aimlessly at his basketball sneakers, caked with brittle dirt and dried mud, a few ripped fragments of leaves adhered along. His mind was remote as he tried not to focus on his father, glaring at Troy with the most awful sneer he'd ever witnessed. Why was he here again? He had to remind himself repeatedly for a surge of determination and reassurance. Troy knew very well he was in line for some good infuriated ranting, and most likely some abusing. An angry series of punches, smacks, and hits usually followed an irritated argument. And pathetic enough for him to think it, he was used to it. The teenage boy was growing fidgety under the microscope his father had him under, and he desperately offered a more comfortable alternative, plunging in and taking the brave risk.

"How about we got inside?" Troy suggested boldly, not waiting for an objecting reply he knew was coming and moving past the taller of the two into the recognizable house. It had remained almost exactly the same, he noted instantly. It had scarcely changed. The satisfactory house was still a hopeless mess, just slightly tidier, dirty clothes strewn carelessly about among forgotten deflated basketballs. A posed portrait of his proud brother Henry dwelled on the mantle above the abandoned fireplace, and a smaller one of a beaming, six-year-old Troy just to the side, a basketball clutched securely to one side. But what really struck Troy was the smell. It smelled peculiarly different. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it smelled like, but it was certainly a fishy mystery he was keen to solve.

His father had secrets. Lots of them—countless of them, and kept them locked tightly and out of harm's way inside him. He never shared them. Not to a single soul. It was as if they were sheltered in a treasure chest, and only he had the key. Troy's own benevolent, loyal mother had never even known any, and a fiery dispute about them had sparked the detachment of what eventually led to their brutal divorce. Troy had always pined to uncover one of those secrets, ever since he was a little boy and realized that his father kept them. Coach Bolton was often up to no good, as Troy experienced firsthand, though he never knew exactly what. But this time, maybe Troy could discover what he was trying so hard to hide.

Troy gravitated solo over to the unclean kitchen, the grimy sink cluttered with used dishes, glasses, and utensils. It was so classic of Jack Bolton that Troy had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Mr. Bolton soon came towering into the room after Troy, his form looking stockier than ever. Troy innocently sat down at a counter stool, not daring to bat an eyelid incase that was against his father's strict rulebook. Jack Bolton halted in front of his almost grown son, giving him a stern look, his angular features terribly sharp. Troy pressed his lips together under the smoldering gaze of his controlling parent, so horribly intense he thought he would explode under the pressure. The coach's features hardened even more, if possible. The harsh quality to his face elevated to a point where it was so strong, Troy wondered at how on the planet he had kept the boiling frustration all inside.

"So," Mr. Bolton began on the primary problem. "I wake up this morning to a hasty call from Eric, informing me that he found you naked in bed with the girl that would be his stepsister in two months." Jack Bolton's eyes were glowing with furious anger, boring down unsympathetically at his son. Troy shrunk down at his perch on his stool. "Now tell me, Troy: WHAT IN GOD'S NAME ON THIS EARTH WHERE YOU THINKING?!" Jack's face was flamed to the deepest, darkest shade of red Troy had ever seen. His eyeballs were bulging out of his sockets. His face read of such shamed disgust that Troy cringed and yearned to hide from the scary sight.

"I wasn't thinking," Troy admitted embarrassedly, drenched in his father's volcanic eruption of repulsion.

"That's right, boy!" Coach Bolton spat distastefully. "That's right. You never think. What kind of bastard would do such a foul thing?! Only you, Troy. I'm revolted. It's always the same deal with you, and you never learn your lesson! You can't waste your time screwing brainless cheerleaders—"

"—She wasn't a cheerleader!" Troy interjected penetratingly, feeling a sharp pang in his chest at the accusation of Gabriella being an airheaded slut. His elegant face toughened with escalating repugnance.

"Don't interrupt me, bastard!" Jack Bolton continued sordidly. He spoke as if his mouth tasted sour with a peculiar substance, and he was trying to rid of all the unwelcome bitterness. Troy flinched at the stabbing insults. He had heard them all an immeasurable amount of times, yet they always seemed to knife through him just as horrifically as the previous time. "As I was saying, you can't trash away all this valuable time by fucking on all these stupid whores! You've got to focus and channel all your time and energy into basketball," the coach commanded vilely. "Which brings me to another troublesome topic…" Troy grimaced bracingly as he knew exactly what was coming. He had been praying and crossing his fingers that his father would either avoid the issue or forget altogether, but of course he knew that would only happen when Martians invaded America.

"Dad, I—" Troy began desperately, as if he could still salvage himself.

"No, Troy! Listen to me!" Coach sputtered ruthlessly, violently banging a sturdy fist against the kitchen counter. Troy winced at the startling action. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?! You aren't supposed to be here for another two weeks at least!" Troy shook his head vigorously as he stared expressionlessly at his feet, surprised when boiling tears threatened to spill from his gleaming cyan eyes. "YOU RAN AWAY?! DO YOU EVEN FUCKING KNOW HOW MUCH THAT COST ME?!" Troy opened his mouth to speak, but the older Bolton cut him off before he even let out a derisory squeak. "And on top of that, you don't tell me! Or anyone, for that matter! You just romp off to some random sex-crazed bimbo and satisfy your own greedy needs!" Mr. Bolton's hands quivered perilously. His eyes spiraled down on his humiliated disgrace of a son. "Selfish Troy. So typical."

It took everything he had inside of the senior teenager to keep his rationality in the clear front of his brain. Troy clenched in own fists tightly, his nostrils flaring as he kept his irritation and security under the lid and resisted an uncontrollable explosion. He knew once he started on a irate rant, he would never be able to stop. He knew he got his irrepressible temper from his father, as sad as it was to say. "She's not random," Troy whispered lowly through gritted teeth as he strained himself to secure his burgeoning displeasure. "She's my—girlfriend," he blurted courageously before he knew what he was saying. His eyes widened slightly as the unchangeable words flowed from his mouth and he realized which words they had been. Good going, Bolton.

"Girlfriend?" Jack inquired perplexedly. "You have a girlfriend? Your girlfriend is Eric's stepsister?!" Troy heaved a tired sigh as he pursed his lips, thoroughly thinking through his next response.

"Yes," he whispered sullenly, frightened he may get into trouble with Gabriella for the declaration, but not caring much as he just needed to save himself at the moment.

"Why…how?" the coach questioned flabbergasted, his dark eyebrows knitting together in the center as his eyes thinned to baffled slits. "Did you know her from here, and then kept in touch while you were away? What about that other idiot whore you wanted to ask out?"

Troy was caught in the middle of a very serious situation. He just wanted scuttle away to Gabriella, have her soothe him and run her fingers through his hair as she whispered consoling words to him in that silky voice of hers. He needed her advice. Troy rubbed the back of his neck tensely. He switched his gaze to his dirt-crusted sneakers, feeling heat creep up his neck. "Um…yeah, I kept in touch with her over the time…we weren't really dating…I ventured the field a bit…but then at one point I asked her to be my girlfriend and she agreed…so…" Mr. Bolton gave his lying son a dour, relentless look, as if covering up the urge to burst, "Fucking liar!" Troy could easily see he was fraught to crack the truth out him.

"Troy."

Troy's head instantaneously snapped up to meet his father's uncompromising face. Troy gulped nervously. The atmosphere in the room instantly doubled, as Troy already knew he was dead meat. Butchered, sliced up, cooked, and dressed in pitiless mockery to be set on the dinner table that supper. Eaten eventually. That was Jack Bolton's form of cruel slaughter. "Yes?" Troy choked fearfully as Mr. Bolton eyed his son suspiciously. Troy cowered down at his uncomfortable glare.

"You are liar, boy. A filthy hypocrite." The words speared through Troy's aching heart like a dagger. His spirits plunged gravely and he sank down dejectedly on his counter stool. He was never enough. And Coach Bolton was never near finished. "You don't even go screwing girls in the first place, young man. Whatever happened to sex after marriage? You're the type of baked bachelor who'll be wasting all of your insignificant money on poor, demanding prostitutes the second you get to college." He coughed rudely. "That is, if you get into one. They'd never want you if they knew the kind of false person you are." Troy recoiled at his hurtful words. Jack would never stop, and that was a fact. "She's not even your girlfriend, I bet." He sniggered uncouthly. "You sneak. You dirty little liar."

Troy's mouth dropped open in protest. "She is my girlfriend! I fucking swear—"

"What ever happened to keeping that mouth clean, eh, Troy?" Mr. Bolton smirked devilishly. "Don't make me make you wash your mouth with soap again." The evil appearance of his face caused Troy's stomach to churn queasily. He had never once seen his father so berserk or so full of fury.

"Hypocrite."

"Look who's talking, Troy boy," the older of the two seethed wickedly.

Troy knew he was trespassing into hazardous waters even moments before the words spewed from his mouth. "Shut up."

It happened almost too fast for it all to register in his brain. He saw his father's anger—the hardened features—and smack, his palm had viciously connected with his cheek, involuntarily providing it with a flushed color. Troy's mouth hung ajar as he gently kneaded his stinging, pink cheek. He felt something warm and wet on his fingertips. He drew away his hand to examine the substance. It glimmered bright red, his heart hammering ferociously against his chest as he mentally labeled the liquid. And before he could return his own malicious revenge, Jack Bolton had thrown anther immoral punch to his son. Troy staggered back reflexively at the strong force, holding the bridge of his nose lightly. Vivid blood dripped steadily onto his white basketball sneakers, glinting in the sun shining through the open windows. His nose was humming with unbearable pain, his cheek still burning at the contact.

"You can't see her," Jack breathed irregularly, rather disbelieving at what he had just done, no matter how many times he had done the same thing before. His expression was terrifyingly blank, his blue eyes starry and glazed as he kept his eyes locked on the limp figure near the wall. "I forbid you to see your supposed girlfriend…whomever this bitch turns out to be." He croaked again, "You can't see her. You're…you're grounded. Basketball. You're going to be playing basketball twenty-four seven. I don't care if you don't sleep at night. You're going to make up for the money you lost me, and there's no way out. Capice?" Troy nodded robotically, the stiffness in his neck strengthening as he blinked back the sweltering tears. He was not the man to cry. Especially in front of his disapproving father. "Now sit down, and act like a proper man." Troy quickly obeyed, retaking his seat.

Mr. Bolton began making a big breakfast for some reason, which consisted of waffles, toast, sausages, bacon, pancakes—you name it, all the while Troy sulked on the stool in his pools of misery. He needed Gabriella. He didn't care about his father. He didn't care how much trouble he would be in. He just needed Gabriella, and he would find a way to be with her, no matter what the circumstance. Under the counter, he stealthily retracted his phone from his pocket and texted her furtively. I've got a solution. This could work. Maybe this really was their chance to go back to normal. He tucked his phone back safely back into his pocket, waiting restlessly for the brunette beauty to reply.

"Oh, Jack, you really shouldn't have!"

Troy jerked suddenly at the high, nasally voice, which was so foreign to him. His eyes dashed around the room, searching frantically for its producer, when he noticed the voice was coming from the stairs. A tiny, short blonde appeared in the kitchen, wearing, to Troy's utter astonishment, a skimpy black negligee. "Holy fuck!" was the first comment that entered Troy's fretful mind, though he didn't dare say it aloud. He couldn't even believe it. He barely noticed the uproarious vibrating in his pocket below him, his gaze permanent to the unexpected intruder. It was as if Mr. Bolton had forgotten Troy's presence in the room, enveloping one fit arm around the large-chested woman, who was so short, the sight of her half as small as Coach Bolton was actually quite comical. Her plump breasts were literally spilling from its confines, her ass almost as ridiculously huge as Latishia Yu's. And that was rather impossible.

"Sage, last time you bothered to make be a grand breakfast, so now…" Jack grinned gallantly. "I return the favor. Oh, and sorry for the noise. I didn't mean to wake you. It's just my son—" But Sage cut him off as she pecked him a chaste kiss, their lips lingering for that additional, prized moment. Troy turned his eyes away instantly, unable to watch the gag-worthy scene. Jack's staying hand crept to Sage's ass, cupping one buttock firmly in his rough hand. Troy closed his eyes from the sickening scene as if he were a five-year-old. Jack bent down and whispered something naughty in her ear, a trickle of obnoxious giggles following from the platinum blonde's pert, slightly parted lips. Troy noted her jagged mouth was somewhat square, her vast, sea green eyes indistinguishable to a cat's. They were relatively Halloweenish, actually, and Troy shuddered at this.

"Oh you bad boy," Sage swatted a hand at his chest teasingly as Jack stared down at her adoringly, completely entranced. She giggled unattractively as she shook her dyed yellow head, which seemed far too large for her curvy, petite body. She dug her big face into the coach's humid neck, and Jack chuckled freely as he caressed the small of her back. Troy could feel the bile rising in his throat, smoldering it like hot acid. His cerulean eyes glossed over and simmered feverishly, his fists balling heatedly. He just couldn't take anymore. Fresh tears presented in his vacant eyes again, ablaze at the rims.

What was next? How could he not have known? A series of frenzied questions trotted madly through his mind. How long had this been going on for? Did his mother know? Were they living together? Where they going to get married? Was she pregnant? What did she know? His sore heart arrested and his bleeding nose congested immediately as one particular painful question plummeted into his brain, and he knew the answer to this one.

His father was the biggest hypocrite ever to grace the galaxy.

"Dad," Troy croaked futilely. "Um, I'm going to go to my room."

He didn't want to be around for the explanations. It was nauseating. He thought he was going to vomit, all over that lacy Victoria's Secret lingerie of hers.

"Oh!" Jack Bolton's head swiveled around to see his perturbed son, squirming agitatedly on his stool as his eyes dodged around. "Sage, this is my son, Troy." The bubbly pair turned around, arms still intertwined and splayed all over. Sage's sickly tight-lipped smile was more than Troy could hardly handle. He bit his tongue hard as he managed not to give an insane scream or hysterical outburst.

"Ah, Troy," Sage murmured awkwardly. Troy could tell she was trying to remember a time when Jack had told her about him. Jack laughed nervously as he mumbled, just barely coherent, in her ear, "This is the disobedient, badly behaved one." Sage nodded knowingly as she suddenly seemed to recall a distant conversation, which had included her client's two sons. "So…you're back from…?"

"Basketball camp," Troy stammered uneasily. "In, uh, Nevada." His eyes trailed down to her toned naval, where an emerald green bellybutton ring glistened smugly.

"Nevada." She tried to make conversation, warming Troy up the best she could. She'd already warmed up one Bolton; wasn't one enough? Apparently not. "I've never been."

"There's almost no one there," Troy muttered in a muffled manner, greatly annoyed. There was just this unbearable, toxic way about her that made him want to retch. He felt another frantic vibrating on his thigh. Oh God…Gabriella…She might think I am avoiding her.

"So you're really competitive with basketball?" Sage inquired, feigning her unobvious interest. Jack stroked the length of her back, up and down and up and down. Troy was growing dizzy. He set a hand on the counter to steady his body, and he quickly recomposed himself.

"Uh…" Troy dragged on, his voice dwindling. Jack grunted in disapproval. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

"You like it?"

"Um…yeah. Sure, I do," he answered unconvincingly. He was a centimeter away from blowing up in front of his father and his new girlfriend, and he knew he had to get out of there before he did. "Uh…nice meeting you. Dad, I've got to go…clean my sneakers." Sage had not noticed the blood, dried on his basketball sneakers. Troy's phone vibrated again, and he swallowed hoarsely. "Alright…see you later." Troy quickly fled out of the kitchen, feeling the intolerable pain of his nose returning at full force. He stopped immediately as he heard their taunting voices.

"You're right. He is a screw-up. What an asshole. I feel so sorry that you have to live with him."

"I know. The last couple of years without him has been bliss."

"I can imagine."

"Oh yeah. He's a total mental patient. Not useful for a single thing. I've been trying to tame him. He's a wild one, but I try."

"Oh, you're so brave."