LUKE
Wiping my hands on my jeans, I knock on my father's office door. I don't know what it is with my anxiety lately. I am constantly nervous with sweaty palms. It must be the mate bond messing with me. That is the only thing that has changed.
"Come in," his voice comes through the thick door.
The heavy smell of cigarettes and bourbon wafts through the air out of the room as I open the door. As I walk into his office, he is sitting next to the window, smoking a cigarette, making sure to blow all of the smoke outside. There is a large glass of bourbon in his other hand. He takes several swings in between puffs of his cigarette. I shake my head at his childishness. Mother will know he has been smoking no matter how hard he tries to hide it. That woman has the nose of a tracker. Whatever has him stressed must be pretty big.
"That bad?" I ask curiously.