Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Chase
Nine hours, one wrong turn, and three gas-station sandwiches plus Charlie's travel bag later, I’m here.
In her world.
Wearing a borrowed tux, staring into the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen.
The chandelier above the ballroom glitters like it’s trying to outshine the stars, and for a second, I’m blinded—not by the light, but by the sheer absurdity of the fact that…
I’m here. I made it.
Somehow, I didn’t chicken out.
Didn’t spiral into overthinking or let the nine-hour drive and my own insecurities convince me to turn around.
Instead, I parked my truck next to a line of cars outside this swanky hotel, threw on Jamie’s tux, and walked straight into this sharp-edged world where I stick out like a flannel shirt at a black-tie wedding.
But none of that matters now.
Because Piper’s standing beside me, her hand in mine. And the way she’s looking at me, like I’m the only thing keeping her steady, is all I need to know I've done the right thing to make damn sure I'm here for my girl.
Her parents, on the other hand, look ready to call security.
“Evening, Mr. and Mrs. Whitman.” I keep my voice warm, my smile just this side of mischievous. They can hate me all they want, but I’m not going anywhere. “I’ve gotta say, this looks… spectacular. Can’t believe you did all this just to meet me.”
The cheeky icebreaker falls on dead silence. I barrel forward anyway, because that’s what I do.
“Jokes aside, it's a nice gala you’ve got here. Do you accept donations?” I dig into my pocket, ignoring the way Piper’s hand tightens on mine.
Out comes a crumpled ten-dollar bill, the edges faintly smudged with mountain dirt. Stepping closer to Piper's father, I offer it up like it’s a winning lottery ticket.
He stares at the bill like I’ve just handed him a live raccoon. “How… thoughtful.”
“Figured every little bit helps,” I say, grinning wider. “That chandelier in there probably set you back a few bucks alone.”
Piper makes a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a gasp, and I glance at her, catching the flicker of amusement in her eyes. Her mom, meanwhile, looks seconds away from fainting.
The silence stretches so long I'm pretty sure someone could drop a pin and it'd echo through the entire city.
Piper's mother recovers first, her spine straightening like someone's just inserted a steel rod. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation inside. Away from prying eyes."
She says it like we're causing a scandal, which, to be fair, we probably are. But I'm not about to apologize for showing up.
I think about seeing Piper the moment I walked in—fancy hair swept up, that ridiculous gown, and those boots I now know are hiding underneath. Being here is worth every agonizing minute I haven't slept in the past twenty hours.
The whispers started the second I crossed the ballroom, heads turning like dominoes. I didn't care. Just barreled straight through the crowd, out onto this balcony.
To her.
Piper's hand tightens on mine. "Good idea, Mom. Let's go inside."
We file back through the terrace doors, and immediately I'm swallowed by the sheer luxury of this place. The ballroom is massive, glittering chandeliers and marble floors so polished I can see my reflection.
Women in gowns look beautiful, jewels dripping from their necks. Men in tuxedos cluster in groups, discussing things I probably wouldn't understand even if I tried.
This is Piper's world.
And I stick out like a rescue flare in a snowstorm.
The whispers continue to ripple like a damn wave, each one crashing louder in my ears. Piper stays close, her fingers laced through mine, but every glance, every sneer feels like a spotlight aimed right at my flannel-wearing soul.
This place screams money. I just scream wrong address, buddy.
"I need a drink," Piper's mother announces, her voice clipped. She sweeps away without another word, Maxwell Pemberton trailing behind like a confused puppy.
Piper's father lingers, studying me with the kind of scrutiny I imagine he reserves for hostile witnesses. "Mountain rescue, you said?"
"Yes, sir. Search and rescue specialist. Been with the Stone River team for two years now."
"Fascinating." His tone suggests it's anything but. "And you drove nine hours to crash my wife's charity gala because...?"
"Because your daughter's worth it, sir."
The words come out simple, honest and with a firm nod. No flourish, no charm. Just the truth.
Surprise flickers in his eyes, maybe, either that or grudging respect. But before he can respond, a woman in a sequined gown interrupts, pulling him away to discuss auction items.
Piper exhales slowly. "That went... better than expected?"
"Your mom looked like she wanted to have me removed by security."
"She absolutely did." Piper's smile is shaky but genuine. "Chase, I can't believe you're here. I can't believe you drove all this way—"
"Where else would I be?"
Her eyes go soft, and for a second, I think she might cry. But then she straightens, glancing around the ballroom. "Okay. Let's just slip out the door, I'll make a distraction and you go first."
I glance down at Piper. "What do you mean 'slip out'? I didn’t drive all this way, just to eat gas station sushi, save you, and leave again."
Her head whips toward me, eyes wide. "You ate gas station sushi?"
"That’s not the point." I squeeze her hand. "I’m here for the party. Did you really think I would sit this one out?"
She bites her lip, glancing around the ballroom. "Chase, look at them." Her voice drops, like she's trying not to spook me. "You’re... not exactly blending in."
I raise an eyebrow, glancing down at my borrowed tux. "What are you talking about? I’m crushing it. Jamie’s tux fits like a glove, and I didn’t even spill mustard on the shirt this time."
"Chase," she whispers. "These people will eat you alive. They’re... sharks."
"And I’m a damn lifeguard," I shoot back, dropping her hand so I can drape an arm over her shoulders. "I’m not leaving. Not until they all see it."
"See what?"
"This." I gesture between us. "You and me. Us. They’re gonna have to get used to it."
Her lips part, and for a second, I think she’s going to argue. Instead, she shakes her head, her gaze softening, like she’s trying to drink me in.
"Okay. Okay, you're right."
"Excuse me? Say that again?"
She ignores me.
"But if you're staying, we need a strategy. If we're going to survive this night, you need to blend in a little. Just... mingle. Be yourself. These people love a good story."
"Mingle with Chicago's elite? I can do that."
"I want you to charm them the way you charm everyone in Stone River." She squeezes my hand. "Trust me. You've got this."
By the time Piper finds me again half hour later, I’m with a group of what can only be described as the nerdiest dudes in the room. One of them is wearing a bowtie that lights up, and another is enthusiastically explaining the blockchain to someone who does not care.
Spoiler alert: that someone is me.
“So, let me get this straight,” I say, leaning casually against the bar. “You’re telling me people buy pictures of cartoon monkeys… with fake money?”
“It’s called cryptocurrency,” Bowtie Guy says, adjusting his glasses. “And yes, NFTs are a revolutionary—”
“Sounds like a scam,” I say with a shrug, taking a sip of my very expensive whiskey. “But hey, to each their own.”
One of the other guys laughs so hard he nearly spills his drink. “Man, you’re funny. What do you do?”
“Mountain rescue,” I say, and immediately the group leans in like I’ve just told them I moonlight as a superhero. “You know, saving hikers, rappelling off cliffs, carrying people out of avalanches. That sort of thing.”
“Wait,” says Blockchain Guy, his eyes wide. “You're from Stone River, right? I saw that story in the news last year. The guy who got stuck on a ledge during a snowstorm? That was you rescuing him?”
“Well, it wasn’t just me,” I admit, scratching the back of my neck. “It was a team effort. But yeah, I was the one who rappelled down to get him.”
The group erupts in a flurry of questions, and for the next ten minutes, I regale them with tales of daring rescues and near misses. By the time I’m done, they’re practically offering to name their firstborn children after me.
"So this guy had fallen about forty feet, broken his leg in two places.
" I take a sip of the third whiskey someone has handed me.
"My teammate Beau anchored the line while I went down.
Found the guy wedged between two rocks, unconscious.
Had to stabilize the leg with what we had in the pack before we could even think about hauling him up. "
"That's insane," another guy off my growing audience says, eyes wide. "How do you even train for something like that?"
"Repetition. We drill constantly—rope work, emergency medicine, navigation. Jamie, our coordinator, he's ex-Army Ranger. Runs the team like a military operation."
"Jamie Striker?" The younger guy perks up. "I've heard of him. Didn't he do some crazy rescue in Afghanistan?"
"Several. Guy's a legend."
We all laugh, and I'm about to launch into the story about Mabel's fake emergency when I catch Piper staring at me.
She's frozen mid-conversation with two older ladies across the room, champagne glass halfway to her lips. The look on her face is something I've never seen before. Soft. Awed. Like she's seeing me for the first time all over again.
I wink.
Her cheeks flush pink, and she quickly looks away, but not before I see the smile tugging at her lips.
"Excuse me, gentlemen." I set down my whiskey and weave through the crowd, snagging Piper's champagne glass as I reach her. Taking a sip, I lean in close. "What, Chicago? Never seen me network with billionaires?"
"You're a natural." Her voice is breathless, and when she looks up at me, her eyes are shining. "They love you."
"They've never even been camping before. They love the stories. I'm just the guy who lived them."