Chapter 20
TWENTY
Emmett
“This would be so cute on you,” Mariah squeals, holding a suit jacket up to my chest.
My fingers trail over the white fabric, moving over the thick black buttons and matching silk piping. “Am I graduating from culinary school?” I tease. “I don’t know why I can’t just wear something comfortable.”
“Because you’re kind of the star of the show, hon,” she tells me as she puts the jacket back in its place. “You have to be the hottest one there. Duh.”
With a laugh, I grab a pink silk jacket littered with slightly-darker pink flowers and hold it up to my chest. “This is the one.”
“I’m all for the ‘hot men wear pink’ movement,” she tells me, “but sweetie, that is not your color.”
She loops her arm around my elbow as we walk through Saks, just like we have been for the past hour and a half already with nothing to show for it.
It takes another half hour for me to finally settle on a simple black suit and a deep red pocket square, much to Mariah’s annoyance.
She decides on a sleek silk dress, black with a few large flowers printed on the fabric, and we finally make our way out of the store and to my car.
“I can’t believe you didn’t get Sarah a dress,” Mariah pouts as she folds her garment bag to rest it in the trunk.
“She’s not even one,” I tell her. “She’s not even going, and she doesn’t need a three hundred dollar dress.”
“You just bought me a nine hundred dollar one.”
“Are you planning on pooping in it?” I ask her with an arched brow. When she lets out a loud cackle, I join in her laughter. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
On the drive to her condo, I consider telling her about Nash.
She doesn’t have any meaningful ties to Dad outside of Rowan, and I doubt she’d blab about my sex life while they braided each others’ hair and did whatever else it is that they do together.
She would be a safe person to tell, if I had to tell someone.
I even think about asking her what she would do if she slept with a guy and he hadn’t picked up his goddamn phone in three weeks, which is completely stupid, because I’ve been the guy who didn’t answer the phone. Not answering is an answer; a loud and clear ‘I’m not interested.’
Stupid.
I keep my mouth shut when I drop her off, opting for a kiss on the cheek and a quick hug instead of spilling my guts all over the place. At least tomorrow will be busy enough that I won’t have time to think about Nash Montgomery, the fucking phantom.
Dad’s house is busy when I walk in, with party planners and vendors talking over each other in the kitchen in their efforts to iron out the final details and make sure that everything is going according to plan.
I manage to slip through the chaos unseen, not forced to give my input on whether the champagne flutes should be crystal or glass with gold trim or if I want one ice sculpture or three.
Option one or two down the lines of seventeen different clipboards, choosing between this, that or the other.
I stuff the new suit into my closet and pull my shirt over my head, leaving it on the floor before I grab my stash jar from the nightstand and head out the window. After packing the bowl of my pipe and taking a hit, I pull my phone from my pocket and shoot a quick text to Davis.
Me: We’re skipping this party and going to a club or something instead, right?
His response is almost immediate.
Davis: Not a fucking chance.
With a groan, I set my phone down and swap it for the lighter to take another hit.
It isn’t that I’m not excited to graduate; I can’t wait to walk that stage and get my degree.
It’s the party that comes afterward. The schmoozing, the pats on the back, everyone’s attention being focused on me.
I could really do without all of that. I’d so much rather just come home, put on something comfortable and watch cartoons.
I’d rather go to a busy nightclub. I’d rather do a lot of things.
The party isn’t really for me, at the end of the day, I guess; it’s for Dad, and I think after the past few months, he needs it.
So I guess I can throw on my dumb ‘billionaire’s son’ suit and take all of the pats on the back that he needs me to so he can feel like everything that’s happened is behind us. I can give him that.
·
The auditorium is lined with rows upon rows of folding chairs, each of them filled with students in poly blend gowns with matching caps on their heads.
At the stage rests a large podium in front of another several rows of chairs, those filled with professors who have already made speeches of their own while we all sat and listened to them.
There’s a quiet chatter among the swarms of people sitting in the stadium seats that surround the room on nearly all sides; the family and friends of everyone seated below them.
Cheers erupt from different sections like a game of whack-a-mole every time a new name is called and their respective graduate walks across the stage.
My index finger picks at the raw skin on my thumb as I inch closer to the stage, watching my classmates move across it, shaking the hands of the people who helped them reach this point.
I can’t pinpoint my family in the crowd; there are just too many people and too many bright lights to make anyone out, but as the speaker calls out my name, I hear them screaming and cheering.
Cursing tells me that Davis is here, whistling and shrieking tells me that Ro is, and a loud, booming cheer is Dad’s signal.
I dip my head to hide the grateful laughter bubbling out of me as I cross the stage to collect my degree.
It’s the quickest thirty seconds of my life – years of hard work culminating all in one quick handshake, and I feel like my body is made of Jell-O the second that I reach the opposite side of the stage.
I did it. I actually did it.
·
“Someone get the graduate a drink!” Uncle Davis shouts to the cheering crowd inside as he shoves open the doors to the swanky club, which is covered from floor to ceiling in extravagant decorations that I never would have chosen for myself, tables upon tables filled with different foods…
you name it, they brought it in here. A few flamboyantly-costumed performers are sprinkled throughout, putting on shows of their own to entertain everyone.
I grab a champagne flute from one of the tables and hold it underneath the flowing fountain of bubbly on the side, filling it up, and I take a swig.
“How does it feel?” Dad asks, clapping me on the back. I haven’t seen him smile this wide since his wedding day.
“Like I have no idea what I’m gonna do with my time now,” I laugh.
I can’t say it out loud, but it feels really good.
Incredible, actually. I could count the number of times in my life that I’ve truly been proud of myself on one hand, and this is one of them.
This might actually be in the top three.
I can’t tell my dad, but I’m glad that he brought me home.
I was ready to give up on this, on myself, and I think I would have regretted it terribly if I had.
I raise my glass in my dad’s direction as he weaves through the crowd to offer him my silent thanks.
Several pairs of arms find their way around me; the girls. I can tell it’s them, because Mariah’s excited screeching in my ear is unmistakable. “Are we doing shots?!” She shouts, her voice at least four octaves higher than its usual pitch.
Ro shakes her head, waving her hands in front of her. “Oh no,” she says. “I’m the designated driver. Colt might take a couple with you, though.”
I follow the incline of her head to see my dad throwing his arms around a few of his friends with his smile wide enough to crack his face in two, and my chest warms because I know that he really is proud of me tonight.
My dad has always been my hero, and he probably always will be; the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do is make him proud.
“No girly drinks,” I demand, grabbing Mariah by the hand and dragging her to the bar.
We throw back a couple of shooters together, clinking our glasses against each other and tapping the bottoms against the bar, and I pull my buzzing phone from my pocket to swipe the screen open.
Nash: Come outside.
What the hell?
I don’t even bother to excuse myself as I storm through the building, weaving between partygoers dancing and drinking until I make it out to the front parking lot. The only thing out here is a bunch of cars that belong to the people inside.
I move to the opposite side of the building and lock my eyes onto Nash goddamn Montgomery; leaning against the side of his bright-ass orange SUV, wearing a crisp white suit tailored perfectly to fit his body.
He’s completely fine. Not a scratch on him; in fact, if anything, he looks refreshed. He looks fucking fantastic.
Fury spreads itself across my face with a crimson heat and I ball my fist at my side as I stalk toward him, seething. The closer I get to him, the more my muscles burn beneath my skin.
“You fucking prick!” I shout as I approach. Without giving him the time to respond, I rear back and throw my fist at his jaw, sending his head to the side as I make contact.
“What was that for?” He hisses, holding his face.
“Are you serious?” I scoff. “I haven’t heard from you in weeks! You left me! I could kill you, asshole!”
I prime my fist again, pulling it back. As I swing it forward to hit him again, he moves to the side and catches my arm, stopping me.
“Calm down,” he orders. “I didn’t…leave you.”
I said that out loud?
I could have sworn I just thought it.
He slowly releases my fist and brings his hands to my waist, looking me in the eye while I glower at him.
“I was purchasing a vineyard,” he explains. “I wasn’t even in the country. I didn’t get your calls until I got back.”
“You’re a literal billionaire.” I take a step away from him, removing myself from his reach. “And you’re trying to tell me you couldn’t get cell reception.”
“Emmett.”