Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Jif beamed as she glanced around the room.
Tablecloths in crisp black with silver cutlery and candelabra centerpieces; swagged fabric embellishing the walls and corners; balloon bunches and arches artfully placed for photographs; and young men and women lining the room with flower corsages or wristlets to denote their status as scholarship recipients.
Over the dance floor, a banner fluttered with the words Pritchard Scholarship Fund in simple block lettering. Jif had advocated for a more elegant script, but Colton had held firm years ago, before the first event, saying he got to pick the script since he was the one paying.
At the top of the ballroom steps, like a fairy tale movie, couples arrived, then descended to the floor, visiting the bar and mingling.
Dancing would come later, the dance floor a raised, paneled square in the center of several rings of tables.
Maybe Miles would take her for a celebratory spin to kick things off, though her mother would remind her she and Colton should go first.
A few guests already chatted with the scholarship recipients while a projector played a tasteful slideshow of their individual accomplishments, the percentage of graduates with job offers over the last few years, and several video clips of Colton spending time with the students.
Few of them played football, or any other sport, for that matter; most tended toward an academic inclination, and their scholarships were based on their home incomes, but students could apply, too, if they lived independently, unlike the FAFSA, which failed to catch the students who fell through the cracks of able families unwilling to support them.
When she’d asked Colton why he’d chosen to be a benefactor for a scholarship fund, he’d explained how much he loved college and how he wanted to help others experience the freedom, camaraderie, and opportunities it provided.
She’d loved college, too, but if it were up to her, she’d probably set up something to help homeless youth. Maybe everyone chose something formative to their own experiences.
“Jif! Oh my God, this is amazing,” Dana rushed up to Jif, accompanied by a man in slightly rumpled khaki pants and a knit polo with a local car dealership logo on the chest. Dana wore leather, heeled clogs, and a long, bohemian, layered skirt.
Neither of them quite fit in with the other guests, but Jif dismissed the thought before it could fully form.
“Dana, I’m so glad you’re here! And you must be Brad.” Jif offered a hand to shake, then drew back as Dana’s husband straightened the collar on his polo shirt, tugging until the top button popped open.
Dana reached up to fix it but gave up when Brad gently batted her hand away, complaining, “Can’t breathe all done up like this.”
Ignoring her husband, Dana leaned closer to Jif. “Thanks again for inviting us. We needed a night out, but I’m afraid we might be a little underdressed.”
“Not at all,” Jif reassured her.
So, what if they were? No one who mattered would care, and Jif would be happy if they only enjoyed their date night.
“Let me get you both a drink.”
She led the way through the rapidly growing crowd, weaving toward the bar, then waited with them while the bartender took their order.
“Open bar, so don’t be shy, okay?”
Dana’s eyes widened as a delicate glass of red wine slid across the varnished wooden surface while Brad received a tumbler with a single, enormous ice cube and a full two fingers of Glenlivet in the bottom.
“Oh, there’s my best friend. You guys are seated at table six,” Jif waved toward the table where she’d placed their placards earlier. “But mingle, get another drink, maybe hit the dance floor.”
Their nerves hadn’t entirely abated by the time Jif left, but Dana’s sunny, extroverted demeanor would help them make a few friends in no time. Just in case, though, she grabbed Donte’s arm as she swept past and steered him back toward Dana and Brad with an admonishment to look after them.
“Where have you been? You said you’d be here hours ago.” Jif linked her arm through Britt’s, tugging her away from Garrett’s side.
When Garrett didn’t immediately release her, Jif paused, eyes darting over them, from their slightly self-satisfied smirks to the hand Britt had carefully threaded in the crook of Garrett’s elbow.
Jif did a double-take.
“No!” Her screech echoed through the hall, and she clapped both hands over her mouth, then jumped up and down several times, teetering on her heels. “No way.”
Britt grinned, then gazed up at Garrett with eyes shining brighter than the massive diamond on her left ring finger. “I meant to come help, but then I got sidetracked.”
“Sidetracked?” Jif demanded. “Girl, you did not get sidetracked. This is not a sidetrack. This is the main track. This is the Express. This is the high-speed train to Paris.” She paused, grabbing Britt’s hand and turning it back and forth, making the faceted stone catch the light.
“This is gorgeous, but... are you sure? You’ve only been together a few months. ..”
Britt snatched her hand back, her jaw tightening. “Of course, we’re sure. Aren’t you happy for us?”
“Yeah, yes. I’m so happy for you.” She leaned in, hugging Britt, but her friend held herself stiffly.
Oblivious, Garrett squeezed Jif’s shoulder as she let Britt go. “Thanks, Jif. Have you realized that if you hadn’t introduced us, we wouldn’t be here today? Really, we have you to thank.”
Britt glanced around the room, eyes flitting anywhere but toward her best friend.
Jif cleared her throat. “I should... You guys have fun, okay?”
Britt finally met Jif’s gaze. “Where’s Miles?”
Garrett craned his neck, as if his name would conjure him. “Yeah, we enjoyed talking with him at the barbecue. Is he bringing his dog?”
Jif shook her head. “Nix is a therapy dog, not a service dog, so he doesn’t have public access rights. He should have been here by now.”
In fact, she hadn’t heard from him since Wednesday night. She’d figured he’d call Thursday, after his CPAT, but he hadn’t, and when his phone had gone straight to voicemail, she figured he’d been exhausted and gone to bed early. Still, a text wouldn’t have killed him...
Friday, she’d been flooded with last-minute event details. She’d managed to reach out in the late afternoon, but when that, too, went unanswered, she assumed he must be getting up to speed at the station.
Maybe they’d already put him on a shift, and he’d call when he got off.
Still, worry threaded an uneasy path up her spine and twisted itself into knots in her stomach. Miles wasn’t the type to blow off a commitment.
“Well, send him our way when he gets here. He can hang with us while you co-host with Colton.”
“I’ll tell him.”
They descended the stairs as Jif searched the room again. Had Miles slipped in while she’d chatted with her friends?
Colton, catching her scanning gaze, waved her over.
Jif wanted to ignore him with their mother standing beside him, but she gritted her teeth and pasted on her signature expression instead.
Jif wasn’t certain whether to be angry or flattered that her mother had taken her advice to wear silver and complement Colton. Her exquisite care for her face and form meant Grace had aged elegantly; she could be another sister.
“Mom,” Jif spoke quietly, corralling the tension out of her voice. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you, Jennifer. You went with the mini after all.”
Jif winced at both the name and the implied insult, and her expression wavered, turned cool. “I said I would.”
“Hmm. Your father always insisted on his own sense of style, too. Did I ever tell you about the time he wanted to wear a ruffled, lace-embellished shirt under his tux to match my wedding dress?”
Jif blanched as she and Colton locked eyes, an identical, horror-stricken expression painting his features.
“I’m not sure your wedding day and Colton’s gala are quite in the same league, Mom,” Jif hedged, desperate for any reason to exit this conversation. The idea of her sharing any similarity at all with her father broke her heart. She wanted to be nothing at all like him.
Grace waved a delicate hand. “You both remind me so much...”
“I need another drink.” Colton interrupted, swirling the ice cubes in his empty glass.
The two were in concert on this topic, if no other. Neither wanted to discuss their father, and neither wanted to follow Grace down the rabbit hole of memories they hadn’t even been alive for.
“Oh, go ahead, then. Scott and Abby are right over there. I’ll say hello and thank them for coming. Leave you two to chat.” She shot Jif a long glance, as if to remind her a co-host should welcome their guests, and since she’d already failed, Grace would step in and pick up the slack.
Jif’s smile slipped even more, then disappeared completely as Corey approached.
What’s he doing here?
“Colton.” He reached out to shake her brother’s hand. “Thanks for the invite. I, uh, appreciate it.”
Jif had deliberately left him off the list, but apparently her brother had added him back on.
He might be taking his clean-up efforts a little too far.
Unable to muster any kind of welcome, Jif pressed her lips together, and when Corey turned toward her and reached out, she took a hasty step behind Colton’s shoulder.
“Don’t touch me.”
Surprisingly, Colton held his ground, extending one arm as if to block Corey if he came any closer.
Clearing his throat, Corey dropped his hand, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry.” He swallowed, then continued. “I mean, I’m sorry. Genuinely. No means no.”
Rote, like he’d memorized the words but didn’t understand their meaning.
“My mom hasn’t pinched my ear so hard since I almost got a girl pregnant in high school.”
Jif’s eyebrows skyrocketed. “Almost?”
“I was a stud even then.” One side of his mouth quirked up in a smirk. “She was just late, but I spent a week wondering if my mom had given me a second piercing.”
He flicked the enormous diamond nestled in his lobe a few times, making the stone wink and flash despite the low, elegant lighting.
Maybe a new piercing every time he harassed a woman would eventually teach him a lesson.
He wandered off soon after, and Jif grabbed Colton’s arm, whirling him around. “You told his mom?”
“Geez, of course not. I’m not a snitch.” He paused. “I told our mom. She has brunch once a month with her PFPMA group, including Mrs. Campbell.”
Leveraging the Professional Football Players’ Mothers Association was a surprisingly effective move.
The thought stopped her short.
Colton had handled it. Maybe he hadn’t been willing to throw a punch like Donte, and maybe he’d given her a hard time in the moment, but he also hadn’t ignored what had happened to her.
“I need to talk to you.” Colton’s voice broke through her distraction.
“Now?”
His fingers fiddled with the rubber duck pin at his lapel, bright yellow against the smooth navy fabric. “I already told mom...”
He trailed off, and Jif’s eyes met his. “What is it, Colton? Are you okay?”
Maybe dealing with Corey had somehow cost him something. Had he gotten himself into some kind of trouble on her behalf? She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she’d somehow managed to screw up his life.
“I’m fine.” He shifted, shoved his hands in his pockets, pulled them out again, and straightened his tie.
“You can tell me. What’s up?”
“I...”
“Welcome to the Pritchard Scholarship Fund’s Annual Gala Ball,” the booming voice of the emcee at the microphone drowned out Colton’s words. “First of all, let’s welcome our benefactor to the stage, Colton Pritchard.”
“Later,” Colton muttered as he threaded her arm through his and they wove their way forward. “We’ll talk later.”
“Okay, if you’re sure...” Jif forced her expression to neutrality, ignoring Colton’s palpable relief at being interrupted.
Inside, though, her stomach turned a slow somersault. Miles still missing, her mother’s judgment a weight on her shoulders, and now Colton keeping secrets after Corey’s very public—and very awkward—apology?
This event was supposed to be the triumph of her summer, but right now it looked more like a tragedy.