Chapter 9 #2
“He couldn’t handle me,” said Quinn, gesturing for Eren to go ahead and open the front door. “He’s cute, but not my type.”
Eren’s scoff echoed loudly in the foyer, and Quinn laughed.
“Actually, you’re probably right. I like Niko, so it would be mean to set him up with your prickly ass.”
“Damn, Callahan. Are you flirting with me?”
They shared a look, and Eren was the first to give in and chuckle, shaking his head at how ridiculous they were acting.
Eren had taken out one of his many nice vehicles for the drive, this one a large boxy thing with wheels that were good for snowy roads.
Quinn appreciated the heated seats on his sore muscles as they drove into the city. He and Eren didn’t talk, choosing to listen to a playlist and relax instead, and that was fine. They were both on edge, and other than the girls, they didn’t have much in common.
If Esme were there, she would be sharing random hockey facts that Quinn had no chance of understanding while Eren pitched in whenever she stopped to take a breath. They had always been a perfect match, but it was never more obvious than the times when they talked about their favourite sport.
“Shit. Cote brought Snow.”
Quinn’s attention shifted from the side window to the front one, heart pounding as he caught sight of a familiar tall form and bone-white hair.
August had arrived before them in his sports car that looked like it had cost more than Eren’s house, and he was waving at the flashing cameras while handing his keys to the valet driver.
He was so gorgeous when he smiled.
So fake, too.
“Fuck it, I’ll get out, and you can drive home—”
“Stop,” Quinn said before Eren could work himself into a panic. “I’m not scared of that idiot. I’m more scared of the cameras blinding me when I’m striving to become an artist.”
Eren smacked his head against the headrest and sighed. “I was hoping he would avoid tonight since he’s never been interested in showing up to these events, but Niko’s working harder than I thought.”
Quinn looked away from August to his friend. “Niko? What does he have to do with anything?”
Eren’s shoulders quickly rose and fell, his eyes already drifting somewhere else.
“Cote and Snow hung out during Christmas, and now they’re best buddies who live together.
It’s been great for morale because Snow is finally getting back into the mindset he had last season, but now you might have to deal with him during team barbecues this summer. ”
Oh, so August was fucking Niko. No wonder he had improved.
“Good for him getting a boyfriend,” said Quinn.
The vehicle jerked to a stop when Eren hit the brakes too fast. “No, they’re not boyfriends! Snow is straight and always complaining about not having a girlfriend. I think it’s more like a brotherly love situation.”
August was straight, and the ocean was made of blue Jello, and snow was powdered sugar.
“Good to know he’s still in the closet,” Quinn murmured, his gaze shifting to the sea of people who were waiting for them to step out.
“Huh?” Eren smacked him on the arm. “What are you saying over there?”
“Nothing,” said Quinn, using his fake, cheerful voice.
Eren didn’t look convinced, and he had good reason to. Esme had used the fake voice routine many times around him when she was grumpy. He frowned at Quinn and opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but Quinn cut him off by opening the door and stepping outside.
It was cold, but he didn’t have time to think about the icy air biting his skin when he was met with a barrage of flashes from cameras. Quinn wasn’t the main subject, but the media still wanted pictures of everyone who showed up, including him.
When Eren handed off his keys and joined him, the flashes tripled to the point where it was impossible to see.
At least the hungry crowd was respectful enough not to throw questions at them, but it didn’t stop the whispered conversations that made Quinn feel like he was walking into a pit of vipers.
Eren didn’t offer his hand because who knew what rumours would be started if he did, but he led the way for Quinn, checking in with him every few steps to make sure he was okay.
Once they were past the cameras, things felt easier.
The flashing lights and forced smiles faded behind them, replaced by the low hum of conversation and the glitter of chandeliers.
The charity ball wasn’t so different from the other high-profile parties Quinn had attended with his sister—just with a few more diamonds, designer gowns, and familiar faces he couldn’t name.
He recognized some of the bigger stars, the kind who lived in the background of commercials and movie posters, surrounded by tight circles of admirers. He had no intention of introducing himself, because duh, but it was neat to see them there.
“I’ll bring you to our table so you can get comfortable and eat, and then I’ll go mingle,” Eren said, guiding Quinn with a light but steady grip on his shoulders. “Everyone knows you’re Esme’s brother, so don’t let them use that to corner you in conversation if you’re not in the mood.”
Quinn blinked. It wasn’t exactly reassuring, but at least Eren had warned him. He hadn’t planned on talking much anyway. Still, he’d forgotten how sharp the undercurrents of celebrity events could be with the smiles that were never quite sincere, and compliments that doubled as interviews.
Eyes followed them as they crossed the room. Some were curious, and some were calculating, and he wasn’t sure which made him more uncomfortable.
Eren settled him at a table near the stage that was large enough to fit half the Bigfoot team, and gave his shoulder a quick pat before melting into the glittering crowd.
Within moments, a server appeared, filling his flute with champagne that fizzed like gold and offering a silver tray of hors d'oeuvres. Quinn accepted one, murmuring a thank you as he tried to relax into the seat. The champagne was crisp, almost sweet, and the tiny bite of food was gone before he realized he’d eaten it.
He was instantly bored, but he focused on people-watching instead of making faces. Pulling out his phone here would feel wrong, like he would be breaking the illusion, so he had to find other ways to entertain himself.
The women’s dresses shimmered under the lights, and the men’s suits were tailored to perfection. The music floated through the air; soft jazz, gentle enough not to interrupt the murmur of conversation.
It was, he had to admit, beautiful. And at least by the end of the night, all this glamour would funnel into real money for a good cause. That mattered more than the small talk.
He hadn’t seen August Snow yet. That was… fine. Great, even. The man’s absence was a small mercy, though Quinn doubted it would last. The Bigfoot players would have to sit eventually, and he’d have nowhere to hide.
“Quinn!”
The sound cut through the music, bright and familiar. He turned, searching, until he spotted an elegant woman weaving through the crowd. Her gown sparkled in silver-blue, the fabric gathered in one hand so she wouldn’t trip as she hurried toward him.
For a moment, he didn’t recognize her; she was just another flawless face in a sea of them, until she drew close enough for the shape of her smile to click into place.
“Bea?” he breathed, half in disbelief.
Bea swept toward him in a shimmer of satin and perfume, her grin as wide as ever. She bent instinctively to hug him, but Quinn jumped to his feet before she could manage it in her fitted gown. They collided halfway, laughing as her arms wrapped around him.
“I’m so happy to see you,” she said, pulling back to kiss his cheek.
They exchanged quick kisses, one on each side, before their hands found each other and lingered. Quinn was smiling so hard that his face was already aching, but he was glad to have her there.
“Eren asked me to come, and I can’t turn down free food,” he said. “And I suppose this will earn me more WAG points?”
Her grin was as mischievous as the light in her eyes. “You have no idea. By the end of the season, you’ll be running the whole group chat.”
She released his hand and waved someone over. A tall man in a tailored black suit began weaving through the tables toward them, his shoulders broad enough to part the crowd. He looked every bit the athlete; built and confident, but with a calmness in his expression that softened his size.
“This is my trophy—I mean—husband, Logan Bradshaw.”
Logan had clearly heard her, judging by the amused shake of his head. “That’s how she introduces me to everyone,” he said, offering a handshake. His grip was firm but not overbearing. “I hope she’s not scaring you off already.”
“Not at all,” said Quinn, gesturing vaguely to the glittering room around them. “She’s the only one here I’m not scared of.”
Logan laughed, a genuine, easy sound that cut through the polished murmur of the crowd. “That’s a vibe. This whole scene’s not my style either, but I’m here to support Cap—and keep this one out of trouble.”
Bea covered her mouth, trying and failing to hide a grin. “I have no tolerance for alcohol,” she admitted, voice muffled behind her hand.
Logan nodded, like he was well-acquainted with his wife’s tolerance level. “That’s putting it mildly. Anyway, it’s good to see you here, Quinn. The guys have been worried about Callahan. It’s nice knowing he’s got family around when he’s not with us.”
Before he could respond, more people began to drift closer; tall, suited men with the same effortless confidence. The air seemed to shrink around him, the chatter swelling to a blur of laughter, camera flashes, and clinking glasses.
Bea must have noticed the flicker of discomfort cross his face because she pointed toward the next table. “We’re right over there,” she said. “But give me your number, and I’ll text you. These things get so freaking boring.”
Grateful, Quinn fished out his phone and exchanged numbers with her. The small act, her hand brushing his, and the glow of her screen reflecting off her polished nails, made him feel grounded again. Less like an outsider.
“I’ll check in,” she promised, squeezing his hand before letting go. “And don’t let anyone corner you into small talk. Just look mysterious. It drives them crazy.”
Quinn snorted, waving as she and Logan disappeared into the crowd. He sank back into his seat, the cushions swallowing him as he took a long sip of champagne. The bubbles fizzed pleasantly down his throat, and he smiled when Bea’s first text popped up almost immediately:
Bea: Guess who showed up wearing the ugliest dress known to man?
He huffed out a laugh, thumbs flying as he started typing a reply, oblivious to the subtle shift in noise around him.
The crowd near his table rippled with low chatter, chairs scraping as new arrivals settled in.
He barely noticed the movement beside him until the air charged with something warmer and heavier, as if someone had stepped too close.
Quinn took another sip, trying to suppress a grin at whatever gossip Bea had sent next. The newcomer beside him said nothing at first, but then, a familiar voice—low, dry, and unmistakably amused—broke the silence.
“We meet again, stalker.”
Quinn froze mid-breath, his head snapping toward the sound.
The man he’d spent all evening hoping not to see, was sitting right beside him, looking far too at ease for Quinn’s heart rate to be doing what it was.
August Snow.