Chapter 11 #2
“That sounds like a fantastic idea.” She chuckles, putting her little hand in mine, and lets me pull her up, but she’s so small that, when I do, she all but crashes against me.
She tips her head back to look at me, the ends of her hair teasing along my knuckles, where my hand is pressed to the lowest curve of her back.
The light catches the little pin in her hair, making it sparkle and shine. It’s blinding. She’s blinding. “Such a tiny little thing.” I don’t mean to whisper.
How can she feel so small in my arms but be far too great to keep her there?
“Chase…”
My eyes close and I bend, pressing my forehead to hers.
“Chase—”
“Paige?” a new voice calls out, and she jumps from my arms, her head snapping to the side until we find the source. The male source.
My frown is instant, my arms slowly falling back to my sides. My feet haven’t moved an inch, yet Paige is at least three feet away.
The man’s smile grows bigger and bigger as he makes his way from where she initially climbed onto the stage. My hackles rise at that because that means he, too, had backstage access, and I don’t know why that feels like a big deal, but it does.
“Prescott, hi,” she rushes, a hint of anxiousness in her tone, but I don’t look her way to be sure.
My attention is glued to Mr. Worst Timing, and the longer I look, the worse it gets.
More like Mr. Fucking Perfect.
“Well, this is unexpected.” He smiles, his eyes glancing my way before moving back to her. “How are you?” he asks, but before she can answer, he turns to me again, likely sensing my gaze is still on him.
My frown won’t budge, not even when he stretches out his hand, his manicured nails and Rolex gleaming up at me, silently demanding I take it.
I do, making sure my grip is the firmer one.
“Prescott.” He jerks his chin respectfully.
“Chase.”
“Nice to meet you, Chase,” he says, and his tone is polite enough, making my frown deepen. His attention goes back to Paige, and I hate the interest he so clearly displays. “You look beautiful.”
I bite my tongue. He said it so easily, like he didn’t even have to think about it or question whether or not he should. The compliment left him with confidence and without an ounce of uncertainty—because his life is secure and so is he.
My jaw tenses but I can’t look away. How could I when Prince Charming is smiling at the perfect princess?
“Did you get to watch the performance?” he asks, moving closer.
“We did, yeah,” Paige says, including me in her answer, and when I look her way, I find she’s looking at me with a careful expression. She holds my gaze for a split second before turning back to him. “It was incredible.”
“Inspiring, isn’t it?” he fires back instantly.
My head yanks his way, eyes narrowing only to find what looks like sincerity on his face.
He continues. “There’s something about witnessing people at the top of their craft that makes me appreciate mine.”
I glare. “And what is yours?”
Their attention moves my way.
“Numbers.” He grins.
Money. He means money. But then, of course he does; the suit he’s wearing is a testament to that.
“Since you’re up there, I assume you got to walk backstage?” he asks.
“No, actually.” She takes a step toward me. “But everything we’ve gotten to see is more than I could ask for.”
My features soften as I look at her, and I smile to myself.
“I could take you guys for a quick tour if you have a few more minutes?” he offers.
Her face lights up, but I’m not sure what she sees when she looks at me because the smile grows a little tense. “Oh, actually—”
“Go.” I cut off the excuse she was going to make on my behalf, even if I did catch how he said, “you guys,” and not just her, but we both know that’s what he meant. “I’ll go find the others, and we’ll wait for you in the lounge.”
She’s already shaking her head, but I reach out, taking her hand, giving it a little squeeze.
“Go.” My smile is forced. “I know you’re dying to see what goes on backstage.”
Her lips pinch.
“You’re welcome to come along,” the man offers, and I’ve got to give it to him. When I look up over at him, his invitation appears genuine.
I kind of hate that. “Nah, you two go ahead.” I wave them off, turning and hopping off the stage before she can protest, because something tells me she would have tried at least one more time, and I might have just let her.
But that’s the selfish part of me, the part I’m trying to break away from. Be better than.
I walk through the massive theater room, if that’s what you call this, each step up the stairs a little heavier than the last, but just before I make it out the doors, his voice catches my ears.
“Is that guy a linebacker or something? He’s buff. Tall.”
I smirk to myself, and then I hear her answer: “No, but he’s the best wide receiver I’ve ever seen.”
Pride, warm and swift, washes over me, and as I step out of the auditorium, my head is a little higher.
“What the fuck?” Cameron whispers, and then she slaps me upside the head.
I jerk, glaring at her. “What the hell?”
“What the hell is right!” she hisses. “What the ever-loving hell were you thinking letting her walk away alone with…that?”
I follow her gaze, and my brows yank together when I spot Paige and Prescott standing at the entrance of the lounge.
Brady clears his throat, raising a brow at his women.
“Big Guy.” She blinks at him. “Look at him.”
Brady narrows his eyes, then spins to see the pair over his shoulder. His head tugs back this way quickly, and now he and Cameron are both glaring at me. “Dude, you lost your damn mind?”
“See?!” she hisses. “You don’t send the diamond off to a dark corner with the duke. Don’t you know what happens?!”
My frown must deepen because she throws her hands up.
“Ugh! Forget it. It’s like you’ve never watched Netflix or something,” she grumbles, then jumps up and stalks that way, but he’s gone before she gets there, and even though I’m feeling the same frustration, I laugh a little when her shoulders fall.
“She was about to scare the hell out of that dude.” Brady laughs, pushing to his feet. “Come on, boys. Our chariot awaits.”
I nod, following them to the door, surprised when Noah hangs back, walking side by side with me.
He’s quiet at first, but I can see his eyes move my way a few times in my peripheral vision before he speaks.
“I’ve been watching the games,” he tells me. “You’re making waves out there.”
I give him a tight smile, wishing he wouldn’t compliment me. “I’m just trying to stay relevant.”
“You’re more than relevant, Chase. Even my teammates are talking about you.”
A spark of hope heats my chest, but I push it back. Hope is dangerous.
“Did you tell them I’m really just a dickhead with good hands?”
A surprised chuckle bursts from him, and Ari glances back, a small smile playing at her lips. “Nah.” He laughs again. “No. I told them you’re family.”
My feet stop moving, and Noah pauses with me.
We stare at each other a moment, and I shake my head, my mouth opening to say something, but he just clamps his hand on my shoulder.
“Come on. They’re loading up already.”
All I can do is nod, following and folding into the SUV in silence.
Fortunately, the girls instantly start talking about the show, so I’m not expected to say anything. Unfortunately, that means I have too much time to get lost in my head.
First, Noah’s words play on a loop, and with each repeat of the word family, the rope tightens around me. Then, it shifts to Paige, to her in my arms up on that stage.
I wanted to kiss her.
I’ve never wanted to kiss someone so bad in my life, and I think I was about to. It would have been the perfect moment in the perfect place.
A kiss she would remember, even if one day she forgets all about me. But the universe shit on me yet again when Prince Charming fell out of the fucking sky, a not-so-subtle reminder that my life is black and white.
There is no room for the color, for those soft, feel-good moments that offer just a moment of reprieve from the rest, where what could be the simple task of breathing is just that: simple. Easy.
Someone kicks my foot, and I open my eyes, realizing we’re pulling up to the airstrip.
I can’t meet Brady’s eyes but push out of the car the moment I can and go right for the set of stairs leading to the plane. I’m halfway up before the others are even fully out of the car, and when a soft hand finds mine on the railing, I look down.
Paige’s smile is unsure as she looks up at me. “Did I… Are you upset?”
I stare down at her, my hand moving on its own, knuckles grazing her cheek. “No. I’m not upset. I’m thankful I got to come tonight.” And I am. I needed to see all this.
To feel this.
I needed to remember that to have is to lose, and I can’t afford to lose, so I can’t have.
“Chase—”
“Thank you for inviting me, Shortcake.” I force a smile, pulling myself free and moving into the plane.
I take the seat near the back, the one that sits on its own beside a small table, so I can sit alone.
I no sooner settle in the seat than a fresh glass of champagne is set before me.
I stare at it for several moments, watching the bubbles as they crawl their way to the top. I pick it up, finishing off the half glass, because it would be tacky to pour a full one, right? That’s not what wealthy people do. There’s a proper way to drink, eat, walk. Hell, probably even sleep.
Curious, I pull my phone from my pocket and type in the name of the company that’s stitched into the backs of these seats, the same one that’s on the outside of this jet.
Instantly, an array of articles come up, but I click the one that has two bolded words: retire and legacy.
Billionaire and CEO Grant Randolph the Fifth rumored to retire but to whom will he leave his legacy?
My muscles lock.
Billionaire.
Billionaire?!
Holy shit. And his legacy?
My eyes snap up to Paige.
So Paige’s grandfather isn’t just rich. He’s filthy fucking rich and, if these articles are true, on the track to retirement.
What does that mean exactly?
Is that why she’s been gone so much? He’s preparing her for her new life? A life with endless money and private jets for the hell of it on weeknights?
She deserves that.
For the first time in my life, I understand the struggle of having to make it on your own. Not that my dad isn’t still doing all he can for me, but that’s the thing: There isn’t much he can do, and I don’t want to be the reason he’s in an even worse position.
Paige has had no one for years now, living on and trying to build a dream off the money she received from her blue-collar father’s life insurance.
From what she’s said, it was only enough to cover school and the purchase of her studio.
Everything else, she’s been handling all on her own, and with grace. She’s—
“Young man?”
My eyes snap up, my skin flushing slightly as I slam my screen into my chest.
Henry’s eyes soften, and he holds out the champagne bottle.
“May I?” he offers gently.
I hold his gaze a moment, waiting for judgment, for that moment that his eyes narrow, telling me without telling me I should mind my own business, but I don’t get that. Just the warmth of an old man. So I nod, and he takes my glass, filling it with another half glass before passing it back.
My eyes linger on the bottle, and when he walks away, I open a new tab and type the champagne brand into my search bar. Taking a small drink, I wait for it to pop up.
My eyes bug out and I choke, sitting up and smacking my chest.
“You good over there?” Brady chuckles.
My attention yanks their way to find them all staring, and I fight not to fucking flush.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Wrong pipe.” I don’t meet anyone’s eyes but sit back again, glaring down at my screen once more.
Four thousand dollars.
Four thousand fucking dollars, and they’ve already opened three bottles, there’s so many of us. That’s… I’m going to be sick.
I push off the seat, ignoring the glances my way, and charge to the back of the jet and into the small bathroom.
I drop my head, taking deep breaths as I start to sweat, my stomach literally turning. I splash water on my face, not caring that it’s dripping and soaking into my jacket—my jacket that only cost fifty bucks at a department store last year.
My eyes close, and I shake my head, my jaw locked tight.
Twelve thousand dollars down the pipe in a few hours’ time.
Guilt crashes down on me, relentless and unforgiving, trapping my lungs and making me gasp.
I undo the top button of my shirt, pulling in a long, deep breath, only for a shaky, broken exhale to leave my lips a moment later.
My father doesn’t even make that in a month. He was supposed to retire this summer, and now he’ll have to work his ass into the ground just to survive after what my mother did to him.
Is that what happens when you are in love? You give your all to someone and eventually they stop giving back, instead taking and twisting a knife right into your gut?
Fuck.
I drop my head back, eyes catching on the sparkling light fixtures above, because of course the jet bathroom has fancy shit like that. My attention moves to the soap dispenser and napkin dispenser—also made of some sort of crystal or glass.
This is what Paige’s future could be: private jets and live shows. She deserves it.
She deserves to live out those plans she made with her dad to travel the States and visit all the theater venues. To live free and happy and without worry, with someone who has a name like Prescott, because if that isn’t the most uppity, rich-boy name I’ve ever heard, I don’t know what it is.
What the hell could I offer anyone? My bad karma? Some college credits that won’t mean shit without the degree to go with them?
A failed football dream?
A truck with over two hundred thousand miles on it?
I’ve got exactly $322 to my name, and that has to last me months.
Nothing. I’ve got fucking nothing.
But maybe that’s for the best, because love ruins lives and marriage is a death sentence.
A hard knock sounds on the door, and my eyes open.
“You good, man?” Mason’s voice reaches me. “We’re getting ready to land.”
“Yeah,” I answer, but it comes out low. Pathetically broken. “Yeah,” I try again, looking at myself in the mirror.
As quickly as I meet my own gaze, I have to look away.
Pushing out of the door, I try to slip past, but Mase blocks my path.
Worry stares back at me, his hand coming up to clamp my shoulder. “I’m here for you, brother. You know that, right?”
I nod, my throat thick, and slip past. My eyes connect with Noah’s, and he gives a small smile.
Noah, the man of all men.
The pro football player.
Ari’s fiancé.
Paige’s closest friend.
My best friend’s soon-to-be-real brother.
Bro, fucking stop!
Self-loathing eats up my chest, its teeth digging in and spitting me out.
Throwing myself into my seat, I close my eyes, and that is exactly how I stay until it’s time to get out.