Chapter 34 #2
“The beds are really comfortable, aren’t they?” Chadwick asks, his expression positively snakelike as he shoots me a pointed look before he continues, “The one in Hazel’s suite was, at least.”
He’s trying to get a reaction out of me, but he’s not going to get one. He probably just barged in and sat down on her bed this morning when he was bringing her coffee, and now he’s trying to make it look like he stayed there.
Hazel looks at me with her eyes wide, and I squeeze her hand under the table to let her know I’m not buying Chad-dick’s act.
“Very comfortable, indeed,” Hazel’s father agrees. “I slept better than I have in a long time; I should ask the hotel what brand of mattress they use.”
“Agreed.” Chadwick smiles almost viciously. “The second I sank down on that bed last night, my first thought was I need to buy this mattress, immediately.”
As Hazel and Chadwick’s dads both start laughing like Chadwick just made an actual funny joke, Hazel tenses next to me.
“He was in your room last night?” I ask in a low voice that sounds strained and scratchy, even to my own ears.
Hazel shakes her head. “He came to my door, and I thought it was you so I opened it, and he came in before I could stop him.”
The mental image of Chadwick in the hotel lobby at six this morning burns a hole in my brain and I swallow, breathing in deeply.
“Did he sleep over?” I ask, careful to keep my voice even this time.
“No!” She squawks, obviously louder than she means to, and the heads around the table turn in our direction.
“Aww.” Chadwick leers. “Are you two having a lovers’ quarrel or something?”
Hazel ignores him, focused on me as she lowers her voice again, speaking urgently, “I kicked him out. I swear, Penn. Nothing happened.”
“I believe you,” I say simply. Because I do.
Hazel is not Tori. I trust Hazel. I know with my whole heart she wouldn’t hurt me like that. It's this knowledge that makes my throat feel thick, because it’s something I’ve never experienced before—love that feels safe. Love that you can trust.
Under the table, I thread her fingers in mine. I might hate this brunch, but I love her.
I love Hazel. I’m in love with her.
And dammit, I’d spend the day in hell if it meant I got to hold her hand.
She looks up at me, biting down on her lower lip, and I smile at the woman I love, reassuring her that everything’s okay. That everything will be okay. Because we have each other.
The waiter reappears with a fancy bottle in hand. “Your Dom Perignon, sir,” he says with a glower as he presents the bottle to Chadwick. That douchebag’s lucky champagne comes corked or I’m sure the waiter would have spat in it.
Chadwick claps his hands. “Pour us each a glass,” he commands.
“Right away,” the waiter grits out. He circles the table, pouring out the bubbly liquid, but when he gets to my glass, I look up at him and shake my head.
“None for me, thank you,” I tell him with a kind smile.
I don’t feel like drinking right now, for a number of reasons—first of all, I’m not interested in drinking four-hundred-dollar champagne that Chadwick bought, but I also want to keep a clear head in this den of vipers.
Because I’m sure if Chadwick went to Hazel’s room last night and was rejected, he’s going to be coming for me any minute now.
Unfortunately for me, the desire to keep a clear head is just the catalyst I’m sure Chadwick was hoping for.
“You’re not having champagne?” Hazel asks me quietly, and Mr. Weatherby puffs out a snort from the other end of the table.
“Glad to see you’re taking sobriety seriously, son,” he says to me—the first words he’s spoken to me directly all morning—I clench my jaw at him addressing me as son. “Addiction is no joke, and a lot of evidence points to it running in families.”
“Addiction?” Hazel’s mother releases a horrified gasp like I’m a convicted murderer or something.
“My mother is an addict,” I explain, wishing I’d had a chance to tell Hazel—who looks half confused, half irritated—this properly, in private.
“But I’m not. I just don’t care for champagne.
Plus, I’ll be driving Hazel back to San Francisco after brunch, and while I’m not sober, per se, driving is definitely something I am always sober for. ”
“You’re not going back with the team?” Hazel asks.
I grin at her. “Got a special pass from Coach Anderson to drive home separately so I could take you.”
Hazel looks delighted, but her father frowns, clearly still hung up on Mr. Weatherby’s airing of my family’s dirty laundry at the brunch table.
“Are you acquainted with Penn’s family, Walter?” he asks Chadwick’s dad.
“Acquainted, no.” His tone is cold at ice. “I learned of his mother’s issues through the grapevine, never met her. But I did meet his father once.”
“Didn’t you know?” Chadwick jumps in with a lecherous smile before his dad can answer. “Penn and I played on the same high school team. Well, for a couple of years. I was a few years ahead of him—Penn’s only twenty-two.”
“Your boyfriend is only twenty-two, Hazel?” Hazel’s mom practically spits out her champagne.
“He’s actually twenty-three,” Hazel snaps.
“Let’s not get off track here,” Chadwick says, commanding the table’s attention again. “We were talking about how Penn’s dad and my dad met, and it’s a story I’m sure everyone’s dying to hear…especially you, Hazel.”
My heart drops as I meet Chadwick’s eyes, which are flickering with triumph. Just when you think someone couldn’t stoop any lower, they go and dig a damn trench.
“Don’t, Chadwick,” I plead, glancing at Hazel. She can’t hear it like this. She needs to know she can trust me, that I’ve changed since then…
“Fine. Why don’t you tell the story, Penn?
” He jeers, all pretenses of friendliness gone and replaced by pure hatred.
“You might not have inherited your mother’s addiction issues—that we know of—-but why don’t you go ahead and tell everyone about how you inherited your father’s violent tendencies?
And how the two of you spent your first ever father-son bonding moment in a jail cell together.
All while I was out on the ice winning our team a high school championship? ”
As the table erupts in a flurry of reactions—Hazel’s mom squeaks, her dad gasps, and her brother looks like he’s seen a ghost while the Weatherbys sigh in acknowledgment—the blood in my veins runs cold.
There really are no bounds to this guys’ cruelty, but everyone else can wait for an explanation—all I care about at this moment is what Hazel thinks.
Before I can turn to her and even begin to explain myself, she shakes her head furiously. “Stop it, Chadwick! I’ve had enough with your lies!”
“I’m not lying, Haze.” Chadwick raises a cool brow. “If you don’t believe me, ask your boyfriend.”
Hazel turns to look at me, her eyes trusting. She believes in me, believes in my character, in the person I am—and now all of that’s about to shatter.
“I wish he were lying,” I say quietly, shame creeping over every inch of me as I meet Hazel’s gaze. “But he’s telling the truth.”