31. Dash
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
DASH
The limousine stopped in front of the restaurant at the appointed time. Dash's talk with Miranda on the ride over had helped calm his nerves.
“Nervous is good,” she'd told him. “Means you're fully invested. If you didn't give a shit, we'd have never come along on this wild ride.”
The driver quickly opened the door and, in minutes, the entire party piled into the elevator for the short ride up to the rooftop space.
"How're you feeling, Dash?" Kate asked.
"I'll let you know in about sixty seconds," he answered at the exact moment the doors opened.
A collective gasp rang out as the six of them stepped forward and drank in the elegance of the space.
The glow of the candles. The soft sounds of the jazz trio.
The perfume of hundreds of gardenias. All of it, resplendent against the twinkling Chicago skyline.
And there, at the end of the table, wine glass in hand and bowtie loose around his neck, sat a defeated Noah Barton shaking his head.
Miranda spoke first. "Noah, what's wrong? What happened?"
"Where's Natalie?" Dash's voice echoed with alarm.
"She's not here," Noah stated, his tone flat.
"But she's on her way, right?" Kate asked with hopeful eyes.
Noah downed the scant remains of his pinot and stood. "I honestly have no idea how this happened. One minute she was standing here, then the next … Blaine Sheridan showed up and they left."
"Blaine Sheridan? Who the hell is Blaine Sheridan?" Dash looked to Miranda for an answer.
"He's an old family friend I've been trying to set Natalie up with for weeks. I had no idea they were talking," Noah said.
"Did she mention this Blaine guy to either of you?" Dash asked the ladies.
"Only that he stood her up once," Kate said.
"She didn’t say anything to me, but then again our interactions have been strictly professional," Miranda added.
Dash stood there, digesting the scene. He studied the faces around him—each projecting the same confused, embarrassed look. His face appeared the same.
Dash Benning, you are one dumb SOB.
She told you she’d moved on.
In plain, uncomplicated English.
And you didn’t listen.
He turned away from the group, seeking a moment alone by the wall of windows. He stared out at the city, trying to swallow real pangs of failure. Words from his mother—one of the last conversations they shared—returned to him.
Once your confidence turns cocky, the world will knock you down a peg or two, so be humble in all things.
Dash turned back to the group, still standing like statues across the room. He snatched a bloom from the center of the table as he crossed back toward them. He held it to his nose and inhaled, taking a moment to gather his words.
"Son, I hate to say I told you so …" Cecil began.
"Oh sure, Cecil, make the whole thing a goddamn joke," Dash barked.
"Easy now, Dash,” Colt cautioned.
"Dash Benning!” Miranda snapped. “I'm giving you exactly two seconds to apologize to Cecil.”
A heavy sigh escaped Dash's lips. He ran his hand through his hair, then offered it to Cecil. The two men shook. It instantly relieved a mountain of tension.
"Mr. Benning,” Noah began, “I would like to offer my most sincere apology. If I'd had any idea whatsoever about Natalie and Blaine …"
Dash blinked away the emotion that threatened his eyes.
"It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault but mine.
Cecil, you tried your best to warn me and I wouldn't listen. This whole thing was a stupid idea. Who does this? Who flies a group of people hundreds of miles for a Win Her Back party? What even is that?”
"A grand gesture, little brother,” Colt stated. "You’ve never been one to play it safe or do something small."
"The fact that you wanted all of us to be a part of this shows how much you want to start over with Natalie. We all bought in. Was it crazy? Yes. Did we love it? We did. We do," Kate added.
Foster pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "Let me call and talk to her."
Dash shook his head. “Sir, I'd rather you didn't. I don't want anything to ruin her evening. She obviously wants to spend time with this Sheridan guy, and we have to respect that. I want everyone to promise to not reach out to her."
Tears drew lines down Miranda’s heavily powered cheeks. "Dash, hon, I don't know what to say. I wanted this night to be so special for you. We all did.”
Cecil stepped forward and hung his arm around Dash’s shoulder. “And it will be. We’re going to sit down at this beautiful table, listen to these fine musicians, eat some delicious food, tell some stories, enjoy the amazing company we have gathered here, and get drunker than Cooter Brown."
"I think I'll grab a cab back to the hotel, but I want y'all to stay. Enjoy the evening as a personal thank you from me—for even entertaining the thought of going on this wild goose chase."
He pressed the down arrow for the elevator. Miranda took a step toward him, but Cecil touched her arm and nudged her back, a look of warning on his face. The doors opened and Dash stepped inside, head hung in disappointment.