Chapter 36 Stella
Stella
Colt’s eyes shine with emotion as he stares up at his best friend’s mother on the stage. Astonishment, pride, gratitude; they’re all radiating off of him with the news.
The room erupts in applause as Jill and Mr. Worthington share a polite hug before she makes her way off the stage.
When Jill reaches the table, she heads straight to Colt, and he stands to accept her strong embrace. They stand there a few moments, her whispering words only he can hear.
Finally, they release each other, and Jill turns to her husband and son. On stage, Anthony Worthington thanks the crowd for their support and announces for the celebration to commence. People get up, heading toward the bar, and begin mingling.
Colt takes a deep breath and looks around the room before finally facing me with a soft smile. Reaching over, I intertwine my fingers with his, and he pulls me to his side.
“She said it was mine; the foundation will be mine… I don’t know what that really means, but it’s mine.”
“It means that you’re going to be able to help a lot of people, Colt. That’s what it means.” I lean into him, trying to be present in this moment with him while he processes everything that just occurred. Finally, he looks down and meets my eyes.
“Care to dance, sweetheart?”
“I would love to,” I answer, and Colt sweeps me out onto the dance floor, joining the other couples slowly swaying around the room.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I pry after a soft moment of silence passes between us.
“I’m just…grateful. Grateful for the Warrens, grateful to be standing here right now. Grateful for you. Especially for you,” he insists, pulling my waist in closer to him.
“I had no part in any of this,” I reply with a laugh. “I’m only here because you invited me.”
“No, but you supported me, stayed by my side through all of it, the last couple of months. And I just need you to know I’m grateful for you, that you came into my life.”
“I love you,” I whisper, chest warming with his sweet words.
He bends slightly and plants a soft kiss to my lips, as if we’re the only two people in the room. “I love you,” he returns.
We dance until the song comes to an end, and people approach Colt as we head back to the table for our drinks.
They offer him condolences for the loss of his mother, and offer congratulations in regards to the new foundation.
A few of the party-goers ask about hockey and his pending return to the sport.
I let Colt know I’m going to get a glass of champagne and make my way to the bar where Beau has been planted since dinner ended.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he says in way of greeting when I step up beside him.
“Thank you. You clean up pretty nicely yourself,” I reply. “What do you think about the party?” I ask him.
“It’s just as boring as it’s always been,” he answers honestly, taking a sip of his drink. “But what my mom did was pretty cool.”
“Yeah. It means a lot to him,” I say, turning to find Colt in the crowd. He’s surrounded by a group of men in expensive suits, laughing at something one of them says as they shake hands.
“What’s wrong?” I ask when Beau doesn’t say anything.
“Nothing. I’m good.” He meets my eyes, and when I raise an eyebrow at him, he sighs in defeat.
“It feels like they’re quitting. Giving up on looking for her.
Creating a charity in her memory, like she’s dead, but they don’t know that.
Sure, the likelihood of her still being alive at this point is slim, but they don’t know. ”
“I’m sorry,” I say, afraid to say anything that’ll make him clam back up.
He shakes his head, finishing off his glass of bourbon and turns to face me fully.
His blue eyes are sad but clear. He’s not drunk.
“I knew it would happen eventually. Either they’d find a body, or they wouldn’t.
I knew, the longer time went on, the chances of them finding her…
” He looks away, not having to finish the thought.
“You’re allowed to be upset, but you don’t have to feel guilty.” I still don’t know the full story, but I do know Beau was seventeen years old when it happened, a child himself. Whatever happened, it wasn’t his fault.
Beau shakes his head again, turning back to the bar, trying to get a refill. Before the bartender looks our way, I say, “Come dance with me.”
Beau shoots me a small smirk from the corner of his eye. “Dance?”
“Yeah, dance. I thought that’s what you rich people did at this sort of thing.”
“Typically, I’m more of the drink-free-booze rich person, not so much the dancing type.”
“Dance with me anyway. You can tell me what it was like growing up rich so I can live vicariously through you,” I urge, nudging him with my shoulder. After a moment, he concedes, and we make our way to the center of the room.
As we sway, Beau’s hands politely on my hips and mine on his shoulders, we talk about how our lives differed growing up. We keep the conversation lighthearted and casual, both of us laughing at different childhood stories.
Beau seems to get out of his head, the carefree version of him coming to the surface, and I wonder how long it’s been since he let himself stop worrying about the people around him long enough to relax.
Eventually, Colt frees himself from the masses and asks to cut in.
Beau smiles as he relinquishes his hold on me, passing my hand into my boyfriend’s outstretched one.
He then announces that he’s going to get an Uber home, which I take as a good sign, since he no longer seems interested in drinking the free liquor at the bar.
“You won’t believe who I was talking to,” Colt says as he pulls me close into his body.
“Who?” I ask with a grin.
“See that guy over there, with the gold tie?” Colt nods his head toward a group of men chatting around a high-top table, one of whom is David, and another is a middle-aged man wearing a black suit and gold tie, as Colt pointed out. I nod.
“That is the head coach for the Philadelphia Flyers,” Colt expounds, sounding slightly in awe.
I raise my eyebrows in shock. “What did he say?”
“That he’s had scouts keeping tabs on me for nearly two seasons and that he’d love for me to play for him.”
“Wait, so how does the drafting process work?” I ask, knowing that Colt wants to play for the NHL, but unsure what it takes for him to get there.
“Technically, you’re only eligible to be drafted from ages eighteen to twenty in North America.
I didn’t enter the draft right out of high school because I wanted a college education.
Then, because of everything with my dad and my mental health, I never entered the draft later during my eligible years.
So now I’m considered a Free Agent, and can sign with whichever team offers me a spot, if I’m lucky enough to get an offer.
I knew teams were watching, and I also knew my injury was going to impede my chances of getting an offer.
The fact that he took the time to come over and talk to me tonight, though…
” Colt trails off, not needing to explain any further for me to understand what he’s getting at.
“You’ll get an offer. Even if it isn’t this year, you still have all of senior year. You’re an amazing player, and they know it.” His amber eyes glimmer as he smiles at me. Seeing him truly happy in this moment, truly excited for his future, warms my soul.
“It would be a dream to sign with the Flyers; though I’d be grateful for an offer from any team. But Booker was drafted to Philly, and I’d give anything to keep him as a teammate.”
“What, you don’t think you could win against him?” I ask, teasing, pulling a chuckle from his chest.
“It’d be tough considering he taught me almost everything I know about centering.”
We continue dancing and talking about hockey until the end of the song, when Colt asks me if I’m ready to leave. Jill hugs us both warmly as we say our goodbyes, and Colt orders us a ride back to his apartment rather than back to the Warrens’ house.