Chapter 13
Raleigh
I HAVEN’T SEEN DALTON since the day I made a fool of myself.
He’s been gracious enough to answer my texts about plans for tonight’s soiree, but in the past few hours, I’ve started to feel guilty.
When I asked Dalton to come to the party, it wasn’t out of the need of security.
I really wanted him just to keep me company.
Selfish then, and certainly unnecessary now.
At the time, I didn't know what kind of situation Mae and I would be in and didn't quite know how I’d fit in tonight. If I were to get into an altercation with Trenton, I know the only person who could defuse it would be Dalton. Thankfully, my worries will more than likely be a nonissue as Mae has since apologized to me and the video shoot crew for the wasted hours on set. Despite calm seas now, I expect a storm to smolder on the horizon as we get deeper into Halloween night. Mae and I haven’t spoken face to face in days, but I pray that streak ends tonight.
My gloved hand snakes around the stem of my glass as I observe the growing crowd.
Mae stands mingling with a small group of familiar artists, her bandmates mostly.
Her arm is woven lovingly around Trenton’s as the two laugh about something said.
I suppose this will be my evening, jealously watching on, as Mae has her fun.
I wouldn’t even call it jealousy. Annoyance with a tinge of anger is more like it.
Mae’s eyes flick over to me for a moment, and at first, I think she’s surprised to see me. In a second, she’s made her excuse, taking Trenton’s empty glass to be refilled, and makes her way to me. I put on a smile and try not to look as alone as I feel.
I take a sip from my glass as she approaches. “Hey Mae,” I say, leaning in for an awkward hug. She’s wearing her hair in the style of the era, and yet, it looks so incredibly modern on her.
“Raleigh,” she says in acknowledgement. She glances over her shoulder once before steering me toward the bar. Once we’re there, her truth comes out. “I didn’t think you were coming.”
“I was invited,” I respond, crossing my arms. We’ve squabbled before, like sisters, but I can feel a heated argument on the way.
“Trenton’s still mad—”
Crossing my arms, holding my drink out from my body, I cut her off. “Are you? Because I am.”
“I wasn’t really ever mad, it was a silly situation.” She reaches out a hand and rests it on my arm. “It’s all taken care of now anyway.”
I feel my hand tighten around the stem of my glass thinking about how anyone could call how he treated me silly. I could probably shatter the glass if I tried. “You’re right. It was. He can get over it.” I seethe.
Mae slowly removes her hand, still confused as to why I could possibly still be angry.
I know she’s going through things, and Trenton’s probably said things to her that I don’t know about.
Thinking of her in his clutches I let the tension go out of my hand and try to push everything into the past. I need to be here, in the present, for her.
Mae wrings her hands in front of her, like there’s still something she wants to say. Reaching forward it’s my turn to comfort her, “Something else on your mind?”
“I’m just–” She pauses. “I’m just really sorry for what Trenton said to you. It was so uncalled for. He’s just been under so much stress-”
“Stop right there, Mae.” Hearing an apology from her lips on his behalf doesn’t sit nearly as well as I thought it might. “Tensions were high and I’m sure he was just joking around.” Like hell he was, but this is about Mae and I staying united right now.
My assurances do nothing to ease her. “He won’t like it if he sees you here.” My new resolve shudders. “The whole studio heard about what happened, and I guess he got into some trouble. It’s probably for the best if we avoid each other too, at least for tonight.”
I want to make a joke, or explode and put him on blast in front of the whole party, but I figure I should save both of us the embarrassment, especially with a newfound truce.
Something tells me the label wouldn’t like it if I made an appearance on social media berating their star couple.
“He won’t see me.” I finally answer. He won’t see me because he’ll be blacked out, drunk in t-minus 30 minutes.
“Besides, I’m meeting someone anyway,” I add.
Mae’s eyes rise in question but the party lights have dimmed slightly and the DJ has switched the tunes from 20s jazz to some dance remix. Is historical accuracy sacred to no one but me?
Mae’s still standing in front of me, her soft eyes inquiring. Still so young. “Oh,” I begin, motioning toward her outfit. “Clara Bow?” I think it was the sad eyes that gave it away.
A grin replaces her uncertainty. “Ugh, no fun. You guessed it way too quickly.”
In the middle of our healing moment, two women approach and tap Mae on the shoulder.
She turns to address them, and I glide away into the crowd.
Typically, Mae and I use every chance we can to work together to make connections and network with otherwise hard to contact individuals.
It seems as though that is far from Mae’s mind tonight, and that’s fine, she’s allowed to have fun.
I’ll just have to make a go at it myself.
Turning toward the outskirts of the room, I search for any familiar faces. I’m looking for any of my friends in marketing or public relations, but the only person I recognize is a man dressed in a tux and bowtie. A pure Jay Gatsby, Leonardo Dicaprio look-alike.
Dalton smiles when he sees me, and I reluctantly slink toward him. The guilt comes back in a wave, but I do my best to tamp it down as I get closer. I know what I really asked him here for, and it looks like I got it.
***
I didn’t know I was capable of having fun at parties anymore. Between keeping tabs on Mae and always trying to climb the social ladder, there was never any room for that. So, how come Dalton’s presence has completely eliminated the fears of both of those tasks?
He’s on top of security; he and another man from his team, along with Mitch and Trenton’s team, have it on lock.
Despite his preoccupation, I’ve caught his eyes lingering on me more than once in the past hour.
I’ve worked my way around the party, ran into a few friends, and have successfully avoided the main couple.
The conversations have been easy tonight, and I realize that any stressful situations in the past may have been from my own overbearing nature.
And I don’t know, maybe Dalton’s presence has made being conversational a little easier for me.
I know he’s not going to act out or ditch me like Mae sometimes would.
With Dalton only a few feet away, I know I can do my job while not having to worry about anything extra.
As a studio manager who I was speaking to about an upcoming side project makes his excuses, I take a breath. I’m hoping for just a bit of reprieve as he picks up his phone and steps away. I get no such peace. A head full of curly hair bounces into my vision.
Genelle Cienski is here, and she’s coming right for me.
Turning swiftly to Dalton, I grab him by the hand and pull him through the thickest part of the crowd I can find. As the group of people crashes back together in our wake, I take a deep breath and crane my neck to see if she’s followed us.
“Who are we looking for?” Dalton whispers straight into my ear. His explicit nearness has sent a chill down my spine subsequently causing the corners of my mouth to turn up. He’s bent slightly, his eyes even with mine and trying to see what I see.
“That journalist from The Nashville Reporter. I have no idea how she got in, but I have no desire to speak to her about anything that’s been happening.”
Dalton straightens slowly, and his ever watchful eyes scan the room. I’m not sure if he’s successful, but he leans slightly toward me and asks, “Where’s the last place she would expect to see you?”
Over my dead body will I go out on that dance floor.
My darting eyes betray me because no sooner have they left the center of the party that Dalton grabs my hand and guides me forward.
He’s pressed against me, one hand in mine, the other on the small of my back.
“I could just leave,” I say. The thought is lost to the bump of the speakers.
I hate dancing, but something about his touch, about him, has lulled me into a sense of security.
The song, which I’ve never heard before, is at a decent pace, thank God.
Dalton, again, is close to me, but not touching.
His back is to the side of the room we came from, and his frame is big enough to block the view of me from anyone over there.
Between that and all eyes on the famous couples, there’s no way Genelle will find me.
“Thanks,” I relent, far too focused on his aptitude with dancing to say much of anything else.
“It’s not a problem,” he answers easily, motioning toward a far corner. “Mitch has this whole thing locked down, so I figured I’d have a little fun anyway.”
My eyebrows raise in surprise as I start to involuntarily sway to the music. “I don’t take you as an ‘I dance for fun’ kinda guy.”
“I didn’t mean the dancing,” he answers too quickly. My eyes narrow and I swear I see him blush slightly.
“What did you mean?”
“Forget it,” he huffs.
“It’s me, isn’t it?” I laugh. “You just love hanging out with me that much.” He stops moving, and in turn, I do too. There's an awkward charge between us that simultaneously scares me and wants me to move closer to him.
The song changes to some remix of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller,” and the whole room’s energy goes through the roof.
The floor is flooded with everyone who hasn’t already been dancing.
In fear of being run over, I take a step closer to Dalton, and he drapes an arm around me.
Another striking charge of something most would call attraction soars between us, and I have to do everything in my power not to break away and run.
We get tossed into a line and very haphazardly get through the entirety of the dance to the 80s hit. It was either that, or have to deal with whatever feelings I’ve got pumping through me.
We dance to a few more songs, but when a final slow dance begins, we both know that it’s time to go.
Without a word, he walks me to the coat room and then out the door.
He doesn’t touch me again, but he’s ever attentive, even opening the door of my car.
Once I’m settled inside, he pauses. I wish he would just go and close the door already.
Each moment that passes by between us is making it harder for me to keep my poise.
Needing to break the attraction between us, I feel a joke about to blurt from my lips. “I’d invite you back to my place, but I think we both know that’s a bad idea. You’ve got a dog to get home to.”
His reaction, a small smile, surprises me. “I wish it was a good idea.” With a caress against my hand, he’s stepped away from the vehicle.
I reach for the door, but he changes course and puts his thigh against it before I can swing it closed.
“You look absolutely stunning tonight. The color of the dress is a lot like your eyes.” There’s a pause before he continues, “You were like a beacon of green light in a room full of golds and silvers.”
My heart stops for a moment. If he was referencing the book or not, it was an awfully romantic thing for him to say when we both know he shouldn’t be saying it.
Turning, my knees now dangerously close to him, he only leans closer.
Wanting him to stop, but also wanting him nearer all the same, I take one of his hands in mine.
It takes him a moment, but he finally looks up and finds my gaze.
With a sweet smile, I let the attraction within me uncoil before tearing off the bandaid.
“Goodnight, Dalton,” I say softly.
As any gentleman would, he pulls away and returns the sentiment. “Goodnight, Raleigh.”
His gentle smile is the last thing he leaves me with before tucking me inside the cab of my car and turning away.
I immediately rest my forehead against the steering wheel. What the hell just happened?
Fortunately for me, there’s no time to overthink because my phone buzzes.
Reaching for it, the light illuminates the front cab.
The flutters of romance immediately fall only to be replaced with anxiety.
My mom had texted…and called several times in the last hour.
She only ever calls me if there’s a real emergency.
Scrolling down into the rest of my notifications, I see about a dozen social media messages from friends back home. Another text appears.
Mom: Don’t look at social media until you talk to Grant. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.
My stomach drops when I see his name. Never one to shy away from bullshit, I tap the newest social media message and nearly drop my phone when I see the post shared with me.
Grant Newby. Engaged?
Stupid with anger, I throw the car into drive and spit up the loose gravel of the lot.
As I zip through lanes and speed through intersections, I try not to think about it.
I even crank the radio to 100 but the thoughts seep through the sound and the tears.
A man I’ve loved for so long, a man who I almost had forever with, has slammed a door I always just expected would be open.
He has slammed it hard and without warning.
Tears come hot, blurring my vision further as I practically drift onto my street.
My phone buzzes again, and somewhere deep inside, I find the courage to look.
Mae: I just saw Instagram!
Oh great, everyone already knows.
Mae: Did he ever mention her to you?
No, Mae. No, he did not.
Mae: I thought he said he was still open to things?
Yes, Mae. Yes, he did.
Mae: Who the hell does he think he is????
The car comes to a slamming stop in my parking spot and the tears come faster.
I don’t even know how I got here so fast. When I’d sped away from the party, I just wanted to get home, but now that I’m here, I don’t want to be alone.
Picking up my phone, I text the one person I know I can trust above anything, even petty arguments.
Raleigh: I need you.
Mae: Girl, I am on my way!!!