Chapter 37
Jase
Sometimes I wonder if my relationship with Dad would be better if I had actually gone to Harvard. But then I remember that it was already difficult before, because he just can’t come to terms with who I am.
—Jase
I hate you, Mom. I hate you, Dad. I hate you, Lia. I hate you, Sam.
But above all, I hate this damn party. Everything about it is wrong. The white decorations, the guests, the fucking date.
Above all, the date.
Sam has been dead for five years. Today it hurts like it’s only been a few days since it happened. I can’t breathe. It’s tearing me apart from the inside.
As one of the waiters walks past me with a tray in his hand, I reach for a glass of whiskey. I don’t care whether the drink might actually be meant for someone else. I’ll never survive the evening without it. I’m not sure anymore if I’ll even survive it with it.
Zoe isn’t here yet. She’s coming with her parents, who are also on the guest list, because all the dresses that are appropriate for Victoria Winslow’s event are hanging in her closet at home.
I wish I wasn’t here yet either. Really, I wish I didn’t have to be here at all.
I should have just stayed away. I feel so out of place that it would almost be funny if it weren’t so damn sad.
I don’t belong here, in this posh ballroom in one of the most expensive hotels in Boston.
My parents are here somewhere, as are Lia and her boyfriend, but I’m staying as far away from my family as possible.
Dad wanted me to come, and I’m here. But that doesn’t mean I have to talk to anyone.
The only person I want to talk to is Zoe.
I can still feel her body under my hands, her lips on my cock, and I wish I could go back to that moment yesterday. Back to her, and away from this fucking party.
The alcohol burns in my throat as I take a sip. I hate whiskey, but right now it’s my only option. There’s never beer at my family’s parties; it’s too “common.” I wander through the room, trying to avoid everyone and hoping that Zoe will be here soon.
I find Lia standing next to Archie, her almost-fiancé.
She turns to me when she feels my eyes on her back.
There’s a strange expression on her face, and for a moment, she looks like she’d rather be somewhere else.
But that can’t be true, because she’s Lia, and Lia is perfect.
She’s wearing a floor-length pink evening gown, and her golden hair is properly pinned up. She looks like a damn Barbie doll.
I want to leave, but I’m too slow. Lia steps away from the group she’s with and is next to me before I can get away.
“Are you for real?” she hisses, pointing at my glass.
“What does it look like?” Provokingly, I take another sip, and this time it burns a little less.
“Can’t you behave for even one evening?” She moves to take my glass, but I’m faster and hold it out of her reach. I’m taller, even though she’s wearing killer heels.
“I always behave,” I say sardonically.
She rolls her eyes. “In which life?”
“What do you want from me, anyway? Go back to your Disney prince.”
She laughs in disbelief. “Jesus, what made you into such an asshole?”
Sam dying. Dad. Mom. You.
I shrug noncommittally. I hate being this way. I don’t feel like myself anymore. Not like the person I know I can be. Not when I’m around my fucking family.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have given you the money after all.”
I grimace. I had done my best to ignore the fact that Lia had, in fact, paid my tuition for this semester, even though I never agreed to her terms. Because if I had thought about it, I would have felt forced to talk to her.
I would have had to go down on my knees and thank her for saving my dream, at least for the semester.
But I couldn’t manage to do it. I couldn’t thank her.
Even if that made me an even bigger asshole.
“You can take it back, just like Mom and Dad did. You’re copying everything they do anyway. So go ahead. Don’t feel obliged.” Shut up, you idiot.
“God, Jase, why are you like this?” Lia asks, frustrated.
“Did you also not bother to remember that today is five years since Sam died?”
Lia goes pale. So they really forgot. Or they didn’t care. I’m not sure which is worse.
“Jase—” Lia starts, but I push past her.
“Leave it, Ophelia.” She flinches. She hates her name. “You’re here to celebrate, so do it. Just leave me out of this shit.”
“Then why are you here?” she calls after me. But I don’t answer.
Yeah, why the hell am I here? I get another drink and chug it down at a standing table in the corner of the ballroom.
I can’t remember the last time I was drunk, but today feels like a good day for it.
I stare into the golden liquid in my glass and think of Zoe’s eyes.
They’re the same color. Where the hell is she?
It scares me a little how much I want her here. How much I need her.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and am just about to text her when I hear someone come up next to my table.
“Hi, Jase.” The annoying voice makes me look up, and I immediately wish I hadn’t.
“Charlotte,” I say in monotone.
“I want to introduce you to my parents,” she trills, pointing to a couple behind her, who are looking at me with distant smiles.
I know Charlotte’s parents. I never met them personally, but I know who the mayor of Boston is. And I also know that his wife gives her lovely daughters every damn thing they want.
“They want to talk to you about the scholarship,” Charlotte continues, giving me a meaningful look when I don’t answer.
The fucking scholarship. Charlotte’s offer. She hasn’t mentioned it in weeks, and I wonder why she’s doing it now, of all times. But actually, I don’t care.
“No need,” I say, stepping away from the table. Time to leave.
I walk purposefully toward the bar, ignoring Mom, who is hanging on Dad’s arm and wearing a white, figure-hugging dress with a bright smile on her face that’s so fake I could puke.
I signal to the bartender, and a few seconds later, he hands me a full glass.
But before I can take it, someone grabs my hand.
I don’t even have to look to know who it is.
I know the touch intimately. I look up anyway, and Zoe is standing next to me, a worried expression on her face.
Relief floods me, and I can’t help it. I have to hold her close, inhale her lavender scent, and feel my fingers on her skin.
She looks surprised and returns my embrace. She kisses my cheek. It’s crazy how much better I feel just because she’s here.
“Hi,” she says softly, taking a step back. She looks absolutely beautiful, wearing a calf-length dress in rust-colored silk that clings to her upper body like a second skin. The skirt falls softly and flows around her long legs, and I catch myself wondering if she’s wearing anything underneath it.
“You’re here.”
“Of course I’m here.” She smiles, and my heart beats out of time again. Fuck. Our fingers weave together all by themselves.
“How much does it suck?” She’s sizing me up. I can’t look her in the eye; otherwise, I’ll end up saying things I shouldn’t. If I tear down all the walls I’ve built around my heart to reach her right now, I’ll fall apart.
So I shrug. My eyes wander automatically to my parents, who are talking to some people whom I don’t know but are probably terribly important.
Then my gaze shifts to the empty dance floor.
I know Mom and Dad will have a big plan to kick off the dancing later this evening.
Yes, it’s kind of childish and a little mean, but I want to ruin the moment for them.
“Dance with me,” I beg her, even though it’s a totally stupid idea. But I’m not sober, and I’m not here to make sensible decisions.
“Okay,” she says without hesitation, even though there’s no one else on the dance floor and the music is playing softly and unobtrusively in the background. She pulls me toward the dance floor, and suddenly I have a problem. What I feel for her now is more than I’ve ever felt for anyone else.
I want her to be mine. Not just in the theater. Not just in the studio. Always. Everywhere.