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I shrug. “What was I supposed to say when I introduced myself?Oh, by the way, my father’s loaded, but I wanted absolutely nothing to do with his money or his connections? Hey, guys, remember my reasons for breaking Damon’s heart and mine in the process? Oh, yeah. That was on account of my father, who, by the way, is the richest man in the world. Telling him no is hard.” I stare at them, feeling my hackles rise, hating that I’m on the defense. “Did each of you tell me who your parents were when we met?”

Samantha scratches her head. “She has a point.”

“You think?” I say with a laugh, because I’m not sure what else to do. I’m still unsure of what they’re thinking. All I know is that they’re still staring at me as if I’m the golden calf, and I’m not sure if they want to slaughter me or put me on a pedestal. Both are equally awful.

Brynn’s eyes soften as she sinks back against the booth. “Your father was the reason you broke up with Damon?”

I nod in confirmation, grateful when she doesn’t ask for more details, and partly relieved when she exchanges a glance with Charlotte, then slides the card back toward me. “Then if you don’t want to use your father’s wealth or connections, neither do we.”

For a moment, I just blink at them, stunned. My attention shifts to the credit card they slid back to me and something warm unfurls inside my chest. “You’re serious?” I manage.

“Of course we are,” Charlotte says, her voice gentle but firm. “We’re not friends with you because of who your father is.”

Liz nods emphatically. “We’re friends with you because you’reyou. The Avery who makes the best damn lattes at Java.”

“And who always gives us extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings,” Brynn chimes in. I snort out a laugh as she adds, “Avery who listens to my endless rants about how in love with Jace I am.”

“Or the Avery who just a few days ago, listened to my endless rants about my family without judgment,” Samantha comments.

“Avery who volunteered to chaperone a charity dance for kids with no question, all because of a particular hunky football player.” This comes from Brynn.

“Avery, who clearly loves hard,” Charlotte says. “Who can’t pretend or hide her feelings.”

“And who’s determined and romantic.” Liz winks. “And can’t throw a strike to save her life.”

Tears pool in my eyes as they continue, and all I can think is,This is it. This is what it feels like to be truly seen. To have friends who accept me, not for my last name or my father’s wealth, but for who I am beneath it all.

“You guys . . .” I whisper, voice thick with emotion.

Charlotte reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “We don’t need to go to Houston on first-class tickets. We’ll figure something else out or we won’t go at all, and we’ll support our men from here. It’s that simple.”

I look down at the platinum card, feeling the weight of everything it represents. Using it would mean giving my father an inch—and with Reginald Astor, an inch might as well be a mile. But not using it would mean missing Damon’s championship game, something I’m unwilling to compromise on. And by using it, I can give these ladies a gift, the same way they’ve given their friendship to me.

Pushing the card back toward Charlotte, I glance up at her, meeting her dark eyes. “We’re using it.”

“But?”

“I don’t want to miss this,” I say, adamant. “Damon and I are finally getting somewhere, and I want to be there for him. I’ll pay my father back if I have to. Whatever it takes. All I know is I need to be at this game, and I want you girls with me.”

“You’re sure?” Brynn asks, her violet eyes uncertain.

I nod, my resolve strengthening. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”

My father only has power over me if I let him. Besides, I’ve kept his secret for more than two years. Two and half years, in fact. It’s eaten me up inside and caused me nothing but pain. He owes me.

Exhaling, Charlotte punches some buttons on her phone, then glances up with a grin. “Well, ladies, it looks like the three of us are going to Houston. Tonight.”

Chapter 23

AVERY

By the time our plane touches down in Houston and we take a cab to our hotel, the snow has started to fall.

“At least we’ll be comfortable while we wait for Monday’s game,” Charlotte says, nudging me with her elbow as we step through the revolving doors into the grand lobby of The Marlowe.

Glancing around me, I take it all in. The modern art pieces adorning the walls that probably cost more than my college tuition. Marble floors gleaming beneath chandeliers dripping with crystals. High ceilings that give way to rustic beams, lending the entire space an airy, elegant feel. I have to admit, after having spent time in dozens of my father’s hotels over the years, The Marlowe is something special. A sight to behold.

“Holy crap,” Brynn whispers, spinning in a slow circle with her eyes wide as the moon. “This place is unreal. And now I feel underdressed in my hoodie and jeans.”