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Chapter Twenty-Two

C arys

“This looks nothing like my high school,” I whisper, clutching Gannon’s hand.

He gives mine a gentle squeeze. “Just remember that looks can be deceiving.”

“Well, if it isn’t Gannon Brewer.” A burly man with silvery hair shoves a hand Gannon’s way, catching him off guard. “How have you been? It’s been a while.”

I try to pull my palm out of Gannon’s, but he clenches harder.

“I’ve been well, thank you. How about yourself?” Gannon asks, his words measured.

He’s uncomfortable, and that makes me want to hug him.

But hugging him in public would be a step beyond hand-holding and that concerns me a bit itself.

Besides, I’m not sure how he would react if I did wrap my arms around him.

It might make him feel even more awkward, and that’s the last thing I want to do.

“Good, good.” The old man glances at me. “Is this the missus?”

Oh my God . My face pales at the suggestion. Is he seriously asking if we’re married?

“This is Carys Johnson,” Gannon says, steadying me with his gaze. If he’s thrown by the missus reference, he doesn’t show it. “Carys, this is Matthew Broadbent. He was my physics teacher my senior year.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Johnson.”

“Likewise,” I say, trying to be as cool with the missus thing as Gannon.

“I’ll have you know that Gannon was one hell of a student,” Matthew says. “One of the brightest students I ever had the pleasure of teaching. He didn’t always make it easy, but he did keep me on my toes.”

I smirk up at my date. “I have no doubt that’s true. I’ve had a little personal experience with that, as well.”

“Some things never change, I suppose.” Matthew chuckles. “Gannon, it was good to see you. You should come around here more often.”

He pats Gannon’s shoulder before he moves along.

“Do these people know Tate?” I ask, my heart pattering. “Because you didn’t mention this was an event at your alma mater, or I might’ve asked this question earlier.”

“You think too much.”

“Fine. When Tate calls me screaming like a baby, I’ll direct him to you.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

This man is incorrigible.

Jazz music floats through the air, winding around the metallic gold and white balloons shrouding the ceiling.

Round tables with white tablecloths and black chairs fill the ballroom.

Candles are lit throughout the space, but the main lighting comes from the gaudy chandeliers overhead.

It gives we have way more old money than sense vibes .

We wind our way through the banquet hall, pausing here and there to greet random men holding glasses of amber-colored liquid and women with fancy jewels.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of fake smiling and internal panicking, we find the table with two place cards labeled Mr. Gannon Brewer .

Gannon pulls out my chair, ensures I’m comfortable, and sits beside me. His eyes dart around the room, and the rigidity is back in his shoulders.

“Hey,” I say, touching the side of his face. “What’s the matter?”

His attention slides back to me, and his eyes soften. “Nothing’s the matter.”

“I’d hate to have to take you back to the car …”

He chuckles softly, leaning forward to press a kiss against my forehead.

The tender moment catches me off guard, and a lump settles in my throat. Warmth spreads through my veins and flows into my chest. I should pull away—I know I should. But all I want to do is lean into him … for me and for him.

This is not the Gannon Brewer I propositioned in Tate’s office. He’s not the man who barely said ten complete sentences at Tapo’s either. He’s not the walled-off human who comes across as cold and callous.

This man is sweet and kind. Thoughtful. Selfless in many ways. And as hard as he tries to exude stoicism, and does very well at it, that’s not who he is at all.

I study his profile as he gazes across the throngs of bodies mingling around the room, wondering what’s going through his head. He’s uncomfortable, for sure. He’s also grateful that I’m here—that goes without question. But Gannon is always cool, calm, and collected in every situation.

Why is this one different?

“There’s a bar across the way,” he says, nodding toward the opposite wall adjacent to a stage with long black drapes. “Would you like a drink? They probably have everything you can think of.”

“A matcha latte?”

“Red wine it is.” He winks. “Do you want to fight that crowd with me, or would you rather stay here?”

I glance over my shoulder at the congestion of bodies packing the area in front of the bar. “Yeah, I’m good here.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He stands, trailing his fingers across the back of my neck as he leaves.

A flurry of goose bumps dot my skin as I watch him move through the crowd. He’s stopped every few feet by people wanting to say hello or shake his hand. It’s so interesting to watch—so different from how people treat him at work. Everyone seems happy to see him and excited that he’s here.

Why does it seem like he wants to be anywhere else?

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Fuck . I follow the sound of the voice, my stomach sinking. I don’t have to see him to know who it is. Victor .

He grips the back of my chair, his knuckles glancing my shoulder blades. Instead of goose bumps like when Gannon touched me, my hands ball into fists.

“What are you doing here, love?” he asks, lifting his glass to take a sip of his scotch.

If looks could kill, Victor Morrisey would be a dead man.

“I’m not your love,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Please leave.”

“Wanna go with me? You give much better head than that bitch I brought tonight.”

My blood boils at his brazenness. I scan the room, ensuring Gannon isn’t seeing this. He has enough on his plate tonight … even though I don’t know what it is.

I face Victor head-on, staring him down. “If you ever so much as speak to me again, I swear to God that I’ll make a few calls and ruin your life.” I pause so my words can sink all the way in. “I don’t want to have to do that to you, but I will.”

He bristles at my warning, uncertain whether I’m talking out of my ass or not.

He has to be asking himself if I know enough about his family—that his father is preparing a run for the US Senate and his mother is a respected relationship coach in Los Angeles—to follow through with my threats.

Surely, he knows me well enough to know I wouldn’t bat an eye.

“You wouldn’t,” he says.

I smirk. “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

“You’re a fucking bitch.”

“Oh, Victor. It was so nice to see you, too. Have a great rest of your evening.”

He glares at me before walking away.

I release a heavy, hasty breath as soon as he’s out of earshot. That’s enough surprises for one night.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice says over a loudspeaker.

“Welcome to the Waltham Prep Centennial Gala Celebration. We’re honored to have you in attendance this evening to recognize one hundred years of excellence in education.

Thank you for joining us. Now, if you would take your seats, our festivities will kick off shortly. ”

Chatter grows louder throughout the room as the groups of people begin to separate.

I search frantically for Gannon, hoping he returns before our tablemates sit, and I’m forced to make small talk.

I have nothing in common with these people, and after Victor’s appearance, I could really use a familiar, friendly face.

“Well, hello.” A woman sits across from me, smiling as brightly as her canary-yellow dress. “I’m Matilda Ross, and this is my husband, Hugo Ross.”

Hugo sits beside her. He has a grandfatherly vibe and smells faintly like cigars.

“It’s nice to meet both of you,” I say, wringing my hands beneath the table. “I’m Carys Johnson. I’m here with Gannon Brewer, but he just stepped away for a drink.”

“Oh, honey. We’re sitting with Gannon,” Matilda says happily to her husband.

Then she returns her attention to me. “Gannon was on our son’s baseball team as a little boy.

He could switch hit, which was quite impressive at his age.

He had every boy on the team trying to hit from the other side, which had the coaches fit to be tied.

” She laughs at the memory. “That was quite the season, wasn’t it, Hugo? ”

“Yes. It’ll be nice to catch up with Gannon,” Hugo says. “I haven’t seen him in years.”

Two other couples approach the table, and Gannon’s still nowhere to be seen.

“If you’ll please excuse me, I need to find the ladies’ room,” I say.

Hugo rises from the table to pull my chair out for me.

“Oh, thank you,” I say, blushing as I stand.

He nods before pushing my chair back into place.

I clutch my purse and take off the way Gannon went, hoping to find him quickly.

I need a hug.

Gannon

“It was good seeing you again. Don’t wait so long to make an appearance next time,” Joey Jenkins says, shaking my hand.

“I’ll try.”

He lifts his drink to his lips and walks away.

Securing two beverages took entirely too long—much longer than I anticipated. Getting through the crowd was a task in and of itself. Actually receiving the drinks was another. Extracting myself from the partygoers has turned into a nightmare.

Everyone wants to fucking talk, and no one can read my face.

What’s wrong with these people?

I pick up Carys’s and my drinks and turn to make my way back to our table. I don’t fully pivot when I’m stopped by a hand resting on my bicep. Although it’s been a decade, I remember that touch.

I freeze.

“Hey,” she says, her voice calmer than I heard it last.

I look down at her long, slender fingers and creamy white skin. Her nails have her signature French manicure. Something about that amuses me.

“What do you want, Tatum?”

My eyes find hers, and I take a breath, waiting for something to happen. She misreads my smile and returns it.

“You need to take your hand off me,” I say.

“ Oh .” She flinches, withdrawing her fingers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.”