Page 48 of Emmett

“Someone get the graduate a drink!” Uncle Davis shouts to the cheering crowd inside as he shoves open the doors to the swanky club, which is covered from floor to ceiling inextravagant decorations that I never would have chosen for myself, tables upon tables filled with different foods…you name it, they brought it in here. A few flamboyantly-costumed performers are sprinkled throughout, putting on shows of their own to entertain everyone.

I grab a champagne flute from one of the tables and hold it underneath the flowing fountain of bubbly on the side, filling it up, and I take a swig.

“How does it feel?” Dad asks, clapping me on the back. I haven’t seen him smile this wide since his wedding day.

“Like I have no idea what I’m gonna do with my time now,” I laugh.

I can’t say it out loud, but it feels really good. Incredible, actually. I could count the number of times in my life that I’ve truly been proud of myself on one hand, and this is one of them. This might actually be in the top three. I can’t tell my dad, but I’m glad that he brought me home. I was ready to give up on this, on myself, and I think I would have regretted it terribly if I had.

I raise my glass in my dad’s direction as he weaves through the crowd to offer him my silent thanks.

Several pairs of arms find their way around me; the girls. I can tell it’s them, because Mariah’s excited screeching in my ear is unmistakable. “Are we doing shots?!” She shouts, her voice at least four octaves higher than its usual pitch.

Ro shakes her head, waving her hands in front of her. “Oh no,” she says. “I’m the designated driver. Colt might take a couple with you, though.”

I follow the incline of her head to see my dad throwing his arms around a few of his friends with his smile wide enough to crack his face in two, and my chest warms because I know that he reallyisproud of me tonight. My dad hasalways been my hero, and he probably always will be; the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do is make him proud.

“No girly drinks,” I demand, grabbing Mariah by the hand and dragging her to the bar.

We throw back a couple of shooters together, clinking our glasses against each other and tapping the bottoms against the bar, and I pull my buzzing phone from my pocket to swipe the screen open.

Nash:Come outside.

What the hell?

I don’t even bother to excuse myself as I storm through the building, weaving between partygoers dancing and drinking until I make it out to the front parking lot. The only thing out here is a bunch of cars that belong to the people inside.

I move to the opposite side of the building and lock my eyes onto Nash goddamn Montgomery; leaning against the side of his bright-ass orange SUV, wearing a crisp white suit tailored perfectly to fit his body.

He’s completely fine. Not a scratch on him; in fact, if anything, he looks refreshed. He looks fucking fantastic.

Fury spreads itself across my face with a crimson heat and I ball my fist at my side as I stalk toward him, seething. The closer I get to him, the more my muscles burn beneath my skin.

“You fucking prick!” I shout as I approach. Without giving him the time to respond, I rear back and throw my fist at his jaw, sending his head to the side as I make contact.

“What was that for?” He hisses, holding his face.

“Are you serious?” I scoff. “I haven’t heard from you in weeks! Youleftme! I could kill you, asshole!”

I prime my fist again, pulling it back. As I swing it forward to hit him again, he moves to the side and catches my arm, stopping me.

“Calm down,” he orders. “I didn’t…leave you.”

I said that out loud?

I could have sworn I just thought it.

He slowly releases my fist and brings his hands to my waist, looking me in the eye while I glower at him.

“I was purchasing a vineyard,” he explains. “I wasn’t even in the country. I didn’t get your calls until I got back.”

“You’re aliteralbillionaire.” I take a step away from him, removing myself from his reach. “And you’re trying to tell me you couldn’t get cell reception.”

“Emmett.”

My eyes snap to his. Has he ever said my name before? No, it’s always been ‘pretty boy,’ ‘Fowler,’ ‘kid.’ I don’t think he’s ever…

Taking two steps closer to me, he cups my cheek in his hand. “I did not leave you,” he repeats.