Page 39 of Just One Look

Maverick

I’m buzzing with nerves, peering out from behind the curtains as the ballroom fills up.

Candice has done an amazing job. We’ve sold out, and her pricing strategy was genius. She sold ten tables at twenty K a pop. But she was also mindful of making this an event all locals could afford, so general tickets cost between five and thirty-five dollars. This way, the center is guaranteed a much-needed injection of cash, and just as importantly, it’ll help spread the word that it’s back in capable hands and worth supporting on a continuing basis. A one-off event like this is good, but an ongoing philanthropy program is the ultimate goal.

My eyes scan through the crowd. All I care about is finding one guy and one guy only. I press my teeth into my lower lip, my stomach in knots. It feels like forever ago since I fired Jackson, but in reality, it’s only been a few weeks. The longest few weeks of my life.

There’s still no sign of Clancy and Jackson. Clancy assured me he’d be able to get Jackson to come tonight, but I have my doubts. I think he underestimates how stubborn his grandson can be and how much he doesn’t want to be anywhere near me.

With one final unfruitful sweep, I leave my spot and weave my way through the entertainers getting ready backstage. In another stroke of genius, Candice called in some favors and hired an indie college band who agreed to forego their usual angsty fare in favor of downtempo covers of classic songs most people will recognize. It’s a smart move because if the talent aspect of tonight is a bust, at least the audience will still get a show.

I’m in my head, tossing up whether or not to text Clancy to find out if he managed to drag Jackson along with him, when I spot Pip.

I march straight toward him.

“Hey, man. Is Jackson here?”

He spins around, looks up at me, and grins.

“Oh, I’m great. A little nervous about my performance, but thanks for asking.”

I grimace.

“Sorry. How are you doing?”

The pocket-sized dude shakes his fist at me.

“Mind your own goddamn business and focus on fixing things with Jackson.”

“I can see why you two are best friends,”

I reply with a smirk.

“Is he here?”

“He is. Clancy got him here just like he said he would. They’re out on the patio. Now, are you going to tell me what you’re planning?”

“Are you going to tell me what your routine is?”

“Go fuck yourself,”

he says, an impish smile tugging at his lips.

“Right back at ya, buddy. Break a leg out there.”

I pat him on the shoulder and head over to our table to watch the show. I can breathe easy now, knowing that Jackson is here. I approach Candice and Wagner, already sitting there, deep in conversation.

“Hey, why aren’t you with Sammy?”

I ask Wagner as I take my seat.

My brother glares at me.

“Said I was killing his vibe and told me to leave. Wonder where he picked that up.”

“Don’t look at me.”

I take a sip of water.

“I usually call you a fucking idiot.”

Candice grins.

“Brotherly banter. Is there anything better?”

“Yes,”

we reply in unison.

“Plenty of things,”

Wagner adds, staring at me as he raises his wine glass to his lips.

I smirk to annoy him even more as the MC walks onto the stage to get the show underway.

Okay, so maybe talent show is a bit of a stretch.

So far, we’ve had a so-so acoustic guitar performance medley of a few Taylor Swift deep cuts, a ukulele solo that was…enthusiastic, and a stand-up set mostly focused on roasting neighboring small towns.

The highlight up to this point has been Bunny’s magic trick, where, true to her name, she produced five cute bunnies from her outfit. What topped it off was Sammy and his friends running out onto the stage to play with the bunnies.

But everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. The band playing old-school covers in between acts helps, as does playing short videos explaining the work we do at the sanctuary to rescue and rehab horses. Candice hired a gung-ho social media expert, and they’ve been posting the clips on social platforms in real time. So even those who couldn’t make it in person can follow along and glimpse some of what’s happening here tonight.

“Sammy’s up,”

Wagner announces, jerking upright, cell phone in hand to capture every second of Sammy and his friend’s routine. Unlike some people, I don’t kill Sammy’s vibe, and I was allowed to stay and watch their rehearsals yesterday, so I already know their routine is super cute.

Sammy, Candice’s son, Tanner, and two of their friends step out onto the stage. Sammy takes a deep breath and raises his arms like a shooting star. His friends mirror him in perfect unison, their shy smiles melting into giggles as the familiar tune o.

“Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”

filters through the ballroom.

They step in a simple pattern—smart move, keeping the choreo simple—and deliver a forward, back, side-to-side routine, mostly in sync with each other. At the final “star,”

they all point upward, then huddle together for a final bow, smiling with flushed cheeks. It earns the first standing ovation of the night.

The band starts playing a pared-back version of “Shallow.”

Candice excuses herself to check on the kids backstage, leaving Wagner and me to make small talk with the other people at our table. So naturally, I take her seat and turn my back to everyone.

“What are you doing?”

he asks when I lean over his chair.

“Looking for Jackson.”

“I can’t keep up with you,”

Wagner huffs.

“I thought you hated him?”

I stop panning across the room and push myself upright again.

“I’ve never hated him. He’s frustrated the living fuck out of me, sure, but so do you, and I love you.”

Our eyes meet.

His are wider than normal.

“That a slip of the tongue or not?”

“Or not.”

“Okay,”

he says, keeping his tone measured.

“Once you two get your act together, let me know so I can have a little one-on-one with him.”

“Aw, you do love me,”

I say, pawing at his arm.

“Get away from me, you freak.”

The host returns to the stage. Candice isn’t back yet, nor are Sammy and Tanner, so I stay in her seat.

“Please welcome to the stage, Pip Elm—Elma…”

The host struggles to pronounce Pip’s surname. I did, too, the first time I saw it. Luckily, Pip was on hand to enunciate it one syllable at a time.

“Elmalo…Elm?—

“Elm - a - logue - a - looo,”

Pip growls out each syllable at full volume from stage left.

The host smiles, frazzled.

“Yes, that. Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up!”

Everyone applauds as a figure draped from head to toe in a rhinestoned black robe glides across the stage. In perfect timing with a dramatic orchestral sound, Pip flings the robe off and launches himself upward into a sequence of jumps and twirls that seem to defy gravity. I know absolutely nothing about ballet, but I’m convinced he must have had formal training at some point. He spins with force and control, his arms glide through the air with a fluid elegance, and his timing is perfect, landing every jump with grace and precision.

Wagner nudges me with his elbow.

“Are you seeing it?”

“Of course I’m seeing it. Dude is one seriously talented dancer.”

“No. Not him. It.”

I glance sideways at him.

“What are you talking about?”

“Look closer at his outfit,”

Wagner mutters.

I take a closer look at Pip, glancing down his outfit from head to.

“Whoa. How did I miss that?”

“Pip’s got pipe,”

Wag rasps, throatier than usual, wetting his lower lip.

“Yeah, and I’m the creep in the family for installing security cameras.”

My comment goes unnoticed. Wagner doesn’t take his eyes off Pip for the rest of the routine. He’s also the first person to leap to their feet to give the guy the second and what will end up being the final standing ovation of the evening.

Me: You ready?

Clancy: 10-4. The target has been secured and is in position. All clear to launch the love attack.

I roll my eyes. The old man is enjoying himself way too much.

It’s 8:59.

The talent show finished half an hour ago. Most everyone is inside, enjoying the music and light canapes.

Two people are definitely outside on the patio, bundled up in jackets and staying near the heaters. I know because I’ve got my eyes locked on them. As planned, Clancy positioned himself and Jackson by the railing, giving them the best seats in the house for what’s coming.

I glance down at my cell phone. The display flicks to 9:00.

“Showtime.”