Page 8 of My One

I balked. “Waste my life?”

Easton stepped forward, ceasing the conversation that was about to turn into a fire. “Doug, tonight’s supposed to be a celebration, not the two of you rehashing the same damn argument. Come inside, and we’ll get you a drink.”

Dad scoffed. “I only drink Macallan.” That wasn’t true. I’d seen my father drink beer and other alcohol before. He was clearly being an asshole.

“Well, lucky for you, your son made sure to stock a bottle of Macallan 12,” Easton replied.

Dad’s brown eyes turned to me. “At least you did something right.”

I looked to my mother, who was looking down at the concrete sidewalk. She never stepped in when Dad was in one of his moods, and he was always in one of his moods. Even when I played the game he loved so much, he still treated me as a burden. That was probably another reason I hadn’t gone back to live in California. I honestly hated being around him. Didn’t mean I didn’t love him, though. He was my father.

“Let’s step inside, and Avery will get you that whisky.”

I had no idea that the night of our soft open would be the last time I’d see my parents. And they were very much alive. I tell everyone that they’ve never visited me in New York because that was better than saying they didn’t want anything to do with me after they realized I was more or less a bartender and not a professional baseball player.

“They’ll come,” Easton stated as we continued to get dressed in our Vegas hotel room.

“It’s been over five years since they walked out the doors of Halo and never looked back.”

“If they don’t show, I’ll never mention them again.”

“If they don’t show, I’m having your parents officially adopt me.”

Easton grinned. “They’d like that.”

We took an Uber to the Royal Resort just off the Strip, and after indulging in a steak dinner at The Barrymore, Easton and I took an Uber to the Palms Casino Resort.

“You really want to go to the Palms and not just drink on the Strip?” I asked Easton, who was sitting next to me in the backseat of the stranger’s car.

“I’ve heard celebrities like to go there, so I thought we could check it out and then work our way back to the Strip.”

“You want to meet a celebrity?”

He shrugged. “I mean, who doesn’t? I thought it would be cool to maybe run into one.”

“And what?”

Easton shrugged a shoulder again. “Tell them you’re getting married.”

I chuckled. “And invite whomever to be a guest?”

He rolled his eyes. “Nah. I just figured that you wouldn’t want to go to a strip joint or a club, and this was a good way to get free drinks.”

“So we’re gambling?”

“When in Vegas, right?”

“Right,” I agreed. “But we could have done that on the Strip.”

“We’ve done the Strip before.”

It wasn’t our first time in Sin City. Before Easton moved to New York, and while I was in college, we’d take a weekend or two to party every summer. Hence, why he got divorced—he did whatever the fuck he wanted to do, and Dana got sick of it. I knew he was older and wiser now and would never do anything to hurt Brooke. If he did, he’d have to answer to Nicole, and that wouldn’t be pretty.

The driver pulled up to the front doors of the hotel, and we slid out and walked into the smoky casino.

“What do you want to play first?” I asked.

“It’s your night, man. I’ll just do whatever you want to do.”