Page 36 of Reality With You (Arden Beach #1)
E veryone filed into the Brenner Hall, a two-story, dome-shaped room with a large window at the ceiling’s center offering a view into the aquarium. Marine life floated above them. A stage stood at the far end while several round tables, each with seating for eight, filled the rest of the space.
The Stricklands and Carmichaels had a table reserved at the front. Eddie and his wife, Janine, joined them. Lennon’s gaze wandered the room, almost missing that Dylan had pulled out a chair for her and waited for her to take a seat. “Oh—thanks.” She smiled at the gesture.
As they settled in, Lennon continued to search for Harold, assuming the press were allowed into the ceremony. Her spine pressed rigidly against the chair’s gold spindles.
Dylan rested his hand on the back of her chair, leaning toward her. “You OK?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah. Fine.”
“You’re lying,” he whispered. “Did something happen while I was gone?”
Just your father and an uncomfortably perceptive stranger telling me I made a mistake coming back .
“We’ll talk later,” Lennon insisted.
Dylan assessed her a moment longer, concern etched in his expression, but he ultimately relented.
Once all the guests had arrived, the media followed, lining up at the back of the room. Two High Wave Productions cameramen flanked the space to cover both angles while her buddy Harold stood beside the one directly facing Lennon and Dylan. He sent her a smile and a little nod.
Lennon subtly scratched her nose with her middle finger, then planted her attention at the front of the room as the lights dimmed. A statuesque, voluptuous brunette took the stage, introducing herself as one of the magazine’s frequent swimsuit cover models and the ceremony’s host for the evening.
Dylan was right—the ceremony was boring. The magazine handed out several awards for people in the sports industry, some of whom were athletes, but most operated behind the scenes. After a very long hour and a half, it was finally time for the Lifetime Achievement Award.
“To present one of the most prestigious awards of the evening is a special guest—one of Playmakers Quarterly ’s esteemed board members,” announced the host, a little glint in her eye. “Please welcome to the stage, Nolan Pierce.”
As the room erupted in applause, the Strickland/Carmichael table went notably still. It took a few seconds for the name to click in before Lennon remembered he was the billionaire trying to buy the Tidebreakers.
The son of the man Dylan was convinced had arranged his father’s injury at Rhett’s first shot at the National Series.
The color drained from Dylan’s face. Lennon followed his attention to Rhett, whose stoic expression had turned particularly cold.
They exchanged glances around the table.
Eddie silently communicated his displeasure to their circle but raised his hands to join the applause, encouraging them to do the same.
A man in a slim-cut tuxedo jogged up the stage steps as he buttoned his jacket.
Though not classically handsome in the way some of the athletes that had graced the stage that night were, he was roguishly good-looking—a slightly crooked nose, a full bottom lip, and dark eyes framed by a strong brow that had the beautiful host preening when he fixed them on her.
He carried himself with a smooth, easy stride and a hint of trouble in his smile, which deepened as he took her hand.
He whispered something that made her blush before he settled in at the podium.
“Good evening,” Nolan said as the applause abated.
“I’d apologize for being late, but judging by the glazed look in everyone’s eyes, for once, I may be the smartest person in the room.
” Laughter trickled through the audience.
“The board and I will have a chat about making things more exciting next year. I almost didn’t make it tonight, but as luck would have it, I was able to get here in time to hand out the most prestigious award of the night.
” His gaze found Eddie, sharpening around the edges.
He inclined his head slightly. “Though, I’ll admit, when they asked me to present the Lifetime Achievement award to Edward Carmichael, no one was more surprised than me.
” Nolan paused to watch the audience, the room suspended in quiet uncertainty.
“I mean, the man doesn’t even have grey hair yet. At least, not that we can see.”
Everyone relaxed into another wave of laughter. Eddie smiled tightly.
“Actually, I admire Edward,” Nolan said, his rich, warm timbre sinking lower.
“It’s no secret we have our differences.
But what we do have in common is our dedication and love of baseball, and I respect commitment when I see it.
Over the last few decades, he and his family have contributed more than $100 million in funding and resources to youth and outreach programs, particularly in underprivileged communities.
If he did decide to walk away from it all tomorrow, he’d have a hell of a run under his belt. ”
Nolan regarded Eddie again, this time with a smile loaded with subtext. A muscle pulsed along Dylan’s jawline. Lennon reached out under the table, curling her fingers around his hand resting on his leg. He exhaled slowly and squeezed her hand back, his glare fixed on the stage.
“Everyone, give a round of applause for Edward Carmichael,” Nolan declared, leading the charge.
Thankfully, the Lifetime Achievement Award was the last of the evening, with only a few closing statements to follow. While the Carmichaels hung back to accept congratulations from fellow attendees, Dylan clearly couldn’t get out of that room fast enough. He bolted for the doors.
Lennon and Erin followed him out to the exhibits, where small clusters of guests were passing through to head to the bar, restroom, or exit entirely, while the majority stayed behind, giving him space to let off steam in a quiet corner. The press hadn’t even dispersed yet.
“Well, that surprise was about as fun as your period starting during sex,” Erin remarked as she leaned against the smooth wall, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I didn’t even know he was involved with PQ.” Lennon gently arched her back in a stretch, thankful to be standing and for the blood to be flowing back to her legs. “That guy seems to have his hands in everything.”
Dylan paced between them, hands shoved in his pockets. “Yeah, well, I’ll be damned if he gets them on the Tidebreakers.”
The man didn’t know stillness when something bothered him.
It was like all the energy from it went straight to his muscles and the only way he could expel it was by moving.
Lennon imagined that was part of why he liked to drink—it was the easy way to shut it off.
Easier than it had been to talk to his wife about it.
An all too familiar sense of dread pressed against her ribs as she watched a storm build behind his eyes.
“That sounds dangerously close to a threat,” Nolan remarked as he strolled up to them, one hand relaxed in his pants pocket. He sounded almost bored as he checked his watch. “Should I be concerned?”
Dylan came to a stop but didn’t bother turning all the way to face him, glowering at him sidelong. “We don’t all resort to hurting people to get what we want. That’s more your family’s style, Nolan.”
“You sure about that?” Nolan shifted his gaze to Lennon. She scowled at him for using their marriage as a way to hit back at Dylan. His eyes ventured lower with a devilish glint, hooking on her dress.
Dylan stepped between them, partially blocking Nolan’s view of Lennon. “Don’t you have a company to poach or a streaming channel to go talk shit on about things you know nothing about?”
Nolan simply canted his head, momentarily regarding Dylan with amusement before returning his attention to Lennon. “Tell me. What is it about the allure of baseball players that makes smart, beautiful women abandon their better judgment?”
“Just say you can’t get a date without paying for it, Nolan,” Erin remarked, still reclining against the wall. It was past the early bird’s bedtime.
Nolan chuckled a deep, throaty sound. “We’re all paying for it in some form, aren’t we?” He winked at her. Erin’s apathetic expression didn’t budge.
“I don’t see anyone here supporting you,” Dylan pointed out. “All that money can’t buy you respect.”
The corner of Nolan’s mouth ticked up. His smirk held, but his eyes turned cold as they landed on Dylan. “No. But apparently, a name can.”
Dylan matched his smug demeanor with a slant of his lips.
“You’re really hung up on that, aren’t you?
” He shrugged a shoulder. “I guess it makes sense. Your father couldn’t make it as a baseball player on his own merit, and now, you’re trying to buy your way in.
But that’s not working so far, either, so all you can do is throw a fit about how unfair life is because you’re named after a twice-bankrupt businessman who made his name from exploiting people rather than athletes respected for their talent and hard work. ”
A long, soft whistle blew through Nolan’s lips.
“Big words from a guy who tanked his marriage and career because he can’t keep his shit together, and now he’s waiting for Daddy Strickland and Uncle Carmichael to bail him out.
I’m curious, how long do you think you’ll last if they aren’t there to clean up your messes? ”
Beneath their calm facades, something volatile was brewing. A chorus of familiar voices spilled through the doors as Rhett and the Carmichaels emerged from Brenner Hall. Their laughter died unceremoniously as attention fell to the heated confrontation between Dylan and Nolan.
Lennon noticed one of the High Wave Productions cameramen looming in the corner. He’d caught it all.
Shit.
“Everything OK out here?” Rhett asked gruffly, the question posed to Dylan while holding Nolan in his crosshairs. Next to him, Eddie cast a shrewd glare while Savannah studied the scene with quiet intrigue.
Nolan emitted a soft, derisive laugh under his breath. “Impeccable timing.”
Erin linked her arm through Dylan’s and Lennon followed suit on the other side. “Come on, Dylan. Let’s go home,” Erin said. “If I wanted to watch a child throw a tantrum, I’d go hang out at a playground.”
As the three of them passed Nolan, Lennon glowered at him. His eyes followed her with something like pity.
They swept through the museum, following signs for the event, which led them to a different exit where the valet was set up.
They stepped out into the warm, fresh air under a porte-cochère that faced a street perpendicular to the bay.
The sounds of engines and horns from Saturday night traffic contrasted with the quiet, elegant museum.
Dylan and Erin handed their tickets to the valet, and two attendants promptly broke into a jog toward the parking lot to retrieve their vehicles.
Dylan blew out a gust of air as he drove his fingers through his hair. “That son of a—”
“Hey, Dylan! Is it true you’re considering offers from other teams?”
Bright camera flashes burst in rapid succession as a mob surrounded them. It all happened so fast, Lennon didn’t even see them coming. Suddenly, several people walled them in. They shouted invasive questions at Dylan and shoved photographs, jerseys, and baseball cards at him to sign.
“Is your suspension going to be permanent?”
“Do you think your father should retire?”
As they all fought for his attention, a man barreled into Lennon, slamming her against the tall valet desk.
Sharp pain exploded in her arm and shoulder.
She folded her arms against her torso as the stranger’s heavy, sweaty body pressed against her, caging her in as he thrust a jersey at Dylan while he recorded him on his phone.
“HEY! Don’t touch her.” Dylan fisted the large man’s shirt and shoved against his chest with his forearm. The crowd gasped as the stranger, a man around his father’s age, almost lost his balance, his phone flying out of his hand and crunching against the pavement.
Dylan turned his back on everyone, creating a barrier between them and Lennon with his body. His attention was locked on her, tense and protective.
“I’m OK,” Lennon assured him, nodding. Her heart jackhammered beneath her ribs.
They both searched for Erin, who waved at them from the doors where she’d retreated from the crowd.
Two security guards emerged beside her. They tried to tame the crowd, but the orders they shouted got lost in the chaos.
“Is Nolan Pierce going to buy the Tidebreakers?” someone yelled. Cellphones and printed photographs jostled around Dylan’s shoulders.
Dylan’s nostrils flared, a firestorm in his eyes.
He glanced over Lennon’s head and his gaze sharpened.
“Come on. Stay close to me.” His fingers threaded through hers.
“Move out of the way,” Dylan yelled, shouldering his way through the crowd toward the street.
Lennon gripped him tightly as she followed him to a luxury sports car as the valet attendant rolled to a stop in front of them.
Dylan yanked open the passenger door and guided her inside.
“Wait, Erin—” Lennon said.
“I’m right here,” Erin shouted back as she came around Dylan’s side. Her convertible was pulling in behind his.
Lennon climbed inside and Dylan shut the door, muffling the noise.
Through the rearview mirror, she watched Dylan and the valet attendant help Erin settle safely into hers.
She kept him in her sightline until he’d jumped in beside her, the shouting momentarily swelling again before he slammed the door, shutting it out.
As he pulled the car forward, Lennon locked eyes with Harold, who stood off to the side. The rock in Lennon’s stomach sank lower. The journalist quirked an eyebrow at her as if to say, “I told you so.”