"Us?" I slid my gaze toward the other two men, ready to tell Dylan that there was no us since neither one of them had been there. Whatever argument I was going to use died a swift death when Tristan slid to a stop next to us. He'd been the third in our party of three last night.
"Yeah. I'm all ears. Spill it. Who was she?"
"Nobody. Just a girl I met." Guilt nibbled at the edges of my conscience and I ruthlessly pushed it away. At least, I tried to. I don't think I was very successful.
"Why do I think there's a hell of a lot more you're not saying?"
"There's not. We met a few weeks ago. We were having fun. That was it, end of story."
"Was?" Dylan leaned closer, not bothering to hide his obvious interest. "You're legit not seeing her anymore?"
After my colossal fuck up last night? Probably not. No way in hell was I telling these assholes that, though. But something probably showed on my face because Dylan tilted his head back and laughed.
"Yeah. Thought so. I just can't believe you were fucking stupid enough to stand her up, though."
"You're the one who insisted I join you guys last night."
"Then that makes you a damn fool. I'd've told myself to get fucking lost. Shame on you for being a dumb ass."
"Yeah, well..." I let my voice trail off. No way was I going to agree with him—but I also couldn't argue with him. "Not like I can do anything about it now."
"The hell you can't. You call that sweet little thing then get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness."
"Not happening."
"Then stand out of my way because I sure as hell will."
Anger flared in my chest and I slid closer, coming nose-to-nose with Dylan. "The hell you will."
"Hey, you just said it wasn't happening—"
"Because I don't know how to get in touch with her." The admission came out of nowhere, followed by immediate regret. I didn't want these guys to know anything about me—we weren't close, not like a real team. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But it was too late because I'd opened my damn mouth and said too much and stunned all four of them.
Tristan shifted on his skates, opened his mouth to say something—part of me was afraid to hear it—but he was cut off by the piercing shrill of Coach's whistle. I looked over my shoulder and swallowed a groan when Coach motioned everyone to center ice. He looked pissed. And while that seemed to be a normal condition for him, something about his clenched jaw and pursed lips made my stomach twist in dread and I had a feeling we were about to be introduced to a fresh new hell.
We gathered around, wariness evident in the set of every single man's shoulders as we waited for whatever punishment Coach was ready to mete out. I exchanged a quick glance with Dylan and Tristan, tightened the grip around my stick, and braced myself.
I thought I was ready. Thought I was set. But nothing I could have done would have prepared me for the coach's next words.
"I hope all you assholes have your formal wear unpacked. Apparently we're all going to a fucking ball Saturday night, courtesy of Mr. Landry."
Chapter Six
Addy
The heavy air laden with humidity and the faint scent of a sweet floral perfume drifted around me, aided by the lazy spin of the fans overhead. This portion of the veranda had been widened and partially enclosed with a low wall years ago, long before I was born, in a well-meaning but inadequate attempt to combine the beauty of the outdoors with the cool welcoming of indoors. The result now was nothing more than a stifling atmosphere that suffocated everyone who had the misfortune of sitting out here among luscious palms and an abundance of wicker and white wrought iron.
And right now, I happened to be the unfortunate one, forced to sit at a wrought iron table that wobbled ever-so-slightly when I shifted my arms on the rough surface. The table was probably older than I was, a leftover from my grandparents or maybe even my great-grandparents. It had been painted and stripped and sanded and repainted more times than I could count but didn't look any different than it had when I was a young girl. The same could be said for the matching chair I was sitting in, a heavy monstrosity designed to silently torture its occupant despite the colorful cushion beneath my bottom.
If I didn't know any better, I'd think my father chose this space for our conversation just to add to my current misery. But I did know better and knew he'd asked to meet out here because he loved this veranda. The openness, the airiness—at least when it wasn't quite so stifling outside—the illusion of welcoming shade, and the gentle sound of trickling water coming from the fountain a few yards away. I'd much prefer being inside where it was cooler, even if that meant being stuck in the tomb of his dark office that still held the faint scent of cigars and pipes smoked by men dead-and-buried decades ago.
But Daddy preferred being out here so this is where we sat, drinking sweet tea from tall glasses wrapped in condensation and pretending we weren't melting as quickly as the ice in our drinks.
I reached for my tea, brushed the sweat from the side with a napkin, and took a small sip. Waiting. Wondering. Dreading. I had no idea what Daddy wanted and he didn't seem to be in any hurry to tell me. For reasons I didn't understand, that made me even more anxious than I already was.
I didn't want to be here. Wished I could be back in the Quarter, reciting my long list of woes to a sympathetic Jacqui. I'd been in a funk for the last two days, ever since Nathan-the-ass had stood me up. That was two days too long as far as I was concerned, even if that first day had been nothing more than a blur thanks to my pounding head and queasy stomach. Nathan had been an uncharacteristic one-night stand that had simply gone on for too long. It was time to get over it and move on. I had an entire life filled with possibilities stretched out before me, I just needed to reach for them.
And I would—as soon as I figured out which possibilities I wanted to pursue. As soon as I figured out what it was I really wanted to do.
As soon as I stopped nursing the broken heart in my chest.
A wave of anger washed over me, surprising me with its intensity. It wasn't the first time I'd experienced it in the last couple of days but this time was a little different because it wasn't anger at Nathan, it was anger at myself. I had no business moping around, feeling sorry for myself because Nathan had stood me up. So what if he had? We didn't have a relationship. We had zero expectations and absolutely no commitment to each other. I had no business being angry or hurt over the fact that he'd made other plans. And I certainly had no business wallowing in this funk that had been with me for the last forty-eight hours.
I took another sip of the tea then lowered the glass, tightening my hand around it for a brief second before letting go and sitting back. I curled my fingers into the gauzy fabric of the sundress I wore, readjusted the hem so it fell in a graceful wave around my legs, then turned a bright smile on my father.
He blinked and leaned away from the table and I wondered if maybe my smile was too bright. Too forced. I cleared my throat and aimed for another smile, one that was a bit more subdued.
"How is your new investment coming along, Daddy?"
My question disarmed him, just as I had planned. His broad face, only now starting to show the first lines of age, changed from quiet speculation to excited animation. A sparkle appeared in dark eyes so much like mine as he sat back and clasped his large hands in his lap.