Chapter Six
Beck
Jordan tugs on my arm and I look down at her. “What’s up?”
“Did Griff invite your dad?”
“No, why?”
“He’s here.”
My eyes snap up to look in the direction where Jordan flicks hers. Sure enough, my father is headed for me. I wouldn’t put it past him to show without an invite, the entitled jerk he is, but I note the woman beside him. Vienna, my agent. Griff’s agent, or former agent now that he doesn’t compete. Did she invite him? I know they both live in the same city not far from Jay Beach, but the odds of them running in the same circles seems low. Or maybe not.
My dad’s been recognized as one of the top plastic surgeons in the state, maybe even the nation, I’m not sure, for years now. I’ve seen his name and even pictures in magazines. Because of that recognition, he’s expensive and has an exclusive clientele. It feeds his ego when he treats celebrities, and sometimes he even manages to wiggle his way into their social circles. They both live in one of the most celeb-heavy suburbs of LA. It’s completely possible Dad’s new lady friend is my agent.
My good mood threatens to turn as my mind accepts what’s happening here.
The man knows full well he’s not welcome tonight, but no one watching would suspect it with the way he approaches us. “Beckett, it’s good to see you.” He also knows I won’t make a scene at such an important event, and goes in for a hug.
“Marie, Marco, nice to see you both,” he greets them with that same entitlement and arrogance that makes me feel a little sick. It’s not that I never noticed it before, but at some point over the past year or so, I’ve stopped making myself tolerate it. Stopped trying to convince myself he’s anything but what he’s so clearly shown me he is: a self-involved jerk.
My mom plays along, responding politely. She accepted long ago what he is and while seeing her ex-husband is never exactly pleasant, she doesn’t get rattled. They’ve run into one another plenty over the years, usually because of my skateboarding competitions, and as far as I can tell, Mom doesn’t let him get to her. She does seem to be eyeing him suspiciously tonight though, probably noting my annoyance at seeing him and wondering how he got in if he wasn’t invited.
Dad turns to Jordan. “Great seeing you again, Jordan. How have you been?” Instead of shaking her hand he wraps both of his around one of hers and gives it a pat, conveying she’s extra special.
“I’m fine.”
Vienna finally gets the nerve to address me. “Beck, I’ve been trying to call you all week,” she says. “I guess now that I’ve got you in person I can tell you that I’m here with your dad.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” She looks flustered, and I try not to jump to conclusions, but damn. What is she doing with him? Vienna’s not only a good decade or two older than Dad’s usual women, but she’s also smart, savvy, and got her own thriving career. So, not his type.
Vienna asks how everything is going tonight, and engages my mom and step-dad, whom she met once before years ago. I’m only half engaged myself because Dad has turned to Jordan for some private discussion. I hear him apologizing for the photos from the wedding, explaining he now understands from Vienna just how much havoc they wreaked. He doesn’t understand though, not really. Those pictures made the minor trolling and spiteful comments go from tolerable to unendurable. It’s what caused my girl to take a crash that sent her to the ER, had her out of college a semester, and even made her break up with me. We’re still wondering when or if there will be more backlash from that. Suddenly, I’m not feeling like I can fake my way through this and hold it together for Griff’s sake. When I turn and see Dad’s hand on Jordan’s shoulder, false sincerity on his face, I see red.
“You know what? I’m not doing this.” I grab Jordan’s hand and practically rip her away from my dad. If I thought I’d resolved everything with Dad by shutting him down on one phone call, I was wrong. Years of unexpressed anger rise to the surface, and I’m feeling a little unhinged with the power of those emotions.
It’s not until we’re a safe distance away that I realize I’m half dragging Jordan with me. My hold softens but I don’t let her go, even as I apologize.
There’s a mixture of confusion and concern on her face, but we’re not hashing this out here. I can already feel the weight of curious eyes, and I don’t need to bring my daddy issues to Brazen’s doorstep. Dad might have been hoping for that outcome, but I’ve still got some self-control.
We make it out the back door and I gulp in the cooler air.
Jordan tentatively rubs my back as I look up at the sky and attempt to bring myself down a few notches.
“What do you need?” she asks. In this moment, I am so damn grateful for her. She doesn’t push about what the hell my dad’s doing with my agent or force me to try to explain why I’m practically shaking over such a seemingly benign exchange.
“Is there a parking garage around here?” I wonder. I’d love to get some speed and rip down an empty lot.
“I’m not sure, and could be busy on a Saturday night.”
She pulls me toward her, and the shaking subsides. “I’ve got a better idea.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You’re not the only one who’s broken some rules to get that rush.”
“What rush are we talking about?”
“Downhill speed on a skateboard. Get your mind out of the gutter, Beck, you’re the only one I’ve ever had the other kind of rush with.”
That reminder definitely brings my mood up a few notches.
“Wait here, I’ll grab our boards.” She’s only gone a minute, but it’s enough time for some guilt to set in about ditching the party.
Jordan opens the door and hands me my board. “Maybe we should wait until the party wraps up,” I tell her.
“Hey, I know you’re the vice president, and Griff is your best friend, but we’ll only be gone a little while. You already talked to everyone on your list, and you’ll only spend the next hour dodging your dad anyway. Let’s take a break and I’m sure it will still be in full swing when we get back. I mean, there are over two hundred people in there, I doubt anyone will notice we’re gone.”
“You’ve convinced me,” I admit, grabbing her hand and stepping on my board. “Where to?”
She takes me through the downtown sidewalks toward the mansions overlooking the ocean.
“How do you feel about climbing a fence to get on private property?” she asks as we get closer to the gated community.
“If it’s for a good cause, I’m down.”
“So I’ve never been in there, but every time we drive by I think about how there’s gotta be some great hills with zero traffic.”
The homes are all on a hill, spread out on large-sized lots.
“Good call, Hotshot. I bet half the homes in there are celebrities’ second homes and empty anyway.”
The gate is closed of course, but there’s no attendant. Assuming there’s a security camera at the gate, we skirt the outside until we reach the corner where the community’s clubhouse and pool are located. We can’t actually see a pool since the gate is really a giant wall, but we can smell the chlorine. We stand there for a minute, trying to figure out how we’re going to climb a ten-foot wall.