We lean against the rail, side by side, watching the moon.
Inside, the party rages on.
Out here, it’s just us, alone and unbreakable.
I reach for his hand. He takes it, interlaces our fingers.
He looks at me. “Ready to go?” he says.
I nod, but I don’t let go of his hand.
He opens the door, and the noise from inside crashes over us. Every head turns as we enter, some curious, some hungry, some just wanting to see who’s on top tonight.
Colton walks me through the crowd, hand at my waist, daring anyone to get in the way.
No one does.
I feel eyes on me. Whispers like knives in my back. But I keep my chin high, keep my hand in his, and let him lead.
He finds the Boys at the bar. Bam is already half-drunk, and Rhett’s tie is off, shirt open at the throat. The girls sit a few feet away, engrossed in conversation. They see us coming, and both raise their glasses.
“Jesus,” says Bam, “did you two kill a man out there?”
Colton grins. “Nah.”
Rhett looks at me, and for once, there’s nothing cold in his face. Just respect.
“Welcome to the family,” he says.
I don’t answer, just lean against Colton, let him hold me up.
A server passes with a tray of champagne. Colton takes two, hands me one. My hands are still shaking, but I manage to keep the glass steady.
We clink, and I drink. It’s cold, dry, perfect.
I look up at Colton. His eyes are softer now, the storm receding. He looks at me like I’m a secret only he knows.
“We’re heading home.” Colt says.
Bam nods, “Steele is gunna be pissed.”
“Couldn’t give half a fuck.”
Rhett rolls his eyes. “Come to the cabins tomorrow, Issy has been getting yours ready for you guys. Nesting or some shit.”
I smile. “We will be there.”
He kisses my forehead, and I feel the warmth all the way to my bones.
Chapter 18: Colton
Thethingaboutcrowdsis that they move in patterns. You can watch the flow, predict the next moment, see the weak points forming before anyone else does. I spot three. None are the exit.
Eve’s hand is small in mine. Her nails dig into my knuckle, but she doesn’t notice. The champagne in her glass is gone. She clutches the empty stem.
We cross the ballroom, slipping between legacy sons and their invisible dates, funders with eyes like microscopes.
Until we hit the door.
