"God, no! It makes me admire you more. You built yourself up from nothing. You created your own life. I'm still playing by my parents' rules."
"You're breaking those rules more than you realize," he says. "What you did tonight for Rainbow Haven?—"
I don't let him finish. Instead, I close the distance between us and kiss him. Not like our snowball fight kiss, which was all heat and confusion, but something softer, more deliberate, a choice.
He responds immediately, his hand coming up to cup my face, holding me like I'm something precious. When we break apart, his eyes are dark in the moonlight.
"Still pretending?" he asks quietly.
Shaking my head. "No. Not for a while now. You?"
"No," he admits. "Not since the snowball fight. Maybe before."
I feel lighter than I have all night. "Good."
We're still standing close when Gavin emerges from the hotel, looking odd.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah, fine," he says with a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. "Just tired. Let's head back."
As we walk to the car, James has gone quiet. He's holding my hand, but he seems distracted, like his mind is somewhere else.
Something happened inside, something I missed.
But as we drive away from my father's world and back toward campus, toward what's becoming our world, I decide it can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, despite everything, feels like a win.
James's thumb traces circles on my palm while Gavin snores from the backseat.
And for once, that's enough.
Chapter 18
Grumpy in the Streets, Vocal in the Sheets
JAMES
The car is quiet except for Gavin's snoring in the backseat. Caleb drives, one hand on the wheel, the other finding mine in the darkness. The fundraiser's done, but Caleb's father's voice still rings in my ears, that surprise confrontation playing on repeat. The whole conversation is playing back.
"You need to understand your place in this situation, Mr. Hunter." His smile is all teeth and never reaches his eyes as he corners me by the bar. "We've looked into your background thoroughly."
"My background?" It is hard to keep my voice level as heat rises up my neck.
"Foster care. Scholarships. Working your way through university." He said it like I had some communicable disease. "Commendable, of course, but hardly the connections my son needs for his future. Caleb comes from a certain world?—"
"A world that uses him as a political prop?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
His smile tightened. "My son understands family duty. This..." he gestured vaguely in my direction, "phase with you will pass. Eventually, he'll return to dating someone appropriate."
"Someone like Christopher Montgomery?"
The color drains from his face in an instant before blood rushes back in a crimson wave of fury and embarrassment. His jaw clenches tight, and for a moment, I think he might actually swing at me right here in front of all his wealthy donors and political allies.
"You have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," he hisses, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that somehow carries more menace than if he'd shouted. His perfectly manicured fingers grip his whiskey tumbler so hard I'm surprised the crystal doesn't shatter. "You're some nobody from nowhere making wild accusations."
But I see it in his eyes, the panic. The recognition that I know exactly what happened four years ago, and, more importantly, how he handled it. How he chose his political career over protecting his own son.
"Yeah, I know about that predator and how you all not only covered it up but made your son out to be the bad guy." I move close and lower my voice. "What kind of fucking parent are you? I may have grown up in foster care, but even I know that is fucked up. Now I'm going back to your son. He should have someone here tonight who actually cares about him."
