I attempt a smile and nod. “I’m sure he’s just tired from having to cover the bar last night while I was at the concert.” I scoot back from the table and place my napkin next to my nearly untouched plate. “I’ll go check on him.”
Walking into the kitchen, I see him pouring himself some vodka. Not a shot, though. No, he’s taken a full glass from the cabinet and is filling it up as if he’s pouring himself a glass of water.
I didn’t even know he knew where my parents kept the hard stuff.
I watch as he downs it, places the glass on the counter, and begins the process all over again.
I slow blink. I’ve never seen him drink like this, and I’m kind of shell-shocked, wondering what could have caused it. Is my family that insufferable? Is that why he avoids family dinners?
“So your brother bails to take care of his sick girlfriend, and the rest of the band’s a no-show as well?”
“What?”
He knocks back some more vodka and then turns toward me. His head hangs low, and his gaze is weary. “You’re always going on about how your parents treats everyone like family. Zander, Asher…even that Hollis guy you were texting.” My pulse quickens. “So where are they? If they’re family, shouldn’t they fucking be here?”
My brow furrows as I try to make sense of what he means. Zander usually shows up, but he’s spending a quiet day at home with Elena and their daughter before they have to hit the road again. They don’t get much alone time,” I try to explain, but he cuts me off.
“And Asher? I thought he was a regular at the Creed family dinners now?” His voice is growing louder. I take a step forward, trying to quell some of his nerves.
Maybe he just feels intimidated, what with the band stopping in LA last night and everyone talking about the concert at dinner. “Asher’s only been to dinner once, and you know you’re considered family too,” I press, reaching out to try to soothe him, but he pulls away.
It feels like a slap to the face.
“This whole night was a waste of my time,” he mutters.
“What do you mean it was a waste of your time?”
He lifts his head and looks at me. His eyes are glassy, and his expression grim. “Not all of us have daddies who can just snap their fingers and get us signed on a world tour. Some of us have to do whatever it takes to get noticed.”
Noticed? That’s when it hits me. He didn’t come here tonight to spend time with my family or even as a favor to me. He came hoping the guys from Manic were here and he’d make some connections.
My family tried to warn me.He asks too many questions about Dad’s clients, Pres. He told Cash he used our last name to get into a club the other night.He texted Myles asking about acting gigs.I refused to believe he’d use me like that.
I refused to believe any of it.
God, I’m such an idiot.
Before I have a chance to reply, he grabs the vodka bottle and heads for the sliding glass door that leads to the deck.
“Where are you going?”
“To the beach,” he replies harshly. “Don’t follow me.”
I feel tears stinging the backs of my eyes, knowing my family probably heard every word of our heated conversation. “Wasn’t planning on it.” Then, before he walks out, I add, “Oh, and Jace, don’t bother coming back. We’re over.”
He snorts, muttering under his breath. The door slams behind him, making me jump. I stand there staring at the empty glass on the counter. My lip starts to wobble, and I hate it.
I hate the way he makes me feel.
Weak, insecure, and untethered.
I glance toward the dining room, where I know my family is waiting to offer words of encouragement and support.
But I just can’t.
Not yet.
There is just one person I want to talk to, and I don’t know why.
