“I’m just saying, the odds are stacked against you when it comes to making any sort of money at it. Sure, you have your trust, but—”
“I don’t care about making money. I care about beinghappy. Not everything revolves around legacies and net worth,” I snap, my frustration morphing more into anger by the second. “And don’t you dare talk to me about odds being stacked against me when you put one hundred and ten percent of your support behind Oakley playing hockey.”
“It’s different, and you know that.”
A sharp, sardonic laugh slips out, and I shake my head.
“Right. Because it’s in the name,” I mutter, bitterness and resentment finally spilling over.
My father hears it in my voice too. It’s obvious from the way his nostrils flare while he lifts his scotch off the table. “It is. But don’t forget, it’s a name you also bear.”
I can read between the lines of his statement better than I canmy own name.
If it isn’t hockey, you need to do something else with your life. Something that won’t make a mockery of the Reed family.
I glare at him, feeling every bit the petulant child he’s often made me out to be.
I expected tonight to be uncomfortable—I was even prepared for another clash of the titans. I still came, though, despite not wanting to. Still put my best foot forward on a night meant to celebrate him.
But his night or not, I don’t need to stick around and act as his punching bag.
Wiping my mouth, I toss my napkin on the plate I barely touched and push back from the table, careful not to draw too much attention to myself.
“Excuse me, I need some air.”
I bolt from the ballroom, heading toward where I know an attached terrace overlooks Lake Michigan. It’s empty and lit by lamplight, and without thinking, I shove through the glass double doors. The brisk winter air hits me like a freight train the second I step outside, but I ignore the urge to go back in for my coat and stride toward the granite balustrade enclosing the terrace edge.
My palms press against the cool stone, and I take a deep breath in an attempt to temper the frustration welling inside me. It’s gotta be damn near zero degrees, and it feels like shards of ice are stabbing me in the throat with every inhale, but I don’t care. I just focus on the sound of the wind whipping around me as I stare out over the dark, expansive lake, willing myself to calm down.
A few minutes pass like that, the only sound coming from the wind, the crackling ice on the lake, and my breathing. But then I hear the hinges of the glass doors opening and closing again, alerting me that I’m no longer alone. I tense, waiting for eitherof my parents’ voices to echo out into the night. Instead, I’m greeted with the sound of footfalls approaching, only for them to stop as something is draped around my shoulders.
My jacket, I realize.
Gratitude wells within me, and it takes everything I have not to start tearing up—my emotions seemingly coming to a head all at once.
Camden’s tall, limber form leans against the stone railing beside me as I take a moment to slide my arms into the sleeves. His back is to the water, gaze fixed on the doors he’d just come through, when he asks a simple question to break the silence.
“What do you need?”
God,I wish I fucking knew.
“I don’t know,” I answer. Dropping my head back to stare at the sky, I lace my fingers together at the base of my skull. “Just give me a minute.”
“Okay. Take your time,” he murmurs gently.
Silence falls over us again, much like the flurries in the air have begun blanketing the balcony, but once my aggravation subsides, it’s quite comfortable. Peaceful, even. But it doesn’t last for long when all the chatter and festivities happening inside start creeping out into the night, though slightly muted through the glass.
I have to go back inside—I know that—though no part of me wants to. More than anything, I’d like to grab Camden by the arm and get far, far away from this place. Maybe stop somewhere for a slice of Chicago-style pizza before we head back to the townhouse, because the food inside sucks just as much as the company.
Yet I’m still standing here, rooted in place, and making no efforts to change that.
Releasing a long, drawn-out sigh, I shift my focus over to Camden, noting he’s still watching the door, almost like he’splaying bodyguard while I take a moment to have a meltdown. Dressed in his black suit, complete with black button-down and black tie, he almost looks the part. And, yeah, despite how begrudgingly I admitted it earlier, he does look really damn good in it too.
“I was expecting my parents to come find me, not you,” I murmur once I finally find my words again.
His gaze slides to me, those clear blue eyes almost a midnight navy in this lighting. “Your mom tried, but I told them it was probably better I come check on you.”
A rueful little scoff slips out, and I nod.
