I take a deep breath and exhale. I’m ready for this.
Skylar and I stand at the entrance to the ballroom to greet guests as they come in, while Tristan mingles with everyone inside. Tonight is all about getting cheques out of these high-class attendees to donate to charity. Westbrook Inc. chooses a new charity each year, and this year the money is going to a popular LGBTQ+ support for adolescents organization that Tristan handpicked from hundreds of applications. Most of the attendees of this event are businesspeople and friends of Tristan’s, meaning they have the money we need to be donated.
I shake hands with an endless line of people entering the room. By the end of it, my mouth aches from smiling so much, but I feel good. Potential donors soon fill the entire room. While my job this evening is far from over, this is a decent start.
I spend most of the event chatting with some of the most successful businesspeople in Rockdale. It’s a dream come true for any business major, and I’m taking full advantage of the networking opportunity. Graduation is always on my mind, especially as it inches closer.
Tristan makes his annual speech, discussing in detail the organization set to receive this year’s charity, and wraps up by thanking guests for coming and donating generously.
I find him after he exits the stage and hand him a glass of champagne. “Nice speech,” I say.
“I should’ve had you make it,” he says, clinking his glass against mine before taking a sip. “You’ve put the most work into this event.”
I shrug. “Tonight isn’t about me. It’s about the amazing people who are willing to give donations to make a real change.”
“You’re right. Tonight may not be about you,” he says as he takes my champagne flute and sets it beside his on a banquet table, “but the next few minutes can be. Dance with me, Rory.”
I place my hand on his extended one and let him lead me onto the dance floor as the female musician starts playing a new song. Tristan clasps my hand in his and places his other on my waist while I rest mine on his shoulder. We step in time to the music, and I use this opportunity to glance around the room. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves; I can’t help but beam with pride.
“I can feel that,” Tristan says, offering me a faint smile.
I lift my eyes to his. “Good.”
We dance until the song ends, and he pulls me against him. “Tonight is amazing. The donations are pouring in. Congratulations on a successful event, sweetheart.” He smiles at me. “I have to speak to some people, but I’ll find you later.”
I squeeze his hand before letting go. “Of course. I’ll be around here somewhere.”
He tweaks my chin, and his signature smirk sends my heart racing as he leaves me standing off to the side of the room, surveying my success.
My chest feels light and happy as I watch guests dance around me. I couldn’t picture how this event would turn out—nothing would measure up to how wonderful this is.
As I’m grabbing another drink from the bar, I catch Skylar waving me over from behind the donation table. I’m heading toward her when one of the hotel employees taps my shoulder and leans close to my ear. “Your phone keeps going off.”
I forgot I’d left it on one of the tables. “I’m a little busy right now,” I say, not wanting to keep Skylar waiting.
“It appears to be your mother.”
I huff out a breath and take the phone from her, my drink in the other hand. “Thank you,” I say, trying to be polite.
I exit the room and walk into the lobby as my phone buzzes again. “Mom, what’s going on? Is everything all right?”
“Aurora.” Her tone makes my heart stop. “Aurora, honey, we need you to come home.”
I swallow. “What happened?” The room feels too warm, too small as it closes in on me, so I retreat outside. The cool night air touches my skin, but little relief follows.
“Your brother got a lot sicker,” my mom says, and her voice breaks at the end. She sniffles as if she’s fighting back tears, and my stomach plummets.
“Mom, I need you to keep talking. Tell me what’s going on.”
She takes a deep breath. “Adam got pneumonia while he was in the hospital. His body is so weak from the chemo . . . he’s struggling to fight it off.”
The glass slips out of my hand and shatters against the marble step. I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them, my vision is blurry.
“Your father and I are both here at the hospital with him.”
I cover my eyes with my free hand. “I’m coming home,” I cry.
“Your father can come get you,” she says in a hoarse voice.
“No.” I wipe my cheeks, but it’s pointless; more tears spring into my eyes and fall. “I’ll take the train or something. I’ll find a way home.” A lump forms in my throat, making it hard to speak. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I end the call and stand frozen in place, staring straight ahead as I sob. Too many things are rushing through my head. Oh god, Adam must be terrified. How are my parents functioning right now? I give up trying to fight back tears and cry until my eyes hurt and there’s nothing left. My stomach coils up tight, and I think I’m going to throw up all over the steps of the Westbrook Hotel. Willing the nausea to fade, I press a shaky hand to my mouth.
This isn’t fair. Adam was doing so well. He’s the last person to deserve this.
I walk back into the hotel where the gala is in full swing. I stop at the coat check to grab my clutch and ask one of the employees to tell Tristan I had to leave.
Hurrying out of the lobby to the front of the hotel, I pull out my phone to call a cab. I’m bringing the phone to my ear, and then I’m spinning around at the hands of Tristan.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
Turning my face away, my hair falls forward. “I have to leave.” I try to keep my tone casual, but my voice cracks.
He grasps my chin and turns my face to look at him. “Are you crying?” His forehead creases. “I saw you leave. What happened between then and now?
I shake my head. “Tristan, please,” I beg, and dammit, the tears are back. I blink, and they fall, dripping onto his hand.
He lets go of me. “Tell me what’s going on, Rory,” he says in a gentle voice.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Adam has pneumonia.”
Tristan’s brows tug together. “What do you need? What can I do?”
“Nothing. I need to go home.” I don’t want to ask him, but the words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Will you . . . take me?”
“If that’s what you want, of course I will.”
I wipe my cheeks dry and nod.
“I’ll have my car brought around.”