“You don’t get to talk to me,” I informed her. “You gave up that right.”
I grabbed Tria by the hand and half dragged her back to where we had been sitting. There were a few murmurs from the crowd, but most were still just watching me.
I didn’t give a flying fuck.
When we reached the table, I grabbed the little clutch purse off the back of the chair and shoved it at Tria. The champagne glass had been magically filled again, and I remembered there was one thing I still had to do, so I grabbed the crystal flute and held it up high.
“You should have known this was going to happen,” I called out to everyone around. “This isn’t the t
oast I originally planned, but maybe this will serve as a lesson to all of you. I know you didn’t really want me here in the first place, but you asked, and here I am. So here’s to my cousin Ryan and his far from blushing bride: with any luck, our family won’t kill off everything you love!”
I drained the glass and threw it on the table. It knocked a bunch of stuff around, but didn’t actually break, unfortunately. I was half tempted to pick it up and throw it again, but that desire wasn’t nearly as predominant as the need to just get the hell out of there. I grabbed Tria and started shoving our way through the crowd. People moved away as I approached, parting like the Red Sea as I made my way toward the exit. I didn’t make eye contact with any of them.
Even though I didn’t want to, I couldn’t help but see the faces of my family as I left.
Amanda was glaring daggers, not surprisingly.
Ryan just looked at the ground, his jaw tight with his teeth clenched.
Chelsea had her hands over her mouth.
Michael’s face showed nothing but pity.
My father—Douglass Teague, the richest man in the county—just stared, openmouthed.
It was the last face that tore into me, though.
My mother stood in the middle of the dance floor with tears running down her face.
I felt the bile rise in my throat, but I locked it down as I made my escape, Tria dragging behind me. I was a little disoriented at first—there were people standing all around just inside the doors of the club—and I wasn’t sure what direction all the cars were parked. I wasn’t even sure which car I was going to seek out—the limo or Michael’s Rolls.
The door swung open with a bang, eliciting a grumbled reprimand by one of the people working at Sophia’s. As soon as the cool air hit me, so did the drink. I stumbled a little on the steps, which nearly brought Tria down as well.
A camera’s flash went off.
“Liam!” Tria screeched. “Slow down! I can’t run in these shoes!”
“Then fucking ditch them!” My fingers tightened on her hand as I brought her closer. I wanted to put my arm around her to help her along, but I was afraid I wasn’t quite in control enough to do that.
Actually, I was feeling pretty seriously out of control, and I quickly realized that it wasn’t just the rage. As we headed around the back of the building, I saw where the cars were parked and quickly found a convenient shrub and waited for dinner to emerge.
It didn’t, but my head continued to spin.
“Liam, you need to sit down,” Tria said. I nodded, and she helped me over to the edge of the building and sat me down on the grass.
My stomach rolled again, but apparently I wasn’t going to puke. I didn’t think I had consumed that much champagne, but evidently I was a little low on tolerance these days. It hadn’t seemed like too much, but my spinning head disagreed. Of course, there were the whiskey shots before we headed to the wedding as well, but that had been hours ago.
I realized Tria was trying to talk to me, but my ears were ringing, and I couldn’t make out what she was trying to say. When I didn’t respond, she placed her hands on my cheeks and turned my head to look at her.
“Do I need to take you to the hospital?” Her words finally broke through the haze, and I shook my head a bit.
“I’m fine,” I tried to say, but I wasn’t sure how it came out. I grabbed the tie and pulled the knot out and then unbuttoned the first three buttons of my shirt.
Tria sat back on her heels and sighed heavily.
“I wish I had my purse,” she mumbled.
I tilted my head to look up at her, then down to the little clutch purse wrapped around her wrist. I knew I had gone back for it—I wasn’t that out of it—so what was she complaining about?