The Secret (North Woods University 3)
“I’m here. Right here. In the flesh. I’ll protect you, and kick anyone’s ass that fucks with you and remember you have a voice of your own. You can say whatever you want, to whoever you want. No one is going to hurt you, they’ll have to go through me before they get that chance.”
Emerson blinks and it’s like the fog of fear surrounding her lifts. Every day I see her getting stronger, her skin growing a little thicker, her fears becoming a distant memory and no fucking way am I going to let her go back in time, let her lose sight of how far she’s come.
She releases an anxious breath and then sucks in another. She does this a few more times, like she’s building up the courage to move forward.
“Okay, let’s do this. I’m ready.”
Nodding, I press a kiss to her nose, and release her, taking her hand into mine again. We cross the rest of the parking lot and walk up the steps of the country club, and into the event area. There are people dressed to the nine, in elegant dresses, and tuxes. Security is posted at the door, but they don’t even spare me a look as I enter without a word, and why would they? My father all but finances this place. I’ll never understand why this is so important to him. Does he really need to make sure everybody knows he has money?
Emerson hooks her arm into mine, her grip tight as if she is scared I’ll walk off. The place is decorated to look intimate with low lighting, and candles on each of the linen-covered tables. It honestly looks more like a five-star wedding is taking place here then a charity event to benefit those with mental illness.
Inconspicuously I scan the room, finding my father almost immediately. If it wasn’t the tux that screams I have money, or identical hair and eye color that gave him away, it would be the obnoxious sound of his voice. He’s talking loudly, basically yelling, well holding up a glass of champagne. A circle of people surrounding him, listening to him like he is the most interesting person in the room. I can attest to that being false. Then he says something, and everybody breaks out into hearty laughter, and I all but roll my eyes.
No way is their laughter real. The man is the least funny guy on the planet. I’m surprised he even knows what a joke is.
“Let’s show our faces to my father really quick. I’d rather get it over with now, so we have the rest of the evening to do whatever we want,” I tell her.
“Okay, I don’t see my father yet.” I don’t miss the relieved tone in her voice, and I wonder if she actually dislikes her father more than I dislike mine. I find it hard to believe, but then again not really. My father’s a mega asshole, but hers has to be just as bad if he just sent her away in the state she was in when we first met.
We walk over to where my father and his entourage are standing, people are moving out of our way, some stare a bit longer than necessary, but no one says anything. They all nod, and wave, like an army that’s been trained to be seen but never heard. My father’s been making me come to events like this for as long as I can remember, but I’ve never brought a plus one before, never felt the need to, so maybe that’s the reasoning for long glances?
Either way, they better avert their eyes soon otherwise we’ll have problems. Gritting my teeth, I swallow down the anger like acid, forcing it away. My father would kill me, strike me dead if I made a scene by punching one of his guests, so I reel it in, and instead plaster a fake as hell smile on my lips. It doesn’t help.
As soon as my father sees us coming, he stops talking and greets us in only a way my father could, with a flare of dramatics to gather even more attention. “Clark, son, there you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” His hard gaze swings to Emerson who is holding onto my arm like it’s the bar holding in her seat on this crazy-ass rollercoaster ride. “Emerson, you look lovely, beautiful, come have a drink with us.” I don’t know what annoys me more, how fake he is acting, like we’re just this little happy family or the way he is looking at Emerson.
Refusing to choose I go with both.
“Father,” I grit through my smile. “The event looks great. You did a great job.” Forcing the words out is harder than I expected, and I hope he nor anyone else notices.