“Mr. Worthington,” people call his name out multiple times. He’s the major sponsor of this race and has sponsored my boat for years. He answers the questions, and every so often looks over his shoulder at me and smiles. I don’t even want to know what’s going through his mind right now. He beckons me forward and keeps me under his arm, like a proud father, something my father should be.
“Max, how was the race?” a reporter asks.
“It was good. The weather obviously turned on us, but we have to be prepared for anything when we’re out there.”
“You were the only boat with a three-man crew. Why do you think this works in your favor?”
“Yates and Vance,” I pause and look around for them. I spot them not far and holler for them to come join me. They do, standing on either side of Mr. Worthington. “We’ve been doing this since high school when we were part of the rowing team. We’ve always worked well together when we’re out there. I can’t imagine not having them by my side.”
“We hear congratulations are in order,” another states.
I nod. “Yeah, another win. It’s impressive.” I know full well this isn’t what they’re talking about, but I refuse to indulge in the bullshit that Alyssa is spreading. I thank everyone for coming out and for the support over the years and wave as I walk away from the media setup. I’m determined to find my mom but am ushered toward the yacht club to join the reception.
Fuck.
Everyone inside the reception claps as we enter. I want to feel elated but I’m so damn angry right now. My eyes scan the crowd for my mom and stepdad, once I spot them, I leave Mr. Worthington with whoever he’s speaking with and head toward my family.
“Mom,” I say, getting her attention. Her eyes throw daggers my way and she angrily grabs my arm. “Where’s London?”
“What on earth would you want with that waitress?” my dad’s voice rings out.
“Sheldon,” my mother chides him. “Knock it off. This is not the time nor place to discuss this.”
“Yes, it is,” I retort. My mother isn’t having it though and points toward the wall and motions for me to follow her. I do, with Mark, my dad and Drizella following. Mom waits for the four of us to step into the small conference room and shuts the door.
“Why’s he here?” Dad points to Mark.
“Because she’s here.” Mom does the same thing to Brandy.
“I want to know what the hell is going on, and I want to know where London is. I need to find her.”
“She’s just a waitress. An easy lay,” Brandy says as she looks at her fake nails.
“Just a waitress?” Mom questions. “If I remember correctly, you were a stripper when you got down on your knees and sucked my husband’s—”
Brandy’s mouth drops open, as does my fathers.
“Now, now,” Mark says, interrupting my mom. I want to laugh, but don’t. There is nothing funny about this situation.
“Listen,” I say, holding my hands up. “I don’t know where this shit with Alyssa started, but we broke up. I didn’t put a ring on her finger. I didn’t ask her to marry me. Hell, I didn’t even suggest we get married. I am not with her and I don’t plan to be with her. I want to know what happened today and where London is. Please.”
My mom stands tall after giving my dad and his wife a snide look. “London was with us and everything was going fine. Your father and his wife, while not overly gracious, weren’t rude either. However, Alyssa suddenly arrived,” Mom pauses and looks at Brandy, who is once again looking at her nails. “I have my suspicions, but I’ll keep my theories to myself. She started flashing her hand around and telling us that you asked her to marry you last night.”
“And London was there?”
Mark and my mom nod.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure this out. I wasn’t with London last night, and London is already apprehensive about things with me because she doesn’t feel like she fits in. If I had to guess, she thinks I’ve used her all week for sex, which is the farthest thing from the truth.
“Unbelievable.”
“Son, this is a blessing. Girls like her—”
I hold my hand up. “Don’t. Don’t give me some half-assed lecture about women, especially London. You have no right. You don’t know her, and you completely looked past the idea of her because she’s not on your self-imposed social ladder. Newsflash, Dad. London is better than you, and way better than your gold-digging wife.”
I’m heated and angry. While I should be celebrating, with London by my side, I’m in this room, dealing with family bullshit and social rankings.
“I’m not marrying Alyssa Worthington. Not today, tomorrow or a year from now. Hell, not even ten. I don’t like her. I’m not in love with her. In fact, I can’t fucking stand her. I’m going to walk out of this room and I’m going to find London.”