The party is worse than I expected. He’s let in half the city. I get the impression he might be performing a social experiment: leave the door open and see what oddities wander in. At this very moment, someone is fucking in his bedroom. I know it. If it were me, I’d pull the fire alarm and clear this place out. He doesn’t know these people. If I asked one of them Alexander’s last name, they’d fumble for a response.
I slice through groups of partiers, ignoring everyone. I don’t feel like wasting my time with them, not when I have an objective. I’ve told myself I’m here tonight to talk to Alexander, but there’s a nagging hope in the back of my mind.
Lainey could be here.
It’s more than possible. There will be other St. John’s alumni in attendance, friends I’ve half-heartedly kept up with since boarding school, some more than others. I search through crowded room after crowded room, hunting for dark hair and green eyes. I trick myself into seeing her a thousand times. A head of hair a shade too light. Another not dark enough. A woman two inches too short.
When I spot two friends from St. John’s, I feel my first pang of hope because one of them is Collette. I know she works with Lainey at Morgan’s; I saw her listed under the staff tab on the gallery’s website beside Lainey. How convenient.
She and Harrison are in a sitting room, having carved out a quiet place among the chaos. Harrison’s out on the patio smoking and Collette looks like she’s already a joint in, so to save myself the excruciating task of talking to them stone-cold sober, I offer a short wave then head toward the kitchen to make myself a drink.
Unfortunately, that’s where I find my brother. He’s making out with a girl, acting as if he’s about to take her there against the cabinets.
Thoroughly disturbed by the sight, I head to the bar in the corner.
“This has to be against fire code,” a gruff voice chides, and I don’t bother turning around to confirm it’s my old friend Jonathan.
He’s in Boston now, a partner in an architecture firm that specializes in historical preservation. He’s not the only ghost from my past to re-enter my life as of late. It seems everyone has convened in Boston for the time being. Even Emelia, the half-sister I used to despise so much in my youth, is in the city, working at Jonathan’s firm. I’ve come to see she’s not the monster I made her out to be. She’s even friends with Alexander. I spotted her here tonight at the party. I could have gone over to talk to her, but brokering peace with my past will have to wait.
More determined than ever, I start to root through Alexander’s bar cabinets. I need a cup that will hold a decent shot of bourbon.
“No, c’mon, it’s a small group,” Alexander argues.
The music in the living room hits an all-time high, contradicting him.
“Right, maybe I should rein it in a bit.”
So maybe he’s not completely past saving…
“Your neighbors have probably already called to report a noise complaint,” Jonathan warns.
I turn in time to see my brother groan and push away from the girl he’s so caught up with, hurrying into the living room to turn down the music. He meets my gaze as he passes by, and I do nothing but stare. I might as well be a parent trying to convey that I’m not mad, just disappointed.
“What are you, like a dad?” Alexander’s girl asks Jonathan, clearly annoyed.
And that does it. It’s one thing too far, and I can’t help but bark out a heavy laugh.
Jonathan turns, notices me, and then in three long strides, he’s stealing the bottle of bourbon out of my hand so he can pour himself a shot.
I arch a sardonic brow. “You’re late. I’ve had to endure this party for the last half hour on my own.”
He’s unbothered as he hands the bottle back to me. “You could leave.”
He’s right, I could. I hate shit like this.
“There’s someone I’m waiting on.”
He looks at me curiously, waiting for me to elaborate, but I don’t feel like it.
“C’mon,” I say, nodding toward the hall. “Collette and Harrison are here.”
Once we both have a drink in hand, I lead him toward the sitting room where neither of them have budged. Collette’s chair sits right on the edge between the sitting room and the balcony, and she has it tipped on its back legs so she’s half outside. Her head is tilted up toward the night sky. I want to ask her about Lainey, but it feels too direct, too obvious.
Harrison’s standing behind her chair, working on lighting a joint when he notices us walk into the room.
“The king has arrived!” he says, aiming a dramatic bow at me.