My manager wasn’t very happy when I called and told him that I was traveling home, mainly for the fact that I wouldn’t be readily available for a benefit dinner this weekend. Even with most of the team living in town, many vacationed or went back to their hometowns. Plus, the bigger draw for attendance is always the quarterback. I didn’t even tell him what I was doing while at home, just I wouldn’t be around this weekend.
“Well, Peyton will have the best looking date there.” My mom is biased. But what parent isn’t? For me, escorting Peyton to prom is something I wanted to do five years ago, but with her being thirteen at the time, it wouldn’t have gone over well at all. I hate our age difference. I don’t see her as being five years younger, but everyone else does and they’re none too shy about reminding me of it. And if it’s not her age, they’re commenting about how she’s my sister. I have never looked at her like a sister. Elle, yes, but never Peyton.
When we were younger, we were always together. But it wasn’t until her father died, did I realize that her pain was my pain. She was losing her dad, while I was gaining mine. What should’ve been a happy time for me was confusing. At first, I was jealous that she attached herself to my dad, but I had done the same thing. While I had Nick, Mason and I were very close, and when he died, Peyton had no one and I knew she needed someone.
I became that someone. I became her protector. Her confidant. She became my best friend. She was, and still is, the one person I will drop everything for, without question, with the exception of Betty Paige. Not even my parents get that sort of attention from me.
And I developed feelings for her, feelings that I’ve had to hide and will continue to hide out of respect for our families, and for Peyton. She has a bright future waiting for her. The last thing she needs is my muddled thoughts deterring her path.
“You look handsome, Noah.” The sound of my little sister’s voice rings out from behind me.
“Yes he does,” my mom says as she stands behind me and straightens my tuxedo jacket, brushing her hands along my shoulders. She’s trying to stay out of the mirror, knowing her reflection will show she’s tearing up. She was a mess when I went to prom back in high school, and deep down I want to believe she understands why taking Peyton is so important to me.
“Come here, Little B.” She does as I ask, making sure to jump when she gets to the bottom step. My mother rolls her eyes and mutters something about breaking a leg before leaving us alone in the foyer. From the day my father bought this house, I’ve always jumped off the last few steps and so far I haven’t broken anything. Well, except for the vase that my grandma Bianca had set down. I may have kicked that, but still to this day I plead the fifth.
With my phone in my hand, I crouch down next to my sister and wrap my arm around her waist. She nestles into my side and all but hides her face in the crook of my neck. Paige is a bit camera shy, not that I blame her, but I want to capture this moment. “Smile, Little B.” She does, but most of her face is hidden. Honestly, I don’t mind. Fear of the paparazzi has been ingrained into her mind, and rarely has anyone ever truly photographed her. For the longest time, my dad would make her wear a hood whenever she was out and about. He wanted her to have as much anonymity as she could.
“Are you putting that on Instagram?”
“I am.” Paige leans closer and watches me upload the photo and add the caption, “My perfect girl.” I add various hashtags and wait a few seconds for the comments and likes to start. Most often, everything is positive. But occasionally, someone will post something that I have to delete. Thing is, I know what my mom, Aunt Katelyn and Aunt Jenna go through when it comes to the band. The last thing they need is to see sexual comments about me as well. And as far as Paige is concerned, I don’t want her seeing the nastiness of social media.
“Look, everyone says I’m cute.”
“That’s because you are.” She wraps her arms around me, giving me the strongest hug she can.
“Tell me all about the dance and what Peyton is wearing when you get home, okay?”
“You bet.” I stand and shake out my pant legs. Taking one last look in the mirror, I head for the door where my mom meets me with Peyton’s corsage in hand. The three champagne colored roses are nestled in baby’s breath and tied together with a pink ribbon. The fact that I know anything about flowers has really upped my dating game. Chicks dig random knowledge.