The Last Guy

She scrambles away from me, her hands somehow awkwardly finding the doorknob and flinging it open.

I follow, trying to give her space but also wanting to stop her from walking away from me. Because it feels final. I keep pace behind her as she whips through the den and back out into the hall where she bumps into Savannah holding a balloon bouquet.

“Isn’t this the best news ever?” Savannah beams with pride as she thrusts the bouquet under Stone’s nose. “It’s a dream come true—my own show!”

Stone stares at her, blinking rapidly, and it kills me to see her face is turning blotchy. Her gaze is frantic as she searches for an escape and tries to move around Savannah.

Savannah’s eyes are like slits as she rakes them over Stone, taking in her plant and her overstuffed purse. “On your way out the door for good, Rebecca?” Her tone is saccharine sweet, and my anger ratchets higher.

A resounding pop fills the silence as one of the balloons careens into Stone’s cactus. I’m not sure if Stone poked it at the balloon or if it was unintentional, but it causes everyone to stop and stare.

“How rude!” Savannah is saying as I approach.

“Shut up,” I snap right back.

She huffs and glares at both of us.

Stone just stands there, and I think I see tears pooling in her gaze. “Goodbye, Cade.” Her voice is small and thin, and it breaks my goddamn heart.

Before I can say anything else, the door is shut.

She’s gone.

Trent adjusts his bowtie for another picture in front of the backdrop the photographer has set up. It’s Saturday evening, and we’re inside the Areosol Warfare Gallery, a sleek place with cement floors and graffiti-covered walls. It’s hip, urban, and cool as hell. Just inside is roughly three hundred attendees—all here to support Deadrick and the surrounding schools. Of course Trent had managed to organize everything in just three weeks. His official title is Director of Better Education in Houston at Hill Global. The job is more stable than the acting gigs he manages to get every now and then, and Dad giving him a swanky office is the icing on the cake.

“He did a great job,” a voice says. I turn to see my father in his black tux, looking trim and dapper.

Mom is with him, dressed in a blue evening gown. Her eyes glow as she looks from Trent and then back to us.

“I love having my whole family together,” she murmurs.

I arch a brow, but I get what she’s saying. We aren’t a normal family by any means. I guess we never will be, but then who the fuck is? Dad isn’t suddenly going to be fine with Trent’s lifestyle, but at least he’s learning to deal with it. Acceptance. That’s all a person needs.

Trent’s brought a friend with him, a slender dark-haired guy named Ramon, and I watch as Dad makes his way over to them. I strain to hear the introductions and distinctly hear the word special friend from Trent’s mouth. Dad takes his hand and shakes it. Fucking progress. I lift a toast to an imaginary being in the air. Apparently with age does come wisdom.

“Too bad Rebecca isn’t here with you,” my mom says quietly as she hooks her arm through mine. “Will I ever get to meet her?”

I let out a long breath, my chest squeezing at the sound of her name. Mom knows the story of how Stone had walked out on KHOT—and me.

Yeah. When Stone had said she was done . . . she was fucking done.

“You okay?” Mom asks.

I nod, focusing on keeping my face shuttered. “Fine.”

But I miss her.

More than miss her.

My penthouse isn’t the same without her in my bed.

I find myself looking for her face wherever I go.

At Deadrick. At the office. In the grocery store.

“Why don’t you call her?” Mom is facing me now. “She seems so delightful and sweet.”

“I have called her. She won’t answer.” I slug back my whiskey and place it on a waiter’s tray. A man can only take so many unanswered phone calls and texts before he gives up.

Mom sighs, her brow furrowing as she pats my arm. “Well, I am sorry for it. You just haven’t been yourself lately . . .”

I smirk at her, trying to lighten the mood. “Forget about Stone. She’s moved on and so will I.”

“Want me to call up Sissy?” She giggles.

“Hell no.” I laugh and it feels good—because I haven’t for a while. These past few weeks of being frozen out by Stone have gotten under my skin more than I’d realized.

She nods her head toward the entrance where a group of people wearing media passes have walked in. “KHOT is here.”

I follow her eyes and wave at Matt, Kevin, and one of the beat reporters who Marv decided would follow up with the Deadrick story.

Seeing them here without Stone reinforces the fact that she isn’t part of our circle anymore. She won’t be showing up tonight.

Sighing heavily, I wave them over and introduce them to my family.

For the next few minutes, as the gala attendees continue to enter, I stand next to Coach Hart, Cheetah, and a few more of the players as Matt asks questions about the school, the football program, and how they know me.

“How much money has Better Education in Houston raised tonight, Cade?” Matt holds the mic in my face, and I shoot my usual cocky smile at the camera. “Hill Global has collected over three hundred thousand tonight, and I suspect it will be even more after the evening is over.”

Matt nods. “So how excited are you tonight about your speaker? Didn’t you guys face off a time or two?”

I grin. “True, true, Eli Manning is speaking tonight about the importance of giving back. He’s also interested in forming an NFL organization that gets pro players involved with school districts in their hometowns. We’re delighted to have him. Lucky for us, he’s a family friend.”

A platinum blonde in a red dress appears in front of me, crashing the interview. “Cade! Darling! This event is simply amazing.” Clutching my arm, Maggie Grace sweeps her gaze over to Matt and smiles at the camera. “Isn’t he the most generous person ever?”

Matt jumps in with the microphone. “Indeed. And who are you, miss?”

She glows and bats her eyelashes at the camera. “I’m Maggie Grace, his fiancée.”

Then she throws her arms around my neck and kisses me.

Rebecca

THE NOVEMBER SUN blasts in my face and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. A steady breeze blows the side of my hair into my eyes and mouth.

“Should we wait for better weather?” I position myself in front of a used Kia Sorrento with a giant red bow across the windshield. Two enormous balloon bouquets are tied to the side mirrors.

Tommy Thompson, Houston’s Used Car King, is beside me. He’s dressed in a cornflower blue polyester suit, and a bead of sweat rolls down his neck as he squints up at the clear sky. “Can’t get much better than this!”

I smooth a hand down my flower-print pencil skirt. “Don’t you think the light is a bit . . . harsh? And the wind . . .” Another blast flutters my white silk shirt and sends more hair sticking to my lip gloss. I do a little laugh. “It’s like being in Dallas!”

“It’s damn fine Texas weather. Best weather in the world.” His grin is enormous. “Don’t you worry, Miss Fieldstone. Just say those lines, and it’ll be great.”

I can’t believe I’ve been reduced to making amateur used-car commercials with this guy. In fairness, Tommy is paying me more money than I ever made as a reporter. The red light goes on, and I start to move. Naturally the wind sends the balloons flying in a colorful spiral right at my face.