Page 84 of The Penalty

I reach for my backpack, twitching a little when I remember I left it in the trunk of Beau’s car. He convinced me it wouldn’t be the best idea to bring it along, and even though it caused me physical pain to leave it behind, Cece gave my hand a secret squeeze and I knew I could handle it. As long as she’s here next to me.

Vases filled with flowers in every color of fall grace every table we pass. An expensive-looking garland drapes the railing of the massive staircase leading to the second floor. We bypass that, following the small stream of expensive looking people talking and laughing as they walk through the foyer into the next room.

A gorgeous blonde woman stands behind a wooden podium, greeting Beau and Cece with a smile. “Welcome, Mr. and Miss Whitaker.” At least she shows Cece the respect she deserves, but her blue eyes are locked on Beau’s with a hungry look in them.

“I’ll take you to your table. I see you brought a guest with you this evening.” She turns to me, and I can see the dismissal in her eyes as they give me a cursory sweep, taking in the too short sleeves of my only suit.

Another subtle reminder that I don’t belong in this world. Beau, on the other hand, he was born for this. He strides across the room with an effortless grace, nodding his head, and saying hello as he passes other tables.

We’re led to a table by a window overlooking the green. It’s not so green at the moment, but it still looks beautiful even during the barren time of year.

The gentleman that stands up when we stop is an older version of his son.

Except the hair. It’s a deep brown shade but shot through with distinguished silver streaks at the temples.

Their mother has a big smile on her face, but it’s strained around the edges and doesn’t reach her eyes. Not like Cece’s wide-open smile. I’ve never understood what people meant when they said someone’s teeth were blindingly white. Until now. They’re as perfect as the smooth skin stretched over her face. She’s got to be at least ten years younger than their father, but it’s hard to tell under the coat of makeup and likely cosmetic surgery. Nothing that makes her look weird, but there’s a glossy smoothness to her that she didn’t come by naturally.

“Beau, Cecelia. Good to see you.” He pulls out Cece’s chair for her but doesn’t offer any affection to either of his children. This is probably the first time he’s seen them in a couple of months, and nothing. Not even a handshake.

He offers one to me. Stretching his hand out. “You must be Devlin. Pleasure to meet you. I hear you’ve been an excellent partner for Beau on the ice.” His voice is as smooth and polished as the rest of him.

“Yes, sir. Beau is an excellent captain. Nice to meet you.”

“You can call me John.” He squeezes my hand in a tight hold, giving it a brief but firm shake, and holding on a little too long until I let go first.

Meeting new people always stirs up my anxiety. I used to go into new families, confused and scared, but hopeful. But after one too many experiences being rejected or disappointed,I started to dread it. This is no different. They might not be my family, but if there’s any hope of making this thing with Cece last, I’m going to have to get to know them. Try to fit in, which seems like an insurmountable obstacle now that I’m here. In their territory.

“Hello. Nice to meet you. I’m Joanne.” She holds out a limp hand, her long pink nails digging into my palm when I go in for a shake.

“My pleasure.” I don’t even know where that came from. I don’t think I’ve said anything like that in my entire life.

“Beau, Cecelia.” They get the barest of acknowledgment.

“Hi, Dad, Joanne,” Cece says, polite and subdued. Not a trace of her usual exuberance.

I’m about to sit next to Cece when John waves to the chair next to him, and I carefully ease myself down, conscious of every move I make.

He doesn’t waste any time. “So, where are you from, son?”

“Detroit.”

“Not so far away, then. And what do your parents do?”

A server stops by to take drink orders, saving me from answering the awkward question. “I’ll have a cola.”

Beau orders a beer, and Cece accepts a pour from the bottle of red wine sitting in the middle of the table.

“You can have a proper drink. It’s all on me tonight. Don’t worry about the cost.”

I shake my head. “No, thanks.”

“Dev doesn’t drink, Dad. Lay off.” Beau shoots a glare at his father that has me recoiling even though it’s not directed at me. Why did I agree to this?

“I see. Are planning on going pro?” He turns back to me.

“Yes. I’ve been drafted by Vancouver.”

“Excellent. Good for you. Playing professionally isn’t the right choice for everyone.” Now he’s directing a pointed look across me at his son. “But for someone like you, I’m sure it’s a tremendous boost for you and your family.”

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