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At the sound of his name, something flashes in his eyes, something I can't quite explain, except that it's cold and kills the light in them as they flicker down to my hand intertwined with Hayden's. In a flash, they dart back up and that something vanishes so quickly, I wonder if I imagined the whole thing.
"It seems I approve of Hayden's date, for a change." Warren shoots his son a playful wink, then spreads his arms toward me for a hug. "Bring it here."
You're just paranoid, those little devils whisper, talking sense for a change as I unclasp from Hayden's touch. Just seeing things you think you should.
I motion forward...
I mean, look at him. He clearly cares about who Hayden dates and has even taken him under his wing at work.
Letting his arms loop around me, in a gentle embrace...
Judging a man for his past, when he seems to have chang—
Lips brush against my ear. "You look just like your mother."
Those little devils SCREAM in my headspace.
RUN, RUN, RUNNN!! they wail on my shoulder, louder than the angels crying on the other, their choir catching fire at their feet.
But I don't move a muscle—I can't. I only stand, frozen, utterly rigid, on his retreat, discovering a revolting smirk dancing across his lips. Then it, too, vanishes, fast like lightning. Dripping with disdain as his gaze drags over to Hayden.
"As usual, your lateness prevented us from saving your seat."
Hayden tenses at my side. "The race doesn't start for ten minutes."
I blink, hardly registering their conversation.
When he doesn't reply, Hayden scoffs. "What about that one, right there?"
Managing a breath, I break from my stupor, and trail a gaze down the line of chairs. Indeed, there's an empty seat right next to Warren's. One more over sits a red-haired young boy, and next to him, I catch the eyes of a woman with similar hair, presumably in her thirties. Instantly, I know it's Clara, who boasts a smirk, shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation.
"That seat's for Elias," Warren answers.
"But he doesn't watch from up here. He never has." My heart sinks at the twinge of sadness leaking into Hayden's tone, despite his stoic demeanor.
"He might this year."
Clara bites her lip, stifling a laugh, brushing a hand down her son's designer suit, who, I'd wager, is sitting where Hayden usually does. It would be so easy for her to sit him on her lap and free up the space. Under the weight of her stare once again, I feel her scrutiny, as though she views me as inferior, deserving of the bleachers below.
"Although..." Warren muses. "I'm sure Elias wouldn't appreciate knowing he made a lady stand. Juliana can have his spot."
Clara's expression cracks in half.
"W-what?" I falter. All the hairs on my body stand on end when I find Warren motioning to the empty seat right beside his.
"It'll give us time to catch up." He smiles, innocently.
The choir belts out another blood-curdling scream.
No, no, no, no—
Hayden loops his arm through mine, towing me up the stairs with an annoyed huff. "We'll manage."
By the grace of some miracle, a mere two minutes before the start of the race, a couple offered us their seats, one row behind Warren's and on the opposite end of the balcony. Apparently, Billionaires' Row has a lounge they preferred to watch from.
How very lucky for us—and generous of them.
I'm not sure if I'm thankful, though.
