Gray looked at him as he opened the passenger door and slipped in beside him.
"You okay?"
"Fucking kryptonite."
Monty had run from the ballroom, almost bumping into his friend, Oliver.
"Hey. We just arrived. Better late than never."
"I was just leaving. Catch up later."
He slipped through the back hall again and kept walking with purpose to his car.
"What happened?"
"We danced. I held her."
Gray sighed.
If he were a smart man, he would have declined. Being his own worst enemy, he held out his hand. Her hand fit in his, just as her body felt like home in his arms.
Monty wanted the song to never end, so he could pretend she still loved him. Instead, she thanked him for the dance and leaned in and kissed his cheek.
He reluctantly dropped his arms and stood frozen while she walked off the dance floor. When his feet began to move, he moved with speed and purpose.
As Gray started the engine, he looked at his friend. As if reading his mind, he asked, "What did she say to you?"
"I'm lazy and while she does important work, I'm getting drunk and naked with models."
"Shit, damn. Where was I? Except the drunk part, because I am an alcoholic. Are you drunk?"
Monty sighed. "Two glasses of champagne. I'm not even buzzed. I'm dehydrated."
Monty was regimented with his water intake. His doctor had scared him over some results from routine blood work. His kidney function was off. Then the doc said he might have been dehydrated. The repeat blood work was fine, but he learned from the experience to monitor his water intake. Also, he discovered he didn't want to die, at least not from renal failure.
"You'll need to replenish your tears."
"I'm not going to cry." Hopefully.
"Who was the hot girl with the kid?"
"The sister of the help. The daughter belongs to Bea's couple. She treats them like family."
"Is she hiring? You treat me like..."
"My best friend."
"Your only friend, because..."
"Because why, Freud?"
"You know why. You've paid a bucket load to your counselor to figure it out by now."
If he didn't let anyone get close, they couldn't hurt him. He had deep wounds from everyone he loved. A few were faultless, like Alice. Depending on his mood, some were classified as self inflicted. Dancing was self inflicted. He agreed, knowing the euphoria of being close would turn to pain.
"Oliver is my friend."
They drove in silence. Meeting Gray had changed his life. Feeling sorry for his rich ass was selfish compared to what Gray did and saw in Afghanistan.
"Don't think about it."
"What?" Monty looked from the road ahead to Gray's profile.
"Kryptonite. The cycle. First, you think of her and then the parade of pain starts and you'll be crying for your cook."
"Fuck. She loved me."
"Your mother loves you and I love your spoiled rich ass. But we both know you'll want to numb the pain, but we don't have a drop of alcohol in the house and you love me too damn much to fuck with my sobriety."
"Too much talk of love."
"Tell me about your night before you ran away."
"I danced with Jessica. Her tongue is sharper than a knife." He skipped mentioning her insults of Tori. "I overheard two people discussing the new farm to table on Newbury Street." Monty changed his voice to squeak like a girl. "Trista Montgomery said this, Trista Montgomery said that."
"The food was fresh."
"I'd go back."
"You won't get a reservation thanks to Trista."
Monty shrugged. He resented Trista, as much as he loved the freedom she provided. Maybe she would be able to keep his thoughts away from the past. She saved his life at a time when it was held by a thread.
In the kitchen, Gray reached into the fridge for water bottles. He pitched one to Monty. The cold plastic landed firmly in his hand with a thud. How could he feel the iced cylinder with pain radiating from his heart?
"Why do I still care so much?"
"If you haven't figured that out after years of counseling..."
"I am well aware my father effed me over."
"And your mother let him."
"It wasn't always awful." Even as he said the words, he stretched his brain to find a memory which resembled a family dinner at his friends' houses. Sage was an only child, but the Petersens were different from the Whitbys. If Bea was his mother, his childhood would have been happier.
In the aftermath of Sloane's rejection, he couldn't face anyone, including himself. His elusiveness created the perception of him being a playboy. It added to the existing knowledge he was a drunk. If he hadn't been angry with his father and stolen the bottle, would his life have been different? What had he learned in therapy? Take off the rearview mirror. Look forward, not back. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.
"Maybe you should put it out there?"
"What out where?"
"The truth. You aren't the ass you let people think you are. You aren't lazy or drunk and you are definitely not a whore."
Monty smirked over the water bottle. "We've established that's you."
He drained his bottle and crushed it before throwing it in recycling. Tugging on his tie, he listened to Gray defend himself. Women liked the large man. Besides the blond hair and hazel eyes, he suspected they wanted to see just how big he was. Monty wasn't a monk, but he either paid for it or took care of it on his own. Both came with fewer complications. He missed intimacy and wondered if his heart would ever heal and be ready to feel again.
Shrugging out of his tuxedo jacket, he stood. "I'm going to sweat it out of me."
"Let me know if you need anything. I'm going to bed. Stop, if your contaminated lungs fail."
He really should quit the nicotine. He set the screen on his bike to ride through a beautiful Italian countryside. Maybe a trip to Italy was what he needed - riding on real Italian back roads, stopping in little villages along the way. Getting out of the country was the best way to fight kryptonite. When was the last time he went to Italy? Trista could review some Boston Italian cuisine and compare them to meals on their trip.
He had reluctantly agreed to work for Whitby when he traveled. It was a task he could handle. Stay in the hotel and visit other entities and report back. They put their reservations in Gray's name, so being anonymous worked fine. He had mastered anonymity.
He peddled faster as the idea took shape. He could free two birds with one seed. Ironically, he wasn't a fan of the original saying. The only life he ever wanted to take was his own. Peddling even faster, he was getting into murky thoughts which could pull him into the darkness.
✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈🛩
The problem with escaping was when he came home nothing had changed. He had invitations his mother wouldn't let him ignore. One was to her summer party. He had been summoned to arrive early. Celia fussed over him for not shaving. He had grown a beard while overseas.
His spirits were up because the response to Trista's travel blog and local restaurant reviews were blowing up online. He had also attended some dinners and parties without seeing kryptonite.
As his mother adjusted his straight tie, she said, "You'll be glad to hear Sloane is home this weekend."
"Why do you say that?" Back to square one.
Before she could answer, Montgomery entered. The room instantly felt cooler as each muscle from Monty's jaw to his calves flexed and tightened.
"Before our guests arrive, we need to discuss business."
"It's your business."
"Which will one day become yours." Unfortunately, the corporation bearing their name employed too many people to ignore. "In fact, on your thirtieth birthday you will receive enough stock to earn a place on the board." His tie felt tight as he cleared his throat with a cough. "It's your birthright."
"Don't I know it."
"Don't be disrespectful. When will you ever grow up?"
"I've grown up, but I also know the only reason you had a child was to have an heir."
"That's not true!" His mother was the protester frowning at him.
"I heard him say it. Please don't deny it. I've lived with it for years. Pretending he didn't say it won't change anything."
Montgomery cleared his throat loudly. It was his way of drawing attention to himself. "I want to discuss a more regular role than you've had. Traveling to check on different entities."
"Regular? I enjoy my travels, but I prefer to set my own itinerary."
"I've let you play for too long. It's time to grow up."
"I grew up the day you called me weak and pathetic. I am aware I was both, but you gave me disdain when what I needed most was love and compassion."
"Haven't we moved past your drama. You are a Whitby and need to start acting like one."
Celia stepped between them. "Enough. Our guests will be arriving. The house is crawling with staff."
They had been in their private parlor, but Monty didn't want his private business shared with strangers.
"Fine. We'll discuss it later."
Monty eyed the amber liquid on the drink cart. He tried to avoid liquor. Champagne and wine were safer. Between his father and kryptonite, he took a few steps to the glass top cart. He poured half a finger in an etched old fashioned glass and took a sip as his father scowled.
"Don't embarrass yourself."
He wanted to be angry, but it was surprisingly funny. He had a reputation, but he hadn't embarrassed himself in years. He raised the glass to his lips. The liquid burned going down. He had just enough to relax his tensed muscles.
Celia's voice was jolly, as if the previous exchange hadn't happened. "Dinner will be amazing. My chef is making the risotto recipe from Trista Montgomery's blog. It's from her trip to Italy. I tried to get reservations for one of the Italian restaurants, she reviewed. It's impossible. I like how her last name is your first name."
Monty pulled at his collar. It felt stuffy and uncomfortable. "Plenty of names double as first names."
Celia smiled. "Like Taylor. She's been unhappy since Ted started dating Mia."
At the mention of Ted, he stopped listening. He had to prepare himself emotionally.
"Excuse me."
He left the parlor and slipped out the service door and walked over to Gray, who stood outside the car. Pulling out his pen, he took a drag.
"You look pale." They were both still tan from their trip to Italy.
"My old man. He wants to send me to check out more business entities."
Gray shrugged. "Maybe it can work. Any notable guests expected." Monty sighed. "Seriously, tell her the truth."
"What truth?"
"Pick one. You aren't a drunk."
"I had some scotch. Barely two sips and Montgomery flipped."
"Tell her about Trista or even better tell her you love her."
Monty shook his head. "Not happening. Just be ready. You can come inside."
"Not happening. I'm used to hanging around waiting for you, pretty boy. Maybe a maid will wander out and I can lure her into the backseat."
"You're the whore. I have to go back in. Guests are arriving. I'll ask the hottest maid to bring a plate to you."
"You're a great friend."
He waved as he headed back towards the house. Dead man walking.