Page 107 of Broken on the Mountain
But none of that matters now.
Because Piper’s standing beside me, her hand in mine. And the way she’s looking at me, like I’m the only thing keeping her steady, is all I need to know I've done the right thing to make damn sure I'm here for my girl.
Her parents, on the other hand, look ready to call security.
“Evening, Mr. and Mrs. Whitman.” I keep my voice warm, my smile just this side of mischievous. They can hate me all they want, but I’m not going anywhere. “I’ve gotta say, this looks… spectacular. Can’t believe you did all this just to meet me.”
The cheeky icebreaker falls on dead silence. I barrel forward anyway, because that’s what I do.
“Jokes aside, it's a nice gala you’ve got here. Do you accept donations?” I dig into my pocket, ignoring the way Piper’s hand tightens on mine.
Out comes a crumpled ten-dollar bill, the edges faintly smudged with mountain dirt. Stepping closer to Piper's father, I offer it up like it’s a winning lottery ticket.
He stares at the bill like I’ve just handed him a live raccoon. “How… thoughtful.”
“Figured every little bit helps,” I say, grinning wider. “That chandelier in there probably set you back a few bucks alone.”
Piper makes a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a gasp, and I glance at her, catching the flicker of amusement in her eyes. Her mom, meanwhile, looks seconds away from fainting.
The silence stretches so long I'm pretty sure someone could drop a pin and it'd echo through the entire city.
Piper's mother recovers first, her spine straightening like someone's just inserted a steel rod. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation inside. Away from prying eyes."
She says it like we're causing a scandal, which, to be fair, we probably are. But I'm not about to apologize for showing up.
I think about seeing Piper the moment I walked in—fancy hair swept up, that ridiculous gown, and those boots I now know are hiding underneath. Being here is worth every agonizing minute I haven't slept in the past twenty hours.
The whispers started the second I crossed the ballroom, heads turning like dominoes. I didn't care. Just barreled straight through the crowd, out onto this balcony.
To her.
Piper's hand tightens on mine. "Good idea, Mom. Let's go inside."
We file back through the terrace doors, and immediately I'm swallowed by the sheer luxury of this place. The ballroom is massive, glittering chandeliers and marble floors so polished I can see my reflection.
Women in gowns look beautiful, jewels dripping from their necks. Men in tuxedos cluster in groups, discussing things I probably wouldn't understand even if I tried.
This is Piper's world.
And I stick out like a rescue flare in a snowstorm.
The whispers continue to ripple like a damn wave, each one crashing louder in my ears. Piper stays close, her fingers laced through mine, but every glance, every sneer feels like a spotlight aimed right at my flannel-wearing soul.
This place screamsmoney.I just screamwrong address, buddy.
"I need a drink," Piper's mother announces, her voice clipped. She sweeps away without another word, Maxwell Pemberton trailing behind like a confused puppy.
Piper's father lingers, studying me with the kind of scrutiny I imagine he reserves for hostile witnesses. "Mountain rescue, you said?"
"Yes, sir. Search and rescue specialist. Been with the Stone River team for two years now."
"Fascinating." His tone suggests it's anything but. "And you drove nine hours to crash my wife's charity gala because...?"
"Because your daughter's worth it, sir."
The words come out simple, honest and with a firm nod. No flourish, no charm. Just the truth.
Surprise flickers in his eyes, maybe, either that or grudging respect. But before he can respond, a woman in a sequined gown interrupts, pulling him away to discuss auction items.
