Chapter 20: The Script (Daniel POV)
Chapter 20: The Script (Daniel POV)
I step into the Warrick Designs event hall, my arm stiff with Rita holding onto it. The room is loud, full of people in suits and dresses, glasses clinking, voices buzzing. Lights hang from the ceiling, bright and sharp, bouncing off the polished floor. I force a smile, my lips tight, as cameras flash around us. Rita’s close, her hand light on my sleeve, her perfume strong in my nose. She’s wearing a blue dress, long and shiny, and she looks perfect, like she belongs here. I don’t. Mom’s across the room, beaming at us, her smile big and proud. She waves, and I nod back, keeping my face blank. This is what they want. Me playing the part.
We move through the crowd, people shaking my hand, saying hello. “Good to see you, Daniel,” a guy in a gray suit says, clapping my shoulder. “You and Rita look great.” I nod, say thanks, but my voice feels flat, like it’s not mine. Rita smiles at him, bright and easy, and answers for me. “We’re excited to be here,” she says, squeezing my arm a little. I don’t pull away, but I want to. The press is everywhere, snapping pictures, asking questions. “Daniel, over here!” one calls, and I turn, faking another smile. The flash blinds me for a second, and I blink it away, my jaw tight. Mom’s still watching, her eyes sharp, making sure I don’t mess this up.
We stop by a table with drinks, and Rita grabs two glasses of wine. She hands me one, her fingers brushing mine. “This is fun,” she says, sipping hers, looking up at me. “It’s nice to do this together.” I nod, take a small drink. The wine’s bitter, sticking to my tongue. “Yeah,” I say, keeping it short. She doesn’t notice I’m barely here. She keeps talking, her voice soft but steady. “I was thinking about our house,” she says, leaning closer. “Maybe something with a big porch. We could sit out there, watch the sunset. What do you think?” Her eyes are hopeful, waiting for me to say something. I see Leo instead, his grin, the way he’d sit on his mattress with paint on his hands, laughing about nothing. Not this. Not her. “Sure,” I mutter, looking past her, my grip tight on the glass.
The room’s too warm, the voices too loud. I scan the walls, trying to focus on something else. That’s when I see it. A painting in the lobby, just past the crowd. It’s dark, messy, full of sharp lines and shadows. Like Leo’s work. My chest tightens, and I stop moving. Rita’s still talking, something about furniture now, but I don’t hear her. I stare at the painting, my heart pounding hard. It’s not his, I know that. Some other artist. But it’s close enough to stop me cold. The way the black cuts through the red, the city skyline jagged in the corner. I can almost see him painting it, his brush slashing fast, his face set and fierce. “Daniel?” Rita says, touching my arm. I blink, turn back to her. “What?” I say, sharper than I mean to. She frowns a little. “You okay? You zoned out.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, setting the glass down on the table. “Need the bathroom.” I don’t wait for her to answer. I pull my arm free and walk off, pushing through the crowd. People nod at me, smile, but I keep my head down, my boots loud on the floor. Mom’s eyes follow me, I can feel them, but I don’t look back. I pass the painting again, closer now, and my stomach twists. It’s not his, but it might as well be. I clench my fists, keep moving, and find the bathroom down a quiet hall. The door swings shut behind me, cutting off the noise, and I lean over the sink, breathing hard. My hands grip the edge, cold against my skin. I turn on the tap, let the water run, and splash it on my face. It’s icy, dripping down my chin, waking me up.
I look in the mirror, water running over my cheeks. My eyes are tired, dark circles under them. I don’t recognize myself. This suit, this night, this life. It’s all wrong. I splash more water, rub my face with my hands, trying to shake it off. Leo’s shirt is still in my truck, folded on the seat where I left it. I should’ve thrown it out, but I couldn’t. My fingers dig into the sink harder, and I close my eyes, seeing him instead of me. His laugh, his hands, the way he’d look at me like I was enough. Not this fake smile I’ve been wearing all night. I open my eyes, shake my head, and grab a paper towel, wiping my face dry. The rough paper scratches my skin, but I don’t care.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, loud in the quiet bathroom. I pull it out, expecting Rita or Mom, checking on me. It’s Claire. My assistant. My thumb hovers over the screen, and I answer, holding it to my ear. “Hey,” I say, my voice low. “Daniel,” she says, quick and sharp. “You at the event?” I lean against the wall, the tile cool through my shirt. “Yeah. Why?” She pauses, and I hear her take a breath. “I heard something. About Leo.” My heart stops, just for a second, then slams back hard. “What about him?” I ask, standing straight now, my hand tight on the phone. “He’s a mess,” she says, her voice softer. “Max called me. Said Leo’s falling apart, not answering, trashing stuff. People are talking.” I swallow, my throat dry, and stare at the floor. “A mess?” I say, quiet, like I didn’t hear her right. “Yeah,” she says. “Thought you should know.”
I don’t say anything. My head spins, fast and heavy. Leo’s a mess. Falling apart. Because of me. I left him, walked out, and now he’s breaking. The bathroom feels smaller, the walls closing in. “Thanks,” I mutter, my voice rough. “I’ll call you later.” I hang up before she can answer, shoving the phone back in my pocket. My hands shake, and I grip the sink again, staring at the water still dripping from the tap. He’s a mess. The words stick in my head, loud and clear. I splash my face one more time, the cold hitting me sharp, but it doesn’t help. I dry off, slow, and stand there, breathing fast, my mind stuck on him.