Chapter 91 ELLIOT

Chapter 91 ELLIOT

ELLIOT’S POV

The rest of the day passed in a blur, and Weston made himself scarce. As soon as he got out of the shower, he put on his running shoes and didn’t get back until I was fast asleep.

By the time Friday morning rolled around, he hadn’t said a word to me in over twelve hours. I didn’t blame him for the attitude, his father seemed like a very problematic person, but the silence still stung, even though I tried really hard not to take it personally.

According to the card he’d dropped on my desk without a word yesterday, we were meant to be at the estate before noon, it was a half hour flight, and Mr. Pierce would send a jet; which was intimidating on its own.

I stared into my closet at a half past eight, alone in the empty bedroom, wondering which of my outfits was fit for dinner at the home of a former hockey legend. I bit down hard on my lower lip and considered calling my Mom.

The door swung open then, a moment later, Weston walked in. He was in gym clothes, and smelled faintly like the rink. I wondered if he’d been running practice drills by himself all morning.

He sent me one unreadable look before crossing to his side of the room.

I turned away from the closet to face him. “Is there a dress code?” I asked, speaking directly to him for the first time.

He turned, sending me a confused look. “What?”

I gestured helplessly at my closet. “I have no idea what I’m expected to wear.”

“Oh.” He blinked and turned away, “Maeve’s got that covered. Just grab the essentials, you’ll get dressed at the house.”

“Oh.” I blinked too, taken aback. “Who’s Maeve?”

“Andrew’s bitch.” He snapped, and before I could say anything to that, he headed for the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

“Well then.” I muttered to the empty room.

An hour later, there was a knock on the door and the woman from yesterday stepped into the room. She was dressed in a dark green jumpsuit today, and her hair was a high ponytail instead. Weston ignored her and her warm greeting, so I safely assumed that she must be Maeve.

“The car’s here.” She said warmly, unperturbed by Weston’s coldness. “Mr. Pierce extends his sincerest apologies for disrupting your schedule over this dinner, Mr. Cross, but we promise it’s completely worth the hassle.”

“Yeah, it's cool,” I smiled tightly, zipping up my bag. “I didn’t have anything planned anyway.”

I still had no clue why I was being invited, or what Andrew had in store for me, and I was trying really hard not to jump to the worst conclusions, but Weston wasn’t really helping matters, and Maeve kind of scared me.

Minutes later, I was sliding into the back of a sleek black Escalade with Weston. Maeve sat in front with the driver, and as soon as the car began moving, Weston activated the partition, closing us off.

I sent him a look from the corner of my eye but he had his gaze out the window.

“I can’t help but feel like there’s more to this than I’m being told.” I said pointedly, breaking the silence between us.

Weston turned to me, rolling his eyes. “It’s Andrew, of course there’s more to this.” He sighed then, rubbing at his temples. “He has this ridiculous notion that you’re a charity case, and he’s going to use you to boost his image.”

“What?” The word came out sharp with my shock. “I am not a charity case.”

He shrugged, head rolling against the headrest. “You’re a small goalie from a small town, you’re on a full ride sports scholarship, and you’re impressive on the ice. He wants to take you under his wing and nurture you into a prodigy.”

I furrowed my brow, none of what he was saying made any sense. “But he’s your dad, why not nurture you?”

“He already tried.” He muttered, barely audible. “But I’ll never be good enough.”

The words took me aback, he didn’t even sound disappointed about it, just resigned, like it was a fact he’d learned to accept.

I frowned at that, shifting closer unconsciously. But before I could say anything to that, Weston shut his eyes and turned back to the window, successfully shutting down any other conversation. I chewed on my lip and took the fucking hint.

The rest of the journey was tense and awkward. In the jet, Maeve sat in front of us the whole ride. At first, she tried to make polite conversation, but Weston kept shutting her down. Eventually she resigned herself to work, and I was left staring out the window while Weston burrowed in his hoodie and dozed.

At some point, he grew restless and ended up with his head burrowed in the crook of my shoulder. I stared at the top of his head for a while, and when I glanced up, Maeve was giving me an odd look.

I flushed and tore my gaze away, even as Weston’s cologne invaded all my senses.

There was another Escalade when we got to DC, another painfully awkward drive, and then we were pulling up to the estate.

It was as grand as I was expecting. Possibly one of the biggest pieces of land I’d seen so far, and right in the middle of it was the house; tall, imposing, and white. It looked more like a palace than a home.

Maeve had us alight at the entrance, with a promise to have our bags sent up. Weston ignored her and marched past the large oak doors, leaving me to stumble after him as I stared at every lavish display of wealth.

I followed him through a very long, very sterile corridor that led to what looked like a dining area. He turned the corner to the living room and immediately froze. I peeped around him to see why, and my heart dropped right to my feet.

Two figures sat on a cream couch, one of whom was a stunning older woman with Weston’s pale blonde hair. She was on the thinner side, and looked a bit ill, but her smile dazzled brightly the moment she saw us.

Next to her however, was a face as familiar as a bad day, with wavy hair over her bare shoulders, and a figure wrapped in a mink dress, Madison Scott perched gingerly, at ease like she was in her own home.

“Oh,” she drawled, sweet as honey, “Weston’s here.”