I smile. “You sure you don’t want to stay a bit at the guesthouse?”
He nods his head. “I got practice in the morning. No matter what Lance Cain thinks of what I do, football is also an art. Would love to get that guy on the field to see what he’s actually made of.”
“You don’t have to let him ruin our night,” I say, tugging at his arm.
“I’m not. It’s complicated with Lance, that’s all.”
Complicated? With Lance?
I thought I was the only one who thought of him that way. I didn’t think Jaxson and Lance knew each other that well.
“Want to chill tomorrow?” Jaxson asks me. I shake my head no. “Let me guess, Chase is with you?”
I shake my head and feel a tinge of guilt. “No, I swear it’s not that. Arthur Cain has this charity event at his home. I’ve been asked to come.”
“Do you want me to come as back-up?”
I smile. “I can handle myself, but I appreciate it.”
Jaxson kisses me again before getting into his Jeep. I wave at him as he pulls out of the Cains’ driveway.
I walk towards the guesthouse, taking in the full moon above.
Why didn’t Jaxson stay?
As I get closer to the guesthouse, I notice what looks like a small package in front of the door. I can feel my heart racing as I get closer.
When I do, I notice a white envelope on top of the package. I feel like my heart is about to explode inside my chest.
If I had a phone, I wouldn’t hesitate to call 911 immediately. I look at the small package. If I did call the police, I would demand a bomb squad as well.
Another letter, and now a box.
I think about running towards the gym to get Lance, but don’t.
For all I know, Lance put this here before he came to the gym.
I pick up the envelop and open it slowly.
I feel confused when all that’s written in it is two words.
Sorry. Lance.
I pick up the light package and open it. Inside is a new cellphone.
I look towards the gym and shake my head, laughing to myself.
The complicated story of Lancelot Cain continues.
Chapter 5
I had forgotten how beautiful Arthur Cain’s mansion is. It’s been a while since I stepped inside. I watch the guests flow through the beautiful foyer that could have been the size of a regular house. A large banquet area on the main floor is decorated with no expense sparred. You could almost think someone was getting married instead of it being some charity function for the poor.
I wonder how it would be if the poor was invited to an event for the poor? Too Twilight Zone for the people to be giving money to the needy to meet any of the people they give to.
I wonder how I would be if I became rich and powerful like Arthur Cain. Would I throw functions like this? Would I build wings in hospitals for sick children like him? Or would I spend it all on myself?
I spot Marta walking around the room carrying a drink tray with glasses of red and white wine. I stop her by putting my hand out playfully and point at a glass.
She waves her head. “In your dreams, dearie.” She brushes past me with a smile.
I spot Thomas Winters at the edge of the party. He seems just as uncomfortable as I do. I walk up to him. Lately, Thomas kind of creeps me out with how polite and robotic he comes off, but being at a party and him being one of the few people I know here gets me excited to see him.
“I guess you have to come to these things to?” I ask him.
He looks at me with a thin smile. “Suppose so.”
I look out at the crowd of rich looking people with their fancy dresses and suits. I may blend in tonight with my own fancy clothes that I’m wearing, but I’m not one of them. I can tell, neither is Thomas.
“So, since you’re probably a pro at these events now, tell me how bored I am going to be for the rest of the night?” I ask.
Thomas raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say a word.
Right. Now I remember why talking to Thomas is so bad. I have no clue what to say, for fear of him raising his eyebrows at me again or giving me a one-word answer. Instead I just sit back, watching the crowd with him. Before I can make a stupid comment on how nice the weather has been lately, Thomas leaves and walks through the crowd.
Marta walks up to him with her tray of drinks and seems to offer him one. He looks at her with disgust and continues to walk through the crowd.
I notice as he walks away that he’s wearing his infamous black leather gloves. I smile to myself, wondering how much of a germaphobe Thomas Winters really is. He had the same look of disgust when he stepped in scrambled eggs in the guesthouse last week. I could see the rage in his eyes as he cleaned his shoe under the kitchen sink. It was unsettling.
I look at the artwork on the wall behind me. I’m not an art girl, but they look expensive. The artists don’t have recognizable names like Picasso, but I’m sure they are worth a lot. I smile to myself, thinking that one of these paintings could probably fund my whole post-secondary education.
I continue to look at the different artwork, until I walk past several photos of men. A teenaged man is sitting in an expensive leather backed chair, while an older man stands beside him with an arm on the boy’s shoulder. I look at the photo next to it, and it’s the same pose, but with different men. I look at the younger
