Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“I’ll track him down,” Elodie says, but it comes out as a growl, like she’d like to throttle him.
She is the protective one.
“And I’ll give him a piece of my mind,” Fable adds.
They’re both the protective ones, actually. I’m lucky like that.
We scan the guests in their party clothes, suits and cocktail dresses, barely a smidge of color, which seems on par for Monroe’s dad. Then the clink of a fork against a glass interrupts my hunt.
I turn toward the front of the room, where floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the veranda and the rolling hills of the golf course beyond. Monroe’s dad bounds up the steps onto the dais, a microphone in hand.
I lift a brow in curiosity. I know a thing or two about parties, and usually there’s more mingling before the guest of honor makes a speech.
“Thank you all for coming,” he says, getting right to business. “It’s great to see everyone. I’ve been excited about this party for a long time, but especially since my son is here and he wants to say a few words to kick this off. Without further ado, here’s Monroe.”
He didn’t call him Doctor Blackstone. He called him by his first name. That’s sort of sweet.
Monroe strides to the stage, and my breath catches. He’s so handsome it hurts. I wish I’d had the chance to grab a moment with him so he knows I’m here, rooting for him, no matter what happens between us. It can’t be easy for him tonight—coming here to praise the man who’s complicated his life and twisted up his whole worldview.
His dad hands him the mic, then gives him a man hug with its familiar choreography. The clap on the back, the pull him in close, but never too close.
But his dad doesn’t let go immediately. He whispers something. From a distance, I can tell there’s a faint shift in Monroe’s lips, a word shared quietly, maybe even a thanks.
That warms my heart.
Then, when his dad leaves, I gird myself. I made a promise to be here, so I give him all my focus, waving subtly.
His gaze holds mine, and there’s that same look he gave me last night at the table, when he held my chin and said I want to see you again. I long for him, a pang that reaches down to the tips of my toes.
“When my father asked me to say a few words tonight my first thought was no way.”
Nervous laughter skitters among the crowd. They aren’t sure if this is going to be a roast.
That’s not Monroe’s style though. But there is something different about him tonight. A more intense determination. He’s not talking in his podcast host voice. He sounds like…just a guy.
“I said what do you want me to say? I’ve never given a retirement speech. Do I say he’s a great doctor and teacher? And my father said It’s practically writing itself.” He turns the other way. “And that’s true. He is a great doctor and teacher.” Monroe gestures to the crowd. “Many of you are here because you work with him. Or you were taught by him. You know that about him.”
Monroe walks to the front of the stage, like he’s gathering his thoughts for the next part. He’s not holding note cards. There’s no prompter. He memorized this. “What you might not know is he’s always been my inspiration. He’s why I went into medicine, before I switched. He always wanted to be the best, and I wanted to be the best in my field too. I still want that.”
I smile, even in spite of my own heartbreak. The man tries so hard. He wants so deeply. He gives fully of himself.
Monroe stops, his eyes lasering in on me once more. My heart stutters, then thumps harder.
I hope that’ll stop soon, this wild reaction to him. I hope it won’t do that in the studio.
“But my dad had an inspiration of his own,” Monroe continues, voice growing even stronger as he looks to the crowd, and to me. “Love.”
He says it with such familiar reverence that I lift my hand, touch my chest, feeling his words.
“My mother allowed him to work the way he did and to be the best. Losing her affected him deeply. So deeply that it kept us from being the best father and son we could be,” he says, voice catching, his emotions seeping through.
Damn you, Monroe. My eyes fill with tears. I purse my lips, trying to swallow them down, so I don’t ruin my makeup. I never imagined he’d try to heal the rift with his father tonight. I rustle around in my clutch for a tissue, but Rachel hands me one, knowing me so well.
Monroe’s gaze slides from mine, landing on his dad on the other side of the room. A solemn look passes between them, his dad nodding proudly. “We’re going to make up for lost time now that he’s got nothing to do but be the best golfer at the country club, right, Dad?”