Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)(83)

Oh, well. Guess I’ll learn to adjust and be content with the knowledge that my ad work will be viewed by thousands—probably tens of thousands.

Should make me feel good, right?

Yeah, it should. So why is it I feel like nothing but a sellout to corporate greed?

“Quit thinking that stupid idealistic shit,” I chastise myself. “Get real.”

Refocusing on my itinerary for when I arrive in Vegas, I ponder the one last blowout I plan to have at my parents’ house. Not that I’ve done much planning on it, but the groundwork is set. Mom and Greg are gone, so they aren’t a factor. My folks took off for an extended three-month vacation, following my graduation ceremony. That means they won’t be back for several weeks. Those two are always traveling, jetting from one place to the next. They were so anxious for this trip to begin that they flew out of LA on Saturday, the day of my graduation. In fact, they even had me drive them to the airport that very night.

I blow out a breath, recalling our final moments at the curb of the passenger drop-off area.

As I helped Mom unload her baggage from the trunk of the graduation present she’d given me—the ice-blue convertible Bimmer I’m driving this very moment—she gave me free rein over her not-so-humble Vegas abode. She has no problem with me staying at her and Greg’s oversized McMansion, seeing as I’m about to become what she always dreamed I’d be—a clean-cut business professional.

Nonetheless, my mom, knowing my background and no doubt recalling my reckless younger days, was sure to add, “Have fun, but don’t trash the place, Will.”

I feigned indignation, placing my hand over my heart and acting hurt. “Would I do such a thing, Mother Dear?”

She gave me a withering look, and Greg chimed in with, “Seriously, Will. No parties.”

He returned to his task of loading their bags onto a cart and didn’t see me roll my eyes at him. I swear that man will forever view me as fifteen.

Mom, always quick to defend me, dressed Greg down immediately. “Oh, Greg,” she said, “a tiny party is fine. My son”—she reached up and ruffled my hair—“can have a few friends over if he likes. I’m sure they’ll all behave like perfect ladies and gentlemen.”

Ha!

Another eye roll was in order, but I played along, knowing it was to my advantage.

Don’t think I can’t recognize how f*cked up our family dynamic is, with Greg trying to set boundaries and Mom continually shutting him down. That’s just her, though. My mom, Abby Gartner Vintner, simply sucks at discipline. I guess that’s part of the reason why my brother, Chase, and I had so many problems growing up. Losing our real father and living on the streets for a while didn’t help matters, nor did Abby’s onetime-pervasive gambling problem, but her overall permissiveness led me and my brother to make a slew of bad choices.

That’s all in the past now. Chase is a success story these days.

The onetime felon, who spent four years in prison, runs a thriving business and has a great family. He and his wife, Kay, plus their young children, Jack and Sarah, all came to my graduation this past weekend. They had to fly back directly afterward, however. Chase told me he had work to do on Sunday, something about checking in on a job site that’s running behind schedule. He builds homes—like our father once did—in Ohio.

And then there’s me. “College graduate,” I murmur, savoring the sound of those words one more time.

Still, though. Despite how many times that phrase passes my lips, it just doesn’t feel real. But it is real. I did it. I survived the fancy school in Malibu that Mom and Greg paid far too much for. And now it’s on to the big city to live out my dream.

Or live out someone’s dream, a little voice whispers.

“Think about the party,” I mutter in response.

Yeah, the party…

I’m thinking one low-key bash at the house won’t hurt anyone. No one will probably show up anyway, seeing as I’ve lost touch with most of my old friends. Probably a good thing, considering how my early high school years were filled with drugs and partying with those exact same people.

Oh, and with my onetime girlfriend, Cassie Sutter.

That chick and I were bad news once we got together. Shit, we were high more often than not. She was my enabler, and I was hers. She also holds claim to the title of “my first love.” Walking away from her was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. But if ever there was a toxic love, it was ours.

Think I’m over-exaggerating? I’m not. Hell, I almost killed a man in cold blood for Cassie, if not for Chase intervening.

Chase. Reaching up from the steering wheel, I run my hand through my hair. It’s the same light brown color as his. My hair used to be lighter, much lighter. I was once a towheaded blond, back when I was a little kid. My hair also used to be wilder. Not all that long ago, either. Sadly, I had to get a haircut last week, to appear more “professional” for my new job.

What is it that people say? Need to look the part to play the part, right?

Chuckling, I rake my fingers through my hair once more. Thankfully, there’s still enough there to grab and pull. Chase does the same thing, all the time. Family trait, I suppose. Wonder if our dad had the same hair-raking quirk?

I can’t ask him, seeing as he’s dead and gone. Suicide, back when I was eight. My dad drove off a cliff, located in the same exact mountain pass I’ll be driving through in roughly thirty minutes.