Chapter 138
Oblivious to whatever was running through Eric’s mind, Hadley zipped up her backpack, slung it over one shoulder, and gave him a quick wave. “Alright, I’m going in.”
“Yeah. See you.”
Eric stayed in the car, his eyes following her as she walked away, each step pulling her further from him.
Something tightened in his chest, a nagging weight he couldn’t shake. He didn’t know what to call it, but it lingered, gnawing at him long after she was gone.
By the time night fell, Srixby was pulsing with its usual evening energy. But tonight, Galant was bursting at the seams.
It was the long-awaited grand finale of the dance-off competition.
Long before the finals even began, the club was packed wall-to-wall. Security had to turn people away just to keep the crowd from spiraling out of control.
Every competitor gave it their all, but when it was over, there was no doubt.
“Dance Queen!”
“S! Dance Queen!”
“S! Dance Queen!”
The chants shook the club, the electricity in the air still buzzing as Hadley slipped backstage. Even with the walls between her and the audience, their cheers still rang loud in her ears.
Lennon had seen this coming, and watching it unfold exactly as he expected only made him more satisfied.
But what he hadn’t predicted was that Eric wouldn’t be here to see it. Lennon let out a sigh, pressing his fingers to his temples. “Tsk. What a waste… Mr. Flynn didn’t even show up.”
Hadley looked unimpressed. “Mr. Lewis, he hasn’t been around for days. That night might’ve just been him talking big for show.”
“Huh?” Lennon blinked, taken aback. “Wait, seriously?”
He scrambled for evidence. “But what about the flowers? The late-night snacks? He sent all that, didn’t he?”
“Sure, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s nowhere to be seen tonight,” Hadley pointed out, keeping her tone even. “So what now? Am I supposed to give a toast to the most generous patron, right?”
With Eric not showing up, skipping the toast wasn’t exactly an option. Lennon hesitated. “Well… Mr. Flynn did say he’d always top the highest bid by half a million.”
Hadley let out a quiet laugh. “Oh, really? Did he seal that promise with a pinky swear, or did he put it in writing? Did you get the money upfront?”
There was no contract, no official agreement—just words.
She pushed further. “He hasn’t even shown up in ages. What if he forgot? You can’t just assume things will go your way on a verbal promise alone. You’ve got to think this through.”
Lennon chewed on her words. She had a point.
“How about I just go out there and do the toast now?” Hadley suggested.
“Not happening!” Lennon snapped, his jaw tightening. “That toast is for Mr. Flynn and no one else.”
“Why?” Hadley didn’t see the logic. “It’s not like you’re the one ditching. He is.”