He's not my dad

part 23

The party was exactly what Chuck’s band deserved—loud, packed, and buzzing with energy. The bar we’d chosen glowed with warm lights, the stage already set, amps humming softly in anticipation. People spilled out onto the sidewalk, drinks in hand, laughter echoing through the open doors.
Chuck barely left my side.
His arm stayed slung loosely around my waist, fingers tracing idle circles against my hip as he introduced me to band friends, crew members, and people I assumed were part of his dad’s world. Every now and then he’d lean down, murmur something ridiculous in my ear just to make me laugh, then grin like he’d won something.

I could feel Greg watching.
Not constantly—but enough. Every time Chuck pulled me closer or kissed my temple, Greg’s jaw tightened just slightly. He wasn’t glaring, exactly. It was subtler than that. Controlled. Observant. Disapproving?

Jealous? I refused to name it.

Bree found me by the bar and tugged me aside, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“Okay,” she said quietly, “don’t freak out, but Greg is definitely into you.”

I snorted into my drink. “You’re insane.”

“I’m serious,” she insisted. “The man looks like he’s biting through his own teeth every time Chuck touches you.”

“He’s just old-fashioned,” I argued. “He doesn’t want the older guests feeling uncomfortable watching their golden boy act like a loved-up teenager.”

Bree gave me a look. The kind that said you are deeply, profoundly blind. “Sure. If that helps you sleep.”

Before I could respond, the band launched into a soundcheck, the noise swallowing the conversation. Chuck squeezed my waist and kissed my cheek. “You good?” he asked.

“Always,” I smiled.

The set was electric. The crowd jumped, shouted, sang along to songs they barely knew. Chuck owned the stage—confident, magnetic, alive. I caught Greg watching him too, pride unmistakable in his eyes, even if his mouth was set in a tight line.
Halfway through the night, things went sideways.

One of Chuck’s friends—Gideon, tall and sloppy-drunk—slung an arm around me as we laughed near the stage. I stepped away, but his hand lingered too long, sliding where it absolutely shouldn’t have.

Before I could even react, Chuck was there.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snapped, shoving Gideon back.

“It was a joke, man,” Gideon laughed—until Chuck’s fist connected with his face.

The room went silent.

Security rushed in, voices raised, people pulling them apart. Gideon staggered back, clutching his eye, swearing loudly. Chuck stood there breathing hard, knuckles red, eyes blazing.

Greg appeared instantly, placing a firm hand on Chuck’s shoulder. “Enough,” he said sharply. “Outside. Now.”

Later, after things settled and the adrenaline wore off, Chuck found me again, sheepish grin in place like nothing had happened. “He’ll be fine,” he said lightly. “Black eye’ll look great on stage. Really adds character.”

I shook my head, half laughing, half stunned. “You’re unbelievable.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips against my forehead. “No one touches what’s mine.”

Across the room, Greg watched us—expression unreadable.
The music picked back up. The party rolled on. And even as laughter filled the space again, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper was shifting beneath the noise.
This wasn’t just a party.
It was a line being drawn.
And whether I liked it or not, I was standing right in the middle of it.

......

By the time the party wound down, my feet ached and my voice was hoarse from laughing and shouting over the music. The bar slowly emptied, staff stacking chairs and wiping down sticky tables while the band packed up their gear. Chuck disappeared into the bathroom to wash up, still buzzing from the adrenaline of the night.
That’s when Bree struck.

I wasn’t there to witness it—but I knew my friend well enough to picture it perfectly.
According to her, Greg had been standing near the bar, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, looking every inch the composed CEO trying very hard not to look like a man who’d just watched his son dominate a stage. Bree, emboldened by tequila and confidence, slid up beside him like she had every right to be there.

She told me  that she’d smiled and said something shameless. Something about how intense he looked. How the night didn’t have to end yet.
Greg, apparently, had smiled politely. Controlled. Calm.
She’d pressed anyway.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” she told him. “Just one night. No strings.”
That was when he looked past her.
Straight at me.
And said, “I’m not interested. I have feelings for someone else.”
He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t make a scene. Just ended it.
Back at the apartment, Chuck was in the bathroom, the shower running, steam curling under the door. Bree and I sat on the couch in silence for a moment, the weight of the night finally catching up with us.
Then she turned to me.
“You’re not going to like this,” she said.
My stomach dropped. “What did you do?”
She sighed. “I may have… hit on Greg.”
I stared at her. “Bree.”
“I know, I know,” she rushed. “I was drunk. Curious. He’s hot. Don’t look at me like that.”
“What did he say?” I asked quietly.
She leaned back, studying the ceiling. “He turned me down. Very politely. Said he wasn’t interested.”
Relief washed through me before I could stop it—followed immediately by guilt.
“And?” I prompted.
“And then,” she continued slowly, “I tried to brush it off. Told him it could just be a one-night thing.”
I swallowed.
She looked at me then, her expression suddenly serious. “That’s when he looked at you.”
My breath caught. “At me?”
She nodded. “Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t joke. Just said he had feelings for someone else.”
The room felt too quiet.
Chuck laughed behind the bathroom door, humming off-key, blissfully unaware.
I pressed my lips together, unsure what to say. “Bree… that doesn’t mean—”
“Oh, it means something,” she interrupted. “I don’t know what, but I’m telling you now—you’re not imagining things.”
I shook my head, standing up and pacing. “It’s nothing. It has to be nothing. He’s Chuck’s father. My boss. This is… complicated enough already.”
Bree watched me carefully. “You can deny it all you want. But men don’t say things like that unless it’s real.”
I exhaled slowly, rubbing my arms like I could shake the feeling off. “I don’t want it to be real.”
The bathroom door opened, steam spilling into the room as Chuck stepped out, towel around his neck, smiling at us. “What’d I miss?”
Bree stood quickly. “Girl talk. You don’t want to know.”
Chuck laughed, pulling me into his arms, pressing a kiss to my hair. I smiled automatically—but my mind wasn’t there anymore.
Because no matter how much I told myself it was impossible, inappropriate, wrong…
Greg’s words echoed in my head.
I have feelings for someone else.
And the worst part?
I knew exactly who he meant.