He's not my dad

part 29

The moment we arrive at the garden party, Greg is waiting at the entrance. His expression is perfectly polite, but there’s a stiffness to it that immediately sets me on edge. I force a smile, but I can feel his eyes skimming over me, cautious, controlled. Chuck nudges me gently, oblivious to the silent war going on between us.

“Taylor, good to see you,” Greg says, extending his hand first to Chuck, then to me. His tone is flawless, but his gaze keeps flicking toward me. I can see the struggle in his posture—like he’s trying to keep some invisible boundary in place. Chuck doesn’t comment; he just accepts it, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.

We head to the garden, weaving past waiters balancing trays of champagne and canapés. Chuck immediately grabs a glass and starts drinking, his easy grin returning. I decline, planning to stay sober—I’ll be driving him to the gig tonight, and I need to keep a clear head.

Greg joins us under a large white tent, mingling with the crowd. Conversation is polite, almost too polite, and I can feel the tension like static in the air.

“So, how’s the tour going?” Greg asks, directing the question toward Chuck.

“It’s been incredible,” Chuck replies, animated. “Taylor’s been a lifesaver on the road—keeping me fed, organized, and generally alive.” He nudges me playfully, and I can’t help but smile. “We’ve had a few adventures. Honestly, I think she just wants to get home to Bree.”

Greg’s jaw tightens at the mention of my friend, though he masks it behind a measured nod. I can tell he’s measuring every word, every gesture, like he’s on a tightrope.

I, on the other hand, would rather be getting a root canal than standing here, small talk bouncing awkwardly around me. I spot Mr Benjamin across the garden, chatting with a few clients near the hedge. Excusing myself politely from Greg and Chuck, I weave through the crowd to him.

“Taylor! It’s been too long,” he says warmly, giving me a hug. “I’ve missed having you around here.”
I smile, but the tension in my shoulders doesn’t ease. “Thank you. It’s good to see you too.”
He leans closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “Would you consider coming back? The place isn’t the same without you.”
I shake my head gently, feeling a flicker of gratitude for his words. “I appreciate that, truly. But I’m moving in a different direction now—party planning, actually. It feels like the right fit for me.”

He nods, though I can see a trace of disappointment in his eyes. “Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

We chat a few more minutes about industry gossip and upcoming projects, but my thoughts keep drifting back to Chuck and Greg, to the unspoken tension that seems to linger wherever I go. I finish the conversation, excuse myself, and return to the garden tent, adjusting the hem of my dress as I try to steady my nerves.
Chuck catches my eye immediately, smiling that lopsided grin I’ve come to love. He leans in, his voice low. “Everything okay?”

I nod, forcing a casual laugh. “Yeah, just old friends, you know?”

He eyes me carefully but doesn’t press. We fall into step together, keeping conversation light as Greg hovers nearby, always present, always aware.
The party continues around us, but I can’t shake the feeling that every interaction, every glance, is loaded with tension I’m not sure I can navigate tonight. One thing is certain: this weekend is going to be tricky, and I have a feeling the real challenge isn’t the party itself—it’s keeping the fragile balance between father, son, and me.

.....

The party is winding down, and Chuck climbs onto the small stage to make a speech for his dad’s fiftieth. The crowd quiets as he clears his throat, glass of champagne in hand.

“First,” he starts, flashing that mischievous grin, “I want to say happy birthday to my dad. Mr. Greg Groves—you’ve taught me more than I could ever say. You’ve given me guidance, opportunity, and… perspective.” His eyes find mine across the room, and he winks.

I feel my cheeks warm as he continues, voice growing more playful. “And I just want to say, Dad… you know I love you—but also, I love someone else very much. Someone who’s here tonight.” He gestures toward me, and I can’t help but beam, my heart doing a little flip.

I catch Greg stiffen beside me, his jaw tightening just slightly, but he manages a polite nod toward Chuck. Chuck’s grin doesn’t falter; he’s clearly enjoying the moment.

“I know this is your night, Dad,” Chuck continues, “but I just wanted everyone to know—you’ve made my life incredible, and Taylor, you’ve made it even better.”

The room erupts into cheers. I feel my ears heat up, but a small, delighted laugh escapes me. Chuck’s gaze stays locked on mine, unwavering. My heart pounds in my chest as I realize just how open he is about us—even in front of his father and a room full of colleagues and family.

Not long after the speech, the party begins to wind down. Greg, clearly a little worse for wear after the drinks, leans toward me as we make our way to the car. His movements are slightly sloppy,

uncharacteristic of the composed, measured man he usually is.
Before I can react, he lightly kisses my cheek. I freeze, caught off guard, but the warmth of the gesture is undeniable. My mind races—what is he doing? Why now? But before I can analyze it, Chuck slips an arm around my shoulders.
......

“You know I love you too,” I whisper, brushing a strand of hair from my face as we walk to the car.

Chuck leans close, resting his head near mine, and his lips brush against my ear. “I do,” he murmurs softly.

We slide into the car together, the engine humming as we pull away from the garden party. I can feel the contrast between the two men: Chuck’s confident, steady presence, warm and familiar, and Greg’s tipsy, slightly disoriented energy, edged with the faintest trace of jealousy.

The drive to the bar is quiet at first, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Chuck squeezes my hand gently. “You’re mine,” he says softly, and I laugh, shaking my head, “You’ve said that a hundred times.”

“I don’t care,” he replies, smirking. “I like saying it.”

I lean into him, resting my head against his shoulder as the city lights blur past. “I love you too,” I tell him again, and this time, there’s no doubt in my voice.

Chuck laughs, a low, happy sound, and kisses the top of my head. “Good,” he says simply. “Because you’re stuck with me for a long time.”

I can only smile, heart full, and think how bizarre, messy, and wonderful life has become—between the band, his dad, and the rollercoaster that is Chuck. And despite everything, I wouldn’t change a thing.