Page 64 of With This Mask
He’s already hired four employees in the last three weeks. LenseClip is blowing up at an unbelievable rate. It almost seems silly that Alec is technically still a university student for another two weeks.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” I tell him as I trace a finger over his chest, the opposite side of the fresh tattoo. It still breaks my heart, the fact that Alec was never told those words by his father. They haven’t spoken since Alec beat the shit out of him. He hasn’t taken a dime of his money.
“Thank you for seeing it in me,” he says tenderly. And I see how much he means his words. “Thank you for putting up with my asshole phase and giving me a chance.”
Three and a half years, that’s how long I put up with Alec’s asshole phase. Though I was a pretty big one myself.
Instead of replying, I reach for the item sitting on the nightstand, and strap my mask on my face. Alec grabs his from where it lays on the bed and puts it in place.
“Let’s show the fans just how much I like your new tattoo.”
chapter twenty-two
The line of caps and gowns inches forward, and I shift from foot to foot, my stomach doing acrobatic flips. I look up the line, catching sight of Alec. His posture is a statue of composure, his square jaw set in that familiar confident line. But I can see it—the slight twitch in his leg, the way his fingers tap against the satin fabric of his graduation robe. Even Mr. Moneybags Vanderholt isn't immune to the gravity of this moment.
Fuck. I hate that I can’t stand right next to him right now. Curse the fact that somehow, there are two other V last names, and three other W names that alphabetically come between us.
The auditorium echoes with the hum of proud chatter, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional shrill whistle. Families cram the seats, their faces beaming as they watch their kids and siblings and friends accomplish their dreams. And they all have their phones out, waiting to immortalize the moment their now grown kids shuffle across the stage. My eyes scan the crowd, searching for my mother and Danny. And there they are, about a third of the way up, right in the center. They showed up really early to get those seats.
My eyes scan the crowd again, but I see no traces of William Vanderholt.
Fuck. Him.
The line shuffles forward, and my heart starts pounding as Alec cues up.
He rises, that same cocky swagger in his step that he carries everywhere. It's as if the stage is his birthright, the spotlight something he absorbed with the silver spoon from which he was fed. His name resounds, echoing off the walls, and for a moment, I see the boy beneath the bravado, the weight of expectation pressing down on his broad shoulders.
"Make it look good, Vanderholt!" I call out, loud enough for him to hear above the clapping. A taunt, but also... something else. A recognition of the battle we both fight to be seen for who we are, not just what our last names say about us.
"Watch and learn, Winters." He flashes a smirk before he steps fully into view. Even if his dad isn’t here, there is a cacophony of chaos as everyone cheers and calls out to him. And none scream and cheer louder than I do. I watch as mom practically loses her mind, cheering and waving to him.
They only met for the first time last night. But Alec had her wrapped around his little finger within minutes.
Hazards of being so fucking charming.
Alec reaches the dean, shaking his hand, his grip firm. There's no falter in his movement, no sign that he's anything but untouchable. Yet, I know better. I see the subtle scan of the crowd, the search for an approval that isn't there, the father who couldn't be bothered to show up.
"Congratulations, Mr. Vanderholt," the dean intones, handing him the diploma.
"Thanks, but it's just Alec," he corrects, the veneer cracking just a fraction, and there's that stubborn pride that makes him more than just another rich kid.
But still, he turns to the crowd and waves, and we all lose our minds again.
I smile wildly as I watch Alec walk off the stage and the next name is called. Whoever is standing in front of me makes a smart remark at my enthusiasm, but I don’t care.
I’m so damn proud of him.
The line grows shorter, and finally, I wait behind the curtain for my turn.
I’ve worked so damn hard for this. Studying for hours instead of partying. Taking extra courses. Jumping into every extracurricular I could just to make my transcript as polished as possible. Growing up, there was never enough of anything but love. I appreciated every hour my mother worked to provide for us. But I swore I would never struggle so hard. And now I won’t. I’m the first in my family to get to this place.
“Salem Winters,” my name booms over the speaker.
I stride across the stage, every step pulsating with the beat of my racing heart. My hand clenches, unclenches. The amount of cheers I receive as opposed to Alec is minimal. My mom and stepdad. My few friends. And fuck, Alec has pretty much lost his mind over there. But it’s everything that matters. I beam as I cross the stage.
The dean’s waiting, my awards in one hand, my diploma in the other, that practiced, plasticky smile plastered on his face. But the weight of the paper he hands me is real, dense with the grind of years spent buried in books while others slept.
"Congratulations," he murmurs, but it sounds like victory.