Chapter 5: Terms and Conditions
The scent of ginger and soy sauce hung thick in the Vegas suite, mingling with the ozone tang of the city buzzing forty floors below. Neon streaks – ruby, emerald, electric blue – pulsed against the heavy velvet drapes, painting shifting patterns on the plush carpet. Whitney sat cross-legged on the colossal bed, a cardboard container of sweet and sour chicken balanced precariously on her knee. Across from her, Colson leaned against the padded velvet headboard, shoveling lo mein into his mouth with chopsticks, eyes fixed on his phone screen displaying complex stage schematics. Tour prep hadn’t stopped for takeout. A comfortable silence stretched between them, broken only by the rustle of noodles and the distant wail of a police siren cutting through the desert night.
Knock-knock-knock.
Three sharp, hesitant raps on the suite door.
Whitney raised an eyebrow at Colson. He barely glanced up, mouth full. "Prob'ly Casi forgot her key card again," he mumbled around the noodles. "Or wants more fortune cookies."
Whitney slid off the bed, padding barefoot across the carpet. She peered through the peephole. Not Casi. It was Mason, Casi’s boyfriend – tall, earnest, sandy-haired, looking like he’d just swallowed a particularly prickly cactus. His Adam’s apple bobbed violently. Whitney swung the door open. "Mason? Hey. Everything okay?" He looked pale under the hallway’s harsh fluorescents.
"Uh, hey, Whitney. Mr. Baker." Mason’s voice cracked slightly as he spotted Colson over Whitney’s shoulder. Colson finally looked up, chopsticks paused mid-air, assessing the boy with a neutral, slightly impatient gaze. "Can I… can I come in for a sec? Need to ask you both something. Important."
"Sure, come in." Whitney stepped aside, the faint scent of hotel shampoo and nervous sweat wafting in with him. Mason hovered just inside the doorway, shifting his weight. Colson slowly lowered his phone, setting it aside, his attention now fully, unnervingly, on the young man.
Mason sucked in a shaky breath, his hands jammed deep in his jeans pockets. He pulled out a small, midnight blue velvet box. Held it out. Unopened. His knuckles were white. "I… I wanted to ask… I mean, I wanted to tell you first…" He stumbled, took another breath, and flipped the box open with trembling fingers. Nestled inside sat a solitaire engagement ring. The stone caught the neon glow from the window, throwing tiny sparks. It was elegant, simple. Very similar in style to Whitney's own engagement ring – a round brilliant cut – but the band was a warm rose gold instead of platinum, and the setting had delicate milgrain detailing Whitney’s didn’t. "I love Casi. So much. I wanna ask her to marry me." The words tumbled out in a rush. "I… I wanted your blessing? Both of yours?"
Whitney’s hand flew to her mouth, a delighted gasp catching in her throat. Excitement fizzed through her. Oh, Casi! Her eyes darted to Colson. His expression was unreadable. Impassive. He hadn’t moved from the headboard, his posture relaxed but his dark eyes locked onto Mason like laser sights. Whitney bit her lip, forcing herself silent. This was Colson’s call. His daughter. His terrifying, overwhelming protectiveness.
The silence stretched. Thick. Suffocating. Only the faint hum of the mini-bar fridge and Mason’s ragged breathing filled the room. Colson’s gaze dropped from Mason’s terrified face to the ring. He studied it for a long, silent beat. Then, with a swift, precise movement, he extended one tattooed finger. Not grabbing, not touching the ring itself. He flicked the velvet box closed with a soft, decisive snap.
Mason flinched.
Colson’s voice was a low, gravelly growl, vibrating with an intensity that made the air crackle. "You’ll ask her tomorrow night." He held Mason’s gaze, burning into him. "After my show." A pause, heavy as lead. "Before that godawful drink Whitney's planning to torture her with."
Whitney blinked. After the show. Before the drink. Her mind raced. That gave them… maybe a thirty-minute window? Between the adrenaline crash of the concert and the impending cocktail horror.
Mason nodded frantically, relief warring with terror on his face. "Y-yes, sir. After the show. Before the drink. Got it."
Colson stood up. Abruptly. Fluidly. Like a panther uncoiling. He didn't move towards Mason directly. Instead, he began to circle the room, his steps slow, deliberate, predatory. His eyes never left the younger man. Mason visibly shrank, tracking Colson’s movement like a rabbit watching a hawk. Whitney held her breath, the leftover Chinese suddenly sitting like a stone in her stomach. This was the Colson few people saw. The one beneath the stage persona and the goofy dad. Raw, territorial, intimidating.
He completed one full circle, stopping directly in front of Mason, too close. Mason took an involuntary step back, bumping the doorframe. Colson leaned in fractionally. "You understand what you're asking?" The growl was quieter now, more dangerous. "Taking her? Claiming her? For life?"
Mason swallowed hard, his throat clicking. "Yes, sir. I do."
Colson stared at him for another endless moment. Then, like a switch flipped, the intimidating mask dissolved. A wide, sharp, almost feral grin split his face. He clapped Mason hard on the shoulder, making the boy stagger. "Good! Okay!" He whipped out his phone from his sweatpants pocket, thumb already flying across the screen. The sudden shift was jarring. "Now," he declared, his voice booming now, filled with manic energy, "let's call my jeweler. This," he jabbed a finger towards the box still clutched in Mason’s white-knuckled hand, "this band? Too thin. Casi’s a hurricane. She’ll snap this thing opening a pickle jar by Tuesday. We need bombproof platinum. Like Whitney’s. Thicker." He put the phone to his ear, already pacing again, radiating frantic purpose. "Yo, Amir? Yeah, it's MGK. Need an emergency reforge. Kid’s proposing tomorrow night… Yeah, tomorrow… Yeah, my kid’s getting married… Casi… I know! Send me the secure link for specs. Pronto. And Amir? Make it indestructible."
Mason stood frozen, clutching the closed ring box like a lifeline, staring at Colson with a mixture of utter bewilderment and dawning, profound relief. Whitney finally exhaled, a shaky laugh escaping her. She walked over to Mason, gently squeezing his arm. "He's terrified, this whole weekend," she whispered, grinning. "But he likes you. This," she nodded towards Colson who was now barking measurements and metal grades into the phone, "is his version of approval. Congratulations."
Mason managed a weak, shell-shocked smile. "Thanks, Whitney. Uh… thanks, Mr. Baker?" he called out, unsure.
Colson waved a dismissive, tattooed hand without looking up from his phone. "Yeah, yeah. Go. Shoo. Homework to do? Or whatever. Just keep your mouth shut until tomorrow night." He shooed Mason towards the door. "And don't let Casi suspect a damn thing!"
Mason practically fled, the suite door clicking shut softly behind him. The sudden quiet felt immense. Colson finally lowered his phone, the manic energy subsiding. He ran a hand through his messy dark hair, letting out a long breath that sounded suspiciously like a sigh. He looked at Whitney, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes beneath the bravado. "Kid actually looked like he might piss himself."
Whitney walked over, wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest. She could feel the rapid thud of his heart finally slowing. "He loves her, Cols. Really loves her." She looked up at him, her blue eyes searching his face. "You did good. Scary, but good."
He snorted, pulling her closer, burying his face in her hair for a moment. "She’s my kid, Whit. Gotta make sure." He pulled back, a familiar, mischievous glint returning to his eyes. He glanced towards the closed door, then back at her, a slow smile spreading. "Tomorrow night's gonna be wild. Concert. Proposal. Disgusting drinks." His hand slid down, palming her ass through her thin leggings, pulling her flush against him. The heat, the intent, was instant and undeniable. "Might need to… pre-game. Our way of a pre-game. Blow off some steam. Right now." He dipped his head, his lips finding the sensitive spot just below her ear. "Double date starts early?"
Laughter bubbled out of Whitney, warm and bright against the neon glow. She tangled her fingers in his hair. "Insatiable," she murmured, tilting her head to give him better access as his lips trailed lower. The city glittered beyond the window, oblivious to the quiet chaos of anticipation building in the suite, a different kind of Vegas heat taking hold.
The city glittered beyond the window, oblivious to the quiet chaos of anticipation building in the suite, a different kind of Vegas heat taking hold. Colson’s mouth was hot and demanding on Whitney’s throat, his hands already pushing her leggings down her hips. "Need you," he growled, the words vibrating against her skin, stripping away any lingering thoughts of Mason or rings or tomorrow. Resistance was pointless, melted by the sheer intensity radiating off him. He lifted her easily, her back hitting the cool hotel room door with a soft thud, his knee nudging her thighs apart before he drove into her with a single, deep thrust that stole her breath. "Mine," he breathed against her lips, claiming her mouth as thoroughly as he claimed her body.
The neon glow painted shifting patterns on their skin as he moved, relentless and deep, pinning her against the vibrating door. It wasn't tender like the penthouse dawn; this was primal, a claiming fueled by adrenaline and protectiveness and the raw edge of his love for his daughter. Whitney clung to him, fingers digging into the dense muscle of his shoulders, her cries muffled against his neck. He fucked her like he was trying to imprint himself onto her bones, each powerful thrust a silent vow against the chaos outside. "Gonna fill you," he panted, his voice ragged, biting down hard on the curve of her shoulder. "Keep you full." He came with a guttural groan, shuddering against her, holding her pinned as he pulsed deep inside. "Pre-game," he rasped, finally lowering her trembling legs, his forehead resting against hers. "Always starts best with you."
Sunlight, harsh and desert-bright, streamed through the gaps in the drapes far too early. Whitney groaned, burying her face in the pillow, every muscle protesting. Colson was already awake, vibrating with pre-show energy. His hand slid possessively over her hip, down her thigh. "Morning, Mrs. Baker," he murmured, his voice thick with intent. Before she could fully protest, he flipped her onto her stomach, pulling her hips back towards him. He slid back into her slick heat with a satisfied groan, his pace immediately deep and demanding. "Hours," he promised darkly, his lips finding the sensitive skin of her spine. "Gotta make sure."
He kept his word. Time blurred into a haze of sweat-slicked skin, tangled sheets, and Colson’s relentless rhythm. He took her slow and deep against the cool glass of the window overlooking the waking Strip. Fast and frantic on the plush carpet, her cries echoing off the high ceiling. Again on the edge of the vast bed, her legs hooked over his shoulders as he drove into her, gaze locked on hers. He murmured filthy promises, whispered possessiveness, groaned her name like a prayer. When he finally collapsed beside her, spent and breathing hard, the clock showed they were dangerously late for soundcheck. Whitney felt utterly claimed, deliciously wrecked, the phantom ache deep inside a constant reminder. "Okay," Colson breathed, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to her temple. "Now we work."
The stadium was a cavernous beast buzzing with frantic energy. Roadies shouted over the rumble of forklifts moving equipment. Techs scrambled over scaffolding like ants. Colson vanished into the vortex, barking orders, checking mic levels, radiating focused intensity. Whitney helped Megan set up a small folding table near the backstage catering area, away from the worst of the chaos. They draped it with a bright pink cloth, placed the birthday cake – chocolate with rainbow sprinkles – in the center. Beside it lay a glittery "21" sash and a slightly ridiculous rhinestone tiara. Saga bounced beside them, carefully arranging napkins. "Is it time yet?" she kept asking, her eyes wide.
Casi arrived with Mason in tow, looking bewildered by the backstage frenzy. "Dad dragged us here early for this?" she complained, eyeing the cake. "Couldn't this wait till after soundcheck?" Whitney just smiled, exchanging a quick glance with Megan. "Surprise!" they yelled in unison as Colson strode over, clapping his hands. Saga practically vibrated with excitement. "Happy Birthday, Squirt!" Colson boomed, grabbing the tiara and plonking it unceremoniously onto Casi’s head. He fastened the sash around her shoulders with surprising gentleness. "Make a wish." Casi’s annoyed facade cracked into a wide, surprised grin. She blew out the candles amidst cheers from the nearby crew. Mason hovered, looking nervous but smiling, his hand finding Casi’s.
Hours later, the stadium was transformed. A sea of screaming faces stretched into the darkness, illuminated by waving phone lights. The bass thumped through Whitney’s chest cavity, vibrating the metal barrier she leaned against. Security guards flanked her, Casi, and Mason on the front right side of the stage. Colson was pure lightning on stage – sprinting, jumping, screaming lyrics into the mic, dripping sweat under the blinding lights. He owned the massive space, a tattooed whirlwind feeding off the crowd's roar. Whitney watched, mesmerized, pride swelling alongside the physical ache still echoing from the morning. Casi screamed herself hoarse beside her, Mason grinning beside her, caught in the electric current.
The final chords of the last song faded into deafening applause. Colson stood center stage, chest heaving, bathed in sweat and spotlight. He grabbed the mic, his voice rough but amplified. "Alright Vegas! You've been fucking insane tonight!" The crowd roared back. "But we got one more thing. Special occasion." He scanned the front rows, his gaze locking onto their spot. A spotlight operator followed his pointed finger. "Cas? Get your ass up here!" Casi froze, eyes wide with disbelief. "Go!" Whitney urged, nudging her towards the security guard who lifted her easily over the barrier. Mason gave her hand a quick squeeze.
Casi stumbled slightly as she reached Colson on the vast stage, looking tiny and overwhelmed under the glare. He threw a sweaty arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "This crazy hurricane," he announced, his voice thick with emotion Whitney rarely heard publicly, "is my daughter. And today… she turns twenty-fucking-one!" The crowd erupted. He grinned, sharp and bright. "So let's hear it! Happy Birthday!" He raised his mic. The band struck the opening chords. Fifty thousand voices surged as one, singing Happy Birthday to Casi under the stadium lights. She stood frozen for a second, then beamed, pure joy radiating from her as she waved shyly at the roaring crowd. Colson kissed the top of her tiaraed head.
Backstage was controlled pandemonium. Crew rushed to strike the set. Colson, dripping sweat and buzzing with adrenaline, grabbed Whitney the moment she cleared the barrier, pulling her into a crushing hug that smelled of salt and stage smoke. "Where?" he rasped in her ear. Whitney pointed towards a dimly lit alcove partially screened by stacked flight cases. She pulled Casi and Mason towards it. "Just wait here a sec, birthday girl," Whitney said, her heart pounding. "Dad needs a minute." Colson gave Mason a sharp nod. Mason swallowed hard, his hand diving into his pocket.
Whitney and Colson ducked behind the stacked cases, peering through a narrow gap. Mason stood facing Casi, who was still buzzing from the stage moment, adjusting her crooked tiara. "That was insane!" Casi laughed, breathless. "Did you see...?" Mason took a deep breath, cutting her off. He dropped to one knee on the concrete floor. Casi’s laughter died instantly. Her hands flew to her mouth. Mason fumbled with the ring box, flipping it open. The thick platinum band Whitney knew Colson had demanded glinted under the work lights. "Casi," Mason started, his voice trembling but clear. "You're… you're everything. Will you marry me?"
Silence stretched for a heartbeat. Then Casi let out a choked sob. "Yes!" she shrieked, the sound echoing off the metal cases. "Oh my god, YES!" She launched herself at him, knocking him slightly off balance as he scrambled to stand. He slid the ring onto her finger – it fit perfectly – and she kissed him fiercely, the tiara slipping sideways. Whitney felt tears prick her eyes. Colson’s arm tightened around her waist; she felt the tremor run through him, saw the sheen in his own bright eyes before he blinked it away.
They stepped out from behind the cases. "Congratulations!" Whitney called, rushing forward to hug Casi, who was crying and laughing, holding her hand out to show the ring. Colson clapped Mason hard on the back. "Welcome to the family, kid," he said, his voice rough but genuine. He pulled Casi into a bear hug, lifting her off her feet. "My girl," he murmured into her hair. "Happy birthday." After a flurry of hugs and excited chatter, Whitney gently disentangled Casi. "Okay, birthday girl, fiancée! Our turn." She winked at Colson. "We'll meet you guys later?"
Colson nodded, pulling Mason aside, likely for a quiet word. Whitney steered the still-giddy Casi away from the backstage chaos. "Disgusting drink time!" Casi declared, holding her ring hand up to catch the light. "Bring it on!"
The casino floor was a sensory assault: flashing lights, clanging slots, the low murmur of countless conversations. Whitney led Casi straight to a garish tiki bar. "One Fernet-Branca with a Malort rinse," Whitney announced to the bartender with grim determination. Casi wrinkled her nose. "That sounds… medicinal." The bartender mixed the murky brown liquid with a clear one, presenting it with a flourish. Casi took a tentative sip. Her face contorted instantly. "Oh GOD!" she gasped, slamming the glass down. "That's… that's like licking a burnt tire dipped in battery acid!" She shuddered dramatically. "Never again! Diet Coke, please!" Whitney laughed, triumphant, ordering her own Diet Coke.
Fortified with soda, Casi dragged Whitney towards the Blackjack tables. "Just a few hands! For fun!" Whitney hesitated, eyeing the green felt. "Fine. A few." They found a $10 minimum table. Whitney played cautiously at first, sticking to basic strategy. Hit on 16, stand on 17. She won the first small pot. Then another. And another. The dealer busted on her next hand. Then she hit blackjack. Five hands. Five wins. The pile of chips in front of her grew steadily. Casi stared, wide-eyed. "Whitney! You're a shark!" she hissed. Whitney felt a strange calm settle over her, a hyper-awareness familiarity of the cards. She glanced at Casi, putting a finger to her lips. "Shhh. Don't say a word. Ever." She cashed out her winnings – a surprisingly thick stack of bills. "Beginner's luck," she murmured, lying, to the dealer, slipping him a tip.
They collected Mason and Colson from the hotel suite – Colson looking relieved, Mason grinning dopily. The dessert buffet at the Bellagio was a wonderland of sugar, miraculously still open. Towers of macarons, rivers of chocolate fondue, intricate pastries glistening under soft lights. They piled plates high, finding a quiet corner booth. Casi couldn't stop staring at her ring, holding her hand up under the lights. "It's so thick!" she marveled. "Like, indestructible!" Colson just smirked, shoving a massive slice of cheesecake towards her. "Gotta withstand hurricanes, kid." He draped an arm around Whitney, pulling her close. His hand rested low on her back, warm and possessive. "Good night?" he murmured against her hair. Whitney leaned into him, watching Casi feed Mason a bite of chocolate cake, Saga happily demolishing a mountain of whipped cream. The deep ache inside her, the phantom fullness, mingled with the sweetness on her tongue and the warmth against her side. "Perfect," she whispered back, licking a smear of chocolate from his thumb. The neon city pulsed outside, but here, surrounded by sticky fingers and shared laughter, felt like the only real light.