I haven’t listened to a single message since I found out Sierra was the mystery woman. Moral dilemmas aren’t things I typically waste time with, but this time I don’t know what’s right. On one hand, I’ve already listened to a handful of messages. What’s the harm in listening to more? But on the other, the messages are intimate. Not meant for anyone to hear, especially not me.
I open my voicemail and look at the display, noticing that the next message to listen to was left exactly a year ago today. I don’t believe in fate, but come on…this is a pretty big coincidence. With no hesitation, I press play.
“Happy birthday,” Sierra whispers. “I just…I wanted to tell…” She starts crying and the phone goes dead.
There are few things in life that I regret. That’s not to say I’ve never made a bad decision—I do those almost daily—but I deal with it and move on.
Right now, I’m regretting listening to that message. Because now I know today is Sierra’s dead boyfriend’s birthday, and the hurt is still there. Hearing her cry, even when it was a year ago, upsets me for some reason, and I can’t get the ball of dread to leave my stomach. The sick feeling rises, tightening my chest.
I’m so fucking stupid sometimes.
I get out of the car and exhale. A shining blanket of stars covers the night sky. Around the back of The Mill House, the sounds of the bar are muted, like distant memories escaping with the breeze. The woods are alive with a chorus of bugs, and the steady sound of rushing water from the river soothes my soul.
And I still can’t get Sierra out of my head.
Instead of going right up the stairs to my apartment, I go into the bar with the intention of making myself a Jack and Coke before trying my best to pass out and not think of her.
Turns out, going into the bar was the second stupid mistake of the night.
She’s there.
Alone.
Sitting in a corner booth with two empty glasses in front of her. Her eyes are glossy. She’s sad. And I know why.
Dammit.
Corey, a large man with small, dark eyes and a friendly smile, brings her another drink. I watch Sierra slide it in front of her and gulp a fourth down before taking a breath. She needs to slow down. Drinking away your problems—your feelings—isn’t the way to go. Trust me. Been there, done that.
I cross the room and go behind the bar, finding Corey working on another drink order.
“Hey, Chase!” He gives a wave. “I thought you were off tonight.”
“I am. Just passing through. How many drinks has Sierra had?” I ask, cutting right to the chase.
“Uh,” Corey looks up as he thinks. He’s one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet but is definitely not the smartest. “Three.”
“What is she drinking?”
“The first was a Long Island. Second was a mint Julep. And I just brought her another Long Island.”
“Jesus. Why didn’t you cut her off?”
Corey gives me a blank stare. “She ordered them.”
“That’s a lot of alcohol for anyone, let alone someone Sierra’s size.” I shake my head. Now’s not the time to scold Corey. Rayne, the head cocktail waitress, was supposed to be helping him with stuff like this tonight anyway.
I fill a glass with water and grab a plate of French fries from the kitchen, and weave my way through the crowd to the back of the bar. Sierra is gone. Her drink is still on the table, half empty. Panic rises inside of me, knowing what she’s going through and how drinking alone is the worst thing for her. I whirl around, sloshing the water down my hand, and find her standing with some random couple, who just ordered a tray of tequila shots.
“Sierra!” I call over the music. A song about a red Solo cup comes on and everyone goes crazy. My voice is lost in the cheers. I shove past someone and call her name again.
Sierra turns, lowering the shot from her lips. “Chase.”
“I brought you food,” I offer, able to tell right away that she’s wasted. She’s wearing another interesting outfit, though I’d be lying if I said the tight pink skirt didn’t look good on her. The tank top she has on hugs her curves as well and shows off her large breasts perfectly. It’s the big screen-print of a cat on the front that throws me.
“I’m not hungry,” she says and turns away. I set the food down and take her arm. She looks back, eyes going to my fingers gently wrapped around her skin.
“I thought you said you were here alone,” the guy from the couple says gruffly. He has his arm draped around his girlfriend, and is eyeing Sierra with obvious lust…and so is the girlfriend. I don’t like the look of either of them and know their intentions with Sierra aren’t noble.
“I am. Alone. Very alone,” Sierra slurs. “Chase works here and brought me food. But,” she starts and holds up her hand, closing one eye as she tries to look closely at me. “He doesn’t know I like to dip my fries in cheese and not ketchup.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I didn’t know. Let’s go get you some.”
Sierra shakes her head. “Nah. My friends bought me shots.”
“I don’t think you should take that,” I say quietly. “You’ve had enough.”
“Pshhh,” she waves her hand in the air. “We’re celebrating tonight. It’s their anniversary. Isn’t that amazing? People…people…” She closes her eyes for a moment then shakes her head. Fuck. I need to get her out of here. “She’s giving him a surprise present. Isn’t that so romantic?”
“Very,” I say when it dawns on me that the surprise is a threesome. That’s why they’re shoving shots in Sierra’s face and both looking at her like she’s an all-you-can-eat buffet. Physically speaking, they made a good choice, but no one is taking Sierra home when she’s drunk like this. I won’t fucking allow it.
“Want to know what else is romantic?” I blurt.
“Yeah,” Sierra says eagerly.
“I, uh, have to show you.” What the hell is wrong with me? I’m usually a good bullshitter and an even better liar. There’s something about Sierra that’s causing me to panic in a way I never have before.
Because I care about her.
The guy steps forward and puts his hand on Sierra’s shoulder. She shies away, moving closer to me for comfort.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, voice thick like gravel. “We ain’t got all night.”
“Right.” Sierra smiles and nods, then brings the shot glass to her mouth and downs the tequila with a shudder. Not even a minute later she looks at me, eyes wide. “I think you were right. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Let’s get some air.” I take her arm, grab the water, and look at the couple. “Good luck finding somebody else.”
The girl looks shocked, and the guy is pissed. Sierra wobbles on her heels, holding onto me for balance. We leave out the back and I offer Sierra the water. She takes a small sip and lets out a breath.
“I want to feel normal and not be sad,” she breathes. “For one night. Is that terrible?”
“No,” I tell her. “It’s not.”
I take her hand and lead her down to the river. We sit on a rock, and Sierra rests her head on my shoulder, eyes falling shut. We stay like that for a few minutes.
“Do you want me to take you home?” I ask.
“Not yet. I like listening to the water.”
“I do too.”
She shivers and inches closer.
“Do you want a jacket?”
“That’d be nice,” she slurs.
“I can get you one. Don’t fall into the water and drown while I’m gone, okay?”
She slowly moves her head up and down. I stand, take a step, and decide leaving her drunk on a riverbank is a terrible idea. “Come with me.”
I extend my hand to help her up. She takes a few paces, then stops, doubles over, and throws up. I spring forward, pulling her hair back just in time. She retches again and the smell of tequila and stomach bile permeates the night air.
“Better out than in.” I try to comfort her.
“I’m sorry,” she tells me, wiping her mouth.
“Hey,” I say and look into her eyes. There’s a good chance she won’t remember a thing in the morning. But I don’t leave things to chance. She has no idea I know about her past, and it needs to stay that way. “It’s okay. Don’t feel bad. Come inside and get some water and lay down.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t want to go back into the bar. The smell of smoke…”
“We won’t go into the bar.”
“Oh. Okay.”
On shaky legs, she comes up the stairs to my apartment with me. I turn on the lights and take her to a kitchen chair. She puts her head down on the table, groaning. I get her water and a damp rag to wipe her face.
Sitting next to her, I gingerly lift her head up and run the rag over her chin. She takes another small drink of water and looks around the apartment, tears filling her eyes.
“Is there someone you want me to call?” I ask.
“No. Lisa is at a concert tonight. I’m just tired.”
“You can lay down here if you want.”
She takes in an unsteady breath and nods. “Okay.”
I help her up and lead her to the bathroom, then take her into my room, tossing a T-shirt and boxers onto the unmade bed in case she wants to change.
“I’ll, uh, come in and check on you.”
She nods and starts to pull her shirt over her head. My dick tells me to stay and watch because seeing Sierra strip would be one of the hottest things I’ve ever witnessed. Then another part of me speaks up, a part that usually keeps its mouth shut.
My heart.
It tells me that Sierra deserves respect, that she’s unlike anyone I’ve met before, I know the real reason she drank herself into oblivion tonight. Before I catch a glimpse of her perfect tits, I turn and shut the door.
Realizing that Sierra didn’t have a purse on her when she left the bar, I hurry down the stairs to look for it, knowing that it’s already too late.
“Chase,” Rayne calls, seeing me look under the booth Sierra had previously occupied. “Looking for this?” She holds up a little pink purse.
“I think so. Is it Sierra’s?”
“Yeah. I grabbed it the first time she dropped it. I haven’t seen her though.” Rayne gives me a worried look. “Have you?”
“Yeah. I took her home,” I say.
“Thank God. Want me to put this in the safe?”
“I’ll take it to her. Thanks, Rayne.”
She gives me a smile. “No problem.”
I rush back upstairs and look in on Sierra. Her skirt and shirt are on the floor, and she’s in my bed, curled up under the blankets, fast asleep. I leave the room again, keeping the door cracked in case she wakes up sick or something.
I sit on the couch with a weird feeling growing in my chest. I’ve never taken care of anyone before. And I don’t know if this weird feeling is stemming from doing a good deed—another thing I’m not used to—or something else.
Something I don’t want to admit to myself.
That I’m starting to have feelings for this woman, a woman I’ve only talked to a handful of times.
But there’s so much more to Sierra than that. Her messages spoke to me before I could put a face to the voice. I knew I shouldn’t have listened to them.
Screw up and learn, right? What the hell am I going to learn from this?
Chapter 9
Sierra
I wake with a dry mouth and a pounding headache. If it weren’t for the need to use the bathroom, I could go back to sleep for the rest of the afternoon. Slowly, I blink open my eyes, squinting from the bright sun shining through the large window.
I’m in Chase’s bed, and I remember everything from last night. I think. Maybe? Crap. I push myself up and realize I’m wearing his clothes. Okay. Don’t remember that. I close my eyes and think backward and finally recall him leading me into his room and leaving. I changed and passed out. From there, my mind is blank. I assume I stayed asleep the whole time, but I can’t be sure.
Before I get up, I take a minute to look around the room. It’s long and narrow, and the wall the bed is pushed up against is exposed brick. I touch it, feeling the rough stone beneath my fingers. We’re above the bar, and I had no idea an apartment was up here.
Chase’s bed is plain with white sheets and a dark blue soft, down comforter. A bookshelf is against the wall next to the bed, and it looks and smells new like it was just put together. The bottom two shelves are full of books, and the rest of it is empty. He wasn’t lying when he said he reads anything. The books vary from thriller to historical fiction. Epic fantasy seems to be his favorite.
Across the bed is a dresser and there is absolutely nothing on it. A single lamp sits on the nightstand next to the bed, along with a glass of water, a bottle of Advil, and a handwritten note. I pick it up and unfold the paper.
Sierra-
Thought you might need this.
He didn’t sign his name, but I know Chase wrote it. I read his simple words twice. Why does his compassion surprise me? I try not to judge people before I get to know them, but there are some snap judgments I can’t help.
And tall, muscular men with tattoos and eyes you can drown in are usually nothing but trouble. Usually. I’ve been wrong before.
I take an Advil and drink most of the water before getting up and gathering my clothes. I think there is vomit on my skirt, and a wave of embarrassment comes over me. I haven’t thrown up from drinking too much since I was nineteen. I shake my head and fold my skirt so the mysterious stain is safely tucked inside and away from my hands. Then I go to the bathroom, pee, and do my best to remove my smeared eyeliner.
The house is silent besides the quiet hum of the air conditioner. Holding my breath, I tiptoe out, wincing when the floorboards creak beneath my bare feet. A floor-to-ceiling window in the living room gives an impressive view of the river below. But an even more impressive view might be Chase, looking uncomfortable on the couch, still asleep. The book he bought days ago is resting on his chest.
Carefully, I move down the hall and shiver. What does he have his air set to? Arctic? He’s wearing only boxers and has to be cold. I go back to his bedroom and take the comforter off his bed, set on covering him up and trying to sneak out of here without being seen.
I furtively move to him and pause, noticing a long scar that runs the length of his thigh. It’s straight and neat, looking like the result of an operation to fix a broken bone. I tear my eyes away and raise the blanket. The moment it touches his skin, he startles awake so suddenly it causes me to jump back. The book falls to the wooden floor with a thud.
“Sierra. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. What are you doing?” he asks, wide-eyed and fully awake. It takes me a few blinks, some stretches, and at least one eye-rub before I can form a coherent thought.
“I was going to smother you in your sleep.”
Chase blinks, looks at the blanket and then me. “That wouldn’t work, you know. Go for a plastic bag next time. Get it around my head and tie it at the neck.”
“Noted.”
He shifts his gaze and smiles. “What were you really doing?”
“I thought you were cold. I was going to cover you up.”
“Oh,” he says as if that’s more shocking to hear than me trying to murder him. “Uh, thanks. It is a little chilly in here, I suppose.”
“A little? What do you have your air set to?”
“Sixty-two.”
I blink. “That’s freezing.”
“Trust me, I know. But this place isn’t well insulated and doesn’t retain the cool air well. By the afternoon it’ll be twenty degrees warmer in here. I try to get a head start by keeping it cool at night.”
“Oh. That makes sense, I guess.”
He stands and pushes his shoulders back. There are scars on his chest, but are harder to see since they are hidden beneath the ink of his tattoos. Which I’m not looking at. And not finding incredibly sexy
.
“How are you feeling?” he asks and runs a hand through his hair, made messy from sleep.
“I’m not sure.”
Chase laughs. “Maybe you’re still drunk.”
“No. I’m not. My head hurts and I’m dreading the stomachache that’s going to come on later in the day.” I pull my arms in around myself and look into Chase’s hazel eyes. “Thanks for everything last night.”
He gives me his trademark shrug, a move I assume he’s perfected over the years. One that says he doesn’t care, that he’s not invested, and he doesn’t feel anything toward the words spoken.
It’s something I tried to learn and tried even harder to make myself believe. I didn’t want to care. I didn’t want to be invested in anything. And mostly, I didn’t want to feel anything toward anything at all.
I failed.
“It was nothing,” he says casually, and then smiles. “Were you really going to have a threesome with that couple?”
“What?”
“They wanted you to join in on their ‘romantic surprise’,” he laughs.
“That’s what they wanted?” My hands fly to my face. “Oh my God.”
Chase is laughing even harder. “You didn’t know?”
“No!” I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. “I thought they were just being nice.”
“Oh, they were being nice. Nice enough to get you to go home with them and then be bad. Very, very bad.”
“Oh. My. God.” I shake my head, not sure if I can look at Chase ever again. “I guess I owe you even more now.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Sierra.”
I like the way he says my name. Slowly. Softly. I raise my head and meet his gaze. “Okay.”
“Are you hungry? You really should eat, even if you don’t feel like it.”
“I am, but the thought of food is very off-putting.”
“That’s a typical hangover.”
I shake my head. “I haven’t had a hangover since college.”
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