I sneak a glance at him out of the corner of my eye and see his jaw is clenched tight.
“There was so much pressure at work — it was nice to have someone there, someone who was fun, someone who just wanted to party and blow off all the responsibilities piling up around me.” His hands fist by his sides. “It wasn’t long before she had me blowing off business meetings and coming in late, still hungover from the night before. The drinking was just for fun, at first, but then… it spiraled into something more. Something darker. And before I knew it, I’d been arrested for a DUI, brought to court facing assault charges for punching out a paparazzo while I was loaded one night, and out of the job I’d worked so hard for. Jameson gave Brett my position at the company.”
His voice gets so low, so pained, I forget to be angry or jealous, and without thinking, I reach my hand out for his. At first, when our bare skin brushes, his fist stays tightly clenched, not accepting my touch. Still, I don’t pull back, and after a few seconds, I feel his grip relax as he lets my fingers twine with his.
“I should’ve known, then, that Brett had orchestrated it, but I was too lost — in the booze, in the rebellion, in her.” He swallows hard, and I move my thumb across the back of his hand in soothing strokes. “I’d lost everything — my pride, my job, my self-respect — which only made me hold on tighter to the one thing I had left.”
I squeeze his fingers. “Vanessa.”
He nods, still not looking at me. “She suggested we get married. By that point, I was drunk more often than not and I would’ve agreed to just about anything, if I thought it might give my life some meaning again. So, I put a ring on her finger.” He takes a deep breath. “Two weeks later, I was out for a run one afternoon, in the park. It started snowing, so I headed home early.”
I squeeze his hand in mine, sensing his unease.
“I remember walking in, seeing the clothes scattered everywhere — her bra on the stairs, her underwear lying there in the hallway, the man’s jacket dropped on the threshold to my bedroom.” His fingers flex against mine. “She was in bed with Brett.”
I gasp.
“He’d been fucking her the whole time.” His voice is utterly flat, empty of emotion. “She was just part of his plan, to derail my life. And it worked.”
Scattered puzzle pieces in my mind start to snap into place, creating sense where before there was only confusion. Casting a bit of clarity into the mystery that is Chase Croft.
Chase, tensing when the reporters asked about a potential engagement.
His face, when he walked into his cousin’s study and found my hand clasped tight in Brett’s.
The uncontrollable anger in his stride, in his eyes, in his voice at just the thought of Brett touching me, talking to me.
God, no wonder he flipped out.
“Chase…” My voice is gentle. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.” His eyes move to mine. “The truth is always better than a lie, even if it hurts. I worked hard to get my life back, after that. I went to Europe, to Asia, to every forgotten corner of this world I could find, trying to be someone else. Trying to leave Chase Croft behind and become someone better.” He swallows. “I don’t know if I succeeded in that. But I do know I changed. And I learned to be careful about who I place my trust in. There’s a very short list of people I tell about my past… let’s just say, I don’t add anyone lightly. ”
He squeezes my hand, that one small gesture communicating more than a thousand pretty words, and the breath stills in my throat.
Because he trusts me.
He doesn’t say it, but it’s there in the way he’s laid out his past for me without shying away from the ugliness, from the pain. And what have I given him, in return?
Very little except distrust.
I suddenly wish, more than anything, I could go back to the start of all this and do things again — better, this time.
“I’m sorry, Chase,” I whisper to the water, feeling like the worst human being of all time.
His hand tightens on mine and my eyes refocus on his face. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
I take a quick breath. “What happened after you found out? About Vanessa, I mean.”
“As soon as I learned the truth, Brett tossed her aside like a piece of garbage. In his eyes, she’d fulfilled her purpose. She wasn’t happy about it, despite the big payoff he gave her to keep her mouth shut with the press. So, she came back to me, showed up at my doorstep. Told me she loved me, that he’d tricked her. Begged me to take her back.”
I hold my breath, afraid of what he’ll say next.
“No matter how many doors I slam in her face, she keeps trying. Keeps calling.” I feel myself relax as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Brett’s probably paying her to do it, hoping it’ll fuck with me, even after all these years.” He pauses. “And considering the fact that her call made you run from me, yesterday, I guess it’s working.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper again, for an entirely different reason. “I shouldn’t have bolted without talking to you, first.”
His hand squeezes mine and though he doesn’t say anything, I know he’s accepted my apology.
“Why are you here, Chase?” I force myself to ask. “Why are you telling me all this?”
He glances at me, and those green eyes are so intense, I’m pinned to the spot.
“The second I saw you, jumping up and down on the sidelines of a sport you didn’t understand, cheering for the wrong team and still somehow having more fun than everyone else in that stadium, I knew. Knew I wanted you in my arms, in my bed, in my life.” His eyes are liquid heat — molten lava, burning into mine. “I’m used to getting what I want, Gemma.”
I stop breathing.
“Still, I was going to stay away from you, keep you out of all this shit, even if it killed me.”
“Why?”
“Because you aren’t built for deceit or lies or darkness. I’m shadow and you’re sunshine. You’re not like me. You’re just… different.”
“Bad different?”
“Different in the best way possible. My world — it’s monochrome. Black and white. But you…” His voice gets lower, huskier. “You’re painted in every shade on the palette. You’re screaming color. A fucking rainbow.”
I pause for a moment, trying to process that. “Past tense?” I ask finally.
“What?”
“You said you were going to stay away from me. Were, not are.” I swallow hard. “Past tense.”
He looks at me, his eyes searing into mine, and the expression on his face makes my heart clench with hope.
“I was trying to keep you out of this shit with Brett. Now that he knows… you’re in it, whether I like it or not.” He steps closer and I tilt my head back to hold his gaze. “I’m not staying away anymore, Gemma. I can’t. I won’t. And I could give a fuck who knows it.”
“You barely know me,” I whisper.
“I know enough.” His words are so adamant, I don’t question him.
For a moment, we’re quiet.
“You’re wrong, you know,” I say after a while, looking back at the water.
A pause. “About?”
“You’re not all shadow and darkness. Maybe Brett is, maybe your family is, but not you.” I scrape together the courage to say the next part. “You’re kind and caring, even if you hide it beneath that dominant, bossy, pain-in-the-ass arrogance. And when you laugh…” I inhale sharply. “You make the world light up.”
His hand squeezes mine and I force myself to look at him. His eyes are burning so bright, it almost hurts to meet his gaze.
Almost.
“People who laugh like you do aren’t dark, Chase,” I whisper. “Not where it counts.”
His expression is serious as he echoes my words. “You barely know me.”
I pause. “I guess I know enough.”
And then, before I have time to prepare, his arms go around my back, his head dips to mine, and he’s
kissing me like the rest of the world can go to hell, because all that matters is this — us — lips pressed close and hands entwined in a hold I couldn’t break even if I wanted to.
Chapter Twenty-One
Wreckage
Just when things are starting to get good — hands slipping under hemlines, tongues joining in on the action — Chase breaks the kiss, pulling back so his forehead rests against mine and our hurried breaths mingle in the space between our faces. A whimper of protest escapes my lips, and he bumps his nose against mine.
“We’re going back to the city now. Specifically, to my apartment. More specifically, to my bed,” he says, his voice rough. “We aren’t leaving until we’ve worked out whatever this is between us — so, you might want to clear your schedule, sunshine. I have a feeling that’s gonna take a while.”
There’s an unmistakable promise in his words that makes me shiver.
“So bossy,” I whisper playfully, staring up into his eyes. “It makes me wonder…”
His eyes are intent, watching my mouth form words.
I lean closer. “Are you this bossy in every aspect of your life, Mr. CEO?”
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he laces his hand with mine, turns, and starts tugging me back toward the house, his long strides eating up the stretch of beach so quickly, I’m practically jogging to keep up.
“Chase!”
His pace doesn’t slow.
“Chase!”
He slams to a halt so fast, I nearly run straight into his back. I open my mouth to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but before I can get a single sound out, his eyes cut to mine and the words evaporate on my tongue.
Holy shit.
His eyes aren’t just warm — they’re boiling over with passion, with sheer need, and I realize he’s hanging onto his control by a thread. I know intuitively if I push him any further, at this moment, I’ll find myself naked on the rocks at my feet faster than you can say beach sex.
I’m not too proud to admit I consider testing that theory.
My eyes watch his mouth as he takes a step closer.
Danger!
“Never mind,” I whisper, considering the ramifications of a public indecency charge and, more pressingly, the not-so-fun side effects of getting sand in places sand is not meant to end up.
He nods, pulls a deep breath in through his nose to regain some control, and starts pulling me toward the house again.
This time, I don’t protest.
***
“Call and check in, when you get back. I want to make sure you’re home safe.”
“I will, Mom.” I lean in and press a kiss to her cheek, my arms squeezing her willowy frame in a tight embrace. “Thanks for letting me stay here, last night. And for, well… you know.”
I don’t have to say it — she knows what I mean.
For bringing Chase to me.
She pulls back to look into my eyes, her hands on either side of my face. “He’s a good one, baby girl. A keeper. Give him a chance.”
“I’ll try.”
Staring at me, her voice drops to a whisper. “Not every man is your father.”
“I know that, Mom.”
“Knowing something and believing it are two different things, baby.” She shakes her head. “Your dad — well, that was just plain bad luck. And me… well, I know I wasn’t the best mother—”
“Mom! Don’t say that.”
“I’m too much of an artist — too scatterbrained to make sure your lunches were packed and your permission slips were signed, too flighty and eccentric to be friends with the other mothers. You were more organized than I was when you were just seven years old. Most days, there was only one adult in this house and, baby, it wasn’t me.”
“Mom…” I whisper, my voice soft.
I don’t correct her, though. It’s the truth.
“Gemma, what I’m trying to say is, you’ve never let yourself be a kid. Your whole life, you’ve listened to your head over your heart — talked yourself out of finishing art school because it wasn’t practical to have debt, told yourself to put off opening your own gallery because you didn’t want to give up your job benefits, decided to sell other peoples’ art because it was a safer bet than trying to sell your own. And it’s no secret you’ve only ever picked emotionally unavailable men, because there’s no chance of ever getting your heart broken.”
I stare at her. “Is there a point to all of this?”
She sighs. “You pick practicality over passion — you always have. And maybe that’s my fault, for leaving too many responsibilities on your shoulders when you were too young to deal with them.” Her eyes are glossy with unshed tears. “I’m sorry for that, baby girl. I truly am. If I could go back and do things differently, I would.”
She takes a deep breath, her hands squeezing the sides of my face.
“Life is a big, fat mess. There’s no order or reason to most of what’ll happen to you before you turn to dust and fade from memory, and there’s nothing you can do about that. All you can do is find someone who turns that abstract chaos into a work of art… and never let them go.”
“Mom…” I say, my voice breaking.
She’s holding back tears. “I don’t know if that man waiting in our driveway is the one for you — only time can tell you that. But I do know that you deserve love, more than anyone on this earth, and it’ll find you eventually, even if you keep trying to avoid it.” She stares into my eyes, her expression more serious than I’ve ever seen it. “My only advice is, when you start to fall, don’t talk yourself out of it — the right man will be there at the bottom, to catch you. Take a risk on messy. Live fearlessly. Love recklessly. Most of all, just love.”
***
“You’re quiet.”
Chase’s words startle me back into the present. I glance over at him, taking in the sight of his profile as he steers the Porsche with practiced ease. No town car, today — Chase gave Evan the day off, when he decided to drive up to Rocky Neck. Apparently, he doesn’t like to use the chauffeur unless he has to — which, unfortunately for him, is most of the time, now that he lives in the city. He’s assured me Knox will pick up my car later tonight and deliver it back to my apartment before I even notice it’s missing.
I’m unconcerned — I barely use it, anyway — and besides, I’m too wrapped up replaying my mother’s parting words over and over in my mind to worry much about my crappy car. So wrapped up, in fact, that forty-five silent minutes pass without my noticing. We’re nearly back to the city when Chase looks over at me, his eyebrows raised in concern.
I can’t blame him — I don’t think I’ve ever been quiet this long, in the history of my existence.
“Everything okay?”
“Sorry.” I sigh. “I was just thinking about my Mom.”
“Do you see her often?”
“Not as often as I should, considering she only lives an hour away.”
“She’s not what I expected.” He shakes his head, a smile playing out on his lips. “When my secretary came into my office this morning, saying she had a Miss Summers on the line, I thought it was you.”
I laugh, at that. “Full of surprises, my mother.”
“And full of life.” His smile widens. “You two act more like sisters than mother and daughter.”
“She’s been my built-in best friend since I was born.” My voice is wistful. “She was always the cool mom — my high school friends would come over to hang with her, even when I wasn’t home. There were always people filtering in and out — musicians, artists, other eclectics she brought home like strays.” I grin. “They say it takes a village to raise a child. Mom took that expression pretty literally.”
“You miss her,” he says softly.
I nod in confirmation.
He pauses. “And… your father? He’s not in the picture?”
I still completely, hands curling into fists on my lap. “No.”
Chase nods.
&
nbsp; After a few moments of silence, the tension slips out of me as I realize he’s not going to demand answers I’m not yet ready to give. I kind of adore him for that.
“You never talk about your parents,” I say softly, looking over at him. “Just your grandfather, your uncle, your cousin…”
He’s quiet for a long, suspended moment.
“They died when I was five,” he says finally. “A car accident.”
“Oh, Chase…” I reach out a hand and lay it on his knee. “I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago,” he says, as though any amount of time could make suddenly losing both your parents any less heartbreaking. His voice gets distant, as he filters through memories. “They were driving home one night, to our summer house in Manchester. They’d spent the night at some kind of company charity event. It was raining out, really miserable. The roads were slick.” He takes a breath, and I see his fingers tighten around the wheel. “They were almost home. I was waiting up for them — I remember wanting to say goodnight, to have my mother tuck me in, instead of the babysitter.”
“Chase…” I squeeze my fingers tighter against his leg. “You don’t have to…”
“I know. I want to.” He swallows hard before continuing. “There’s this old, narrow bridge, barely wide enough for two cars, that leads over an inlet — you have to cross it, to get to the house.” He takes a deep breath. “My grandfather told me, years later, they were fighting when they left the charity ball. So, maybe they were still fighting on the ride home. Distracted. Angry. I don’t know – I’ll never know, for sure. But somehow, my dad lost control of the car.”
I can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t speak.
“They hit the water. Sank to the bottom. I waited up all night, but they never came home.” His words are resigned, but he can’t hide the pain beneath. “The next week, I moved in with my grandfather. I haven’t been back to that house, since.”
“Chase…” My voice cracks on his name.
He looks over at me, and the grief in his eyes makes my breath catch.
“Like I said… it was a long time ago.”
“Maybe…” I pause, not wanting to push him too far.
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