Still stunned, Chase watched as Hope swayed, reaching out to steady herself, and then went down. A cameraman caught her around the waist before she hit the floor. Tipping her limp body backward, he gracefully picked Hope up in his arms. People were screaming and rushing toward them.
The large, African American cameraman, a baseball cap perched on his big head, asked the director nervously, “What should I do with her?”
“I don’t know. Take her outside?”
Chase crossed from the stage in two long strides, entering the ring of people surrounding Hope and the cameraman. “Take her into the dressing room. There’s a couch there, and we can open the outside door to get her some air.” Several people nodded, confirming this was a good game plan and seeming pleased someone had taken charge. “Do you know if there are any doctors close by?”
“The next building is filled with them. I’ll get you one,” a second cameraman offered.
Chase led the way to the dressing room. He went to open the door at the end of the hall. Leaving the outside door open, he reentered the room, leaving its door open as well to funnel in the fresh air. As he caught sight of Hope lying listlessly on the couch, he immediately flashed back to a similar scene.
It was a couple of months before prom. Chase had just finished baseball practice and was swinging his gear into the car when a man approached him. The man was middle age, with dark brown hair, and he wore jeans and a tan windbreaker.
“Hello there,” he called out in a friendly manner. “I was wondering if you could help me, son? I’m looking for Hope Creswell. I think she goes to school here. Do you know her by any chance?”
“Yeah. I know Hope,” Chase answered without offering any further information.
“Well, I’m Hope’s uncle. I was just passing through town on business, and I thought I’d drop in and visit, but I didn’t have my address book with me or anything—”
“Oh, hi! My name’s Chase Hatton.” He extended his hand. “I’m actually Hope’s boyfriend.”
“Oh, you are, are you?” The man appeared to be sizing him up. “I guess you can give me directions then, to their place?”
“I’ll go ya one better. I was heading there myself, so why don’t you just follow me?”
“Sounds great.” He smiled, then trekked back to an old blue Ford.
Chase hopped in his Camaro and led the way to Hope’s. When they got there, he found the door to the house open to let in the breeze. He stepped through the screen door, calling out, “Hey, Hope! I’ve got a visitor for you.”
Hope came bounding down the stairs swinging around the newel post at the landing, all smiles, framed in the light of the window behind her. “Hey, Chase—” Her voice seemed to catch in her throat, and the blood drained from her face. “D-d-daddy?”
The man stepped in front of him, and Chase caught his expression in profile in a mirror to his left. The man’s whole facial structure seemed to have changed. Replacing the open, friendly air it had held earlier, the face now looked hard and cold. “Yeah, Hope. It’s Daddy. Bet you’ve been missing me, huh?” She stared at him, shaking her head a little from side to side as if in disbelief, but not saying a word. “I see you’ve filled out,” he said suggestively. Hope wrapped her arms around herself, seeming conscious of the tank top she was wearing, though it wasn’t revealing in any way. “And I hear you’ve been messing around with this kid.” Hope’s father jerked a thumb in Chase’s direction, his voice almost a growl. He didn’t take his steely eyes from Hope. He took a menacing step forward, and then came to his point. “Where’s your mom, Hope?”
Hope took a step backward, bumping into the window ledge, still shaking her head mutely. With a startling swiftness, the man lunged forward, pushing the couch out of his way and advancing on Hope. She turned to run up the stairs, but her foot slipped on the third step and she slid, falling to her knees. The man Hope had called Daddy was on her before Chase could get to them. She screamed as he pulled her head back by the hair. “You’re gonna tell me where your mom is, Hope.”
Chase sprang after the older man but it was hard to maneuver much in the tight confines of the stairwell. As he reached for the man’s shoulders to yank him off of Hope, an elbow caught him right in the chin. Stunned, he staggered backward and lost his balance on the stair, falling down a few steps to the landing. He scrambled to get back up only to be met with a mule kick to his midsection. This time he flew against the wall, smacking his head on the window frame, knocking him senseless.
He groaned, moving his head a little. There was a ringing in his ears but he could hear conversation.
“Why did you come back?” Hope’s voice was raspy, and she coughed. Chase’s right temple throbbed but he forced his eyes open and turned his head a fraction to focus in on the scene before him. Hope was seated on the couch, her dad in front of her, his feet spread wide, hands on hips. How long had he been out?
“Why did I come back? I’ve been waiting eight years in prison, thinking of the two of you every day, and you’re gonna ask me why?” He kicked a chair over. “Tell me where she is, Hope, or things are gonna get real ugly,” he snarled.
Chase raised up on an elbow. His ribs ached as he tried to push himself up. Across the room Hope flew off of the couch, grabbing the poker from the fireplace and holding it in front of her. “You n-need to g-go! Leave us alone!” Her voice pitched, almost as if she were begging. “We’re happy here.”
“Is that so?” Hope’s dad leapt at her and she took a swing. He grabbed the poker in midair and wrenched it from her grasp. “I see your ma ain’t taught you any manners.”
Still holding the poker in his right hand, he backhanded Hope with his left, sending her flying into a coffee table. Momentum carried her across the table and a lamp toppled as she fell off the other side with a crash. She pulled up with a groan, moving quickly to drag herself away from her attacker. Chase reached for the stair post to pull himself to his feet.
The big man stepped between the coffee table, which had been knocked askew, and the couch. He held the poker aloft. “I guess if you won’t tell me where your mom is, then our conversation is over.” So intent was he on his victim, he didn’t see Chase as he launched himself from the stairs, taking them both to the floor. Hope shrieked as her father’s body initially fell on her, but she scrambled out from under its weight. Chase had never been in a fight in his life but desperation was a good teacher. He rolled with the man until he came out on top, held him down with one hand and punched him with the other with all of his might. He pulled back for another punch but the man became still beneath him.
Where moments before there had been crashing and screaming and splitting of wood, the only sound now was Chase and Hope’s labored breathing.
“Oh my God, Chase! You killed him! You killed him and it’s all my fault,” Hope sobbed hysterically.
He disengaged himself from his foe and scooted over to put a hand on the side of her face, which felt hot and was turning red already from the blow she had received. “It’s okay, Hope. It’s okay.”
“Oh my God! Oh my God!” She reached a trembling hand toward her father’s shoulder where he lay on the ground next to her, his nose bleeding.
Chase grabbed her hand before she could touch him. He shifted his weight and gingerly reached over to feel for a pulse. He kept expecting, like in some horror movie, for Hope’s dad to reach up and grab his hand, but he remained still. As soon as he touched the man’s skin, Chase felt him take a breath.
“He’s breathing, Hope. Let’s get out of here. We’ll go to my house and call an ambulance.” He lifted her to her feet and the two of them ran to his house.
As they pounded up the back steps and came rushing into the kitchen, Chase’s dad entered through the swinging door to the dining room.
“Chase, what..?” Prepared to scold the pair for coming into the house so recklessly, he shifted gears as Chase immediately crossed to the phone, taking it off the base and punching in 9-1-1.
“Mr. Creswell attacked Hope and I knocked him out,” he explained matter-of-factly, though his stomach was in knots.
“You WHAT?” Chase’s dad looked from him to Hope and seemed to notice for the first time the swelling along her cheekbone and the stunned look in her eyes. He crossed to her immediately. “Hope, honey, are you okay?” He put his arm around her and she began to sob, burying her head into his chest.
By the time the police arrived at the Creswells’ house, Hope’s father had come around. After questioning all parties, and finding out Andrew Creswell was actually still on probation, they cuffed him and took him down to the station, first stopping at the hospital to have him checked out. Mrs. Creswell was called and she went down to the station to fill out paperwork, asking if Hope could stay at the Hattons’ until she got home.
At 10:30, the phone rang. Chase got up carefully from the couch in the dark living room, shifting Hope’s head from his lap to a couch pillow, as she had fallen asleep. His parents had gone up to bed a half hour earlier, so he hurried to answer the phone before it could wake them. It was Mrs. Creswell letting him know it would still be a few hours, the precinct was busy. As he stood in the doorway talking to her on the phone, the light from the kitchen spilled out over Hope as she lie on the couch, breathing rhythmically.
Chase hung up the phone, and watched her sleeping for a minute, glad she had finally calmed down enough to drift off. He let the door close and made his way over to her carefully in the darkness. He bent down to peer into her face where it was lit from the TV screen. He listened to her breathing peacefully, smoothing the hair away from her face, mindful of her bruised cheek. A wave of guilt hit him. He had brought the monster to Hope’s home. Not for the first time that day, his jaw tightened at the thought of what Andrew Creswell had been about to do to her. How could he call himself a father? Chase knelt down and gently kissed her cheek. He had never felt his love for her more strongly. Then, he switched off the TV and stretched out on the hardwood floor in front of the couch, close enough to touch Hope should he choose to, and after a time, he, too, fell asleep.
Chase’s heart was gripped in the same way as he observed her on the couch in the dressing room now. A woman entered the room from the bathroom with a handful of wet paper towels. Hope stirred when she pressed them to her head. Chase allowed a sigh of relief to escape him.
A voice from his elbow announced, “Excuse me, I’m a doctor. Where is the young woman who fainted?”
Chase gestured, letting him pass through the door.
Hope was trying to get up. “Nah-ah-ah, young lady,” the doctor instructed. “You just lie down there a minute.” He went to work quickly, taking her pulse.
Fifteen minutes later, assured of his patient’s recovery, he left, ordering her to lie still for another fifteen minutes and drink a glass of water. Hal walked the man out, leaving Chase and Hope alone.
Hope looked up. “I am so sorry I caused all these problems.”
Chase took a few steps forward. “Hope, you could hardly help feeling ill.”
“I know, but all those people out there—”
“No need to worry about that,” Hal answered as he reentered the room. “We got all we needed today anyway. They’re all either gone, or on their way out.” He moved in front of Chase. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better.” Hope swung her feet off the side of the couch.
“The doctor said—” Both men began.
Hope smiled. “I know, I know. I’m just sitting up. I feel like such an idiot.” As she said it, she realized for the first time that someone had partially unzipped her dress and parts of her black lingerie were showing. She snatched at her dress.
Hal didn’t seem to notice. “Now there’s no need to feel bad about anything. If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I normally insist everyone get lots to drink before a production because the lights can really take it out of you.” Hope doubted if that were solely the cause in her case. “You were a real pro out there,” he added. “We were able to get everything we needed in less than fifteen minutes. That’s unheard of.”
“So the video’s complete?” Hope asked in surprise.
“No.” Hal glanced at Chase, but continued hurriedly. “That’s what I wanted to ask you about. When you’re feeling better,” he added for Chase’s benefit.
“I’m feeling much better,” Hope interjected, looking from him to Chase. “Since I have to sit here anyway, we may as well discuss whatever it is you were going to say.”
“Hope, you were fantastic out there. I don’t know what it is about the two of you, but the camera loves you. But what we shot today is only a small portion of the video. We have ideas for a scene on the beach and were planning to shoot it back at Chase’s place in L.A. I’ve already talked to your boss, and he said he thought it would be great for the story and that he could spare you for as long as we needed you.” She wasn’t surprised as she sometimes felt that Jack Delaney wouldn’t mind to spare her entirely. “We would pay you, of course.”
She considered the proposal. She had been ready to walk out on the story at one point that day; if she were stuck on the West Coast, it would make that a whole lot more difficult. My gosh! Just being with Chase today made me pass out. I’d be a fool to say yes. That was why she was so surprised when she did.
CHAPTER NINE
After getting out of the limo, Chase insisted on accompanying Hope up to her apartment. She stood at the door nervously. It would be rude not to ask him in after the effort he made to escort her to the door. She wished he hadn’t been so unmoving on the subject of going upstairs with her.
“Would you like to come in for a minute?”
He studied her briefly. “Sure.”
When they opened the door, Mr. Mewford came trotting over right away. The cat circled her, including Chase in his loop. She laughed. “This is Mr. Mewford. He’s usually not so friendly with complete strangers.”
“Hi, Mr. Mewford. Nice to meet you.” He squatted and rubbed the cat under his chin.
She threw her jacket over one of the barstools sitting right outside of her kitchen underneath the countertop, which jutted out into her living room. She entered the kitchen. “Can I get you something: water, beer, soda…a glass of wine?” As she asked him, she quickly snatched an empty bottle off the counter and subtly put it into the trash.
“Wine sounds good.” He took a seat on the couch, where Mr. Mewford immediately jumped into his lap. “Well, hey there, fella. You sure are friendly.”
She entered with a bottle of wine and two glasses. “I’m sorry, Chase. He’s usually not—”
“No, it’s okay. I like cats. I’d have one if I weren’t on the road so much.” She handed him the glass of wine. “Thanks. This is a nice place.”
“Oh!” she cried excitedly. “Let me show you the best part.” She grabbed his hand and led him into the bedroom. Realizing her mistake, she blushed. “It’s in the bathroom.”
She hurried over to do her best Vanna White imitation in front of the tub, displaying it with a glamorous sweep of her arm.
“Wow! That’s nice. I bet you enjoy taking a bath in there. Oh, I get it. That’s where they got The Claw-Foot Condos.”
“Yeah. Cute gimmick, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you hungry? I’m starved. I think I’ve got some snack mix.”
“That sounds good. We didn’t take a lunch break, did we? No wonder you were lightheaded. Man, I should have thought to get you something to eat.”
“No. I’m a big girl, Chase. If I had wanted something, I would have asked. I don’t think it was that, anyway.” But she wasn’t about to let him in on her emotional trauma. She returned with a bowl of snack mix, catching him holding a picture of Phillip that had been sitting on the end table.
“This your boyfriend?”
“Mm-hmm.” She stuffed a pretzel in her mouth uncomfortably. There was a pause.
He returned the photo carefully to the table. “How long have you
two been seeing each other?”
She felt her face getting red. “A few years.” She was aggravated by the way her stomach was suddenly doing little anxious loops. What do I have to be embarrassed about?
“A few years. And I see no ring on your finger, so I take it you’re not engaged?”
She stuffed a second pretzel in her mouth, wishing she could steer the conversation in another direction. “No,” she said quietly. “We are not engaged.”
He shook his head. “What an idiot!” he mumbled. The phone on the end table rang, making them both jump.
“I’ll just let it go to the answering machine.” Hope took a sip of her wine. “So, tell me about—”
Phillip’s voice interrupted, “Oh, man! I missed you! The first chance I get—” She snatched up the phone.
“Phillip, hi.”
Chase made a move to get up off the couch. “No, Chase, wait.”
“He’s at your apartment?” Phillip queried through some static.
“Yes. Chase, what time are you picking me up tomorrow?”
“He’s picking you up?” Phillip’s voice rose an octave.
Chase cocked his head. “How does nine sound?”
“Perfect. I’ll have my bags packed.”
“What the hell do you need bags for?” Phillip sounded angry.
“Oh, and Chase.” She grabbed his arm as he slipped through the door. “Thanks for everything today.” She gave him a smile and a squeeze, and then he was gone.
“Just what does ‘everything’ entail?” Phillip snapped.
“Oh, Phillip, nothing, nothing.”
“It’s not nothing when I call at…what time is it there…and Mr. Sexy-Rock-Super-Star is there in your apartment with you.”
“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, Phillip, and he just drove me home is all.”
“Something wrong with your car?”
“They were concerned about me driving because I got a little lightheaded, but it was no big deal.”
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