Keeping Allie (Breaking Away #3)

by Raine, Meli

  His fingernails are clean and straight, recently clipped. That goes with the clean-cut look. The dyed hair. And then it hits me.

  Mark says it’s okay.

  Chase is in hiding—in disguise—and Mark is helping him.

  “Are you in a witness protection program?” I gasp, my hand gently striking the hair at his neck.

  He laughs, a light sound of air. “Not formally. No. But the whole change in appearance? Yeah. Dead men can’t look like themselves, you know?”

  “Oh, God,” I groan. Now I get it. The stunt was faked.

  “Yup,” he says with a sigh, his head still down. “David filmed it for me. We faked my death. Mark helped and so did that fuckhead detective at the police station. The jerk.”

  My turn to laugh. “Detective Knowles?”

  “That’s him. What a condescending prick,” he mutters. “But I turned against the gang and gave the cops and feds a lot of information that will shut down major drug trafficking.” He makes a derisive sound. “For a while.”

  I don’t know what to do with that, so I say nothing. But I don’t remove my hand.

  “David helped you?” I ask, my mind putting all the pieces together. “Is that why he won’t return my text and calls?”

  Chase’s voice sounds sheepish when he says, “I asked him not to. Not until I could come see you. David’s too, um—”

  “He’s the worst liar ever,” I fill in for him.

  Chase snorts. “That’s putting it lightly. The guy’s more honest than Abe Lincoln.”

  “So how did you—what are you—oh, God,” I murmur, stumbling to find the right words.

  “David’s got everything on YouTube. We’re making crazy money from all these views of the video. He’ll send me my share when he gets it. I’m doing the college thing,” he says, gesturing to his preppy clothes. “I’m already an EMT. Might as well become a nurse. Then, maybe, a physician’s assistant or something else medical. I’m starting with Anatomy and Physiology I.”

  That’s a lot to take in. “No stunt work?” I ask.

  His brow tightens. “I’ve had enough of real physical danger to last me for a long time. I need to learn something that’s useful.”

  “I’ve given up the acting, too,” I say.

  “Why?”

  I don’t want to tell him the truth, which is right there in front of us. The angry burn scars are why. The scars on my face are why. El Brujo didn’t just take a part of me when he captured me.

  He literally took part of my skin.

  And my future.

  And just then, Chase looks up. Those honey-colored eyes with the topaz ring are dazzling. Like gemstones glittering in the sun, their rays aimed at me.

  “I want to kiss you, Allie,” Chase says. “I need to touch you. To be with you. To know you don’t hate me.” His voice goes low and tight. “To think that you’ll let me love you again.”

  Again.

  I reach for his hand and pull it to me. I flatten his palm and place it over my heart.

  He is so warm. He takes my hand, oh, so gently, and puts it over his heart, too.

  We beat together.

  I can’t tear my eyes or hand away. All we can do is look at each other. The surroundings disappear, fading to white. My entire world is his eyes. His hand.

  Our hearts.

  “Wait for me,” I say, licking my lips and slowly setting his hand on his knee. I pull mine from his chest, the loss of contact with him like cutting a life line.

  But I have to.

  Because that life line suddenly feels like ropes that tie me to a chair.

  “I will,” he says, brows pulled together. He’s trying to understand. My bones are throbbing like a fire alarm, and my head keeps flashing with pain. Being this close to him makes me feel safety and danger, like I am loved and tortured at the same time.

  My mind hasn’t caught up to my body.

  My heart wants to heal my memory.

  Time is the only cure.

  I stand and give him a shaky smile. “Be patient with me,” I plead.

  “I owe you so much more.” The look on his face tells me how much he aches inside.

  “No,” I say, taking a step away.

  “Please. Wait. Allie, can I see you again? Can I take you to a movie?” His voice is so intense. So determined.

  I turn back and give him a playful look. “Are you asking me out on a date? A real date?”

  His face lights up. “Yes. Dinner and movies and flowers and candy? The whole old-fashioned nine yards? Then yes. Yes, I am.”

  My heart flip-flops. “I accept.”

  “Tonight?”

  I smile. “Sounds great.”

  “I’ll pick you up,” he says, reaching for me. He stops.

  I reach for him, standing on tip toes, kissing him. It’s sweet at first. My body melts into him, though. Why do I have such contradictory feelings? My body wants him, desperately. My mouth does, too.

  My fear, though, is screaming inside.

  I pull back, breathless. Chase’s hands feel hungry. Like he’s starving. His touch is so appreciative.

  “Seven. You know where I live?” I ask him, breathing hard.

  His hands stop moving but he still touches me. “Yes, but I don’t want to meet you there. How about we meet at the Santa Monica Pier?”

  I smile. “Return to a happier place and time?”

  His smile is full of ten thousand emotions, all of them centered on me.

  “Exactly. And while we’re reliving old times, let’s make some new memories.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “What do you mean, he’s alive?” Marissa and Mom say in unison. They’re looking at me like they both think I’m imagining this.

  “I’m not making it up! I swear!” I snap as I check my hair in the mirror for the thousandth time.

  “We don’t think you’re making it up, sweetheart,” Mom says, putting her hands on my shoulders and smoothing her palms down to my elbows. “We just...well, we’re worried.”

  “Worried I’m inventing a dead man.”

  “Worried that this might all be too much.”

  “What—you’re allowed to come back to life but Chase isn’t?” Morty walks in the room at that exact moment and snorts. Marissa and Mom give him twin glares that make me laugh. Morty turns right around and goes down the hall to hide in his room.

  Smart man.

  “I think that you need to be careful. This man who claims he’s Chase—”

  “Mom, he is Chase. I told you what he said. David helped him to fake his death. Mark set it up so it looks real. Now El Brujo and Galt won’t come after Chase. He can reclaim his life.”

  “What’s he doing to support himself?” Marissa asks. Money. She’s always worried about money. My eyes float to the giant gallon jug where I store my change. It’s nearly full already from my work at Sunrise Cafe.

  Money.

  “That’s the weird part in all of this,” I explain. “David. Again.”

  “What does David have to do with Chase making money?” Mom asks in a skeptical tone. She and Marissa share a look I don’t have time to figure out.

  “David’s been putting the stunt videos on YouTube and they make advertising money from every time someone views the video. Something like that,” I try to explain. “And when Chase ‘died’”—I use finger quotes—“millions of people watched that video. They’re about to make so much money that Chase can enroll in college and get a nursing degree.”

  Marissa makes a really nasty, derisive sound. “A biker nurse? Oh, please.”

  Mom arches one eyebrow. “What do you think I’ve been for the past two years, Marissa? Biker gangs need people with medical skills.” She rolls her eyes. “The dumb fights those guys get into...”

  I nod. “Chase is an EMT already. He told me this morning that he wants to continue his education.”

  “How noble,” Marissa answers in a tight voice.

  “Shut up,” I snap, using the wo
rds she throws around all the time at Morty. Marissa jerks back in surprise. “That’s right,” I continue. “Just...shut up. I deserve a little happiness, you know?” My voice rises. Because I don’t actually yell, it’s all the more appalling to Mom and Marissa.

  And me.

  “Chase is alive. Alive. And I don’t care what either of you think. I’ve been through hell and back eight thousand times, and all I want is him. Him. I don’t care if he’s a drug dealer or a nurse or a garbage man. I don’t care if his name is Chase or Tim or Herbert. I just want more time with him, and that’s what I’m doing right this very minute. I’m going to go and have a date. A fucking date! With flowers and candy and Ferris wheel rides and kisses, and if either of you try to ruin it, you can just—”

  Before I say something more that I’ll regret, I storm out of the house into the dusk.

  And smack right into Chase’s chest.

  “You said, ‘fuck,’” he whispers. His voice has a tone of marvel in it, like he can’t believe I said a bad word.

  “SERIOUSLY? You overheard all that and all you can do is comment on my foul mouth? When did you become my mother, too?” I hiss.

  Roses. I smell roses, strong and intense in my face. I look down between us. I’ve smashed a bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath between my breasts and Chase’s chest.

  “Oh, wow,” I say. Realizing you’ve destroyed the flowers your not-boyfriend has brought you for your first date since you were tortured by his biker gang kind of takes the wind out of your sails.

  “Hi, Allie,” Chase whispers. He leans close to me, his lips an inch from my ear lobe. I shiver.

  “Hi,” I gasp. “What are you doing here? I thought it wasn’t safe to -- ”

  “You look great.”

  I stop short. “You too.”

  “Here,” he says, handing me the crushed flowers. He’s got his other arm behind his back. Chase is wearing a nice, light-blue shirt and faded jeans. Brown boots. His hair is still that dark color, the color of rich powdered cocoa. His eyes blaze like a lion’s mane.

  “Thank you.”

  “And these are for you,” he announces, pulling his other hand out from behind his back. He’s holding a gold box filled with my favorite chocolates.

  “Candy and flowers. How romantic,” I say.

  “Anything for you, Allie.”

  My shoulders flush, the heat spreading down and through, warming me. I say nothing.

  “Allie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” Mom appears at the apartment’s main door, cutting off her own words. I turn to look at her and her eyes widen.

  “Hi, Jackie—er, Helen,” Chase says. “I’m Tim. Nice to meet you.” He gives a funny little wave, then a wink.

  Mom’s hand flies to her mouth, trembling.

  I point to Chase, then to my own head. “Not imagining it.”

  Marissa’s face appears behind Mom’s shoulder. Her jaw drops. They both stand there, staring at us.

  “See ya!” I call out, grabbing Chase’s hand and running around the corner until they can’t, in fact, see us.

  “Were you serious about the pier?” I ask. Images of our last time there together float through my brain. The fun. The scent of the ocean. Touching it for the first time. Experiencing the wonder of being there at all, but especially kissing Chase in the surf.

  I want to feel all of that again. Now.

  He points to a motorcycle. “Your chariot awaits.”

  I come to a dead stop. I haven’t been on a motorcycle since Mark rescued me from the Atlas compound. It’s been more than two months now.

  Chase sees me frown and gives me a searching look. “What’s wrong?”

  I square my shoulders, as if I’m shrugging off the fear. It seems to like to hang out around my neck. The fear needs to find another place to loiter. “Nothing’s wrong,” I say. “But why didn’t you meet me at the pier like we planned?”

  “I couldn’t wait.”

  “Chase...”

  “It’s not that dangerous. Mark’s being paranoid. It’s fine,” he assures me. His eyes plead with me to take him at his word.

  “Let’s go,” I say, wanting to trust him.

  Chase climbs on the bike and I sling my leg over it. Nestling in, I reach forward, wrapping my arms around his waist. He hands me a helmet. I put it on as he puts his on.

  “Ready?” The tight skin of my burn rubs against a button on his shirt. It wasn’t there the last time I rode behind him. So much has changed.

  Is it too much? Can we find a way forward together that doesn’t have too many obstacles from our shared past?

  As Chase guns the engine and we take off toward the Santa Monica Pier, I realize we’re about to find out.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “This.Is.Perfect,” I declare, each word emphasized. My hand holds a giant cup filled with fresh-squeezed lemonade, two sprigs of mint floating in the tasty drink. Chase is carrying the three-foot-tall bear he won for me pitching baseballs. In his other hand he’s licking a triple-decker ice cream cone. Every so often he holds the cone out to me and I get a lick, then a small bite. The chocolate marshmallow, mint and strawberry combo is delightful.

  Everything is delightful.

  We agreed, two hours ago, that we wouldn’t talk about anything negative. Nothing about El Brujo, nothing about my injuries, nothing about his fight with Loogie or his dad’s death wish for him. We’re just two people enjoying the carnival and the fun on the shore at sunset.

  And it really is perfect.

  There’s just one problem.

  I can’t stop wanting him.

  My body absolutely throbs for him. My blood races through my veins and arteries, as if it will explode if my skin can’t touch every inch of him. When we talk about the ocean I just want to climb on top of him. As we walk along the beach and watch a juggler do his skits I want to drag Chase into an alley and make out for hours in the shadows.

  This is so strange.

  I feel like a total pervert.

  We reach his bike and he hands me the ice cream cone, then straps the stuffed animal to the back of the seat. I laugh. The bear is neon blue and has big white, pink and black eyes.

  “He needs a helmet,” I joke.

  Chase puts mine on the bear. I laugh.

  He’s kissing me suddenly, his mouth tasting like mint and strawberries, and I drop the cone and the lemonade. My hands bury themselves in his short hair, the kiss deepening. The kiss’s heat drives a line straight down in my body, desire welling up in me, like a blazing hot fire as the kindling’s introduced. Chase is stoking that fire with his tongue, his hands, the groaning sigh that comes out of him as I move my hand down and cup his tight, muscled ass.

  He pulls my hips in, closer, until I can feel how much he wants me. He’s hard and ready. I’ve ridden a bike tonight and now I want to ride him.

  A tiny little troubled thought scratches its way to the surface. Aren’t I supposed to me more traumatized? Isn’t it a little too easy to kiss and touch and be kissed and touched like this?

  But Chase is making it safe. He’s not pushing. He’s also not standing on the sidelines waiting, though. I know damn well he wants me, too.

  That makes me feel even safer.

  He pulls back, breathing hard, and looks down at the mess at our feet.

  I look down, too. “I’m sorry,” I say. But not really. The kiss is worth the mess.

  “No problem, babe. You taste better than anything we could get here.”

  He looks at me.

  I know what he wants to taste on me.

  My pulse quickens and I’m hot and wet, wanting and willing. I shouldn’t be, but I am. I want to replace all the horrible touches with good ones from Chase. I want to swap out the sights and scents that give me terrible flashbacks with new ones of him and me, together and loving.

  I want to be the same girl he brought here nearly three months ago, that innocent young woman who delighted in playing barefoot in the waves.

&n
bsp; Experience won’t let me. I can’t undo what’s been done. But we can replace it. Make it better.

  The scars will always be a reminder.

  But they don’t have to hold us back.

  As if he’s reading my mind, Chase pulls my burned arm toward him. I wince.

  “Does it still hurt?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “Not much. It’s just...so ugly.”

  Dipping his head down, he presses his lips to the waxy skin. I flinch and start to pull away. His grip becomes steel. Peppering the skin with kiss after kiss, Chase stays right there, his eyes open and looking at me.

  I squirm. This is just too raw.

  But I stay in place. I have to face this. Conquer it.

  “It’s not ugly, Allie. Nothing on you is ugly,” he says fiercely. He’s bent down slightly, the V of his button-down shirt pitching open a little. I see a sprinkling of chest hair and the edge of his dragon tattoo.

  I want to touch him.

  My hand decides before my mind can. I slide my fingers under the flat cloth. He startles slightly, then closes his eyes, just breathing. I splay my hand, every cell of his hot skin mine.

  Mine.

  I want to be his.

  “Where do you live?” I ask, my voice dark and suggestive. I know exactly what it sounds like I’m asking.

  And so does he.

  His thumb caresses my scar on my arm. “You sure you want to see my place?”

  I smile.

  “Okay then.” He picks up the teddy bear from his bike and slides the helmet off, handing both to me. A little girl, maybe three or four, walks by with her mom and dad at that exact moment. She tips her face up.

  Light brown eyes. Jet-black hair. A wide smile. She could be mine and Chase’s daughter. My chest tightens a little, and then it’s like a hundred butterflies release at once, all made of my skin.

  I hand her the bear. She grins at me. I look at her mom, who gives me a quizzical look.

  “We won it and she should have it,” is all I can say before Chase guns the bike engine and we’re off, the little girl screaming “thank you!” while I grab Chase and hold on for dear life.

  The ride to his place is surprisingly short and just plain old surprising. He takes me out of town and up along I-5. We slow down near a rest stop. I figure maybe he needs a break, but then I see the row of tents and recreational vehicles. He takes the bike down to a near crawl.