Last Time We Kissed_A Second Chance Romance

by Nicole Snow

  I turn, unclenching my white-knuckle fist, gazing on the elder Chenocott.

  “Finally,” Jace rumbles, turning toward his father. “You see who's here, dad? With her?”

  He nods without hesitation. “I'm well aware. Mr. Usher brought your sister home. There's another question I'm more interested in: where in God's name were you, son? I've spent the last twenty-four hours calling.”

  Jace slaps his hands against his thighs, doing an exasperated turn. “Jesus Christ, here it comes. Dad, I came the second I heard. Checked out of my shitty little hotel and came running like a good boy. I'm here. Isn't that enough? Or maybe I should've wasted precious time yammering on the phone, not knowing you were both having a fucking pow-wow with the asshole who put my life in ruins, waiting to ambush me the second I came back.”

  “Jace?” Amy Kay cuts between them, her voice a soft whisper. She waits for her brother's eyes. “Shut up. This is about mom. Not you, as difficult as that is to believe.”

  His eyes widen, then turn sharp enough to cut diamond. Give me one reason. One excuse to pound this fuck through the floor.

  “Enough crap. I'm going to see mom.” He brushes past us, closer to Maxwell, who gives his son a look like he's sizing up a dangerous animal he's crossed unexpectedly in the woods.

  “Jace, no,” Maxwell says sternly, quick-stepping after him down the hall. “Visiting hours are over for the night. They have to run more tests early tomorrow. She needs rest. I promise, first thing in the morning you'll –”

  “You're insane, too, aren't you?” Jace snaps, whirling around. He reaches out, as if he's ready to put his hands on his own father.

  Thankfully I'm not far behind. The look I give him makes him think better of it.

  “Get out of my way, old man,” he warns again. “Not waiting for tomorrow. Shit, you think I'm the reason she's here, don't you? Her own fucking son?”

  Maxwell says nothing. Just reaches out, grabs Jace's shoulder, and pulls with all his might. The force stuns all of us. Especially Jace, who rocks backward, has to do a quick dance to regain his footing. “I said tomorrow, son. Don't make me say it again. What do you think this is? Rules are rules. I don't write them here.”

  Jace blinks once. “Rules? Now you care about rules? Even though there's a wanted fucking criminal next to us with his hands all over Amy Kay? The same criminal prick who actually busted mom up this bad, screwing with my life...” I see his teeth again, chewing words like something vile in his mouth. “Just unbelievable. Where the fuck's security? If you won't get them involved to put a stop to this crap, I will.”

  “You'll do nothing!” Maxwell bellows. There's always something shocking about a clean, civilized man hitting his limit, becoming unhinged. “Jace Calhoun Chenocott, if you take another step toward her room, I swear to God almighty I'll call the police. For you. There's only one person in this hall sowing chaos. Whatever wrongs Trent did us all those years ago, it's not him.”

  My eyes digest the grisly scene. Amy Kay gasps, clings to me so hard her fingers bruise my bicep. I don't even care.

  I'm waiting for Jace to freak out, get nasty, get violent. It's bound to happen. Any second. And it'll be on me to step in. Stop the uproar before anybody gets hurt.

  It never happens.

  Jace's shoulders slump, his head hangs for the longest second, and then he looks up. Hatred seethes in his eyes. It's the first time I've seen him look at his own flesh and blood the same way he does me. “I hate you,” he snarls.

  “Jace, if you'll –” Maxwell cuts in, tries to get closer, but Jace throws his hand off.

  “Stay the fuck away! You're dead to me. All of you.” His eyes flit from his father to Amy Kay, so much darkness spilling out. Then they land on me. “And you, Usher, this isn't over. Not by fucking half.”

  My fists are up. I'm expecting him to lash out as he walks by, but he just keeps going. Slams his fist on the elevator button so hard a night nurse walking by gives him a dirty look.

  “Jace...where are you going?” Presh asks softly.

  He turns, looks up, a second before the elevator's steel doors slam shut, hiding his nasty face. “Home.”

  He's gone for more than a minute before we move. Before anyone speaks.

  “I should go after him,” Amy Kay whispers quietly, releasing her death grip on my arm. “He's crazy. Confused. He might do anything.”

  “Bad idea.” Maxwell steps up, pulls his daughter from me, holds her to his chest. “Let me handle this. It's my fault I didn't lay down the law a long time ago.”

  “No. Dad, no way, you can't blame yourself for anything he's doing. He's out of his flipping gourd.”

  “Amy Kay, listen. He's going to the house. I'll head back there and find him in an hour or so. After I wrap up one last check with your mom's nurses. Stay here. Stay with Trent. Until I call, and let you know the coast is clear.”

  Her eyes go huge. Terrified. “You shouldn't. Dad, don't go after him alone. You can't know what he'll –”

  “He's a disturbed young man. Not a monster. I stopped believing in those some time ago,” he says, turning to me on the last part. “I'll talk your brother down like always. He's capable of hurting himself. Capable of incredibly stupid, destructive decisions, sure. But he'd never lift a hand against us. That, I'm certain.”

  I'm not. Neither is Presh.

  Know it by the way her little mouth falls open. The words, the bitter truth we've had to face, the full hellish extent of what Jace can do hangs on the tip of her tongue.

  I give her a look, speaking with my eyes. Not now, darling. There'll be a better time. Don't smash his heart to pieces all over again.

  As if sensing what I'm trying to say, she gives a subtle nod, then looks at Maxwell again. “Call us, dad. The very second you're home. We'll wait.”

  “Understood, peanut.” He pushes his wry smile to her forehead, planting a firm kiss. Before he turns, heading back into the hall, he lets out a sigh, locking eyes with me one last time. “I'm sorry you got caught in the middle of this. Though that's how it always was, I suppose.”

  “That's how it always is with family,” I say, extending a hand.

  Maxwell Chenocott takes it, gives it a vigorous shake, and then he's gone.

  By the time I turn, Amy Kay is on me again, whispering in my ear. “Let's go. While he's busy. We should get to the house, scope things out. We'll wait for dad to do whatever he needs to, but I'm not leaving him alone. We'll be close behind if Jace tries anything crazy. Anything more, I mean.” Her voice sours, strain creeping in.

  She still doesn't want to believe it. None of us do. But fuck, I'll never forget his crazy eyes, or the raw venom seeping out between his teeth.

  It wasn't just the usual idle threats from an edgy fuck who's gotten himself in too deep.

  He's pissed off. Wounded. Backed into a corner.

  I grab her hand, give it a squeeze, wait for her to look at me.

  “I'll scout your place out ahead of him.”

  “You? Hey wait a second–”

  “Precious, listen: he looked like he was ready to kill somebody. He's fighting crazy. Mad as hell. That energy will go somewhere if he doesn't drink himself in a stupor. If he doesn't turn it on himself first, it'll be on someone else, and I'm not letting that be Maxwell. Or you. Understand?”

  “Trent, if it's dangerous, we'll do this together. Only option. I have to come with.” She pushes her fingers against mine, harder and harder, lines splitting her face. “If he's fighting crazy, like you say, what do you think he'll do if you show up unannounced?”

  Exactly what I hope to fuck he'll do.

  Lash out. Charge. Use me as a shock absorber, a buffer, a shield so nobody else gets hurt.

  I'm also confident he'll go down easy. If he hasn't snorted or drunk or blazed himself into a blinding stupor by the time I'm there, then I'm willing to give up every penny I own.

  But I see Presh won't give up. Not this time. Not after I've admitted how dangerous this i
s.

  “Fine,” I bite off, a reluctant sigh trapped in my lungs. “You're staying in the car.”

  “Whoa, that's not –”

  “It's the only thing I'll agree to, Precious. We have the driver bring us out there. You stay put while I go over the gate, see what the situation is. Once I know he's not ready to tear anybody limb-from-limb, then you'll see him. If all goes well, he'll be tucked in for the night, and I'll be gone before your dad shows up and catches himself in the middle of more shit.”

  She bites her lip, face strained, not liking anything I'm saying. But she knows this is as far as I'll bend.

  “All right. Let's go. Dad said an hour.”

  It's a wicked irony there's almost as much tension in the air the second time we climb onto an elevator together.

  An hour later, the driver pulls up to the house. I get out, run to the usual vine-covered spot on the wall where I always climb over, looking back one more time to make sure Amy Kay's sweet butt stays in the car.

  She does. Told her it wouldn't be long.

  I move, clambering onto the property, looking for signs of Jace. There's a stillness in the air. The electric, foreboding kind that's there before a storm.

  The keys Presh handed over clink in my hand. I'm gripping them tight so there's no movement, no jingle in my pocket.

  I do it because I need the silence. If I'm brutally honest, though, it's also stress relief.

  There's something here I can't pin down that scares the shit out of me.

  Lights twinkle, giving every window a dirty golden glow. Only, it's the ultra-lit configuration I've seen too many times in high society. It's the lights left on by the servants heading home for the evening.

  Too vacant looking. Too quiet. Too fucking eerie.

  His car is in the driveway. Parked crooked. First sign the asshole's alive, here, and probably as insane as ever.

  Also means I can't go through the front.

  I round the backside of the house, brushing past the tree I always used to get to Presh's room.

  Perfect timing, too.

  The sky opens up in a near-monsoon. The angry showers sweeping through Seattle earlier deepen, a royally pissed off Zeus throwing a flood at the world.

  “Lovely,” I growl under my breath. Only silver lining is the sudden burst giving extra cover, helping obscure my advance.

  Back of the house, I remember. Service door. The one that comes out by storage, where the servants keep most of the yard supplies, next to the second mud room. I remember the layout of the house like yesterday. Easier tonight, maybe, when I don't have the luxury of a beautiful woman up in her room, waiting to invite me in.

  Said beautiful woman is stuck in the car with baited breath. Depending on me. Silently mouthing prayers to whatever powers in this universe will keep me and Jace from murdering each other.

  I slide the key in the lock and turn, reaching for the knob. I'm in.

  Inside the house, I press myself against the wall, straining my eardrums. It's freakishly quiet in here, too. My heartbeat pounds in my throat.

  Okay, quick scan. Get in, get out.

  Find him. If you can't, move on.

  The first sign of life is the kitchen. It's a fucking war zone. I blink several times, trying to process the full disaster in front of me.

  Glass shards everywhere. Ceramic pieces mingling with diamond cut knives, broken crystal catching the dull light, priceless China pulverized to specks barely bigger than gravel.

  It's like a raging bull came through, but at least a bull only charges after it's provoked for good reason.

  The dining room was spared, thank God. And there's nothing worse than a broken mirror in one of the bathrooms on the main floor. I head upstairs, quickly scan the rooms, see them in order.

  Downstairs, though...downstairs is a fucking mess. Just dirty, destructive chaos.

  Maxwell's beautiful library has holes through it. Literal gunshots.

  I see the prize hunting rifle he used to have hanging in the corner on the floor, a heavy dent in its barrel. A family heirloom Jace somehow found ammunition for, it's blown out the windows, annihilated several shelves of books, torn out their wood support.

  Like civilization itself spilling its guts.

  Before, I was stunned. Now, looking around, taking it in, I'm completely pissed.

  Asshole Jace has to pay. If I can find him.

  I don't think he's in the house. Not after his violent binge. He's got to be outside.

  I'm halfway to the service door, swinging around Ophelia's custom solarium, which remains mercifully intact, when I see it from the window.

  A light on in the boathouse. Fuck.

  My heart pounds like mad, picturing the havoc he'll wreak on the Wilkie.

  I stare at the light, streaming through the open door. Then grit my teeth, swallow my fear, and wheel around.

  He's in there. I fucking know he is. Irony stabs my intestines, adding weight to the portal to hell in front of me.

  The place where this started years ago is where it has to end.

  I push my way outside and try not to shiver. The cold rain runs down my already numb spine in rivulets.

  Closing my eyes, I picture the one thing that keeps me sane. Amy Kay's beautiful face. Hopeful. Patient. Counting on me.

  I hide my phone beneath the cover of my hand, typing out a quick message. I can't lie to her again, but I also can't bring her face-to-face with this horror. It isn't even over. So, I just tell her the truth.

  Trent: Precious, stay put. Coast is almost clear but it's not good. NOT GOOD. Stall your father. Don't move until I say.

  I also send a text to my driver, ordering him to switch to Plan B: keep Presh in the car by any means possible. Unless I say otherwise.

  Then I shut my phone completely off. She'll be sending me a flurry of texts, no doubt, and I can't have them going off. Not even silently.

  I'm too busy, planting my boot up a psychotic backstabber's ass, and discovering how far it reaches until it finds some common sense.

  15

  Orders (Amy Kay)

  I'm stabbing furiously at my screen again.

  It's been twenty five and a half minutes. Hell yes, I'm counting.

  “Damn it, Trent. Why aren't you answering?” I'm grateful for the privacy visor, but only a little.

  His driver isn't paid to judge or ask probing questions. He's a chauffeur. Tonight, maybe one part glorified babysitter. I haven't even jumped on Trent's command to stall dad.

  Like it's so freaking easy.

  Like I even know how.

  Like there isn't something seriously messed up happening inside the only home I've ever truly known, and it's driving me insane.

  Face twisted in disgust, I reach for the door, and pull for the second time. Locked.

  I tap the button on the intercom and start talking. “Hello, sir? I need to get out. If you could please flip the switch for my door, that'd be stellar.”

  There's a long pause on the other end. Too long.

  “I'm sorry, Ms. Chenocott, I'm afraid I can't. Client's orders. He says you're to remain in the car while there's a situation.” His voice sounds deep, robotic, not even a shred of fear or doubt in it. Strictly professional.

  Totally infuriating.

  “What situation?” I run my finger over the plastic beneath the intercom, holding the driver's name and credentials. “Listen – Jason – I don't want to get between you and your job, or your pay, but damn it, you're not making it easy. If you don't let me out this instant, the first thing I'll do is scream bloody murder and find out how many kicks it takes to break one of these fancy shaded windows. Then I'll be calling up your boss and finding out exactly how much your company would enjoy a big, fat lawsuit for holding a woman hostage. We clear?”

  I'm not used to being this big a bitch. My knee shakes.

  “Perfectly, miss. I sincerely hope you'll choose not to damage my private property. I'm a small time operator with one car – this one.
My not-so-little-boy, Robbie, he's a straight A student in his first semester. Trying for architectural engineering at Purdue. It's a very expensive program and I'm the only parent he has, I'm afraid. Tuition's due next week and I'm counting like hell on this job from Mr. Usher. He's paying me a mighty fine premium to watch over you just for a little bit. So, obviously, I'd really appreciate it if you'd calm down, find some patience, and –”

  The sound of my fist impacting the seat cuts him off. It's a blow of frustration more than anything. I couldn't do much damage punching leather if I tried, and after his SOB story, what kind of demon would I be if I robbed his kid?

  Not everyone lives in the luxury I've known for most of my life.

  “Thanks, miss. You've made the right choice. Now, I'd be happy to play music, put on a show, take you anywhere, let you roam wherever you'd like. Just not here. Not until Mr. Usher gives the okay. Thanks for your patience. I mean it.”

  “And I mean someone's getting it tonight,” I snarl to myself, slumping backward in my seat.

  I run through my options. None are very appealing.

  I could go ahead, ignore my conscience, and beat my way out of this fancy car. I'd probably be restrained real fast by Mr. Driver.

  I could have him take me across town, let me off at a gas station, and sneak a block away to call another ride to bring me right back here. But then I wouldn't know what I'm walking into. And that could take an hour or more.

  I could just listen to Trent – as bad as it scalds my blood – and save all this ugly energy for later, when I'll throw a well deserved slap across his face.

  Maybe him and Jace both.

  If they both leave the place alive.

  It disturbs me to no end that I don't know what I'm dealing with. I stare through the tinted window, trying to see signs of...well, anything.

  It's brutally quiet. Just a sea of hazy orange light shifting in the rain, which hammers the car plenty loudly, drowning out any sound.

  Fifteen minutes. That's all I'll give him. In the meantime, I have to call dad.

  A quick phone call later, and I know dad hasn't left the hospital. Not yet.