“From my agent, if that matters. Evidently a reporter corralled Pyper today with all kinds of questions and innuendo about you and your daughter and your ex-wife.”
“So, they know I’m here.”
“I don’t know about the rest of her family, but Pyper sure does, and I would imagine she’s filled them in.”
“Chase, I don’t intend to hurt her. I don’t intend to hurt any of them. Just the opposite. All I want is—”
“Well, you’re too late on that count.” A surge of adrenaline crested through Chase’s body. “The hurt already happened. That nosey little ink slinger blindsided Pyper during a breakfast interview because she uncovered the sordid family history along with a connection between you and me and my stint at Reach. She wants fodder for her scandal sheet—the juicier the better—and she found just what she was after, a life-rocking story she can twist and spin into dirt about a good, decent family.”
“A good, decent group of people, Chase. I’m not the villain here.”
“From where I sit, that’s exactly what you are!”
“Step back and think about what you’re saying. I haven’t done anything wrong coming to Nashville. In spite of my past, I have the right to live my life as I see fit. I’ve got some goodness and decency to me, too. We all do. You haven’t lost sight of that fact, have you?”
Diving his fingers through his hair, Chase met Mark’s gaze. “So, the truth is Amy Brock was your wife. She married you and together you had Pyper.”
“That almost covers it, but life is never that cut-and-dry, now is it?”
“All right then. Explain it to me. Help me understand.”
Mark squeezed his eyes shut, and Chase could almost see the man tumble into the realm of an ugly past. “Amy was pregnant with my child when we came to the tail end of high school. Those were the days, Chase. Once upon a time, I was a gifted basketball player. I was the team captain in high school aiming for some kind of scholarship and the means to a better life, the means to keep some kind of adulation going. I know now that basketball was secondary to what I really craved. Acceptance. Acclaim. Affirmation. All those ‘A’ words that mess with your head in such big ways.”
Like fame as a singer. Of course, Mark didn’t say the words, but Chase sensed that warning in Mark’s an otherwise steady tone. Chase firmed his lips, tightened his shoulders and delivered a narrow-eyed stare. He waited and bristled.
“Amy was the sweetest thing.” Mark propped a hip against the edge of an aged but sturdy wooden desk. “Gorgeous, innocent, a conquest worth the battle—and she was mine. Completely. I looked at her like a possession and worked my way past every one of her morals. Every one of her beliefs. We made love, and my every intention was to wish her well at the end of summer and move on to a life of bliss.”
Like so many high-school romances, Chase figured, if you could even refer to them as such.
“Anyway, late spring came to life. Graduation—freedom—lay just around the corner. That’s when she met me at my house. She could barely talk, but somehow she got the words out. She told me she was pregnant.”
“So, you married her.”
“Yep. Not out of love. Out of duty. I had no choice. It was what I felt I had to do. At first, marriage was OK. A friend of mine hooked me up with a job on an assembly line at an auto plant. I earned enough money to land us in an apartment, and Amy worked part-time for as long as she could.”
“Then?”
“Then Pyper was born, and Amy wanted to be a mother. Everything was up to me. The responsibility weighed heavy. I had dreams back then. I had big goals and ambitions. But instead of dreams, I woke up every day to a wife and a daughter and a home to maintain. Shackles and chains. Day in and day out I was forced to deal with the fact that their welfare depended on me. Resentment didn’t just grow, it took me over. I hated everything about my life. Liquor became a crutch. It helped me escape. It soothed the rage, or so I thought. As you know full well, the numbness wears off and before long, you’re looking for more. For different. For relief.”
“But—”
“No buts. Hear me out.” Spinning away, Mark basically collapsed onto the rolling chair behind his desk. Squeaks filled space for a moment. “Liquor didn’t work anymore. Not all by itself. Everything escalated. I was out of control. I needed more. I needed escape. That’s when I discovered gambling. I hit it lucky a few times at the local casino and like a fool I figured I could beat the system. That led to debt, to more stress, to more resentment. Once that piled up, all these hot, angry pin-pricks came alive, eating at me, making me think things, feel things, do things, I’d never dream of had I been functioning in a sane state of mind.” He paused, peered at Chase while he leaned forward on his knees. “Do you know that tune?”
Chase answered that forthright question with a glower; he brimmed with revulsion. “No. That tune isn’t familiar to me at all. Never—ever—did I hit a child, or a woman. Nor would I. As you know better than most, I was content to ruin myself instead.”
“Oh. I see. So, you think your actions haven’t hurt those around you? Those who care about you? Think again. Voice of experience here. You don’t need fists and hands and shouts and temper to cause severe damage, Chase. Think that over.”
Think it over? How flippant, bordering on self-righteous. This was the man from whom Pyper had escaped as a child with angry scars bubbled across her heart and distrust simmering through her spirit. That was wrong, a sin in need of punishment, yet Mark returned, as though bent on wreaking more havoc.
“So what you’re trying to tell me is this arrival of yours is some kind of an attempted do-over? Some kind of make good? Do you honestly believe they’ll grant you a fresh start like that?”
Mark flexed his jaw and glared. “I’m praying for grace. I owe myself, and Pyper, nothing less than the effort of trying to rebuild what’s been broken. I’ll make something else clear, since you’re involved directly. It doesn’t matter to me if I retain your trust or not. I’m going to do what I need to do. You won’t stop me.”
“Hurt her, and I will, and you’ll need a whole lot more than a fresh start if you do, Mark.” Chase growled the words. “Pyper is scarred by you, but she's bright, and beautiful. She’s vibrant. Passionate. You missed all that. You messed it up. You hit a defenseless child. How could you, and why? What’d she ever do to you? I can’t get my head around such a thing.”
Chase designed his words to hurt. He knew they painted pictures that would ram home the damage Mark had done. His words also lashed wicked gouges across the terrain of their friendship—and the layers of trust Mark had mentioned. Right now, he didn’t even care.
“You’re right. And, God alone knows what I've missed.”
“No. Not just God. Pyper does, too. And so do Tyler and Amy.”
Mark straightened and squared his shoulders. “Which is why I’m here. Which is why I left South Carolina. I want to lay down permanent roots in Tennessee. I want to make amends. That’s been my hope, my solitary prayer, for close to two decades. Believe it. Don’t believe it. I couldn’t care less. I know what’s true.”
Chase clenched his jaw, remained silent for a time behind a flinty-eyed stare. “Those are pretty words, Mark, but I still can’t believe this. The only thing that keeps me from knocking you into tomorrow is the fact that you're not the same man you were then.”
“No, I'm not. I changed. I received a new life by nothing more than God’s hand. That change is real. Just like yours. Consider that before you spend too much time condemning me. That’s all I ask. I left Michigan for South Carolina where I found a job and the means to clean myself up. I landed at a facility where I could disappear and heal and grow. I found my truest self in the heart of the mountains. I forced myself clean and found my way home. I didn’t end up in your pathway because I’m some kind of angel, Chase. That’s been clear from the start. I’m just the opposite. I wrecked lives with careless abandon because I valued the power of amber fuel, freedom and power abo
ve everything else—even the love of my family—the love of my child, and a good woman.”
“So when exactly were you going to spring this on her? At the benefit? In front of TV cameras and media types with microphones and recorders? Were you going to out yourself as her father then?”
“Would you please trust me on this? I wouldn’t think of disgracing her that way. I plan to see her before the start of the event. That way we can have a few private words, and, yeah, the venue might force her to be still for just a few minutes and simply listen to me. I don’t want to reveal myself publicly before we have a chance to talk, but the details are up to God alone.”
Chase rested in a silence that calmed the air between them. “Why didn’t you tell me about her? That day at your apartment—when I found that tabloid—why didn’t you come clean?”
“Why would I? What business would it be of yours what I choose to do with regard to my daughter and my desire to make amends?”
Chase gestured widely, astounded. “Gee, I dunno…maybe because you’re the one who’s always professed an interest in social feeds and keeping up on my career. What an error of evasion! What a lie! You’re like Adam and Eve hiding in the tall grass, cowering in a space between knowledge and guilt and shame, thinking God won’t see you.”
Mark’s eyes glinted, and turned hard as stone. “God sees everything about me, Chase, the good and the bad. I’m warning you once more not to judge.”
“But you knew from the start I was involved with Pyper. We even talked about her. You knew I had feelings for her. All along, you couldn't find ten seconds in a day to tell me she was your daughter?”
“That’s right. Like I said, this has nothing to do with you, Chase. This is between me and Pyper.”
Chase snarled and shook his head. “That's where you're wrong. Your connection to Pyper became my business the minute I found my way into her life.” He clenched his jaw then shook his head all over again. “Finally my dreams were sweet. Finally life was good. Full. Because of her. Because Pyper looked at me with trust. With belief. She let go of what you put her through and allowed herself to be open with me in spite of all my mistakes. I treasure that gift more than I can ever say. I want her to love me freely. Now, I’m not so sure that can happen.”
“Because of me?”
“Because I’m trapped between the two of you, and I share your history of addiction. But know this. I vow to be there, at her side, holding her up, no matter what. If it’s a choice between you and her, she wins. End of story.”
“Or maybe the beginning, depending on your point of view. Regardless, what the two of you share doesn’t change a thing about me and what I need to do. So, do what you promise. Be there for her. Love her. Love that girl well.” His chin quaked. Chase watched as Mark clenched his jaw in rebellion to that reaction.
Chase paced the narrow confines of the office then rounded on him. “You know what? Don’t speak rehab lingo to me anymore. I’m finding it intolerable coming from you right now. Furthermore, I will not let you rip the carpet from under her feet again.”
“Understood, but I meant what I said. I don’t intend to hurt her.”
Chase let out a sound that crossed between a growl and a roar. “If I were a different man, I swear—” he balled his hands into fists, barely controlling the rage that burst through his body. “I want to flatten you, but at the same time, I want to honor the person I loved and trusted for months during the worst episode of my life. How do I handle that contradiction, Mark?”
Emotions pouring free, he rushed on. “You struck that beautiful girl in anger, in misguided fits of drunken temper. You stole irreplaceable pieces of her innocence and trust by shoving her and her mama out of their home for no other reason than meanness and spite. I had no control over any of this, but the ramifications are killing me. Through no fault of my own, I’m going to have to do something I swore up and down I’d never do.”
“Which is?”
Chase looked him in the eyes and absorbed a fresh eruption of pain and turmoil. “The fact that she’s involved with me is going to throw her into the middle of her worst nightmare—an unavoidable confrontation with her estranged biological father. Because of my ties to you, her heart is about to get broken.”
17
The hushed serenity of a royal blue nightfall blanketed the undulations of land that comprised Pyper’s home. Birdsong quieted while insect chatter built, vibrating through the air in a steady cadence that lent comfort to her soul. She sat next to Chase on a padded wooden swing that was suspended from the roof of the wraparound porch. Resting her head on his shoulder, she forced herself to relax and find some measure of contentment. Cradled within the palm of this timeless spot, her heart mingled with his, searching for rest. Chase kept the swing in motion by pushing a booted toe against the wooden floorboards. The answering squeak of metal chains became a musical rhythm as comforting as sunset to her troubled spirit. She wanted nothing more than to snuggle into Chase’s embrace and drift into peace.
Instead, Mark Samuels encroached, seeping through her mind like a form of slow-acting poison. His reemergence snatched away her happiness and the passionate vigor that had coated every beat of her life since leaving Michigan, and his nightmares, behind.
“I’m so sorry, Pyper.”
“Chase, none of this is on you. Honest, and from the depths, that’s what I feel and what I know to be true.”
“I believe you, Pyp, and I appreciate it, too. I know that doesn’t come easy.”
“No, it doesn’t.” She swallowed hard, overcome on so many levels. She battled rage and bitterness toward Mark and an equally powerful sense of compassion and acceptance of Chase’s emotions and loyalty to the man who had obviously done well by him in rehab.
Chase squeezed her shoulder then leaned in to brush his lips against her cheek and nuzzle her neck. “I know you’ve been knocked sideways.”
“Not really. Mark means nothing to me. At. All.” Pyper clenched her hands, channeling tension away from already tight muscles. The veracity of her reaction instantly disproved that statement. Chase seemed to realize the fact because he initiated a soothing caress against her arm. “Tyler Brock is the first man of my heart—the man I consider to be my dad in every way but blood.”
“And that’s exactly as it should be.”
Buttery light bathed the space all around them. Beyond a railed set of stairs, darkness encroached, much like the darkness of her turbulent heart. Pyper nestled against his side like a life-sized puzzle piece, as though they had been grooved into alignment by the blessing of God’s hand. To her mind, that’s precisely what they were—the coming together of God’s will.
Except when it came to a slime bag named Mark Samuels.
She had to surrender the obvious. “Still, Chase, I know you’re torn.”
“In a way, but I’ll tell you what I told Mark. Your place in my life outweighs my gratitude and affection for him. I confronted him, and I listened to his explanations with a stone-cold heart. But when I left his office, and thought things through, it occurred to me that something important rang through his words. Authenticity. Regret.”
Pyper stiffened all over again. Sure, these first stumbling steps needed to happen, no matter how treacherous and rocky the terrain. That didn’t mean she had to like them. So, she bristled. “Authenticity. Regret. Let me give you my version of what’s authentic and what I regret.” She bit the words then sighed, sliding her fingertips against his arms in assurance. “I’m so sorry, Chase. Really. Please bear with me. I’m snapping at the wrong person.”
“Don’t worry about that—just talk to me.”
Pyper tilted her head, smoothing her hair to the side while moonlight drifted against the planes and hollows of his squared jaw and rugged face. Heat flicked, lit and built strong enough to burn away her fears about being vulnerable to the deepest, most lasting pain she had ever known.
“Let me tell you my side of the story.”
“That’s w
hat I want most, crash.” He paused, angling her chin with a fingertip, which sweetly and effectively captured her full attention. “Not because of Mark, but because of you. Because of us.”
Tears sprang; her chin quivered, but she fought on. After nodding resolutely, following a fast, hard kiss to Chase’s lips, a determined stride carried Pyper inside and up the stairwell of the farmhouse. “Mama, are my scrapbooks still in the wooden secretary upstairs?”
“Yep.” The reply came from somewhere near the heart of the kitchen. “You’ll see ’em right behind the glass doors.”
“Thanks.”
She retrieved the two cloth-bound items she sought, the ones covered by flowers, crafty do-dads and her name in press-on script. Back on the porch swing, she settled in.
“These scrapbooks were a gift to me from my mama when I graduated high school. I’ve always thought of them as a roadmap of my life, full of memorabilia crafted by a woman who lost her connection all such precious and irreplaceable things. Because of him. For the longest time, my life was a wreck. Because of him.”
For nearly an hour she led Chase through page-by-age of her life, leaving nothing out—for now—except the missing puzzle piece that included her years between the ages of one and five.
The missing years, as she had always thought of them.
But, missing years or not, a messy recollection grabbed hold, poking at a piece of Pyper’s spirit she would have preferred to stay dead and buried. Instead, she surrendered to the path before her and took a dive into the rank, oily waters of her four-year-old self, praying for strength while a dark aisle of her heart opened to Chase’s care…
“Get out of my sight!”
Pyper’s daddy screamed the words and she quaked in terror. His face was all red; his eyes were big and bulgy with hate. Hate—toward her. Why didn’t he love her? Why couldn’t she find a way to make him treat her gentle and sweet like she saw with so many other daddies?
Actually, Pyper knew the answer. He acted this way because she was bad. Very, very bad. The realization struck her down, made her knees all wobbly and weak. Pyper tried to be strong, and not cry—daddy yelled even louder when she cried—but he was so mad that her face crumpled and her eyes stung. Tears rolled down her cheeks, big and wet and hot.
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