I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(60)

And what I told her was true. I’d give her Paris if I could. I can’t take her there, unfortunately, but I do have a few ideas. I’ll see what I can do.

Anyway, the few hours following our time in the gym went quickly, thank God. After work, we went to dinner. Not at the diner, no way. Yesterday was special and called for celebration, so I took my girl to one of the nicer restaurants in town. There, we ate by candlelight, even indulged in a bottle of wine. Who knew I had it in me to be such a f*cking romantic? But when I’m around Kay, I become someone different, someone better, someone I wish I could be all the time—that guy is good.

Maybe Kay sees this in my soul. It sure seems like she sees someone special. Maybe I can be the man I thought I could be a long time ago. I am finally starting to believe I have it in me.

I don’t know. But I’d count myself a success if I could live up to all the potential my girl sees.

However, right now, I don’t feel so great. I sure as shit don’t feel as if I’m bursting with potential. At the moment, I am pissed as hell and ready to throw my f*cking cell against the bedroom wall. In fact, it takes everything I have in me not to do just that.

See, I texted my brother ten minutes ago to wish him a “happy birthday”—Will turns fifteen today—and the little prick finally responded. I felt cautiously joyful when I heard the alert, like the perfection of yesterday might be continuing right into today.

But I guess not.

My brother’s response put an end to that foolish thinking. Will’s text read: Fuck off.

I feel like texting back: You little f*cker, you finally answer me and that’s the best you come up with?

But I don’t do any such thing. Instead, I run my fingers through my hair and gently set the phone back down on the dresser. If that little shit was here in front of me he’d never have the balls to “say” something like that to my face. But he’s not here; he’s thousands of miles away. Despite the distance, despite the “f*ck off” text, I can’t help but still feel love for the brat. I guess that’s why his texted flip-off hurts so much.

I go into the bathroom and get into the shower. I turn the water on, and lean my forehead against the cool tiles.

Fuck.

The emotions I’ve been through these past twenty-four hours—all extreme highs and lows—I’d say something is bound to give. Sooner or later, it will happen. Something is about to push me too far. I just don’t know when, or how, or what will set me off. But I’m teetering at the breaking point. Of that, there is no doubt.

By the time I’m back in my bedroom, drying off and getting dressed, I am wound up tighter than ever. I feel knotted and bound, pulled taut at the center. So when I get to the church a little while later, I head straight into the school and start working. Best if no one sees me like this, especially not Kay.

A gallon of white paint later, the classroom I started on yesterday starts to come together. And I feel better, calmer, more relaxed. But then my cell rings and I see it’s my mother. Fuck, what now?

When I answer I get an earful, which is amusing since I haven’t heard anything from Abby in over a month.

“Chase, you have to talk to Will,” my mother tells me in a hurried jumble of words.

This is her greeting.

“Hello, to you too,” I throw back, my comment dripping sarcasm.

Yeah, I am aggravated. However, Mom ignores my smartass tone and moves right along.

“It’s getting ridiculous with that kid. No one here can get through to him. Do you know what time he got in last night?”

She’s venting so I just grunt out a, “Nope.”

“Well, he didn’t, Chase, your brother stayed out all night.” Mom pauses so I can let that sink in. “Will finally stumbled in about two hours ago.”

This is all a little concerning, so I ask, “He was okay, right?”

Mom sighs, and sounds resigned when she says, “I think he was drunk, he just went to his room.” Another pause, and then in a pleading voice she adds, “Chase, honey, can you talk some sense into your brother? I really think if anyone can get through to him, it might be you—”

“Yeah, I doubt that,” I interrupt.

“What? Why would you say that? Will looks up to you, he always has. He’ll listen.”

I lean my ass against a piece of furniture I covered earlier and scrub my free hand down my face. “Mom, Will doesn’t look up to me anymore. Maybe he did a long time ago, but he sure as hell doesn’t now. Hell, the kid won’t even talk to me.”

I leave out that dear little brother sent me a lovely “f*ck off” text this morning, Mom’s dealing with enough.

I hear the sound of a match striking and Mom sounds like she’s lighting a cigarette. She supposedly quit, but I had a feeling she still smoked. I smelled it on her that day at the courthouse. Well, at least she’s not out gambling to relieve her stress.

“I don’t know, sweetie,” she says on an exhale. “I know I shouldn’t dump this on you, but I didn’t know who else to talk to. Greg’s getting sick of Will’s behavior.” I roll my eyes. Greg…of course. “Your brother just doesn’t listen anymore. And ever since school let out he’s been running wild. This isn’t the first night he’s stayed out until morning.”

Mom takes a draw from her cigarette. “We told him there’ll be repercussions if he continues this way, but it doesn’t seem to matter to him. He does what he wants, Chase.” She pauses and adds quietly, “I know he’s been drinking for a while now too. Bottles have been missing from Greg’s liquor cabinet, and the other day I found a few in the back of Will’s closet. They were all empty.”