Just Let Me Love You (Judge Me Not #3)

Just Let Me Love You (Judge Me Not #3)

S.R. Grey




Kay



Chase comes down the steps a few minutes following my angry departure from the bedroom. I’m still pissed at him, which is why I’m standing at the front door contemplating whether I should leave.

My ire lets up a bit, though, when I see the suitcase in his hand. This is really happening. Leaning back against the wall by the door, my eyes can’t meet his. Chase is truly doing this. He’s leaving without me by his side.

I’m still a little surprised he kept secrets from me, but the initial sting has subsided. I knew he was holding stuff back. I didn’t press; I just allowed myself to believe he had his reasons. It’s my fault as much as it is his that he kept stuff buried. I should have made him fess up sooner.

But it doesn’t really matter, not anymore. I know the truth now. Or rather, I know what he wants me to think is the truth. I know Chase, though, and there’s no way those wounds on his hand were caused from hitting a person. He hit something inanimate that night; of that, I have no doubt. As for what happened with Doug, all I know is that whatever Chase did, it kept my ex away from me. That makes his actions justified in my eyes. Plus, how can I be angry? I did nothing to discourage him from seeking out my ex-boyfriend. Truthfully, I knew in my heart the day I told Chase of Doug’s intentions to apologize to me that he would take action.

And he did. So I am as culpable as he.

I have to admit, though, when Chase arched his eyebrow at me, questioningly, at the mention of our engagement, I was shocked and hurt. And I’m still bristling. I mean, what the hell did that arched eyebrow mean? That we’re not really engaged, or that being engaged means nothing?

Chase nears where I’m standing and sets his suitcase on the floor. I glance his way. His eyes hold a million apologies but I know no matter how sorry he feels, he is not going to bend. He’s not going to take me to Las Vegas with him.

I glance away, and he says softly, “Kay.”

I don’t respond, but he’s not deterred. He comes to me and wraps his strong arms around me.

“Don’t,” I snap, twisting away.

“Come on, baby girl,” he soothes. “Don’t leave it like this.”

I resist meeting his blues, but his fingers find my chin and I have no choice but to look up at him.

His eyes hold nothing but truth, sincerity, and remorse. “I’m sorry, Kay,” he says. “I’m sorry I kept secrets. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

I cave a little. “Did you really beat the junkie?”

“What do you think?” he asks.

“No.”

“And Doug?”

“Just talked to him.”

“I wouldn’t have cared if you beat him,” I say, “not for his sake. But I’m glad you didn’t, for yours.”

Chase sighs, lowering his hand from my chin. “I don’t want to fight anymore, Kay. I’m sorry I mocked our engagement that way. It was shitty. But you know I love you, right? And, if you’ll still have me, I still want to get married.”

“We could get married in Vegas,” I say slyly.

“Kay…” Chase sighs. “I have to do this alone. You can’t come to Vegas, not under these circumstances.”

There’s hesitation in his voice now, hesitation that wasn’t there when we were arguing upstairs. Maybe Chase is second-guessing his decision to leave me behind. Damn, he knows we’re better together than we are apart. And he can keep me safe in Vegas, just like I’ll keep him grounded.

But before I can say any of this, Chase mutters, “I’d better go.”

There’s a short good-bye kiss, a long hug, and then he’s gone. I can’t bring myself to watch him drive away. It hurts too much.

After he’s gone, I aimlessly walk around downstairs, from room to room. But the emptiness of the house without Chase in it is too much to handle. I head up to the bedroom, where everything still smells like my guy—fresh, soapy, male.

There’s an indentation on the bed where the suitcase was. I erase the reminder that Chase is gone by reaching down and smoothing out the covers. Suddenly, I feel exhausted. I lie down on the bed and press my nose to Chase’s pillow, whispering his name.

Rolling to my back, I stare up at the wall. Above me hangs the oil pastel of the Eiffel Tower, the sketch Chase drew for me not so very long ago. The drawing is beautiful, and I can’t help but smile when I recall the many times Chase and I have talked, laughed, and loved beneath this little piece of Paris.

Paris…

I’m reminded of the evening Chase brought Paris to me, the night of our rooftop picnic at sunset. Everything was so perfect. We feasted on brie spread over pieces of baguette; we drank pink-tinged Kir that matched the sunset that evening. But, best of all, Chase and I made love for the first time that night.

Chase gave me a memory, a beautiful memory, to hold close to my heart. I knew even then that that memory would soothe me in troubled times such as these.

And it does; that memory soothes me now.

My head starts to clear and I get a hold of any lingering wayward emotions. Time to quit lying around, time to quit moping—it’s time to take action.

But I’m not exactly sure what I should do.

Rising up to my knees, I glance around.