Just Let Me Love You (Judge Me Not #3)(12)

Concluding that Chase must be in there, I step over a big pile of Will’s unwashed clothes, in the center of the laundry room, and swing open a door leading into what I discover is a huge, multi-car garage.

“Wow,” I mutter as I take in all the expensive cars.

On the far end of the massive garage space, I hear Chase call out, “Hey, babe, come on in. I’m over here.”

He sounds so cheerful, unlike earlier in the night. I’m glad his mood has improved; I guess things went well with Will. But what has brought Chase out to the garage? Something he sounds pleased with, that much I can tell.

I walk past all the fancy cars and stroll over to where Chase is crouched down, his hand moving appreciatively over the curve of an old motorcycle. The bike appears to be a classic of some sort—completely restored, however.

“Wow,” I say as I reach Chase, nodding to the bike. “That is really nice.”

“Yeah, it is,” he says wistfully, his hand still but remaining on the bike.

“Does it belong to Greg?”

“No, it was my dad’s.”

Whoa, no way.

“I thought all your father’s things were gone?” I carefully inquire.

“Yeah,” Chase says on a long exhale. “I thought so, too.” And then, a little lower and more to himself than to me, he murmurs, “Shit, Dad loved this thing.”

I move closer to Chase. “Did he ever take you for a ride on it?” I ask.

“All the time, Kay.”

Chase looks up and smiles at me, and I cross my arms over my chest and smile back.

“Do you, by chance, know how to drive it?” I inquire.

“Actually, I do.” He laughs lightly. “Dad used to always tell me not to let Mom know he was taking me out to the desert all the time and letting me drive this thing.”

“That must have been fun,” I say, laughing.

“The best,” Chase agrees as his gaze returns to the bike.

He appears so happy. Discovering that this little part of his dad is still around has revived Chase; he looks less worried, less stressed. Chase has always been intense, but when I first met him he didn’t have the worries of Will weighing him down. Though he was burdened with his own struggles, Chase was more carefree. His demeanor now reminds me of those early days of getting to know him—lunches at the diner, him stealing my hair tie and me running after him, and me taking off with his last lemon-lime soda while he chased me down.

And then there was that first kiss.

I shiver with excitement at the memory. Oh, how I loved, and still love, to let Chase catch me. Whether for first kisses, or for catching me when I fall, he is always there. Suddenly, I realize Chase needs what I once sought—he needs to forgive himself. I don’t think he even realizes it, but there’s something in him that truly believes he could have somehow prevented his father’s suicide all those years ago. Chase blames himself for the faults of his father, as well as the subsequent sins of his mother. He feels guilt for going to prison, guilt for what he sees as his abandoning Will.

Chase helped me through my fires of Hell—I would never have forgiven myself for my role in my little sister’s death had it not been for his love and forgiveness. The least I can do now is stand by him while he faces these demons of his own. I thought up to now that love alone would be enough, but we can’t take advantage of this gift we’ve been given. Piling our past on top of our love will only weigh it down.

Chase needs resolution.

Like me, he will forever be sullied, but we can live with that. The smudges on our souls can’t be washed away, but we have learned to accept that. However, the weight of regret over things we had no control over still looms and is a threat to our love.

I don’t regret my past any longer; I accept it as part of me. Chase, though, remains tortured by his past. Facing unresolved issues with his father is a start for Chase; I see this now. Finding this old motorcycle is good, very good.

Sometimes healing comes from the most unlikely of sources.

I crouch down next to Chase and leaning my head on his shoulder, I say, “Hey, maybe we can take the bike out while we’re here. Do you think it runs?”

Chase turns away from the bike. He stands, pulling me up with him as we face one another. With my hands in his, he says, “It looks like it’s still in working order, and I think taking it out is a great idea, Kay.”

“Good,” I reply. “I think so, too.”

Sadness, though, clouds Chase’s eyes as he tightens his hands on mine. “I’m trying to work through these problems, babe,” he says. “And I know it’s been hard on us lately.”

“We’ll get through it,” I reply.

Holding my gaze, his troubled blues question, And if we don’t, then what?

“We will,” I whisper, responding to his unspoken fear. “We always do.”

He lets go of me and scrubs a hand down his face. “I hope you’re right,” he mutters.

I want to change the subject—for now—so I ask, “Did you talk with Will after I went upstairs?”

“I did,” he says slowly.

He then gives me the rundown of their conversation.

“Hmm,” I murmur, frowning. “Do you really think the gun he gave you is the gun Kyle sold to him?”