Just Let Me Love You (Judge Me Not #3)(27)

“I was thinking the same thing,” I reply with a laugh.

We let out simultaneous exhales when, seconds later, we pull to the front of the house and see the motorcycle is parked off to the side.

“They’re here,” I say, relief in my tone.

“Thank God,” Abby whispers.

Our shared respite is short-lived, though, as we walk through the front door.

Chase is in the entry hall, placing his helmet on a table by the far wall. It’s obvious he’s only been home for a short while—minutes, maybe. It is also abundantly clear there is no one with him.

“Where’s Will?” Abby asks, glancing around.

She rushes over to Chase, and his eyes follow her hand as she grabs hold of his forearm.

His gaze slides to me, and he asks, “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Though Chase’s question is directed to me, Abby answers. And when she starts speaking, she breaks down.

“Oh, Chase,” she sobs, tears flowing. “I know about the gun. I know about the trouble you had with Will in Ohio. I’m so sorry for that. But it’s good I know everything. I should know.”

“How do you know,” Chase asks slowly.

“Kay told me,” Abby replies.

I cringe as Chase’s gaze falls on me sharply.

“Sorry,” I mouth. He shakes his head, and I add more firmly, “I had to tell her, Chase.”

I want to say more. I want to tell him I wouldn’t have made a decision like that without talking it over with him first. But under the circumstances, what choice did I have?

His eyes, a troubled blue, remain on me. “What else is going on?” he says. ”I can tell there’s more.”

“There is,” I confirm. And after a deep breath to calm my frazzled nerves, I say, “Will didn’t give you the gun he bought from Kyle. You were right to be suspicious. Turns out, he gave you a gun he stole from Greg.”

Chase suspected as much, and I just confirmed it. But I can’t read his emotions, not today, not like how I normally do.

“I see,” he says slowly, giving away nothing.

I go to Chase. Something is off. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Where’s Will?” Abby interjects.

Chase—so very tall as he towers over the two women in his life—looks down at his mother, and then at me.

Grimly, he says, “We may have an even bigger problem.”

“What?” his mother and I ask at the same time.

Chase sighs. “I just dropped Will off at the last place I ever would have taken him had I known what you just told me.”

His mother—still so clueless—asks, “Where? Where did you take him?”

I provide the answer Chase appears too frustrated to say.

“Chase dropped Will off at Cassie’s house,” I say.





Chase



Fuck. I’ve been duped by my fifteen-year-old little shit of a brother. Should I really be surprised? I mean, hell, I suspected the gun he gave me the other night was not the firearm he bought from Kyle Tanner. But, still, I can’t believe Will would put on a charade all week, acting as if everything is fine.

That’s exactly what he’s done, though.

I’ve asked him numerous times how things have been going, and every single f*cking time that kid has told me everything was cool.

I’ve heard statements such as: “Cassie hasn’t heard from Paul. He must’ve skipped town.”

Or when I asked him about how he’s been faring, his response was this: “I’m doing great, Chase.” Coupled with a, “I feel really good, bro. Never been better.”

And then there was this gem from earlier today…

Will and I were eating sandwiches we made this morning before taking off for the desert. Under the desert heat, and after taking a bite, Will swallowed, and said, “Hey, thank you for bringing me out here, Chase.” He motioned to the bike, to the surrounding desert. “This place is pretty cool. And this week has been awesome.”

It was that last bit, said with such sincerity, that prompted me to say, “Okay, sure,” when Will then asked if I could drop him off at Cassie’s house on the way home.

“Just for a couple of hours,” he added, like he was the most reasonable teenager ever.

“Her mother will be there, right?” I asked, suspicious of his true motives, but wanting so badly to give him a chance.

“Not when you drop me off,” Will replied, his face the portrait of honesty. “But she’ll be home right after. She usually comes in from work around four.”

I respected his truthfulness, or what I thought was the truth.

What a joke. It’s slightly past four now, and I have a strong suspicion Mrs. Sutter still isn’t home. Come to think of it, she’s probably on a business trip somewhere and won’t be home at all today.

Shit, this is my fault. Why do I continue to trust Will so implicitly?

Sighing, I know the answer—I’m blinded by my love for my brother. I want to believe Will is honest and trustworthy.

But he’s not.

My mother takes a step back, her hand dropping from my arm, but Kay remains by my side. Yeah, my wife has my back.

“Didn’t you get my text?” she murmurs.