Just Let Me Love You (Judge Me Not #3)(7)

He glances away, and Chase blows out a frustrated breath. “Look,” he says, gesturing to the front door Will is standing in front of. “Let’s talk about this inside, okay?”

When Will doesn’t budge, Chase walks forward and pushes past him, barging right into the house.

Will leans back on the doorjamb and groans, “Dude, really?”

When I walk past Will, following Chase, I give him a disappointed look. He just rolls his eyes.

I rush to catch up with Chase, but when he stops abruptly I almost wreck right into his broad back and shoulders.

“Why did you stop…?” I start to ask. But the words die on my lips.

Wow.

I need no explanation as I scan our surroundings. The opulence of the interior of the house is enough to make anyone stop in their tracks. Standing next to Chase in the center of a huge entry hall, I take it all in—the soaring spiral staircase to my right, the sparkling crystal chandelier overhead, and the beautifully colored marble everywhere.

“Fuck,” Chase mutters as he slowly turns in a circle.

I glance back at the doorway. Will looks pleased as can be that this ostentatious house has distracted Chase from his original intention.

Hurrying over to stand next to Chase, Will says, “Pretty sweet, right?”

From the other side of Chase, I touch his forearm. “Are you okay?” I ask.

I’m concerned since he’s not answering his brother’s question.

But everything Chase isn’t voicing is right there in his eyes—pain, sadness, awe, disbelief. Chase spent four years surrounded by and staring at cold prison walls. Walls made of concrete, walls that held nothing but what Chase could create with his own hands—his artwork.

I glance around at the no-doubt pricey paintings on these walls. Chase’s art is still better, always will be in my eyes. I bet Abby doesn’t even remember that her oldest son paints and draws like nobody’s business.

And that is absolutely tragic.

Could she really forget that much of Chase?

Maybe, I conclude. Maybe, seeing as there’s nothing in this house to indicate Abby has another son besides Will. It’s sad, but maybe it’s easier to forget that son. Maybe it’s easier than thinking of how you sent him away, how your actions helped land him in prison.

Jack Gartner, Chase’s deceased father, was no saint either.

The sins of the father were visited upon the once-prodigal son six years ago. After his father’s suicide, Chase sought out drinking, drugs, fighting, and loose women. But he paid dearly for those vices. Chase was sent to prison for four years. And while he was left to suffer, his mother went on and rebuilt her life without him. She had already cast him aside when he was eighteen, sent him adrift with nothing. And this is where she ended up—living in this house.

Abby fought her own demons for a while—gambling and men—but what price did she pay? She paid nothing, as it seems she was rewarded in the end.

Life is sometimes not fair, not fair at all.

If I’m thinking all these things, how could Chase not be?

Certain that he is, I reach out and touch the stubble along his clenched jaw. Rubbing gently against the scruff, I ask, “Chase, are you all right?”

He places his hand over mine, lowering our clasped hands slowly. “I’m fine, Kay,” he states flatly.

Will senses the tension, and it shows in his unsteady voice when he says, “Uh, so, if you guys are staying I can show you where the guest bedrooms are. You can choose whichever room you like. And you can take showers, too.” He glances at our empty hands. “That is, if you remembered to bring some luggage.”

“We brought luggage,” Chase mutters distractedly. “It’s in the trunk of the rental car.”

“I’ll go get it,” Will offers helpfully.

Before anyone can reply, he is out the door.

“Hey”—I unclasp our hands and touch Chase’s arm—“are you really okay?”

His eyes meet mine. “Yeah, I’m good, babe. It’s just this house…” He shakes his head and blows out a breath.

“I know,” I acknowledge. “I know.”

Will returns with our suitcases in hand. He is all smiles now that Chase has been thrown off-course. But I know Chase will get back to interrogating Will. He’ll find out where he is stowing that gun, and he’ll get to the bottom of why Will bought the damn thing in the first place.

An hour later, Chase and I are showered and changed into jeans and tees. We’re in a guest bedroom Chase picked out. It was the first one we came to, and Will couldn’t believe he had chosen so quickly.

Confused, he said, “There are nicer rooms in the next hall over. You should check those out, bro.”

“This one is good,” Chase flatly said to his brother. “It’ll do.”

Will started to go, but then he spun around and offered to heat up macaroni and cheese he had made an hour earlier. Apparently, Will arrived just a short while before us, having taken a taxi from the bus station.

“Do you want to go down and eat?” I ask Chase.

He’s lying on the bed, prone across a downy-white coverlet. I’m in front of the dresser, brushing out my hair. Chase’s hair is a mess, still damp from his shower. He’s in need of a trim, but I haven’t said anything. He’s far too sexy with his mess of light-brown locks.