Never Doubt Me: Judge Me Not #2(42)

Damn, Chase is exceptionally hot in his faded jeans and snug black T-shirt. And working over in the rectory all day must have involved some heavy lifting, because the muscles in his arms bulge, all hard and ripped, as he fidgets with his phone.

Chase pays no heed to our approach—or my perusal of his body. He’s too preoccupied with texting or something.

“Hey,” I call out, garnering his attention.

He lifts his head and slips his phone into his back pocket. He then starts to smile but falters when he notices Missy is with me.

“Hey,” he says flatly when Missy and I reach him.

Missy places her bag of baby clothes on the ground and quietly mumbles, “Hi, Chase.”

She crosses her arms, while Chase squints and looks up at the sky.

“Oh, Lord,” I lament.

This is the first interaction the two of them have had since the night at the carnival, the night I overheard them arguing and, consequently, found out they’d hooked up. But if I can get past what happened between them—which I have—then they surely can, too.

I go on to state those exact words, eliciting two surprised expressions. But I get my point across. The tension begins to lift, and soon enough, the three of us are chatting about the rummage sale.

When the conversation falters, though, Missy says softly, “Well, I guess I better get going.”

I catch Chase’s eye and nod to the plastic bag on the ground.

He catches on quickly and says to Missy, “Hey, you want me to carry that over to your car? It looks kind of heavy.”

“Oh, okay.” She appears genuinely surprised, but also pleased. “Thanks.”

Chase hoists the bag up with ease and heads toward Missy’s car. Missy hangs back, and when I glance her way, she suddenly throws her arms around me.

“Whoa, what was that for?” I ask, taking a step back when she finally lets go.

“Sorry.” She giggles. “I get a little carried away with the pregnancy hormones and all, but I just wanted to say thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything, Kay,” Missy says, sighing contentedly. “For being so nice to me, for forgiving me”—she lowers her voice—“for getting Chase to forgive me.”

Before I can respond that there’s no need to thank me, Chase turns around and yells over for Missy to pop open the trunk. Two minutes later, Chase is back. Missy says good-bye and walks over to her car, and Chase and I take off.

When we arrive back at the house, to both my surprise and Chase’s, Will is up and about. He doesn’t appear to be sleepy or hungover—at all. In fact, he’s downright lively for a kid that, by all rights, should be recovering from his night of hard partying.

But, no, Will is seated at the kitchen table, earbuds in his ears, husking fresh cobs of corn while his foot taps to the beat. He adds an ear he’s just shucked to a huge pile of husked corn that covers the entire surface of the table. He then promptly picks up another.

Chase and I skid to a stop in the entryway to the kitchen, and when Will catches sight of us, he takes out his earbuds and says loudly, “Hey, you’re home.”

Before either Chase or I can respond, Will continues to talk, his speech rapid.

“Yeah, so you’re probably wondering what I’m doing, huh? See, there was this farmer selling corn at a stand on the side of the road, so I bought a bunch.” He holds an ear aloft. “Can’t get shit like this back in the f*cking desert.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of corn,” I say as I realize that, apart from the corn on the table, there are two more bagfuls under the table.

Chase doesn’t comment on the corn, though I know he notices all of it. Instead, though, he leans against the doorjamb, crosses his arms, and says to Will, “You went out?”

Will nods as he absently plucks silk off a cob he’s just shucked.

“You were supposed to stay in today,” Chase continues tightly, “stick around the house.”

Will returns to the shucking, his fingers working faster than ever. “Yeah, I know,” he says. “But Jared stopped by, and we decided to go out for a while.”

Chase’s eyes meet mine. There’s worry in his blues. And why wouldn’t there be? Will went out with Jared today, just like last night, and also like last night, Will’s behavior is indicative of being high on something.

“So, where’d you go?” Chase asks his brother.

Will’s fingers falter, but his eyes remain on his task. “Uh, just out.”

When Will resumes shucking, his legs start to bounce.

Chase whispers to me that he wants to check Will’s room for drugs, see if he can find anything that might help him figure out what Will is on.

I nod once, and he then comments loudly enough for Will to hear that he’s going up to the bathroom and that he’ll be right back.

When Chase is out of sight, I head into the kitchen, hoping to keep Will occupied.

I open the refrigerator door, and say, “Well, since we have plenty of corn, how ’bout we pick out something to go with it?” I grab a package of hot dogs and hold them up above the door so Will can see. “Hot dogs work for you? We can grill them.”

“Sounds good to me,” he replies. “In fact, I can get the grill started, if you want.”

“Sure, give me a sec.”