More Than I Could (42)

We get to the top of the stairs, and he stops. He speaks but catches himself before shaking his head.

“What?” I ask.

He sighs. “We gotta go to bed, Megan. We made a deal.”

That we did.

I take a long, deep breath and commit his scent to memory. “Night, Chase.”

“Night, Megan.”

I head to my bedroom and don’t look back.





Chapter Sixteen





Chase




Boom!

“Damn these roads,” I grumble, stabilizing the truck as it recovers from a direct hit to a pothole.

I circle my right shoulder and wince as a blast of pain shoots down my back and across my neck.

The sky glows half orange and half a deep, inky black. Work was long and hard. I wondered all day if time was slower than usual or I was just anxious to go home.

Because I am anxious to get home. It’s pointless to pretend I’m not.

I’ve been on edge all day, and it’s pissed me off. I was short with the crew. I nearly got fired for telling the superintendent he was a dipshit—even though it’s true—and when Luke texted me that he thought Alyssa might be pregnant, I had less sympathy than the situation required.

Because sympathy was needed. Neither are ready to be parents.

I regrip the steering wheel and ignore the new blast of pain shooting down my back.

My phone rings as I pass Cotton’s. When I see it’s Gavin, I answer. Thank God it’s not Luke.

“Hey,” I say.

“What’s up, lover boy?”

“Gavin, this isn’t the day, and now isn’t the time.”

“Sounds like you’ve had a bad day.”

I roll my eyes and turn up the volume on the speakers. “Have you talked to Luke today?”

“Yes, and that dumb motherfucker thinks he knocked up Alyssa.” He pauses. “I’m assuming he told you that.”

“He did.”

“What in hell’s bells was he thinking?”

“Clearly, he wasn’t. Typical Luke shit, you know? Do what feels good now and worry about the consequences later. Well, buddy, later is now, and the consequences are hitting hard.”

Gavin chuckles. “I hate it for him, but, man, does it make me feel better about myself.”

I grin.

“So is this a better time because I want to talk about that dime living in your house,” he says cheekily.

She’s a ten, all right. I wipe my hand down my face.

I expected to struggle with this setup. Hell, it’s why I refused it in the first place. There was no getting around being distracted by Megan. She’s a dime. She’s a ten. She’s fucking perfect, and just like I figured, the more I get to know her, the more I want to know.

My stomach forms a knot. It pulls tighter and tighter the closer I get to home.

The real problem—one of them, anyway—is that it’s easier being around her than not. When she sits across the table or walks next to me through a muddy field, I don’t think about how it could go wrong. I’m just sucked up in her world. I’m listening to her laugh, waiting for her next joke. I’m watching her smile and feeling it warm the inside of my cold, black heart.

I’ve reasoned with myself. I’m probably this way because I haven’t allowed myself to get to this point in so many years. Women have served a particular purpose. That purpose can occur at their house, a motel, or on a blanket in the back of my truck if the situation requires it. For no reason—absolutely none—have I allowed a woman in my house who didn’t share my blood or wasn’t fucking one of my brothers since Kennedy was in first grade.

And here we are.

“Are you okay with Megan being there?” Gavin asks. “I’ve given you hell about it, which you probably expect. But it occurred to me this morning that I’ve never asked you if it’s what you want or if you just agreed to the whole thing because you don’t have a choice.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have a choice.”

“But you’re okay with it?”

I exhale. “It’s fine. Things are fine.”

“Dammit, Chase. I know things aren’t fine. I’ve seen her, remember?” He whistles. “But fuck if she isn’t fine.”

I half laugh, half groan. Thank you for stating the obvious.

That’s the thing, though. She’s more than fine.

I meant everything I said to her last night. If those girls could see her now … But what stayed with me after we said good night was the pain in her eyes. The raw despair. The tears forming. “And I was shamed and dirty because of it.”

That has rolled around my head ever since. Each time I recall those words, my blood pressure rises. Fuck.

I hate that she had to go through that, but I truly hate that she still carries the weight of it. That a part of her still connects to those disgusting words. That they still affect her.

I would dismantle anyone who ever said anything remotely close to that to Kennedy. Because, perhaps, her mother had been forced into a similar situation. And I didn’t know. I don’t know. And that slices me open too.

At least Monica left my identity with someone so they could relay it to the authorities. Thank God I was given Kennedy to love and raise. I’m also thankful that Megan was the one who showed up to help this month. Megan—the bewitching woman who’s entirely more than a hot nanny.