More Than I Could (82)

She watches me with a twinkle in her eye. Something about it makes my stomach tighten.

“What?” I ask.

“Do you think there’s any way that you’ll stick around when Gram comes home?”

“We’ll hit the road in a little while. If I can keep Lonnie from stopping every mile, we should be home tomorrow afternoon sometime.”

Maggie’s words from earlier today, before I was summoned to the school, roll through my brain. She’s coming home tomorrow.

“Do you want to?” she asks me.

It’s such a loaded question—do I want to stay here with her and Chase?

A large part of me wants to remain in this house and see if it could be my home. I think maybe, possibly, it could. But saying that out loud is equivalent to putting a bull’s-eye on my back. It feels like standing on a rug and giving someone the corner, taunting them to see if they can pull it hard enough to knock me off.

“But maybe it’s not weird, Megan. Maybe this is …”

I gulp.

My hand trembles as I tug on the end of my shirt.

“We’ll take it slow.”

I grin. We took it anything but slow. Things with Chase were hard and fast. He hated the idea of me. I didn’t love the idea of him. But we couldn’t stay apart.

There’s no reason I should’ve landed in Peachwood Falls, yet here I am. And not only does this town, this house, and this family feel like my new comfort zone, but it also feels like an end zone. This is where I catch the last touchdown.

“Maybe,” I say, answering her question. “I can’t promise you anything.”

“But you want to stay?”

I grin. “Maybe.”

She laughs. As she speaks, headlights shine through the kitchen. Kennedy looks at me and blinks.

“Who’s telling him?” she asks.

“This is your thing. If you want me to help break the ice, I will. But I think you need to take the lead on this.”

She groans. “But if I say something, he’ll blow up. There won’t be a chance for me to explain. But if you say something, he’ll at least pause before he yells at me.”

“He’s not going to yell at you.”

She doesn’t look convinced.

“Fine. Does it make you feel better if I say something first?” I ask.

She nods emphatically. In the distance, Chase’s car door slams.

“Hey, Megan?” Kennedy asks.

“Yeah?”

She glances out the window and then babbles. “I want you to know that I know that you and my dad are … I don’t know what you call it when you’re old, but I know you’re … kissing.” She makes a face. “So if you need to kiss him to make this work out better for me, I won’t freak out. I already know. So lay one on him, and I’ll stand back here and smile like an angel.”

I burst out laughing as my cheeks heat. But the laughter is short-lived. It dissolves as the mudroom door opens, and Chase steps into the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says, setting a bag on the table.

He’s downright exhausted. There are bags under his eyes and a layer of filth on his skin I’m not sure can be scrubbed off. That laundry is going to suck.

“Hi, Daddy,” Kennedy says a little too brightly.

Chase looks at her, then at me with a heavy dose of skepticism. “What’s going on?”

“Go,” Kennedy whispers, shoving her bony elbow into my side.

I give her a look to knock it off. Instead, she tries to hurry me by motioning toward her dad with her head. It’s not the subtle encouragement she thinks it is.

“Megan?” Chase asks.

This is going to be a disaster. I can already tell.

“Now,” Kennedy whispers.

I suck in a long breath and steady myself. “Chase, we have something to tell you.”





Chapter Thirty-One





Chase




“So tell me,” I say.

Kennedy moves so she’s a couple of feet behind Megan. Megan reaches back and takes her hand, tugging her forward until they’re shoulder to shoulder.

My daughter’s eyes are shifty. She has a little smirk on her lips that tells me she’s done something I’m not going to love. The gesture is more of a shield than anything—her way of bolstering her confidence.

My sights settle on Megan. Holy shit, she’s gorgeous. It’s hard to believe she’s as pretty as I imagined while I was gone. I didn’t make her up. She’s real.

She clears her throat.

“So?” I ask, prompting her to speak. “What do you have to tell me?” Get it over with so I can get you alone somewhere.

“I want to preface this conversation by saying everything is fine,” Megan says. “There’s no need to panic.”

My stomach knots. “Maybe if you’d tell me what’s happening, I wouldn’t.”

“Good point.”

My high spirits at coming home to my girls dissolve like sand out of an hourglass. I’m draining—all my energy and enthusiasm wane more and more as I wait for an explanation as to why I shouldn’t panic.

Megan takes a deep breath. “I got a call today.”

“Who from?”