Pieces of Summer (A stand-alone novel)(4)

Unfortunately, finding what I came to look for proves to be very, very freaking disturbing, considering his tongue is currently being sucked on by a girl who has her legs wrapped around his waist. Her ass is firmly planted on the tailgate of an old truck, one of the many trucks circling the field and acting as seating.

All those knots explode in unison, and my legs wobble, barely holding me up as the first hot tear hits my cheek. Chase laughs against the kiss, even thrusts between her legs like he’s seconds away from screwing her on the tailgate of someone’s truck.

I watch, because I’m sick and need to make sure I’m not delusional as well.

“Chase! Need one?” a guy calls.

It’s definitely him. He looks a little more muscular… a little older. A year and a half has changed him in more ways than just the physical.

Then… Then he pulls out a phone, and my heart crumbles a little more as he holds it to his ear, answering whoever is calling. His tailgate buddy is now shoving her hand down the front of his pants, and he’s smiling down at her as he carries on a conversation over his phone.

His phone…

Chase doesn’t have a phone. Not even a house phone. He doesn’t have cable or internet either, because his family barely skates by on what they have to pay bills. His father is a janitor at a gas station and a functioning alcoholic. His mother… Don’t even get me started on his mother.

But Chase doesn’t have a phone. It’s why we can’t talk when I’m in Montana and he’s here.

He nods and laughs when some guy brings him a red cup, and he puts his phone away.

“Zeke is coming,” he loudly announces to the crowd, and hoots and whistles sound out as though a celebration is underway over the announcement.

The girl wrapped around him starts nibbling on his neck, and he returns his attention to her. It’s like someone is holding a vacuum against my lungs, sucking all the oxygen out of me without mercy. My chest feels like it’s collapsing, and it causes me to bend over a little just to wheeze in some small spurts of air.

It hurts. It really f*cking hurts.

More tears prick my eyes as I watch in stunned silence.

“I asked if you’re lost.” A guy steps in front of me, cutting off the sight that has had me frozen to my place for who knows how long.

I look up to stare into dark, concerned eyes. “You okay, girl? You sure don’t look okay,” the guy drawls in his rich, southern accent. I used to love that accent. Now…

My stomach is rolling, tumbling, and growing weaker by the second. I’m going to be sick.

He hisses out a breath, when I double over, and groans sound out all around me when vomit splashes to the ground like a party-foul alert.

“Fucking eh. How much did you drink?” the guy in front of me asks.

So many people. There are so many people. Chase is far enough away that he can’t see me, especially with the tall guy blocking his view. I can’t let him see me. I don’t want to see him.

I can’t… I just can’t.

“Are you okay? Can you walk?” The annoying guy continues to rattle off questions as I raise up and give my mouth an indignant wipe on the back of my arm.

I nod absently and stumble back.

“Hey, slow down. You drunk? You can’t drive drunk. Cops will be pissed if this shit spills into the streets. Not to mention you might get yourself killed.”

I turn away, but he catches up to me, grabbing my arm. When I cry out, he immediately lets me go. “Shit. Sorry—Hey! Stop!”

But I’m already running. My legs burn, but it’s dull in comparison to the inferno going on inside my chest. Sobs wrack my body, and I leap into my car, locking it just as the guy chasing me collides with my door.

“You can’t drive if you’re drunk!” he barks. “You’ll get yourself or someone else killed! Get out, please! I swear I’m not going to hurt you or let anyone else hurt you.”

I crank the car, slam it in reverse, and slide out of the driveway much faster than I wheeled in. I’m so, so stupid.

Once again, I’ve turned into a cliché. I thought I found my one true love as a teenager, when it was nothing more than a stupid summer fling. Mom was right. Hayden is toxic.

So is Chase.





Chapter 2


CHASE



Present day…



I groan while getting out of bed, peeling Whit’s arm off my chest as she mutters something in her sleep about aliens and crocodiles. Snorting out a laugh, I rub my hand over my face and head into the living room.

Ah hell. I have to be at work in thirty minutes. I’m going to make her ass sleep on the couch if she doesn’t stop f*cking with my alarm clock.

I practically rush through a cold shower, getting out by the time it’s heating up, and I toss on my clothes. Whit is still face-down in the pillows when I walk out, and toss my cooler in the back of my truck and head out.

My eyes scan over the dirt road off to the side, and as always, my grip tightens as my fists try to clench. I sure as hell don’t miss living on that shitty dirt road. My truck stays a hell of a lot cleaner these days. Yet that house still stands. I wish they’d tear it down or burn it.

Just as I pull up to the shop, someone walks up. Holy… shit. What guy dresses like that in Hayden? Is he really wearing pants above his ankles? Are they really so tight he has a moose knuckle going on?