I was scared to get my hopes up, and I refused to assume or take anything for granted.
As I shut the bathroom door behind me, the deadbolt rattled and the front door creaked open. From the front of the apartment, there was a hushed exchange between Chase and Dallas, but all I caught was one of the guys saying “fuck.”
With trembling hands, I fumbled around in the first aid kit, tearing open a new box of Band-Aids and rummaging around for the right size. My thoughts circled back to the video, and a sick feeling swirled in the pit of my stomach. I had been terrified when I thought the rumored video might have had to do with me because of Luke. Now that it was real and about Chase, I was devastated. More than anything, I wished I could make it go away for him.
By the time I stepped out of the bathroom, Dallas and Shiv were gone. Chase was leaning against the wall beside the kitchen, frowning at his phone with his jaw tightly set. He was so preoccupied that he didn’t notice me watching him.
I drank in the sight of him from head to toe, like he was water and I was dying of thirst. Tall frame, rumpled hair, perfect profile. But beneath that, when I looked a little closer, his face was drawn, his normally golden-toned skin was wan, and his posture was stiff.
A wave of heartache and longing crashed over me, bringing with it the inexplicable urge to smile and cry all at once. All I wanted was to be in his arms with my face buried in his neck. To touch him, kiss him, breathe him in.
I drew in a slow inhale to steady myself, taking a few tentative strides in his direction. “Hi.”
Chase locked his phone and slid it into his back pocket. He looked up, and when our eyes met, my heart slammed into my ribcage. The sorrow in his expression made me ache. I froze on the spot, halfway across the room from him. A handful of steps were all that separated us, but the distance was like a chasm.
He ran a hand through his coffee-brown hair, expression pained. “I tried to call you.”
I glanced down at my phone, unlocked the screen, and scrolled through the missed call log. He did. Six times.
“Sorry, my ringer was off. I wasn’t avoiding you.”
“That video,” he said. “It’s old. From before—”
“I know.”
His throat bobbed, and his dark eyes lingered on me uncertainly. We regarded one another for a few heartbeats, my pulse escalating with each second that passed, but neither of us moved. Then, finally, adrenaline surged through my veins, kickstarting me into action. Heart pounding in my chest, I took a step, followed by another, and came to stand before him.
I didn’t have a plan. Didn’t have one when I’d asked Dallas to take me to see him, other than forcing a conversation. But right now, I didn’t want to talk.
I wanted him.
Strong jawline tense, Chase watched me, cautious hope mingled with fear on his face. With a final step, I stood before him, chin tipped so I could study him. Beneath his black shirt, his broad chest moved up and down with each breath. Neither of us reached out to bridge the remaining gap between us. Only then did I notice the dark circles under his eyes, which matched the ones beneath my own. It had only been a handful of days, but we both looked like we hadn’t slept in weeks.
Everything hurt.
We weren’t supposed to be apart.
I rested my hands on his muscular shoulders, and he blinked slowly, letting out a small shudder at the contact. His cologne wafted over me, soothing me while simultaneously feeding my heartache. He was solid and heavy beneath my fingertips, the warmth of his body radiating through his cotton T-shirt. Just touching him again was a gift.
I drew in a jagged breath. “Carter.” Hot tears welled in my eyes, nearly overflowing.
Now that he was here in front of me, I could breathe again, but it also made the contrast of missing him that much worse. I needed him. He was my home, my heart, my person.
“I’m sorry, James.” Chase pressed his forehead to mine. “So fucking sorry.”
He cupped my face and caressed my cheek with the pad of his thumb. I closed my eyes, fighting to hold back the gasping sobs that threatened to break through.
“I missed you,” he murmured. “I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t breathe without you.”
At that, my hold on him tightened. “I missed you too.”
As we soaked in the feel of one another, the apartment turned so quiet I could hear the heat kick on, warm air whirring through the floor vent beside us. The urge to cry ebbed and flowed, then finally faded away. I opened my eyes after several long moments, pulling back to look at him. Despite my appearance—messy hair, blotchy skin, pajamas—he looked back at me with such softness and reverence that I could almost forget.
His other hand found my waist with a grip so tender he barely grazed the fabric of my gray top. Every movement he made was tinged with uncertainty, like he didn’t know whether I wanted him to touch me.
I looped my arms around his neck, drawing him tighter against me, and tilted my head. He did the same, angling closer cautiously. His mouth met mine, soft and tentative. With a sigh, I parted my lips in response, letting his tongue slip inside. Tension melted from my body, replaced by the feeling of completeness.
The kiss said more than words could. Making up for tears, for lost time, for the fear that I would never kiss him like this again.
His grip on my waist dug in as he moved his mouth against mine, deepening the kiss. Heat flooded my body, and the dull ache within me exploded into desperate need. He drew in a deep breath, rough hands sliding beneath my shirt. Somehow, his fingers on my bare skin soothed us both, and the frantic, needy edge to our kissing eased. Lips still together, we slowed, lingering.
Finally, he pulled back, surveying me, his deep brown eyes full of regret. “I’m sorry,” he said, stroking my hair. “I love you more than anything in the world.”
“I love you, but I need you to tell me what’s going on.”
Chase nodded, but his apprehensive expression returned. “I will.”
Taking him by the hand, I tugged him into the living room. He shuffled to the couch at a glacial pace. For someone who was usually willing to spill anything and everything, the trepidation in every step he took was a marked departure from normal.
We sank onto the cushions, angling our bodies to face one another. Picking up my legs, he tugged them into his lap and pulled me closer to him.
He ran a hand along his jawline, shaking his head. “I don’t know where to start.”
Instead of continuing like I hoped he would, he looked away and fell silent. Seconds ticked by. Nothing. This was the first time I’d ever seen Chase look scared.
“I don’t want to fight.” I squeezed his hand, doing my best to keep my expression open and nonthreatening. “I just want to know why you didn’t tell me. Did you think I’d be mad at you? Judge you?”
Chase focused his attention on our intertwined hands and shrugged. “Yes and no. I mean, yes. But that wasn’t the main problem. I was trying to protect you.”
My stomach rolled over as a flood of conflicting feelings surged within me. In all of this, he was trying to protect me? Why? And why didn’t he talk to me?
“From what?”
“From me and my dumbass decision,” he muttered.
“By breaking my heart?”