“I’m worried about Scarlett,” I tell him.
Chase offers a knowing look. “Because Jeff demands more obedience from her than we do from Rocco?”
“Something like that.”
He leans closer, peering out the window. “He’s a bully. There’re plenty like him in juvie, only without the clothes and fancy cars, but underneath he’s the same as them. All he wants to do is control people. He gets off on the power trips.”
“Do you think he was like that with Rachel?” I gnaw on my lip.
“I don’t know. It’s been three years. People can change a lot in three years. Look at me.” I twist my head to see his a scant few inches from mine. He gives me a self-deprecating smile. “I was a self-absorbed, immature asshole know-it-all who thought that stealing his coach’s car was the height of coolness. I wouldn’t do that now if you paid me a million dollars.”
“Jeff went to England, not prison,” I remind him.
“I know, but it could’ve felt like a prison.”
I flush. That was the same sentiment I thoughtlessly flung at Chase before.
“Hey.” His finger tips my chin upward. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re nothing like Jeff.”
“You’re saying there’s hope for me?” I rub my jaw against his finger. My house did feel like a prison when I met Chase, and my response was to try to lose control. Jeff’s response is apparently to exercise control over everyone around him.
“Yeah. There’s hope.” His voice is husky.
Thoughts of Jeff fly out of my head. It’s hard to focus on anything but the boy in front of me when he’s so close. My gaze falls to his shirt, which is still wet. There are fresh wrinkles in the center, as if he’s pulled it off, wrung it out and shoved it back on. Near his collar is a tiny dry patch.
“I missed a part here.” I run my finger over the cotton, feeling his collarbone underneath.
His breath catches in his throat. I stroke my way along the bone, dropping into the shallow dip at the base of his throat. I wait for him to stop me, as he always does. But he remains still. My finger continues its exploration, following a downward path. On the surface, Chase is hard—all muscles, tough sinew and bone. But underneath, he has a tender heart. It aches for us. What he wants and what I want are at odds with what we should be wanting.
“You shouldn’t do this.” The words are raspy, as if he has a hard time forcing them out.
“Yes, I should.”
28
I’m tired of being patient. I’m tired of doing things other people think I should be doing. There’s nothing wrong with the concept of us.
I won’t let us be wrong.
I rise on my tiptoes and press my lips against his. He freezes, but then his lips soften. His hand on my chin draws me closer. He makes a sound, one that curls my toes. One that I want to capture on my phone and play on repeat every night until I fall asleep.
I lean into him, drawing from that well of strength that he’s built up inside. His arms close around me, and the kiss goes on and on and—
Bark! Bark! Bark!
A wet nose shoves between us. I look down to see Rocco aggressively pushing Chase and me apart. His stubby tail wags furiously.
Chase releases a half groan, half laugh and then bends down and gives the dog a firm scrub behind his ears. “You want a little love, too, Rocco?”
I use the time to collect myself. We probably shouldn’t be making out at work. Sandy might frown on that, and I don’t want to jeopardize the time Chase and I have here together. These moments are part of the small things that keep me going through the day.
I take a few deep breaths and push myself away from the wall.
Chase actively avoids looking in my direction for the rest of the shift, but I can’t keep my eyes off him. And I can’t stop touching my lips.
He kissed me back. Christmas came early.
I grin and my smile doesn’t leave my face even when I arrive home to two glum-faced parents. I give them both a wave. Dad probably had a bad day at the hardware store and Mom’s always complaining about how the agents are terrible with their expense reports. I float up the stairs. I sway in the shower and hum as I change my clothes.
On my phone, I find the mushiest playlist about love on Spotify, lie on my bed and learn there are old bands with names like REO Speedwagon and The Bangles. Who knew?
After an hour of listening to music, I hear my mom yell up the stairs that dinner is ready.
“Any big Halloween plans?” she asks when we’re all seated at the table. The orange pumpkin season is upon us.
“Scar might be having a party.” Remembering Scarlett puts a small dent in my good mood. I rest my fork on the side of my plate.
Should I bring up Jeff? No, I decide. If Jeff had been a jerk three years ago, my parents wouldn’t still be so in love with him now. Dad, in particular, thinks Jeff’s the best guy ever. Plus, I don’t want to piss them off with the information that Jeff’s dating Scar. It’s better that they don’t know.
I pick up my fork and resume eating.
“That’s nice. I guess we’ll need to get you a costume.”
“If we give her permission to go,” Dad says tightly. He’s been wearing a dark expression since we sat down. He totally must’ve had a bad day at work.
Mom sighs. “Dave, we discussed this. Beth’s been on her best behavior since...” She trails off, but I can fill in the blanks.
Since she went to the police station in defense of our daughter’s killer. Since she went to his house after we ransacked her bedroom and did God knows what with that boy.
“Her best behavior,” Dad echoes, and I feel a chill, because it sounds more like a question than an agreement.
“And the shelter? How was that?” Mom casts a worried glance in Dad’s direction before turning back to me. “You showered when you got home. Did something happen at the shelter?”
“We washed the dogs and I stunk like wet pet hair.”
“We?” Dad echoes, narrowing his eyes at me.
The tiniest alarm pings in the back of my head. “The staff,” I say, lowering my gaze.
“You and Sandy?”
It’s the tone of his voice that makes me look up from my plate. The tone that says, I know you’re hiding something. I flick my eyes toward Mom first and then to Dad. They know. Or, he knows, at least. The alarm is loud this time. Buckle up, buttercup, I advise myself. This isn’t going to be pretty.
“No, me and Chase,” I answer. It’s the truth, but I’m hoping my parents don’t ask who Chase is.
“Who’s Chase?” Mom asks.
Too much to hope for.
“He works at the shelter. Nice guy. He’s—”
The sound of my father’s fist slamming against the table is almost deafening. All the silverware jangles loudly. A freshly baked bun falls off the serving platter and rolls toward my plate. I catch it before it topples off the table.
“It’s Charles Donnelly,” Dad growls to Mom.
Her eyes widen. “What?”
He scrapes his chair back in an angry rush. “What our well-behaved daughter has neglected to tell us is that she’s been working with that...that...criminal for the past two weeks.”
Mom gasps. “Beth, is this true?”
I clench my fork in my fist. “Yes, and there’s not much I can do about it, so that’s why I didn’t tell you guys,” I lie. “He’s been very respectful to me, though.”
My mother’s face pales. “He works with you,” she says, sounding dazed.
“I have no control over who the owners hire. But you don’t have to worry about us working together—”
“We’re not worried.” It’s my dad who answers. “Because he won’t be working with you after today.”
I drop my fork. It clatters onto my plate. “What do you mean?”
“I called the shelter and told them that if they continued to employ a murderer, I’d make it my business to see that their business was shut down.”
My jaw drops. What? “No,” I say, shooting to my feet. “He needs that job! It’s a condition of his probation to have a part-time job.”
“That’s too bad.” Dad’s not sorry at all. He hopes that Chase gets sent back to prison.
I take a deep breath, trying to control my rising anger. I can’t believe this. How did my dad even find out about—
“Jeff told you, didn’t he?” I demand after it dawns on me. And here I was trying to protect the asshole.
“Yes, he did,” Dad bites out.
“He’s dating Scar, you know,” I say snidely. “That’s how he found out. Because he and Scar came to the shelter today.”
“I know he’s dating your friend. Why shouldn’t he be? Unlike some people in this house, Jeff has always been up-front with us.”
“This is wrong. You’re wrong,” I tell Dad, but his face is set in stone. So I turn to Mom. “Please, Mom. You know this isn’t right. Chase served his time.”
Inexplicably, her response is “Why do you call him Chase?”
I furrow my brow. “That’s his nickname. He doesn’t go by Charlie anymore—”
A booming sound makes me jump. Dad’s just slammed his fist on the table a second time. “You do not say his name at our table. You never say it at our table.” He flings his arm toward the stairs. “Go to your room, right now, before I do something I regret.”
I don’t have to be told twice. I don’t want to be here with them.
I race upstairs and grab my phone. I dial Jeff’s number and the minute he says hello, I unload on him. “Why’d you tell my dad Chas—Charlie works at the shelter? Why do you care so much?”
“Because it’s gross how he’s just walking around free!” Jeff snaps back. “He needs to be behind bars.”
“He was behind them for three years.” I seethe.