Claiming Chase: (A Second Chance Stepbrother Romance) (16 page)

I wasn’t even gonna go to the beach house that summer. I mean, come on. A whole summer with my mom and her latest victim? Or as she preferred to call him, husband. 

But then things got a little heated back home. I owed money to this guy; a real hard ass. And this time, no matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t able to sweet talk my way out of the debt.

So, I did what I could to stop him kicking my ass: I stole from the auto shop where I worked.

But I got caught with my hand in the register. So there was my job gone.

And then, when Chloe found out about Jackie, and Jackie found out about Chloe, neither of them were too happy that they weren’t the only girl in my life. And it looked like was about to get an ass kicking all over again.

Suddenly, the prospect of a sleepy seaside community three states over seemed like a sweet deal. And damn, was it
sleepy
.

Man, there was nothing to do there. Except ride my bike and drink beer with the local kids.

I thought I was gonna go out of my mind with boredom.

I had an invite to go and stay with some buddies down in Malibu. They’d rented a house, and said I could sleep on their couch. There was a lot of girls, a lot of parties, a lot of action, they said.

But something stopped me from going. Something kept me right there.

She was two years younger than me. And it wasn’t like we had anything in common. She always had her nose in a book, and she seemed to sneer at my bike.

At first, I thought she just dismissed me as white trash. So I tried to stay out of her way. But slowly, things began to change between us. And I found myself hanging around the house, just to talk to her: staying in for dinner, not going to parties, that sort of thing.

And it really wasn’t so bad. As well as Charity, I got to know her dad, too, and it turned out that he was a pretty cool guy after all. He wasn’t like Mom’s usual boyfriends or husbands. They were usually as bad as her — only interested in getting to the end of a bottle and starting a row.

But Pete was different. He actually talked to me, asked me questions, and stuck around to hear the answers.

He was an architect, so he worked really hard. He spent most days upstairs in his home office, even though this was supposed to be his vacation. But he always made time to tell me about his work — what he’d studied in college, how he got started in business. He never rammed anything down my throat, but he was the first person to make me think that I could
be
something. That maybe I could go to college, get a good job; all of the things that guys like me from homes like mine never did. And when I got to New York, and got my first job, right at the bottom of the ladder, it was with Pete’s gentle words of encouragement ringing in my ears.

But I suppose, in the end, I let him down, too.

I was too scared to confront my feelings for Charity, so I dropped out of his life, as well. All he knew was that I took off on my bike one night, destined to end up in a ditch somewhere. He probably had my mom pouring poison in his ear, telling him that I was a no-good loser, a sorry excuse for son. I mean, she never held back in front of
me
, so why would she spare him the ugly truth, as she saw it?

So I never got to show him that I never forgot his words, that I actually
made
something of myself.

I couldn’t believe it, the night I found out he’d died.

I’d always imagined that one day I’d look him up, buy him a beer, and tell him just what he meant to me.

And now it was too late.

And it’s too late for Charity, too. She wants nothing more to do with me. That much is clear.

It’s funny. I’ve made it through the past eleven years only by pretending that she didn’t exist. That she meant nothing to me. And now I feel like I can’t get through another day knowing that she’s not in my life.

Slowly, that summer, I realized that just a look or a smile from her would make my day. There were so many times when I longed to go over to her, to talk to her, to tell her about my life and my hopes and my dreams. But I just couldn’t do it for some reason.

Instead, I hung around in the shadows, in my biker jacket, acting like a moody bad boy and not saying a word. It was what I was used to. I mean, chicks always lapped it up. And it wasn’t like I was short of female attention in the town, either. There were loads of girls who made it clear they’d do anything to be the one riding on the back of my bike.

But I wasn’t really interested in them. I tried, sure. Anything to get my mind off this girl — this girl who must surely be off limits.

But it didn’t work. It was almost as if the more I tried to stay away from her, the more I felt
drawn
to her. There was just something about her. Something that made me want to open up to her, to tell her all my secrets, to show her who I really was behind that James Dean exterior.

And I’m sure Pete couldn’t tell what was on my mind. Because if he had, he wouldn’t have been so pleased that Charity and I seemed to be getting close.

I guess he thought that it was good that we were friends, that she would be a good influence on me, and that I would bring her out of her shell. But this wasn’t the way you were supposed to feel about your stepsister.

There were so many times that I wanted to reach out, to touch her, to kiss her. There was something between us, and I knew that she felt the same way. Not that she ever said anything. She didn’t need to. But it was as if I could read her with the same ease that she read all those novels.

We didn’t really need words between us.

So I decided I was going to have to be the responsible one. After all, I was turning eighteen in a few weeks. I couldn’t stop feeling the way I did, but I could try my hardest not to act upon my feelings.

And I did try. I tried harder to stay away from Charity than I’ve ever tried to do anything in my entire life.

But it was no good.

What did fate think it was doing, throwing us together like that? It knew we would only hurt each other, yet it drew us together. Was it some kind of game? I refuse to believe that. Because even despite everything, I don’t regret that summer. I don’t regret meeting her.

In my memories, she shines out as the one bright spot of my youth — the one moment of perfect goodness. And if it wasn’t for her, I know I wouldn’t be the man I am today.

God damn it, fate. You’d better not be playing with us. Because all I can do is trust you right now. And I need you to bring her back to me …

It’s April eleventh.

I felt the sadness even before I’d really woken up, before I realized what date it was.

And now here I am waiting at Penn Station for the next train to Connecticut.

My dad died four years ago today. He had a heart attack, so there was no warning. He never suffered, for which I’ll be eternally grateful. But at the same time, I never really got to say goodbye.

After he divorced Cassie, he moved back to Connecticut, where his family were from. It’s part of the reason I chose Columbia — I liked how close I was to him. Just a train ride away.

But I’d only been in New York a year when I got the phone call.

Just then the train pulls in, and I climb aboard and take my seat by the window. Usually, on a long journey like this, I’d bring a stack of books with me, and take the opportunity to really get stuck into my reading.

But not today.

Today I think I’ll just sit here with a cup of coffee and my memories.

§

The sky is darkening with ominous-looking clouds as I finally make it to the cemetery. I walk through the rows of headstones with my bouquet, until I find Dad’s plot. I lay the flowers down; a cheerful bouquet of yellow and white lilies and gerberas.

And, in what has become my tradition, I tell him about everything that has been going on in my life over the past year.

I tell him about how my PhD has been going really great. About how I’m nearly finished, and how the next time I come to visit, I’ll be a real academic. How I’ve been offered my first teaching role, just like I always hoped would happen.

I tell him about the apartment Gabby and I moved into this year; how it’s great living in Manhattan but how it’s noisy as hell, too.

I even tell him silly things, like who won
Dancing with the Stars
, even though he always hated that show.

And I always tell him about the ugliest new buildings I’ve seen; I know he’d get a kick out of that.

But I’ve missed something out, haven’t I?

I’ve not even mentioned Chase. And I should. After all, he knew him once.

And I don’t want to leave it out. So I say, “And guess what, Dad? You’re not gonna believe this, but remember Cassie’s wayward son, Chase? The one with the bike? Well, he’s not dealing drugs or mixed up with some gang now. The total opposite, in fact. He’s in New York, and he’s successful. Like,
really
successful. I mean, I didn’t want to ask him how much money he earned, but I’m talking Upper East Side penthouse successful.”

I pause, feeling a few light spots of rain on my skin.

“He made it, Dad,” I continue. “He’s a good guy.”

And as I stand there, thinking about how it’s true, I’m aware of a shadow, now falling across the grave.

There’s someone else here, standing just behind me. From the corner of my eye, I see them bend down, their arm placing a bouquet of flowers on my dad’s grave.

I turn around and smile as I meet his eye.

“Thanks for the glowing report,” he says.

“What are you doing here, Chase?” she asks in shock.

Good question.
 

“I’m paying my respects,” I say. “But I also want to respect your wishes. So if you’d like some time alone, here with your dad, I won’t get in your way. I can leave at once.”

“No,” she says, obviously still stunned and a little confused. “No, it’s okay. It’s a long journey. I wouldn’t send you all the way home. I’m just surprised to see you here, that’s all.”

The rain is starting to come down properly now, the light mist turning into a gentle spring shower. She pulls her coat tighter around her, and shields her hair from the rain with her other hand.

“Do you have an umbrella?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

“Me neither,” I say. “Besides, they’re a bit useless when you’re on a motorbike.”

She smiles, and I’m glad to be able to cheer her up, even just a little, on a sad day like this.

“Come on,” I say. “Why don’t we find somewhere warm and dry to wait out this shower? I saw a little diner just past the gate.”

“That would be nice,” she says. “I’m done here. I’ve been here most of the morning. I don’t think he needs to hear any more of my mindless chatter or celebrity gossip. It’s time for me to go.”

She smiles at me for a brief second, but I can see tears forming at the corners of her eyes. Just then her face crumples and she lets go, covering her face with her hands as she sobs.

“Oh, Charity,” I say, taking her gently in my arms and holding her.

§

At the diner, I take a booth and order two coffees while Charity freshens up in the restroom. She arrives back at the table, at the same time as our drinks. She slides into the booth opposite me. Her eyes are a little red-rimmed from crying, but it doesn’t make her any less beautiful.

“Sorry about that,” she says. “It’s just a bit overwhelming.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about,” I insist. “He was a good man, and you’re right to miss him as much as you do.”

“Oh, I miss him
so much
,” she says, taking the coffee cup in her hands and cradling it for warmth. “I was always such a daddy’s girl, especially as I grew up. He was so supportive of everything I did. I know he’d be so proud of my PhD. I just wish he could be here so that I could really tell him about it.”

“Wherever he is, he’s proud of you,” I say.

“Thanks,” she says. “But I still don’t understand. What are you
doing
here?”

“I was waiting for you to ask,” I reply.

I feel suddenly nervous about telling Charity why I’m here. It’s something I’ve never said out loud to anyone before.

“I guess you could say he was supportive of me too,” I begin. “I told you about how nobody even noticed I couldn’t read until I was twelve years old, remember?”

She nods.

“Everyone always had such low expectations of me, not least my mom. I’ve lost count of the number of times she shouted at me, ‘You’re a deadbeat, just like your father.’ The other men in her life? Her other boyfriends and husbands? They just treated me as a nuisance. Something to be ignored, if not kicked about. But your dad was different. He
talked
to me. Like I was an adult. Like I was an equal. And he knew everything. I mean, like, for example, my old bike, yeah? He’d always ask me questions about how I’d done it up, and told me I had a talent for it. He told me I should do an engineering degree. I mean,
me
? College? Nobody even expected me to finish High School, and your dad was talking to me about Harvard and Princeton. All these places that I thought weren’t for people like me.”

She smiles sadly, reaching her hand across the table and placing it softly on top of mine.

“I know I only knew him for one summer,” I continue, “but he changed my life for the better, Charity. Just like you did.”

I lace my fingers through hers, and squeeze gently.

“I never forgot that he believed in me,” I say, “so when I moved to New York, I decided that if he thought I could make something of myself, then I sure as hell was gonna do it.”

“That sounds just like him,” Charity says. “He always wanted to bring out the best in people. You know, it’s funny. I was so wrapped up in myself that summer, I don’t even think I noticed you guys talking at all …”

I smile sadly.

“I just wish I could talk to him now,” I say. “Show him what I’ve made of myself. I guess I just always assumed that one day I would. I was so shocked when you told me he’d died that night.”

“I had no idea he meant so much to you,” she says, squeezing my hand right back. “But I’m glad he did. I still don’t understand how you knew I’d be here today, though?”

“Honestly?” I reply. “I had no idea. But I looked him up, and found his obituary, just after you told me. I wanted to pay my respects, and today seemed like the perfect day to do so. I hope I haven’t intruded. It wasn’t my intention at all.”

“No, I’m glad you’re here,” she says. “You see, I’m an only child, and so was Dad. None of his family are left, so sometimes it seems like I’m the only one who still loves him. It’s nice to know that I’m not alone.”

“You don’t have to be alone,” I say, and then immediately regret it.

She pulls away her hand and looks down at the table.

Damn it
, I think.
Don’t blow this, Chase
.

Because I can’t believe I’m here with her now. If I’d left Manhattan five minutes later, maybe she would’ve already left. I didn’t come here to win her back. I hope she believes that.

But this is my chance to show her the man I’ve become. I can do the right thing for once, and God damn it, I
will
.

I’m about to apologize for overstepping the mark, on today of all days, when Charity looks up from the table, fixes me with her beautiful brown eyes, and smiles.

“No, I really mean it,” she says, “I’m glad that you’re here. And I know that two burgers is hardly going to dent your platinum Amex card, or whatever you’ve got, but let me buy you dinner.”

“I’d be honored,” I reply.