Just Let Me Love You (11 page)

When I involve tongue, Mom clears her throat. “Chase, really,” she murmurs, shaking her head.

Sometimes it is entirely too much fun to push Mom’s buttons. But since she looks so put-out with me, I decide to throw her a bone.

Draping my arm loosely around her shoulders, I squeeze lightly. “Have fun, Mom. And take good care of my girl.”

Abby is beside herself with the attention I’m lavishing on her. It’s not much, but I don’t often show her any real affection, since we’re usually too busy butting heads.

Kay smiles and mouths, “I’m proud of you” when Mom turns her back and starts to walk away.

“Better get going,” I reply softly.

After they’re out of sight, I return to the bedroom.

This trip is turning out better than expected. First, I sure as hell didn’t think I’d become Kay’s husband two days in. How crazy is that? This trip has been good in other ways, too. I feel like the visit to my father’s grave has given me some inner peace. Plus, Mom and I are finally reaching a better place, better than where we’ve been in years.

Will yells up the stairs, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Chase, dude, what’s taking you so long? Are we going or not?”

“Yeah,” I yell back. “I’ll be down in a sec.”

I start down the stairs, thinking how Will is my last hurdle. If I can keep him on track, I’ll count this trip to Nevada as a raging success.

And maybe then Kay and I can finally head back to Ohio and get started on the rest of our lives.

Kay

“C
an I tell you something, Kay?” Chase’s mother’s voice is a mere whisper as she leans across the table, lending an air of seriousness to what has thus far been nothing but light lunchtime conversation. Dishes were cleared minutes ago by the waiter, and we’ve just started to work on dessert.

Well,
I’m
working on dessert. Abby is busy working on her third glass of wine.

“Sure,” I respond as I hack off a good-sized portion of the cheesecake in front of me.

Abby takes a long sip from her glass of wine, and then gestures for the waiter to bring her another.

“I didn’t want to say anything to Chase,” she begins as she sets down her glass. “But I really feel I must tell someone.”

“Okay,” I reply slowly, hoping Abby knows that whatever she tells me will be reported back to Chase.

Sighing and rubbing at an invisible wrinkle in the tablecloth, she says, “Greg was upset with Will before he left the other day. Very upset.”

“Oh.” I push my cheesecake away, my appetite dampened. “Why was he mad? What happened?”

My pulse is racing. There are so many possibilities. Did Greg find drugs in Will’s possession? Did Will once again steal from Greg’s liquor cabinet? Or maybe this is an issue involving Cassie.

But my biggest question is why has it taken Abby all week to bring this up? It’s Thursday and our third lunch date this week. There have been multiple opportunities for her to bring up this subject.

The waiter arrives, and Abby drains her new glass of wine in record time. She places it on the table then levels me with grim, green eyes. “Greg owns a few collector guns,” she says, “like Old West stuff.” She waves her hand around dismissively. “Anyway, that’s not important. What’s important is that one gun is missing, and Greg is convinced Will stole it.”

Oh, no.
My heart is hammering in my chest.

“Why would Greg think such a thing?” I ask in a voice far calmer than I feel. “What would Will do with some old collector gun, anyway?”

“Probably sell it for drug money,” Abby states resignedly.

Oh, but I know better.

After Abby orders yet another glass of wine, she goes off on a tangent of how she plans to follow through on her promise to Chase.

“I need to get Will into counseling,” she says. “I’m going to work on that soon, too. I have some numbers already. I got them from a friend. I’ll make some calls later.”
Blah, blah, blah
.

I nod, but really I am hearing nothing. Running through my head, drowning out Abby, are my own thoughts. Thoughts that revolve around the fact I know Greg is absolutely correct—Will stole the collector gun. And
that
gun is the one Will gave to Chase, pretending all along that it was the firearm he bought from Kyle.

Yeah, right.
No wonder Chase was suspicious. He suspected his brother deceived him, and he was right. Will lied. That is why he gave up the gun so easily. Giving up the collector gun appeased Chase, who, despite his continued reservations, always hopes for the best from his brother.

But the biggest concern is that Will has a gun in his possession…still.

Damn.
I knew things were sailing along far too smoothly. I knew this much goodness couldn’t last. All week Chase has been spending time with his brother, building bonds that were long ago broken.

Has it all been a lie? Was Will just appeasing Chase in order to keep him from the truth? If so, that will kill poor Chase.

“We need to go,” I suddenly announce, my fork clattering to the plate.

“What?” Abby is clearly perplexed by my urgent tone, her green eyes questioning. “Why?” she says. “Do we have somewhere we need to be?”

“Yes.” I push back my chair and signal the waiter for the check.

Chase and Will are out in the desert today, just as they’ve been every other day this week. Chase has been taking Will to the same desolate roads his father once took him to. He’s trying to teach Will how to safely and properly operate a motorcycle. Every morning, I watch them ride away on the same bike Jack Gartner long ago taught his eldest to ride years before.

But is the bond between Chase and Will as strong as Chase believes?

I don’t know. Because much like Jack Gartner during his last days on Earth, it appears his youngest son has inherited the same gene that leans toward deception.

The waiter brings the bill, and I hastily throw enough money on the table to cover my and Abby’s portion of the check, plus a big tip.

“Wait, I’ll get that,” Abby says, trying to stop me.

“No.” I stand. “Let’s just go.”

When Abby stands up she’s a little shaky from the wine, making me glad I drove today. I sure wouldn’t want to get into a heated debate with Abby over the wisdom of operating an automobile, not after all the wine she’s consumed.

On our way to the car, I take out my cell and text Chase:
I really need to talk with you ASAP.
It’s urgent.

I receive no response, not that I expect one. Chase and Will are out in an area with limited cell coverage, a mostly untouched region of the desert.

I, however, am quickly reminded that I am in a very “touched” region of the desert when I head home and end up in snarled freeway traffic.

“Oh, great,” I mutter.

I feel Abby’s eyes on me. She’s sobering up. “Kay,” she says slowly and deliberately. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on? If it’s about Will, I deserve to know. I
am
his mother, after all.”

“I know,” I quietly respond.

And, yes, she is his mother, but I fear her reaction when I tell her what’s really going on.

So, for now, I choose to say nothing. The silence in the car becomes deafening, though, particularly since the traffic is barely moving.

“At this rate,” I murmur in an attempt to make conversation, “it will take us an hour to get to the house.”

“Hmm,” Abby says, clearly unhappy I’m not giving her the deets on what’s up with Will.

Can I stave her off for an hour?
I wonder.

Unlikely
, I determine.

So, under the hot Nevada sun—the same sun that is shining somewhere on Chase and Will—I inform Abby of all that has been happening.

I begin with the events that occurred in Ohio. I tell her how Will made friends with a local kid named Jared. I detail his subsequent slip-ups with drugs, especially when Cassie’s stepdad started harassing her again.

Finally, with a sigh, I get to the part about Will buying a gun.

While I’m finishing my tale, Abby stares down at her hands, folded so neatly in her lap.

“Chase should have told me all this,” she whispers when I’m done.

Despite her surprisingly calm demeanor, I don’t have the heart to tell her Chase didn’t think she could handle this information.

But she knows. She knows despite my holding back. She’s well-aware of what Chase thinks of her parenting skills.

Abby shakes her head once, twice. Then she wrings her hands. Finally, she proves Chase was right not to tell her about Will when she says, “Oh, Kay, in times like these I just wish Jack were still alive. He’d know what to say to Will, what to do to help him. This is just too much for me to handle.”

“Don’t worry; Chase is handling it,” I reply dryly.

“He shouldn’t have to,” she mumbles under her breath.

Whoa, I’m shocked.

“I don’t disagree,” I whisper.

That remark earns me a surprised glance from Abby, as well as a harrumph.

I’m quick to add, “Chase is probably the only one who can really handle Will.”

Abby nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

She turns away and peers out the side window. Clearly, she knows her limitations.

After inching through the last of the backed-up traffic, the road finally opens up. It is smooth sailing from that point on, and we make it back to the house in good time.

As we turn into the gated community, a quick glance at the clock in the dash informs me that it’s almost four o’clock.

Abby says what I’m thinking at that moment: “Wonder if Chase and Will are home yet.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” I reply with a laugh.

We let out simultaneous exhales when, seconds later, we pull to the front of the house and see the motorcycle is parked off to the side.

“They’re here,” I say, relief in my tone.

“Thank God,” Abby whispers.

Our shared respite is short-lived, though, as we walk through the front door.

Chase is in the entry hall, placing his helmet on a table by the far wall. It’s obvious he’s only been home for a short while—minutes, maybe. It is also abundantly clear there is no one with him.

“Where’s Will?” Abby asks, glancing around.

She rushes over to Chase, and his eyes follow her hand as she grabs hold of his forearm.

His gaze slides to me, and he asks, “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Though Chase’s question is directed to me, Abby answers. And when she starts speaking, she breaks down.

“Oh, Chase,” she sobs, tears flowing. “I know about the gun. I know about the trouble you had with Will in Ohio. I’m so sorry for that. But it’s good I know everything. I should know.”

“How do you know,” Chase asks slowly.

“Kay told me,” Abby replies.

I cringe as Chase’s gaze falls on me sharply.

“Sorry,” I mouth. He shakes his head, and I add more firmly, “I had to tell her, Chase.”

I want to say more. I want to tell him I wouldn’t have made a decision like that without talking it over with him first. But under the circumstances, what choice did I have?

His eyes, a troubled blue, remain on me. “What else is going on?” he says. ”I can tell there’s more.”

“There is,” I confirm. And after a deep breath to calm my frazzled nerves, I say, “Will didn’t give you the gun he bought from Kyle. You were right to be suspicious. Turns out, he gave you a gun he stole from Greg.”

Chase suspected as much, and I just confirmed it. But I can’t read his emotions, not today, not like how I normally do.

“I see,” he says slowly, giving away nothing.

I go to Chase. Something is off. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Where’s Will?” Abby interjects.

Chase—so very tall as he towers over the two women in his life—looks down at his mother, and then at me.

Grimly, he says, “We may have an even bigger problem.”

“What?” his mother and I ask at the same time.

Chase sighs. “I just dropped Will off at the last place I ever would have taken him had I known what you just told me.”

His mother—still so clueless—asks, “Where? Where did you take him?”

I provide the answer Chase appears too frustrated to say.

“Chase dropped Will off at Cassie’s house,” I say.