Just Let Me Love You (3 page)

“So, what happened?”

She laughs and says, “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

“Try me,” I reply, raising a brow.

Shit, truth is, I’m now more curious than ever. What could have convinced Kay to take such a definitive measure?

I can’t imagine, but she just about floors me when she says, “I talked with my mother and she convinced me to buy the ticket and go with you to Nevada.”

“You’re kidding,” I reply dryly.

Yeah, I’m not the biggest fan of Kay’s mom. And why should I be? Mrs. Stanton abandoned Kay when the youngest in the family, Sarah, died in a tragic way. She blamed Kay for years for something I saw in, like, two seconds was an accident, after hearing the whole story. In any case, Kay’s mother has only recently made a return to her life. I suppose the woman is sincere, but I can’t help but feel wary.

“Yeah,” Kay replies, oblivious to my unspoken misgivings. “My mom said that sometimes men don’t realize how strong their women are. She said you, for example, might need a little reminding.”

Kay gives me a withering look, one that makes me laugh and pull her to me. “Oh, she said that, did she?” I kiss Kay’s cheek. “Don’t worry, baby. I know you’re strong.”

She leans away, her eyes meeting mine. “Do you, Chase? I mean, do you really think I’m strong?”

“I’m more certain of your strength than your mother is. I have no doubt about that.”

Kay frowns, and I add, “Hey, I know you’re strong because you ground me. You give me stability, Kay Stanton. You make me right. And trust me…that is no small feat.”

I don’t add that I have about a dozen reservations. Not about her, God no. And not about our relationship, either. My reservations are about one thing only—me.

Truth is I don’t know if I’m all that great for Kay. My insecurities and fears run so fucking deep, all the way down to my tarnished, repentant soul. I spent years burying all my unresolved garbage with shit like drugs, fighting, fucking anything that moved. Great guy, huh?

Four years in prison straightened me out in many ways, but I’ve been known to relapse from time to time. Safe to say, I am far from healed.

As if she senses what I might be thinking, Kay touches the side of my head, her fingers weaving in my hair. “Chase, what’s going on in there?” she asks.

The gate agent suddenly announces that our red-eye flight is boarding, putting an end to a potentially uncomfortable discussion.
Thank God.

Standing, I offer my hand to Kay. “Let’s go, babe,” I say. “Let’s go save my brother.”

Kay

L
as Vegas is hot. No, it’s scorching.

“August is obviously not a good month to come to the desert.” I press some buttons and lower all the windows in the sensible white sedan Chase and I have rented.

Hot air wafts in, and I mumble under my breath, “That’s not much better.”

“No,” Chase says. “August is far from the ideal time of the year to visit this place.”

We’re still in the rental lot, and Chase starts the car. The air-conditioner blows out a noisy stream of semi-cool air, and it slowly becomes more comfortable in time. Enough so that I’m able to close the windows by the time we’re leaving the airport.

Ten minutes later, it’s positively frosty in the car. “Brrr,” I say, shivering.

I turn down the air, and Chase laughs. “Too cold now?”

Wrapping my arms around myself, I say, “Yeah, a little.”

“We could turn off the air and open the windows. You’ll warm up again in no time.”

“No,” I reply. “I’m good.”

As Chase and I drive up the famous Las Vegas Strip, I soon forget all about being cold. There are too many distractions, too many things to see.

“Wow,” I murmur as I try to take in everything at once.

There’s a shiny, mirrored-glass pyramid, and next to that crazy structure is something that looks like a fairyland castle. A few minutes more and we are passing a hotel with dancing fountains, and then there’s a resort with a big pirate ship out in the front.

“I feel like I’m in some crazy wonderland,” I say to Chase.

I turn to him, all wide-eyed and excited, and he harrumphs. “I don’t know about the wonderland part, but this place is definitely crazy.”

My excitement is tempered as I remember that this place is nothing special to Chase. Glancing over at him, sneakily so he doesn’t notice, I try to assess how he’s holding up. He is gorgeous, as always, but he appears worried and exhausted, as well. Still, how this man can pull off beautiful and sexy with hardly any sleep the previous night is anyone’s guess. But the facts are the facts, and in a tight navy-blue T-shirt that accentuates his muscular arms and faded jeans—a rip at one knee—Chase accomplishes exactly that. He truly is male perfection.

How did I get so lucky?
I muse.

Smiling, I place a hand on the knee with the rip. “Are you thinking about Will?” I gently ask.

“I am,” Chase replies.

“And…?” I prompt.

I know there’s more. Something is bothering him.

Glancing at the clock in the dash, Chase blows out a breath and says, “I think we’ve probably missed him at the bus station.”

Will’s bus was due in fifteen minutes ago, so Chase is surely right. Damn. I knew from the start we’d be cutting it close—racing against the clock—and, sadly, it looks like we lost this battle.

Chase needs reassurance right now, though, so I say encouragingly, “We’ll find Will. Nothing bad will happen.”

Convincing, that’s the tone I’m striving for. And I succeed—I sound so very convincing. Too bad what I’m really feeling is about ten pounds of worry on my shoulders. That worry quickly increases to twenty pounds when we make it to the bus station and, sure enough, the bus Will came in on has come and gone.

“Will’s gone,” Chase says dejectedly as he drops down into a hard plastic chair bolted down to the floor of the stuffy bus station lounge.

It’s noisy and uncomfortable in the crusty, old terminal. I sit down next to Chase and place my head on his shoulder. I’m pretty well spent myself.

After a minute of shared respite, I lift my head. “It’s been a long night and a long morning, Chase. Let’s drive up to your mom’s house. Who knows, maybe Will is home.”

Chase doesn’t reply, and when I look over at him he raises an eyebrow. His eyes, eyes I long ago christened gunmetal-blue, appear tired, clouded with worry.

“And if he’s not there?” he asks. “Then what do we do, Kay?”

“Well, we can get some sleep and maybe something to eat. We’ll go out afterward and look for Will. We’ll stay out all night if we have to, but we need to re-charge.”

Again, I try so hard to sound confident and sure. Of course, the truth is I know nothing more than what Chase knows. And that is next to nothing. Will could literally be anywhere by now. Still, starting at the house he lives in seems like a reasonable plan.

Chase has never been to the house his mother shares with her new husband Greg, and Will, but he knows the address. Back in the rental car, he sets the GPS accordingly.

And then we’re on our way.

A short while later, outside a gated community of affluent homes, the neighborhood where Abby and Greg live, Chase slows down considerably. Muttering, “Jesus,” he blows out a breath.

“Wow,” is my only response as we make our way through the ritzy plan of homes.

“Mom really did hit the jackpot when she married Greg,” Chase says, shaking his head.

“You’re not kidding,” I mumble.

The houses—no,
mansions
—are nothing short of spectacular. Following the GPS instructions, we wind through the palm tree-lined streets. We soon discover the house the former Abby Gartner lives in is tucked away behind an elaborate garden of cacti and desert flora.

There’s a large, black wrought-iron gate at the entrance to her home, and even though the gate is open, we stop. Ironically, the open gate is askew, making it look unnervingly similar to the much smaller wrought-iron gate that marks the entrance to the cemetery behind the church where Chase and I work.

I suspect Chase notices this too. I’m soon sure he notices when I catch him staring at the gate for a longer-than-necessary amount of time before driving through.

“Remind you of something?” he quietly asks.

“That gate looks like the one at the cemetery behind Holy Trinity.”

Chase chuckles humorlessly. “Yeah, it sure does. And it’s pretty fucking weird.”

“Very,” I reply.

The similarity is weird on a number of levels. But I’m too tired to dwell on the symbolism of how the entrance to Chase’s mom’s house matches the entrance to a place where the dead rest.

Chase drives forward, following the curve of the driveway until we reach the front of the house.

After we park and step out of the car, I realize something. “Wait, you don’t have a key, Chase. How are we supposed to get in the house?”

So far, access hasn’t been a problem. The gates at the entrance to the neighborhood were open. Same with the weird Holy Trinity-duplicate gate here at the house. But I have no doubt the house itself will be secured. Abby and Greg have been on a cruise for the past couple of weeks, and Will has been with Chase and me in Ohio. I doubt the place has been unlocked all this time.

Despite my concerns, not having a key turns out not to be a problem.

As Chase and I walk tentatively up to a wide set of steps leading to the house, the front door swings open.

Chase and I skid to a stop, and there is Will, standing before us.

When he sees us—like,
really
sees we are truly there—his green eyes widen. “Holy shit, what the fuck are you two doing here?” he exclaims.

Chase dispenses with any form of greeting and gets right to the point. “I know everything, Will. Jared came to see me yesterday afternoon. So, I think you know why we are here.”

“Oh, shit,” Will mutters.

“
Oh, shit
is right,” Chase snaps as he takes a step in Will’s direction. “I want that gun, bro.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Will tries to sound smooth, noncommittal, but his eyes betray him. He looks guilty, guilty, guilty.

“Jared told us
everything
,” I interject. “We know you bought a gun from Kyle Tanner.”

Will knows he’s busted, so he tries a different tact. “So what if I did? Having a gun is no big deal. It’s dangerous out here in Sin City. I need something to protect myself with.”

“Protect yourself…or protect Cassie?” Chase tosses out accusingly.

“Uh…” Will can’t maintain eye contact with his brother.

He glances away, and Chase blows out a frustrated breath. “Look,” he says, gesturing to the front door Will is standing in front of. “Let’s talk about this inside, okay?”

When Will doesn’t budge, Chase walks forward and pushes past him, barging right into the house.

Will leans back on the doorjamb and groans, “Dude, really?”

When I walk past Will, following Chase, I give him a disappointed look. He just rolls his eyes.

I rush to catch up with Chase, but when he stops abruptly I almost wreck right into his broad back and shoulders.

“Why did you stop…?” I start to ask. But the words die on my lips.

Wow.

I need no explanation as I scan our surroundings. The opulence of the interior of the house is enough to make anyone stop in their tracks. Standing next to Chase in the center of a huge entry hall, I take it all in—the soaring spiral staircase to my right, the sparkling crystal chandelier overhead, and the beautifully colored marble everywhere.

“Fuck,” Chase mutters as he slowly turns in a circle.

I glance back at the doorway. Will looks pleased as can be that this ostentatious house has distracted Chase from his original intention.

Hurrying over to stand next to Chase, Will says, “Pretty sweet, right?”

From the other side of Chase, I touch his forearm. “Are you okay?” I ask.

I’m concerned since he’s not answering his brother’s question.

But everything Chase isn’t voicing is right there in his eyes—pain, sadness, awe, disbelief. Chase spent four years surrounded by and staring at cold prison walls. Walls made of concrete, walls that held nothing but what Chase could create with his own hands—his artwork.

I glance around at the no-doubt pricey paintings on these walls. Chase’s art is still better, always will be in my eyes. I bet Abby doesn’t even remember that her oldest son paints and draws like nobody’s business.

And that is absolutely tragic.

Could she really forget that much of Chase?

Maybe
, I conclude. Maybe, seeing as there’s nothing in this house to indicate Abby has another son besides Will. It’s sad, but maybe it’s easier to forget that son. Maybe it’s easier than thinking of how you sent him away, how your actions helped land him in prison.

Jack Gartner, Chase’s deceased father, was no saint either.

The sins of the father were visited upon the once-prodigal son six years ago. After his father’s suicide, Chase sought out drinking, drugs, fighting, and loose women. But he paid dearly for those vices. Chase was sent to prison for four years. And while he was left to suffer, his mother went on and rebuilt her life without him. She had already cast him aside when he was eighteen, sent him adrift with nothing. And this is where she ended up—living in this house.