Just Let Me Love You (6 page)

I shiver with excitement at the memory. Oh, how I loved, and still love, to let Chase catch me. Whether for first kisses, or for catching me when I fall, he is always there. Suddenly, I realize Chase needs what I once sought—he needs to forgive himself. I don’t think he even realizes it, but there’s something in him that truly believes he could have somehow prevented his father’s suicide all those years ago. Chase blames himself for the faults of his father, as well as the subsequent sins of his mother. He feels guilt for going to prison, guilt for what he sees as his abandoning Will.

Chase helped me through my fires of Hell—I would never have forgiven myself for my role in my little sister’s death had it not been for his love and forgiveness. The least I can do now is stand by him while he faces these demons of his own. I thought up to now that love alone would be enough, but we can’t take advantage of this gift we’ve been given. Piling our past on top of our love will only weigh it down.

Chase needs resolution.

Like me, he will forever be sullied, but we can live with that. The smudges on our souls can’t be washed away, but we have learned to accept that. However, the weight of regret over things we had no control over still looms and is a threat to our love.

I don’t regret my past any longer; I accept it as part of me. Chase, though, remains tortured by his past. Facing unresolved issues with his father is a start for Chase; I see this now. Finding this old motorcycle is good, very good.

Sometimes healing comes from the most unlikely of sources.

I crouch down next to Chase and leaning my head on his shoulder, I say, “Hey, maybe we can take the bike out while we’re here. Do you think it runs?”

Chase turns away from the bike. He stands, pulling me up with him as we face one another. With my hands in his, he says, “It looks like it’s still in working order, and I think taking it out is a great idea, Kay.”

“Good,” I reply. “I think so, too.”

Sadness, though, clouds Chase’s eyes as he tightens his hands on mine. “I’m trying to work through these problems, babe,” he says. “And I know it’s been hard on us lately.”

“We’ll get through it,” I reply.

Holding my gaze, his troubled blues question,
And if we don’t, then what?

“We will,” I whisper, responding to his unspoken fear. “We always do.”

He lets go of me and scrubs a hand down his face. “I hope you’re right,” he mutters.

I want to change the subject—for now—so I ask, “Did you talk with Will after I went upstairs?”

“I did,” he says slowly.

He then gives me the rundown of their conversation.

“Hmm,” I murmur, frowning. “Do you really think the gun he gave you is the gun Kyle sold to him?”

Chase shrugs his wide shoulders. “I don’t know. I sure as hell hope it is.”

In a low voice, I quietly say, “If not, though, then it means Will still has a gun in his possession.”

Chase sighs. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I’ve been thinking we should stay in town for a while.”

“We do have three more weeks off from work. School starts after Labor Day,” I offer helpfully.

I work as a first-grade teacher at Holy Trinity Elementary, the church-run school. And Chase works for the church as a sort of handyman. We don’t have to return to work until September since my summer secretarial job ended, and Father Maridale gave Chase time off to work out this thing with Will.

Chase pulls me to him, his hands reaching down and slipping under the pale-pink silk of my robe. “You’re okay with staying, then?”

His fingers graze over my thigh, trailing up higher and higher. “Uh-huh,” I gasp when he reaches and squeezes my ass cheeks lightly.

“Baby,” he says.

His tone is smug, knowing what his touch does to me.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper.

He doesn’t stop. Chase nuzzles my neck, his lips soft and wet. “This little robe is cute,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath the lightest of tickles. He finds the tie at my waist and adds, “But I think it has to go.”

“Yes,” I agree. “Good idea.”

Making short work of the loose knot, Chase slides the silky material down my body till it’s just a puddle of pink fabric on the garage floor.

“You’re so beautiful, baby girl,” he tells me as his eyes scan every inch of my bared-for-him body.

When Chase dips a finger between my legs, I moan.

He chuckles and says in return, “Always so ready for me, aren’t you?”

It’s true; I am always ready for him.

“I am,” I say. “I want you, always.”

Chase glances around the room, like he’s trying to decide where he wants to take me.

Anywhere
, I long to tell him.
You can take me anywhere, because you already have me everywhere.

He eyes the bike for a few seconds, but decides against it. Slowly, he walks me backward to the parked Porsche.

“It does have a nice, swoopy hood,” I say, which makes him laugh.

We reach the car and as he leans me back against it, he rasps, “It sure does.”

I prop myself up on the hood on my elbows and ask, “Is this your mom’s car, or Greg’s?”

“I don’t know,” Chase says as he unzips his jeans, “and I don’t really care.”

He slides his jeans and boxer briefs low on his hips, freeing his magnificent hardness. I reach out and wrap my hand around the silky smooth skin while I squeeze at the solid length beneath. “I want you right now,” I tell him.

Like Chase, I don’t care whose car this is. All I want is for Chase to spread me wide on the hood and fill me as only he can do.

He pulls his T-shirt over his head. That move is for me; he knows I like to touch the wings tattooed on his back when we’re together like this.

I lean all the way back and scoot up on metal so smooth my skin doesn’t stick or stop. I just glide.

Chase leans over me. His hand rests next to my head, the muscles in his left arm straining and bunching as he supports his weight. With his free hand, he does what I love to watch him do—handles his cock.

I watch as he strokes once, twice, and then positions himself at my core. I place my hand on the tattoo scrolling around his left bicep. I’ve read the words a million times, but I read them again, out loud. “As I stand before you, judge me not.”

“Fitting words,” he says.

“For both of us,” I say, and then I add, “I love your tattoos so much.”

“I know you do, baby,” Chase replies.

With his engorged tip at my entrance, Chase guides himself into me inch-by-inch. I writhe and arch at the slow but delicious torture of him filling my small body. When he’s in me as far as he can go, he makes me look up at him.

His gaze is questioning, tortured. I want Chase to find peace. And I certainly want to help him, no matter what that might entail.

Chase starts to move, his gaze never leaving mine. “I need you,” he whispers at last.

“I’m here,” I whisper back, gasping when he thrusts into me more roughly. “I’m here, Chase. I’m here.”

I know he hears me, but from the frantic way he keeps plunging into me, I don’t think he really
hears
me. He drives into me like he’s branding me, marking me. He’s doing everything he can to make me his forever.

Doesn’t he know I will always be his?

Logically, I believe he knows. But there’s something deep in Chase that makes him fear I will leave him, just as he’s been left in the past.

Never, ever will that happen
, I long to say.

But he needs more than words. He needs to learn it on his own by overcoming his fears. I just don’t know if Chase sees as clearly as I do the things which haunt him.

Chase

I
f I keep this up, I am going to lose Kay.

Am I being irrational?

I don’t know. But even if she doesn’t leave me, she deserves more than this. I need to confront and work through my issues, just as I encouraged her to do. Maybe if I quell these demons haunting me, I’ll finally be the better man I’ve been striving to become.

After all, Kay deserves nothing less than my best.

I spend the morning in the garage, getting the old Indian bike ready to go. It’s in good working order, but it’s not fully road-ready. I work fast, as my goal is to have this thing out of here before my mother and her husband get home.

Truth is, I have no burning desire to be part of the welcoming committee. Let Will have the honor of bringing Mom and Greg up to speed. Little bro can figure out how best to inform them that Kay and I are staying in Las Vegas…and that we plan to stay here for a while.

Though I’m sure Will won’t be divulging exactly
why
Kay and I came to town.

Yeah, I’d place a Vegas bet on that shit.

Whatever
, I think, sighing. Bottom line is that while all that is going down, I’ll be with Kay. We’re taking the bike out together. Shortly after we woke early this morning, I tossed out the idea…and Kay liked it.

“Where should we go?” she called out over her shoulder as she made her way to the bathroom adjoined to our bedroom.

After I retrieved my boxers, I walked to the doorway. Kay was standing in front of the basin, brushing her teeth. She looked cute as all get-out, hair all mussed and still sleepy-eyed.

It took me a minute to respond, but finally as I leaned on the doorframe, I said, “Anywhere you want to go, baby girl. Your wish is my command.”

“You have to pick,” she said, turning to face me after she rinsed out her mouth. “You know Las Vegas better than I do.”

Yes, I sure do
, I thought.

I’m still thinking the same thing too—here in the garage, two hours later. However, the Las Vegas I know oh-so-well sure isn’t something I’d ever show Kay. Sure, she knows my past—most of it, anyway—but there’s no need to revisit the pit stops I traveled along the way. Sadly, my Las Vegas tour would be filled with dark alleys, darker apartments, and the darkest of nights. All shaded in tones of addiction, sorrow, and despair.

Would I ever want to show beautiful, gentle Kay where I used to score coke, coke that made my head feel like it was exploding?

No way.

Or maybe I could spin her by the old apartment and point out where Will and I spent many a night alone while Mom was off gambling? Hell, I could take her to the convenience store around the corner and point out the aisle where I once stole a can of Spam. Don’t laugh. That can of mystery meat provided a makeshift holiday dinner that year when Mom forgot to come home on Christmas Eve.

Would I subject Kay to that memory of mine? Short answer:
No
.

In fact, I wish I could block out some of those memories myself. I don’t like recalling how Will and I ate the Spam I stole out of the can that year.

But I do remember, I remember it all, including how Will cried the whole time, saying he wanted his mother.

Slumping down next to the bike, the distant memory leaves me feeling choked up.

Fuck. That Christmas had to be one of the worst.

Following our crappy Spam dinner, Will and I went to sleep. We were trying to forget it was a even a holiday, but Christmas Day, of course, arrived.

We couldn’t stop it, we couldn’t stop anything back then. We were caught up in a downward spiral.

When Will woke up, he asked me where all our presents were.

I could not bring myself to tell him there were none. So, instead, I ran around the apartment, gathering up the shit we already owned—Will’s toothpaste, my shaving cream, Will’s tree-house sketch, my sketch pad, some other random shit. I wrapped everything up in colorful comic pages I ripped from an old newspaper.

Will knew none of the stuff was new, but he played along. In fact, that kid and I opened those gifts like they were brand-spanking-new treasures.

And it wasn’t so bad, not really. It was okay until Will starting crying, saying he wanted his mother.

But Mom wasn’t there, like so many other days.

She came home a day later. Until then, though, it was only me. And unfortunately I was never enough.

How could I—a boy myself at the time—fill a void left by two parents, one dead, and one who may as well have been.

Jesus, this life I’ve lived
.

Kay thinks I can figure it all out, find myself some peace. She believes somewhere inside of me I will know where I need to start in order to get back to this side of right. But when you’re facing not just past demons, but present ones as well, let’s just say things get tricky.

Thank God at least Will seems better. Having Cassie over last night, our little talk, it’s all keeping my brother steady. I mean, I think it is. In any case, so far there have been no drugs, no meltdowns, and no seeking vigilante justice.

Still, I’m shaky on the gun. I only hope the firearm Will gave to me is the same one Kyle sold him. I have no choice, though, but to accept that it was.

Kay arrives a few minutes later, just as I’m tinkering with a few final adjustments on the motorcycle. She looks radiant and ready for the day in dark jeans, a sexy red V-neck tee, and black low-heel ankle boots.

I stand and hand her a helmet. “You sure look ready to hit the road,” I say.

Her hair is in a ponytail and she tucks it up on her head as she slides on the helmet.