Love, Chloe - Alessandra Torre Page 0,76

before business. One who wasn’t, underneath all of his sexiness, an asshole.

A small bit of happiness sparked inside of me. Was this it? Could he be my person?

Could I do this? Could I be the girl who ran toward right instead of wrong?

I could swallow my fears and take the jump. I could.

The driver knocked on the plastic partition and I looked up, seeing our building. “Oh. Sorry.” I fumbled for cash and passed it forward. “Thanks.”

When I stepped out of the car, Carter was there, standing on the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched forward. When he saw me, he relaxed, stepping forward and pulling me toward him, his hands gentle as they touched me, his eyes darting over my injuries.

“You’re hurt.” His voice was tight and low.

“No.” I shook my head. “Just scratches.”

“Thank God. Are Dante and Nicole okay?”

I nodded, trying to force out a simple yes, but my throat felt so full and I knew, right then, that I was going to cry. I fell into his chest and sobbed with no clear reason why. His arms wrapped around me, and he murmured my name into my hair, telling me it was going to be okay, telling me that I was strong and beautiful and amazing.

He brought me inside and ran a bath. I watched the water and thought of the dust, tiny particles moving around the cab of the truck. He carefully undressed me and cleaned my wounds, his touch careful, his eyes concerned. I remembered the squeal of brakes, a honk, Dante’s shout. He’d shouted my name. The impact had been so loud. I could hear it, hours later. Without talking, without questions, Carter put me to bed, curling up behind me, one gentle kiss placed on the back of my neck.

It was exactly what I needed.

I did love him. I really believed that. I just didn’t know if I was ready to admit it.

70. My Mouth is Big

I kept Nicole’s secret for all of sixteen hours. Anything past that would have been impossible, it was just too great for me to sit on alone. Which was why, at seven in the morning, I woke Cammie up with an enthusiastic use of her buzzer. Lucky for me, I was in a car accident the day before, so I got a free pass. Once we covered my injuries and got some coffee brewing, we sat on her couch, whispering so as not to wake Dante, and I spilled everything.

“Shut up.” Cammie’s eyebrows raised in evil glee. “She’s pregnant?”

“Yes.” I giggled despite myself. It wasn’t funny. But for all of the shit I’d watched Nicole get away with, the woman had it coming. I composed my face and tried my best serious face. “It’s not funny,” I admonished.

“It’s kinda funny,” Cammie mused, lifting her coffee mug for a sip. “Have you told Benta?”

“No. Don’t.”

She raised a hand in surrender. “No worries there.” Benta, God love her, couldn’t keep a secret for shit. You told her anything juicy and she’d have a Times billboard rented before the end of the hour.

It felt good to let it out. To have a sounding board. And, let’s face it, it felt great to hear her gasp of shock, to have someone who truly understood and appreciated the magnitude of the fact that NICOLE WAS PREGNANT. Cammie all but whipped out a calendar, trying to figure out ovulation windows and the probability of whose sperm was luckiest. Or rather, unluckiest. I tried to picture a pregnant, hormonal Nicole and saw absolute disaster. When I thought of her as a mother … well. I already felt bad for Chanel.

We talked for over an hour, and produced absolutely no game plan on how to handle the pregnancy test. I left with promises to keep her updated. So for right now, I was sitting on the information and trying to pretend I didn’t know it, and trying my best not to think about it.

Talk about an impossible task.

I knew from the news that my parents’ noose was tightening, their legal fight running out of options and funding. When I called on his birthday, Dad actually answered. We chatted about the Dolphins and then he shared a moment of truth, his voice tight and irritated.

“We just thought we had more time, Chloe. They came in so fast … they took everything. If I had known, things would have been different. The investigation wouldn’t have mattered.”

A bundle of sentences that took any remaining respect I