Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,109
chaos…
Chase is my safe place to land.
***
When Jameson lurches to his feet, tumbler still in hand, and stumbles toward the podium at the far side of the stage, I know things are about to go from bad to worse. A lot worse.
Chase tenses at my side, Brett’s expression gets darker, and even Phoebe seems to be picking up on the strange vibe running among the Crofts.
I lay a hand on Chase’s thigh beneath the table, squeezing lightly. It’s a small comfort but it’s all I can offer, and as he looks over and catches my eyes, I see, beneath the sharp green ice, a hint of that softness he seems to reserve just for me.
“It’ll be fine,” I whisper, though, for all I know, my words are an outright fabrication.
“Sunshine.” His voice calls my bluff.
Moving closer, so my mouth is pressed almost to his ear, I lower my voice into something that sounds like my Yoda impression mixed with the sage-like tones of a samurai warrior.
“‘If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the results of a hundred battles.’”
His eyebrows lift. “Someone’s been reading Sun Tzu.”
“Maybe.”
He grins. “After all the shit you gave me…”
“Whatever.” I shrug. “It’s good, I guess, but if given the choice, I’d still pick, like, a Kristen Ashley book any day of the week.”
His grin widens and seconds later, I feel his hand lace with mine beneath the table.
“Thanks, sunshine.”
“For what?”
“Making me smile when it’s the last thing I wanted to do.”
“Well, I was getting pretty tired of your brooding. And starting to worry you’d give yourself TMJ with all that clenching. It’s just not good for your teeth—”
My words are cut off by the sharp squeal of the microphone as it’s pulled from its stand. My eyes fly in that direction, landing on Jameson, who’s looking more than a little tipsy. I wonder how he’s possibly going to give a coherent speech, seeing as he’s three sheets to the wind.
“Good evening,” he slurs into the mic, swaying a little on his feet.
Oh. He’s not going to give a coherent speech. Not at all.
“Great,” Chase mutters.
“Thank you all for coming here tonight, to celebrate a new chapter in the Croft family legacy.” His words are running together a bit at the ends, but at least he’s managed a full sentence. “As most of you know, as of this week, I’m retiring. I never thought this day would come so soon — though, if you ask my son, it’s taken forever! Right, Brett?”
He guffaws into the microphone, his whole body shaking with laughter. The room watches in silence as vodka splashes over the side of his glass and lands on his shiny black dress shoes.
Chase’s hand tightens on mine and I see Brett’s hand clench around his glass so hard, the tips of his fingers turn white. Brett’s mother is totally detached, her eyes unfocused, as though she’s not even here.
“Most men want sons,” Jameson drunkenly informs the crowd. “Carry on the family name. Create a legacy.” He takes another sip of his drink and the sound of his lips smacking together echoes out through the speakers. “Not me. I wanted daughters. Girls. Someone to love me, not someone to replace me. Not boys, to fight over the scraps of my life until there was nothing left. Like wolves with a deer carcass.”
The air at the table is so thick, I’m having trouble catching my breath.
“But we don’t always get what we want!” With sloppy steps, he shuffles closer to the microphone. His voice booms so loud, the mic emits a squeal of feedback. “I don’t want to die at sixty. My wife doesn’t want to be a widow — do you Marlena?”
Brett’s mother flinches, but otherwise has no reaction.
“And my son,” Jameson smiles. “Well, he doesn’t want me to choose another man to run my company, that’s for damn sure!”
He’s teetering on unsteady feet, laughing so hard I fear one more good chuckle might send him careening face-first off the stage.
“Chase,” I whisper. “You have to stop him.”
His hand tightens on mine, but he doesn’t stand.
“Which is really the reason we’re all here tonight, isn’t it?” Jameson continues. “To welcome our new CEO. My nephew. And a better man than I ever was — a fact he’s reminded me of many times!”
The mockery in his voice is unmistakable. Chase’s grip grows so tight, my finger bones start to ache.
“Chase, my boy, where are you?” Jameson calls, turning to face the table. “Come