Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,115
for what this thing is between us, so I’ll lay it out for you, plain as day. My definition.”
Oh, boy.
He leans so close, his lips are practically pressed against mine. “We’re together. You’re mine. Which means, I give a shit. I’m always going to give a shit. We’re going to fight, we’re going to make mistakes, we’re probably going to drive each other fucking crazy because, like I said earlier, you’re a loon.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he keeps on talking.
“Don’t tell me I don’t care about you, because it’s bullshit. Don’t tell me I’m not in this with you, because I am. I’m in it, sunshine. And I care — a hell of a lot more than I ever thought I would.” He drops his forehead to rest against mine, and his voice loses a tiny bit of its edge. “This relationship — it’s happening. You and me — we’re partners. Equal partners, with equal feelings, and equal fucking chances of getting hurt. You got me?”
I’m silent for a long time, processing his words. He just stares at me, his eyes burning into mine, his body pressing me into the bed, and waits for me to say something. Anything.
“Are you done?” I ask finally.
One side of his mouth tugs up in a smile. “Yeah.”
“Can I say something, now?”
“Yeah.”
Tilting my head up, I bring my mouth to his and kiss him with every ounce of passion I can muster. And with my hands and my lips, I tell him exactly what I think of his definition of us.
***
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless, lying on our backs with matching grins on our lips. I roll to lay my head on his chest, just over his heart — which is quickly becoming my favorite place in the world — and listen to the comforting thump as my own heartbeat returns to normal.
“Who knew, when we met, that your family would be just as screwed up as mine?” I ask, after a while, my voice quiet.
A soft kiss lands on my temple. “Yours may be screwed up, but they’re not half as bad as the Crofts.”
“I don’t know, does your family saga include an illegitimate love child that will destroy the family if the media ever catches wind?” My voice is teasing. “Because mine does. And, speaking as said illegitimate love child… it’s not as fun as it sounds.”
His mouth opens, like he wants to say something, then promptly snaps closed again. I see the muscle jumping in his cheek as his eyes swim with indecision.
“Chase?”
He lifts his gaze to meet mine, and the stark pain in it makes my heart stutter in my chest.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“You asked whether the Crofts have an illegitimate love child in the mix, that’ll destroy the family if the media ever finds out.” His jaw tightens. “Yes. We do.”
“Chase…” I whisper, my mind racing through possibilities so fast I can barely keep up.
“Me.” His voice is flat, revealing none of the emotions swimming in his eyes. “I’m the bastard.”
My heart aches as he forces out words that are nearly enough to break him.
“Jameson isn’t my uncle. He’s my father.”
***
It all makes sense, now.
Why Brett resents him so much.
Why he hates being called Mr. Croft – hates being a Croft.
Why he left, five years ago, when he learned the truth.
Why Jameson would leave the company to a nephew, instead of a son.
“So…” My voice is gentle, hesitant — as though one wrong word might make him shut down… and shut me out. “Your mother… she…”
“Cheated on her husband with his brother.” Chase nods. “I barely remember the woman, but she sounds like a wonderful person. Honest. Faithful. Exactly what a wife and mother should be.”
His words are so sarcastic, so scathing, I want to flinch away. Instead, I do the opposite — I move closer, flattening my palm against his chest, directly above his heart. I feel it racing beneath my hand, an undeniable window into the anguish he’s feeling, no matter how composed he looks on the surface.
“I’m sorry, Chase,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry, love.”
He doesn’t speak; I don’t know if he can, right now.
“I know how it feels, to learn your life is a lie. I remember…” I shake my head, consumed with memories of my teenage self, crying on a bedroom floor with letters in my hands. Totally destroyed by the truth. “It’s like losing your identity. And it’s almost enough to kill you.”