Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,116
against my back — the only show of emotion he’ll allow himself. “My parents… the night their car went over that bridge, into the water. That was the night my father finally learned the truth – that his wife was a cheater. And… that I wasn’t his son.”
“Oh, Chase…”
“I don’t know if it was an accident or if he was just so mad, he couldn’t take it anymore… if he chose to… if…”
He can’t get the words out.
I choke back tears when I see his eyes, still locked on the ceiling, are glassy. Moving closer, I force myself to speak, trying to keep my voice from cracking.
“I wish I could make this better for you. All I can say is, the people who created you don’t define the person you become. You can read a thousand studies about nature over nurture, about genes determining destiny… but I’ll tell you one thing: they’re bullshit.” I lift my hand to cup his cheek, my thumb stroking slow circles against the faint stubble there. “You could have Charles Manson as a father and end up a saint; you could have Mother Theresa as a mother and end up a serial killer. At the end of the day, you define the person you become. Not a strand of DNA. Not the parents you didn’t get to choose. You.” I pull in a deep breath. “And, Chase Croft… the person you’ve chosen to be… he’s pretty freaking amazing. So amazing… it takes my breath away, just being near you.”
He looks at me then, his eyes dark with the demons of his past and something else, something deeper, something I can’t quite define.
“Of all the people in the world who could’ve won the seat next to mine at that playoff game… it was you, Gemma.” His voice cracks on the last word. “You. The one person on the planet who might just understand me.”
My breath catches as he pulls me closer, his arm a steel band across my back. His mouth presses hard against my hair, so his words are slightly muffled.
“I don’t put much stock in luck. I don’t really believe what goes around comes around, or that everything balances out in the end. But if I’ve earned any karma at all — it’s you,” he says simply. “You’re my karma, sunshine. And I’m pretty sure you were made for me.”
***
Saturday passes in a blur of laughter and love-making. Chase and I turn off our phones and spend the whole day naked in his bed — not to mention in his hot tub, in his shower, on the kitchen floor, and even once on the pool table. By the time night falls, we’re both so exhausted from a marathon day of sex, we can barely lift our heads from the pillow.
“Hungry?” Chase asks, his voice softer than the beams of the setting sun, filtering through his windows.
“Starving.”
“Me too.”
Neither of us moves. Sprawled in his bed, the sheets tangled around our limbs, my head rests on his stomach and his arm is thrown across my torso, just beneath my breasts, anchoring me against him.
“I’ll get up,” he says. “Get us some food.”
“Mhm,” I murmur, my eyes drifting shut.
“Really, I’m getting up now,” he says, still not moving. “Any second.”
“Mmm.”
“If I wasn’t so goddamned worn out…”
“Chase.”
“Yeah, sunshine?”
Using the final reserves of my strength, I drag my body parallel to his and collapse against his chest, so I’m lying half on top of him. “Shhhh.”
“I thought you were hungry,” he says, his voice amused.
“Nap now. Food later.”
The sound of his chuckle reaches my ears, though I’m already nearly asleep. “Whatever you say, sunshine.”
The last thing I feel, before I slip out of consciousness, are his arms tightening around me in a warm embrace.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Diabolical
My eyes snap open in the middle of the night.
I’m wide awake — the unfortunate side effect of falling asleep at 6 p.m., I suppose — but Chase is still asleep next to me, his breaths deep and regular. Knowing I won’t be able to fall back asleep any time soon, I do my best not to jostle him as I slide out of his hold and off the bed. In the dark, I find one of his t-shirts on the floor, tug it over my head, and pad barefoot into the kitchen.
God, I’m hungry.
I flip on the row of pendant lights hanging above the counter, dimming them as low as possible, and beeline for the pantry. Rooting through his cabinets, it doesn’t take me