Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,75

nod in confirmation.

He pauses. “And… your father? He’s not in the picture?”

I still completely, hands curling into fists on my lap. “No.”

Chase nods.

After a few moments of silence, the tension slips out of me as I realize he’s not going to demand answers I’m not yet ready to give. I kind of adore him for that.

“You never talk about your parents,” I say softly, looking over at him. “Just your grandfather, your uncle, your cousin…”

He’s quiet for a long, suspended moment.

“They died when I was five,” he says finally. “A car accident.”

“Oh, Chase…” I reach out a hand and lay it on his knee. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” he says, as though any amount of time could make suddenly losing both your parents any less heartbreaking. His voice gets distant, as he filters through memories. “They were driving home one night, to our summer house in Manchester. They’d spent the night at some kind of company charity event. It was raining out, really miserable. The roads were slick.” He takes a breath, and I see his fingers tighten around the wheel. “They were almost home. I was waiting up for them — I remember wanting to say goodnight, to have my mother tuck me in, instead of the babysitter.”

“Chase…” I squeeze my fingers tighter against his leg. “You don’t have to…”

“I know. I want to.” He swallows hard before continuing. “There’s this old, narrow bridge, barely wide enough for two cars, that leads over an inlet — you have to cross it, to get to the house.” He takes a deep breath. “My grandfather told me, years later, they were fighting when they left the charity ball. So, maybe they were still fighting on the ride home. Distracted. Angry. I don’t know – I’ll never know, for sure. But somehow, my dad lost control of the car.”

I can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t speak.

“They hit the water. Sank to the bottom. I waited up all night, but they never came home.” His words are resigned, but he can’t hide the pain beneath. “The next week, I moved in with my grandfather. I haven’t been back to that house, since.”

“Chase…” My voice cracks on his name.

He looks over at me, and the grief in his eyes makes my breath catch.

“Like I said… it was a long time ago.”

“Maybe…” I pause, not wanting to push him too far.

His eyes soften. “Maybe what, Gemma?”

“Maybe you should go back,” I say gently. “Maybe… you should say goodbye.”

His jaw starts to tick, a sure sign he’s trying to compose himself.

“If you want…” I trail off, feeling foolish. Clearing my throat, I try again. “If you want, I’ll go with you, Chase. Any time you want.”

He nods sharply, his fingers clench tighter, and, if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear his eyes are just the tiniest bit glassy. In that instant, I want to wrap my arms around him, to offer him comfort, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.

“Maybe someday,” he says eventually, his voice soft.

“Okay,” I whisper back, not saying anything more. I’m not about to force the issue — not when he’s already trusted me with so much more than I ever expected.

***

Before I know it, we’re gliding back into the city limits and pulling up outside my apartment building, the front stoop illuminated by dim street lamps. When he parks and turns off the engine, I glance over at him, surprised.

“Why are we here? I thought we were…” I blush. “Going to your place.”

“You need some clothes.”

“What?”

“Clothes, Gemma.” His mouth twitches in amusement though his eyes are deadly serious. “Enough to last the weekend. Maybe longer.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “Why?”

“I told you before, we’ve got shit to work out.”

“And?”

His eyes gleam darkly. “You’re staying at my place for the foreseeable future, until it’s worked out.”

“No, I’m not!” I scoff.

“Gemma.” He shakes his head. “This is happening between us.”

“You can’t just unilaterally make these decisions and boss me around.”

“Actually, I can.” Grinning shamelessly, he reaches over me, leaning in so his lips are practically on mine, and grabs my door handle. When he speaks, I feel each word form against my mouth before the sound reaches my ears. “Get your ass out of the car, sunshine. We’re going upstairs to your apartment, grabbing some clothes, and then going to my place and getting in my bed.”

My mouth falls open at his brazen words, and he’s not even done.

“Or, if you want to fight me on it, we

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