Chase
6 months earlier
St. John’s Cathedral
“We’re here to mourn the loss of one of our own,” Tex said from his spot at the front of the church. I closed my eyes against the burn of tears and clenched my shaking hands in front of me as his words fell flat on deaf ears.
Trace rubbed small circles on my back.
I wanted to jerk way.
I wanted to yell.
I wanted so many things.
Things Mil never gave me.
Things the world never allowed me.
I jerked away from Trace’s touch.
I didn’t want her pity.
Her love.
I’d never needed it, had I?
Never deserved it, had I?
I hung my head as Tex’s words pounded into my brain: loving wife, loving sister. It was all bullshit; the only person she’d loved… had been herself.
And me? Well, I was collateral fucking damage.
My hands shook as Tex called out my name. “Now, Chase Abandonato will be giving the eulogy.”
I stood.
My legs froze in place.
And rather than walk toward the front of the church.
I turned on my heel.
And walked away from us.
From her.
From the fantasy.
I turned my back on her.
Like she had turned her back on me.
Present Day
“Chase?” Dante snapped his fingers in front of me. “Anything I should know about what set you off with the seven dead bodies and broken glass? Or is it just a Tuesday?”
I wanted to smile.
My lips twitched.
Such a smart-assed little shit.
I held the bottle to my mouth and took another gulp as the amber liquid burned down my throat. It didn’t help. Nothing helped. Nothing but blood.
Dante sighed and tossed a towel in my direction. “At least get some of the blood off.”
“Blood stains,” I said hoarsely. “Let it.”
Dante’s eyes locked with mine. I was hurting him just by existing. But I couldn’t bring myself to end my own life, not when I had so many others I needed to take.
What did I even have left?
What legacy?
She’d taken it all.
Even the heart I’d offered her on hands and knees.
I jerked my gaze away from Dante. It was too hard to see the disappointment in his eyes, even worse to see the concern aging him every day.
Welcome to hell.
It aged us all.
The door opened and closed.
“Nixon, I already said—” I stood, ready to go head to head with him if need be, when Trace rounded the corner, arms crossed. “Trace.”
She nodded to Dante.
He looked between us, muttered a curse, and walked out with his hands up like he wasn’t going to be held responsible for whatever blood might be spilled.
“You shouldn’t be here.” I took another swig. Already, my vision was blurring. I’d drunk half the bottle. Why the hell hadn’t I passed out already?
Trace pried the bottle from my hand.
I let her.
With one swing, she thrust it against the wall. Amber liquid flew everywhere, and brown glass joined the glass on the floor.
“That was wasteful,” I muttered.
“You’re wasteful,” she fired right back, making my lips twitch.
“Come up with that all by yourself?” I rolled my eyes. “Go home, Trace.” Home to your husband, to your child, to your fucking life.
“Just because Nixon’s my home doesn’t mean you aren’t.” Tears filled her eyes as she glanced at my hands — my cut-up, bloody hands. Without speaking, she grabbed them both in hers and kissed the blood with her innocent lips. I tried to jerk away.
She held fast.
“Stop.” I clenched my teeth.
I didn’t want it.
I didn’t want her love.
I rejected it.
She’d rejected me.
I didn’t even want her friendship.
It hurt too much.
She was my best friend’s wife.
The last thing she needed to be doing was kissing my hands, kissing my sins, my mistakes, my failures as a husband.
As a human being.
A protector.
I closed my eyes tight against all the voices in my head, voices that screamed my worthlessness, that fueled my rage.
“Come on.” She pulled my hand, and for some reason, I followed her. Maybe the Jack was finally hitting me. I swayed a bit on my feet as I trailed her into the master bedroom.
The one I was supposed to share.
I froze at the door. “Not here.”
Trace sighed and walked down the hall to the next room. It had a mattress on the floor and a new comforter set in blue.
Why the hell had I picked blue?
The thought made me cringe and then laugh out loud. Yeah, the Jack was hitting hard.
Trace shoved me in the general direction of the mattress, and I collapsed on top of it. And then she left.
Or I thought she did.
Minutes later, a warm rag was getting dragged across my palms, my fingers, and then the comforter was covering my body. My shoes were tugged off.
She sighed and rubbed my back. “Come back to me, Chase. Come back to us.”
“Maybe,” I slurred through a drunken haze, “I was never yours to begin with. Theirs. Hers.”
I could feel her sadness.
The air was heavy with it.
But my anger won.
It always did.
I jerked away from her. “Go away.”
“You’ll have to kill me first,” she challenged in a voice that sounded too sweet to be threatening.
“Don’t tempt me,” I dared, feeling instantly guilty at the sharp intake of breath, and then, she kicked me while I was down.
Literally dug the point of her boot into my ribs several times, until I turned around and grabbed her leg and pulled her to the mattress on the floor, hovering over her, angry, so angry.
“Don’t ever threaten me again.” Her chest heaved, brown eyes lit up with tears. I hung my head, bracing my hands on either side of her.
I’d been this way once with her.
Pushing her against the ground.
Holding her there with my body.
I’d tasted her lips.
I’d been hers.
And then I’d been nothing.
And now, now she was still there.
I wanted her gone.
I leaned down and whispered in her ear, “If you don’t want me to threaten you again, I suggest you get out.”
“Or what?” The challenge hung between us.
I wasn’t relenting.
Neither was she.
But she reminded me of everything I’d lost.
Of every reason why I’d lost it.
“Trace…” My body shook. “…understand this. You’re no longer safe with me. Get. Out.”
I slowly moved away from her as she got to her feet and said, “I never was, jackass.”
I fell asleep to the sound of laughter.
Mil’s laughter.
And wondered if she’d always haunt me that way.
Mocking my life.
Even in her death.