Trace
It had been three days since I’d seen Chase.
It was slowly killing me.
Maybe that was why I was driving to his house again.
Without telling my husband.
Guilt gnawed at me so harshly that it was getting harder to breathe the closer I got to the iron gates.
I was a fixer, yes.
But this was more; it went deeper.
I kept having nightmares that one day I’d visit Chase and I’d be too late; he’d be on the ground, a bullet to the head, or worse, hanging from the stairway with a rope around his neck.
The nightmares wouldn’t stop, and every time I woke up Nixon, he didn’t have anything calming to say, nothing that made me feel like he wasn’t freaked out about the very same thing.
The only difference? He was boss.
He had more on his plate than the fact that his brother and best friend was having a hard time. I only knew because he shared his burdens with me.
We still had no idea where Andrei had gone and had quickly gotten word that all of his assets had miraculously been unfrozen.
Which was impossible.
And yet? Shipments for Petrov Industries started going out last Friday.
Drugs and weapons mainly.
It was driving Nixon crazy that we had a very calculating enemy out there, who knew everything there was to know about us, thanks to Mil.
It kept him up at night.
So while he was concerned for Chase…
He was more concerned for our little girl, more for me. The fact that Mo was pregnant — would probably send him over the edge.
Things changed when you brought in innocent lives.
They had to.
I pulled up the long driveway, cut the engine, and then made the short distance trek to the front door, not bothering to knock. Knowing Chase, he was probably stewing in his office or in the kitchen drinking.
His two favorite pastimes.
“Chase?” I called, making my way through the living room and into the kitchen.
He was perched up on the barstool with a bottle of wine in front of him.
No glass.
Great, he was just drinking from the bottle.
“How drunk are you?” I asked, making my way around the granite island.
He shrugged.
“Ah, so drunk you forgot how to speak?”
He scowled and reached for the bottle. “Brave of you to come back.”
“The only thing that scares me is the fact that you haven’t had a shower in five days.”
“Bullshit!” He stumbled to his feet, swaying in front of me. The man was cut like a freaking brick. Every sinewy muscle was on display beneath his dark t-shirt. I looked away. His gaze was too intense, his meaning clear. “I showered this morning…” He frowned. “…I think.”
“Right.” I licked my lips. “Have you eaten?”
His brows furrowed.
I inhaled deeply. “Okay, only alcohol, no food, got it. Why don’t you sit back down, and I’ll make you a sandwich.”
“Why don’t you get back in your car, and I won’t call Nixon and tell him his wife’s entertaining second prize?”
I slammed the fridge door shut. “Does it make you feel better?”
“What?” His grin was sloppy drunk, stupid. At least he was grinning. “Mocking myself? Yes, it does.”
“Mocking me.” I slammed a hand onto the counter, and he jumped. “Mocking our friendship, what we had—”
“We were never friends, Trace,” he interrupted. “Friends don’t kiss friends. That’s not how friendship works, trust me. Otherwise, I would have been friends with fifty girls in college…” His voice trailed off. “No, I don’t kiss friends. Apparently, I only kiss girls that belong to someone else and ones who betray me. Fucking awesome track record, huh?” He lifted the bottle to his lips again.
I stomped over to him and jerked it out of his hands. He stumbled against me, his hands going to my hip.
Sadness swept through my body, making it hard to breathe as his pain-filled gaze dropped to my lips.
I couldn’t give him what he wanted, what he thought he wanted, what he thought would make the pain go away. It would just make it worse.
I knew that.
He leaned down, his forehead touching mine. “Please leave.”
I shook my head.
“Leave,” he said again. This time, his voice cracked; torment rolled off him in waves.
I gripped his biceps, righting myself as he leaned down and brushed a kiss to my cheek.
“Leave.”
I sucked in a breath. “Who’s going to take care of you?”
“That—” came my husband’s voice, “—isn’t your fucking problem, is it?”
I jerked away so fast I knocked over the wine bottle, spilling it into the sink, as a drunken Chase collapsed against the barstool and stumbled to the floor.
Nixon’s anger was so palpable that the air was thick with it.
I gritted my teeth. “I was trying to help. I know your hands are full with Petrov—”
“Just like your hands are full with my cousin?”
I don’t remember moving.
But I did.
I slapped him so hard across the cheek my palm stung.
And then I gasped with tears in my vision as Nixon closed his eyes and then grabbed my hand and placed it where I’d slapped him. “I deserved that.”
“No…” I felt like complete shit. “…you didn’t.”
“You,” Nixon whispered, “I trust.”
“And Chase?”
“Complicated,” Nixon finally said, his blue eyes locking on Chase as he lay still against the hardwood floor. “I’ll get him upstairs. Why don’t you look around for his new employee, make sure she knows he’s passed out. I’m not letting you play nurse.”
I rolled my eyes. “So the new girl gets the honors?”
Nixon’s mouth curved into a smile. “Remember when that was your title? New girl?”
I stood up on my tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Remember when I mooed in front of the entire student body, and Phoenix drugged me, and you pushed me away into that one’s arms?” I jerked my head to Chase. “Or how about the time that—”
He covered my mouth with his and kissed me hard then pulled back. “Okay, you made your point. We all have shit.”
“We’re a freaking reality show, Nixon,” I sighed. “And Chase is clearly the producer’s pick, the one who stirs up trouble to get ratings,” I said, making light of the situation so I wouldn’t crumple against my husband’s chest.
Nixon kissed the top of my head. “It will get better. I promise.”
They were the words I needed to hear. “How do you know, though?”
He pressed a finger to my lips. I parted them, tasting his skin. “I have to believe that we’ve been brought to this point, not to just collapse from within, but to grow, to become greater than before. The legacy our parents left behind was one of complete brokenness. I think we deserve to give our children something more, don’t you? I think the universe owes us at least that.”
I nodded silently.
“Come on,” Nixon sighed. “I’ll heave him up to his room. Damn guy still weighs a ton, even with a diet of wine and whiskey.”
I made a face while Nixon knelt and grabbed Chase’s body.
“Go grab Luciana and fill her in.”
I saluted him and made my way up the stairs.