Page 122 of Chasin’s Surrender

“He’s in recovery—”

“Thank God,” Genevieve sobbed. “Thank you God, thank you God, thank you God.”

Jesus fuck.

Finally.

34

Seven months later

We’ve had a long row to hoe.

I had nightmares. Chasin had demons. Holden had a gunshot wound. Bobby had healing to do.

But we’d done it, and we came out on the other side stronger than ever. All of us did. Not just me and Chasin, but everyone had rallied. Everyone had closed ranks and helped.

My luck had certainly changed when I met Chasin.

There wasn’t a day that went by I didn’t talk to one of the girls, most days multiple times. Not a week had gone by when we all didn’t get together. And two months ago, McKenna had declared that Sunday night was family night and everyone was to sit down for dinner together. She did that as a way to get everybody to Chasin’s and my house.

You see, for three months, we stayed at my uncle’s house because Chasin wouldn’t entertain the idea of us going back to the farm. He didn’t want to be in the room where he thought he was going to lose both me and Holden. I’d talked to my therapist about this and he agreed that I needed to face the farm. Chasin wouldn’t hear of it, until I’d convinced him to come to a therapy session. Then he understood and agreed.

The first time we went in, I freaked the hell out and Chasin carried me back to his Charger and we went back to my uncle’s house. A few days later, we went back and Chasin stood in the very spot where he’d ended Bent’s life. After a solid five minutes of him statue-still, frozen in place, I guided him out and we went home. The third time, he held me while I cried. Not because Bent was dead, Holden almost died, or because I had a gun pointed at my head and blood leaking between my fingers.

I sobbed my relief.

It was over.

McKenna had told me that Chasin purchased the farm from Nixon, and she told me he’d bought it because I wanted to convert the milking parlor and barn into a studio. But, I didn’t think that was why. Chasin loved the farm. Loved that Nixon and Weston’s property bordered the land and he liked them close. But also because the farm was where we’d started our lives together. Sure, we’d fallen in love at my uncle’s, but the farm was where that love grew.

Without Chasin knowing I knew, I went to Nixon and asked him if he was okay with me gutting the farmhouse. Nix might have sold the farm to Chasin, but the farmhouse was special; Nix had grown up in that house, and I didn’t want to do anything that would hurt him.

Then I talked to Holden. I was close to all the guys, but I was closest to Holden. He’d saved my life, and in return, I’d attempted to save him. Neither of us could forget that and neither of us wanted to. I told Holden my idea and he thought it was a good one and agreed to help. He also didn’t miss the opportunity to point out, I was exactly what Chasin needed, and he’d known it all along. Which meant for three months, he oversaw the renovation of the farmhouse and the barns.

I didn’t have to worry about Chasin finding out because he was staying clear of the property.

When the reno was done, with Nixon, Jameson, Weston, Alec and Holden tagging along, I took Chasin to the house. I asked the girls not to come because I didn’t know what Chasin’s reaction was going to be and I didn’t want him to feel like he needed to hide what he was feeling in front of my girls.

I hadn’t touched the outside of the house, so when we’d first pulled up and he saw everyone standing in the yard, he was confused. Then he’d thought I’d arranged some sort of intervention to get him to deal with his thoughts on the farm. Which I kind of had—a very expensive, exhausting intervention in the form of a renovation. But I wanted to live in that house. I didn’t want anything to stop us from doing what we wanted.

No one had seen the inside except for Holden. To say they were shocked by the transformation was an understatement. I’d gutted the house down to the studs. There wasn’t even a single sheet of original drywall left.

It was stunning. From the new hardwood floor, new kitchen, bathrooms, freshly painted walls—floor to ceiling, it was beautiful. What it wasn’t was over-the-top or ostentatious. It was a family home with comfy, welcoming furniture. The only thing I’d splurged on was a handcrafted, custom-made dining room table. It was awesome. It was also huge. And Nixon and McKenna didn’t know it at the time, but I’d had one made for them as well. When Nix had run his hand over the smooth finish of the table, I couldn’t wait to tell him what he was touching. That the planks were from his father’s barn. The contractors removed a wall when my studio was being built and I’d come up with the idea to repurpose the wood—but I couldn’t, seeing as it would ruin my other surprise. The studio was finished.

Before I’d had a chance to show Chasin the upstairs, he pulled me into his arms, and in front of his whole team, he laid a hot, heavy, and very wet kiss on me.

All he muttered was, “Okay, Evie.” Which meant we were moving back into the farmhouse. Later that night when we were in our bed, in our newish home, he showed me how much he loved what I’d done.

That was awesome, too.

Then I’d decided it was time to share the last thing I’d kept from him, and lying in his arms in our new home, on the first night seemed like the perfect time. I’d pulled the letter I’d written to myself out of the nightstand and handed it to him. It’d taken him longer to unfold the worn paper than it took him to read the note.

If this isn’t the dream, find a new one.

That was it, nine words, permission to myself to quit if the music industry wasn’t all I’d dreamed it to be. If I didn’t find the happiness I was after, it was okay to give it up.

Then life was just life. And for the last two months, we’ve been living in the farmhouse and I’ve been working in my studio. Bobby had an office on the bottom floor, something we added that hadn’t been in our original vision but necessary since she now handled—well, everything. She was my right-hand woman, just like she’d always been, but more.