Page 125 of Chasin’s Surrender

He wasn’t sure if Rory understood that they wouldn’t be getting married right then, but she slid off his lap.

Chasin waited until Evie was done, shoved his hand in his pocket, fished out the ring, and made his way to her, never breaking their gaze. Therefore he watched as her eyes flashed, nothing but love and peace shining back. He gave that to her. He knew he did because she gave it back to him.

He dropped to one knee in front of Evie, pulled her left hand off the neck of her guitar, and slid his diamond on her finger.

“Marry me?”

Evie’s lips twisted and wet hit her eyes. After all the tears he’d witnessed the day Holden was shot, he couldn’t stomach watching her cry. He hated it, despised it, it tore him up inside and he vowed she’d never have a reason to shed one more tear.

“Baby.” His hands went to her beautiful face and he swiped her tears away with his thumbs. “Please don’t cry.”

“I love you,” she whispered.

“Is that a yes?”

“No, honey, that’s a resounding, absolute, conclusive, one-hundred percent yes. With the caveat, you’ll make me Mrs. Murray soon. Like tomorrow, if we can pull it off.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He smiled.

“Thank you, honey.” Before Chasin could tell her she never had to thank him for loving him, she went on. “Thank you for making my dreams come true. Thank you for giving me a family. But most of all, thank you for seeing me.”

Chasin groaned.

Then he swallowed the emotion welling in his throat, but he savored the burn.

Fucking Christ, he loved her.

Top to toe. Heart and soul. Every part between.

She was his perfect match.

35

Two weeks later

Holden Stanford knew he was acting like a little bitch. Knew his attitude sucked. Knew his friends would be intervening soon because they were good men and cared about him.

He’d been surprised they’d given him the last seven years.

Seven long, excruciating years. Eight, actually. Eight years since he’d given her up, seven since she’d been widowed.

And just because her husband was dead, it did not make her free. She’d never be free. Never be available to him.

He’d had his shot and he gave her up.

His Charleigh.

His.

Until she wasn’t, and she belonged to Paul.

How was it possible to hate someone you respected, loved like a brother, mourned, and missed?

One of the many questions Holden didn’t have the answer to. One of the many reasons—and there were a lot—that Charleigh was lost to him.

That put him in a bad mood, one he’d lived with for eight years. Charleigh and Faith now living close, forcing interaction, didn’t put him in a bad mood—it killed him.

The woman was slowly shredding him, until all the scar tissue he’d formed had been ripped open and he had a fresh, gaping hole in his heart.