Page 27 of Chasin’s Surrender

“You’re safe, babe.”

“There’s no such thing as safe,” I whispered.

“What do you mean, no such thing?”

Apparently, Chasin had super-human hearing, something I’d need to remember considering I mumbled shit under my breath a lot.

“It doesn’t matter. Can we drop it?” I asked.

Plate in hand, Chasin moved from the island, across the kitchen, and over to the microwave. I heard the door open, close, beeping as he set the timer. Just when I thought he was going to let it go, he turned his head to look at me over his shoulder and asked, “What do you mean, there’s no such thing as safe?”

“Does it matter to you that I don’t want to talk about this, like at all?”

Then Chasin surprised me by saying, “The detective working your case sent over some files. Bobby went over to Nixon’s to take a look.”

“He did?” That shocked me. Detective Loughry hadn’t been the easiest man to work with.

Chasin’s lips twitched before he said, “Well, he did after Nixon had a word with his captain. Then he sent the files.”

“I’m impressed. Bobby and the label have been hounding him for updates, but he hasn’t been very cooperative.”

The microwave dinged and Chasin turned to take out the plate. He opened some drawers until he found the flatware, grabbed a fork, and made his way to the table. After he set my reheated dinner in front of me, he sat.

Not opposite but right beside me—so close, his shoulder brushed against mine.

“How are you holding up?” he inquired.

I kept my gaze on my plate, not daring to look at him.

Then as I stared at my lasagna I wondered why Chasin’s simple question made me want to simultaneously jump in his lap and cry and run away and lock myself in my room. Why was it that asking me how I was holding up made me both warm inside and scared to death? And lastly how was that even possible to be both of those at the same time?

Maybe because no one else had thought to ask me that. Not even Bobby. She was all about keeping my mind off some crazy person sending me letters and keeping me focused on work. Something I’d stupidly done because no one had told me how dangerous the situation had become.

My manager, my record label, and my best friend had all allowed me to walk around with my head up my own ass, thinking that the stalker was nothing more than a harmless annoyance.

And why did they do that? So I’d tour, continue to write music, and record. All three meant they made money.

That was who I’d become.

9

Chasin sat statue-still next to Genevieve. The urge to touch her was overwhelming, but he refrained—just barely. She was staring at her food like the answer to life’s burning questions was to be found on that plate. It gave Chasin a moment to study the woman who had captured his attention so profoundly.

He didn’t understand what it was about her that had drawn him in. It went beyond her beauty. Beyond her infectious laugh and her blinding smiles. There was something about her that felt easy to be around. Soothing, comforting, a calm had settled over him the moment he’d seen her. Chasin couldn’t put his finger on why, but he knew she did. He also knew he wanted that woman back. Not this dull version of her.

She doesn’t give second chances.

Chasin had heard Bobby’s warning—loud and clear the words danced in his head. However, he was unwilling to accept it. He was man enough to admit he’d been wrong, likewise, he was man enough to know what he wanted, go after it, and not back down. Further, if he wanted her to open herself up, he needed to do the same.

It was with that thought, he told her, “My mom cheats on my dad.”

“What?” Genevieve’s gaze sliced to his, clearly confused by his left-field declaration. As far as Chasin was concerned, there was never a good time to talk about his mother, her proclivities, or his father’s lack of a backbone.

Chasin had expended a good amount of time trying to figure out how he came to be the man he was, he was nothing like either of his parents, and the best he’d come up with was, he was the man he was because he despised everything they were and had vowed at a young age never to be like them. He’d flat-out known his mother’s behavior was repulsive. But it had taken him years to understand why seeing his father cow to his mother felt wrong. Every time he’d witnessed it his skin would crawl, when he was a kid he didn’t get why, as a teenager he figured it was because watching his dad eat shit and accept his mother’s cheating made his dad weak and he didn’t like thinking that. Then he hit adulthood and realized that a man didn’t eat shit and further he didn’t make his woman eat it. Turnabout was a woman didn’t make her man eat it and turn him in a pussy-whipped fool. Though, if his father was any sort of man, he wouldn’t have allowed his wife to cow him.

“I’ve watched that shit my whole life. That’s what I know. That’s all I know. Since I was a kid, my mother had no problem bringing men into our family home and fucking them on the bed she shared with my dad while her son was in the living room. My dad would find out, they’d fight, she’d talk him around to staying, and a week later, the sick cycle would continue. I lived that dysfunction until I was old enough to get the fuck away from them. I don’t know if she still does it, I suspect she does, and as heartless as this is, I don’t give a shit. My dad made that disgusting bed, he can lie in the filth. What I do know is, I am not a cheat. That’s why I walked out. Why I shut down and was a dick.”

Chasin watched in horrified fascination as Genevieve reared back, the force of her movement painful to witness. He knew she remembered him telling her he wasn’t a cheat the night he’d screwed up and walked out.