Chapter 13
EASTON
“You want me to file charges?” I ask for probably the tenth time.
Blakely props her head on her hands and smiles sympathetically. “Yeah, babes. I think it’s our best option.”
Chase interjects, also for the tenth time, “But you don’t have to.”
I eye him carefully, trying to gauge where this hesitation is coming from. Does he think this is dangerous? Does he think I can’t do it? “I’ll do it,” I decide.
Chase’s eyes widen as Blakely breathes a sigh of relief. “Are you sure?”
Blake stands and brushes past me with a soft hand on my shoulder. “I’ll let you guys talk for a minute. I need to go change into people clothes, anyway.”
When she’s gone, Chase looks more uneasy. Before I decide to do it, my thumb is smoothing out the lines in his brow. “I’ll be okay.”
“How do you know?”
My hand falls to my lap, task completed, and I shrug.
“Because I have to believe that. You and I need this to be over. If Blake says this is the way to do it, then I’ll try anything.
There’s nothing in the world I wouldn’t do so we can have a real shot at normal.
” He needs to hear this, I think. If it doesn’t help, then at least I won’t have any cards left.
“I want it all with you, Chase. For as long as you’ll keep me.
If this is what it takes, then so be it. ”
That little spark of hope that flares up in his gaze was so worth the risk. God, how do I fan those flames? My love is still in here somewhere. I’ve just got to wait for him to venture back out.
“You ready, lovebug?” Blake asks, scaring both of us within an inch of our lives.
Chase glare is something fierce. “Jesus fuck, Blake. The day you stop moving on cat feet is the day my life expectancy goes up five years.”
She snickers. “There’s no hope for you if you can’t hear me coming in heels, I fear.”
Looking her up and down makes me cringe internally. “Damn. Should I change?” Walking next to her is going to make me look like a charity project. I was just happy to have my clothes back. I was not prepared for all this.
She only smiles, because she’s the nicest person ever which makes me hate her the tiniest bit. “No, of course not. You look great.”
Ugh. Now it’s worse that even I can tell she means it. Yeah, I’m sure me and my band shirt look fantastic compared to Miss Cute Boots and a skirt that makes her legs look a million miles long, with the perfect shade of blue sweater to make her eyes pop.
Oh fucking well. “Let’s get this over with,” I mutter. When we’re in the car, I close my eyes and try to remember the why of this. For Chase. So we have a chance. “Remind me why you trust this guy?”
She hums. “I got his son through college, essentially. He offered me top dollar to be his private tutor because Isaac forgot to sign up for one before the slots had filled up when we were freshman. He’s a good guy, but definitely had his fair share of growing up to do.
His dad was very appreciative of me for sticking with him for four years.
I’ve vaguely stayed in touch with both of them; you never know when you’ll need to know the chief of police.
Isaac used to have me come over to his house occasionally for our sessions, and I still try to stop by if they’re hosting something or other.
Charlie, his dad, is the best cop I’ve ever met.
A very down to earth, compassionate guy. ”
I grunt. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
She glances over at me briefly at the red light. “I was skeptical too, and it’s okay if you don’t trust him right off the bat. He’ll earn it if you give him the chance. I wouldn’t let just anyone handle this.”
That, I know is true. It’s just hard to walk into this with any optimism when I’ve seen how quickly people like me get swept under the rug.
She drives us to a concrete building that’s at least ten stories tall before finding a spot and letting her robot car parallel park for her. “Is it nice to live the high life?” I ask sardonically.
Blake grins. “Gotta admit, it’s pretty addictive. Ten years ago, I would have tried to steal the rims off this for cash, now here I am.”
She’s letting me stall, which I appreciate as I’m currently trying to make my palms stop sweating. God, I hate reacting to stuff like this. What wire got crossed in my brain that made it so any stressful situation feels like it’s life or death?
“Did I ever tell you why Landon and I got married?” she asks as I’m trying to blink the spots in my vision away.
I manage to shake my head before she launches into the tale.
“So when we were seniors, we were a full four years into denying we were in love with each other. It was awful. But he was my best friend. We were Chase and Brady close—lived together, spent every available moment together, all that good stuff.” Picturing it has my breaths coming in a little slower and my head slightly less fuzzy.
Thankfully, she keeps going. “I went to every one of his games, hung out with the other girlfriends who eventually all became my friends, but no one was like Landon for me.
Everyone would crack jokes about us ending up together, and man, it fucking hurt.
Being teased about your dreams coming true was not fun for either of us, but we were both too scared to ever take the leap, so we endured it.
“Then one day, his teammate took a bad fall, hit his head, and had to be taken to the hospital. His girlfriend didn’t know about the next of kin deal, so when they asked if she was family, she said they were dating.
Well, that meant she couldn’t go back to see him for a while, and she definitely didn’t have any right to make decisions on his behalf, should things have taken a turn for the worse.
” My lungs greedily suck in a deep inhale, such a relief to find I can.
I don’t know how to deal with it. “That whole ordeal freaked Landon out pretty badly, seeing as his only family then was his mom who was in a full-time care facility. So he asked me to marry him in the least romantic way possible, phrased it like a business arrangement. He’d make sure I was well taken care of when he went pro, and in turn, I’m the person who has all the control if something happened to him.
I was devastated. Everything I ever wanted, right in front of me, except with this evil twist where we’re not getting married because we’re in love—just because he trusted me and didn’t have anyone else to do it with for real.
But I knew how scared he was, and I loved him so much.
All I wanted to do was make it better, even if it killed me along the way.
We went to a pawnshop for rings, picked out a set that had been someone’s grandparent’s and hit the courthouse.
Worst day of my life. Chase came to be my witness, and he was so mad at Landon, I thought I was going to have to break up a fight. ”
The corner of my lips tick up in a cautious smile. “That does sound pretty terrible.”
“Awful. He only signed my marriage license because I begged and literally cried. Eventually, it all came out and we’ve been stupidly happy ever since, but it’s weird thinking back. Things end up how they’re supposed to, no matter how crazy the road is getting there.”
After taking inventory of my body, I find myself back to normal. “Thanks,” I say softly.
Blake’s hand comes up to brush my hair back tenderly. My heart squeezes in gratitude. “Feel better?”
I nod. “Much. Let’s do this.”
She keeps a firm, yet entirely unpainful, grip on my hand the entire way up to the fifth floor, keeping me grounded so my head doesn’t run off with me when I need it functioning.
There’s a middle-aged man waiting on us when we exit the elevator, but still, she keeps ahold of me, opting to shake his hand awkwardly with her left.
“Blakely Ellison, as I live and breathe.” The man chuckles.
She smiles kindly. “Charlie, thank you so much for squeezing me into your busy schedule. This is my friend Easton. Easton, this is the Seattle Chief of Police, Charlie Brooks.” Her voice is a little weird sounding.
Not mean or anything, but there’s an undertone to it that I’m not used to hearing. So polite, but kinda protective?
He catches sight of the death grip I’ve got on her now that we’re in front of this dude, and decides shaking my hand is a formality that can be ignored for the time being. Thank fuck. I’d probably turn and run at the first opportunity. This is not my finest moment.
“Pleasure to meet you, Easton,” he says. From all I can tell, he doesn’t look like a scumbag, but my history isn’t very good in catching that stuff off the bat.
I mutter an insincere, “You too,” before steeling myself for the invasive conversation I know is coming.
Look, logistically, I know this seems like something that doesn’t make sense to have held off on doing.
If crimes are committed against someone, they should report it to the cops so they can help them.
But that’s a lot easier to say than do for me, especially when there isn’t a lot of proof of what I went through.
Well, unless there’s a brain scan they can do that’ll show the bruises left on my mind that won’t ever heal.
Then again, I imagine there’d be a lot less victims forced into silence if that were true.
“So, what can I do for you guys? Blake’s email sounded pretty urgent.”
How is it that any woman can look so powerful and self assured with nothing but posture and careful hair movements?
She sits a little straighter, tosses her hair over her shoulder, and the girl who squeals over cutesy books with me is replaced by an entirely new version that intimidates the hell out of me. At least we’re on the same side here.
“So I’ve actually sent you some files I’ve been working on—just so you’re aware of the gravity of our situation. Essentially, we’ve found ourselves with the attention of a very unpredictable criminal.”