Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Chase
I write Team Morrison/Whitman on the entry board in bold letters and step back to admire the handiwork.
Piper appears beside me, clutching the hot chocolate Betty shoved into her hands thirty seconds ago. Whipped cream towers above the rim like a snow-capped mountain, dusted with cinnamon and drizzled with caramel that pools at the edges.
"Aw, look at you being all cute. You wrote our names together," she says softly, staring at the board.
I lean close enough that only she can hear. "Feels right, doesn't it?"
Her cheeks flush pink, and she takes a sip of cocoa to hide it. The whipped cream leaves a mustache on her upper lip, and I swipe it away with my thumb, licking it clean.
"Chase Morrison." She swats my chest, but she's smiling.
I pull the hoodie I found her at the station this week from my bag. It's navy blue with Stone River Mountain Rescue embroidered across the chest and a tiny pine tree logo on the sleeve. Underneath, written in smaller script that I got custom printed just for her is Rescue Sweetheart.
"Arms up, baby. Let's try this on for size."
"What is this?" Piper asks, turning to see me holding out the new hoodie.
I tug it over her head, letting my hands linger at her waist as I smooth the fabric down. My fingers brush the bare skin just above her jeans, and she shivers.
"Found it yesterday during inventory check," I tell her, tugging the hem straight. "Saw it sitting there with the rest of the team gear, and all I could think was… Damn, my girl would look good wearing Mountain Rescue gear."
The way she looks at me when I call her my girl is like watching the sun break through storm clouds, transforming her entire face into something that makes my chest feel too tight and too full all at once.
"You were thinking about me? While counting ropes and band-aids?"
"I think about you all the time." I don't even hesitate. "Knox caught me staring at a box of emergency blankets for five minutes because they're the same color as your eyes."
She scoffs and blushes hard. "That's cheesy and pathetic."
"Don't care." I pull her closer by the hoodie strings, knowing she's only joking as I peck the tip of her nose with my lips. "Travis bet Jamie ten bucks I'd have your name tattooed on my ass by Christmas."
She laughs but shakes her head. "Don't you dare. Your ass is perfect the way it is."
"It is tempting." I press a kiss to her forehead. "But I'd rather just keep you here wearing my gear instead. So everyone knows you're mine."
This time, her smile falters slightly. Something else entirely flickers across her face, too quick to catch whatever feels… off about her today.
"What?"
"Nothing." She rises on her toes and kisses me. "Come on, Mountain Hero. Show me how to make chili before Betty disqualifies us for standing around looking smitten."
Across the lot, Beau slides an identical hoodie over Molly's head at their tent.
He's slower about it, more deliberate, his big hands careful as he adjusts the hood around her blonde braid.
Molly looks up at him with those wide green eyes, and even from here I can see the way Beau still softens around his girl.
Good for him. Of all the people here in Stone River, that man deserves some sunshine.
Betty swoops in with aprons next, tying mine behind my back before fussing over Piper's.
"There." Betty pats Piper's shoulder. "Now you look official."
Etta and Mabel arrive in matching sashes that read OFFICIAL TASTE TESTERS, clipboards in hand and expressions far too serious for people about to eat chili that may or may not taste like my old boots.
"We'll be watching," Etta warns, peering over her cat-eye glasses.
Mabel nods solemnly. "Very closely."
Knox shouts from the tent beside ours, "Morrison! Hope you're ready to lose!"
Travis holds up a bottle of hot sauce the size of a wine bottle. "Boo-yah! We're bringing the heat this year!"
"You're bringing heartburn, old man!" I yell back.
At the tent across from us, Jamie ties Brooke's apron with the kind of focus usually reserved for tactical ops mountain-side. She's laughing at him, her auburn hair catching the late afternoon sun.
"Ready to get destroyed, Morrison?" Jamie calls, catching me staring at how happy they are.
"By you? Never."
Brooke grins. "We're going to wipe the floor with you."
"Big talk from someone who used to burn her toast every night shift," Piper calls out, joining in the banter.
I give her a high five and pull her closer. "That's my girl!"
I say the words again, watching Piper carefully this time. She’s here, laughing, not denying me whenever I lay claim to her being mine, but something’s not sitting right under my ribs.
I pull out my phone, flick open the camera and tug Piper close. "Smile."
She leans into me, cocoa still in hand, and I snap the photo. Both of us grinning like idiots, her in my hoodie, the chaos of the cook-off behind us.
"Perfect."
I set my phone face-down on the table beside hers. "No distractions now. Just us and whatever culinary disaster we're about to create."
"Ready," Piper says.
"Okay." I survey our ingredients laid out on the bench. "What did I say? Meat, peppers, and a bad attitude? We've got at least two of those covered."
Piper eyes the pile of vegetables. "Which two?"
"Meat and attitude, obviously." I hand her a knife while winking at her. "You're chopping onions."
"Alright. But you should know… I've never chopped an onion in my life."
"And I'd never had a road blow job until an hour ago." I shrug with smug casualness. "Today's full of firsts."
She smacks my arm and picks up the knife. I move in behind her, wrapping my hands over hers to guide the blade.
"So you wanna chop it like this," I murmur, helping her make the first cut. "Slow and steady. Don't ruin those gorgeous nails. Are they new?"
"Yeah." She glances down at her hands, the blade pausing mid-slice. "Got them done Thursday."
"They look nice," I say, slicing another slice of onions. "Special occasion?"
She hums and thinks about her answer for a beat too long. "No. Just… felt like it."
I nod, but beneath me, I feel Piper start to focus too intently on the onion. There it is again. That tension. Her shoulders stiffen beneath the hoodie and a swirly feeling makes my stomach squeeze.
I guide her hands again, but this isn't the first thing that feels different this weekend.
I learned to read people young. It's an important survival skill when you grow up watching for signs your mom might pack up and leave.
The way she'd go quiet during phone calls with other men. How she'd fold laundry slower, more carefully, like she was already saying goodbye to the routine. The distant look when I'd talk about next semester's classes.
Military guys like Jamie and Beau? They read enemy positions, micro-expressions during interrogations, the shift in a teammate's breathing before everything goes sideways.
I've been around it long enough now, on a daily basis, I've learned to read people too.
And Piper's showing all the signs of someone hiding something.
The blow job in the truck wasn't spontaneous passion—it was distraction.
Keep me happy, keep me occupied, keep me from asking questions about her week.
The way she just hesitated before saying the manicure wasn't for anything special.
How she keeps touching me like she's memorizing the feeling, savoring it like Mom used to look at me before I matured into a man that resembled the asshole who left her.
I guide her hands through another onion slice, but my mind's already three steps ahead, cataloging every small tell.
Something's coming. Something she hasn't told me yet.
And I'm pretty sure it's going to hurt.
Despite the thoughts swirling inside my head, we work in tandem.
I'm busy browning the meat while she massacres vegetables with increasing confidence. Every time she gets something right, she lights up like I've handed her a prize.
When the meat is nearly ready, Piper is holding the chili powder jar like it's a live grenade, reading the label with the kind of focus she probably reserves for patient charts.
"Okay, so… how much?"
"Two tablespoons," I say, watching her measure it out.
She tips the spoon over the pot and as she does, the hoodie rides up just enough to show a sliver of skin above her jeans. Her sexy ass looks amazing, and I can't fucking help myself. My hand connects with her ass in an enthusiastic smack.
The jar flies from her grip as I squeeze her butt and release with a primal groan.
"Chase! Look what you did!"
I focus back on our cooking, and peer over the rim of the steaming pot. The entire jar of chili powder has fallen in. Dumped into the mixture in one catastrophic avalanche of red powder.
"Oh shit—"
Knox and Travis erupt from their tent, turning into chest-bumping victory apes. "YES! MORRISON JUST TANKED HIS OWN CHILI!"
Piper stares into the pot, which now looks like the surface of Mars. "That's… that's bad, right?"
"Yes. Betty will die if we serve that much chili, baby."
She turns, murder in those usually-pretty eyes. "You just cost us the competition!"
"I'm sorry!" I say, throwing my arms up. "Your ass looked too good not to smack it."
"Urgh, I'm not losing to them." Piper rallies with the kind of determination I admire in her. "I'm on it."
She flips off Knox and Travis with two hands, both of whom are still dancing like they've won the Superbowl, before sprinting toward Jamie and Brooke's station like a woman on a mission.
I watch her go, grinning despite the apocalypse currently simmering in our pot.
She reaches their tent and immediately starts pillaging ingredients—a can of beer, a knob of butter, what looks like a spoon of… cocoa powder? What the hell does she think goes into chili?
"Thief!" Jamie squawks, scrambling to stop Piper taking all their ingredients.
Brooke holds out a small jar. "Take the cumin too. You'll need it!"
"You're a goddess," Piper tells her best friend.
"I know." Brooke grins. "Now go save your chili before Chase's grabby hands cost you the trophy."
I turn back to our pot, stirring frantically and trying to salvage what's left of our dignity. The mixture bubbles like lava, and I'm pretty sure it could strip paint.
Then, as Piper gets chased around the parking lot by Jamie, Knox and Travis, who have all abandoned their stations, my phone buzzes on the table.
Without looking, I grab it and answer mid-stir. "Stone River Chili Hotline… how spicy do you want it?"
A voice like frost burns into my ear. "Put my daughter on."
I feel my brows pull together. "Excuse me? Who's this?"
"Put. My daughter. On."
I glance at the screen. It's not my phone. It's Piper's.
Shit.
The cold voice continues, arctic and precise as nerves rip through my entire body. "This is Piper's mother. We need plans finalized for Saturday, and I need to speak with her now."
Saturday?
My gut drops like I've just missed a crucial anchor during a mission.
"Piper? Um, yes… Well, she's… in the middle of…"
I look out across the parking lot, seeing Piper's hair whipping behind her like a banner as she sprints between stations, clutching stolen ingredients to her chest with the fierce determination of someone who'd rather die than lose to my cocky teammates.
"…something. I can take a message."
"Tell her to answer her phone." Each word is clipped. "Tell my daughter that her real life requires attention. And tell her not to ruin the gala gown with those God-awful boots you bought her."
I swallow and try to get a word in. "Listen, I—"
"And let me be clear." Her voice sharpens, cutting through my stammered response. "Whatever little fantasy you've constructed with my daughter needs to end. Piper has obligations. A family legacy. A future that doesn't involve playing house with some… mountain man in the middle of nowhere."
The chili bubbles, completely forgotten.
"She belongs in Chicago. With people of her own caliber. You? You're a phase. A rebellion. And when Piper comes to her senses next weekend, she'll realize exactly what you are."
I can't speak. Can't breathe.
My own mother's face flashes through my mind. The postcard she sent me. Hope you're well scrawled above a tourist trap, like I was an afterthought she'd finally remembered to check off her list.
I've told myself a million times I'd burn it, but I never have.
I can't.
Because it's the only proof I have that she existed in my life at all.
"You're nothing, and the sooner you leave my daughter alone, the better off we'll all be. Goodbye."
The word hangs in the air, confirming every fear I've carried since the day my family left. Since the Army spit me out. Since Piper first walked into my world wearing designer everything and making me feel like I'd won the lottery just by catching her attention.
The line goes dead and I'm left standing there, spoon frozen mid-stir, staring at Piper's phone like it just bit me.
Saturday.
If she's busy next weekend…
That means she's not coming to Stone River. Our Weekends Only agreement is destroyed already, and here I was, trying to win her over to get more than weekends only.
I look up.
Piper's now laughing with Brooke, triumphant with her contraband ingredients clutched in both hands. Her new nails catch the sunlight, and it all starts to make sense.
She jogs back across the parking lot, her face lit up with joy, my hoodie bouncing with each step.
The gala gown? Her real life? Saturday?!
How long has Piper known?
I lay her phone back exactly where it was as she barrels back into our tent, breathless and grinning, ingredients held high like trophies.
"I have medical-grade chili stabilization." She sets everything down and fixes me with a playful glare. "Question is, Mr. Horny-Hands, do you think you can keep your hands to yourself until we're done?"
I force a smile, her mother's words still frozen inside my head. "No promises."
I turn back to the pot and keep stirring, face neutral, trying to process what I just heard while the chili bubbles and hisses.
Inside, something goes sideways.
History wants to repeat, to make me expect the worst. I see the distance opening, slow and silent, just like it was when I lost everything before.
I know I can’t stop it.
But then she grins at me, hoodie strings swinging, and I realize…
Fuck this.
I’ll risk it. I’ll choose her anyway.
Even if it hurts.