Chapter 2
Chapter Two
CHASE
“Are you ready to see her?”
The leather armrest creaked under my white-knuckled grip, the sound jarring in Jackson’s too-quiet office. That damn white noise machine hummed in the corner, supposedly soothing but really just masking the thunder of my pulse in my ears.
Elena.
Eighty-four days since I’d last seen her, since she’d stood over me in that sterile hospital room, her doctor mask firmly in place while she stitched up what was left of me.
The only thing that had hurt worse than my injuries was watching her maintain that professional distance, treating me like any other addict in the ER instead of.
.. instead of whatever we’d been to each other.
My stomach lurched. Not from withdrawal—those days of hugging the toilet were finally behind me—but from remembering how steady her hands had been while her eyes had told a different story.
Disappointment. Fear. Grief. Everything she wouldn’t say out loud because she was Dr. Stone in that moment, not my Elena.
“Ready? Yes,” I managed, though my mouth felt desert-dry. “Prepared? Fuck no.”
Jackson leaned forward in his chair, that calm therapist expression I’d grown to both hate and depend on these past twelve weeks plastered across his face. “You’re prepared, Chase. You’ve put in the work.”
The clock on his wall ticked away another precious second.
Another moment I wasn’t with her. The sound had driven me crazy during those first few sessions, when the coke cravings had my skin crawling and my brain screaming for just one more hit.
Now it was just background noise to the constant loop of Elena’s voice in my head, the way she’d last looked at me—hurt, disappointed, scared.
Never again. I’d rather die than put that look back in her eyes.
“Run it back for me one more time,” Jackson prompted, his Mont Blanc pen poised over that familiar yellow legal pad.
“Find a meeting. Find a sponsor. Find a job.” The words tasted bitter, like the bile I’d spent days puking up during detox at Harbor Hall.
The facility had a gorgeous view of Little Traverse Bay, all golden leaves back in September when I’d first stumbled in.
Now December had frozen everything solid, matching the knot of dread in my gut. “Then I go on my one-man apology tour.”
The weight of all those burned bridges pressed down on my shoulders. It was time I mended fences, one relationship at a time.
Fuck, there were so many people I had to make things right with.
Charlie... God, Charlie. The image of my baby sister in that hospital bed still haunted my nightmares—tubes everywhere, her tiny body broken because her big brother was too coked out to keep the bike upright.
Then Mom, who hadn’t slept for days while Charlie was in the ICU. Dad. Elliot. Jasper. Kai. The list of people I’d hurt felt endless.
But Elena... Elena was different. She wasn’t simply another someone I needed to apologize to—she was the reason I’d finally dragged my ass to rehab, the reason I’d stayed when every cell in my body screamed to run.
She was the future I couldn’t have unless I got clean, unless I became someone worthy of her trust.
“You got this,” Jackson said, and for once, I almost believed him. “I’ll see you next week.”
My legs shook as I pushed up from the chair. Twelve weeks clean and I still felt like a newborn colt sometimes, relearning how to just fucking exist without chemical assistance. Each step toward the door was another test of resolve.
“And Chase?”
I looked back, catching his eye.
“Good luck with Elena. I’m rooting for you two.”
I nodded, throat too tight for words. Elena deserved someone whole.
Someone steady. Someone who wouldn’t shatter her trust or add to the mountain of trauma her bastard husband had already heaped on her shoulders.
She’d had enough men in her life who’d hurt her—physically, emotionally.
The thought of causing her any kind of pain made me physically sick.
Peter had broken her trust with fists and cruel words. I’d broken hers and everyone else’s trust with powder and bottles. I’d never laid a hand on her, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t left a mark.
I wasn’t worthy of her yet. But god help me, I was fighting like hell to become someone who could make her feel safe instead of scared, cherished instead of controlled.
Someone who would never, ever make her flinch.
If she let me.
If she would even speak to me.
If she hadn’t already moved the hell on.