Chapter 45 Annalise
Annalise
Hours later, I’m pacing my hotel room, a throb between my legs, an ache between my ribs. It’s almost midnight. Everyone shot straight to the bar when we got back, except for me and Chase. He tried to pull me aside to talk, to explain, his eyes wrecked and bloodshot, tone desperate.
But I ran.
Told him I was too tired to talk tonight.
I drag my hands through my hair, still wearing my performance clothes. His scent clings to the leather and lace, and I’m not ready to let that go yet.
“I love you so fucking much.”
I can’t unhear those words. Can’t erase the rawness in his voice as the confession spilled out mid-thrust and he clutched me so hard I couldn’t tell if he was breaking me apart or fusing me back together. Either way, I’m changed. Reshaped in every way.
And then he shut down again. Rejected my yearning for confirmation, my need to know if those words were real or just a side effect of lust and adrenaline.
I need Kenna.
She’ll know what to say, how to navigate this pinwheel of broken thoughts.
Only problem is I left my phone in her room before the show.
I blow out a breath.
My eyes swing to the three keycards tossed onto the nightstand, all identified by a single letter drawn in Sharpie.
The C card calls to me, glowing and alive.
Courage. Clarification. Comfort.
Catastrophe.
Launching forward, I grab the one with a K.
Kenna’s room is two floors below mine, and the elevator ride is long and torturous. I chew on my thumbnail. Tap my foot. Stare at the glowing numbers until the one I’m looking for lights up and the doors pull apart.
My heart dashes along with my feet as I prepare myself for a night of ugly crying over the cheap Moscato we picked up at a local convenience store this afternoon.
Her door approaches, and I lift the card, hovering it over the sensor until I hear the click.
I rush inside. “Ken—”
Then I freeze. Slap a hand over my mouth.
My eyes bulge out of my head.
There, on the bed, is my best friend riding my brother like a female buckaroo at her last rodeo as she bounces so hard I’m half expecting a judge to pop out and hold up a scorecard.
The headboard smacks the wall.
Tag moans, latching onto her hips.
My brain turns to goo. My eyes melt out of their sockets.
This was the absolute worst day to have twenty-twenty vision.
As I’m backing away, I stumble over a pair of jeans and topple against a piece of furniture. Kenna stops moving, whips her head around. Tag launches into a sitting position.
I blanch.
She scrambles.
He throws something at me and shouts, “Annalise! Get the fuck out!”
I glance down as the item lands on my shoulder.
A pair of boxers.
Not helpful. Not at all.
“S-sorry!” I stammer, flicking Tag’s boxers away like they’re a biohazard.
“Don’t you knock?” Tag blares. “Goddamn!”
No. I don’t knock. This is the second time I’ve forgotten how to knock and walked into a porno. My cheeks are on fire as I continue backing away while mentally dialing my therapist. That’s when I remember—I left my phone in here.
Shit.
“One…one sec!” I hightail it over to the opposite side of the room.
“What the hell? Jesus, just go!” Tag howls, yanking the covers up over his body while Kenna is nothing but a blanket-born lump molded into the bedspread.
“Need my phone!” Holding a hand to the side of my face to block the evidence, I snatch my phone off the table, then sprint back toward the exit, tripping twice.
Tag’s curse sees me out the door as I slam it shut behind me.
Finally. Freedom.
I’m in a horror-drenched daze as I zombie back to my room, hardly remembering the elevator ride up. That was unexpected. Tag and Kenna. Kenna and Tag.
She was completely disgusted by the idea just a few hours ago.
Now she’s—
I halt in place when I spot a familiar figure sitting in front of my room, his back against the door. Chase looks up as I stall a few feet away, my air escaping in a stunned breath.
Swallowing, I pin my lip between my teeth, taking in his sagged shoulders, chalky face, and mess of hair in full disarray.
The last few minutes dissipate, different memories replacing the psychiatry-inducing comedy sketch I just walked out of.
“Chase,” I whisper.
Slowly, defeatedly, he stands. “Hey.”
“What are you doing here?”
One shoulder pops up. “It’s midnight.”
My throat stings. I step closer, lessening the gap between us, reliving the storage closet moment on repeat with every inch toward him. “We don’t have to talk tonight. I know things are kind of…raw.”
His hands twitch at his sides like he’s desperate to reach for me. “That’s why we need to talk. I can’t wake up tomorrow morning without you beside me. Not after that.”
“I just—”
“Please,” he says.
My walls dissolve, so easily, so effortless. All it takes is a look in his eyes or a crack in his voice to strip me bare, and my self-preservation falls by the wayside. I nod. “Yeah. Okay,” I breathe out. “Come in.”
We shuffle into my room, the door clicking shut behind us. Not a second later, I’m in his arms. Smashed against his chest, his hands in my hair, his body warm and hard and safe.
“I’m sorry.” He kisses the top of my head, lips lingering as he inhales my scent. “So sorry.”
Cautiously, I wrap my arms around his middle and press my cheek to his swiftly beating heart. “You don’t need to apologize.”
“I do. You deserved more. Better than that,” he says, his breath tickling my baby hairs. “We deserved better.”
I shake my head against him. “I don’t need shooting stars and serenades, Chase.
I just need you. You taught me not to shut down when things get messy…
now I need you to do the same.” I lift my head and stare up at him through glazed eyes.
“I don’t care if our first time was on a dirty amp or a bed of roses.
That doesn’t matter. What matters is what comes after. Every moment that follows.”
He wavers, his face in creases. Then he untangles himself from my arms. “I just…I don’t want to be like him.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Alex,” he says, gritting out the name. “I can’t be like him. If I hurt you, it’s over. I’m done. I’ll never fucking forgive myself.”
My pulse revs, unease coursing through my veins. “Why would you think that?”
“Because something’s fucking wrong.” He jabs a finger to his temple. “With me. With my goddamn head. I’m losing control. I don’t recognize myself anymore. There’s this thing inside of me, like a fucking parasite. It’s loud. It’s dangerous. It’s breaking me the fuck apart.”
I gape at him, wide-eyed, my heart fracturing. “Chase, no…” Reaching for him, I take his hand, linking our fingers together. “They’re just migraines. The music, the noise—it’s making it worse. But you’re okay. You are. When we get home, you can see your doctor again, get stronger meds. You can—”
“I meant every word I said.” He stares down at the floor, jaw tight, his palm squeezing mine. “I meant it, Annie. I love you. I shouldn’t have said it like that, in the heat of the moment, but God help me, I’ve never meant anything more.”
A gasp falls out of me.
Tendrils of beautiful disbelief.
My eyes water as I take a step toward him. I wait for him to look at me before whispering, “I love you too.”
His eyes shimmer with incredulity.
God, his eyes—the true source of his power. And it’s not in the glints of gold or the unique amber swirl. It’s deeper. He looks at me in a way that makes it so easy to fall in love.
I was helpless the moment our gazes locked in that rearview mirror.
“I love you,” I repeat, breathless, soaked in relief like a weight’s been lifted.
I take his hand again. “You’ve always seen me, from day one.
When no one else listened, you heard me.
When I doubted myself, you fought for me.
You carried my dreams when they were too heavy for me to hold.
You were there, even when I gave my heart to someone else.
You stayed. And you believed in me anyway. ”
His breath shudders. His fingers tighten around mine like he’s afraid if he lets go, the moment will evaporate.
Tears spill down my cheeks as I press closer. “You were my safe place before I even realized I needed one. You always have been.” I take his face between my hands, lower his forehead to mine. “That’s the man you are. Don’t question that. Don’t ever doubt that.”
Exhaling a long breath, his lashes flutter, his arms circling around me. “I’m a fucking mess,” he rasps, burying his face in the curve of my neck. “But I love you. It’s the only thing I’m sure of.”
His mouth brushes my throat, a trembling exhale skating over my skin.
He hugs me tight.
Careful. Adoring.
No frantic hands, no desperate grabbing. Just him, holding me like I’m something breakable.
I braid my fingers through his hair and tilt my head back, inviting him closer. A soft sound escapes when his lips find mine, a slow, aching pull that makes my knees buckle.
He lifts me up and carries me to the bed, crawling over me, his body a shield.
This time, it’s not about lust.
It’s about everything we can still have and everything we’re scared to lose.
His mouth drags up my neck, open and hungry, but his hands stay clenched at my waist like he’s fighting himself. Holding back with barely-there restraint.
I slide my hands up his chest, feeling the hammering pulse beneath his wall of muscle, and pull him down to me.
A broken sound of surrender rumbles out of him as his mouth crashes into mine.
His body presses me into the mattress, solid and sure, his touch fierce but aching. His fingers sink into my hair, pushing it back, memorizing every thread.
I tug at his shirt, yanking it over his head, his muscles tight like a bowstring about to snap. My clothes follow, fabric tossed beside the bed in a cloud of black.
Gasping against his lips, I scrape my nails down his bare back, spurring him on.
His hips grind between my legs, all that tension coiled tight and spilling over.
Yet even in the urgency, there’s something devastatingly careful in the way he handles me, like he’s terrified of breaking the one thing he’s desperate to keep.
When he rolls on a condom and pushes inside me, it’s with a ragged groan against my lips, his hands framing my face, forcing my eyes to stay on his.
“Stay with me,” he grits out.
I cradle his face between my palms, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between us. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His mouth moves down my jaw, over my collarbone, teeth nipping a path. He thrusts into me, hard and deep, a full-body claim that punches the air from my lungs.
His free hand palms my hip, then my waist, tracing every curve, learning me by touch alone—rough, reverent, his.
Our bodies find a beautiful rhythm, every thrust a silent vow he doesn’t know how to speak aloud.
He drives into me again, and again, grinding deep, dragging broken sounds from my lips that only make him hold me tighter.
“Annie,” he breathes out, a prayer and a curse all at once. His forehead drops to mine, sweat-laced skin sliding together.
“I’m with you.”
The friction builds, every grind of his hips unraveling me. My back arches off the bed, my fingers clawing at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, needing more, needing everything.
Pressure coils in my core, sharp and hot, the pleasure blurring into something bigger. Something I can’t contain. His name rips from my throat as I fall apart beneath him, my body clenching and shuddering, taking him with me.
A cry breaks loose from my chest, and he catches it with his mouth, swallowing the sound, kissing me, absorbing every shattered piece.
When he comes, it’s not quiet. It’s a guttural, broken roar ripped from his throat, as if loving me and leaving me are the same violent thing.
I hold him through it, our bodies locked, our hearts pounding together.
And when he finally collapses on top of me, dropping his cheek to my chest, I thread my fingers through his hair and part my lips with the one thing I know will reach him.
Music.
“I Only Want To Be With You.”