TWENTY-THREE
CHASE
DYLAN: All in favor of a rescue, Chase, but am I getting my truck back today?
JAKE: Dare I ask?
DYLAN: Chase went to rescue Serena last night. Since my truck is still missing, I’m guessing it was successful!
JAKE: Harper is shouting at me to get more details.
DYLAN: I’m not the brother who likes to use eggplant emojis but…
JAKE: LOL. Gotcha. Saw that coming!
I wake to soft dawn light and Serena asleep beside me. She has one arm curled under her cheek, lips parted slightly, her blonde hair a halo on my pillow. She looks like she belongs. Right here. Like this bed, this room, this morning was all made for her. My chest aches with something I can’t name. I want to reach for her. Kiss her. Pull her closer to me. Hear her soft moans. But we only fell into an exhausted, satisfied sleep a few hours ago. So instead, I slip quietly out of bed and head for the bathroom.
It’s brighter in here, the sun’s rays hitting the gleam of white tiles. I splash water on my face, then lean over the sink, gripping the edge of the counter as I meet my reflection. My jaw is rough with stubble, my head too. I need a shave. But it’s the smile tugging at my lips I focus on. Last night didn’t feel like crossing a line. It felt like coming home. Like this was always waiting beneath the surface of our friendship, buried under years of “just friends” and telling myself I wasn’t the one who could give her happy-ever-after.
Except, in the morning light, that concern is still there. Still a weight I carry. I can’t ignore the fact that I know, deep down, that Serena dreams of a white picket fence and the chaos of toys in the yard. Love. Commitment. A forever. I want to be that man for her. I want it deep in my soul. And it isn’t that I’m not ready. It’s that I’m terrified I never will be. The sports psychologist was right—my early childhood, the abandonment, the chaos—it’s left wounds. My mom walked out on me before I was old enough to form memories of her. My dad didn’t even stick around for the birth. How can I trust that I won’t do the same?
Whatever was in my biological parents—whatever made them walk away or fuck up so hard—is now buried in me, too. That is the weight I carry. The one I try to ignore every day. But maybe it’s time to stop pretending I don’t feel that crack running through me. Maybe it’s time to try to heal. For Serena, and for what this could be between us if I can get out of my own way. Because one thing I know for sure—I will not be the man who keeps her from what she deserves. Which means either I find a way to be that man or I walk away. Neither seems possible right now.
I shove the thought aside and head downstairs. The kitchen is quiet. I move through it on autopilot—grabbing the coffee, filling the machine, waiting for the hiss and drip of caffeine. When it’s ready, I carry my mug to the back doors and slide them open, stepping barefoot onto the porch that overlooks the lake. Mist hovers over the water and there’s a wintry bite to the air. Birds call out from the trees, and in the distance, I hear a horse whicker. Dylan and Izzy will already be halfway through the morning feed by now. But on my porch, there is only stillness.
I breathe in fresh air that smells of water and pine needles until movement in the doorway makes me turn. The sight of Serena hits me like a punch to the chest. I’m dragged back to our first fake date when I’d stood in this spot and Serena in hers, me in a tux, her in a gold dress. She took my breath away that night, but she’s something else now with her bare feet and her hair damp from the shower, with one of my old tees slipping off her shoulder and skimming the tops of those long legs.
My mouth goes dry. My dick stirs. All the doubts—the fears—they vanish in an instant, swept away by the pulse of want that slams through me. I’ve never wanted to fuck someone as much as I want to fuck Serena. And having her last night has only made that pull stronger. Serena smiles, but there’s uncertainty in those sky-blue eyes. She’s waiting to see what I say and do. Waiting to see if I regret last night.
I cross the space between us in two strides, slide one hand around her waist, and pull her into my chest. Her hands come up to my shoulders, tentative at first, then sure. She tilts her head as I dip down to kiss her. It’s soft and lingering, the taste of mint on her tongue. She melts into me, and just like that, everything else fades away. When we pull apart, I make her a coffee, adding the caramel syrup I keep in my kitchen just for her, and we stand on the porch, her nestled against my chest, my arms wrapped around her from behind. The mist is disappearing, leaving water so still it looks like a mirror reflecting the sky.
“Can I ask you something?” I murmur, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.
“Sure.”
“Will you help me find my mom?” I ask.
Her blue eyes search mine. “Of course. You’re sure you want to?”
“I think it’s less about want and more about need,” I admit, the words rough in my throat. “I can’t keep living like a piece of me is missing. I’ve been putting it off because I think a big part of me is scared I won’t get the right answers to why she did what she did, but I’m starting to think any answer is better than no answer. I need to know what she did isn’t innate. Isn’t something she’s passed on to me.”
“We can find a private investigator today,” she says without hesitation.
I tighten my hold on her, forcing out a low “Thanks.”
Her hand slides over my chest, warm and steady. “For what it’s worth, you’re nothing like your parents, Chase. You’ve always been there for me. Without hesitation. You even climb up fire escapes. Those aren’t the actions of a man who could ever do what your parents did to you. But whatever you find, I’m here. Always.”
I don’t know if she’s right about who I am and what I’m capable of or not, but I’m glad I told her. Glad she’s here. We fall silent, and I’m grateful Serena doesn’t push for reasons or timelines. She just lets me be. Like she always has. She understands me completely.
Serena rests her head against my chest again. “It’s so beautiful here.”
“Not as beautiful as you,” I murmur into her hair.
She laughs, that breathy sound that always hits me square in the chest.
“There’s the cheesy Chase I know.”
I chuckle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She twists in my arms so she’s looking at me, smile teasing. “It means, are we going to talk about what happened last night?”
“You’re going to have to be more specific.” I smile wickedly, letting the words linger, enjoying the flush that spreads over her cheeks, reminding us both of the same request I made last night and what it led to.
“Chase, that’s exactly what I mean. You’re like this golden retriever man. Always happy, easy-going. The first one to make a joke. You’re incredibly sweet. You remember things most people forget. But”—her smile widens—“there was nothing golden retriever about what we did last night. You were… I mean—” Her cheeks flush deeper. “You were pretty commanding.”
I raise my brows. “I don’t know whether to take it as a compliment or focus on the fact that you just likened me to Buck.”
She laughs again. “Don’t get me wrong, it was very hot. It just wasn’t what I imagined you’d be like.”
I pull her closer, my lips brushing her neck, loving the way she shivers against me. “And just how long have you been imagining what I’d be like to fuck?”
“Too long,” she whispers, pressing her lips to mine.
Suddenly, I’m the one who feels ruined. I don’t know what will happen next. For too long, I let the shadow of my past tell me I couldn’t be enough for someone. I don’t know if I can ever be the man Serena deserves. But as she presses her body to mine, I know that I want to try.
The light rap of knuckles on my front door pulls us apart. Cold rushes in where there was warmth as Serena and I both draw back. The hesitance is back in her eyes. If she thinks for a single second I give a damn who knows about us, she’s wrong. I slide my fingers through hers and we walk to the door together.
“What if it’s Ryan?” she asks quietly.
I shake my head. “He’ll be sleeping off the whiskey and regret from last night.” Still, I move a fraction so my body is blocking Serena as I open the door, my face breaking into a smile at the sight of Mama on my doorstep, hair pinned back, her overalls dusted with flour, making me think she’s come to invite me for breakfast.
But one look at Mama’s face and my stomach drops. Instantly my pulse kicks hard and fast. Something’s wrong. “Is it Dylan? Izzy? The baby?” I ask, thoughts racing straight to the ranch and the horse accident that killed Dad, and I swear my heart stops beating in the second it takes Mama to reply.
“They’re fine. We’re all fine. It’s not that.”
I move back and she steps inside. Her eyes flick from me to Serena, and the barest hint of a smile touches her face. She sees it instantly—the line we crossed last night. Of course she does. But the moment passes, and we step into the kitchen. Serena makes coffee as Mama settles at the kitchen table, ushering me into a chair beside her and placing her hand on mine. I don’t miss the mist in her eyes and the way her hand is shaking a little. Pain is already cracking open my chest at the thought of her telling me she’s ill or some other bad news.
“Mama,” I say, voice urgent. “What is it?”
She takes a breath. “It’s your mom. I’m so sorry, Chase.” She pauses, twists her hands uncomfortably. “Leanna died last week. I got a call early this morning.”
Even as it seems like the world stills around me, it’s relief I feel first. Shameful and selfish relief that it’s not Dylan or Izzy or Jake or Harper. Not Mama. Not my family. And then a strange emptiness takes hold. I don’t know how to feel or what to do with this news.
“How did you find out?” I ask. It doesn’t feel like the right question, but it’s the first one I think of.
“Her landlord went through her things,” Mama says softly. “He found an old address book with the ranch number in it and called first thing. They think it was a heart attack.”
Her voice shakes, and I know this is hitting her too, even after all these years of silence between them.
“I’m sorry,” I say. Because I don’t know what else to say. Because even if Mama and Leanna haven’t spoken since the day she left me on Mama’s doorstep, that doesn’t mean they stopped being sisters. If anything happened to Dylan or Jake, I’d feel it like a death in my chest, even if we’d spent a lifetime apart.
“I’m sorry too,” Mama says, giving my hand a squeeze.
Only minutes ago, I stood on my porch and told Serena I was ready to find her. All these years of doing nothing. Only sending one letter earlier this year, a letter returned and now shoved in the back of a kitchen drawer. I wasted so much time wrestling with the fear of rejection and what she’d say. If I’d made the decision earlier, if I’d tried harder, I could’ve found her. I could’ve had answers. Instead, the clock’s run out. Now, it’s too late.
I draw away from Mama and place my head in my hands. Her death means there are no answers to find. It means I can’t tell her I forgive her. I can’t try to heal a wound I’ve spent far too long pretending isn’t there. It means any chance of lifting that weight I’ve been carrying is gone.
“Where was she living?” I ask, voice rough.
“A suburb outside Oklahoma City,” Mama says gently. “The landlord didn’t want to throw anything away. He said I could come down this week and collect her belongings. He said it’s not a lot. I thought I’d drive there and bring it all back, then we can go through it together if you’d like to.”
I close my eyes, fighting the hurt wedged like a rock in my throat. I try to conjure a memory of my biological mom. A sound, a scent, anything. But there’s nothing. Just a hollow dark gloom that makes me want to leap out of my chair and do something. Anything.
From behind me, Serena steps up, resting a hand on my shoulder. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. I lean into her touch for a moment, but shadows are coming for me, that gloom of my early childhood I don’t like to look at.
But something inside me whispers, Go.
“I’ll do it,” I say.
Mama is quiet for a moment. I feel her studying me. “Are you sure?”
“If I leave this morning, I can be back tomorrow and still make Thursday training and Friday night’s game against the Scorchers.”
“Would you like me to come with you?” Mama asks, taking my hand again, forcing me to lift my head and look at her.
I hesitate. Everything inside me feels tangled. I stare into Mama’s eyes. The eyes of the woman who raised me, who gave me more love than I knew how to hold. And then there’s Leanna. The woman who gave birth to me. Who was supposed to love me. Who left.
The guilt over how I feel for these two women is a knot in my chest. Of course, Mama sees this all in my face before I’ve had a chance to formulate the thoughts let alone the words I want to say.
“It’s OK if you want to go alone,” she says.
“Thank you for—” She cuts in, starting to protest, but I continue before she can stop me. “You’ve carried me my whole life, Mama. You took me in, and you loved me like I was yours when you didn’t have to. Everything I have and every good piece of me is because of you. So I will always be grateful, and I’m always going to say thank you.”
Her eyes glisten, though her mouth firms into that no-nonsense line I know so well. “No, you listen hard, Chase Sullivan, to what I’m going to say. The first is that I can see the guilt you’re carrying right now. And I want you to know, there is nothing you could ever do, say, or feel that would make me love you less. Leanna was your mother. And your feelings for her, or the fact she’s gone, don’t take anything away from what we have.”
My throat tightens. I swallow hard.
“The second,” she says, “is that I chose you, Chase. I love Dylan and Jake with all my heart. But they were born being loved by me. You were chosen. And loving you, raising you, it’s been one of the greatest privileges of my life.” Her voice cracks and tears shine in her eyes. “Please don’t ever forget that.”
We stand and I pull her into a hug, fierce and long, trying to give her all the words I can’t say.
“I’d better pack,” I murmur, moving to the door. “It’s a solid nine hours to Oklahoma City.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m throwing a bag into the back of the truck and getting another fierce hug from Mama.
“This is the address,” she says, pushing a piece of paper into my hands. “The landlord’s name is Kenny. I’ll call the funeral home and start making arrangements. And I’ll let Coach Allen know you need a few days off.”
“Make sure to tell him I’ll be ready for Friday.”
“I will,” Mama says, knowing me well enough not to argue.
I glance up at the house and Serena is standing in the doorway, the overnight bag she packed last night slung over her shoulder. She walks to the truck without a word and tosses her bag beside mine before hugging Mama and whispering something in her ear that I don’t catch.
Then she turns to me. “You don’t have to say a word,” she says softly, “but you shouldn’t do this alone.”
She climbs in beside me, a pillar of quiet strength I didn’t know I needed. My heart is heavy, and my mind is racing as we hit the highway. My mom is gone. I don’t know what I’ll find in Oklahoma, or if there’s anything to learn from her life in the things she’s left behind, but whatever it is, I won’t be facing it alone.