Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
Chip peered across the cab’s backseat to Ally, now turned to her window to conceal the doubt he’d already witnessed dragging at her face. And even then, her frazzled inner state flowed through the stiffness in her drawn shoulders and her arms wrapped tight around her waist.
The outside streetlights flickered blue and gold on her skin, skin that puffed under her eyes while stray makeup ran down her cheeks. She was a mess, but none of that had anything to do with how she looked.
He’d asked too much.
Bringing her to Boston had been a mistake. His fault lay in telling her what he’d give up to have her in his life. Then again, all those weeks ago, she’d voiced a wish for love and escape. And yet, he’d never seen anyone so bereft at getting what they wanted.
A frown pulled at his brow, and he reached out to tug her hand into his. Her gaze momentarily hit his before she squeezed her eyes shut in a pained grimace, as though his touch hurt her more than her solo window gazing did.
What a fragile and rare moment. Rare because Ally Egan seemed to want silence. Fragile because, well, he could feel her pulling away and didn’t know exactly why.
He worked through the possibilities. That she was less concerned about change, more restless about what she’d seen so far. That she outright hated Boston. Or worse, she figured he was selfish to ask her to stay when she was so new to this wider world.
Not much had ever confused him, but now he couldn’t get a single thought of his in order.
Not so worldly or smart after all, huh?
The cab pulled up to his dad’s house, a house that now, more than ever, didn’t feel like home. His connection with his dad yet another relationship not working.
And even as he paid the driver, Ally pushed her door open, her steps too quick to take her up the stairs to the townhouse’s large and glossy burgundy door. But without a key, she had to wait for him.
He rushed after her, her hands still around her waist in a seeming quest for self-comfort, when all he wanted was to be the one giving her that.
A push of the front door revealed little more than darkness inside, Kelly already asleep and his dad working late, though a muted blue light filled the stairwell.
Ally’s rigid steps led the way, and he lifted a hand to touch her shoulder, only for second thoughts to pull him short. Despite his desire to have her speak, he got the distinct feeling there wasn’t much to say. That or anything said would not be productive.
Not now. Not tonight.
Not when emotions ran so high.
He’d gleaned a little on what had happened at the party from Janice. That someone had spoken unkindly to Ally. That she’d run away to the bathroom ladened with drinks.
But he’d witnessed the hurtful comments directed at her from his dad too. Witnessed her wounded expression and confidence crumble in the wake.
Why do they care so much about what she does?
Why does she?
She paused at the stair’s landing and merely stared at the white-painted door belonging to his bedroom. A bedroom they’d shared up until now.
But she doesn’t what to share tonight.
That alarming thought had him pausing mid-stride, his fingers curling into the banister.
Though he wanted to move on from the landing, he battled the ache of admitting his dreams of loving this woman quickly unraveled.
“Don’t run.” His plea cut sharp against the silence. “Please.”
That last word came as a rough whisper that had her face turning to him in a pale and frozen expression. He abandoned all pride and strode toward her, only for her to jolt away again.
Inspecting her some more, he shook his head and once again drew nothing but blanks. “What did I do?”
She blinked at his question, and the tension over her face slowly collapsed, her chin the next to move on a small tremble. “You were too perfect.”
Her husky delivery, the way her glossy focus stayed on him, her cheeks hollow and the skin around her eyes still red. What should have been a compliment, landed as a heavy blow square in his gut, his entire life refocused as one monumental failure.
He’d been taught to maintain an air of perfection, to do and be his utmost best. But here he stood, that perfection turned against him.
The reason the woman he loved would not love him back.
And still, he didn’t understand.
She shifted toward him, and the tremble of her lip increased until the whole dam broke, and tears rushed down her cheeks, harder than ever. Even as she cried, she stepped forward until she held her palms to his face. “You were too perfect, Chip.”
The pain low in his ribcage morphed into a shuddering sickness. One he sought to quell with something far more tangible. Someone who could put things right. Her.
So he pulled her in, and as if they drew to the same conclusion, her lips simultaneously crashed into his.
If a kiss could make everything right, then this one would.
She raised against him, and he picked her up, following the rush to have her in his bedroom. Though this wasn’t how he’d expected the night to end, his heart thundered a hopeful beat, her muffled moans lingering long after they collapsed to the bed.
She pulled at his shirt, and he slid her underwear free from beneath her dress, her nails digging into his back as he found relief in burying himself deep within her again.
Emotional and confused. With each desperate thrust, he sought to reassure her. To demand she stay and allow him to overshadow any doubts.
She was his. All his.
And he would not let her go.
Maintaining this relationship wouldn’t be easy. At least, not at first. But they were made to be together and would be each other’s strength. They would get through this. They would be okay.
Hours later, Ally awoke to the early dawn’s pale light slipping through the blue-gray curtains, the bisque ceiling illuminated at the top. The soothing weight of Chip’s arm draped over her from behind, pressing her bare waist while she closed her eyes and drew a slow breath, savoring the feel. Not just his touch, but the soft lap of his sleep-laden breath on her neck, his warmth and support.
No matter how long she stayed here, the moment would pass too quickly, so she forced herself to slip from his hold and collect last night’s discarded dress, now a puddle of blue silk on the floor.
She ferried the dress to her suitcase tucked inside a closet, then pulled out one of her signature floral sundresses to wear now. Next, she went to the ensuite, her heart racing as she brushed her hair and teeth before gathering her few belongings and taking those also to her suitcase.
Not wanting to wake Chip, she took her time snapping the two locks shut, continuing to move quietly and quickly on her short walk to the bedroom door. Only then did she stop and glance at him one last time and only for a second—where he slept with the soft lines of his back to her, his arm outstretched, as though she still lay within his hold.
The heat behind her eyes forced her to turn away. She didn’t want to cry. Didn’t want him to wake and stop this. Even without all that, her journey down the stairs wasn’t easy. Not with her heavy suitcase reluctant to descend each damn step. Not with each step taking her farther away from everything she’d ever wanted.
But everything I’ve ever wanted isn’t for me.
It took maturity to admit that. And she’d wanted maturity too.
She followed the light breaking from the windows bracketing the front door up ahead, a beacon to her future, whatever that would be. The hour’s devastating stillness only added to the roiling in her tummy, as though even this city slept through her escape.
“So, you’re leaving.”
She startled at William Overton’s weighty statement.
If the city slept, he certainly didn’t!
Chip’s dad sat to her right, within the living room’s archway and on one of two brown leather armchairs. He nursed a round-bottomed glass of high-priced whiskey, something she’d learned he preferred, as well as his tendency to grip her in his unyielding stare. As he did now, halting her next steps away from the stairs.
Still, she womaned-up and nodded all the same.
He drew a sharp breath, and his expression relaxed some before he moved his glass to a small wooden table beside him. “Whatever you think of me, I only ever wanted my son to do well.”
Still lost for words, she blinked, his words dispersing through her mind like water to dry soil. And again, his stare held while he added, “My job isn’t to be nice to him, Ally. I’m not his friend. I’m his father.”
She thought about where she’d been just hours ago. At the Encode gala. All because of Chip’s success so far. Top grades. Top college degree. Top opportunities. All because his father’s we’re-not-friends approach had succeeded in its own right.
Her lips pressed into a frown, and she dared to step away from the stairs only stopping when she had Bill right before her. “Chip’s not a kid anymore. Maybe it’s time to try being nice to him?”
Chip’s dad gave no reply. He barely acknowledged she’d spoken, save for the slight softening of tension around his eyes. That softening was enough to prove that he had heard her, and enough for her to resume her original plan.
“Just do me a favor”—she turned and grabbed her waiting suitcase and then marched for the front door—“when Chip wakes, tell him I’ve gone for some solo sightseeing and won’t be back for hours.”
Hand poised on the door handle and ready to pull, she glanced over to his dad’s uncharacteristically slack expression. He saw where she went with this, and yet, he hadn’t expected she’d sacrifice what she wanted in order to help Chip succeed.
Just to make sure her plan wouldn’t fail, she added one last instruction. “Don’t tell him I’ve left until after his presentation.”