Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The bass thrummed through Chase's chest, vibrating against his costume as Jewel's hand slipped from his, their bodies separating from the dance floor's sweaty embrace. Barn lights glinted off her short police costume dress, casting soft shadows across her flushed cheeks.
"Water or something stronger?" he asked, catching her eye.
Jewel leaned against the makeshift bar, wood planks rough beneath her elbow. Her fingers traced the condensation on a nearby glass. "Vodka soda. Maybe two," she said with a rare mischievous grin. "I've literally had maybe five drinks in the entire past year. But tonight?" Her shoulders relaxed, tension melting. "Tonight feels different."
Chase watched her transformation, noting how her usual guardedness softened. He knew exactly why; Destini was moving in next weekend, a permanent marker of stability she'd craved for months.
"Big week coming up," he murmured, signaling the bartender.
"Huge," Jewel agreed. Her eyes sparkled with something between excitement and nervous anticipation. Chase recognized that look—the careful hope of someone who'd learned not to expect too much but was allowing herself to hope anyway.
"I can't believe she's finally coming home—and willingly! She's not kicking and screaming about it anymore." She chuckled.
The bartender slid two clear drinks across the weathered wooden surface along with a beer for him. Jewel took a deliberate sip, her hand slightly trembling—just enough that Chase noticed, but not enough to draw attention.
One moment of vulnerability. One moment of pure, unguarded possibility that triggered his protective instincts of her.
Chase lifted his beer, the amber liquid catching the soft barn lighting. "To coming home, finally where we all belong." His voice was a mixture of promise and quiet conviction.
Her eyes searched his, darting back and forth, reading something deeper than just the words. The unspoken history between them—years of waiting, struggling, supporting each other through impossible odds—hummed in that single moment.
Before she could respond, Hunter's signal caught Chase's peripheral vision. A quick hand gesture, a nod toward the stage where the band's rhythm shifted between songs.
"I've got to go play the drums for the wedding," Chase told her, his tone shifting to practical.
Jewel's face transformed, a brilliant light erupting across her features. "They finally asked you to play?" The question burst from her, equal parts surprise and pure, unadulterated joy.
Heat crept up his neck, a sudden flush of embarrassment and unexpected vulnerability. He grumbled, "Yeah," the single word caught between pride and self-consciousness. A soft, hidden part of him relaxed and unwound to get his hands on an instrument again. It was a piece of himself he'd thought he'd put aside years ago.
Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of understanding and triumph. "About damn time," she said, the words landing like a perfect punch—direct, celebratory, absolutely certain that he would do great on stage and proud of him at the same time.
Chase understood what she meant. It wasn't only about the drums. It was about everything—finding redemption, regaining the pieces of himself he had given up, and proving himself to all those who doubted him. His mom's words echoed in his mind though, reminding him to do things for himself and not for others.
The band's rhythm pulsed behind him, a heartbeat of possibility. And for the first time in years, Chase felt something he'd almost forgotten—hope, rising slow and steady, like a tide finally turning in his favor.
"Wait for me?"
She nodded, her eyes flashing with hidden emotions that she still refused to admit. He'd wait, though. He'd waited this long, and he wouldn't give up now.
He swallowed his beer hard, the bitter liquid catching in his throat as he made his way to the stage. Each step felt like reclaiming something stolen—muscle memory flooding back, hands remembering the rhythm that once defined him before life got complicated.
The drums waited, familiar and unchanged.
Hunter caught his eye, a silent nod of understanding. They'd been here before, back in high school, before Chase dropped out of the band to double up on classes and Hunter had graduated. Before he'd fallen for Jewel, before the accident, before prison.
His fingers brushed the drumstick as Hunter handed them over and hopped down from the stage. He sat on the stool, and suddenly he was seventeen again. Potential unlimited. Dreams intact.
But he wasn't seventeen anymore. Each movement was deliberate now, carefully calculated to make those dreams a reality. The biggest dream of all? Jewel and Destini as an actual family.
The first beat hit like a declaration. His other brothers moved around him on stage, creating a musical landscape that felt like home. They'd done this countless times in this old barn growing up, practicing playing for church. This wasn't just playing, though. It was redemption.
When the wedding ceremony began, the music shifted to something softer. Chase watched the girls dance down the makeshift barn aisle, his rhythm steady, supporting their movement with each beat.
His eyes naturally found Jewel. She stood out in a crowd, and he knew he'd find her every time.
When Taylor joined Hunter on stage, the vows began, and the music fell silent. He sat at the drum set, staring at Jewel instead of the happy couple.
Something passed between them in that moment—a silent promise, electric and unspoken. Jewel's eyes widened, pupils dilating with an emotion he couldn't quite read. Did she still fear a relationship? Or was that anticipation or longing?
When the bride and groom sealed their vows with a kiss, the crowd cheered. He and his brothers started another song, and she turned, disappearing outside.
On autopilot, he played, some of his joy disappearing with her. His protective instincts were too high tonight, and he wanted to watch her. He couldn't protect her if he couldn't see her.
But his set wasn't done. Frustration built in his chest, a tight knot of wanting to follow her but being anchored to his responsibility. The second band would switch with them soon. He watched Hunter and Taylor dance and then talk with their parents. The way his mom's face lit up with excitement, the way she hugged them both… he wanted that. He pictured Jewel and he getting married, and his parents' faces beaming at them. Making his mom cry happy tears instead of the tears she wore in the courtroom.
When the second band relieved him, he grabbed two waters from the bar, having already drank his personal one beer limit, and went outside.
The barn's soft ambient light gave way to the cooler, darker exterior. Strings of industrial work lights hung between posts, casting a warm amber glow over the outdoor space. Oversized Jenga towers rose like precarious wooden sculptures. Lawn bowling lanes and cornhole boards stretched between hay bales, groups laughing and competing.
Burn barrels flickered, casting dancing shadows. People clustered around the fires, some wrapped in blankets against the evening's chill. The wedding's intimate energy spilled outside, transforming the barn's exterior into an extension of the celebration.
His stomach clenched, anxiety growing with every step he took without seeing her.
His scanning gaze landed on the Jenga table. There she was—radiant, animated, leaning forward with that concentration that made her eyebrows furrow slightly. Jewel's hand hovered over a wooden block, calculating her next move as Tasha talked with Nick beside her.
Goldie saw him step near, and he waited for Jewel's turn to end.
"So the judge is retiring," Goldie said, her professional tone cutting through the ambient noise. "We'll have to resubmit your licensing request. But honestly? I feel good about this. The new judge is supposed to work way faster."
Chase nodded, absorbing the information. Another bureaucratic hurdle. Another waiting game.
"I need the license so I can take Destini to school events."
"That'll help strengthen our case," Goldie said as she stepped up to take her turn. Jewel glanced at him but stepped aside, across from him to stand beside Nick and Parker.
Tasha slid into the space beside him, her eyes knowing. "When are you going to tell her?" The question was soft, meant only for him.
He sighed, watching Jewel laugh at something Nick was saying across the Jenga table. "Tell her what?"
"That you love her." Tasha's directness was both comforting and terrifying.
His throat felt tight. "What if she doesn't?—"
"Chase." Tasha's hand touched his arm. "You've been through hell. You've rebuilt yourself. Trust the process. Sometimes taking the chance is more important than guaranteeing the outcome."
The Jenga tower wobbled precariously.
Just like his heart.
A sudden weight landed on his shoulder—heavy, unexpected. Chase's muscles coiled, fists instinctively curling as he spun, one hand raising as the other pushed Tasha behind him. Prison reflexes never truly fade, no matter what anyone says.
But the hand raised in surrender was familiar and welcome. Shock had him dropping his fist, his spine straightening.
"Raultazar?" Chase's shock melted into pure joy. He yanked his old friend into a full bear hug, back slapping loud enough to make several heads turn. "Raultazar the Brave, well met!"
"My liege, I've finally found you at last."
Chase barked a laugh, drawing comfort from this man once more. "Fuck, it's good to see you."
"Motherfucker!" Raul laughed, returning the embrace with equal force. "Don't start that nerdy shit so fast. Didn't think I'd remember it after so many years."
They'd spent countless hours in prison playing Dungeons & Dragons, creating entire worlds between concrete walls. Raul had been more than just a cellmate—he'd been a lifeline during Chase's darkest moments.
Their reunion was a burst of pure, unrestrained happiness, loud and genuine, the kind of moment that made the past feel distant.
He turned, arm around Raul's shoulders, ready to introduce him to Jewel.
A slurred voice cut through their celebration and excitement. "I guess this is another moron from prison. They're forming a herd. Quick, let's thin them out."
And just like that, the moment shattered. Chase and Raul both turned together, their stances shifting automatically when the boisterous group behind them burst into laughter.
Andre stood there, surrounded by his crew, drunk, probably high, and definitely looking for trouble. His eyes were fixed on them, malice dripping from every syllable.
Chase's muscles tensed, a familiar tightness spreading across his shoulders. The warmth of reunion evaporated, replaced by a cold calculation he'd learned behind bars. Raul rolled his shoulders, preparing already.
"What do you want, Andre?"
The question hung in the air, flat and controlled. Chase positioned himself subtly, blocking the line between Andre's crew and the Jenga players behind him—Jewel, Nick, Parker, Goldie, Tasha. Family he needed to protect.
Andre shrugged, a loose, liquor-fueled movement. "Just making observations," he drawled, his words slurring together like wet cement. "This party's nothing but low-life scum, not even fit to lick my boots."
Raul stepped forward, muscles coiling. Chase's hand shot out, gripping Raul's arm. Their eyes met—a silent conversation born of shared survival. Not here. Not now.
"If you're speaking about yourself, I'd have to agree with ya there," Chase said.
Andre's hands fisted. "You think you're all that, don't you? New house, new girl, new horse. Prancing around town like you own the place when you're nothing but a filthy convict."
Chase's hands fisted at his sides as Jewel gasped behind him. He desperately hoped Parker or Nick would keep her back. "It's time for you to fucking leave. I may not own the town, but this is my family's land, and you're not welcome."
His voice was low, measured. But underneath ran a current of steel—the kind of controlled tension that said he was capable of violence, but choosing restraint. For now.
Andre's friends shifted, sensing the potential energy crackling between them. Drunk bravado met prison-tempered resolve.
The Jenga tower trembled, forgotten, in the background.
Andre's lips curled into a sneer. "Leave? I'm not the convict here. I'm not the one that was dumb enough to get caught." His words dripped with practiced cruelty, a knife sliding between ribs. "A real man like me gets away with that accident, but a chump takes the rap for it. 'Course, still got a fucking broken arm from it, but, hey, I get a monthly disability payment for not being able to work. See? That's how you play the game, boys."
Something shifted in the air. His words struck like a tuning fork. His peripheral vision blurred, the sounds of the party fading until only Andre's voice remained.
Chase went absolutely still. Not the frozen stillness of fear, but the predatory stillness of a wolf calculating its next move. His hands, relaxed at his sides, didn't even twitch.
He licked his lips as his stomach twisted. "What the fuck does that mean?"
The question hung between them. Chase's eyes locked onto Andre, every muscle coiled and waiting, not with anger but with something colder, something reminiscent of prison, something that suggested Andre had just stepped into a space he didn't understand.
Beside him, he could sense Raul's tension. The Jenga players had gone silent, but Chase's entire world had narrowed to this moment.
Andre's bravado seemed to waver for a split second—a micro-expression of fear flickering across his face before the alcohol-fueled courage rushed back.
"You're such a dumbass. Do you know how hard it was to carry your sorry ass to the truck? Dad was furious to see you there again, drinking and smoking all his shit. Hit you over the head with a beer bottle, leaving me to clean up the fucking mess."
That night came rushing back to him, and he blinked slowly. "And you just sent me on my way with a head injury?"
Andre snorted and jerked his chin at Chase. "Can you believe this guy? Still doesn't realize I was driving that night," he blurted, stepping closer and bowing up. "See? Dumbass walking, everyone. Well, except for that night. I was the smart one who walked away with just a broken arm. You took the fall, and I walked away scot-free."