Chapter 49
Chapter Forty-Nine
The phone's vibration jolted Chase from a restless sleep, the screen casting a blue-white glow across his stubbled cheeks. Destini's name flashed urgently, her voice trembling when he answered.
"Dad, I need you to come get me," she whispered, a desperate edge cutting through her usual confidence. He could barely hear over the background noise, some music that shouldn't qualify blaring.
He sat up, muscles tensing. The master bedroom felt suddenly too small, charged with an unfamiliar electric worry. "From Kayla's? Where are you?"
"Bonfire out past Miller's field." A soft rustle, then her voice dropped. "It's bad. I just need to get out of here. Can you come get me? Please?"
Chase knew bad. He'd lived bad. The memories of his own teenage mistakes flickered like warning signals behind his eyes. "How bad?"
She hesitated. "The older kids brought beer and made a bonfire. Some of them are... not okay. I've got a bad feeling about this."
She tried to laugh at the reference, but it came across as forced and too high pitched. It triggered his internal file of danger, worry, and being uncomfortable.
His jaw clenched. The protective instinct that had burned for Destini since he'd first seen a picture of her surged through him. She might be young, but she wasn't na?ve. If she was calling him scared, something was seriously wrong.
"Past the Miller's? There's a barn that's falling down out there. That one?"
"Yeah, I'm hiding with Skye and Vi in a corner of the barn."
That she felt she needed to hide sent him flying into action and jerking on his jeans. Jewel was working overnight at the clinic, and he didn't even ask Destini if she'd called her mom.
"I'm coming," he said, already moving. "Stay exactly where you are. Don't move. Don't talk to anyone."
He dropped the phone as he put on his sneakers. He'd been where she was now, and he wasn't going to let her repeat his mistakes. "Stay on the line and tell me if anything happens. Are Skye and Violet alright?"
He put on his sweater as he raced down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, he paused, phone gripped tight in his hand. They were supposed to be at a soccer team sleepover.
"Yeah, we got away, so we're fine. The force is strong with us. We're like the Three Musketeers."
Hoorays heralded in the background, but they were faint as if whispered in fear. He didn't point out the mixing of the stories either, his stomach twisting in fear that something irreparable had happened to his daughter.
God, had this been how his parents had felt when he'd been arrested? He owed them a bigger apology.
"What are you doing at a bonfire?" he whispered into the phone, his voice a mix of frustration and concern.
Destini's voice came back, soft but defensive. "The football kids were making fun of the soccer kids and calling us goodie two shoes. Said they'd invited us just because they knew none of us would show up. Well, we showed up alright." Her tone shifted, becoming more hesitant. "But it's not like I expected. The boys are passing out more than just joints now, and the older teens brought out a keg."
Chase closed his eyes, a rush of memories flooding back—parties just like this, the slow spiral that had nearly destroyed his own life. He could almost smell the bonfire smoke, hear the reckless laughter of teenagers who thought they were invincible.
"You shouldn't be there," he said, more to himself than to her as he jogged to the barn. The protectiveness rose in him—part father, part cautionary tale. He'd walked this path before, and knew exactly how quickly things could go wrong.
"I know, Dad, and I'm sorry, I just—can we talk about this later?"
"Alright, take care of your friends. I gotta go. I'll text when I'm close or call you back. But call me if anything happens!"
She agreed, and they hung up as he put the bridle on Gladys. He gently led her through the barn to the driveway, then swung up onto her bare back before racing into the night. It was just a few blocks down the hill to Parker's. He slowed as he came to the curve and called Raul, but there was no answer.
He raced through the deserted streets, everyone asleep this time of night in this quiet small town. He pulled up at Parker's and stopped Gladys at the back yard. He opened the gate and led Gladys through, dropping her bridle so she could roam the fenced in little back yard while he called Raul again.
Still no answer, so he texted and knocked on Raul's window.
Damn it, he didn't have time for this. He closed the gate behind him and stepped into the driveway to Raul's car. Sweat dripped down his neck. This was a bad idea, but Destini could get hurt or worse.
His hand was already reaching for the car keys, a quiet determination settling over him like armor. They lay where Raul always left them, in the door pocket. He started up the little beater car and turned on the lights.
Shit, there was only one headlight. Parker's sports car was in the garage, and he wouldn't dare touch his brother's precious baby without permission and a valid license. Raul's was his only option.
No matter. He had to get to Destini. He backed up and turned out of town.
The car's engine revved, gravel crunching beneath the tires as Chase tore down the dark country road. Each mile felt like a race against potential disaster, memories of his own teenage mistakes flickering like warning lights in his mind.
Red and blue lights suddenly erupted behind him, a siren piercing the night's quiet. Chase's stomach dropped.
No, no, no. This couldn't be happening.
He gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, and pulled over. The familiar feeling of dread settled in his chest—a cocktail of resentment, shame, and complicated history. In the rearview mirror, the patrol car approached, its spotlight cutting through the darkness.
Chase rolled down the window, forcing himself to look up as the officer shifted, the patrol headlights hitting the officer's face. Shock made him grip the steering wheel tighter as he met Gunner's gaze.
The disappointment and confusion in his brother's eyes was immediate, a look that felt like a punch to the gut. Years of unspoken tension hung between them.
"What are you doing?" Gunner's voice was sharp, immediate. "Did you get your license reinstated?"
The question hung in the air, loaded with implications. Chase felt every muscle in his body tense, years of past mistakes pressing down on him like a physical weight. One simple question—and a world of complicated history waiting to unpack itself.
Chase shook his head, a quick, defensive movement. Gunner crossed his arms, blocking the patrol car's headlights that cast long shadows between them.
"Why are you driving so fast?"
"Emergency," Chase growled.
Gunner's eyes narrowed. "In this part of the county? Try again."
"I'm telling the truth," Chase said, his teeth clenched.
"If it's an emergency, why didn't you call me?" Gunner's voice carried that familiar blend of frustration and concern—the same tone Chase had heard a thousand times growing up.
The words tumbled out before Chase could stop them. "Last time I asked you for a lift somewhere, you said no..." The memory of that night crashed over him—the night everything changed. The accident. The disappointment. The aftermath.
Gunner's voice caught, raw and uneven. "The night of the accident," he added, each word weighted with years of unresolved tension.
Chase nodded.
The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken history. Chase could feel Gunner studying him, could sense the complicated mix of emotions radiating from the older man. It wasn't just about the driving. It had never been just about the driving.
Moonlight glinted off the car's dashboard, illuminating the phone still clutched in Chase's hand. A reminder of family. Of second chances. Of the thin line between redemption and repeated mistakes.
Gunner rubbed a hand down his face, the gesture heavy with exhaustion and regret. "That night, I smelled alcohol on you, and I knew you'd been drinking."
Chase tilted his head. "I didn't drink before I left the house. I went to the bunkhouse and played poker to hustle a few bucks from the ranch hands. A drink spilled."
Gunner's eyes widened. "So you didn't drink and drive on the way to town?"
Chase shook his head. "No, I didn't. But I did drink once I got to Andre's. I always waited an hour to drive home after my last drink too, and I only ever had two beers in one night."
Silence settled between them, then Gunner said, "I knew you were tutoring him, and I knew it wasn't going to end well."
Chase felt the familiar tension rise in his chest. "I was trying to make money for college," he said quietly. The desperation of those days rushed back—every extra dollar counted, every opportunity a potential lifeline. "Andre started offering something different. Not just cash."
"Alcohol," Gunner said flatly. It wasn't a question.
"And pot," Chase admitted, his voice low. The shame burned hot in his cheeks. "He stopped paying in money and started paying with those."
Gunner's eyes softened, just a fraction. The disappointment Chase had always feared wasn't there—not anymore. Something else had replaced it. Understanding, maybe. Or something closer to compassion.
"I was just trying to get out of Crimson Creek and join Jewel," Chase continued, the words spilling out like a confession.
"You loved her even then, didn't you?" Gunner asked, although it sounded less like a question than a statement.
Chase ran a hand over his face and sighed. "Fuck, yes, I love her. I always have, and I'm sorry for betraying Hunter back then, for disappointing you, for everything."
The night pressed around them, thick with unresolved history and the delicate threads of redemption.
Gunner shook his head, the headlights casting sharp shadows across his face. "That's not true," he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "I was never disappointed in you, Chase. I was disappointed in myself. I could've saved you. If I'd just driven you to town that night, if I'd paid more attention?—"
A sudden burst of light interrupted him as Destini's text illuminated the car's dark interior, the screen casting a blue-white glow across Chase's face. The moment fractured, past giving way to present.
There're people outside the barn. I think they're looking for us.
Chase explained quickly, his words urgent. "It's Destini. She's at a bonfire party. Things are getting out of hand—older teens, alcohol, kids passing around more than just joints."
"That's why you're driving without a license and flying like a bat out of hell?" Gunner asked, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Chase could see the conflict playing out in his eyes.
"Yes, and I'm not going to let her make the same mistakes I did," Chase said, a fierce protectiveness rising in his voice. He looked directly at Gunner, challenge and vulnerability mixing in equal measure. "If you have to arrest me for driving without a license, fine. But at least go pick her up from that party and take her home."
The weight of second chances hung between them—unresolved, fragile, but alive.
Gunner sighed and said, "I'll follow you there."
The flashing lights turned off as they pulled back onto the road. His brother hadn't said if he'd be arrested or not, but he'd pass that bridge when he came to it. Chase gripped the phone as they approached the bonfire site.