11. Chase
The house is empty when I step in.
“Elliot?”
Silence.
Make that empty and quiet. It’s dark in here as usual. My brother and his stupid black curtains. The brightest soul of the Reeves brothers sure has one eerie obsession with darkness.
I pretend I don’t know.
We all pretend we don’t know about Ethan’s affairs. He hasn’t come out to Dad yet, but he’s told me. Levi and Noah always had their suspicions. Likely because when Dad is trying to set Elliot up with a Gwen or Teresa, our older brothers are a little too quiet.
There’s no joking or teasing when Dad brings up a new girl who would be perfect for Elliot. Just letting the conversation pass, knowing how uncomfortable it makes him.
My little brother just turned twenty-three. And all the kid wants to do is play hockey like his favorite player—me.
All I want? Is for him to stop hiding behind every sport he can get himself into just to keep Dad—and maybe the town, from being suspicious.
“The only one passing judgement here, is you,” I’d tell him. But it wouldn’t do any good.
Elliot stands before me—appearing from thin air. A part of me—a deep, deep part of me knows he’s not real. Knows this is another dream—but I embrace it. His presence—nomatter how much in my head it is—is a bittersweet reminder of the bond we once shared.
He”s choosing to come to me. And I won’t push him away.
Elliot’s eyes are vibrant with admiration—for me. For the only brother he looks up to.
The one who knows and doesn’t—would never, ever judge.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I say, my voice hoarse.
“Sorry. I wanted to say congratulations. You won tonight.”
“It’s not for you, Elliot.”
“Why not?”
“People get hurt—”
He swallows and his expression falls. “People get hurt without hockey too.”
“Were you…hurt? Did you hurt—a lot before you…”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“I’m sorry, Elliot.”
He frowns like he’s confused about what I’m talking about but dismisses it. “Can I come play with you guys next time? I’d be just as good as you. I’ve been watching, Chase. I know I can do it.”
“Yeah, sure,” I promise. Knowing this is a dream at this point. “You’re always welcome, Elliot.”
His face falls. “You should have told me that. You could have let me try, Chase.”
My mouth twists as I listen to the words I should have said.
“Chase. Chase. Wake up.”
The voice is soft. It’s not mine. It’s not Elliot’s. It’s female—but different. Distinct. Special.
I spring up in my bed as a shiver runs down my spine. I’m sweaty and hot. There’s someone next to me. My head jerks to the gentle touch on my shoulder. Pepper draws back quickly, and I exhale a breath. “Fuck. Thanks. Sorry.”
She releases a careful breath as she shifts back onto her side of the bed, watching me.
I swipe at my forehead, making a mental note to come up with a better sleeping solution while she’s in town.
We cannot share a bed.
I can’t share a bed with anyone—until I get these dreams under control.
“I get them too,” she says softly.
My jaw is tight when I turn to her with a glare. One that I hope she reads as I don’t want to talk about it.
But despite what’s in my head,my lips blurt out anything but a conversation ender. “About…Troy finding you?”
She shakes her head and pulls her knees up to her chest. She’s drowning in my pajama pants, but it doesn’t seem to faze her. “About my parents.”
“Oh.” It’s not any better, but I’m relieved her dreams aren’t about that douchebag.
“That…they didn’t really die,” she continues, and something about her voice—that distant, sad undertone—makes me look at her. There’s a light mist in her eyes. “That…they just left.”
My brows knit. “Like—left you?”
She shakes her head vigorously. “Oh I know they’d never leave me. But my dad had his sentencing the next day...” Her eyes drift.
I remember the timing was suspicious—but it was still a tragedy. There’s no way they could have. I know what this is. I’ve done it. Looked for any possibility that the person you lost is still alive.
“Pepper—they found…”
“I know.” She blinks and nods vigorously. “They would never—intentionally leave me.” Her voice cracks.
Does Pepper think her parents left this world…on purpose?
Feeling guilt over your brother’s death is one thing. Many call it survivor’s guilt, even if Elliot and I weren’t on that ski trip together. But feeling abandoned by your parents—that’s an entirely different ballgame.
Especially as an only child.
“When was the last time?” I ask, surprised at my curiosity.
“Not since before I left D.C.” She glances at me and scoffs. “Exhaustion might have something to do with it.”
“Did I…say anything?” I ask after a moment. I don’t want to ask. But I’ve never had anyone sleeping with me when I had a nightmare about Elliot. Which have been fairly consistent over the last several months.
She shakes her head. “Just groaning mostly.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I’ll go to the couch.”
She grabs my arm. “Wait.” She backtracks and shifts back. “You woke me up. The least you could do is sit up with me until I fall asleep.”
I shift back. “Yeah. Okay. What do you want to talk about?” I’m expecting her to ask about Elliot. Since she mentioned her parents, she probably suspects.
“Well, I can’t help but want to ask about the obvious.”
I raise a brow.
“Tell me about the tattoos.”
My head swings in her direction. “My ink? Why?”
“I’m curious. What do they mean?”
I lick my lips. Every time a girl asks about my ink, it’s their way of getting to know me. To get deep. To make me vulnerable. “What is it with girls and wanting to know the story behind every tattoo? They act like it’s a key to everything there is to know about me through what I choose to imprint on my body.”
“Gee I wonder why.”
“I’ll tell you what I tell everyone else who asks. I wanted to be different. Nothing means anything. There’s no story. And I’m not smitten with your interest in them. Okay?”
She lifts her gaze from my shoulder to my eyes. It’s a brave stare considering I just told her off, but she does it anyway. And holds it for a beat.
“Okay,” she says softly. Her voice a little hoarse from sleep, and God it’s fucking sexy. She yawns and closes her eyes. I catch a hard swallow before she sets her head back on the pillow and turns away from me.
Fuck.
It’s a good three minutes before I speak again, and I know she’s not sleeping behind those closed eyes.
“Pepper?”
There’s no response.
For several minutes after, I can’t get myself to focus on anything but her breathing. Or worse—if I might have upset her enough to trigger a bad dream.
I’d never want to put that on anyone.
She does eventually fall asleep—and I like being able to tell the subtle shift. The gentle rise and fall of her chest tells me she’s finally there.
Her relaxed muscles melt the tension in my chest, in my gut and I’m grateful for the moment of peace.
Hers—not mine. I will never be at peace. And what I said to her after she opened up to me out of nowhere is likely going to eat away at me too.