Chapter Twelve Enemies with Electricity #2
He chuckles, pulling himself onto the counter, feet swinging lazily. I try very hard not to look at his thighs.
We eat in silence for a few moments, the storm raging outside while everything inside feels… calm.
Which is weird.
Because Chase is the opposite of calm. He’s loud and cocky and the kind of guy who thrives on chaos.
And yet, I feel strangely at ease in his kitchen, stealing bites of his ice cream.
“So.” He licks his spoon, and I absolutely don’t watch. “You always write books about how love is a scam?”
I bristle. “It’s not a scam. It’s just a distraction.”
Chase raises a brow. “Says who?”
I sigh, setting my spoon down. “Says my entire life experience.”
His expression shifts. Just slightly.
Then he exhales, tipping his head against the cabinet. “Yeah. I get that.”
I blink, because I didn’t expect him to agree. “You do?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Just stares at the ceiling, brows pulled together in thought.
Then—softer than before—he says, “Yeah. I do.”
I don’t ask what he means.
And for once, he doesn’t push me to explain myself either.
For a few minutes, we just exist—eating ice cream, listening to the storm.
***
We finish the pint of ice cream, and since my house is still completely dark, Chase shows me to the guest room.
I tell myself I’m going to sleep.
I really do.
But sleep doesn’t come easy when the wind howls against the windows like a thing possessed, and the rain lashes against the roof in unpredictable bursts.
I shift under the ridiculously nice blankets of his guest room—which is stupidly comfortable—but it doesn’t help. My mind is restless, body wired from the night’s events, the steady rhythm of the storm, and the sugar I consumed.
Ugh.
I give up, kick off the blankets, and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Maybe if I get some water, it’ll help.
But when I step into the hallway, I realize I’m not the only one still awake.
A warm glow spills from the kitchen, and when I turn the corner, there he is.
Chase.
Standing at the window, one hand braced on the counter. He’s wearing only a pair of athletic shorts that hang low on his hips. The soft kitchen light makes his shoulders look broader, the muscles in his back impossibly wide as he watches the rain.
Something about it feels… unguarded. Like I’m seeing him in a way I’m not supposed to.
He doesn’t turn around, but somehow, he knows I’m there.
“Can’t sleep either?” His voice is low, rough from the quiet.
“Not when Mother Nature is out for blood.” I move to the counter, grab a glass from his cabinet, and fill it with water.
He huffs a quiet laugh, but he doesn’t look away from the window. “Yeah. Storms can be relentless out here.”
I sip my water, stealing a glance at him over the rim of my glass. His profile is sharp in the dim light—jawline shadowed with scruff, lips slightly parted like he’s deep in thought.
“Doesn’t bother you?” I ask.
He lifts his own water and takes a slow sip. “Used to them.”
I don’t know why I stay. Maybe it’s the storm. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m already awake. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s not being insufferable for once. Either way, I find myself leaning against the counter beside him, staring out into the rain-soaked night.
We stand in comfortable silence for a while, just listening.
Then, out of nowhere, I hear myself say it.
“I grew up in Chicago. About three hours from here.”
He turns slightly, giving me his attention.
I don’t know why I keep going. I shouldn’t keep going. But the words just… come.
“This place—the rental house—it’s the last place I remember my family actually being happy.” I exhale slowly. “Before the divorce, before everything fell apart… we had one last summer here.”
Chase doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t make a joke or some sarcastic remark. He just listens.
And somehow, that makes me keep talking.
“I was thirteen. I remember my mom playing music while she cooked breakfast. My dad actually laughing. My brother and I sneaking down to the beach at night, thinking we were getting away with something.” I swallow.
Exhale. “It was the last time we all felt like a family. The last time I believed in that kind of thing.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and charged, but not uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says, his voice quiet.
I shrug, stare down at the water glass in my hands. “It was a long time ago.”
A beat. Then—
“I was playing in a tournament,” Chase says, so suddenly I almost don’t register it.
I glance at him, confused. “What?”
He exhales and places his hand on the counter. “When it happened. My brother Owen’s accident.”
My stomach tightens.
He hasn’t talked about his brother much—just the brief mention of him earlier, the fact that he’s in a wheelchair. But now, there’s something heavy in Chase’s voice. Something unspoken pressing at the edges of his words.
“I was sixteen,” he continues, eyes fixed on the window. “Off playing in some stupid tournament, doing what I loved, while back home… my little brother’s life was changing forever.”
I hold my breath.
“When I got back, nothing was the same. The house was different. The way my parents looked at me was different. Not because they blamed me—they never did—but because I did.” His fingers tighten around the counter. “I wasn’t there when he needed me.”
“That’s not your fault,” I say quietly.
He lets out a slow breath. “Yeah. People say that a lot.”
My chest aches.
Not because I pity him—Chase Remington would probably slug me if I did—but because I understand.
The weight of something you can’t change. The way one moment can fracture everything you thought you knew. The way it lingers, no matter how much time passes.
I don’t know what to say. So I just stand there, letting the rain fill the silence between us.
After a moment, he shifts and glances at me. “So, let me get this straight.” His lips tilt just slightly. “You hate romance, but your favorite childhood memory is a summer where your parents were blissfully in love?”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s not—”
“You hate relationships, but you wrote four bestselling books about them?”
“That’s different.”
“You sure?”
I huff and push off the counter. “You were doing so well at being tolerable. Let’s not ruin it now.”
Chase grins, watching me go.
But even as I retreat to the guest room and climb back into the annoyingly comfortable bed, I can’t shake the feeling that something shifted tonight.
Because for the first time since meeting him…
I don’t totally hate Chase Remington.