I’d stepped right into that one.
“Trace, I—”
“I’m gonna get in the bath.”
“But—”
“Alone.”
“Trace,” I growled, angry that she was pushing me away. “Let me help you—”
“Out.” She gave me a pitiful smile and ushered me toward the door. “And next time you open your mouth, try not to be such a jackass.”
The door slammed in my face.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chase
Nixon: Get her to talk.
The damn text pissed me off so much I wanted to shoot him in the leg for even thinking about that right now. Mil had just watched her mom die, basically in front of her face, and Nixon wanted me to get her to talk? What was his brilliant plan?
I groaned and threw my phone onto the bed.
Mil had been in the bathroom for the past half-hour. We were all supposed to meet at The Golden Nugget in two hours. Luca had said it was safer to stay in old Vegas anyway, at least safer for our kind. Right. Our kind, like we were some sort of fallen angels or messed-up vampires.
Some honeymoon.
“Mil?” I knocked on the door again.
No answer.
Worried out of my mind, I tried the door. It was unlocked. Steam billowed out as I pushed it open.
“Mil?”
“Here.” Her voice was quiet, worried, so unlike her that my heart clenched in my chest. I pulled back the curtain to the shower. She was huddled in the corner, holding her knees to her chest, fully clothed.
“Mil.” Her name erupted past my lips like an expletive. I was pissed, not at her but at myself. I’d failed to protect someone she loved. I’d failed again. “Come here.” I stepped into the shower fully clothed and sat down next to her, extending my hand palm up.
She gripped it like a lifeline.
We stayed like that for a few minutes before she leaned her head against my shoulder. Hot water ran in streams down my face and arms, soothing my sore body. Even through my jeans and t-shirt, it still felt good.
“Chase…”
“Hmm?” I tapped my free hand against the tile to distract me from actually looking Mil in the face. She was too beautiful, too vulnerable, and I didn’t want to be the jackass who ruined everything.
“What if I don’t want it anymore? What if I want to run away? Run away from everything and abandon my family — does that make me a bad person?”
“No.” I caressed her hand with my thumb. “It makes you human.”
“A weak human.” She laughed bitterly.
“Never weak.” I let go of her hand and reached for her face, unable to keep myself from touching her, from looking into those damning eyes. The same eyes that made me want to say screw the world and just take her as my own. I tilted her chin in my hand as I lifted her face inches away from my mouth. “You are the bravest person I’ve ever met.”
She closed her eyes.
I gripped her chin. “Open your damn eyes.”
She tried to jerk back, so I squeezed harder.
“You’re going to look at me when I talk to you.”
Her lips trembled.
“You’re incredible.” I sighed, my thumb caressed her lower lip. “You’re beautiful, strong, brave — and your mom? She has to be so damn proud of you to take over. Sweetheart, I know that the past isn’t pretty for you. I know by being the leader you’re fighting your own demons of what happened to you. I can only imagine—” I swore, softly as my forehead met hers. “Actually I can’t, because your father was a damn monster. But, just know, that when I think of bravery, I think of you. When I think of a woman who should be president some day, your face comes to mind. When I think of someone I want on my team for capture the flag?” I released my grip and smirked. “You’re it, baby.”
“Chase.” Mil leaned in so her lower lip grazed my chin.
“Hmm?” I told my body it wasn’t time. My body refused to listen. Every nerve was on high alert as she moved to straddle me.
“Kiss me.”
“Mil.” I backpedaled, hoping that if I kept giving her excuses, I would be the good guy. She was weak, and she’d hate me later for taking advantage of her.
“I just saw my mom die,” Mil said in a cold voice. “I’m literally on borrowed time myself. I’m straddling you. Wet. In. A. Shower. And I’m your wife. If you don’t kiss me, I’ll find some other guy man enough to make me forget—”
My mouth crushed against hers with so much force it hurt. But the pain was toxic, beautiful — addictive. She arched her body as my fingers gripped her t-shirt then snuck underneath and dug into the flesh on her back, pulling her toward me. Mil’s hands pressed against the tile on either side of my head as her chest grazed mine. Wincing, I moved my hands to her hips, tugging her closer to my body.
“Mil—”
Her hands moved from the wall to the back of my head; her fingers dug into my hair as the friction of our bodies collided. I was fighting a losing battle, one I knew I wanted to be the loser of, because that meant I’d be happily naked with the most aggressive woman I’d ever met.
“What?” She reared back.
Wait, had I said something? What the hell? My brain was having a hard time catching up with the rest of my body. I shook my head and stared at her swollen mouth then her eyes. Big blue eyes framed with dark, thick lashes blinked back at me, as if asking for permission to go further. I swallowed, my body still humming from the buzz of her nails, her lips.
“Chase—”
I held my breath.
Mil carefully got to her feet and held out her hand. So apparently that was it. I waved goodbye to the moment of hyped emotions and sexual tension as it flew out the door and mentally kicked myself for thinking it had been anything more than that. She’d needed comfort.
And I’d given it to her.
I was that guy.
If you asked me — it was worse than the friend zone. I’d had the same exact issue with Trace.
I was convenient.
The guy you wanted on your team, just in case the star player didn’t show up for practice or died during a game.
Second best.
Right-hand man.
The fixer.
So basically, I was nobody.
I could kiss her tears away. I could offer her my money, my body, all earthly possessions, and in the end, I would still be the one wanting more. Because I was already falling for pieces of her. Correction, I was becoming borderline obsessed with those jagged little pieces. Like a kid being told not to touch sharp glass lying shattered on the floor. But I was too damn curious not to touch, and the minute I did, I was addicted to the way the broken edges bit into the soft pads of my hands. Addicted to the difference between the cold smooth surface of the glass and my own reflection in it.