Chapter Eighteen
Chase
We sat in the far corner at our gate, away from the crowds and against the wall. I didn’t want to have to worry about people behind me. It was easier just to keep a look out toward the front, not that anyone would be stupid enough to try anything at an airport.
“You shouldn’t have involved them.”
“I didn’t.” I cursed. “You did. The minute you married into the Abandonato family, you invited them into this mess, this drama—”
“I hate Nixon.” Mil looked down at her hands. “He’s threatened me, shot me, threatened me again, and pointed a gun at my head twice. I want to rip the ring directly from his lip.”
“Care to give it a try?” came a confident voice on my right. Great timing.
Mil’s eyes narrowed. “You man enough to let me?”
“Cute.” Nixon smirked, tilting his head. “Little sister wants to play.”
“Guys!” I stood separating them from each other. I wasn’t sure what the hell Nixon was playing at, but it was exhausting. Why all his anger was directed at my wife, I had no idea, but I didn’t have to stand for it. “Just leave her alone.”
“Then tell her,” Nixon and I were chest to chest, “to stop being a damn baby and act like the boss.”
“You want me to act like the boss, tough guy?” Mil’s nails dug into my back as she tried to get at Nixon.
I rolled my eyes and looked up at the ceiling.
Trace pushed Nixon to the side. “Mil, stop. Please.”
“Says the boss’s whore, or wait, weren’t you Chase’s? Memory’s a little fuzzy. I can’t seem to remember—”
Trace lunged for Mil, but my body was blocking her from getting any action. Unfortunately, my face was in the way of Trace’s slap.
Her hand came into contact with my face, making me stumble to the side.
Mil stepped back and covered her mouth with her hands.
Trace’s eyes widened and welled with tears.
“Damn.” I rubbed my face. “Dysfunctional Sicilians!”
Tex chuckled and tugged at the brim of his hat. “That’s some messed-up love-triangle shit going on.”
“Tex!” everyone yelled in unison.
Great. So much for keeping a low profile; people were openly gaping. I was surprised security hadn’t already been called.
With a wave of his hand, Nixon said loud enough for everyone to hear. “Actors, so temperamental.”
Trace did a little curtsy. I bowed, still holding my face, and Mil rolled her eyes while Tex gave one solitary clap.
Groaning, I walked over to my seat and grabbed a bottle of water to hold against my cheek. At least the burning was going away.
“Chase, I’m sorry, I—” Trace swallowed and bit down on her lower lip. She always did that when she was thinking, just like she always jumped to conclusions, choosing action before asking questions. Just like her favorite ice cream was strawberry, and her favorite books all had creepy vampires and zombies. Shit, shit, shit. I pushed the feelings down. It wasn’t the romance I missed with Trace — it was just her. I missed her. I missed what we’d had. She had been one of my best friends. Let that be a lesson to every guy out there: don’t fall for your best friend, not unless you’re willing to lose everything in order to have her. Falling in love with someone who has that much power over your entire being — it’s dangerous as hell, but if you win? Worth it, just ask Nixon
I reached for her hand.
A smile teased her lips.
Mil had gone over to the counter to pout. Nixon had followed and by the looks of his gestures and all-around pissed off look was most likely telling her what was expected of her as a boss — again. Leaving Mo and Tex to sitting on opposite ends of the gate. And me and Trace.
An eternity separated that hand and mine.
A lifetime.
She grasped my hand and gripped tight as hell.
“I miss you,” I whispered, not looking down at our hands, yet still memorizing the warmth radiating from every fingertip. I felt it in my soul, in my bones: we were meant to be together, just not how I’d originally thought.
Trace squeezed tighter. “I miss you too, Chase.”
“I’m sorry,” we said in unison, finally looking into one another’s eyes. I reached across the seat and pulled her in for a hug. Her smell was so familiar, but this time, I didn’t react in the same way. There was no desire to do anything except hold on to one of my best friends. Regardless of how things ended between us. I’d give my life for hers. Still.
“Not as sorry as I am,” Trace said in a small voice. “Chase, you promised me you’d never leave, but you did.”
“Trace — I got married. I had to—”
Her head shook against my shoulder. She pulled back and reached for my hand again, our fingers locked with each other, “Getting married is one thing, but you promised you’d never leave. When I thought Nixon—” Her throat cleared. “When I thought he died, you made me a promise. Please keep it.”
“I promise.” I licked my lips and squeezed her hand tight within mine. “I won’t leave you. I mean it when I say I miss you. I miss your laugh. I miss your smart-ass comments and your stupid cow keychain. I miss it, not because I still want it for myself — I think, well… I think I’m finally over that hurdle or at least I’m trying to be. I just miss our friendship.”
“Threatening people on my behalf and buying me ice cream isn’t just friendship, Chase.”
“It isn’t?” I laughed. “Then what is it?”
“It’s friendship on fire.”
“So we’re burning up again?” I released her hand and smirked.
“Always.”
We both exhaled and leaned back in our seats, happy in the silence of the moment.
Mil was still talking to Nixon. Correction, Nixon was talking to her, and she was trying her best not to punch him. At least that’s what I was getting from their freaky body language.
“She hates me, you know,” I said aloud.
Trace followed the direction of my gaze and snorted. “You’re an idiot.”
“Huh?” I flipped around in my chair. “Didn’t we just have this really special talk? Nice moment? Water under the bridge?”
“Right.” Trace smacked me on the shoulder. “Doesn’t mean you’re not still an idiot. That girl,” Trace pointed, “is head over heels in love with you. She’s just afraid.”
“And you get that? What? From her predatory glance in my direction every few seconds?”
“Kiss her.”
“I have,” I said defensively.
“Not like that, Chase.”
“I don’t know what you—”
“Not out of anger.” Trace sighed optimistically. “Kiss her because you want to.”
“And if she punches me in the face?”
Trace pulled out a magazine and shrugged. “Then make sure she gets the left side so your bruises match.”
“Wow. In another life you could have been a marriage counselor.”
Trace laughed just as Nixon walked up. “You guys good? Because if you aren’t, I’m going to freaking lose my head.”
“We’re good.” I nodded, still a little pissed at Nixon’s attitude toward Mil. I got it. He was trying to make her strong by tearing her down, making her weakness nonexistent. But still, she was my wife. I didn’t have to like his methods.
“Mil needs you, Chase.” Nixon gave a curt nod and plopped down next to Trace.