Chasing Serenity

by Ashley, Kristen

  “And I suppose that’s Judge,” I said bitterly.

  “Well…yeah,” he said like I was dense.

  “Did you not just hear me?” I demanded.

  “Determined to think you were a cold-hearted bitch,” he said, talking to himself, but doing it staring right at me. “And here you are, something else entirely. Fuck, he saw it. I totally didn’t.”

  “Rix,” I bit sharply.

  “It’s impossible to protect yourself your whole life from love,” he shared.

  “Would you care to bet?” I asked.

  “Then tell me, what kind of man are you gonna find?”

  “Who says I need a man?” I queried.

  He shook his head slowly. “Sweetheart, who’re you kidding?”

  After my deranged speech, that was a good question.

  And this “sweetheart” was entirely different from the last.

  It was like a snuggly blanket on a cold day.

  Maddening.

  I huffed.

  His lips quirked and then, “So, answer my question.”

  I tipped my head coyly. “Who do I think I’m kidding?”

  “And she’s back,” he muttered, his dark eyes lighting. Then he said, “No, the one before.”

  He wanted to know?

  To get this insanity done, I’d tell him.

  “I will find a man who could do his worst, and I’ll be totally fine to walk away.”

  “In other words, a man you don’t love.”

  I nodded curtly. “I might find two of them.”

  Another lip quirk and, “Right.”

  “Do we have an accord?” I pressed.

  “I’ll give you this, I won’t tell Judge until we get what we gotta get done today done.”

  “No,” I parried. “Until I’m driving away.”

  “You got it.”

  “And…I’ve been gone at least fifteen minutes.”

  “Now you’re pushin’ it, sweetheart.”

  Ugh.

  I clicked my teeth.

  He bared his in a smile.

  Could I make that bargain?

  This means you don’t have to leave now, and you have more time with Judge.

  Without me willing it to do so, my hand pushed out.

  And my mouth said, “Deal.”

  He took it, dwarfed it and squeezed too hard, though I didn’t think he meant to, I just wasn’t sure he knew his own strength.

  “Deal,” he grunted.

  But there was no lip quirk.

  He was smiling.

  Enormously.

  Lord, help me.

  Now what had I done?

  Chapter 18

  The Release

  Chloe

  After the preliminary torture of the day with Judge was done, I drove up to Bowie’s massive manse wondering what became of that iron will I was so very proud of.

  I was a quivering mess.

  This was partly because, after Judge and Zeke rejoined us, regardless of my attempts at assuming an attitude that should have formed a layer of hoarfrost over my entire body, Rix had morphed to good-natured, playful, and generally acting like I was his adored lost little sister found.

  It was tremendously appealing.

  It was also excruciatingly annoying.

  I never settled my gaze on him without it being my patented Death Stare.

  He acted like it was cute and even chucked my chin once while I was giving it to him.

  As I said.

  Annoying.

  This, I could handle, if Judge had not demonstrated his best buddy openly liking me had made his millennium.

  In other words, neutral, courteous Judge had vanished.

  Once he’d returned from his run, he became the Judge I knew.

  Teasing. Funny. Attentive. Affectionate.

  I caught him staring at my ass (sexily), my breasts (appreciatively), and I caught this because not only didn’t he hide it, he’d done it meaning to get caught.

  He’d done it meaning to show how deeply he was attracted to me.

  And not once, not twice, not thrice, but seven times (oh yes, I counted) while we were in one of the three spots he’d selected where we would film portions of our message (I played Dad, he played Bowie) that we read off sheets of paper Judge had printed out, he not only touched my body, he touched my hair.

  He tucked it behind my ear.

  He pulled some away from where it became stuck on my lips after we were hit by a mountain breeze.

  He flicked it over a shoulder.

  And once, he got close to me, and instead of putting his arm around me as he had been doing (and it would reveal too much to pull away, so I didn’t—see? Total…torture), he trailed his hand up my back, gathered the lot of it and held it in a ponytail with his fist.

  Yes.

  He did that.

  Like we were together and that was his wont.

  When it was not.

  No matter the shield of ice I put up, he flirted with me outrageously the entire time.

  It.

  Was.

  Agony.

  But even as I was enduring it, I knew the worst was yet to come.

  I was right.

  I was not in my car driving away for ten minutes before my phone blew up first with calls, then with texts.

  I didn’t even have to look (and thus, I didn’t) to know that, as promised, Rix had shared.

  The good news was, during our time together, I’d dropped the falsity that I was going straight home. They had no idea I was headed to Bowie’s.

  So if, say, Judge wished to make some grand gesture and seek me out (and knowing what I knew of Judge, and how deeply he was attracted to me, and how deeply he now knew I was attracted to him, this was precisely what he would do), he’d be headed the wrong way.

  Regardless if dinner with Mom and Bowie was a good hiding place, I wished I hadn’t arranged it. I needed to go somewhere (perhaps Mi-Young and Jacob’s? or, perchance, a remote cabin in Siberia?) and pull myself together.

  Rediscover the true Chloe and then fortify her.

  But, I told myself, a good way to do this was being with family.

  And although there were niggles that probably would never go away that was nostalgia I couldn’t shake about what had once been, there was also great beauty in being with Mom and Bowie when they were together.

  Seeing Mom happy again.

  Seeing how madly Bowie loved her.

  Not to mention, feeling how much he cared about me.

  And I’d done my due diligence, so I knew Sasha was hanging in Phoenix with some friends.

  The coast was clear.

  I let Bowie’s beautiful piece of this earth with his sprawling house and the mountain backdrop with the big lake start to penetrate as I parked in front.

  I got out, let myself in, and over the cacophony of dogs racing to me to say hello (Bowie had three, Shasta, a husky, Rocco, a tripod silver receiver, and Killer, a peekapoo), with forced joviality, I called, “Bonjour, I’ve arrived!”

  I gave love to Shasta and Rocco but scooped Killer up into my arms as I walked through Bowie’s massive foyer and into his equally massive great room, looked right, toward the kitchen, and saw Bowie and Mom in it, doing as they often did, cooking together.

  I did not stop to consider what they might be cooking, seeing as it was a couple of hours until dinner time.

  I didn’t do this because Sasha was on a stool at the island.

  Damn it.

  For a moment I had hope. Hope that Mom told her I was up from Phoenix, so she’d returned in order to chat matters through with me.

  Although she could dig into things, Sasha was normally mellow, and she generally hated conflict. She also tended not to hold grudges, had her piques, then got over them.

  Nevertheless, upon sight of me, her eyes narrowed, and her lip curled.

  Well, that hope was dashed.

  As I approached, I ignored my sister and asked the room at large, “How’s my be
loved family?”

  “Good, darling, that’s a cute outfit,” Mom said, coming my way.

  She gave me a double cheek kiss when she arrived, gave Killer a head scratch then headed back into the kitchen and Bowie was there.

  Both Killer and I got a big hug and Bowie said in my ear during it, “Martini?”

  When he slightly pulled away, I smiled up at him and replied, “Gasping.”

  His lips twitched, he released me and muttered, “On it.”

  I moved to stand at the island and greeted, “Sasha.”

  She returned the coldness with, “Chloe.”

  My mother was a renowned actress.

  She was also a fantastic mother.

  Thus, she did not miss this stiltedness.

  Bowie was relatively new to our lives.

  But he was a father.

  Thus, he didn’t miss it either.

  They exchanged a glance.

  “Everything okay with you guys?” Mom asked.

  “Peachy,” I lied.

  “Liar,” Sasha said under her breath.

  I pulled up the Death Stare and aimed it at my sister.

  Mom turned from whatever she was doing at the stove, and Bowie twisted away from the martini he was preparing to mix, both aiming their attention toward the island.

  “What’s going on?” Mom demanded.

  “Nothing,” I declared. “We’re having a slight tiff. Détente for this lovely dinner with Mom and Bowie, though.”

  “Always the drama,” Sasha said with a verbal roll of her eyes.

  “How about we not make our issue Mom and Bowie’s, hmm?” I suggested to her.

  “What issue?” Mom pushed.

  “It’s nothing,” I repeated.

  “Says you,” Sasha stated.

  I sent the Death Stare her way again. “Should I leave?”

  Like she had claim to Bowie’s house, she replied, “That’d be good.”

  “Sasha,” Mom snapped.

  Sasha turned her attention to our mother. “She’s bossy and she thinks she knows everything. She’s always been that way, it’s never been fun, we’ve always hated it. But Matt and I are grown up now and it’s way getting old.”

  It took a lot to bite my lip and not float a retort to her “grown up” comment, considering the woman two feet from me was twenty, nearly twenty-one, jobless, aimless and living off her trust fund.

  That was, she was doing that when she wasn’t mooching off her father, her mother or her mother’s fiancé.

  “Chloe, what now?” Mom sighed.

  And at that, I turned my stare to her, not the Death Stare, a stunned one.

  Mom didn’t miss that either and noted, “You do bring a lot of drama. This isn’t something you don’t know about yourself.”

  “You know, maybe I should go,” I returned.

  “Honey, no,” Bowie entered the conversation, and his eyes on me were not accusatory. They were sharp and concerned. “Are you okay?”

  No.

  I was not.

  “I’ve had a long day and I don’t need this,” I stated honestly.

  “Again, drama,” Sasha mumbled.

  All right.

  Enough.

  Instead of saying to my sister, Actually, I have a job I work fifty plus hours a week. And I’m volunteering my time to do something for the social outreach arm of Bowie’s store. So I’ve been hiking all day as only part of my efforts to prepare a presentation for that project. We won’t get into the emotional situation it is with Judge that I’ve had to ride all day. In other words, it’s not drama. I’m physically and emotionally exhausted. But let’s talk about what you’ve done this week, this month, and, say, the past two years.

  I wanted to say that.

  But even if I was angry at her, I loved her, and because now was not the time to broach that, I didn’t.

  Instead, I decided it was, indeed, time for me to go.

  “It’s not me acting like a spoiled brat,” I replied, giving Killer one last stroke before stooping and dropping her to the floor. “I’m off. We’ll do this some other time.”

  And with that, I turned and started toward the door.

  Again, it wasn’t about drama.

  I had to get out of there.

  Because I was shaking.

  Actually shaking.

  With fury and a lot more besides.

  I couldn’t do this, not now. Not after the day with Judge, and Rix (and Zeke).

  I couldn’t do it at all, not after…

  Everything.

  “Chloe, don’t walk away from this. Whatever’s going on, you two need to work it out.”

  This was Mom, and I could tell she was following me.

  I didn’t break stride as I replied, “Maybe later.”

  “She couldn’t suck all the attention to herself if she didn’t attempt a grand exit.”

  This was Sasha.

  “Sasha, stop it.”

  Mom, getting pissed.

  “She’s all over Matt to work things out with Dad,” Sasha, who I could tell also had moved, but her voice was distant, so she wasn’t following, but she’d adjusted her position to watch me leave.

  And hand her shit to Mom.

  “Chloe.” Mom was using her Mom’s Voice. “Wait.”

  I opened the door, turned at it, and I was right.

  Mom was maybe three feet away, Bowie wasn’t far from her, and Sasha was across the foyer, standing in the entryway to the great room with her arms crossed on her chest and an ugly expression twisting her face.

  I looked to Mom. “I’ll call.”

  “I know that Matt’s breach with your dad is hard for all of us, and I know you always come from a place of caring, but how about you let your dad and me worry about that?” Mom suggested.

  “Oh no, not Chloe,” Sasha called. “She has to stick her nose into everything, tell everyone what to do, how to think, how to be. She even turned Sully and Gage against Matt and me.”

  I mean, seriously?

  Was she five?

  The dogs had started moving with agitation around us, Rocco and Killer coming in and out of the opened door, but Shasta remained outside, barking.

  I ignored all of this, such was my fury at my sister’s crap.

  “Sully and Gage are in this?” Bowie asked.

  “Not really,” I evaded.

  Vaguely, I heard a car door slam, and another one, and Bowie shifted so he could crane his neck to look out the front door.

  Sasha dropped her arms, moved forward, and said to Bowie, “They totally are.” Then to me, “You dragged them in with your bullshit version of what’s going on.”

  Now who was lying?

  “I did nothing of the sort,” I snapped.

  “And you know, Matt and I get it. Where you’re coming from. Why you’re so staunchly on Dad’s side,” Sasha declared.

  “Sasha—” Bowie tried to cut in.

  “And you should thank us,” Sasha went on resentfully, after coming to a stop fully entering our tableau by the door. She too, glanced out the door before looking back at me and saying, “For not telling Sul and Gage why you get it. How you know exactly what it’s like to be a cheater. Because with that married guy in France, you were one.”

  Mom went still.

  Bowie went still.

  I suffered a death blow.

  And through it, I whispered to my sister, “You know that’s not right.”

  She did.

  She totally did.

  I saw the guilt and shame fill her face the instant the words left her mouth.

  This was because I’d cried my heart out over the phone to her after that happened to me.

  And I knew she hadn’t forgotten a second of it.

  It didn’t take the resurrection of Freud to diagnose she was dealing with her own shit.

  And I cared.

  I really, really did.

  I also worried.

  A whole lot.

  But one thing I knew was neve
r to bury someone else in my shit.

  And never to allow someone to bury me in theirs.

  And she’d just done that.

  Buried me under her shit.

  In front of Bowie.

  I told Mom (almost) everything, so Mom already knew about it.

  But she said that in front of Bowie.

  “We’re done,” I proclaimed, my voice stone cold.

  The wave of concern from Mom and Bowie’s direction hit me so hard, it was a miracle I didn’t fly sideways.

  Sasha’s face became a mask of fear.

  And I completely lost my renowned cool.

  “We’re done!” I shrieked.

  “Chloe!” Mom cried, reaching to me.

  But I whirled and swayed to a halt before I even began to beat my retreat.

  Because Judge and Rix were standing in the open door, staring at me.

  They’d heard.

  God!

  They’d heard!

  I planted a foot and then launched off it, racing around Judge and down the front steps.

  “Chloe!” Mom shouted.

  I got to the door of my car, and I ripped it open, absently noting the Cherokee parked behind it.

  Before I could position myself in it, my door slammed shut in front of me.

  “Baby,” Judge whispered in my ear.

  That one word, his tone, it slid from my ear over my scalp, my face, into my eyes, blinding me, filling my mouth, muting me.

  My knees buckled.

  The world melted away.

  His arm clamped around my belly.

  “Judge.” That was Bowie’s growl.

  My hair flew when Judge pulled my crossbody over my head and my body jerked when he tossed it.

  “Drive her car to my place,” he ordered, probably Rix.

  “Gotcha.”

  Yes, Rix.

  “Judge.” Again, Bowie.

  “I got her.” Judge.

  He was pulling me to the Cherokee.

  “Chloe, Coco, Chloe, God, that was…it wasn’t right. God, I’m so sorry. That so wasn’t cool.” Sasha, up close.

  To me.

  “You need to step away from her.” Judge, polite, but steely. “Now.” No longer polite, furious, impatient.

  Demanding.

  Reaching beyond me, he pulled open the passenger door to his Jeep and whistled to Zeke, who jumped out. Then he practically lifted me into the seat.