Not You It's Me

by Julie Johnson

  “You’re a loon,” I say matter-of-factly. “A caveman. All that testosterone has done something to chemically alter your brain.”

  “Gemma, this isn’t a game.” He takes a step closer, and I immediately shuffle back, trying to maintain a safe distance between us. “He’s dangerous. He’s hurt people in the past, people I cared about, people I loved, just to prove a point. Just to prove that he could.”

  I’m so startled by this admission, I take another step away from him.

  He closes the gap instantly, still speaking. “This is his favorite kind of game to play — cat and mouse, the ultimate challenge, even better that it might make my life hell. It doesn’t matter what either of us say — he’ll come after you, in any way he can. Before today, he was just curious, like everyone else, because of the kiss at the game. But now that he’s met you…” His eyes lock on mine. “He won’t stop.”

  For the first time, I feel the markings of true anxiety stirring to life in my gut.

  “Until what?” I breathe.

  Chase shakes his head. “I don’t know. I wish I knew, but I don’t.”

  Mind reeling, I take another step away from him. “This is your fault,” I whisper finally, when I’ve composed myself enough to formulate words.

  His spine snaps straight, as though I’ve struck him.

  My eyes lift to his perfect mouth. “You never should’ve kissed me at that game.”

  “I know,” he mutters darkly. “I already apologized for that, Gemma.”

  “And that makes it okay?” I laugh bitterly. “How could you have done that, knowing it would lead to this?” I gesture vaguely upwards, in the direction of Brett’s apartment. “Knowing he’d come after me?”

  Chase takes another step toward me. “Gemma.”

  “Don’t Gemma me!” My eyes fly to his. “This is a goddamned mess! I don’t want this! I didn’t ask for any of this!”

  “I know that!” he roars suddenly, his careful control finally snapping. “Don’t you think I know that? Why do you think I pushed you away after you came to my office? Why do you think I brushed you off with the press? I tried to keep you out of my life, away from this shit. I tried.”

  “Not hard enough, apparently!” I yell angrily. “Because here we are!”

  He’s breathing hard, his eyes burning into mine. “What do you want me to say? That I fucked up? I already know that. I wasn’t thinking, when I kissed you at the game. I looked at you, and I just… couldn’t stop myself.”

  A sharp, stunned exhale escapes my lips. I don’t want to look too deeply at the feelings his words have stirred within me, so I wrap myself in anger instead, using it like a shield. “And after that? Why the hell would you drag me to your office? Why even attempt to see me again?”

  “I had to warn you this wasn’t going anywhere. I thought I owed you that much.”

  “You didn’t need to warn me away — I wouldn’t have pursued you like some teenage girl with a crush. But I suppose that possibility never entered your egotistical brain?”

  His jaw ticks.

  I step closer, so angry I forget to be afraid of him, until only a half-foot of space separates us. “And I suppose you couldn’t stop yourself from showing up here today and throwing fuel on the freaking fire, so that whatever slim possibility still existed that Brett might just move on and let me walk away was utterly and completely extinguished?”

  “Gemma.” His voice holds a warning I don’t heed.

  I laugh again, a brittle peal. “Because if he wasn’t going to come after me before, he sure as shit will now. Your caveman antics ensured that, Chase, so thank you very much for—”

  I never get to finish my sentence, because his free arm shoots out and slips behind my back, hauling me forward before I can even think of protesting. I slam against him so hard, the breath is knocked from my lungs. His other hand, still holding mine, squeezes tighter and bends up behind his back, so my arm is forced to wrap around him.

  “What are you doi—”

  My words are swallowed up as his lips crash down on mine. It isn’t a soft kiss — it’s intense, furious, in a way I never knew a kiss could be, his lips hard and unforgiving against mine. It’s a shut-up-I-hate-you kiss. A you-drive-me-crazy kiss. An if-I-don’t-kiss-you-I’ll-kill-you kiss.

  It’s a battle — our mouths are opposite fronts, fighting for ground, warring for control.

  I shove his chest.

  He bites my lip.

  I nip his tongue.

  He tugs my hair.

  The kiss goes wild as my other arm winds around him, clutching the back of his shirt, my nails raking against the fabric. His hands release me, but only for a second, as they drop and haul me roughly up against him. Two strides and he’s got me pinned against the elevator wall.

  I don’t even think about it — my legs go around him, my dress bunches up around my thighs, and my arms circle his neck. I forget that I’m angry, that I’m pretty sure he’s irreparably messed up my life, that five seconds ago, I hated him…

  And I kiss him back with everything I have.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Titan

  A voice — scratchy with static and filled with concern — bursts from the intercom box on the button panel, startling us apart.

  “This is Jim, from Maintenance. Is anyone in there? Everything okay?”

  My lips pull away from Chase’s and I stare into his face, my breaths coming too fast and my heart pounding so hard against my ribs, I’m worried the bones might break under the pressure. He’s looking back at me, his face a study in halves — a lazy half-smile tugging at his lips; half-lidded eyes, filled with desire.

  “Is anyone in there?” Jim from Maintenance asks again, his voice tinny and distant. “Folks, if you can hear me, use the intercom button.”

  “Fuck,” Chase curses quietly, his amused smile widening. “I haven’t been caught making out since I was sixteen.”

  “Um,” I breathe, blinking rapidly, not knowing how to respond to that. “Can you put me down, now?”

  He doesn’t.

  In fact, at my words, he just chuckles and leans closer, so I’m pressed even more firmly against the elevator wall.

  “Tell me again how there’s nothing between us,” he whispers, his mouth dropping to my neck, his lips pressing a soft kiss against the sensitive skin there.

  “Chase,” I say, my voice weakly protesting even as my body betrays me, arching to get closer to him.

  He ignores me, as usual.

  “Seriously.” I try to pull back, but there’s nowhere to go. “I have to get back to work and then go home, take a shower, and forget this ever happened.”

  At that, he stiffens and his head lifts slowly from my neck until his narrowed eyes trap mine. He leans even closer — which I didn’t think was possible, but somehow he manages — and I watch as the smile falls right off his face, his features contorting into a scowl in mere seconds.

  An angry sound rattles at the back of his throat.

  I swallow hard, suddenly regretting my thoughtless words. Sure, I meant them — but I didn’t have to say them and get myself in trouble. Again.

  He leans in, his voice low. “Sorry, for a second there, it sounded like you said you were gonna go home and forget this ever happened,” he grumbles, his eyes flashing.

  I jerk my chin higher. “Your hearing is just fine. It’s your listening that seems to be the problem.”

  Shit.

  I did it again. Apparently, I missed the lesson on thinking-before-speaking in kindergarten.

  “Gemma,” he says menacingly.

  “Chase,” I mock. “Put me down.”

  “Not until you admit there’s something here.”

  “Why would I admit to something that isn’t true?”

  His throat does the angry rattle thing again.

  Yikes.

  “Gemma, I’m not playing this game with you.”

  “You’re the one playing games!” I say, my voice incredulo
us. “You and your gonzo cousin up there.”

  “We’ve been through this.” His jaw clenches tighter. “He’s dangerous. It isn’t a game.”

  I snort. “Maybe you’re overreacting.”

  Before Chase can respond, Jim from Maintenance interrupts.

  “I’m going to try to do a remote factory reset to get the elevator jumpstarted. Should take five to ten minutes, at the most. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have to call the firefighters. Just hang tight, in there, okay? We’ll get you sorted out in no time.”

  Firefighters? Shit!

  Chase doesn’t move or acknowledge Jim’s interruption.

  “Chase!” I smack my palms against his shoulders. “Did you not hear Jim? Put me down! We have to get out of here.”

  He’s silent and the muscle is jumping in his cheek again. Instead of addressing the fact that we need to leave, like, pronto, he mutters, “I’m not overreacting.”

  “Jesus,” I groan. Apparently, we aren’t leaving until this conversation is finished. “Really, this again?”

  He stares at me with a stony expression.

  “Fine, have it your way. But you can talk to the firefighters, when they get here.” I try to shrug but I’m pressed too tight against the wall to move. “All I know is, Brett seemed perfectly nice to me. Sure, maybe he’s a little intense, but isn’t it possible you’re projecting your own anger and hatred onto him?” I ask. “I mean, yeah, he probably brought me up there just to mess with you, but maybe that’s where it ends. I don’t think he’s actually going to do anything to me.”

  “You don’t know anything about it,” Chase snaps, fury like I’ve never heard before lacing his tone.

  “I know that before you got there, we were having a totally normal conversation about art. Yeah, your cousin needs to cool it with the lingering stares — I don’t care how much money you have, that’s just not polite — and yes, there was a weird, brief tangent about thoroughbreds, but otherwise it was a totally normal business meeting.”

  I’m so busy talking, I don’t notice he’s gone completely still at my words, every muscle in his body locking into place with tension.

  “Really, Chase, you’re overreacting to all of this.”

  I trail off into silence. After a moment, he breaks it and his voice is so intense, so guttural, I barely recognize it.

  “What did you say?”

  On a scale of 1 to angry, he’s shot straight past seeing red and landed on blood boiling.

  “Um.” Damn, I’m squeaking again. “That maybe you’re overreacting?”

  His eyes, unblinking, cut to mine in an unrelenting stare that sends shivers down my spine.

  “Thoroughbreds,” he says, and I can tell by the pure fury in his voice, he’s still a tad bit vexed.

  “Um..”

  “Gemma.” I worry steam is going to start leaking from his ears. “I’m not going to ask again.”

  Okay, maybe he’s more than a tad bit vexed.

  I gulp again. “I don’t know! He just starting talking about how he knows you better than anyone, and how he can read you, and then he was telling me about your grandfather’s horses.” I’m breathing hard, trying to hold his stare but, frankly, it’s scaring the shit out of me.

  “And?” he prompts, shaking me lightly. “What else did he say?”

  “Chase, you’re scaring me.”

  “Good,” he says unapologetically. “What else did he say?”

  My brow creases as I shuffle through memories of my conversation with Brett, which somehow seems like a lifetime ago after everything that’s happened in this damn elevator. “Um, he said you had a favorite horse. A stallion. Except you didn’t want him to know it was your favorite, so you only rode it when he was out of the house.” I take a deep breath.

  “Anything else?”

  “Just that you aren’t good at sharing.” I wince as I recall his exact words. “And that you’re always worried he’s going to steal your favorite toys.”

  Chase is totally silent, his eyes working with thoughts I can’t begin to decipher, his jaw locked down so tight, he’s probably going to crack his teeth. Not that he’d notice — he’s trapped so deep inside his head, the elevator could probably come loose from its cables and plummet back to earth without him realizing.

  I give him a full minute before I speak again and when I do, my voice is soft.

  “Chase.”

  He looks at me with haunted eyes.

  “What is it?” I whisper, my words barely audible.

  He hesitates a beat, then unclenches his jaw with visible effort. “You think this is a game. You think I’m overreacting.” He pulls a deep breath in through his nose, his eyes never wavering from mine. “I thought those same things, once. When I was sixteen, I didn’t want to see what was right in front of me, didn’t want to see him for what he was. For what he is.”

  I wait, knowing he’s not finished.

  “My horse, Titan — he was a thoroughbred stallion. Dark black, solid muscle, more than sixteen hands. A gift from my grandfather, on my seventeenth birthday. He said I’d become a man, and a man needed his own horse, so long as I agreed to care for it myself, to do all the feeding, brushing, exercising. I didn’t mind. Titan was first thing that was ever just mine — solely my responsibility.” Chase’s eyes are distant, clouded with memories. “Brett’s younger than me by about eight months. He would’ve gotten his horse, if he’d waited. Grandfather was always fair, never favored one of us over the other. But Brett didn’t want to wait. He was jealous — so jealous, it consumed him. I could see it in the way he watched me brushing Titan out after our rides, in the way he lurked in the shadows of the stable, waiting for an opportunity.”

  Chase lifts his gaze to meet mine, and I see stark anger there, in the depths of his irises, along with hurt — a deep-rooted, long-aching pain that still plagues him, even after all these years. I barely know this man, I’m not even sure I like this man, but I can’t help feeling compassion for him. Heart turning in my chest, my fingers involuntarily begin to stroke the bare skin at the back of his neck, just above his shirt collar.

  “One day, I had to go away, I don’t even remember why. I asked one of the stable hands to keep an eye on Titan. But when I came home and went out to the stables, planning to take him for a ride, he wasn’t in his stall. No one had seen him. The stable hand didn’t know where he’d gone.” His nostrils flare on a sharp inhale. “But I knew. Even before Brett ran into the stable without my horse, his face a mask of fake shock and horror, I knew.”

  The breath catches in my throat.

  “He said it was an accident. That he’d taken Titan for a short ride, to give him some exercise because he knew I was busy that day. He said Titan’s hoof caught on a rock, that he stumbled, fell, landed wrong. It was a terrible accident, a tragedy — my thoroughbred with a broken leg.”

  The very air around us has stilled, as though the world itself has stopped spinning, and I don’t dare breathe, unwilling to shatter the moment until he’s purged this long-unspoken memory from his system.

  “He was in pain. There was nothing to be done.” Chase’s voice is eerily empty, detached of all emotion. “Grandfather got out his pistol and we walked to the field, where Brett left him, writhing in agony, foaming at the mouth. I’d never seen an animal suffer like that. And I’d never held a gun until that day, when Grandfather pressed its cool butt into my hand and told me being a man wasn’t always pretty. Titan was my horse — it was my responsibility to take care of it.”

  My fingers stop moving and instead simply press into the skin of his neck, a wordless offer of comfort.

  “I stroked his mane, one last time. Told him I was sorry. And then I shot him in the head.”

  His voice doesn’t break, when he says it, but my heart does — I feel it fissure inside my chest, picturing the young boy and the horse he loved, lying dead in a field.

  “Chase,” I whisper, grief sluicing though me.

  “Brett did that,
” Chase says flatly. “He broke him. Killed him. The first of many things of mine he’s broken.”

  I’m wordless, stunned, as I stare at him, searching for the right words. But there are no right words, not for this. Nothing I say can fix this.

  Chase’s eyes return to mine. “I’m not overreacting. I’m not projecting my anger onto him,” he says resolutely. “He’s charming. He always was. And he’s smart enough to cover his tracks. Maybe he seems harmless to you, maybe you still think none of this shit applies to you, but I need you to believe me when I say that you’re wrong, Gemma.”

  I somehow manage to nod as horror washes over me for an entirely different reason.

  I was so lost in his story, I forgot, for a moment, that the same, fledgling monster who killed a horse at sixteen years old is now fully grown and, apparently, has set his eyes on me.

  Holy shit.

  My breaths start coming faster as my panicked eyes shoot up to the ceiling, as though Brett can somehow see through the many floors of plaster and steel currently separating us. I feel exposed, utterly alone, as naked terror pumps through my system.

  “Gemma,” Chase says, shaking me lightly.

  My eyes fly back to his — I know they’re wide and full of fear.

  “You’ll be fine.” His voice is steady, strong. “I promise I won’t let him touch you. I won’t even let him get near you.”

  “I… But...” I try to speak, but find I can’t articulate even one of the many hysterical thoughts clanging inside my head.

  Chase opens his mouth to speak again, but it’s not his voice I hear.

  “Folks, just hang tight. Looks like the factory reset isn’t working. I’m going to call the firefighters, now.”

  “Fuck,” Chase curses.

  He stares into my eyes for a long moment, then finally sets me back on my feet, turns, and pushes the button to restart the elevator. I can hear him speaking rapidly into the intercom, telling Jim something, but for the life of me I can’t make out his words. The steady, static buzz of panic quickly overwhelms all my senses and drags me under.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, I’m having a serious case of déjà vu.