Not You It's Me

by Julie Johnson

  Phoebe stares at me for a beat. “Sorry, I’m a little protective when it comes to Parker. And no, he’s not seeing anyone. Not anyone serious, anyway. I mean, I really don’t think you can call the parade of bimbos that march through his life dating, since none of them last longer than a few nights. I love my brother, but… his taste in women needs some serious work.”

  “You two sound close.”

  She nods. “Yeah — mom’s dead, dad’s a big businessman. Parker basically raised me.”

  “I’m sorry… I didn’t know.”

  “How could you?” She shrugs. “It isn’t so bad, really. It’d be damn-near perfect, if he wasn’t so overprotective. He scares away most of my dates long before they’ve made it past night one.”

  “But he let you come with Brett?” I ask, my nose scrunching.

  “No, he’s out of the country, so I took advantage.” She stares at me for a minute. “You don’t like Brett.”

  I stay silent, not wanting to get into it with her.

  “Gemma?”

  Standing there looking at me with those bright eyes, she looks so young. So innocent. And I know I’m not responsible for her, that I’m certainly not her big sister… but I can’t help myself from trying to protect her, even if it’s not my place.

  “He just… gives me a vibe,” I hedge.

  “Come on, girl. You have to do better than that.”

  I sigh. “Let’s just say, Chase has told me some stories. And he doesn’t seem like the nicest guy out there.”

  She nods. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not really interested in him, then.”

  “You’re not?”

  “Nope.” A slow grin spreads across her face. “But I am hoping word that I was his date gets around to a certain someone.”

  I laugh out loud. “Let me guess — someone your brother disapproves of?”

  “His best friend,” she says, a little miserably. “I’ve loved him for, like, ever. But he refuses to see me as anything but a little sister.”

  “So, you’re trying to make him jealous?”

  “Yep.” She sighs deeply. “According to my friends, it’s a great motivator, as well as one of the only ways to get a man to see how pigheaded he’s being.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’m new at this whole dating thing, myself.”

  Her eyes catch mine in the mirror. “You’re doing fine. Better than fine. Have you seen the way Chase looks at you?”

  I blush.

  “Vanessa is off her head. And, quite possibly, her meds. Because that man looks at like you like he’s never letting you out of his sight.”

  I snort. “Which is probably why we should be getting back.”

  “You go, I’m going to touch up my makeup.”

  “See you back at the table.”

  “Hey, Gemma?” Her voice halts me just before I reach the doors, and I turn back to face her.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m really glad I met you.”

  My heart lurches in my chest and I begin to fiddle with my necklace, pressing my fingers into the sharp-edged gold to calm myself.

  “You too.”

  “Maybe we can grab lunch, sometime?”

  Maybe…if you don’t hate me after tonight.

  “I’d like that.”

  “Good.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners, catching on the pendant in my hands. “You know, it’s funny… I have that exact same necklace at home.”

  I stop breathing.

  “I’ve had it forever.” She shrugs. “I guess it’s kind of my lucky charm.”

  What are the odds of that?

  “Really?” I ask, my voice cracking.

  She nods. “My dad gave it to me when I was little. He said when you keep the sun by your heart, the shadows can’t ever get close.”

  My hand drops away from the necklace, as though the metal has scalded me.

  No.

  No way.

  This necklace was a gift from my mother.

  Not from him.

  Not from the father who never wanted me.

  Not the father who called me a mistake.

  No.

  Nothing makes sense as I stand there looking at her, failing to form a single word as my mind spins out of control. I don’t even try to respond; I just force one last smile, turn on my heel, and slip out the doors without another word. The necklace I’ve worn for nearly a decade hangs heavy around my neck, weighted down by secrets. My mother’s, my father’s… I can barely keep track, anymore.

  My fingers itch to rip it off and toss it away, as it swings gently against my chest with each step — rhythmic little taps from a pendulum of lies. I contemplate calling my mother, demanding answers I’m not even sure I want to hear… but I can’t. This conversation isn’t one I can now, in the middle of a gala.

  My heart races nearly as fast as the thoughts in my mind as I wander dazedly across the atrium. I’m almost back to the ballroom when I spot the front doors, leading out onto the street.

  I freeze, staring at them, confronted with the ultimate choice.

  I can flee.

  I can pick up my dress and run out into the night, away from Vanessa’s words, from the half-sister I’ll never get a chance to love, from the necklace that now symbolizes a lifetime of lies.

  I can do it.

  But, I’ll also be running away from Chase.

  And, I’m not sure when it happened, I’m not sure how it happened… but leaving him behind has become something I absolutely can’t live with.

  So, I package up all the pretty little lies I’ve lived my life by in a box at the back of my mind. I take a deep breath, steady my shoulders… and I head into the ballroom. Because even if my world has morphed into a place I barely recognize anymore, even if nothing at all makes sense, even if I’m falling rapidly into chaos…

  Chase is my safe place to land.

  ***

  When Jameson lurches to his feet, tumbler still in hand, and stumbles toward the podium at the far side of the stage, I know things are about to go from bad to worse. A lot worse.

  Chase tenses at my side, Brett’s expression gets darker, and even Phoebe seems to be picking up on the strange vibe running among the Crofts.

  I lay a hand on Chase’s thigh beneath the table, squeezing lightly. It’s a small comfort but it’s all I can offer, and as he looks over and catches my eyes, I see, beneath the sharp green ice, a hint of that softness he seems to reserve just for me.

  “It’ll be fine,” I whisper, though, for all I know, my words are an outright fabrication.

  “Sunshine.” His voice calls my bluff.

  Moving closer, so my mouth is pressed almost to his ear, I lower my voice into something that sounds like my Yoda impression mixed with the sage-like tones of a samurai warrior.

  “‘If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the results of a hundred battles.’”

  His eyebrows lift. “Someone’s been reading Sun Tzu.”

  “Maybe.”

  He grins. “After all the shit you gave me…”

  “Whatever.” I shrug. “It’s good, I guess, but if given the choice, I’d still pick, like, a Kristen Ashley book any day of the week.”

  His grin widens and seconds later, I feel his hand lace with mine beneath the table.

  “Thanks, sunshine.”

  “For what?”

  “Making me smile when it’s the last thing I wanted to do.”

  “Well, I was getting pretty tired of your brooding. And starting to worry you’d give yourself TMJ with all that clenching. It’s just not good for your teeth—”

  My words are cut off by the sharp squeal of the microphone as it’s pulled from its stand. My eyes fly in that direction, landing on Jameson, who’s looking more than a little tipsy. I wonder how he’s possibly going to give a coherent speech, seeing as he’s three sheets to the wind.

  “Good evening,” he slurs into the mic, swaying a little on his feet.

  Oh. He’s n
ot going to give a coherent speech. Not at all.

  “Great,” Chase mutters.

  “Thank you all for coming here tonight, to celebrate a new chapter in the Croft family legacy.” His words are running together a bit at the ends, but at least he’s managed a full sentence. “As most of you know, as of this week, I’m retiring. I never thought this day would come so soon — though, if you ask my son, it’s taken forever! Right, Brett?”

  He guffaws into the microphone, his whole body shaking with laughter. The room watches in silence as vodka splashes over the side of his glass and lands on his shiny black dress shoes.

  Chase’s hand tightens on mine and I see Brett’s hand clench around his glass so hard, the tips of his fingers turn white. Brett’s mother is totally detached, her eyes unfocused, as though she’s not even here.

  “Most men want sons,” Jameson drunkenly informs the crowd. “Carry on the family name. Create a legacy.” He takes another sip of his drink and the sound of his lips smacking together echoes out through the speakers. “Not me. I wanted daughters. Girls. Someone to love me, not someone to replace me. Not boys, to fight over the scraps of my life until there was nothing left. Like wolves with a deer carcass.”

  The air at the table is so thick, I’m having trouble catching my breath.

  “But we don’t always get what we want!” With sloppy steps, he shuffles closer to the microphone. His voice booms so loud, the mic emits a squeal of feedback. “I don’t want to die at sixty. My wife doesn’t want to be a widow — do you Marlena?”

  Brett’s mother flinches, but otherwise has no reaction.

  “And my son,” Jameson smiles. “Well, he doesn’t want me to choose another man to run my company, that’s for damn sure!”

  He’s teetering on unsteady feet, laughing so hard I fear one more good chuckle might send him careening face-first off the stage.

  “Chase,” I whisper. “You have to stop him.”

  His hand tightens on mine, but he doesn’t stand.

  “Which is really the reason we’re all here tonight, isn’t it?” Jameson continues. “To welcome our new CEO. My nephew. And a better man than I ever was — a fact he’s reminded me of many times!”

  The mockery in his voice is unmistakable. Chase’s grip grows so tight, my finger bones start to ache.

  “Chase, my boy, where are you?” Jameson calls, turning to face the table. “Come up here!”

  For a second, no one at the table moves. I don’t think anyone breathes.

  “Chase,” I whisper, squeezing his hand.

  He looks at me, the pure dread in his eyes making my heart still.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I tell him, my voice low. “If you want to run…just say the word and we’re gone.”

  I see indecision flicker in his eyes for less than a second, before they flatten into hard, emotionless disks. He’s utterly silent as he leans forward and plants a soft kiss on my cheek, then rises to his feet and crosses the stage with unhurried steps. Looking at him, you’d never know how much hurt hides beneath that mask of indifference.

  Polite applause ushers him toward his uncle. I watch him go, my stomach tied in nervous knots.

  “Here he is!” Jameson cheers, grabbing Chase in a stiff-looking handshake. “My boy! The unprodigal son! The heir-unapparent. The man taking over for me, when they send me home to die.” He chortles loudly at his own joke, perhaps to compensate for the fact that no one else is laughing. “With him at the helm, it’s hard to say who’ll be in the ground first — me or my company!”

  I wince at the crass joke — if you can even call it that.

  There are murmurs of concern spreading through the audience, rippling out from the tables nearest the stage to the back reaches of the ballroom. Jameson has surpassed good-naturedly drunk and gone straight to mean — and I’m not the only one who’s noticed.

  “Now, Chase, here, he’s been more than a nephew to me,” Jameson slurs, a lopsided grin on his lips. “He’s really more like a so—”

  In a quick move, Chase reaches out and grabs the microphone from its stand, cutting Jameson off mid-sentence. With a sharp nod to the nearest waiter, Chase signals for his uncle to be led back to his seat. It’s a small mercy that Jameson is so drunk, he doesn’t even put up a fight as they steer him away.

  “Let’s give my uncle a hand,” Chase says into the microphone, his voice revealing none of the anger I’m sure is thrumming through his system at the moment. Personally, I’d rather gouge my eyes out than applaud his uncle’s words, but with the silence dragging on and Chase standing there at the microphone with the whole room watching, like he’s some kind of exotic zoo animal, there’s really no other choice. I lift my hands and start to clap, the sound of my palms slapping together shattering the quiet of the ballroom. Chase’s eyes find mine for a fraction of a second, and I see a message in his gaze.

  Thank you.

  My heart clenches and I clap harder. After a second, another set of hands joins mine. My eyes follow the sound across the table to Phoebe, who’s applauding for all she’s worth. I smile, she winks, and a small eternity later, the rest of the reluctant audience joins in as well, until the whole room is vibrating with thunderous, wholly-undeserved applause.

  “Thank you.” Chase’s deep voice carries out across the room, instantly silencing our claps. “I’m not one for speeches on the best of nights, and this one has been particularly long. So I’ll keep this brief.” His voice is steady, unflinching, as he looks out over the crowd. “I’m a Croft. Even in the years I most wanted to, I could never change that fact.”

  I watch a muscle jump in his cheek, and I lace my hands together beneath the table to keep from fidgeting.

  “You don’t always like your family, you sure as hell don’t get to pick them, but that doesn’t change a damn thing.” He swallows hard. “This name I carry, this company my grandfather built from nothing — it’s not something I can walk away from. It’s a commitment. It’s a blood oath — one I intend to honor.”

  There’s total silence — everyone’s watching Chase command the room with rapt attention. Even Brett, though his expression is less awed than angry.

  “You don’t know me. Some of you might think you do, but I’m not the person you knew when I left five years ago. I’ll readily admit, the boy I used to be failed to measure up in many ways. But I hope you won’t judge the man I’ve become on the same yardstick. I hope you’ll give me a chance to prove I’ve changed.”

  I feel my heart turn in my chest as I watch this man — this amazing, heartbreaking man — stare down the people who’ve been judging him mercilessly all night.

  “I may not be your choice. I may not even be the best man for this job. But it’s mine.” His eyes find mine again, and my breath catches at the intensity of his gaze. “And I protect the things that belong to me. Always.”

  Always.

  His final word is still reverberating from the speakers when Chase turns his back on the crowd, crosses to the table, and tugs me to my feet. I don’t even have time to ask what’s going on because, before I know it, he’s pulled me off the stage and is leading me through the ballroom so fast, the people at the tables around us are nothing more than smears of color in my peripherals.

  “Chase,” I hiss.

  He doesn’t stop.

  If anything, his pace increases.

  Just before we hit the atrium, I look back over my shoulder at the Croft table. Brett’s eyes, still and watchful, lock with mine, and the look in them makes all the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. His gaze holds a promise.

  Chase may’ve won this battle, but don’t believe the war is over. It’s just beginning.

  I force myself to look away from him and catch Phoebe’s eyes one final time. Still in her seat, she’s laughing and shaking her head at Chase’s caveman-esque exit. The last thing I see, before the ballroom fades from sight, is her amused grin.

  As we step out of the building, race down the red carpe
t, and slide into the back of the limo Evan’s just pulled to the curb, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever see her again.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Loon

  The elevator doors slide shut behind us as we step into the dark loft. The ride back to Croft Industries was silent — neither Chase nor I spoke a word as the limo glided through the streets, each entirely consumed by our own thoughts. Turning the sun necklace over and over in my palm, I spent the ride trying to sort out whose family is more messed up — mine or his. For the life of me, I couldn’t decide on an answer.

  On the left, we’ve got infidelity, an accidental love child, inescapable half-siblings, and an impending media crises.

  On the right, we’ve got sociopathic tendencies, fatal alcoholism, scheming socialites, and a case of murky parentage.

  It’s a toss up, honestly.

  Chase shrugs out of his suit jacket, walks to the kitchen island, and lays it over the back of a barstool. I’m silent as I sidle up beside him and set my clutch purse on the counter, my elbow bumping lightly against his. He doesn’t say anything — he just leans toward me so his heat presses into my side, the length of our bodies resting together like two playing cards in a pyramid, each holding the other upright. My eyes slide shut as I absorb his strength.

  I’m not sure how long we stand there in the dark, leaning on each other. But eventually, I feel his body start to shake — slowly, at first, then faster and faster, until my teeth are rattling with the force of it. My eyes fly open, heart pounding in my chest as I’m consumed by real, genuine fear. Because if Chase is falling apart — if this strong, composed man has been brought to tears — I don’t know if I can keep from breaking down right along with him. I don’t know if I can be strong enough for us both.

  His shoulders shake harder, silent sobs wracking his entire frame. Fearing the worst, I burrow into his side, slide my arms around his body, and force myself to look up into his face….

  “Wait… You’re… you’re laughing!” I yell, my voice filled with disbelief as I see he isn’t crying at all. Quite the opposite. “Laughing?”