One to Chase (One to Hold #7)

by Tia Louise

  He’s still in my heart. It hasn’t pushed him out.

  “When did you know?” My brother doesn’t seem to notice, or at least he doesn’t understand my inner turmoil.

  I think of that gross, life-altering day so long ago. “Fourteen,” I answer. “I was fourteen.”

  “Then it was Linda.” His voice is flat, matter of fact. “I’m pretty sure theirs lasted the longest.”

  A shudder crosses my shoulders. “How can you be so removed? Don’t you care?”

  “Of course, I care,” he growls. “Why do you think I devoted myself to something honorable? Something I could control.”

  Until Mariska...

  My mind goes back to that day, my father standing over me, eyes blazing. “You will not tell your mother,” he ordered. I hadn’t said I’d tell her, but he could see it in my young eyes, and he crushed the idea as surely as he crushed me. “You will not break her heart and destroy our home.”

  Destroy our home. He put all the responsibility on my fourteen year-old shoulders. Back then I was a child. I didn’t understand what he did, and I wasn’t strong enough to fight him.

  “I believed him,” I say, even though I’m sure Stuart won’t understand my meaning. “I believed if I said anything, I’d break our mother’s heart.”

  Strong arms surround me, and for the first time in... Ever? My oldest brother holds me. I’m clutched so tightly against his chest, I almost can’t breathe. He hugs me, and I feel the slightest tremor move through him.

  We share the pain of the horrible secret we each carried for so long alone. The thing I want to apologize to our beautiful mother for so much. I betrayed her with my fear.

  “It was not our fault.” His voice is husky. “The only thing we did wrong was believe him.”

  With those words, the fist inside me opens. “Oh, Stuart.” I feel my body melt into him. I feel the wall of stone I’ve constructed around my heart start to crumble. “If only I knew. If only I knew you knew.”

  A large hand moves slowly up and down my back. Never in my life has my oldest brother been so comforting. All I’ve ever known is the wall he built up, the one he used to push us all away. The same wall I carried inside me. He expressed his hurt differently, but we were both running from the betrayal planted so deep by one of the two people we should’ve been able to trust.

  A few moments pass. My breathing calms, and I feel him pulling back. Arms relax, we step apart from each other. I touch under my eyes with his handkerchief before handing it back to him.

  “Thank you,” I say quietly.

  He pats my shoulder and stands a little straighter, always the good Marine. “I guess this explains a few things.”

  My troubled teen years. The wreck I made of my life in high school. The reason I went so far away to college. The reason I ran... Until now.

  “You couldn’t have known.” We’re quiet a few moments longer, and my brow lines. “Does Patrick...?”

  Stuart shrugs. “He’s never mentioned it.”

  “It’s not something you can really ask.”

  “It never was before.”

  The change in his voice breaks through my confusion. “Bill.”

  “I think he loves her.” He steps back, hands in his pockets. “All those years I spent with him. The time I was there last fall. He’ll treat her right. Like she deserves to be treated. Like she’s always deserved to be treated.”

  My chest clenches, and I nod. Heat fills my eyes, but I don’t want to cry anymore. I want to bury the past. I want to stop carrying the sins of my father and allow my mother to be happy. I want to be happy.

  “You know him better than all of us,” I say. “If you think he’ll make things right, he’ll love her—”

  “I’m sure he will. I’ve seen them together.”

  Nodding, I blink up to meet his eyes. “Then I’m onboard.”

  He touches my hand briefly. “She’ll be okay, and you can move on with your life. Find someone and settle down.”

  I manage to smile, thinking of a Sunday afternoon not so long ago. I won’t settle down. I’ll fly.

  Chapter 20: Settling Scores

  Marcus

  China Girl is the hottest up-and-coming restaurant on the Near North side, and as such, our firm is invited to their soft open tonight. I’m sure they’ve invited all the Chicago elite. It’s perfect opportunity to establish my separation from Paige, and my reunion with the amazing, brilliant, lovely... so sexy Miss Amy Knight.

  The idea makes me smile as I lean back in my office chair, reading over Evan’s final court documents on McGruder. He’s got it in the bag, and my eyes drift every ten minutes to the clock on my desk. Finally, it’s six-thirty and I can go to her.

  Dropping my feet to the floor, I stand, sweeping my blazer off the chair and dropping my phone and wallet in my pockets.

  “It’s ready,” I say, entering Evan’s office. “Be sure you get everything in on time, and let me know if you want me to appear with you.”

  He beams with pride, as well he should. “You headed to China Girl?”

  “Sure,” I say, nodding. “You going?”

  “I’ll drop by for cocktails at least.”

  “See you there.” I’m out the door.

  Walking the blocks that separate us, I shoot Amy a text. Headed your direction. We got an invite to China Girl’s soft open.

  She was so happy this morning in spite of her fears for her mother. We weren’t able to chat much today, as I had to make up for being completely out of touch yesterday. It was okay. Her brothers are in town, her mother is out of the woods, and I was pretty confident she’d be covered.

  I’ve actually been back long enough to know about this. Not sure if it’s a good thing.

  I grin at her cryptic text. It’s a great thing. We’ll be the toast of Chicago.

  We should probably talk about that. I have things to tell you.

  This woman, I shake my head. She has no idea. I want to hear everything you have to say.

  No response. It’s okay. I’m getting close to her building, and I want nothing more than to sweep her into my arms and kiss her soundly on the mouth. I hit the little black button, and I’m immediately buzzed up.

  The door to Sylvia’s condo is unlocked, and I let myself in. “You here?” I call, my eyes sweeping the dim-lit condo. It’s warm and lived-in, but my girl is nowhere in sight.

  “Make yourself a cocktail,” she calls from somewhere in the back of the place. “I’m almost ready.”

  “You want something?” I step into the kitchen, opening cabinets, wondering where they keep the liquor.

  “I’m good!” her voice is so light and clearly still happy, I want to find her and kiss her.

  “I’m coming to find you,” I shout.

  “No!” she squeals. “I want to surprise you.”

  “Not happy,” I grouse with a grin, heading back to the kitchen. At the same time, I’m curious about being surprised. I’ve seen a lot of Miss Amy Knight.

  I’m back in the kitchen when I hear the noise of heels on hardwoods. Turning, I see her just before she stops in a white halter dress with a flared skirt and bright blue Ming Dynasty print at the neck, bodice, and around the hem.

  “I don’t believe it,” I laugh. “How did you—”

  “It is pretty coincidental,” she nods, pressing her palms together and doing a little bow before skipping to me in a pair of platform espadrilles. “I picked this up in Barcelona last year, and I’ve never even worn it!”

  Her hair is twisted up in a bun with two chopsticks crossed in the back. “I prefer your hair down, but this is cute.”

  She makes a pouty face, and it’s too much. I can’t resist. My hands are on her hips, and I pull her to me, planting a firm kiss on her perky red lips. She exhales into me, melting as her mouth opens. Our tongues unite.

  My hands move up to cup the sides of her neck, my thumbs caressing her cheeks as I kiss her, and I have to fight the urge to slide my fingers into her ha
ir, unwinding it around us.

  Instead I straighten, releasing her. “We’d better take off before I forget you need food.”

  “Who says I need food?” She slants an eye, and I can’t help a laugh. I love this playful side of her.

  Something’s changed, and I look forward to finding out what.

  * * *

  So what exactly does upscale Chinese look like? I was wondering the same thing, and the answer is not too shabby.

  The restaurant is all oranges and reds and low tables. Dark-wood Frank Lloyd Wright silhouette dividers separate the dining area, and golden lanterns fill the ceiling, creating an ambient glow. It’s beautiful. And fucking packed.

  Valet takes the car, and I catch my beautiful date’s hand before we head into the restaurant. The first person we encounter is Amy’s friend from Studio O.

  “Ceej!” She hops forward and hugs him. He’s dressed in khaki pants cuffed above his ankles and boat shoes, a white shirt, navy blazer and turquoise tie. Shaking my head, I can’t help admiring his flair.

  “Bitch! I had no idea you would be here. Look at you!” His eyes flit to me, and an eyebrow arches. “Nevermind.” A slim hand extends in my direction. “I’m sure you don’t remember. Carlton Jeffrey Berman the Third.”

  My eyebrows rise, and at his side, I catch Amy attempting to stifle her laughter. “Actually, I do remember,” I reply. “But I didn’t get the full moniker last time.”

  “You can call me C.J.”

  I don’t care what his name is or how sparkly his eyes get when I shake his hand. Seeing Amy this happy is something I can live with forever, regardless of who brings it—so long as she’s at my side.

  Their heads are together as we make our way through the crowded bar. Amy’s hand is tight in mine, our fingers laced together. They over-invited tonight. I stop, exasperated, but my eyes roam the crowd. Evan is in the back corner leaning close to a pretty brunette. Our next stop.

  We’re at the bar, and I lean close toward the harried bartender. “Three vodkas on the rocks.” She nods and just as fast three tumblers of ice are set up on the bar. Red plastic beaks top the clear bottle, and our glasses fill slowly. Three lime wedges, and I pass over cash. “Keep the change.”

  Amy’s at my chest. “What did you order?”

  “Vodka. It seemed the quickest.” Her eyes sparkle with her smile as she takes the drinks, handing one to her friend.

  He’s distracted talking to a guy behind him. She turns to me, cuddling close against my chest. “This is crazy.”

  Looking down at her snuggled against me, holding onto me, warmth percolates in my chest. “Damn, girl,” I breathe. “Are you really hungry? I’m ready to forget this.”

  Her eyes meet mine in intensity. “Not really.”

  My chin drops and I rest my forehead against hers. “Shit, you’re going to kill me.”

  “Let’s go somewhere we can talk.” Her voice is still happy, but there’s a note of gravity in it now that wasn’t there earlier. We’re at the heart of the matter, and my expression sobers.

  “Okay.” I catch her hand, ready. I want to know everything. I want to be all in. Whatever she wants to tell me, I want to hear it.

  We’re just turning to go, and of all the fucking things. “Marcus!” Roland fucking Dickerson is at my side with Karen the cunt Philpot right beside him.

  “Roland,” I say with zero enthusiasm. I can’t help noticing Amy shrink into my side.

  “I would say fancy seeing you here, but god damn.” Roland inspects the room. “Not a good sign if they can’t even keep track of the guest list.”

  “No strikes for being over zealous.” I’m non-committal. I don’t know why these two make Amy so uncomfortable, but I’m sensitive to how much they do, and I’m ready to get back to where we were headed.

  “Amy.” Karen’s broadcaster voice clips through the background noise. “How nice.”

  My beautiful date doesn’t answer. “Need a drink?” I’m the closest to the bar, and it seems the easiest distraction. Switch places, take off.

  “See if there’s a decent Scotch back there.” Roland slaps my shoulder, but Karen looks across the crowd.

  “I’ll be back,” she says instead. I’m relieved she’s leaving, but when I look over my shoulder, I notice Amy has gone to stand with her friend. Shit. I’m stuck.

  I turn to the bar and call in his order. The bartender places a tumbler of Dewar’s in front of me, and I pass it back to Roland. He’ll likely complain, but I couldn’t care less. I’m about to ditch his ass.

  “Traded in Goldfarb for Knight.” He laughs in his congestive way. “I guess there’s the real deal, and then there’s the sweet deal, yes?”

  The question irritates me, but it’s my fault. I made the case for Paige at the gala. Thankfully, my love missed that one. Now I’m ready to defend her.

  “What can I say? Amy’s more my speed.”

  He laughs into his drink in a way that roils my stomach. “You never make a bad choice. Still don’t know why you’re not on our team.”

  Because you’re a Dickweed. “Oh, yeah?” I laugh as if I’m one of his frat brothers.

  “I’ll give you a tip, since you’re new.” He pauses to take another swig of scotch. “Amy Knight has quite the well-deserved reputation.”

  My stomach tightens at his implication. “That so?”

  “If she doesn’t put out, just let me know.” He laughs, giving me a disgusting wink. “I have the perfect blend to spread those pretty legs.”

  Rage explodes in my chest. My fist clenches, and I’m ready to slam it in his fucking mouth. I’m not sure what he’s implying, but piecing together the response I’ve seen my girl have to this toad, I have an idea. Still, I want to be sure.

  “What would that be?” I smile, doing my best to act calm as red clouds my vision.

  Roland polishes off the scotch, and he’s more buzzed than I’ve ever seen him. He flags the bartender, who places another short glass of amber liquid in front of him. He lifts it and takes a long drink. Karen’s back with us, and I scan the crowd for Amy.

  “The hostess said it’ll be another twenty minutes before we have a table,” Karen sighs, looking at her phone. “I’m stepping out. You okay, Rolls?” Her eyes narrow and flicker up and down him. “Getting pissed so early, dearest?”

  He laughs a little too loudly and smacks her ass hard. Her face flames with anger, and my jaw clenches. Karen’s a bitch, and I’m happy to see her embarrassed. Still, Roland’s words burn in my brain. I’m ready to get to the bottom of whatever Dickweed has on Amy.

  Karen leaves, and Roland looks bleary-eyed into the crowd. “I need to eat something,” he slurs.

  I try to think of a way to get him back on the subject of whatever he was about to say. I don’t have to wait for long.

  “Hate to tell you.” He pats my shoulder as if pulling me into his confidence, but I lean away. “Karen says Goldie took up with that damn Frenchman.”

  I shrug. “It’s all good. Amy’s the girl for me.”

  “Right,” he nods, his slimy grin returning.

  “So tell me about this blend.”

  “Ahh,” he growls. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, old man.”

  My brow tightens, and I watch him lean heavily on the bar. I want him to say it so I can break his face. My fingers are twitching, and I’m right on the edge.

  I have an idea.

  Plastering on a cocky grin, I lean against the bar facing him. “Worried about the statute of limitations?”

  Another congestive laugh. “Maybe.” He scans the crowd, and I follow his line of sight to Amy doing a little twist-dance with C.J. She’s so pretty. “Look at her move. I’m sure she feels amazing awake, but I tell you,” he gives me a sick wink. “She’s just as hot unconscious.”

  That does it. Before he knows what’s coming, I bunch the neck of his shirt in one hand and jerk him up straight. “Merritt! Wha—” My fist slams into his fucking mouth before he even fi
nishes.

  Shrieks ripple through the patrons waiting beside us, and the crowd parts to let Dickweed hit the floor with a SLAM!

  He’s out, but I don’t give a shit. I step over his fat carcass to grab his shirtfront again, so I can pull him up and slam my fist into his face another time. He’s drunk, and I want him to feel this beating tomorrow.

  “Marcus!” A male voice cuts through the crowd. I don’t even look up.

  Fury burns in my chest, driving me on. I plan to leave a lasting impression on this slimy toad. He fucked up hurting the woman I love.

  Roland’s face is slick with dark red blood, and my fist glances off his cheekbone. That one hurt, but I don’t care. I’m winding up for Slam number three, when my arm is trapped against a firm torso.

  I’m pulled roughly away, and two men block me from finishing that fucking criminal. It’s Evan and Paul. Kitty must be somewhere in the crowd.

  “Roland!!!” Karen’s scream bounces off the walls.

  I vaguely notice strobes flashing all around us. Paparazzi push through the gawkers to capture us both. I’m sure they got the whole thing.

  Nobody leaves the restaurant. Instead it seems to have grown even more crowded. Twenty smart phones are pointed in our direction, and it looks like we’ll be the lead story tomorrow.

  “What the fuck?” Evan hisses low in my ear. He’s got a firm grip on me, and it’s a good thing. I don’t care who sees.

  I’ve got a lot more where that came from for Roland Dickweed Dickerson. I want him in the hospital. Better yet, I want him dead.

  “Let’s go,” Paul barks, helping Evan drag me away.

  “Where’s Amy?” I look around the room, but I don’t see her anywhere. I also don’t see C.J. “Amy!” I shout, getting no answer.

  The room is chaos, and a wall of well-dressed spectators push forward to take a photo of Roland on his back, his face covered in blood. From what I can tell over Karen’s shoulder, he’s not moving. Satisfaction fills my chest.

  “Somebody call 911!” she screams.

  “I’ll find Amy,” Paul says. “Kitty and I can drive her home. You need to go.”