Caught in the Chase (Caught Series Book 3)

by Kacey Shea

  Volunteering? That’s it. Some bullshit program for paralyzing my friend? This has to be a joke. Right?

  “So, what’ll it be?” He taps his pen impatiently against the paper on his desk.

  I turn to my lawyer, who appears as shocked as I am. This can’t be normal but I’m not keen on spending the next two years of my life behind bars. I clear my throat. “The second option, Your Honor. Thank you.”

  He smiles grimly. “Don’t thank me. Do better. I don’t want to see you back in my courtroom.” He slams his gavel and with that my sentencing is over.

  Of course, the worst is still before me. It’s time to face dear old Dad.

  8

  Chase

  The drive to my father’s house is more somber than the one to the courthouse. Cam doesn’t make small talk or dive into deeper topics. It’s weird to sit in silence with my brother. Our similar positions as fire captain usually provides us with endless conversation, but now it’s the elephant in the room.

  Gravel crunches beneath the tires of Cam’s truck as he slows to a stop in the drive. “Want me to come in with you?”

  He’s offering to be my backup. To provide a shield, the way he did when I was a kid. But I’m a grown man. Shame pushes my refusal past my lips. “No.” I shake my head, then force a lightness to my tone. “Better get this over with so we can go grab a beer.”

  Cam’s gaze snaps to meet mine and his glare says, “Are you serious?” He doesn’t say it aloud though, and I hop out of the truck before he gets the chance.

  My feet are heavy in my shoes as I drag them up the steps to my childhood house. Inside I’m certain he’s waiting for me, and already disappointed. This place holds good memories, but horrible ones too. I try not to think about either. Right now, my biggest concern is getting in and out as quick and painlessly as possible.

  The battalion chief is the only one with the power to bring me back on at the department, so I need him in my corner. If I get through this volunteer hell, he’ll have to let me back. He can’t stay mad forever. Or so I hope.

  I knock at the door and wait.

  “Come in.” Dad’s familiar shout settles my nerves a little. This isn’t my doomsday. This is only a formality to tell him about my sentence.

  I step inside and walk to the kitchen when I don’t find him in his recliner. “Hey, Pops.”

  He sits on one of the barstools, a mug of coffee in his hands. “Chase.” He pushes out the seat next to him as an invitation. He doesn’t offer me coffee or one of the pastries wrapped under cellophane at the center of the island. A bad sign.

  I fidget under his stare as I take a seat. “You wanted to see me?”

  “You’re going to stay at your uncle’s this summer,” he says matter-of-factly and without preamble, continuing on at my blank expression. “Pack your bags and be ready to go next weekend. Your brother will drive you.”

  “What?” I shake my head, not sure what he means or why he’s making decisions for my future.

  “You need to complete your service hours. It’s already been arranged. Just stay out of trouble for the next few days. If that’s even possible.” He grumbles the last part but I hear it just fine.

  Understanding dawns, along with a sickening twist to my gut. He already knows about my sentencing. He’s already arranged my volunteer position. Impossible. Unless . . . “Damn it, Dad.” I push from the chair and hold his stare. “You did this.” I don’t know if I should be happy or disappointed. “You pulled strings for me.”

  “I’ve known Judge Bowers since elementary school.”

  I blink. Processing. Annoyed. “So you told him to stick me with three hundred hours? Great. I’ll volunteer at the station.”

  “Absolutely not!” His shout is unexpected.

  I flinch. He doesn’t want me at the station. He doesn’t want me—his own son—marring his perfect legacy. It’s fucked up, and if he thinks I’ll fall in line because he says so, then he has another thing coming. “I’m not going to hide away at Uncle Rob’s all summer. I’m a grown man. I make my own decisions.”

  “Like you made the choice to get behind the wheel after drinking all day?” He shakes his head and lets loose a scoff of disgust. “You lost the right to decide the second you risked the life of your crew.” Maverick. As if I don’t carry enough guilt on my own, he makes sure to pile on more. “But you’ll learn your lesson, son. I hope you’re ready to scrub toilets, mop, clean, and do whatever the hell else they ask you. It’s already arranged. You won’t let me or your uncle’s friend down. We clear?”

  “This is messed up. I have an apartment. Roommates. I can’t bail on them. I can’t just pick up and leave.” Surely, there’s something more desirable and suited to my skill set. I’m not afraid of hard work, but a custodial position? I can do better than that. “Why does my punishment feel more like a junior high service project?”

  “You’re a fucking idiot.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. You should be in jail right now, you know that?”

  “I’m not because you called in a favor! Which I never asked for!”

  “I did what I had to. Now, it’s your turn to man up. This is your final shot. There are no second chances after this. You’ve disgraced our name. The shit with your stepsister was bad enough. Now this? I can’t believe you’re my son.”

  Shame washes over me, coating every fiber of my being. “Dad.” I swallow hard, wishing I could disappear. I’ve spent my life trying and failing miserably to earn this man’s approval. Even now, when I need his support the most, he’s sending me away.

  “You’re gonna leave town and you’re gonna work your ass off until those hours are complete.”

  It’s not what I want. It’ll probably suck ass, but if it earns his approval, I’ll suck it up and get it done. I sigh, defeat falling heavy on my shoulders. “But after that?” I meet his stare “I’ll come back to the firehouse?”

  Dad’s chuckle holds no humor as he stands to his full height and invades my personal space. I’m only an inch taller than his six-foot-two frame, but he’s thirty years my senior. I’ve got twenty pounds of muscle on the old man, but he doesn’t appear to care.

  “You will never work in this county again,” he declares just above a whisper. “Not as a firefighter. Not as my son. And you won’t receive a recommendation, so good luck finding any other county to bring you on.” His word is final and thick with emotion. The implication takes a moment to sink in.

  I’m done. My life is over. I don’t know how to be anything other than a firefighter. It’s my life. At least it was. “So, what? You’ll pull strings to keep me out of jail but not to get me back on the department?”

  “Damn straight.”

  “You know what?” I shove my finger into his chest. “Fuck you, Dad! Don’t do me any more favors.”

  He grabs me by the collar, the way he used to when I was younger, and twists the fabric hard. It tightens around my throat, along with the rough skin of his knuckles. My hands clench, and as much as I’d like to take a swing at his angry mug there’s something inside me, probably the fearful child of my past, that can’t bring my arms to move. He’s right in my face, so close our noses almost touch when he finally speaks. “You don’t go to Kitty Hawk? You don’t complete your hours by the end of August? You don’t figure out a way to make a livin’ other than fighting fire?” He releases my collar with a shove. “Don’t bother coming back.” He stomps away without another look.

  He stops at the doorway. “Oh, and Chase?” I don’t miss that he uses my name, not the word son, and the pain in my chest splits open a little more.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’ll give the Camaro to Maverick.”

  My car. The one I spent countless hours saving up for to restore to its original glory. “Why?” I don’t understand. What does Maverick need with a car? He’ll never walk again and it’s hardly wheelchair friendly.

  My father shakes his head in disgust. “To sell it.
They need the money.” He turns away, and this time he doesn’t look back.

  My world goes numb as I stumble my way outside. The sun shines too bright. There’s not enough oxygen in the air. I press a palm to my chest and keep walking, needing to get away.

  Fuck. He won’t ever forgive me. Not for this.

  “Hey,” Cam says as I climb into the passenger seat. “How’d it go?”

  I’m as good as dead to him. My father. The man I always looked up to. The one I wanted to be like, to impress, to make proud. Instead of that, I’ve brought him nothing but shame. I’m the fuckup.

  I’m never coming back from this.

  While the thought is frightening, it’s also liberating. “Just take me home,” I mutter, the reality of my future dawning in my mind. There are no expectations to live up to because I’m unredeemable. It won’t matter what I do. Dad will never look at me the same. Which means I can do whatever the fuck I want.

  First things first.

  I need a drink.

  9

  Alicia

  Anxiety builds in my chest as I pull into my parents’ drive. It’s the same home I grew up in, a sprawling and impressive historical property just outside the city limits. Our weekly Sunday family brunch has been a requirement for as long as I can remember. But since I’m leaving for my summer internship on Wednesday, this will be my last one for a few months.

  When I told them about my plans they weren’t happy. Mom cried, Dad threatened to pause my monthly trust fund deposits, and my older brothers tried not to laugh. I swear, my internship for some “simple” community center was a bigger disappointment than the time I asked them to foot the bill for my outpatient rehab. Our family can be a bit dramatic at times. I come by it naturally. That and they don’t believe my drinking was ever a real problem. If functioning alcoholism gave out awards, I would have placed first. In fact, that would probably make them prouder than me spending the next three months with a bunch of at-risk teenagers.

  “Just get it over with,” I grumble under my breath, then paste on a happy smile before exiting my car and walking up to the house. I’m disappointed both of my brothers’ cars are absent from the drive. It’s easier to hide from my parents’ scrutiny in a crowd.

  “Mom? Dad?” I call out after letting myself in.

  “In the kitchen!” my mom says.

  I pocket my phone and place my purse in the closet before making my way to her. I focus on deep, slow breaths as I pass through the living room. It stings to look at the family photos. Of times when I was careless and clueless. I avert my gaze and avoid them, slipping into a familiar fake smile. I know my place here. What can and cannot be said. The expectations are so ingrained, it took years to see them for what they were. I slip them on like I did my dress earlier, putting up with it for a few hours even though it’s not reflective of who I am. Doesn’t matter though, my parents don’t want me to be original. They want good, obedient, complacent.

  “Darling!” My mother pulls me in for a hug that’s gone too soon and kisses both of my cheeks. She holds my arms while running her gaze over my appearance. She frowns when she gets to the chunk of highlighted blue in my hair, like she always does. One day I’ll have the confidence to dye the entire thing. It doesn’t matter how old I am or how many years I haven’t lived in this house, I’ll always be fearful of disappointing my mother.

  “I was worried you’d be late.”

  I try not to roll my eyes at her passive aggressive tone. “Why would I want to miss this?”

  She ignores my snark. “I thought we could eat on the deck? It’s a beautiful day.”

  “That’s fine, Mom. You don’t have to go all out.” But as I glance around the kitchen I see she already has. Catering dishes and pastry boxes from her favorite places clutter the counter.

  “Nonsense. My baby girl is insistent on running away for the summer. I don’t know when I’ll see you again. Besides, we both know how much your brothers eat.”

  “Mom, I’m literally going to be three hours away.”

  “Let’s not argue.” She waves me off and opens the refrigerator. “What can I get you to drink?”

  My mouth waters as she pulls out a bottle of champagne and sets it on the counter. Of course she’s making mimosas.

  “Juice is fine.” The tightness in my voice is impossible to hide.

  Her eyebrows pinch with a slight frown but thankfully, she doesn’t argue. I still haven’t settled on why exactly she refuses to accept my alcoholism. It’s either because she takes it as some kind of failure on her part, or that she might have to face her own dependence on the substance. It’s probably a combination of both.

  She hands over a glass of juice. “Your father’s in his study. Why don’t you go tell him we’re almost ready?”

  I swallow at her request, hating the unease that prickles my spine. “Yeah, sure,” I say and push away from the counter. My footsteps slow as I walk the length of the hall. Pausing at his door, I knock first and wait to be called.

  “Come in.”

  I push open the door and stand at the threshold.

  My father lifts his gaze from the papers scattered on his desk. His lips curve into a familiar smile. “Alicia.”

  “Hey.” I hold his gaze only a moment and then glance away. The nerves in my chest multiply exponentially by the second, and for a moment I wonder if he knows that I know. The truth must be written all over my face.

  “Come in, I’m just finishing up.” His voice is as warm and welcoming as ever. I don’t know if I should be relieved or angry. I still hold his secrets. He has no idea.

  “Mom said we’re eating soon.” I hesitate at the doorway, not sure where to sit. I hate this room and everything it holds. I hate that it’s his fault.

  He nods, stuffing a few papers into file folders. “And you’re all packed? Have everything you need?”

  That gets my attention. “Oh, am I not cut off after all?”

  He halts his movement and pins me with an incredulous stare. “Have you reconsidered your little summer trip?”

  Trip? As if I’m off for a grand vacation. “It’s a paid internship and will help me get into grad school.” I reel back the attitude and force a polite smile. “You know that.”

  “For social work?” He raises his brows in challenge.

  “Yes. Because I want to help people with my life, not exploit them for money.” That was a cheap shot.

  “Alicia.” My father’s annoyance is clear. “Your mother and I only want what’s best for you. We want you to pursue your passions, but we’re not interested in supporting this whim of yours.”

  “Career.” My jaw clenches with irritation. “Career, Dad. This isn’t like my emo phase. It’s not something I’m going to grow out of. I actually want my life to have purpose. I want it to matter. I need this.”

  “Then, if you want it so badly, you can do it on your own.” His attention goes back to the paperwork in his hands.

  “You and Mom say you care, but that’s not true. You had no problem footing the bill for my downtown apartment and drinking habit, but this—actually doing something good with my life—that’s too much.”

  He sighs and blinks with annoyance. “We don’t want you blowing through your trust before you turn thirty. The restrictions are for your own protection.”

  “Oh?” I feel rather bold, maybe because I won’t be here next week. “Because I thought they were used to control me.”

  His glare is hard. It’s the same one that used to send me crying into my mother’s arms, but I’m no longer a little girl. There’s a power that comes from learning and owning myself. I’m not scared of his threats. Yeah, okay, it’s gonna suck not having that monthly deposit in my checking account, but I’m not giving in. If I do, I’ll lose myself again and the cost of that is too high.

  “When you have your own children, you’ll understand.”

  His comment fuels the simmering anger in my chest. As though he has some infinite wisdom only bestowe
d on those who procreate? Fuck that. I can’t imagine being responsible for anyone other than myself. I don’t even know if I want to be married. I’m still becoming who I want to be, and that’s nothing like him or my mother. “I guess you know best.” The retort flies from my mouth. “Really set the bar for fatherhood, didn’t you?”

  “Enough,” he practically barks. “You will not disrespect me in this house.”

  I’ve had enough of his bullshit. “Whatever.” I stomp out of his office and don’t stop walking until I’m out the front door. It’s not until I’m standing outside that I can finally breathe without wanting to scream. God, I could really use a drink.

  Two cars pull into the drive and make their way to park alongside mine. My brothers inadvertently block me in and I sink a little in defeat. I guess I’m not leaving. Not yet.

  “There she is! Our little rebel.” Ricky slides out of his brand new Audi. My oldest brother’s grin instantly calms the storm in my mind. He strides over and pulls me into a hug. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispers in my ear before stepping back.

  “Ah, you’re waiting for us. How sweet.” Eddie saunters up much slower, clicking the fob in his hands to alarm his truck—a giant, obnoxious, shiny black thing he purchased a few years ago. He chuckles knowingly and gives me a wink. “Parents that bad today?”

  “Just more of the same.”

  He wraps me into a hug. “Don’t sweat it, ‘kay?” He kisses the top of my head. “We’ve got your back.”

  My brothers have a freedom I never had. Maybe because they always played to Mom and Dad’s wishes, going to school and pursuing business degrees as expected. Maybe it’s because it’s in their nature to go with the flow. They’re content to toe the line, especially with a trust fund at their fingertips. Why can’t I be like that? Why do I have to fight it?