Caught in the Chase (Caught Series Book 3)

by Kacey Shea

“You remember how high school goes.” She lifts her chin and flashes a smile, rolling her eyes. “Attention from the cool, popular guy supersedes the kind, dorky one, even if deep down you’re pulling for the underdog.”

  Oh, God. For a second I thought she was referring to us. Fuck. I’m so stupid.

  “I mean, you can remember back that far?” she teases, setting down the bottle, then cuddling her kitten to her chest and rubbing his belly. “I know it was a long time ago.”

  “Real funny.” I chuckle, shaking my head at my crazy imagination. Alicia is not into me. Why would she be? I’m a fucking mess, barely learning how to be a sober person. She deserves so much more. “You should try stand-up.”

  “I’ll stick to my day job.” She grins. Then her eyes fly wide and her mouth parts with surprise. “What the—?” She glances down at her hands. The towel wrapped around the kitten is splotched with wetness.

  “Oh, did someone have an accident?”

  “He peed on me!”

  “Probably ‘cuz your jokes suck.”

  She laughs, holding him away from her body and scrunching up her nose. “I’ll keep working on my material. Shit. I’m gonna need another shower.”

  I can’t help but join in her laughter. “Sorry, I should have warned you. They’re too little. They need stimulation, and I think you just helped Brownie express himself.”

  She shakes her head and reaches for one of the small towels to wipe the kitten clean.

  “I’ve got this. If you wanna . . .” I nod toward the staircase and set down my kitten to reach for hers. “It’s not the most glamorous thing, getting pissed on.”

  “No.” She shakes her head in the negative, hugging him back to her side. “I’m good. I’m not above a little pee.” She brings the kitten up to her face and whispers, “Sometimes I laugh and pee myself, too.”

  I chuckle, smirking back at her grinning face as we tackle this feeding together. It goes quicker, having an extra pair of hands, and once again Alicia surprises me. I always pegged her as someone who felt above such tasks, what with her family trust fund, affluent upbringing, and college degree. But she’s not like that at all. There’s no air of superiority to her words or actions. She’s just a girl in a T-shirt and sweats with her hair piled into a bun, helping me care for these strays.

  The kittens already look bigger, stronger, and more alert after a couple of days. Even the smallest guy doesn’t look so shrimpy. Out of the box, they wander around on shaky legs and it’s hilarious. Another week and they’ll be all over the place. The shoe box home isn’t going to last much longer. Maybe this weekend I’ll set up a pen so they can roam around in the kitchen. I have real hope they’re going to make it, and knowing I played some small part in their survival fills me with an odd sense of joy. I’ve never considered myself an animal lover, or a cat guy, but these little kitties are proving otherwise.

  “You sure they’ll be okay in there?” Alicia asks as I tuck the last one back inside. “You don’t need me to check on them throughout the night?

  “Nah.” I take the bottles to the sink. “They’re good. I keep the box by my bed, so if they cry I’ll hear them. Plus, I have to get up to feed them every three hours.”

  She tilts her head, as if my answer both surprises and amuses her. She bites her lower lip, but doesn’t say anything.

  “You want to make fun of me, don’t you?”

  “No.” Her face breaks out into a wide smile and she lets loose a laugh. “I mean, it is really out of character. I never took you for a ‘nurses stray kittens in his spare time’ kinda guy.”

  “What can I say?” I exhale a laugh, my skin heating under her stare, and not in a good way. Embarrassment flushes my skin, as I imagine how she sees me right now. A loser. A reject, no better than a stray animal. The need to brush off her inquisitive stare pushes a crass joke from my lips. “I really like pussy.”

  “Uck.” She makes a sound and pretends to gag. “Gross.” She takes a few steps back, away from me and toward the staircase. “You just had to say something and ruin it.”

  “Can’t have you thinking I’m a big softy.”

  “Mmm hmm.” Her lips press together, unamused, but not completely repulsed, either. “I’m gonna clean up and turn in for the night.” Alicia lifts her hand in a wave. “Thank you again. For dinner. Letting me stay. Everything.”

  “It’s the least I can do.”

  She pauses at the foot of the stairs. “Hey, do you maybe wanna catch a ride to AA in the morning? I haven’t been in a few days.”

  “That would be great.”

  “Cool.” Her lips turn up with the hint of a smile, the kindness in her eyes almost too much. She regards me with a gentleness I don’t deserve. It feels a lot like acceptance, which is a scary thing. Somehow she sees through my bullshit. She already knows how much I’ve fucked up in this life, yet she’s here anyway. Okay, so she’s mostly here for the hot water and queen-sized bed. Still, she can’t think I’m a horrible monster or she wouldn’t sleep under the same roof.

  I wish I could see myself through fresh eyes. Or find it in myself to like who I see when I look in the mirror. Alicia seems to have made peace with her past. She shows it’s possible to have a life without the aid of a substance to numb the pain. Maybe if we spend enough time together I’ll start to believe I can have that, too.

  34

  Alicia

  Twenty-two months ago

  Happy. Numb. Oblivious. These are a few of my favorite feelings.

  Out drinking with my best bitches makes it even better.

  “Another beer?” the bartender asks as I squeeze into the crowd of people lined up and vying for his attention. I’m sure there are a few ugly glares cast in my direction, but I don’t glance around to take notice. I learned a long time ago that people hate what they can’t have. Being beautiful has its advantages. One of those is catching the attention of bartenders.

  “Yes!” I grin and hold up two fingers, then lean back against the bartop to wait for my drinks. I don’t think about how sticky the surface is, not hard to do considering how many beverages I’ve consumed.

  I glance back to where my best friend, Callie, engages in conversation at the table of off-duty firefighters. Her new boyfriend, Chase, stands to her side, his gaze wandering across the bustling restaurant with a relaxed expression.

  He’s so handsome. My family would hate him, which only makes him more appealing. Though he’s a first responder by profession, I have no doubt Chase could sell just about anything with that gorgeous face. Not to mention his body. And from what Callie tells, he’s packing an award-worthy hose inside those fitted jeans. I bite back a sigh, and will myself to look away, yet I can’t.

  Yeah, I’m that girl. The one lusting after her best friend’s man. A seed of guilt roots in the pit of my belly and shame blooms with each backstabbing thought. What the hell am I doing? I can’t have him. I love Callie more. She’s the sister I never had, and we’ve been friends for four years. Even if they ever decide to call it quits, what are the chances it’d be an amicable split? It’s not as if I could swoop in and pick up her sloppy seconds. I’m not that kind of woman.

  A thud of glasses hits the counter. “That’ll be twelve. Put it on your tab?”

  “Yeah,” I answer the bartender absently, my gaze still stuck on who I can’t have.

  I should stop. Entertaining this desire will only hurt in the long run. I’ve taken liberties tonight under the influence of alcohol. Lingering touches on his forearm. Longer glances at his lips. But all of it is pointless. He’s going home with my best friend, not me.

  Chase lifts his chin, and from across the bar his gaze connects with mine. I’m caught. Busted. Playing with fire. Butterflies take root in my belly. My mouth parts and my breath catches. Want and yearning crackle and burst through the fog of my mind. Him. Only him. It’s all I see, but he doesn’t look away. No. He stares right back, his gaze growing with the same hunger I feel down to my bones.

 
He wants me. Fuck. I want him, too.

  “Thinking of taking something that’s not yours?” A snarky voice catches me off-guard and I turn to Tiff, Chase’s bitchy sister. Her lips twist with a smirk so evil and knowing, I’m going to have a hard time convincing her of what she’s just seen.

  Callie can never know. Guilt douses the thrill of the moment shared with Chase. Good thing I’m well-versed in the art of the cover-up. Lying comes all too easy when you’ve been practicing your whole life. “Aren’t there supposed to be more hot ones?” Diversion, never denial, is the base of a believable lie.

  “Excuse me?” She stares back stupidly.

  I roll my eyes, adding on a layer of truth, another building block to my fib. “Besides your brother—who is currently being sexed up by my best friend—there has got to be someone else bangable in that fire station. I thought firemen were supposed to be hot?”

  “Wow.” Her brows raise. “Classy.”

  “Come on, you don’t have to pretend with me.” I lean in closer and flash a smile. “I see right through this uptight fabrication. You’ve had a taste. With the access you have, I’m sure you’ve sampled the goods.”

  Her eyes flash with what could almost be construed as worry before she narrows a condescending glare. “Look, you might be a whore, but I’m—”

  “Oh don’t slut shame me, hunny.” I hold up my hand and laugh. “And you don’t have me fooled. Goodie-two-shoes doesn’t just show up at the bar unannounced to troll without a hidden agenda.”

  “You have some nerve!” Her nostrils flare, and for a second I wonder if she might hit me. She sure as hell looks as if she wants to. Needless to say, she’s no longer concerned about me eye-fucking Chase. Mission accomplished. She straightens her spine, her lips twisting into a smile that might hurt if I cared. “Maybe I’m here to keep an eye on my brother and his new hose-chasing girl, and her even skankier friend.”

  Okay, then. We’re pulling off the gloves? I don’t know what her problem is with me or Callie, but I don’t like it. Nor will I tolerate it. Callie might have to play nice, but I don’t. I give Tiff a long look that communicates my distaste, then go for the jugular. “You always this protective? He’s a grown man and you’ve got to be what, forty?”

  The age comment earns a gasp, as I hoped it might. Tiff reminds me a little of my mother. Someone who’d rather hold on to the last shreds of youth as if it’s a life raft rather than embrace her age with fierce grace.

  I’ve already won this verbal showdown, but I can’t help delivering one last blow. “I think you can cut the protective big sis act. Chase can obviously handle himself just fine. Without you.”

  “Bitch,” she seethes, getting right in my face and crowding me against the bar. Her armor drops enough for the claws to come out. Enough to show me what really matters. She might be beautiful, but she’s ugly where it counts.

  I recognize it easily. I have the same problem myself. “Feeling’s mutual.”

  She grinds her teeth together, and I expect more hate to spew from her mouth. Instead she blinks, her false smile and collected demeanor back in place. “Don’t forget your drinks.” She glances at the bartop and spins on her heel to strut back to our table.

  Psycho much? I shake off the encounter and grab the beers—one for Callie, one for me—and paste on my own fake smile before re-joining my bestie, her hot boy toy, and the crazy bitch he calls big sis.

  35

  Alicia

  I don’t know why I dream about Chase and a night I’d rather forget, but I wake up startled, my pulse racing, and rattled to the core. Maybe it’s because I’m staying here with him. Maybe it’s that I’m coming up on my one year of sobriety—the real date, not the one I tell everyone. Or maybe it’s because even after outpatient rehab, weekly therapy, and hundreds of AA meetings, part of me will always be that woman. Broken. Wanting. A person lusting for someone she cannot and should not have.

  Hey, at least it wasn’t a sex dream.

  Though, honestly I don’t know which would be worse.

  I shake off the ominous feeling. That night was the catalyst that changed my entire life, and for the better. What transpired isn’t something I like to remember, but I’ve accepted my faults and made my amends. So much has changed. The bronze sobriety chip in my pocket is a constant reminder.

  It’s time to move forward.

  My alarm sounds and I reluctantly drag myself from the comfortable cocoon of blankets. I make the bed and get ready for the day, relishing in the privacy of my own bathroom. It’s heaven. All this counter space and no time limit. A girl sure could get used to this.

  A glance at the screen of my phone hustles me out the door and down the stairs. My footsteps slow as Chase comes into view.

  “Morning.” He lifts his gaze from the little bundle of cuteness in his hands. “Sleep well?”

  “Yeah.” There’s no way I’m telling him about my dream. “Need help?”

  He shakes his head. “This is the last one, and Milo’s almost done. Aren’t you, buddy?”

  I feel bad for not coming down sooner. The dark circles under Chase’s eyes betray his own lack of sleep. “Need me to wash those?” I say after he sets down an empty bottle.

  “That would be great. You don’t mind?”

  “Not at all.” I need something to do with my hands. “We should probably get going soon if we want to make that meeting.”

  “Can I bring the kittens?”

  I feel silly for not thinking of that sooner. “Where did you hide them yesterday?”

  “A supply closet.”

  I shake my head, laughing as I rinse out the bottles and set them on the drying rack. “That doesn’t sound very safe. Why don’t we drop them off in my office, then walk over to the meeting?”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “No.” I try not to preen under his approving gaze. Instead, I walk to the box of meowling adorable fluff balls. “Oh, my goodness!” I exclaim, glancing at Chase. “Why are they so cute?”

  “Right?” He smiles, a heavy sigh leaving his chest. “I think they had a growth spurt too, because they were up all night.”

  “Poor babies. Probably missing their mama.”

  “Poor me. Do you see my face?” He teases and points to his eyes. “I’ve aged years within the span of two days. I’ll probably be bald by the end of the month. I’m not built for this.”

  I roll my eyes, even if he’s totally wrong. Even sleep deprived, he’s gorgeous. “I don’t mind helping out. I can take a shift.”

  “Really?” His brows shoot up. “You’d do that for me?”

  Yes. “I’d do that for the kittens,” I say instead, and turn on my heel to grab my purse from the front room. “Come on. Let’s go, Lord of the Cats.”

  “I prefer Daddy Pussy.”

  “I’m sure you do.” I shake my head and laugh.

  Rock bottom. It’s a familiar term amongst addicts. Moments that often define our recovery and become the impetus that leads to asking for help. For some of us, we have multiple rock bottoms. Relapse is a sticky, ugly cloud that hangs in the back of my mind. The letter that set me back and into Chase’s arms is folded and worn, tucked into a zippered pouch inside my purse. I carry it everywhere, a reminder as much as the sobriety coin of the paths I can choose.

  Today’s meeting digs into the subject, and while I don’t share my own story with the group, I listen, gleaning advice and wisdom from these brave individuals. The conversation is ironic, considering my dream last night and who’s sitting at my right.

  “I want you to spend time today reflecting on those pivotal moments. Your lowest lows,” Rikki says. “It’s important to remember what’s possible when you surrender your life to a higher power. Without rock bottom, you wouldn’t know how strong you are. You might not be here today.”

  As true as that is, I never want to dig myself out from that lowest point again.

  After the meeting ends, I stand and turn to Chase. “You wanna grab a cup of coff
ee before work?” I drop my voice to a whisper. “I’m talking the good stuff. Not what they serve here.”

  He grins, glancing at the crowd gathered around the table of refreshments. “But these are free.”

  “Come on.” I bump his shoulder with mine. “It’s my treat.”

  “Okay, big spender.”

  We leave the church and walk down the street, heading toward the coffee shop—the same one I ran into Chase at almost four weeks ago. I get a little lost in my thoughts, still mulling over the question Rikki left us with when Chase breaks the silence. “So, what was your rock bottom?”

  My answer isn’t the whole truth, but it doesn’t stop the word from flying from my lips. “You.”

  Hurt dims his features and he swallows hard, looking away. “That’s fair.”

  I don’t owe him an explanation. I don’t owe it to anyone. But something in the slump of his shoulders reminds me of a lost little boy, and there’s an urge to soothe his pain. “Substance abuse was a problem for me long before that night. I can’t even remember when exactly I started drinking daily. High school maybe?” I shrug and glance to find him staring with interest. We stop at the corner, waiting for a car to pass before crossing.

  “College was worse. Sure, my friends liked to party, too, but they stopped or took nights off. I lived for the next party, the next high, my next drink. After we graduated it only got worse. No roommates to notice my habits, or whether I came home or not. My behavior became more reckless. There were men. A lot. So many nights I don’t remember.”

  “And yet I was your rock bottom.” He exhales roughly, and scrubs a hand over his scruffy jaw.

  “Because that night at the bar with Callie, I did something mean and cruel. I hurt her. I hurt one of the only friends I considered family. Because I’d stopped caring about myself so much, I traded the right thing for the easy thing. I wanted what she had—and in some sick way I thought if I fucked you, I could have a taste of what Callie had.”