“Oh, Chase…” I trail off, looking at his stone-set face. “I didn’t know he was sick. Is he… is it…”
“Cirrhosis of the liver. He’s got a few months, at best.”
“Chase.” My voice breaks on his name.
“It’s fine, Gemma.” There’s so much suppressed anger in his words, I can tell he’s anythingbutfine.
“I’m so sorry, Chase. He’s been — well, sort of like a father to you, right?”
His jaw ticks, a sure sign he’s searching for control. “Something like that.”
My eyes search his face as confusion stirs in my veins. Chase isn’t ever one for big shows of emotion — I don’t expect him to weep openly about his uncle’s illness or even act too upset. But this… this is just strange. Because, if I’m reading him right, I think he’s almost…angrywith his uncle.
I open my mouth to ask him about it, but his abrupt curse cuts me off.
“Fuck.”
“What is it?”
“Brett’s here.”
“Where?”
“By the doors.” Chase’s whole body goes tense. “And he’s not alone.”
“Let me guess… He brought Vanessa as his date.”
He glances down at me, concern filling his eyes. “Afraid it’s worse than that, sunshine.”
“Worse than Vanessa?” I ask, doubting that’s even possible. “Have youmetthe woman?”
His mouth tugs up at one side but his eyes don’t change. “Unfortunately, yes. But this is still worse.”
“Who could possibly be worse than Vanessa?”
He hesitates a beat.
“Chase.”
His arm squeezes tighter around my waist, as if to steady me for the impact of his words. As if he knows whatever he’s about to say will rock me.
“It’s Phoebe.”
I stare at him blankly.
“Phoebe West,” he clarifies.
It takes me a minute to put it together. When I do, my heart sinks into my stomach like a ball of lead. “Phoebe West as in…”
“Your sister.”
Shit.
***
“She’s here. My half-sister who I’ve never met, who doesn’t even know Iexist, is here.”
Chase stares at me as I pace in small circles around the coat-check room, where he dragged me as soon as he realized I was falling apart in the middle of the gala.