I try — and fail — to ignore the irrational pang of hurt and jealously his words send shooting through my chest.
“At least, I thought it was love, at the time,” he continues. “I was young. Twenty-three, fresh out of college. Grandfather had retired, by then, given control of the company to Jameson.”
“Your uncle?” I ask, recalling Shelby’s Croft-family-tree lesson a few days ago.
Chase hesitates a beat. “Yes.”
I don’t see him move, but I feel him take a step closer.
“Jameson placed me in charge of one of our New York subsidiaries. It was my first real shot at proving myself and, in all honesty, I was terrified I’d fuck it up. That’s when I met Vanessa.”
I sneak a glance at him out of the corner of my eye and see his jaw is clenched tight.
“There was so much pressure at work — it was nice to have someone there, someone who was fun, someone who just wanted to party and blow off all the responsibilities piling up around me.” His hands fist by his sides. “It wasn’t long before she had me blowing off business meetings and coming in late, still hungover from the night before. The drinking was just for fun, at first, but then… it spiraled into something more. Something darker. And before I knew it, I’d been arrested for a DUI, brought to court facing assault charges for punching out a paparazzo while I was loaded one night, and out of the job I’d worked so hard for. Jameson gave Brett my position at the company.”
His voice gets so low, sopained, I forget to be angry or jealous, and without thinking, I reach my hand out for his. At first, when our bare skin brushes, his fist stays tightly clenched, not accepting my touch. Still, I don’t pull back, and after a few seconds, I feel his grip relax as he lets my fingers twine with his.
“I should’ve known, then, that Brett had orchestrated it, but I was too lost — in the booze, in the rebellion, inher.” He swallows hard, and I move my thumb across the back of his hand in soothing strokes. “I’d lost everything — my pride, my job, my self-respect — which only made me hold on tighter to the one thing I had left.”
I squeeze his fingers. “Vanessa.”
He nods, still not looking at me. “She suggested we get married. By that point, I was drunk more often than not and I would’ve agreed to just about anything, if I thought it might give my life some meaning again. So, I put a ring on her finger.” He takes a deep breath. “Two weeks later, I was out for a run one afternoon, in the park. It started snowing, so I headed home early.”
I squeeze his hand in mine, sensing his unease.
“I remember walking in, seeing the clothes scattered everywhere — her bra on the stairs, her underwear lying there in the hallway, the man’s jacket dropped on the threshold to my bedroom.” His fingers flex against mine. “She was in bed with Brett.”
I gasp.
“He’d been fucking her the whole time.” His voice is utterly flat, empty of emotion. “She was just part of his plan, to derail my life. And it worked.”
Scattered puzzle pieces in my mind start to snap into place, creating sense where before there was only confusion. Casting a bit of clarity into the mystery that is Chase Croft.
Chase, tensing when the reporters asked about a potential engagement.
His face, when he walked into his cousin’s study and found my hand clasped tight in Brett’s.
The uncontrollable anger in his stride, in his eyes, in his voice at just the thought of Brett touching me, talking to me.
God, no wonder he flipped out.
“Chase…” My voice is gentle. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.” His eyes move to mine. “The truth is always better than a lie, even if it hurts. I worked hard to get my life back, after that. I went to Europe, to Asia, to every forgotten corner of this world I could find, trying to be someone else. Trying to leave Chase Croft behind and become someone better.” He swallows. “I don’t know if I succeeded in that. But I do know I changed. And I learned to be careful about who I place my trust in. There’s a very short list of people I tell about my past… let’s just say, I don’t add anyone lightly. ”
He squeezes my hand, that one small gesture communicating more than a thousand pretty words, and the breath stills in my throat.
Because he trustsme.
He doesn’t say it, but it’s there in the way he’s laid out his past for me without shying away from the ugliness, from the pain. And what have I given him, in return?
Very little except distrust.
I suddenly wish, more than anything, I could go back to the start of all this and do things again — better, this time.
“I’m sorry, Chase,” I whisper to the water, feeling like the worst human being of all time.
His hand tightens on mine and my eyes refocus on his face. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”