Page 95 of Chad's Chase

Gear got shifted, gas pedal got hit, and then we were off.

Fifteen minutes later we were at our destination in Portola Valley, turning into the residence of a pretentiously large and lavish home constructed from log wood and weathered bricks. The wind blew with ease, and the trees swayed blissfully, the grass greener than the greenest green, the birds and the bees singing in perfect harmony. Picturesque, like it was plucked right out of a goddamn happily-ever-after fairy tale.

“This is yours?” I asked when I got out of the car, staring at the estate in awe.

Chad glanced across the top of the sports car at me, and he seemed…nervous? “No. I bought it as a forgiveness gift for a friend.”

My mouth dropped open. “You bought this as agiftfor someone?”

He nodded.

I eyed him threateningly. “Is this someone an estranged baby mother or ex-girlfriend?”

With a scoff, he rounded the car toward me and pulled me up to him, his chest a hard brace of warmth and security. I let him slip his arms around my waist and tip my chin up. I let him meld his lips with mine and sweep me away into his dark world for a while. I let him hate me, because I’ve loved him ever since.

When our lips parted, he touched his forehead to mine and whispered, “I brought you here because I wanted to show you that you can trust me. That I’ll never hurt you. Back at the house, I lost it for a minute, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I don’t deserve you. But I’m over the moon you didn’t run. And while I loved Liz, I have always been in lo—I’ve always hated you. I would never do to you what I did to her. Do you believe me?”

“No,” I veraciously answered.

He sighed, defeated. “That’s because you’re smart. But…it’s the truth.”

I gripped his arms, confused as hell, but lost for words. So we remained like that for a year and a day, forehead to forehead, my fingers sinking tightly into his biceps, knowing I should let go of him and his meaningless promises, but still clinging on as if my entire existence depended on it.

Was there another person out there whom I could be my true self with and have them love me regardless? Was there a normal man/woman who would understand and readily accept my story? What were the chances? One in every ten thousand persons?

Chad knew all my dirty little deeds, how black and muddy my feathers were, the blood buried under my fingernails, the foul rotting of my heart, and he still wanted me.

Because we were one and the same. Him one hundred shades darker than me, but still…we weren’t regular people. Our lives had been fucked from the very beginning. And there was no possible way we could commit those vile acts we had in our very short lifetime and then expect to dream and live like normal folks.

Thiswas what we were given. Sothiswas what we had to take, and help each other through.

We were in an extremely nocuous relationship where our ever-after would be either his death by my hands, or my death by his hands. Because we both saw the world in one light, darkness. And the blind couldn’t lead the blind. Someone needed a blip of light within them to lead the way, lest sooner or later we would crash right into each other, explode, and fucking burn.

We were both rolling grenades, our pins pulled, our clock ticking…

“Are you nervous about showing me what’s inside that house?”

Chad chuckled. “Can you tell I’m stalling?”

I mock-pouted. “And here I thought you’re just obsessed with having me crushed against you…”

“That, too.”

Lacing our fingers, he began toward the house. Once we were on the doorstep, he produced a key from his jeans pocket and opened the door.

“Someone actually gaveyoua key to their house? Is this person right in the head?”

He laughed. “Unlike you, they trust me. Ilovethis person, and they’re still alive.”

An unladylike snort left me. “Yeah. But how long will that last?”

Compressing his lips, he ignored the jab and ushered me into the house. Warmth and ease immediately enveloped me, and I marveled at the deluxe-ness of the house. The large beckoning furniture, the high-polished wooden floors, exposed rafter ceilings, the big plush cushions, the Persian rugs…it was all so perfect. All I wanted to do was curl up on one of those massive couches with a hot cup of cocoa and a thick fantasy book in hand.

This was the life.

The ever after life.

A stunning brunette, slim and petite, materialized in the wide expanse of the living room. Wearing white capris pants and a pink cashmere sweater, her hair in an especially neat up-do. She looked every bit the suburban soccer mom. Especially with the baby bump under that sweater, which looked to be about five months.