Page 8

Chapter seven

Radiant and wild and utterly untouchable

Chase

T he door clicks shut.

I don’t move. Barely breathe. Just stand here, barefoot and shirtless, stuck in a moment somewhere between reality and the delusion I had in my head, looking at the space where Zoe Carlson just was.

Where she’d just been standing in that sinful fucking dress, her hair still damp from the shower. Where she’d stiffened at the sound of her name leaving my mouth and walked out like I was nothing more than a regrettable inconvenience.

The same Zoe Carlson who had been in my bed, in my hands, on my fucking mouth mere hours ago.

Now she’s gone. Didn’t even look back.

And I let her.

I rake a hand through my hair, my pulse still a little erratic, body still humming with the aftershocks of whatever the hell last night was. My sheets are a mess, and the scent of her—floral and clean with a sharp edge—lingers in the air.

I should get in the shower, should shake this off. Get dressed, go meet the crew for brunch and pretend I didn’t just have the single best night of my life with a woman who spent the morning after looking at me like I was a goddamn grenade.

I move toward the nightstand, reaching for my coffee, only to realize it’s not my coffee.

It’s hers. Still full, still untouched.

My stomach twists, and I’m irrationally pissed off about it.

I’m not stupid. I knew this wasn’t going to be some soft, dreamy morning after. I knew she was going to bolt the second she woke up. Hell, at one point, I half expected her to yank the fire alarm in a dramatic escape attempt.

But even knowing that, even expecting it, watching her wrap the towel around her body and physically recoil when I offered her a damn coffee?

It got me.

And the worst part was she fucking meant it.

She meant every word of this didn’t happen —I fucking felt it.

Pressing my palms against my face, I drag them down slowly and take a breath. I know how to deal with shit like this.

Push it down. Move on. That’s the rule, right?

It’s not like I haven’t had meaningless sex before. One-night stands that blur at the edges, hot bodies in cold sheets, the kind of encounters that don’t leave a mark.

This should be easy.

Except, this isn’t some woman.

It’s Zoe.

The girl who talks with her hands when she’s fired up, who pretends nothing gets to her but overthinks everything.

Who tells me to tone it down but will throw it back twice as hard just to prove she can.

The one who makes me laugh when I don’t want to. Who never lets me coast.

Who’s sharp and impossible and all the best things I’ve never once deserved.

And I feel it.

***

By the time I get to the restaurant, most of the crew is already here, sprawled across a big corner table, laughing loud enough that people at other tables are probably considering complaints.

Charlie is settled next to Jake, who has four-year-old Meadow balanced on his lap, waving a butter knife dramatically as she holds court.

Noah, who's nearly eight, sits next to them, deeply focused on whatever masterpiece he’s sketching on his placemat.

Claire and Ryan, our captain, are across from them.

Ryan’s bouncing their baby, Poppy, on his knee while Claire sips her coffee like it’s a lifeline.

Hutch is leaning back in his chair, arms crossed and watching Logan, who’s glaring at Lulu like she’s some kind of trickster spirit sent to torment him. Which, honestly, she kind of is.

I clock it instantly—the guard dog energy, the subtle shifts in positioning, the way Logan looks wildly uncomfortable every time Lulu so much as breathes in his direction.

Eli made them babysit his sister.

“Eli put you guys on Lulu duty, huh?” I grin, sliding into my seat as Logan scowls.

“We are not on Lulu duty.”

Hutch just takes a sip of his coffee and wisely says nothing.

Lulu beams, seemingly oblivious. But that’s the great thing about her—she plays wide-eyed and airy, but the girl misses nothing. She’s free-spirited, sure. Pretty as hell too, hence the overactive guard dog reflexes from the boys.

But underneath all the pink and polish is a mind that’s sharp as hell.

“Oh, I love it! They’ve been so cute with all their macho protectiveness. Logan even held my purse while I went to order.”

Jake chokes on his drink as Logan closes his eyes, begging the universe to take him out.

Charlie chuckles. “You held her purse?”

“It’s not a purse ,” Logan grits out. “It’s a bag.”

Lulu tilts her head. “It's pink. Has a bow on it.”

I snort. “Damn, Pookie. Didn’t peg you as a bow guy.”

Logan flips me off without looking in my direction.

I lean back, letting the conversation settle around me, the comfortable noise filling up the space in my head.

It’s grounding, this group. Watching Jake kiss the side of Charlie’s head, like he’s just glad she exists.

Watching Noah pass Meadow a crayon so she can “help” with his drawing.

Seeing Ryan absolutely whipped for his daughter giggling against his chest.

This group, this family, it’s solid.

And yet, I feel it. The absence. The one person who’s not here.

I don’t have to check my phone to know Zoe is extremely late.

And when she finally shows up, she’s no longer wearing her soul-destroying dress with the ribbons, and her hair is freshly styled. She looks like she didn’t just spend the night doing exactly what she spent the morning pretending never happened, and I immediately know I’m in trouble.

Because she’s Zoe. And she’s always been my favorite fight.

She hesitates at the edge of the table, just for a second. I track the stiff set of her shoulders, the way she notices me before she even glances in my direction.

And then she makes the calculated decision to go for the safest route—Charlie.

“Hey! Sorry I’m late,” she says as she reaches for Meadow, who immediately throws herself into her arms. “There’s my favorite tiny human!”

Meadow latches on like a koala. “ZoZo, where’d you go? Why are you late?”

There’s a small beat—so quick and fleeting I almost miss it. A flicker of something in Zoe’s expression, a hitch in her breath.

And then she smooths it over in her effortless Zoe way.

“I had a work phone call, sweet pea.”

Bullshit.

I tilt my head, watching as she slides into a seat directly across from me, probably annoyed it’s the only option left at the table, keeping her focus on anything but me.

Alright, sweetheart. We’re doing this, then.

I clear my throat, dragging my fingers down the condensation of my glass. “Damn, Zo, not even a good morning? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were avoiding me.”

She stiffens slightly, but she doesn’t look at me. “You don’t know better.”

God, she makes this easy. “That sounds like something someone avoiding me would say.”

She finally flicks her gaze to mine, unimpressed. “That sounds like something an egomaniac would say.”

Charlie chooses this exact moment to intervene. “Chase, don’t antagonize her before she’s had her coffee,” she says lightly, sipping her orange juice.

Jake grins, pressing a kiss to the top of Charlie’s head. “Let him learn the hard way, Charlie girl, it’s funnier to watch.”

Charlie nudges him, but I’m not paying attention anymore.

I’m watching Zoe, who definitely caught the coffee comment. She goes completely still for a second, so fast no one else would notice. But I do.

The corner of my mouth curves up. “She does get pretty mean without caffeine. Good thing she never turns down a cup, huh?”

Zoe’s eyes snap to mine, sharp as a blade.

And fuck, I love this.

The challenge of her. The way she’s already glaring at me, daring me to say more.

And if I were a smarter man, maybe I’d stop.

But I’m not.

I lean forward, resting my arms on the table, my smirk widening. “What?” I ask with mock innocence. “Just saying, seems weird you’re this grumpy when we all know you must’ve had the chance to start your morning off right.”

She flashes me a warning smile. “I start my morning with zero tolerance for men who think they’re clever.”

Logan snorts into his coffee. “Christ, get a room, you two.”

Reid, who has been silently observing, tips his coffee mug toward Logan in agreement.

Zoe turns to Logan, fire burning in her eyes. “We wouldn’t need a room if you’d stop telling us to get it out of our systems all the damn time, Pookie. ”

Oh, she’s angry. Angry that she folded after his suggestion last night.

Reid shakes his head. “C’mon, not at the brunch table.”

“Uncle Chase,” Noah pipes up, eyes wide and innocent. “What do you need to get a room for?”

There’s a horrible, horrible beat of silence.

My mouth gapes as Logan starts fucking wheezing. “This is the best morning-after ever.”

Jake groans. “Jesus Christ.”

Claire is actively biting her lip to hold back laughter, and Ryan chuckles into Poppy’s fuzzy head. “I’m so glad the baby doesn’t understand this.”

And Zoe?

Zoe chooses violence.

She leans forward, her smile sweet as sin. “Well, Noah, sometimes—”

Jake points a finger at her. “No. Nope. Shut it down.”

Charlie fully breaks, laughing into her napkin, and Reid just shakes his head, muttering something about all of us being more immature than the actual children at this table.

Then Meadow, who is still tucked into Zoe’s arms and watching all the chaos descend, turns to Charlie with a little frown on her face.

“Mama?”

The table freezes as Charlie lowers her napkin just enough to peer at her daughter. “Yes, honeybee?”

“What’s a morning after?”

Dead. Silence.

Charlie goes still. So completely still it’s as though someone just paused reality, and Jake slowly turns to her with pure desperation on his face.

The silence lasts about two seconds before the entire table erupts.

Jake, panicked as fuck, grabs Meadow off Zoe’s lap so fast she squeaks. “Alright, that’s enough Zoe time for you, Little Lightning.”

Ryan takes a sip of coffee. “Oh, buddy. I cannot wait to hear this one.”

Jake shakes his head. “Not a fu—dging chance.”

Meadow frowns. “But I wanna know.”

Jake presses a kiss to her forehead. “It’s what happens after bedtime, like the morning after a big, big sleep. Nothing important.”

Noah, still listening, nods sagely. “Ohhh, like what you and Mum do?”

Jake stares wildly back at Charlie, who looks seconds away from cardiac arrest.

The rest of us are fucking gone. Logan straight-up slides under the table, shaking with laughter. Lulu is howling into her napkin. Ryan is fist-bumping his ten-month-old, proud as hell that this has nothing to do with him, while Zoe’s cackling so hard she’s struggling to breathe.

Jake exhales sharply through his nose, muttering something under his breath before looking back at Meadow, who’s still perplexed.

Charlie coughs, composing herself as she gently smooths Meadow’s hair back. “It’s just a saying, honeybee,” she tells her, still breathless with laughter. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Meadow accepts this easily, already distracted by her crayons. “Oh, okay!”

Jake exhales like he just survived a near-death experience, and Ryan claps him on the back. “Handled it like a pro, Brooks.”

Logan pulls himself back up from under the table, still wiping his eyes. “That was historic.”

Jake groans, tilting his head back, fully exhausted. Charlie pats his cheek, before pressing a kiss there.

“I love you,” she says, effortlessly.

It’s so incredibly them that it makes my blood thrum.

Because Jake never hesitated, never wavered. Never flinched at the weight of love.

My gaze automatically drifts to Zoe, watching the way she’s laughing. Radiant and wild and utterly untouchable.

And it hits me. This is it.

This is us.

We fight. We push. We bicker like it’s our own private language.

And yeah, I love getting under her skin. But I also know she gives just as good as she gets.

Because beneath all of this, beneath the sexual tension and the lingering aftertaste of last night, beneath the way I haven’t stopped thinking about how she looked this morning standing there in nothing but a towel, Zoe is my friend.

For years, she’s been the person who keeps me in check, who calls me on my shit, who laughs with me so hard my stomach aches.

And that part hasn’t changed, even now. Even after last night ruined me beyond repair.

She meets my gaze for a fraction of a second, and in this moment, we both silently agree.

Last night never happened.

And if we both pretend hard enough, maybe we’ll believe it.