Page 67 of Someone to Hold

“Is everything okay?”I ask, starting to scoot forward, but Chase holds up a hand with his palm flat like a shield, as if he’s protecting me from a threat I don’t recognize.

“It’s fine. Get in the truck, Molly. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Nothing about my son turning pussy is fine with me,” the man growls, and I feel the words like a slap to the face.

Shock ripples through me, not just from the word, but the venom behind it.

This is Malcolm Calhoun? Chase’s father?

Now that I’m really looking, I can see the resemblance. They have the same strong jaw and broad shoulders. But while Chase’s features capture his rugged beauty, his father’s are weathered and cruel. His eyes are bloodshot and glassy, with ruddy skin and spider veins around his nose and cheeks.

He carries himself like a man who’s been bitter for so long, he doesn’t remember what it feels like not to be.

Chase’s hand curls into a fist at his side. I swear I can hear his knuckles crack from the tension.

Is this some kind of twisted father-son dynamic I should stay out of? I can’t just turn away like none of this is happening.

“I don’t think that language is necessary,” I say, my voice steadier than I expect.

Chase’s father’s eyes drag slowly up to meet mine, his glare as sharp as broken glass. “Who the hell are you?”

Before I can answer, Chase steps forward like a human shield, full-on protector mode. “She’s none of your business, old man. Go home.”

His father snorts, arms crossing over his chest. “Last time I checked, you don’t tell me what to do, boy.”

Chase doesn’t move as his dad inches closer, but I can tell he’s wound as tight as a wire stretched to the point where it could snap at any moment.

I’m frozen, gripping the scooter’s handlebars so hard my knuckles have gone white. The tension between them feels charged and unpredictable. Whatever this is, it’s been building for a long time.

Chase glances over his shoulder at me, his eyes as wild as the sea in the middle of a storm, his voice low and grave. “Molly, please get in the truck.”

“I think I’ll wait here,” I say quietly, refusing to leave him alone.

“Molly.” Malcolm Calhoun repeats my name, his tone foul like stale smoke. “You’re Teddy’s widow.” His gaze returns to Chase. “Hiding behind the skirt of your best friend’s wife?”

“Dad, go away. I’m not doing this with you here.”

“You fucking her, too? Getting back at Teddy for?—”

“Teddy’s dead,” Chase says, his voice flat, but I can hear the heat in his words. “And my life is none of your business.”

“What he and Mariah did to you…” Malcolm spits on the ground.

I blink as my mind spins back to those awkward moments between Chase, his high school girlfriend, and her mother who clearly wants them to rekindle what they had before. The comment about how they were supposed to ride off intothe post-high school graduation sunset together. But that didn’t happen. And now I know why.

“Chase is doing a favor for my mother-in-law,” I offer, as if anything can diffuse the tension pulsing between them.

“Oh yeah, Linda always was a big fan of my son.” Malcolm sneers. “Like she had the damn market cornered on being a good parent. When Teddy didn’t even know his father because it could’ve been one of a dozen different?—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Chase snaps as his arm draws back.

“Don’t,” I whisper, and he turns to meet my gaze again. There’s so much emotion swirling in his eyes. Mostly rage and resentment, but also fear—not of his dad, but for me. He thinks he needs to protect me.

I want to tell him I’m not afraid of Malcolm Calhoun, but I also understand that Chase isn’t going to let his father disrespect me. Not now or ever.

“Please get in the truck, Molly.”

“Okay,” I agree. Only because I’m afraid of what will happen if this continues to escalate.