Had he done this? God, he hoped not. If he’d fucked things up even worse for her, he’d never forgive himself.
Her hands crept over his shoulders and wrapped around his neck and he rocked her, closing his eyes and pressing his face into silky hair scented with his minty shampoo.
A long while later, her sobs quieted and she slipped back into sleep. He stroked her back and stared into the darkness, wondering what demons followed her into her dreams.
If they had the same faces as his.
He didn’t let go of her until it was time to get ready for his appointment. Dr. Jensen was delaying a trip to discuss his case, and the good physician remained hopeful that with the right combination of medication and PT, Chase could avoid surgery. It wasn’t going under the knife that made him nervous. The chance of never playing again—no matter how remote—of that avenue possibly closing forever…until yesterday, he hadn’t been ready to make that choice. Now he was closer.
Being a bodyguard was something to keep him busy. He could handle the muscle end of it when his arm cooperated, and it gave him a focus other than the alcohol he wasn’t drinking and the women he wasn’t screwing. But if he didn’t get his elbow situation handled, he was no use to anyone.
Especially Summer.
He glanced back at the bed. Thick waves of dark hair fell across the mattress and her forehead peeked out from under the comforter. He’d given her a couple of pillows and one was under her head, the other clenched tightly in her grasp under the sheets.
She was better off holding on to that brick of feathers and foam than him. After the previous evening, hopefully she’d come to that realization on her own. Taking her in a dressing room like some baseball groupie was inexcusable. Whatever his reasons, he’d been flat-out wrong. She wasn’t just some cute singer chick he happened to be guarding.
Now he’d gone so far as to taint those he cared about with his reckless behavior, and he’d be damned if he dragged her down into the cesspool of his life.
Hell, Cass would kill him when she’d found out what he’d done. In this case, he’d hand her the knife.
But they could move on from here. They’d both scratched their itches and everything would return to normal. To ensure that, he’d call Jax and set things into motion.
While his ex-best friend was protecting her, Chase would take the steps he needed to in his own life. Like returning to AA meetings, and this time, actually going inside instead of turning around at the door. The groups he’d found weren’t the problem. He was. And he needed to discuss surgery as a real, viable option. She’d been right. It was time to admit he couldn’t live like this anymore.
It was also time he backed away from Summer Maitland—for good.
Chapter Eight
Much to Summer’s displeasure, she woke to the words “got a situation” and “it’d be better if you could take over.” It took her about thirty-eight seconds to realize she was the problem her lover was working on getting rid of.
It would’ve been very Sopranos-like, if Chase hadn’t been busy arranging her care—he actually used that phrase, like she was a baby who needed a sitter—rather than setting up her execution. Her chest hurt as much regardless.
She burrowed her face into the pillow and tried to settle her rampaging pulse. All she had to do was play it cool until he went to his appointment and then she was getting the hell out of Dodge. No more of this not bringing her own car stuff. She’d fallen into some bad habits with him in a few short weeks. Time to rectify her mistakes.
If he wanted to hand her off, that was fine. No problemo. She didn’t need a bodyguard, period, but since she’d decided to tell her best friend everything, she knew having one would be a part of her life for the foreseeable future. Cass would insist on it, and if she was being honest, she liked the feeling of security it gave her to have someone with her at her shows. She just didn’t know what it would be like if that person was Jax rather than Chase.
She’d soon find out.
“Yeah, I have to go. I’ll have her back home this afternoon.” He lowered his voice, and to compensate, Summer deepened her scowl. Awesome. He thought she was senile along with clueless. Before he’d been talking loudly enough to wake the dead, and now he turned down the volume? “You think you can swing by her place, maybe soften the blow a little? I don’t want to get into all of it here.” He chuckled and she dug her nails into her palm while imagining digging his blond hair out at the root. “Nah, man, nothing like that. We’re cool. She’s a great chick. You’ll see. Well, yeah, sure, she can be a little emo. She’s a girl, you know?”
A growl slipped out before Summer slammed her knuckles against her mouth. Emo? She’d show him emo.
Forget the hair on his head. Not nearly painful enough. She’d pull out the hair around his dick.
By the time he got off the phone, after a few more hearty man chuckles, she was ready to spit. But she kept her eyes closed and her form relaxed while she pretended to be dreaming the sleep of the fully orgasmed—a state miles better than fully caffeinated, but much harder to achieve.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” He nudged her shoulder. “You awake?”
She mumbled something that was supposed to sound like no, still sleeping but really meant go to hell, asshole.
“Okay then, get some rest. You’re probably still tired.” Then as an afterthought, accompanied by yet another throaty chuckle, he added, “I did wear you out last night.”
Nope, not dick hair. Nose hair. Pulled out with flaming tweezers.
She made a snuffling noise and he shuffled off to get ready. A few moments later, he returned with what smelled like a travel mug of coffee. “Man, you’re really out, huh? I’d wanted to say goodbye, but I guess not. Probably better if you don’t see me when I’m tied up in knots like this. Ah, fuck it.” He blew out a breath then shocked the heck out of her by leaning over to press his warm, coffee-scented lips to her forehead. “See you later.”
Tears sprang into her eyes and pissed her off. At least they didn’t fall until the apartment door had closed behind him.