But then sense prevails. I pull back, breaking the kiss with a harsh breath.
“You’re drunk, Violet,” I say, voice hoarse as I cradle her face in my hands.
She blinks. Her fingers stay curled against my neck, but she doesn’t fight it. Just stares at me like she doesn’t understand why the world suddenly stopped.
I stroke her wet hair back from her face. My hands shake a little.
“We’ll talk when you’re sober,” I whisper. “Right now, you just need to rest.”
She lays her head against my shoulder, quiet again.
And I sit there, heart pounding, holding her close while the water cools around us. Eventually, the goosebumps rising across her skin become impossible to ignore. I shift carefully, lifting her out of the tub and drying her off with slow, steady hands. She doesn’t protest—just leans into the touch, letting me take care of her.
I ease one of my oversized t-shirts over her head; the fabric swallowing her frame. Then I lay her gently on the bed while I dry myself off and wrap a towel around my waist.
She sprawls out, limbs loose, hair a honey halo against the pillow, the smattering of freckles on her nose bright against the white cotton.
I take one last look—heart tight, throat raw—and turn off the light, quietly stepping away.
But then her voice arrows through the dark—soft, sleepy, and aimed straight at my ribs.
“Stay with me, Chase.”
She doesn’t need to ask twice.
I slide next to her, wrapping her in my arms, wishing thatstay with memeant forever.
Chapter thirty-four
Violet
Light presses the back of my eyelids as sunlight peeks through the curtains. For a few blissful seconds, as I float in that space between sleep and waking, I’m back in my old apartment, Gracie asleep in the next room, Chase holding me close. I’d bang on the wall and yell, “Coffee?” and Gracie would grunt in response—her way of sayingI’m alive, but don’t even think about talking to me for ten minutes.
But when I reach across the bed, there’s nothing there. Just cold sheets and empty space. But then the familiar scent hits me, the one I tried and failed to forget.
Chase.
I blink against the pale light filtering in, and then the memories resurface—disjointed, uneven, like shards of glass catching the light.
Elliot. His hand gripping my jaw, forcing the drink to my lips. The panic. The way the room spun. That sick sensation of being trapped.
My stomach twists. I remember the sound of the door crashing open. Chase storming in like a force of nature in a blur of fists and blood. The way he dragged Elliot off me like he was nothing and I was everything.
I sit up straighter, rubbing my face, trying to steady the pulse hammering at my temples. Chase saved me. I remember that. He brought me back here, to his apartment.
Then another image slips through—so different, my breath catches.
The bath.
The warmth of the water. The feel of Chase behind me, solid and calm. His arms around me, his breath against my neck. The way I turned in his lap. How I kissed him and the way his body reacted to mine. The heat between us, growing so fast, it blurred everything else. That low sound he made in his throat, like he was trying not to lose control.
My body tightens with the memory. I swallow hard and press my thighs together beneath the sheets, the sudden rush of heat making me groan quietly into the empty room.
God, I wanted him—just like I want him now. Even drunk, I wanted him, maybe more so, because then it was raw, unfiltered. But now I know it’s more than that. When Elliot had me frozen in fear, barely able to think straight, it was Chase I called out for. Because deep down, I know he’d never let anything happen to me.
I used to think I was in love with the gentler side of him—the warmth he rarely let slip through. I hated the rest of him. The ruthlessness. The sharp edges. But now I see it’s all of him. And somehow, I don’t just want the softness anymore. I want every jagged, complicated piece. The highs, the lows, the messy middle—the whole damn thing, with him.
The thought hits me hard, and I jolt upright, air stalling in my lungs. I need to see him. Now. Like if I wait another second, he might vanish.
