Page 115 of Bossman

After a long time, he pulled back so we could face each other. His eyes searched mine, looking for something. Assurance, maybe?

Finding whatever he needed, he cleared his throat and spoke softly. “When I was twelve, I bought an old Swiss Army knife at a garage sale. Carried the thing with me for years.” He paused and looked down. Taking my right hand in his, he ran his thumb over my scar repeatedly. When he looked back up at me, there were tears in his eyes. “I gave it to Eddie. The homeless guy Peyton was trying to help.” His voice broke. “I thought he could use it to defend himself in an emergency.”

The pain in his voice was unbearable. I wanted to do something to soothe him, bring him comfort. But I knew he needed to get it out. It wasn’t just a hurdle for our relationship; it was a monumental step for his healing. And I wanted that more than anything. I squeezed his hand and gave him a small nod.

“All these years, we thought it was a group of teenagers beating up on homeless people who killed Peyton, that she was caught in the crossfire of an attack on Eddie.” He took a deep breath in and released it with a whoosh. “It wasn’t. It was Eddie who killed her.” He looked down and squeezed my hand, then his eyes came back to mine. “With the knife I gave him. It was my knife that killed her.”

I might not have been the one cut, but I felt gutted nonetheless. Tears streamed down my face. “I left the door open, and my brother can’t hear.”

Chase wiped my tears with his thumbs as he took my face in his hands. “It’s not your fault.”

I looked into his eyes. “It’s not yours either.”

***

Hours later, I was physically and emotionally exhausted. Once the cork had come out of the bottle, Chase completely opened up. We talked more about Peyton and Eddie, and I told him details of the night Owen and I had walked in on our home being robbed. I admitted things to him that I’d barely even admitted to myself—how the guilt had affected me, and how I’d gone through bouts of depression growing up. It was important for him to know he wasn’t alone, and I didn’t expect him to heal overnight.

I’d just gone to the bathroom, answered a concerned FaceConnect video call from my brother—whom I’d forgotten to text—and come back to sit on the couch. Before my ass hit the pillow, Chase grabbed me and pulled me into his lap. The smile on his face was beautiful and real.

He pressed his lips together, then leaned his forehead against mine. “Would you really have gone to Chicago?”

“Chicago? For what?”

“Pink Cosmetics. The job you applied for?”

I furrowed my brow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t apply for a job with Pink. Actually, I haven’t applied anywhere. I have money saved and decided to take a little time off before making any career decisions. I’m kicking around starting my own small marketing firm with my friend Jules, who you met. We talked about it last year before I left Fresh Look, and I wasn’t ready. But it sort of feels right now.” I paused. “What made you think I was going to move to Chicago?”

“They called for a reference.”

“That’s odd.”

Chase closed his eyes and chuckled, shaking his head. “Sam.”

“Sam?”

“I never actually spoke to them. Sam told me they’d called for a reference as I was getting ready to leave the other day.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She was lighting a fire under my ass. Knew it would push me to get over my issues.”

“Oooh…and here I thought it was my hot date that pushed you over the edge.”

“I almost lost it at the Italian place, watching him put his hands all over your face.”

My eyes widened. “You followed me?”

“Just tonight. I was going crazy watching you go out with that guy again. Do you remember what you told me last week before you stopped speaking to me?”

Of course I do. “What?”

“That you were going to bring some guy home and open the window so I could listen.” He swatted my ass playfully. “You have a cruel streak in you, Buttercup.”

I started to crack up and quickly found myself lifted into the air and then flat on my back. Chase hovered over me, grabbing my hands and pinning them above my head. “You think this is funny?”

“I do, actually.”

He rubbed his nose against mine and whispered, “You wouldn’t really have slept with him, would you?”