Like I said, I’m not built right. But I am built for one specific woman, and that’s Alexis. I won’t stop pursuing her until she understands that.
I went into this relationship with her like I would any other woman. As if she was just my object to possess. I took responsibility for her when I took ownership, only I didn’t take responsibility for myself. I demanded compliance and honesty from her, without giving her the same transparency.
I required her trust, but I didn’t trust her to make the right choices.
I’m close to ramming my head through a wall just to make these enlightening thoughts cease. I’m not about to become enlightened unless Alexis is around to witness it. I’m still a man, after all. I know that it doesn’t count unless the woman you love sees it for herself.
I hit Send.
Then I’m off my couch and heading to my bedroom. I won’t hover around my phone like some pussy-whipped teenager. I cling to what dignity I have left, however little.
It doesn’t work. The thought of her suffering steals my breath. What if her brother’s condition has worsened? What if I’m so ill-equipped at handling these emotions that I should’ve demanded to be with her through this?
These thoughts pummel my brain in the dark of my room, keeping me from sleep. I should be focused on the case, but all I can visualize is the pain on Alexis’s face after she got the call.
“Fuck.” I roll out of bed and pull on my jeans, then head toward my phone.
No reply.
I call Jefferson. “When did you take Alexis home?” I ask as way of greeting. There’s no sense in platitudes. I hired him because he knows this.
His groggy voice sounds over the line. “Sir, I didn’t. Not yet.”
My brow furrows. “Then she’s still at the hospital?”
“No, sir. She wanted to go to the office. Said she had—”
“Then you’re still there. With her.”
A beat. Then: “She’s going to call when she’s ready to leave.”
“You left her there alone?”
“I’m on my way back there now—”
“No,” I say, my voice a dark boom. “I’m going.”
I hang up and try her number. It rings for a while before going to voicemail. Dammit, Alexis. I try calling again, and again, her voicemail picks up.
I type out a quick text: I’m on my way to you.
I don’t bother with a jacket and am already grabbing my keys when my phone rings. I dig it out of my pocket. Alexis’s beautiful face is on the screen.
“Are you all right?” There’s many different ways to answer this call…other things I wish to say…but this is my main concern. I need to know she’s all right. That she’s not sitting up in her office, hurt and alone.
The receiver picks up her shaky breaths. “I’m all right,” she says. “Chase, I don’t think this is going to work.”
I brace my hand on the door, holding my phone against my ear as I hang my head. “I don’t accept that, Alexis.”
She remains quiet, and I wait. Wait for her to realize what she’s saying is wrong. It doesn’t feel right because it’s not right.
“You tore up the agreement, Chase. There’s nothing between us anymore.”
My hand balls into a fist against the door. I grit my teeth to keep from rearing back and punching it. “I don’t need a fucking agreement to be with you.” I exhale, releasing the searing ache from my lungs. “I tore it up because I want more than something stated in callous legal jargon, Alexis. I want you. All of you—”
“Chase—”
“I’m coming to you. If you’re done with me, then tell me so. But do it to my face.”