Bossman (Dirty Office Romance 1)

For a second, he glared at Owen, and I thought something ugly was going to happen. But eventually he nodded, unlocked the door, and went inside.

It took a few minutes to assure my big brother that I would be fine. I’d already told him about Chase, but being overprotective, he found it difficult to walk away. I kissed him on the cheek and promised to text him within an hour. Otherwise, he assured me, he’d be back at my door.

When I was finally alone in the hallway, I took some time to gather myself. Eventually, I smoothed my dress, summoned my courage, and walked into my apartment.

Chase was sitting on the couch when I walked in. A creature of habit, I immediately turned to the coat closet and slipped off my sweater, even though I didn’t keep it there.

“I already did it. Twice.” He offered a smile, but I could see the sadness looming behind it.

God, please don’t break my heart. Again.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” I walked to the kitchen to pour myself some. To the brim. Maybe even drink from the bottle.

“No, thanks.”

I felt his eyes on me as I maneuvered my way through the kitchen. When I was done, I stuttered before choosing a seat. Deciding on the chair, rather than the couch next to Chase, I sat and sipped my wine.

He waited patiently until I gave him my attention. “Come here.”

I closed my eyes. There was nowhere I’d rather be than right next to him, but I needed to know what he was here for. What this was.

“Why?” I sipped my wine again so I had an excuse to look away.

“Because I need you near me.”

I looked at him. Still debating, still unsure.

“Because I miss you. I miss you so goddamn much, Reese.”

I had to swallow because tears of happiness were starting to threaten. Yet I was still afraid. There was something he still needed to do. I couldn’t allow myself to get sucked back in unless he gave me everything. He was an all-or-nothing for me.

I moved to the couch, and Chase took the wine from my hand, setting it on the table. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled my body close against his. I could barely breathe, he held me so tight. Yet it felt so good to be back in his arms. So right.

“I’m so sorry, Reese. So sorry I hurt you,” he mumbled into my hair.

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.