Elect

Chapter Twenty-seven Chase

I eyed the scotch on the table and poured myself a healthy dose of liquid and tossed back the contents, all before taking a seat next to Mil’s spot on the floor.

“So.” She tried her best to cover herself with the blanket but failed miserably. I hated myself that I was actually staring. But I was a guy; who would—could—blame me? I couldn’t decide if I was more embarrassed of the past we shared or the fact that everyone else in the room most likely knew about my feelings for Trace, too, and pitied me while I sat on the floor with the girl I’d lost my virginity to. “You look good.”

“I’d say the same”—I cursed and pulled the blanket around her—“but you look like hell.”

She shrugged and pulled the blanket higher, exposing her foot. “Did you get hurt?”

She took the drink from my hand and motioned for me to pour her more scotch. After she took a sip she sighed. “Nixon shot me.”

“In the foot?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“To prove a point, the jackass.”

I tried to hide my smile. “He may be an ass but at least he’s protecting you. Why is he protecting you, by the way? And why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be at some boarding school in Florida?”

“Not when I’m needed here.” Her eyes drooped as did her hand. I reached for the glass and set it on the floor.

“Mil,” I urged, trying to use a nice voice considering I’d just had a gun aimed at her face. “What’s wrong?”

“You have any regrets, Chase?”

Um, seriously? I looked back down the hall. Regrets. Nice, I freaking hated that word. It seemed to define everything that was happening in my life lately.

I regretted that I loved Tracey.

I wished I didn’t.

But I did.

I regretted that I’d do anything to have her.

And I regretted that in the end, it was Nixon in that bedroom and not me. So I answered, “Sure, I think everyone does.”

“I have lots.”

“Am I one of them?” I joked.

She laughed. I’d forgotten how pretty her laugh was. It was what attracted me to her in the first place. She’d always laughed like she didn’t give a rat’s ass if people heard her. She’d throw her head back and put her entire body into it; her entire face lit up like a Christmas tree and I was drawn into her web. Scary that some fourteen-year-old girls are born to look more like they’re twenty-two.

“Nah.” She looked up with her bright blue eyes and shrugged. “You weren’t a regret.”

“A mistake?”

“Yeah, I’ll drink to that.” She laughed again. For some reason it made me feel better, like if I focused on my past, my future wouldn’t look so bleak. “I hated you for a long time, Chase Winter.”

“Hated, as in past tense?”

“Oops, I slipped. I meant ‘hate.’ ”

“Noted.”

“You seduced me.”

“I was sixteen and it was hardly a seduction, Mil. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“Clearly, you didn’t.”

“Very funny.”

She licked her lips. “I don’t regret you, Chase, so stop feeling sorry for yourself. And if you look down that hall one more time I’m going to smack you.”

“I’m that obvious?”

She shook her head. “You’re pathetic. Sure you don’t want me to shoot you and put you out of your misery?”

“Ask me later.” I took another drink of scotch and winced.

“I regret not being there for him,” Mil said in a quiet voice. “I regret that when he needed me most, I didn’t believe him. Not until it was too late.”

“It’s never too late, Mil.” I put my arm around her. “I promise, there’s always a chance.” I had to believe the words I was saying, because if I was wrong then that meant my future was just as bleak as hers. Wow, we really were pathetic.

“You talking about Phoenix?” I asked after a few minutes of silence.

“He’s my stepbrother.” She yawned. “And I think I’m too late. I don’t know if Nixon can fix it.”

“Fix what?” My hair stood on end. What did she know that I didn’t? “Mil?” I shook her a bit. “If Nixon can fix what?”

“Do you think we go to heaven?” She’d changed the subject again. Clearly the drugs really were kicking in.

“Mil?”

“Nixon said yes.” Her eyes fluttered open and then closed. “If he can’t fix it, I hope he does.”

“Does what?” I whispered.

“Go to heaven.” And then she slumped against me.

With a curse, I rose to my feet and picked her up into my arms. I wasn’t sure where Nixon was keeping her, but I knew she’d have one hell of a headache if she slept on the floor like that. So I walked her into the room next to mine and laid her down on the bed.

It really was a shame I was in love with someone else.

Because I needed some female companionship.

Not that Mil would offer.

Shit, how lucky was I? The one girl I loved didn’t even know it and sure as hell didn’t love me back like that, and the only other one I could trust with my secrets and lifestyle wanted to shoot me in the face.

I backed out of the room and walked slowly by Nixon’s.

It was the silence that did it for me.

It killed me inside.

And then I heard Trace laugh.

And I felt like I had been killed all over again. How many times can a guy experience death before he’s ready to allow it to consume him? I went in search of more scotch and promised myself I’d try harder with Trace. I’d make her want me. I’d make her choose me.

In the end, I was better for her. She just didn’t see it because all she could see was Nixon, but if I could change that… If he could just… stay out of the picture like he’d promised. We’d have a chance. In the end, hurting her, in order to gain her? It seemed like it was worth it. I knew being away from Nixon was difficult for her—but I couldn’t give a damn if he stayed away forever. Because he was stealing my reason for living. And when she was gone, I wouldn’t feel so much like living anymore.