Page 67 of Secondhand Secrets

She raised against him, and he picked her up, following the rush to have her in his bedroom. Though this wasn’t how he’d expected the night to end, his heart thundered a hopeful beat, her muffled moans lingering long after they collapsed to the bed.

She pulled at his shirt, and he slid her underwear free from beneath her dress, her nails digging into his back as he found relief in burying himself deep within her again.

Emotional and confused. With each desperate thrust, he sought to reassure her. To demand she stay and allow him to overshadow any doubts.

She was his. All his.

And he would not let her go.

Maintaining this relationship wouldn’t be easy. At least, not at first. But they were made to be together and would be each other’s strength. They would get through this. They would be okay.

Hours later, Ally awoke to the early dawn’s pale light slipping through the blue-gray curtains, the bisque ceiling illuminated at the top. The soothing weight of Chip’s arm draped over her from behind, pressing her bare waist while she closed her eyes and drew a slow breath, savoring the feel. Not just his touch, but the soft lap of his sleep-laden breath on her neck, his warmth and support.

No matter how long she stayed here, the moment would pass too quickly, so she forced herself to slip from his hold and collect last night’s discarded dress, now a puddle of blue silk on the floor.

She ferried the dress to her suitcase tucked inside a closet, then pulled out one of her signature floral sundresses to wear now. Next, she went to the ensuite, her heart racing as she brushed her hair and teeth before gathering her few belongings and taking those also to her suitcase.

Not wanting to wake Chip, she took her time snapping the two locks shut, continuing to move quietly and quickly on her short walk to the bedroom door. Only then did she stop and glance at him one last time and only for a second—where he slept with the soft lines of his back to her, his arm outstretched, as though she still lay within his hold.

The heat behind her eyes forced her to turn away. She didn’t want to cry. Didn’t want him to wake and stop this. Even without all that, her journey down the stairs wasn’t easy. Not with her heavy suitcase reluctant to descend each damn step. Not with each step taking her farther away from everything she’d ever wanted.

But everything I’ve ever wanted isn’t for me.

It took maturity to admit that. And she’d wanted maturity too.

She followed the light breaking from the windows bracketing the front door up ahead, a beacon to her future, whatever that would be. The hour’s devastating stillness only added to the roiling in her tummy, as though even this city slept through her escape.

“So, you’re leaving.”

She startled at William Overton’s weighty statement.

If the city slept, he certainly didn’t!

Chip’s dad sat to her right, within the living room’s archway and on one of two brown leather armchairs. He nursed a round-bottomed glass of high-priced whiskey, something she’d learned he preferred, as well as his tendency to grip her in his unyielding stare. As he did now, halting her next steps away from the stairs.

Still, she womaned-up and nodded all the same.

He drew a sharp breath, and his expression relaxed some before he moved his glass to a small wooden table beside him. “Whatever you think of me, I only ever wanted my son to do well.”

Still lost for words, she blinked, his words dispersing through her mind like water to dry soil. And again, his stare held while he added, “My job isn’t to be nice to him, Ally. I’m not his friend. I’m his father.”

She thought about where she’d been just hours ago. At the Encode gala. All because of Chip’s success so far. Top grades. Top college degree. Top opportunities. All because his father’s we’re-not-friends approach had succeeded in its own right.

Her lips pressed into a frown, and she dared to step away from the stairs only stopping when she had Bill right before her. “Chip’s not a kid anymore. Maybe it’s time to try being nice to him?”

Chip’s dad gave no reply. He barely acknowledged she’d spoken, save for the slight softening of tension around his eyes. That softening was enough to prove that he had heard her, and enough for her to resume her original plan.

“Just do me a favor”—she turned and grabbed her waiting suitcase and then marched for the front door—“when Chip wakes, tell him I’ve gone for some solo sightseeing and won’t be back for hours.”

Hand poised on the door handle and ready to pull, she glanced over to his dad’s uncharacteristically slack expression. He saw where she went with this, and yet, he hadn’t expected she’d sacrifice what she wanted in order to help Chip succeed.

Just to make sure her plan wouldn’t fail, she added one last instruction. “Don’t tell him I’ve left until after his presentation.”

Thirty-Three

Chip’s morning was an endless list of hurried tasks, complete with a panicked journey downstairs to find Ally, only for his dad to let loose that she’d left to do some early sightseeing so Chip would have space to focus on his presentation.

Though he would have preferred to have her presence, he’d had no time to dwell, his early hours filled with checking presentation notes and slides, then choking down some toast for breakfast while racing out the door.

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