Page 91 of The Convict Gets His Girl

The coffee steamed between them, a silent witness to the story about to unfold. Jewel remained still, her presence a steady anchor as Chase gathered his thoughts.

"Exactly that. We finished tutoring, and Andre felt confident about the test on Monday. He offered me a joint and a few beers. We were watching TV when his dad came home. They argued, and I left. That's all I remember, walking out of their trailer."

Chase's fingers traced the ceramic mug's rim, his gaze distant. "The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital. Three days later. My entire world was shattered when they told me what happened. But I don't remember any of it."

Jewel remained silent, her breath soft and steady as she laid a comforting hand on the back of the couch, her fingers tracing a pattern on his shoulder.

"Not remembering doesn't make you less responsible," she said softly. "But it doesn't make you a monster, either."

Chase's laugh was harsh, bitter. "Most people would disagree with you. At least, that's what I heard over and over when I was in court."

"Most people aren't sitting here with you, hearing your heart break over something you can't change." Her voice was steady, unflinching. "You've spent years proving who you are now. Not who you were that night."

He looked at her then, really looked. Saw the understanding in her eyes—not pity, not judgment. Just a raw, honest compassion that made his chest ache. He was amazed by this woman, and his heart beat just for her. He wanted her to know everything because if she eventually learned to love him back, he wanted to know that it was with blinders off. She had to know what she was getting into.

"They say I hit their family head-on and was thrown through the windshield." His voice cracked. "How out of it was I that I didn't buckle up? I always buckle up on the highway. Mom drummed that into all of us since we could walk."

"Chase," she said softly, "you can't keep blaming yourself for something that was an accident."

He laughed, but it was a harsh, bitter sound. "An accident that killed an innocent girl. Destroyed her family. Fifteen years doesn't feel like enough punishment considering her lost life."

"The system punished you," Jewel said firmly. "You've done everything you can to rebuild. To make something good out of that terrible moment. You've learned from your mistakes, haven't you?"

He nodded, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "I've only drank one beer a night at the bar or at poker night since I've been out. Haven't smoked pot or done any of that other shit, so I guess I learned from the mistake. The thing is… I'd never over-indulged before either. Of the half dozen times I'd drank and smoked that semester with Andre, I'd never blacked out, never overdid it and got sick, or even had a hangover. I don't remember taking anything more than what I normally did, which was just one beer. Andre made fun of me for refusing all but the smallest amounts like normal."

He sat the shaking cup back on the coffee table and ran his sweaty hands down his pants. "Didn't fucking matter in the end. Abigail died instantly. Her sister survived with a broken leg. Parents survived with broken bones too."

Jewel's hand moved, not touching him, but close enough that he could feel her warmth, a silent offering of support.

"In prison, my therapist said Andre was technically an accessory. He could've stopped me from driving, could've taken the keys, could've called someone to come pick me up."

"But you didn't tell anyone about him during the trial, did you?" Jewel asked, but it wasn't a question. Her tone said it as fact.

He heaved a shuddering breath, his chest tight and eyes burning. "The reports said I was over the legal limit. They kept asking where I got it from, but I didn't see the point in him going to jail too for something I did. They said I was driving too fast, but I don't remember anything but flashes of light. Sirens. Screaming. The smell of burning metal."

His voice broke on the last word. A single tear traced down his cheek, which he wiped away with a rough motion.

"I never wanted to hurt anyone," Chase whispered. His hands clenched so tightly the knuckles had gone white. "Never."

Jewel's hand finally settled on his shoulder, her touch light but grounding. "I know," she said softly. "I know."

For several long moments, only the soft ticking of the kitchen clock broke the silence. Chase's breathing slowly steadied, the terrible weight of memory gradually lifting.

"Olive seemed… peaceful," she said finally. "About everything. About her sister."

Chase nodded, and Jewel continued. "Some people transform their pain into something meaningful. Sounds like she did that by becoming a social worker."

Chase's laugh was quick and brittle. "Not everyone gets that chance to become more than their mistakes. Not everyone gets second chances."

Her fingers squeezed his shoulder. "But you did. And you're making the most of it. You move into the house this week. You're going to pass the exam this week. You're working for Lola bookkeeping and you're helping all kinds of people grow their money so they can do better things with it. I think that's all we can do as human beings… try to make a positive impact on more people than negative effects."

Chase felt something inside him shift at her words. Not completely, not perfectly, but something was softening, thawing.

"I want to be a good father to Destini," he said quietly. "I want her to know that people can change. That mistakes don't define you forever."

Jewel's hand remained on his shoulder, her touch steady and warm. "And you will be. She already loves you."

He turned to look at her then, surprised. "She does?"

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