Page 55 of Chance's Choice
But she just keeps on glaring up at my father. “And,darling,” the word is practically snarled, dripping with sarcasm, “I’m not bluffing. I’m well aware of yourextramaritalactivities: I have my own photographs stashed away for a rainy day. It turns out, you and I are more alike than you know.”
Dad has gone pale now, and I’m speechless. Did Mom just say she has photographic evidence of him cheating? Gross. And, also, why the hell would she have stayed married to him knowing that he was cheating?
Then I look around at the grand home I grew up in, the shining diamonds in her earrings and on her fingers, and the lifestyle which she has generally become accustomed to, and I mentally shrug. She’d walk away wealthy if she divorced, but she’s wealthier if she stays. It’s not the choice I would personally make, but to each their own.
And, just like that, the fight leaves my father entirely. He nods curtly. “Fine,” he tells my mother, curling his lip in a sneer. “You win. I’ll have my lawyers draft a document meeting your terms. Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” she answers drily. Then she finally turns to me. “And you’ll have your own lawyer look it over before you sign, too.”
It’s not a question, but I still nod, knowing that Ted won’t mind reading over it for me. Dad’s expression twists, but he stays mercifully silent.
Mom steps back and smooths her hands down her polo shirt and linen pants. She rolls her shoulders back and then pins me with a blinding smile, reaching out to hook her arm with mine. “Well,” she starts, sounding every bit the prim and proper woman from my memories, like the last few minutes never happened. “Come along, sweetheart. Let’s have a coffee and catch up properly, hmm?”
I have no choice but to do exactly what she says.
Chapter Twenty-Four – Kade
It’s late afternoon when I hear the key turning in the lock of Chance’s front door. I look up from the book I’ve been reading on the couch, arching my eyebrows at him. He’d texted earlier to tell me that ‘something’ had ‘come up’ and that he’d be home late, but the super vague messages had my Spidey senses on alert.
The past weeks have been great. I feel well and truly included in Chance’s social circle now, to the point where I consider it ‘our’ social circle. Even if he and I were to break up -not something I foresee happening, but you never know- I would still have these new friends to lean on and talk to.
Josh, in particular, has become someone I really value. It goes beyond our mutual appreciation for hockey, too, or the fact that he’s a Little like me. We have similar senses of humor, and I’ve come to discover that he’s every part as hard on himself as I have been on myself. He puts on this bratty façade, but behind it, he’s definitely lonely. Seeing all of his friends settling down really hasn’t helped, either. Not that he has said as much to me, mind you. But I can tell. Like knows like and all that jazz.
So, yeah, I’ve made an effort to hang out with him whenever possible. It’s not romantic in nature, but I think it is helping him to feel less alone. Even though he could reach out to any one of the other guys, Josh is stubborn and independent, and I also suspect he doesn’t want to impose on them. So, instead, I’ve been shoving my excess attention his way. I’m considering suggesting that we go and enjoy Littles’ Night down at The Grove next month, the whole group of us Littles. With or without our Daddies. I think Josh would enjoy that, and I wouldn’t mind another group playdate, especially if I get to introduce the group to Little Kade, too.
But right now, I’m more interested in whatever is going on with my boyfriend.
“Hey, stranger,” I greet him with a teasing lilt as he steps into the room, having shut the door behind him. “Did you have a good day?” I feel atinybit like a 1950s housewife asking the question, but the warm smile Chance gives me is worth it.
“It was…eventful,” he eventually replies, clearly having considered his phrasing carefully. He crosses the room and stands behind the couch, bending to brush our lips together.
“Mmm,” I can’t help but murmur, closing my eyes and enjoying the sweet kiss. But when he pulls away, I push, “Good eventful, or bad eventful?”
Chuckling, Chance moves around the couch and drops into the seat beside me, pulling my socked feet into his lap. He starts to rub them. “Good eventful.”
I’m distracted by the impromptu massage, groaning a little before I remember that I’m trying to carefully interrogate him. “Hmm?” I ask, then force myself to focus. “What happened?”
I know he met up with Spencer for lunch, but beyond that I’m clueless. The sheepish expression on his face worries me a little, especially when he looks down at my foot in his hands, unable to meet my eyes.
Those worries increase tenfold when he finally confesses, “I, uh, went to my parents’ place.”
“You went…?” I start to repeat, then stop, shaking my head. I’m confused, and also surprised to find myself feeling a bit angry with him. “Why?” I demand.
Chance’s expression turns apologetic. “So,” he licks his lips, carefully considering his explanation, “I haven’t been able to get over what Dad did to you…”
I want to know why this is the first I’m hearing about it. Why, in all the time that has passed, he hasn’t told me. Hasn’t let me in. He’s my boyfriend. We love each other. Aren’t we supposed to share stuff like this with each other? Wasn’t he totally against me bottling stuff up when we got together? Why is he allowed to do it, but I’m not?
Frustrated, I tug my feet out from his grasp, trying not to feel guilty at the wounded look that passes over his face. “Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask, curling my legs underneath me on the couch.
“I thought it would just disappear,” Chance says ruefully. He exhales and leans his head back to stare at the ceiling, as if that’s going to help him better verbalize his shitty decisions. “But it didn’t. So, in a last-ditch effort, I went to their place for closure, I guess.” He finally looks back at me. “I was going to tell you tonight, no matter how that ended. I just wanted to try and fix it for myself, first.”
Well, I can’t exactly begrudge him that, can I? Even though I’m still a little upset that he was struggling with those feelings and I had no idea, I understand where he’s coming from. We’re equals, but he sees himself as Daddy all the time: somewhere in his mind he’s the one who fixes problems, not makes them.
Coming down from my burst of indignant frustration, I recall his earlier words. “And it was…good?”
He chuckles now, and in a tone tinged with disbelief, says, “My mom read Dad the riot act. I told her what happened -all of it- and she…Jesus, Kade, I’ve never seen her like that. She stormed down to his office, bailed him up against the wall and threatened to out his affair and divorce him if he didn’t destroy the photos and sign paperwork guaranteeing that if he fucks us over, I get everything he owns.”
I can feel myself gaping at him. “You…what?! And he agreed to that? Just like that?” I snap my fingers. “That easily?”
