Page 45 of Mine Forever
“It was a lovely service.”
Others, ones I can only guess are Heather’s friends, are a little more pointed.
“What’s he going to do now?”
“I hear he may get cut from the team.”
“I hope the asshole goes to jail.”
That one stuns me and makes me want to come out of my hiding place behind a tree and pull the extensions right out of her scalp.
But I let it go.
A couple of men I recognize as his teammates move to surround him. From where I’m hiding out, I can’t hear anything they say, but every so often Chase nods his head.
After a few moments, they turn and leave together, the men staying near Chase as they lead him to a blacked-out SUV.
Damn it. I’d wanted to try and talk to Chase. See if he is okay.
I know he isn’t, but something in me keeps saying I need to go to him and see how he is doing.
A Town Car waits for me and I give the driver the address to Chase’s brownstone on the Upper East Side.
When we get there, groups of people who were at the funeral are walking into his place.
I don’t have the courage to go in just yet. So I send the car on and decide to sit in the coffee shop across the street until I do.
Even though it’s late in the afternoon, I order a coffee as big as my head to cover the rent on the table I know I’ll commandeer for a while.
It’s been six years since we’ve seen each other.
While I want to see him because I care for him, I also want to prove to myself and to him that I’ve moved on as well as he did.
My leg bounces as I watch the double doors to the building across the street.
Work always calms me down. Too bad I didn’t bring my laptop.
Instead, I catch up on emails and texts, keeping an eye on the comings and goings of the people in and out of Chase’s house.
Nope, I don’t feel like a low-key stalker at all.
After about an hour, a large group of people leave at the same time, including his teammates.
I wait a few more minutes, and when it seems quiet at his house, I head out.
When I ring the doorbell, a middle-aged woman, dressed in Chanel, opens the door. “Can I help you?”
Did I ring the wrong doorbell?
“Uh, hi. Is Chase here?”
Her eyes roam over me before narrowing. “He has no comment.”
She starts to close the door, but I put a hand on it to stop it.
No small feat since the door feels like it weighs about two thousand pounds.
“I’m not a reporter. I’m…”
