Caught in Us (Caught Series Book 4), Kacey Shea [top 50 books to read .TXT] 📗

come and go, and he’s super friendly. Probably too friendly. He’s a happy kid.” I’m babbling now. I hate that it makes me appear nervous, but I can’t take the quiet. “So, you decided to stick with firefighting?”

“Yeah.” He turns onto the gravel drive that leads through my parents’ estate, passing the main house to go directly to the detached garage.

“When I left you weren’t sure.”

“I wasn’t sure my father would let me back in.” He scrubs a hand down his jawline. “Cam talked to him, but I think it was Mav’s call that won him over.”

“You’re still at the station by Callie’s?”

“No. My only request was to start somewhere new. I’m at one of the smaller stations, at the edge of the county. It’s a more rural area, and the guys there are family focused.” He pulls to a stop, shifting the gear to park, and turns in his seat to meet my stare. “I didn’t want to work with the guys who knew me as a drinking buddy. I knew I couldn’t handle that temptation. I needed a fresh start. A place to prove myself without all that baggage. And I stuck with AA and therapy.”

“That’s really smart.”

His brows lift. “You surprised by that?”

“No.” I shake my head, biting back the retort that threatens to fly past my lips. I’m impressed. Under his searching stare, my body tingles with awareness and heat. The scent of his cologne reaches my nostrils and I’m transported back in time. Memories of our bodies, sweaty and pressed together, flashes in my mind’s eye. Fuck. Reaching for the door handle, I hop out of the truck and shake them off.

In silence we unload the truck, working together to drag the tables and chairs into the empty garage. It’s only a few feet from his truck bed to the garage, but I’m out of breath, my face damp with exertion. Thankfully the sky is overcast, and a light breeze keeps me from sweating my makeup off.

Chase lifts the gate to his truck bed back into place with a slam before turning to meet my gaze. His foot scuffs at the gravel as he hooks a thumb toward the house. “You can bail if you want. I can get the rest.” His offer lacks judgment or concern, as if he doesn’t care either way. It stings a little more than it should.

“No.” I shake my head. “I want to help. This is important to Jill. Besides, I’m not sure when else I’ll get to see her before the wedding.”

Chase nods, and I recognize the appreciation in his gaze. “She misses you. Callie, too.”

I miss them more than I can ever admit. Being back home has made it clear just how much I’ve missed out on. I thought I made the right choice. I thought I did what was best, but with each passing hour I wonder if I’ve made a colossal mistake, and if there’s any chance at reconciliation. More importantly, am I worthy of it after what I’ve done?

14

Alicia

Three years ago

Another Saturday, another day racing to catch up on all the reading I should’ve done this week. But for the first time in months, I feel like leaving my room. I don’t know whether it’s the change in weather, my full schedule, or my broken heart, but I’ve found it really hard to get through basic tasks. I should go talk to someone. See a doctor or therapist, or both. But the idea of doing either of those things is terrifying. It might not be the healthiest coping mechanism, but I’ve thrown myself into my graduate program, living and breathing school.

At least I’m not drinking.

I’m using my addiction to justify my detachment. I know I am, and yet it’s a compelling argument. My first night in London, I scared myself. It would have been all too easy to slip into reckless behavior and get lost again. That night I almost drank. I almost slept with a stranger. Thankfully, I got cold feet for both.

Because the stranger from the bar ended up being one of the undergraduate students in my classes. I almost died when he walked into my classroom weeks after I invited him back to my hotel. By the surprise in his expression, he felt the same. Even now, months into the fall semester, he goes out of his way to interact on a strictly professional level. Which is a relief. As attractive as Simon was, he wasn’t Chase.

“Fuck it.” I slam my textbook closed and spend a few minutes pulling on cute clothes and brushing on makeup. My pants are tight around the waistband and I cringe. It’s been months since my body has seen a gym. Whatever. This is the first day I’ve felt halfway human since moving here. I am doing something fun.

Lacing up my most comfortable shoes, I study the public transit routes one last time, then slide on a jacket on my way out the door. I pitstop for a coffee and pastry, and catch the train to my destination. St. Paul’s Cathedral is on my list of must-see places and from the moment I step foot inside, my breath catches as an overpowering sense of peace brings tears to my eyes.

The stained-glass windows paint little rainbows of light across the floor. The paintings created in this space speak to the hardships of people over the centuries. The challenge to choose good over evil. To persevere. I don’t consider myself an overly religious person, but this ancient church building is proof of something greater. It’s reassuring to know it’s still standing. That it’s overcome and endured. Just like the human spirit.

I’m going to be okay. The thought wraps around my shoulders like a warm blanket, and by the time I emerge, I believe it’s the truth. No matter what happens. No matter how hard life gets, I am going to be okay. I’m meant to be here—in this place and time—and that’s enough.

Finding a pew, I