12. Eden
TWELVE
eden
FOUR YEARS AGO
Manhattan
The spray of bright yellow roses on top of the casket look garishly happy considering the occasion.
Chase stands there alone, his pitching arm in a sling, shoulders slumped, staring at it.
Most of the attendees of the funeral have walked away, sniffling into their tissues, murmuring things like…
"She died way too soon."
"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…"
What the hell am I to him now? Saying "his ex" seems like bad form.
"…an old friend. I just wanted to pay my respects. Can you tell him Eden Mitchell is here?"
The woman's whole demeanor changes. She gives me a bright smile and welcomes me. "Eden, oh, please come in."
"Thank you."
Closing the door behind me, she says, "I've heard a lot about you."
She has?
I'm not sure what to say to that.
"I'm Millie, Chase's assistant."
We shake hands. "Nice to meet you, Millie."
"I'll let him know you're here."
She heads off and I take in my surroundings.
Waitstaff bustles around cleaning up glasses and plates that were left behind.
There are long tables full of leftover food, and with my stomach already in knots, it makes me slightly sick and I turn away .
Oddly, it feels more like the dregs of a dinner party than a funeral wake.
Even still, the townhouse is beautiful, all modern and decorated like it's ready for its close-up at all times.
But there's not a hint of Chase anywhere.
"Eden?"
I turn to find Millie behind me, smiling. "Chase is on the rooftop."
"Oh, okay."
Well, shit. I didn't come here to climb four flights of stairs.
It must be written on my face because Millie grins. "Don't worry, there's an elevator."
"Thank goodness."
A few moments later, the elevator doors swish open to reveal a rooftop terrace bigger than my loft.
I step out and the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
He's looking at me. I can feel his eyes on me.
It's always been like that with him.
Turning to my right, my gaze zeroes in on him standing in the center of the terrace.
The low setting sun casts a golden glow around his perfectly tousled hair, strong jaw, and sculpted bare chest.
Even the jagged red scar doesn't detract from how good he looks to me.
My mouth waters as I take in his abs and the V that leads down into his swim trunks.
And the fact that I'm lusting after this man when his wife is hardly cold in the ground makes me feel like I made a mistake coming here.
He gives me that smile. The smile that once upon a time I foolishly thought was just for me.
Even though I know it isn't true, it still sends the butterflies in my stomach into a tizzy.
"Hey, Eden."
"Hey, Chase."
He opens his arms and as if I'm stuck in a tractor beam, I gravitate to him.
For the first time in six years, I'm in the arms of Chase Hanover.
I feel like I'm home.
His chest is warm, and he smells the same way I remember.
"Eden."
His voice is a soft whisper against my hair, and he holds me tighter.
After a few moments we pull away and I look down. "Where's your sling?"
"How do you know I have a sling?"
"I, uh…I was at the funeral."
His eyes widen. "You were? I didn't see you."
"I was in the back."
"You should have come and said something."
I shook my head. "I didn't feel like it was the right time or place."
He makes a noncommittal sound and looks down at his arm. "I took the sling off. I hate wearing it."
I open my mouth, and he places a finger over my lips with a smile. "I know, I know. I should follow doctor's orders. And I will. But I was just about to get into the hot tub."
Glancing over my shoulder, I see steam rising from the large hot tub in the middle of the terrace.
"Oh," I say, turning back to him. "I'm sorry, I'll go. I just wanted to see how you are."
He takes my hands. "No, please stay. It's nice to see a friendly face."
"You just had a bunch of friends here."
He frowns. "With the exception of a couple of my teammates, none of those people know me. Not like you. Want to sit down?"
"Sure."
Taking my hand, he leads me over to the L-shaped couch near a small rooftop bar. Once we settle down with a couple of drinks, he stares at me.
"I can't believe you're here."
I tilt my head and sip my wine. "Why? We're friends, right?"
"Yeah." He clears his throat and looks down. "It's just been a long time."
He meets my eyes again. "But I'm glad you're here."
"Me too. So, how are you, really? I'm so sorry about Heather."
He frowns and takes a long sip of his bourbon. "I'm hanging in there. Truth?"
I nod.
"Heather and I weren't in a good place. And I'm feeling a lot of guilt about that now. With her gone."
"Survivor's guilt?"
"Yeah. I guess so." He leans back with a sigh, stretching his arm across the back of the couch.
I'm sitting on the other end, but his hand is achingly close to me now.
"They tell me I have to meet with the team psychologist weekly as part of my rehab." He scoffs, sipping his drink. "They don't realize the best therapy for me is to just get better and back on the field."
Hearing him say this produces a mix of emotions. On one hand, I'm hurt and angry because I know firsthand how true that statement is for him.
Hell, his decision to leave me had been to play the game.
On the other hand, I hate to see the war of emotions play out on his handsome face. If there was anything I could do to take it all away for him, I would.
But that would require a time machine and different choices.
Essentially, a whole other life.
So I do the only thing I think I can do.
I listen.
And the more wine and bourbon we consume, the more talkative we become.
And the more we stroll down memory lane.
And the closer we get on the couch until we're so close I can feel the heat of his body.
"So, what about you, Eden?" Chase asks, topping off our drinks again.
I've lost count of how many times he's done that, but I don't really care at this point.
All I care about is the fact that I'm sitting here with Chase, and we're laughing and it's like old times.
"What about me?"
"How's life? Seeing anyone?"
"Life is good. My company is growing. It's a lot of work, but I love it. Which means no, I'm not seeing anyone. I'm way too busy for any of that right now."
His fingers toy with the ends of my hair. "Do you ever wonder where we'd be if we were still together?"
Against my better judgment, I lean into his hand and it caresses my face, my gaze meeting his. "Yeah. I do."
"Me too. If I'm honest, I think about you way more than I should." He shifts closer to me, his knuckles brushing across my cheekbone. "I've missed you, Sunshine. So much. And that's not just the bourbon talking."
I close my eyes and inhale sharply, my emotions running riot inside me .
Desire, longing, shame, guilt.
"I've missed you too, Chase. And I can't help it. I wish things had been different."
When the words leave my mouth, I know desire and longing outweigh shame and guilt.
He drops his forehead to mine with a sigh. "Me too. You have no idea how much I wish things were different."
His thumb grazes over my bottom lip. "I've missed this mouth, these lips."
My body is wound so tight that I can barely breathe. I want his mouth on mine so bad, I can hardly stand it.
There's a hesitation about him, as though he's waiting for me to give him permission.
I lift my chin and our lips graze, once, twice…
And then he palms the back of my head and crushes his mouth to mine.
My body melts into him, my hands moving over his shoulders and up into the short hairs at the back of his neck.
He tastes of bourbon, and his mouth alone whips me into a frenzy that makes me feel like I can't get close enough to him.
As one, we move closer together and I arch into him, clinging to him as our kiss becomes more frantic.
He pulls me into his lap and I straddle him, our clothes shoved away until we're skin on skin.
His cock is hard against my slick, wet pussy. I move my hips, teasing my clit with his hard length, making us both breathless.
Those masterful hands move up my back and into my hair, where he holds me close, so close our breath mingles.
With our eyes on each other, I lower down on him, his cock stretching me until I'm fully seated on him.
Our moans mingle, the sounds of the busy city and the real world below us like part of another universe .
We move together like we always did, totally in sync, as though made for each other.
It's as though time stands still. As though the last six years have never happened.
We've never been apart.
Chase shifts us again and I'm under him, wrapping my legs and arms around him as he moves in me.
He slows down the pace, and we go from frantic like we're racing against time to feeling like we have all the time in the world.
But soon, the tension builds and he moves his hips against me faster with each thrust until we're both starving for air.
When we both let go, flying over that cliff into nirvana together, I feel my heart clench, knowing that things have changed between us.
We're in each other's orbits again, and everything I thought I knew before I came here is now changed.
Because now it feels like it's a promise we'll have to keep to each other somehow.
For the rest of the night, we talk, test out the hot tub, and have sex as often as possible.
But it doesn't feel like just sex—it feels like that deep connection we'd always had.
We finally pass out, wrapped up in robes and each other on the couch.
Hours later, as the sun starts to rise, I blink.
And reality sets in.
What the hell have we done?
In the light of day, shame and guilt are the only things I feel.
As quietly and quickly as I can, I move out from under Chase and get dressed.
I scribble a quick note about how nice it was to see him and head out .
Thankfully, downstairs is empty, and no one is privy to my walk of shame.
Well, not until I finally slide into the back seat of a taxi and head home.
I manage to keep it together for the short ride downtown to my apartment.
I manage to keep it together as I take a quick shower, get to my office, and work through a crazy busy day, while actively ignoring my phone.
But that doesn't keep the messages from coming in.
Hey Sunshine. I missed you leaving this morning. Last night meant a lot to me.
A couple of days later:
Hey Eden. I hope this is the right number. It's Chase.
A few days after that:
I know it's the right number now that I've left a voicemail for you and heard your voice.
And his last one:
If you were trying to get even with me for leaving you, consider us even. Have a nice life, Eden .
As much as I wanted to, I don't return his calls or his text messages.
I don't know if that's the right thing to do or not.
The only thing I know is that after the night I spent with Chase, I'm still in love with him and now my heart is broken all over again.
And that's why I can't contact him again.
It isn't until a couple of months later when I turn on the news and his face pops up on the screen when the sports segment starts.
The dam breaks and my tears fall.
And once they start, they don't stop for a week.