Now Wesley had been forced to learn his own lessons from a father who’d never wanted to know him. Chase ground his teeth at the pitch of grief for an innocent boy. “My mom had wanted my dad to be better for us, but she’d known. Even warned me a few times not to get my hopes up.”
“Did you?” Nichole asked.
“Of course.” Chase stretched both arms out in front of him as if that proved he no longer hurt. “Each time my dad failed, it hurt a little less. Until finally it didn’t hurt at all.”
Nichole nodded. “Then you’ll understand when I ask you not to get Wesley’s hopes up.”
He understood but didn’t want to listen. “Get his hopes up?”
“He’s a huge fan of yours,” Nichole stressed. “But he doesn’t know you.”
“What does that mean?” Chase crossed his arms over his chest, blocking the jab of her words. His fans, even the kids, wanted his autograph on their jerseys, footballs, hats. Wanted pictures. People wanted to know him everywhere he went. “Are you saying I’m not worth getting to know?”
“That’s not it.” Nichole covered her face with both hands. Inhaled. Exhaled. “Let me start over.”
Chase waited. He might not be worth falling in love with. What was wrong with getting to know him?
“Wesley believes in the image of you. The superstar athlete with the superstar lifestyle.” Nichole rushed on. “You’re the guy all the kids want to grow up to be.”
That was much better than wanting to be like his own disinterested father or even Wesley’s negligent biological dad. “And that’s a bad thing, to want to be me?”
“Your reputation does need some polishing.” Nichole tied her hair up as if settling into her topic.
Everyone close to Chase talked about his reputation. Yet the public adored him. Chase scowled.
Nichole lowered her hands. “But that’s not my point.”
“What is?” His voice sounded sour as if he’d sipped Nichole’s bitter tonic from earlier. “That I’m not good enough to get to know Wesley.” Good enough for Wesley. Or even Nichole. He locked his jaw against the discomfort of the truth.
“I don’t want him to get hurt.” Nichole motioned between them. The movement quick and concise like her words. “This is not a family bonding weekend. This whatever it is between us isn’t permanent. It’s temporary.”
“Until our contracts are signed and official,” Chase clarified, restating their terms and disengaging from any sentiment.
“Exactly.” Nichole lay down and tugged the blanket to her chin as if they’d reached an understanding. “When this is over, I don’t want Wesley hoping you’ll continue to be in his life.”
Nichole didn’t want her son waiting at the front door for Chase to arrive. Checking voice mails and text messages every ten minutes for a message. A message that would never come. Chase had done that and more during first grade. He’d hoped and wished and waited for his father. His father had never returned. That old hurt tangled his distress for Wesley. “I can be his friend.”
“He won’t understand.” Nichole straightened her arms on top of the blankets. “He’ll want more. He’ll want the illusion. We cannot create an illusion this weekend.”
Chase stared at the bed. Divided and separated. But walls and defenses could be breached. He should agree with her. She was right. Wesley had to be protected. And he didn’t really want anything more between himself and Nicole. Even if the illusion tempted him. “What do you want me to do?”
“Keep your distance.” Nichole curled under the blankets, away from Chase.
Chase jammed his elbow into the pillows, searching for a comfortable position.
“Wesley will be busy with Ben,” Nichole added. “Those two are inseparable. They can enjoy the snow and their weekend together. And we can...”
“Watch from the sidelines,” Chase finished for her.
He’d never been any good at standing on the sidelines. But for Nichole, he’d try. After all, what did he really know about being a father or a good friend? He’d forgotten the gnocchi. She’d remembered licorice. All he really knew about fatherhood was the kind of father he wished his own dad had been and never was. But he’d stopped wishing in grade school. “I’ll keep my distance.”
He reached over, turned off the light and scooted to the edge of the bed, away from Nichole and her ridiculous pillow wall, as well as his absurd urge to prove to her that what was between them was more than an illusion.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
NICHOLE CURLED HER hands around her mug and paced in front of the fireplace. She’d woken up alone, the covers straightened and the pillow cold on Chase’s side of the bed. He’d kept the fire burning and the bedroom door closed to keep the heat inside and Nichole suitably separated from him. Like she’d asked. Like she wanted. She scowled into the steam streaming from her coffee.
Her phone lit up on the fireplace mantel. Congratulations and well-wishes from former coworkers and distant friends filled her text alerts. Two names weren’t on her missed call list or unopened texts: her mom or dad. Perhaps her parents would return home now. Her mother would love the media attention and the subterfuge. Certainly, her father would want to write a script to capture the storyline. At the very least, Nichole’s news of marrying a celebrity of sorts was worthy of a phone call, wasn’t it?
Nichole scrolled through her contact list and selected the one person who’d always understood Nichole’s long-standing wish for her parents to act like typical parents, even just one time. Nichole’s grandmother answered on the second ring. Nichole waited for her grandfather to pick up the other phone, launched into her apology and veered into an explanation. One her grandmother quickly and efficiently ended with: I always liked Chase. Such a darling boy.
Nichole started her explanation again.
Her grandfather interrupted with: About time.
Followed by a deep hum of approval. Nichole stared at her phone. Where was the disappointment about her secret wedding? About not being included.
Her grandmother jumped into the silence
