I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2) by S.R. Grey Page B

so I blurt out, “Hey, I didn’t see you in church today.”
    Chase puts his hands in his pockets, turns up the charm. “I’m flattered you noticed.”
    His tone is pure flirtation, making me fidget and tug at the edge of the left sleeve of my sweater. “Yeah, I did. Notice, that is.” A thread pulls loose and I hastily tuck it up under the sleeve, hoping he doesn’t notice. “That you weren’t there, I mean.”
    Chase looks down at the pavement, all cute-like, and I can see he’s smiling. Hey, he’s smiling, not running. I see this as a good sign.
    Encouraged, I continue, “S-o-o, you’re the guy Father Maridale hired to work on the church and the school, right?”
    “I am,” he confirms. And then, after a beat, “Father Maridale is a good man. I owe him a lot.”
    “He is,” I agree, nodding. “He truly believes everyone deserves a second chance, no matter what they’ve done in the past.”
    I realize what I’ve just said, and so apparently has Chase. His gunmetal blues pierce, eyeing me like he’s just put together that I know exactly who he is. And that I have right from the beginning.
    Sure enough, he quietly asks, “You know who I am, don’t you?”
    And we both know what he means—I know his past.
    I wince, sigh. “Yes, I know who you are.”
    “When did you realize?”
    Very quietly—eyes downcast—I admit, “I knew right away, Chase. As soon as I looked up and saw it was you I’d wrecked into.”
    Neither of us says anything, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I fully expect him to take off, but instead he says softly, “Hey, it’s fine. But can I ask you something, Kay?”
    I nod, and dare to open my eyes and glance up. To my surprise, when our gazes meet, I see an emotion I’m all too familiar with—a deep kind of sadness, the kind that reaches into the soul and just kind of burrows there. Chase is lonely, like me. I’m sure of it. And in the recognition that here is someone possibly as sad and alone as I, all sense of pretense on my part crumbles. I’ve obviously misjudged Chase Gartner.
    He scrutinizes my face. Does he see in me what I see in him? If he does, he keeps it to himself. What he does say is this: “I know a lot of people in this town expect me to fuck up again.”
    I start to shake my head, deny what he’s saying. But that would be a lie, and we both know it.
    “I see the way they look at me,” he continues. “I know what they’re thinking, what they say behind my back.”
    I can’t deny what he’s experienced, so I just say, “I’m sure it’s not easy.”
    His eyes pin me down, all blue intensity. “So, okay…What about you, Kay? You’re part of this congregation.” He motions to the church behind me. “Do you think I deserve the second chance Father Maridale is giving me? Or do you believe—like everyone else—that he’s wasting his time?” He makes a scoffing sound. “’Cause I’ll surely just screw up again.”
    I suddenly feel like crap. Less than an hour ago, I was thinking he might screw things up, mess up again. Did I not question Father Maridale’s judgment? Did I not think Chase needed watching? I did, but I don’t tell him any of these things. What good would it do? And, more importantly, who am I to judge?
    I say in a quiet voice, “Trust me, Chase, out of this whole town, I’m the last person you should be asking these questions.”
    He shakes his head and looks away. “That’s not an answer, so I’ll take it as yes, you expect me to fuck up again.” He doesn’t sound angry, just resigned.
    I’m so used to shutting people out and evading the tough questions. But if Chase is willing to be this real with me, then he deserves a real answer in return.
    It takes me a minute to gather my courage, but I finally say, “Okay, it’s true, it has crossed my mind that you might screw things up again.” He winces, like my admission, said out loud, kind of hurts.
    I hurry along. “But now that I’ve met you, I guess I don’t know what