Page 92 of I'll Carry You

But all she could do was wrap her arms tight around the little boy who had been the best decision she’d made. And just keep moving forward.

ChapterThirty

Christmas Eve had never beenJason’s favorite day of the year, but today it was particularly miserable. Pouring himself a glass of scotch, Jason studied the amber liquid, the musky, rich scent filling his nostrils. He sipped, his eyes roving the view from his high-rise.

The familiar buildings of Chicago blinked with the electric pulse of the city. When he’d first come back to Chicago from college, some of his friends had called him crazy—telling him he should try another city. New York, they said. Finance capital of the world.

But Chicago was home. Chicago, where he’d gone to baseball games with his father and Kevin as a kid. Where they’d gone boating on Lake Michigan every summer.

He squeezed his eyes shut, sipping his drink. It burned his throat.

Since he’d been home, he hadn’t shaved once. Hadn’t gone for a single run. Hadn’t flipped on the television. He’d gotten a note slipped under his door that his mail was piling up in the mailbox. But he still hadn’t gone to check it.

Nothing about this place felt like home.

Each time he closed his eyes, he was haunted by thoughts of the betrayal on Jen’s face. Or worse still, thoughts of the good moments. The times she’d melted into his kisses. He missed her, and Colby, too. One night he’d visited Jen at the guest lodge, and Colby had woken up with night terrors, like Kevin.

Colby was undeniably Kevin’s son, and not just because of night terrors and his looks. His obsession with trains, his quirky sense of humor. Even his laughter reminded him of Kevin.

He missed Kevin, too.

He’d considered finding a date for the evening, just so he wouldn’t be the pathetic loser alone.

But maybe he deserved it. Deserved to be alone. He’d killed them all, hadn’t he?

At Kevin’s funeral, his grandfather had given him that sharp look like he was thinking it, too. Mom’s broken heart. Kevin’s depression. His father’s accident.

All his goddamned fault.

He turned. He’d barely even moved in here. A decorator had arranged for some furniture, but most of his things were still in storage. He didn’t even have a single photo of a family member here.

The picture he treasured the most—one of him, Kevin, and his parents—was still in his office at Cavanaugh Metals. The last picture they’d taken together.

He wanted it back.

If he couldn’t have family, couldn’t have anyone with him on damned Christmas of all nights, he was going to have his picture. The Powells may have taken everything else he had—but they couldn’t take that.

He set his drink down, then grabbed his keys. He headed out of the apartment without bothering to grab a coat. He punched the button beside the elevator, nodding a hello to a neighbor in the hallway. Not that he knew it was a neighbor. He didn’t know any of his neighbors.

What was it that TJ had said about Brandywood? It was a place where you wouldn’t be alone? Something fruity like that. But that didn’t make it wrong, either.

The drive to the corporate office for Cavanaugh Metals wasn’t far—it was part of why he’d chosen his apartment when he separated from Amanda. Just a couple of train stops on the L. With it being Christmas, he pulled up in front, the street parking more open than ever.

Hopefully, they wouldn’t have disconnected his badge. Then again, he didn’t have to try it. The doorman saw him approach and opened it. “Mr. Jason! Haven’t seen you around for a few weeks.”

“I had some out-of-town business.” He nodded toward the elevators. “Any chance you can swipe me up to the office? I just came for some papers, and I think I left my badge at home.”

The doorman grinned. “Working even on Christmas, eh? Sure, no problem.”

Although he’d spent most of his childhood coming through these doors, Jason’s heart pounded as the doorman let him inside the office. Jason slipped toward his office. When he arrived, he noticed the door nameplate had been changed again.Chad Duncan,CEO.

Damn jackass.

Jason’s key worked on the door, regardless. If they’d disconnected his badge, they probably wouldn’t have thought they needed to change the lock.

Chad had made himself at home. Jason’s things appeared to be shoved into a few paper boxes by the closet. He paused in front of the giant desk, tempted to piss in the chair. No matter how terrible his grandfather had been at times, Chad didn’t deserve to be in his chair.

Jason’s eyes fell on the quarterly report on the desk and he lifted it. He hadn’t seen it come through the mail yet, but then again, he’d been gone and hadn’t checked the mail.