“Yes. She made me believe she was in physical danger. Convinced me she needed the façade of our reconciliation to create the illusion of having a means of protection nearby.”
“But that wasn’t true?”
“No,” he said. “She was lying.”
“Dude,” Zahara murmured, shocked by Chase’s accusation on public television. “That takes balls.”
“Lying about the abuse between herself and her ex-husband,” Chase said. “Lying about needing protection.”
June commiserated with a shake of her head.
“The worst part about the whole thing is that I allowed the situation to damage a relationship that really mattered.”
“Oh my God.” Zahara’s stomach flipped. Her limbs tingled with fear. “Shut. Up. Layton.”
A sly smile lit June’s face. “Can you tell us who that was with?”
Zahara’s throat tightened, and she put a hand against her forehead. “No, no, no—”
“No,” he said with a flash of a smile. “She’s been through enough.”
Zahara’s breath whooshed out. Relief coursed through her body.
“I can tell you,” he said, “that she’s the love of my life, and I hope that, someday, I can make it up to her.”
Love of my life.
“Good Lord, kid,” she said, rubbing her belly. “Your dad sure has a flair for the dramatic.”
“Not drama. Truth.”
The male voice startled Zahara. She turned toward the open doors and found Chase there, his shoulder against the jamb. He was dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing in the interview, making Zahara realize the conversation had been taped earlier that morning.
“Holy shit.” She covered her eyes and exhaled hard. A flash of anger sparked. She dropped her hand and stood. “Have you ever heard of a doorbell?”
“I’ve been ringing it.” He pushed off the jamb and came forward. His gaze slid over her and held on her stomach. He frowned, a look of concern shadowing his expression. “Is everything okay? Is the baby—”
She lifted her T-shirt, exposing her baby bump. She’d been told how un-pregnant she looked enough to know what he meant. “The baby is fine.”
Chase grinned. A grin so big, it lit up his face and sparkled in his eyes. He pulled his hands from his pockets and held them out, approaching with the clear intention of touching her.
Zahara stepped back. “What is it about being pregnant that makes everyone feel like they have the right to touch?”
He stopped. His hands dropped. His smile vanished.
“I’m sorry,” she said on a sigh. “That came out a little harsh.” She sank into a chair across the room, leaving the sofa open for him. She flicked off the TV. “Congratulations on finishing the film.”
“Thanks.” He moved to the sofa, taking a seat on the edge, elbows on his thighs. He scanned the floor. “Crib?”
“More like crib carnage.” She curled her feet beneath her.
“Too stubborn to ask one of the guys to put it together for you?”
“Damn right.”
He laughed, and the sound felt good on her heart.
“What happened with Lila?” she asked.