Page 53 of The Other Side
“Yeah.” Chance snorted.
“How did you find out about Daniel?”
“I overheard my dad arguing with one of his advisors on the phone and got the gist of the situation. I confronted him, and he pretended not to know what I was talking about. But then I took the matter to my mother, who I knew wouldn’t let it stand. She runs and donates to a million different charities, and all of them are for children. She’s always had a soft spot for kids, and wouldn’t let Daniel’s circumstances, which were completely out of his control, be the reason he suffered.
“A few days later, she came to me and told me it had been taken care of and that they had found a boarding school for him and would cover his tuition. But I didn’t think it was fair that this kid, who had lost everything, would just be shipped off to figure shit out on his own. So I started reaching out to him, and we just clicked. I’d always wanted a brother. And he was so lost in his grief…I suppose I was a little lost, myself. So we just kind of were there for each other. I needed him to know he wasn’t alone.”
Chance stopped to chew his lip, silently contemplating as he gazed into the fire.
“Ididn’t want to feel alone.”
“Why did you feel alone?” I asked softly.
Chance glanced at me over his shoulder, then looked back into the flickering flames. “I’ve never quite fit in with my family. My father tried to raise me to be this perfectly crafted, younger version of himself, but I rebelled. Sure, I have a business degree, but every spare moment, every elective was in something creative. I’ve always been interested in writing and photography and art, but that wasn’t what he wanted a son for. Being aRoberts, I was under so much pressure to follow in his footsteps. It was too much.”
He took a deep breath, letting the sound of the crackling fire take up all the space for a while before speaking again.
“I was never enough for him. I will never be enough. So I left.”
“You left?”
Chance gave a mirthless laugh. “I haven’t talked to him in two years, and I’ve been going by Chance Harper since college, because I didn’t want the family name hanging over me while I was trying to figure out my own path. I don’t think he ever forgave me for that, so when I took Daniel’s side and called him out on being a piece of shit, well, I don’t think he’s missed me much either.”
“But you’re still on good terms with your mom and sister?”
“Yes, thankfully. They were the reason I was able to get enough cash so quickly to pay off Jennings into retirement.”
I hummed in response, more pieces falling into place, and the puzzle that was Chance Harper becoming that much more clear.
“What? No jokes about me being a poor little rich boy?” He grinned at me, but there was no joy in his eyes.
“No,” I said firmly. “Your dad sounds like an asshole. I’m sorry you fell out with him over you trying to befriend a kid who lost everything he’d ever known in the blink of an eye.”
Chance relaxed into the couch. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Violet.” Chance’s expression was sincere. “I had my reasons, but I never meant to hurt you.”
I was regretting telling him nothing could happen between us, despite the stupid school rule, because the more I learned about Chance, the more he opened up to me, the worse my stupid crush deepened.
I swallowed hard.
Was I about to forgive Chance for everything?
No.
Because, I realized, I already had.
“I’ll admit it would be so much easier to stay mad at you, but given the situation, it feels inappropriate.” I tried to joke to avoid admitting more than I was ready to.
“When has appropriateness ever stopped you when it comes to me? Miss ‘I have knives in here.’”
“That was completely justified!” I threw my hands up. “You all but admitted to stalking me! You still could be a serial killer, for all I know.”
Chance laughed as he rose from the couch. “About that…”
I craned my neck around to watch him walk to the study table, where there was a stack of papers and the laptop I’d seen Claire give him. “I’m not a serial killer. Scout’s honor.” He held up two fingers, smiling at me before pulling a thick manila envelope from the top of the pile and making his way back to me. He extended his arm, handing it to me.
“But you were right—I was being a creep.”
He scratched at the stubble on his chin, nervously watching me as I opened the envelope and found all the photos from the darkroom.
